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Streak sighed.
"By leaving I am not interfering with what happens between you and your father. And you still haven't answered my question, what have I ever done that is good or right which had not been caused by me?" Streak asked.

Streak sighed and turned back toward the camp. At that moment he wanted to bury his head into the ground, but he didn't.

Khastur turned in his sleep, it was hard going for some reason; sleep seemed....Heavy. Heavy on his body, his mind, and his spirit. It was not those sort of nerve-wracking dreams of death and untold horror so prevalent in the days of naivette in youth; but this dream...Was certainly not pleasant.

In the dream Khastur was on a high cliff, the wind was blasting and rain was coming down in a tumultuous fury. Lightning struck trees and a blazing fire light up the features of his present company. To his right he recognized the smith Marley, and before them both were nine men; eight of them grunts, and one something much more-- he wore a robe and a traditional mage's cap; by the enemies colors he reasoned they were from Nevar. Marley let off his hood revealing a head long, brilliant red hair and a matching beard that went to his chest, plaited in the style of dwarves; certainly ironic looking at Marley's size. As in all dreams of your past, it seems you can do or say nothing; you can merely follow the invisible strings to your part of the stage until the act is through.

Marley finally spoke, his booming voice going over the sound of thunder and rain with ease. "Ye who have darkened me doorstep this twelfth night-- listen well to this old man: give up and despair, my hands are so filched in blood I could very well paint the mountain red by wringing my hands-- Celtarie blood, dark and irking poison blood that I recieve no grief in taking. Turn back now, go to yer wives and children and tell tales of me the gentle giant smith who so saintly let you keep your lives."

The wizard raised up his head "Your speech falls on deaf, uncaring ears master smithy, we will only hear the gurgle of your dying breath. Nevar wants you dead, Kierdon wants you dead, the very gods and high dragons want you dead-- And we will do it this time, believe you me."

Marley grabbed his hammer of his back and let his robes fall to the ground, revealing his burly giant form clad in armor of dark silver and black. "Reinsen Nevar is a fool! And thou art another! Not even the gods will hear me die, for when I die I will tear out my throat and tongue with my own hands to not give them the satisfaction they crave. And when shall I die? No man knows his destiny-- none but me! I know of some sirrah and I will not die this night! Come!" His hammer bell hit the ground, a resounding thud that made a small fissure in the ground. The wizard stepped foward but the guards stay frozen, petrified. Marley laughed rauscously "Come! Come sirs! I'll rend thy very bones from thee and strew them across the bony crags of the mountain peak!" Khastur drew his sword and walked foward in que with Marley, for some reason his eyes were locked on the wizard, who also seemed locked on him. But as they drew together weapons drawn high there was a flash of light. Khastur saw a glimpse of yellow and brown...Sand? Khastur reached out to it but suddenly woke at Issildia and Streak returning to camp.

Khastur walked over to the smolderings of the campfire "It's probably best you woke me up..." He drew a pipe and some foreign leaves from Ryera, and stuffing the leaves into the pipe, lit them and inhaled the smoke, before letting them come out his nostrils slowly, like a dragon's smoke curling into the chill night air. "We sure do have the weight of the world on our shoulders, huh? I mean, when I was a kid I remember stories about the valiant knight slaying the dragon and bein' a hero. What about us? What are we going to get? Where's our ********' payoff? It seems like everything I do, I save one country-- and another one wants me dead. Now it's even worse because I messed up, I don't even have a place to go home to; our list of allies wears thin. I'm just about ready to sail north and forget all this." Khastur sighed and raked his head with his fingers "I'm not even sure if the sword will do it, it seems every time we kill one of those codgers they just rise up from the dead, or get stronger--like fighting a hydra, you chop one head off and it grows three more.." Khastur laid out on the ground, he was pretty much talking to himself now "You can't just fight for honor all the time, not even vengeance or you'll just end up hollow-- Is that really all you're fighting for Issildia? Fallen kingdoms and slain comrades?"

"You are asking what sort of petty pleasures I gain from this?" Issildia asked turning to face him, her arms still crossed.
"None..." she said looking distant.

"Though...there was a time when I had a life that was more than being an assassin...or hunting down my father." She paused for a time until it almost seemed as though she had resigned herself to silence. But she spoke then almost seeming surprised by her own voice.

"Once...there was someone I cared for more than anything else that life had to offer." she said softly.

"His name was Demitri.... We grew up in Anier together and as one would expect we grew...close." Issildia's voice seemed to caught in her throat for a moment before she continued; glancing away from Khastur.

"The morning..." she said her words faltering "The morning before the Larovian forces made their attack upon Anier, Demitri and I had been sent to accompany the Queen to Keirdon, for Nicholas Remos had offered Anier aid. We had only traveled little under a mile from the city when we were attacked by a group of Larovian scouts...we managed to fight them off and send the Queen onwards with the remaining guards...I was ordered to go with them...Demitri made me promise that I would not follow him to Anier to investigate what was happening...but I did...I followed him"

Issildia then looked to the ground her voice growing softer as she spoke as if she was afraid to recall the event.
"When I arrived...the walls were being breeched and Demitri had joined into the battle to try and turn the tide...but my father...he came." she said darkly a glint of anger could be heard in her speech.

"Reinsen and Demitri fought, but my father bested his opponent and wounded him, I arrived in time to stop him from delivering the final blow but I was a fool and was caught unawares and my father nearly ended me then and there...But Demitri." Issildia whispered. "He intervened and traded his own life for mine..."


Issildia blinked back tears as she looked off into the fading desert lands, "I wish I could say that I fight for noble reasons...that I fight for the memory of my people...but it would be a lie to say such things. I fight for a life lost...I fight for what might have been. Indeed they are jealous reasons to commit the atrocities that I have, but they are all I can find the strength to fight for." she said with heavy finality.

."Issildia only looked away, "Not just for vengeance...for redemption...I think that is reward enough should we see this all through to the end." she stated solemnly, glancing down at her right gloved hand where she still wore Demitri's ring, but she did not allow her gaze to linger as she glanced back up.

"Material rewards...they fade with time. Though perhaps you will find what you seek Khastur. And maybe it won't be what you expect...but something that is beyond what you could have wished for."

"Tired or not...I don't think any of us are going to get any sleep. We might as well go." Issildia said as she stepped off to untie the horses from the pikes that they had driven into the ground to tie their lead ropes to.

When she returned with the horses in tow Issildia proceeded to begin packing things back into the coarsely woven saddlebags.

"If we keep to pace then we should be in Faltora by the afternoon. Hopefully we can get there before the gates close at dusk. Worrabex; the elderly man I told you of, should be able to point us in the right direction of this weapon smith of yours Khastur. But like I said, the old bat has a tendency to accidentally loose control of his Nazuren blood and alter the thoughts of those around him. But his power is rather weak and should pose no threat unless you drop your guard." Issildia added with a halfhearted laugh, after adjusting the saddles and tack on the horses.

"Ahh, looks like our sleeping beauty finally awakes-- Allright, let's move out; you can have your horse back Archer, I don't believe it takes much favor to me, or it misses it's master." Khastur chuckled as he folded away the tent and slung his pack over his shoulder. "Allright, let's put some hoof to the ground and get to our destination quick-like."