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[Merci d'Rue]

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Merci stared down at her friends, each peice, a part of her. Companions that did not fail her, did not let her down.

She would die with them, at her side, and she would live with them thru sorrow and joy. Yet they were always there, always constant. Long had it been since Merci had stumbled from the broken tower, the snow softly drifting and caressing her face. Ice melding into her skin, rejuvenating her, her memory a tangled web of unknown bits. It wasnt really important to her to recall what she once was, it mattered no more. She had found home.

She slid her chemise on, the thin cotton material caressing her skin, gliding over pale beauty. Then lifting her chain mail, she bore the heavy weight gladly, the cold rings a silent comfort to her. Her chest peice fastened easily into place moulding her, controlling her body into its tight curves the strength of its power darkly infiltrating her veins.

There was nothing, other than battle itself, that Merci enjoyed more than the slipping in place of each bit of armour. The slow change that made her what she was, and always had been. A warrior at heart and always. Keldril and she, had built lives, based on the fact that one day they would fall in battle. Her only wish was that she would fall beside her Umbrans, clothed in these steady friends of old. Her hand slipped over the hilt of the kryss and she stared at its fine blade, the perfect balance, the extension of her arm. It gleamed coldly the blade in her hand slowly freezing over.

Inspiration caught her and she journeyed to the sepulcher the dark walls echoing with welcome, it hungered for her battle lust....

She kneeled before the dark pit her blue hair falling softly over her shoulders landing upon the tops of her breasts as her chest rose and fell quickly. Clawed hands withdrew the Kryss from its sheath and taking her hand she grasped the sharp edged blade, it sliced into the soft flesh of her hand delivering drops of blood. Cold and brilliant, they slid down her blade into the dark void, and the walls of the Sepulcher shuddered with excitement. Her eyes closing, she thought clearly a face rising up before her...

Can you feel it...Can you feel me Ceinwyn,, I am ready...
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May destiny guide you...

[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

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The shadows in a corner of the room shifted, stirring to life. A dark shape, what could have been the outline of a head, emerged from a wall of the Sepulcher. Eyes opened, revealing two purple elven-shaped orbs.

The shadow head peered down at Merci, who knelt beside the mouth of the abyss. A darker line formed across the face of the head, a dark shadow smile. The shadows along the wall crept closer to the head, congealing almost, as more of the shadow figure leaned out of the wall. Two black arms extended, the figure bringing its dark hands to its face to blow a kiss to the kneeling matriarch.

The kiss itself, was formed of a powdery red substance, shaped like a circle. It floated gently across the void to grace Merci's forehead, where it dissipated upon touch. The very walls of the Sepulcher seemed to speak then, many voices at once, yet all the same familiar author, Ceinwyn.

"You always are, Merci, you always have been.. ready... any life offered tonight will strengthen us.. even that of our own..."

The shadowy figure on the wall began to retreat then, back into the wall from whence it had come. Ceinwyn slowly pulling her head back from the wall, to focus once more on the other plane.

Here a land of shadow parody. A mockery of the true world, just as the true world was in fact a mockery of the One True World, upon which the original Gem of Immortality had been sundered. Here, spirits roamed at large. Souls drifted about aimlessly, some attached to life, some free of it.

Ceinwyn knew that after tonight's battle, this realm would be even more populated by the disassociated spirits.