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[Zeth MelGair]

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Zeth Sat his back against the tree, its song bring peace to his troubled mind. He had ran into an old friend the other night. She had once been so quick witted, and so full of life, now she hobbled on a broken leg that from what she told him would never mend. But that wasnt what really had Zeths mind troubled.
Zeth mind raced as he tried to remember the smell that came from those vials she drank from. He knew that her slurred speach and the dull look in her eyes came from whatever was in those vials.
Zeth could not get over the vision of her in the shape she was in. He remembered the woman who he fought so hard to keep from falling in love with so many years ago. Now althought she looked almost the same she was not the same person not at all.
He would do what he could to help this woman this he knew. but how and would she allow him to help her. Zeth knew one thing for sure he had to get those vials and there contents away from her and out of her system.
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[Xana]

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Upon awaking, it was again a few moments before Xana could ascertain exactly where she was. With a slight groan that was part dismay and part pain, she tried to quiet the part of her mind that was demanding answers to questions such as "Just how did you get here?"; her mind meant that in both the literal and figurative sense.

Another groan tore from her throat when she realized that she was in Sanctus. Oh, how she disliked this place. It harbored too many negative memories and reminders of how she really didn't fit into most of society's niches. Sitting up very slowly, she immediately pulled a vial from her pack and quickly drank the contents. Soon, but not soon enough, the throbbing in her leg and foot began to subside. As she sat waiting for the potion to take effect, she noticed with some disinterest that somehow her leg had been splinted. She wondered if she had done it herself.

Thirst drove her from the room at the hostelry, and she stumbled into the light of the tavern proper and purchased a pitcher of water. Xana slouched into the chair and squinted up as the man approached. She realized it was the man Zeth that she'd met long ago in Umbra. It was a person she considered a friend, once upon a time. It was difficult for Xana to hold together the thread of conversation, and she reached for another vial not long after being asked about her wedding--a wedding that never took place.

Zeth's nose twitched at the scent that emanated from the spent bottle, he made comments that did not sit well with Xana though she suspected he meant them in the kindest way that he could. She made excuses to depart the company and hobbled outside so she could attempt to cast the spells that once came so easily to aid her travel.

It was time to go meet the potionmaker she'd been visiting with increasing frequency.
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An artist is a creature driven by demons ~Faulkner

[Xana]

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Several hours after departing Hanse's...

Sitting in the Salty Dog in East Britain, Xana strummed the lute that lay across her lap with no real enthusiasm. She was feeling very little pain of the physical variety, yet emotionally she was in turmoil. Every time she slept she dreamed of Roger, and with every passing day she felt she'd never see him again. Xana chuckled quietly at the irony; all she wanted to do was curl up and stay asleep yet she was increasingly fearful to do so.

On several occasions she was tempted to go see the fortune teller she once knew in Ilshenar but wasn't sure if she wanted to hear what was to be said. It was as if through a fog she looked around at the staff of the tavern and its sole occupant--a drunken man long passed out in the corner who amazingly stayed upright.

With her left hand she adjusted one of the lute's tuning pegs and gave another strum; she nodded her approval at the improved tone she got from the fine instrument. Then slowly, a frown crept into her expression as she thought of the lycan she had run into earlier.

Suddenly she felt contemptuous toward him. He ruined their friendship in her eyes. It was no secret that he had romanced her sister, whatever that meant among the darkness-dwellers of Umbra; even she had heard some of the rumors. She thought of the day that Zeth had touched her--most inappropriately and even more unexpectedly--when he mistook her for her twin.

And how did you react to that, Xana? her mind demanded. With a sob, Xana hung her head and cried. She remembered the day all too well. The woman had fled Zeth's company in anger and fear, and ran right to Roger. It was that event that had lead to her giving herself to Roger. After all the years of chastity and swearing she would be different, how easily she gave herself up to the paladin. He promised to marry her yet the wedding never took place; it seemed there was always something more pressing.

Here she sat, alone, weeping, and feeling ashamed of herself. Perhaps if only she would have done something differently along the turbulent path of her life she might be sitting elsewhere.
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An artist is a creature driven by demons ~Faulkner