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[Bailos]

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Deep within the bowels of Vorik Dyn, late into the night, the fires of industry were burning and the windows did glow with fire.

It was late Wednesday night....well now, Thursday morning. A few short hours ago, at the tavern in Wormwood, the priest, Darrien Church did come to him with a most vexxing concern.

Pulling the smelted Shadow Ore from the fires he poured it into it's mold, a chestplate it would be, and the words echoes softly in his mind...

"I want to walk among them again, to speak to them as a fellow once more..."

The metal cooled. It was still red with heat but its form was now nearly solid. Gripping a pair of ornate tongs, he clamped onto the chestpiece and slipped it over the head of an anvil. Gripping a hammer engraved with runes from a nearby table tightly in his skeletal claw, the Wraith Lord raised slowly over his head, remembering Seryas' words.

"Once my payment is delivered you shall have your runes, Priest. The spells of masking will be yours. Should you short, me you'll regret it."

.......and the hammer fell. With that familiar, loud, metallic sound the head of the hammer began to bend the armor, shapping it to fit the walking corpse that now was Darrien. A wry grin crossing his face, he raised the hammer again, and again dropped it on metal, bending it to his will.

"Make it ornate? Oh yes, with those gilded vine patterns, yes? It must be sleak, elegant, if I am to be as presentable as I once was."

Darrien's instructions, however amusing, would be followed.

Bailos thought aloud; "When your gift *clank of the hammer* is complete...*clank* You won't be, disappointed. *clank* If it's a disguise you want.....(long pause) *clank*......Then it's a disguise you'll get."