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[i]
Thee fortress of Udny Pass we found choked with the refuse of Vicenna -- those whom had fled thee maraudinge Elfes of which we had heard much rumor.  A dusty mass of men, women and even childrene, millinge about ragged tents in thee road, sorry and with nothinge to theyre name but thee clothes upon theyre backs.  

Could they be trusted? we wondered.  Woulde they accept Aretan rule, even in these laste days?  There woulde be no returning to their homes now, and every arm woulde be needed in thee darke days ahead.  But a hounde cornered and sore may gnash at even its master's hand extended in aid, yea, even as night descends and thee wisp and the djinn creep from theyre dens, thirsting for unwary soules.

Though beneath contempt and beyond thee reach of Aretan justice I confess I felt a silente anger at thee sight of it.  Better for those who had done these thinges that they were swallowed along with thee Vicennan sands, and theyre next victims.  For I woulde not be as merciful, shoulde we meet.
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[indent][center]"Now to business," said Perrine. "I am told you have some urgent business with my house. Judging by the timing of this visit and the gate through which you entered, I believe you have news of Vicenna and I would very much like to hear it. I suspect our ends may be pointing in the same direction, here. But first," she eyed the mystery nobleman, "who's the man in my God damned chair?[/center][/indent]

"Alonso vas Aretaeus." Kolbe's ragged voice was like a rusted blade through the lavish courtesies of the dining room. "King of Areta." The helm inclined, grimly. "Your sovereign."

The statements hung there in the ensuing silence, like crows over a gibbet.  Kolbe watched her expression a moment before continuing.

"...You are young.  Minor lapse in courtesy, [i]hnn?[/i]" he rasped. "Confident this oversight will not be held against your father."

The armored knight stepped slowly around the table, each step heavy with the jingle of metal.  "Vicenna is gone." He said, the voice dry and implacable. "Not conquered.  Not destroyed. [i]Gone.[/i]  Drunk by the earth, to its last drop.  The work of demons.  Demons..." the knight's hand reached behind him, the armor still caked with blood.  "...And weapons such as this."

He drew the black scepter from a carried saddlebag, pressing it forcefully to the tabletop.  The thud of the twisted substance sounding against wood seemed to reverberate in their minds, the aura of the thing making the ambient noise from outside suddenly muted and distant, as though miles of distance separated them from the next room.  Kolbe's mailed fingertip remained atop the rod, as though a rash opportunist might try to snatch it up at any moment.  His one clear eye moved from one face to the next behind his visor; watching.  Weighing.  Finally settling on Perinne.

"The darkness," he breathed, "is at your door."