[i]Khan & Aristo[/i]
[center][b]Abkehr Keep, Western Severan
Present Day[/b][/center]

	Errocas frowned, drawing his furs taught over his shoulders. The beginning of Spring meant little this far north; it would be frigid for months yet. Months poorly spent sitting on his hands, waiting for an opportunity to resume the campaign season. The cold was not kind to armies, least of all the Nordheim cold. Yet he’d seen those northerners defeat the elements, ignore them as if they did not exist. A howling Aesling with an axe and blood boiling was more than a match for a little frosty wind. No, the southerners would sit out the chill, holed up in their fortresses, safe, albeit uncomfortable. 

	The Exarch peered out from the battlements into the frosted treeline. Not far beyond, to the west, was the Empire’s border with Atar. For many months Errocas had raised hell along the no-man’s land between the nations. That was before the snowfall hit, before the tiger retracted its claws and crawled into its den for the winter. He yearned to ride out again, finish what he started. To his displeasure, neither Ai nor the weather would permit it.
 
	“My Lord,” huffed a shivering lieutenant, “There’s a carriage on the road not five miles from here. It carries Mother Night’s flag.”
	Errocas met him with a raised eyebrow. 
	“A Herald? Here?”
	“It’s possible, Sire. Our scouts are escorting it here as we speak.”
	“Hum.”
	Errocas cast another look at towards the border. Though still frigid, the snow had started to melt the last few days, betraying strips of green on an otherwise white canvas.
	“Make ready to receive Her Majesty’s envoy,” he said with a grimace, and made down the rampart’s steps. 

	The rhythmic sound of horse hooves trotting across the hard-packed dirt road could be heard easily across the white plains. They announced the arrival of a small procession of riders escorting a single carriage of dark wood, with purple banners flanking the vehicle to either side. The banners held the heraldry of the black rose circled by a ring of thorns. It was the coat of arms any fool knew instantly belonged only to Mother Night. The real power of in these lands; lands which were graciously given her peace. 

	Four magnificent steeds pulled their charge forward at a brisk pace. Surrounded by armed guardians that wore the dark purple robes of the private household soldiers of Mother Night. Known and feared as the Blackguard by many. Little was known of them, for even their faces were covered by armored masque stylé full faced helms.  Even their gender a difficult thing to guess under their garments and armor. Leading these horsemen was a single rider who wore naught but the simple purple robe without any apparent protection. 

	They held a spear with the banner of Mother Night itself tied just under the spear pointed shaft. The escort draws nearer and nearer to the fortress, having long since been spotted by the men on watch. Many shifted uncomfortably on their feet, for many had heard rumors of the heralds who spoke for Mother Night. Some thought them to be barely human avatars of her power, to look them in the eye merely meant one had forfeited their life. Others thought them to be true angelic beings who had never been born mortals but created by the pure power and will of Mother Night herself to act as her agents in the world. 

	There were a thousand and one tales but none save the Archons new the truth. Even the exarchs were unsure of the exact nature of the woman they held their fealty too. This mystery only added to both her Majesty and the fear surrounding her.  Such things would usually invoke mistrust in the hearts of most followers, but such was the dread and power that surrounded Izalith that it only created loyalty in her vessels. Loyalty born from fear, but loyalty and dependence all the same. 

	When the carriage arrives at the gates of the fortress, it stopped short.  The black steeds they rode seemed to make eerily little nose as they came to a halt. Allowing the fog of dread for the men on the walls to increase even more. The lead rider rode forward, head covered by a cowl, yet enough of their face was visible for an observant onlooker to see they were a woman, their long locks of gold spilling forth from beneath their hood. 

	Raising the banner, she held into the air she spoke with a voice that dripped with command and power, "Open and make way for the Voice of Izalith!" 

	At once, Abkher’s sturdy doors swung open with a crash, and the procession of Mother Night’s retainers rode inside without another thought. The keep’s garrison had been roused, dressed and assembled for display in the middle of the grounds. Nervous glances were exchanged and beads of sweat ran, despite the cold. The only soldiers that did not betray their worry were Errocas’s personal guard, but even their presence seemed to shrink as the purple-clad retinue stole the garrison’s attention.

	Errocas stood among his guard at the forefront of the assembly, a single defiant, unflinching soldier among the perturbed throng. The carriage slowed before him, and he watched it come to a halt with stern eyes.

	The silent guards soon dismounted as the carriage finally came to a complete stop allowing seemingly frightened stablehands to tentatively take the reins themselves and escort the horses to the horse pens.  The robed woman followed suit before walking toward a side exit of the carriage, handing off her spear to one of the Blackguardsmen without a glance.  A guard clutched the latch and pulled the portal open once the robed woman stood beside it. 

	She bowed her head as she offered a hand to someone within the carriage. A single pale hand reached out from within and took that extended support. A feminine figure exited the carriage with elegant ease before stepping onto the packed dirt of the fortresses open courtyard. The moment the occupant of the carriage stepped into the light of the day many in the court gasped. 

	The woman possessed exquisitely long locks of ashen white hair like lengths of silver liquid.  She wore a dress of blackest ebony, with strips of more dark cloth wrapped around the length of both her arms. Upon these were woven many sigils and arcane symbols. The dress complimented her figure well, revealing elegant curves that most women of the day could only dream. She seemed to exude an aura about her, a kind of oppressive presence that was simultaneously awe-inspiring, soothing and most of all gave an air of dread and impending danger. 

	No word given no command needed, for the moment she appeared all found themselves upon their knees in respectful subjugation.  Most unable to raise their head to dare look upon her, least they somehow invoke her ire. Those rare few possessed of a stronger will, or utterly consumed by curiosity could not take their eyes off her. In their minds, they saw what could only be described as the most beautiful creature they had ever laid eyes upon. Many mouthed silent prayers to Mother Night without realizing it themselves. 

	They could not see her entire face, however, for her eyes were hidden behind a single thick wrapping of cloth as if she wore a blindfold. One too thick to be a mere veil, yet, if this hindered her in any way was not wholly apparent for she walked without hesitancy or difficulty. The shrouded gaze seemed to fall on one man in particular. She walked straight toward Errocas without hesitance nor pause. When she was but six steps away from him, she spoke in a voice that managed to be both frightening as well as alluring, "Exarch Nobilissimus Errocas."

	Each word pronounced to perfection, and once more sounding every bit as much as a statement rather than a question. 

	“My Lady,” answered the Exarch. Errocas groveled on his knee beside his men, though unlike most, he stared unblinking at the woman before him. It took a measure of his Stromist power to do so, so great was her aura. She was at once both terrifying and magnificent, seductive and repulsive. Even his skin crawled as she loomed above him, and despite the veil over her eyes, he felt her gaze burn like a hot iron.
	
	“Mother Night has need of me?” he asked, knowing full well the answer to his question already.

	The woman did not respond right away instead gesturing with a hand for him to raise to his feet. Once he had risen she spoke once more, "we have come far loyal son of Iao, my guardians would do well with rest and water."

	Her perfect black painted lips completely captured Errocas's attention giving her words an almost hypnotic effect, though a subtle one. She inclined her head to one side slightly, "I have heard much of the hospitality of the north since Iao's conquest. I wish to see for myself."

	“As you wish, my Lady,” the Exarch droned.

	Errocas waved a hand to his closest attendants, making clear their compliance with the lady’s request. Whether it was by some kind of sorcery, or just the woman’s presence, Errocas felt compelled to cater to her whims. His orders came almost without thinking. The servants bowed and ran off, to return shortly afterwards with carts of refreshments. Pages took horses from their masters and led them to the stables.

	“My men will show your retinue to their quarters after they have drank and eaten. Any other service you require, I will not hesitate to fulfil.”

	The whole time, Errocas’s eyes did not linger from those obsidian lips. From them, as they parted, flowed the very will of Mother Night.

	The woman smiled, the oppressive aura around her seemed to become less potent though still remained. "My thanks, Exarch. And you may call me Lady Ravera Sarvando; loyal daughter of Izalith."

	Ravera looked back to the robed woman that flanked her and made a simple hand gesture that the other woman responded to with a bowing of her head. "While my followers situate themselves, I would have us speak of something of no small significance in the interim."  

	“Of course,” answered Errocas, and to his aide in a harsh whisper, “Clear the grounds. [i]Neatly.[/i] This way, Lady Ravera.” 

	Errocas gestured for Ravera to follow him, turned and made through the portal of the main hall. He led her down a secluded cloister, away from the bustle of soldiery. The snow had been cleared from the grounds, to his relief. As he walked, the heavy presence of Izalith’s servant hung over him like a mail hauberk, tenfold. 

	“It must be a critical matter indeed, for Mother Night to have sent one of her own Heralds,” Errocas finally said. His composure became more diminutive as they turned a corner and Ravera brushed by him alarmingly closely. 

	"Perceptive of you," Ravera said. "Indeed, Mother Night has a task for you, Errocas of Abkher." Still close, Errocas could almost feel the heat of her words on his skin. 
	“What does she ask of me?” he asked with a shiver.
	"Not ask," Ravera warned with a faint edge to her voice. "Izalith wishes, and we make it so." 
	“Yes... we are but instruments of her will,” Errocas replied, cursing himself. His cheeks reddened and his eyes stuck to the ground.

	"Indeed," came the sole reply followed by a pregnant pause before Ravera turned her unseen gaze forward once more and added. "A fortnight ago, a caravan was waylaid three leagues south of Colonia. Among those present were two priestesses of Mother Night, and a woman who was taken into their charge that they and a small group of guards were to escort to Thulthar." 

	"This girl was discovered in a village here in the north and was found possessing certain...gifts," Ravera's head turned to Errocas once more, the power of that veiled stare boring into him, the blindfold doing little to dampen it. Instead, it gave an air of mystery that allowed one's mind to conjure up images of what may lay beneath. "A native of the North was decided to be the best candidate to mount a search for this wayward servant. Only her body was absent from the remains of the caravan when it was found, and it is believed others may have discovered her importance. Feel honored Exarch. For you have been chosen."  

	Errocas’s heart hammered. He’d ‘been chosen.’ What did that mean for the war? For Severen? Atar? Most of all, what did it mean for him, a budding Exarch? Ravera’s message heralded change. This would not be another endeavor for the North’s - for Iao’s legacy. With this, he was serving the whole of the Empire, and Mother Night herself. 

	Errocas’s mouth opened and closed without a sound as he stumbled over his words, then he swallowed and caught his bearings.

	“What more can you tell me about the girl? What is her name?”
	"She was born under the name Aelkja," Ravera explained in the tone a teacher might use on a student. "As she is of Vargian stock, she holds many of their features. Red of hair, dark gray eyes, and tall of stature for her age. Will that suffice?" 
	“Hrm. And how will I locate her?” Errocas would need more substance to go on, but Mother Night surely had her secrets to keep. He knew it was best not to pry too far. 

	Those enchanting black lips pulled themselves into a knowing smile, "Mother Night provides," came Ravera's cryptic response as she raised a closed hand toward Errocas. That same hand opening to reveal a flawlessly clear opal gem, the color of which was like the dark blue of the open ocean. In the center of it, though barely visible, was a single strand of what looked to be a thread of hair. 

	"An invention of the Justicars called a seeking stone. It is tied to her life force and will point you in the right direction. It will also allow you to see where she has been, but be warned. It is a fickle thing at times, and it would be wise not to rely on it overmuch. More importantly, it will allow you to identify her immediately once you find her."

	Errocas took the stone gingerly from the Herald’s hand. It felt warm to the touch, like a living thing of flesh and blood. He shuddered at what kind of procedure the Justicars might use to forge such a tool. He quickly dispensed it within a pocket inside his uniform.

	“Thank you. I will see that Her Majesty’s trust is not misplaced,” he told Ravera, though the assurance was just as much meant for himself as it was her. After a brief pause, “How long will you stay at Abkher?”

	Ravera inclined her head slightly almost as if she were listening for something, "I shall remain for no more than two suns. The Mother has need of me elsewhere." 

	“Very well, Lady.” The pair came full circle around the garden cloister and Errocas showed her through the doors to the main hall. From within his jacket, the stone blazed with heat, and he winced as he trailed behind Ravera.