Light and Darkness: Farelin and Jeremya

If not for certain actions, certain events would never take place. In this case, a battle occurred on a dreary night in September. Lives were nearly lost but the brave who refused to submit to evil fought on, even as their comrades fell. Once those events came to a close, certain decisions were made and a letter was sent out. It contained the following message:

Dear sister Farelin,

On the night of the 30th of September you have faced my Wrathblades in battle. They spoke highly of you. I wish you expedient recovery from your wounds and look forward to hearing again of your indominable sense of duty and commendable battle prowess.

Please, accept this Ethereal blade as a gift. If you press the runes on the hilt, the arcane blade will come forth, ready to rend and pierce. Hilt is easy to conceal. One day it may save your life.

I would also like to meet you in person, and invite you to a casual dinner in the nearest Independent settlement - Booty Bay. Your safety is thus guaranteed. Please reply by letter to Booty Bay tavern, signing the letter with your name.

I look forward to dining with you, sister Farelin.

-Lady Estherat,
The Graceful Flame,
Guardian of Discord

This letter caused a chain of events that will remain part of the Chapter's history, affecting two lives that will forever be marked by what happened after that night. It was brought to Grand Inquisitor Godric Ravenholme's attention in a report, and this report then fell in the hands of his successor, Grand Inquisitor Melissa, once again influencing the actions of another. Such is the power of words, leading two people towards a shared path.

Here is their story.

The day had dawned gloomy, rain drumming against the abbey windows. Farelin stood at the abbey entrance, looking out into the bad weather, leaning against the doorframe. Her new uniform suited her and she felt proud to be able to wear the Shadowbreakers' robes and armor but she wore the plain brown robe, this morning. She'd said her morning prayers and declined breakfast but her mind was racing and she wanted a breath of fresh air. The weather, however, was not cooperating.

Sighing heavily, she turned away from the outdoors and shut the door behind her, moving deeper into the abbey. Her bare feet felt cold against the floor but she reminded herself that discomfort was important, it made her appreciate everything she had. Entering the library, she nodded towards the canons and aspirants as she passed them, choosing a writing desk close to the window and sitting down, taking quill and ink. She stared down at the sheet of parchment, biting thoughtfully on the inside of her lip. Making up her mind, she began to write.


Sir,

The last words we exchanged have weighed heavily upon my mind. The revelation you made about yourself and our mutual brother is heartbreaking to me. I don't understand how one can fall so low as to give in to that woman! It angers me to think fellow Shadowbreakers can succumb to her corrupting ways.

Why? How was it done? How can you bear knowing that your soul is bound for eternal damnation due to the decisions you've made unless you repent? You advised me not to play her games but why did you let yourself be part of them? What are you thinking? I want to understand this, so that I can avoid falling to her wiles!

Sir, I would include you in my prayers, for the Light may yet have mercy upon you. It is never too late to ask for salvation. Will you give me your name, that I may pray for you?

Until then, never forget that faith shall overcome. And do not forget what I said to you: May the Light have mercy upon your soul, for when next we meet, I certainly will show you none.

Regards,


Shadowbreaker Farelin Kierstad

p.s. Unless you give me different instructions, I will use the same delivery method if I need to contact you again. It would be preferable to me not to have to go through our Booty Bay contact again, however. You know how to reach me.


Farelin waited for the ink to dry before folding the parchment. Sealing it with wax, she held it firmly between her hands. The weather had not changed even in the slightest and she sighed, walking barefoot in the wet grass, going to the stables. She smiled as she saddled up her chestnut mare, wondering what the other Anethioneans would think if they knew she'd named the horse Binky. Chuckling at herself, her stomach growling hungrily, she mounted up and rode out into the rain, to Goldshire. Paying for the use of a gryphon, she flew back to Booty Bay, heading to the inn. The goblins sneered at her tabard but she ignored them, approaching the familiar-looking innkeeper.

"Do you remember me?" she asked the goblin. When he nodded, she smiled at it. "I was here a few days ago. There was a man who escorted me out. Do you remember him?"

"Yeah, what about 'im?" the goblin snorted.

"Would you be able to deliver a letter to him for me?" she asked, shifting slightly, letting the coins in her beltpouch jingle suggestively.

The goblin eyed her shrewdly. After a moment, he nodded sharply. "It'll cost ya, lady. I can make sure he gets the damn letter," he replied, glancing at her pouch.

After negotiating their price, she nodded at the goblin. "You have my thanks, friend. Light watch over you."

"Yeah, right," the goblin muttered scornfully as she walked away.

Returning to Goldshire, Farelin and Binky slowly made their way back to the abbey. Horse and rider were soaked through by the time they reached Northshire. Accepting the discomfort, Farelin returned to her room, kneeling by her bed. Joining her hands together, she bowed her head and went back to praying, making certain to thank the Light for finding her worthy of serving the Chapter. The floor became damp from her wet robes but she ignored it, focusing on her prayers, disregarding the hollow sensation of her empty stomach. She would fast and pray as long as necessary, until she felt renewed and rejuvenated, ready to take on the burden of her promotion.

By the time night fell, Farelin's legs were numb from kneeling, bones aching and protesting, her stomach a consistent distraction. She ignored her bed and stretched out on the floor to sleep, mumbling a prayer before exhaustion claimed her.

Heavy plated footsteps of a man bonked in haste against the wooden constructs that held Booty Bay’s residents and visitors above water. Harsh waves of the southern tides clashed against the wooden poles that in turn secured the constructs below people their feet. A storm was raging throughout the star-less night skies, engulfed by thundering tenebrous clouds. As the man hurried himself into the local tavern of pirate and other scum, no one else was roaming outside, save from a goblin who struggled to secure his small boat with ropes to a weak dock that seemed on the verge of collapsing.

Once inside, he took off his black and red helmet and glanced about. Gambling, rum, broken bottles, shouting, laughter and banter. He sighed, feeling the annoyance of being soaked creep up from his spine to his brains, not to mention he felt exhausted due to the journey and fulminating weather. He made his way to the innkeeper and regarded the grouchy ugly goblin with naught but a thin, brief and insincere smile, a candle struggled to illuminate its green face through the dense smoke that lingered about. “Evening. I forgot my cloak in a room upstairs, which was rented by Lady Estherat.”

The goblin eyeballed him with its big protruding eyes, inspecting his attire of red and black, plate and robes – nearly a Shadowbreaker armour replica - for a moment as if trying to scam him, chewing on some brown, smelly tobacco. He spat it out in a metal cup: “So?” – he rudely inquired, voice coarse and hoarse. “Whad’ya want from me?”

Jeremya grunted. Does the little rat want coins from this too? With narrowed eyes, he parted his lips to speak, but the goblin interrupted him. “The cloak’s still there. Take it, before I change my mind.” Jeremya sighed sharply through his nose. Well, atleast he didn’t had to waste his coins on such filth. He’d rather rush a blade through his throat, having him choke in his own blood, he thought. But he composed himself, and calmed down, uttering his gratitude whilst turning about towards to stairs that’d lead him up.

“Wait…” the goblin wasn’t done yet. “I have a letter for you, but you bet your damned arse that it’ll cost ya this time…pal.” Turning about to face the goblin again, he gazed at a row of jagged, yellow-stained and grinning teeth. The goblin chuckled dastardly. “Hehehe…”

Jeremya sounded demanding, yet curious. “Letter? What letter?”

“Coins, pal. Coins.” Replied the goblin innkeeper, his broad wicked grin not fading away.

Moments later, he entered a small but cozy room – rain battered against the window - where he watched Lady Estherat and the aspiring Shadowbreaker interact and dine, a few days ago. He could still recall his own frown, utterly confused as to why the naive girl didn’t deny the Lady’s request to dine with her. What in Light’s name was she thinking? Inquisitors had failed to subdue the damned witch and she thinks that she can play along with the Lady and her game? A game where she makes up all the rules? He shook his head at the memory, sadly not able to shake it away.

He spotted his dark, and red contoured, expensive cloak of fine fabric hung over a chair in the corner of the room. He hated it. He loathed all gifts of the Lady, but didn’t want to anger or disappoint her. Yet, she always showered him with luxurious gifts and other…things. Disgusting. He dropped himself down into the chair like the tired man he is, leaving the cloak for what it is, and laid the letter he bought of the goblin before him on the table. He broke the seal of wax, folded it out, and started to read with an absent mind, until it struck him.

He instantly realized who it was from and what it was about. He stared it down in disbelief, unsure about how to react. “Idiot…” he thought, and crumbled the note, throwing it into a dark and dusty corner of the room. He ran a shaky hand through his wet raven hair and closed his eyes for a moment, only to shut them open again, gaze nailed into the barely visible note. He raised himself from his seat, retrieved the letter and restored it quickly, to read it all over again. He was thinking of sending back a letter of his own, though feeling uncomfortable about that thought. Should he risk it? What if the Lady would find out? What would the consequences be? His mind calculated unrelentingly, trying to figure out what to do. Eventually he broke, and wrote a small sorrowful letter, scribbling words down hastily.

“Dear sister,

I know I’ve sinned greatly, but it’s more complex than it may seem to you. I did this for a reason, and you must know that I haven’t abandoned my faith. No doubt that one day everything will turn out bright again. No doubt that one day, I’ll be beneath the Light again. I’d care to explain, but I cannot do such through letter. I do not wish to take any risks, for the letter may get intercepted. For all I know, the Lady’s agents are watching me as I write. It warms my heart that you’ve sent me this letter, however. I have no one to talk to now. I’m left behind within darkness, amidst dark-minded people. I know the events about me had a great impact on the Chapter and yourself, and one day I will repent, mark my words. But for now, I’ll have to follow my own sacred duty. Please don’t conduct any misconceptions. I hate my current position. But I will fight myself out of it, this I promise. I’d appreciate it if you’d pray for me. I do so too, for myself, you, the Vanquisher and the Chapter. I do not know why our brother fell for the Lady her poisoned tongue. I’ll make sure to ask him about it soon.

Would you ponder about meeting me once more some day? In private and secrecy. I do need aid, even if it’s just a mere conversation.

Please write again. You may keep sending your letters to this location. Do not deliver them personally. My name is Jeremya.

Glory under the Light.”

Jeremya withdrew somewhat from the letter back into his chair, musing about its content. He then carelessly flicked the quill to the middle of the table and accidentally knocked the bottle of ink off the table as he dropped himself, drained of all mental energy, over the table, spilling the ink all over the floor. He’d sleep for now, and send the letter later when the storm would do so too.

Weakened from fasting, Farelin still insisted on getting fresh air every few hours. The weather had improved but it was still chilly. Her eyebrows had finally grown back in but her hair was taking its time. She wandered the abbey grounds, seeming content. As she walked back to the abbey, she saw the post was just arriving.

Pleased, having decided that walks would now be a small relief to deny herself, she hurried towards the postman, smiling warmly at him. As she'd hoped, she received a letter from her mother and a second one she hadn't expected. Curious, murmurring her thanks, she took both letters to her room.

She read her mother's letter first then set it aside, intending to reply to it later. With great curiosity, she opened the second letter, her bright mood fading quickly as she read it. Her expression darkened, almost glaring at the words on paper. Then four words leaped out at her and the blood drained from her face.

"My name is Jeremya." She read them over and over again, feeling light-headed, faint from hunger. "How could you?" she breathed, tears filling her eyes. She angrily wiped them away.

She remembered the day of Osmand's funeral, the last time she'd seen the Vanquisher alive. She thought back on when they'd carried in Greagoir's body, how she'd been left alone with him and Morgaan. The grief, the anger, that had filled the abbey that day had frightened her. First the Abbot, then the Vanquisher...both great losses to the Chapter.

And if rumors were true, the Vanquisher had been killed by a man named Jeremya.

She finished reading the letter, then set it aside. Kneeling, she said her prayers, including her mother and father, her brothers and sisters in the Chapter, the ones who were now lost to them, then she hesitated, closing her eyes for a moment. Making her decision, she continued.

"And watch over Jeremya, whose soul has been corrupted and yet who seems to want redemption, someday. Have mercy over him, that the Light may reach him within the darkest confines of the shadows where he now stands."

Finishing her prayer, Farelin stood and went to her writing desk. She felt exhausted, mentally drained from this revelation. She carefully considered what she wanted to say as she prepared a fresh sheet of parchment. Staring out the window, she frowned, her writing hand trembling as it gripped a quill. Taking a deep breath, she began to write.

Sir,

I've heard your name before. I'm certain you might know how and why. I hope what you say is true and that you will find yourself walking in the Light again, one day. However, I fear that you have much to do before you can accomplish that. Your redemption will have to be hard-earned, if at all possible.

I can't even pretend to imagine what reasons would be considered appropriate to justify your actions. It seems incredible to me.

As for your request to meet, I cannnot provide an answer to that, yet. I regret having accepted your Lady's invitation. If I do decide to meet with you, it will be under my terms or nothing. I'm certain you'll understand, if it comes to that.

I will carefully consider your request, but before giving you an answer, I would ask that you do as I've asked: speak with our Brother, learn what you can and please share his answer with me. The more one knows of the enemy's ways, the more prepared one will be to fight against her methods. And I never intend to lose myself to corruption.

I will continue to pray for your salvation. May the Light watch over you.

Sincerely,

Shadowbreaker Farelin Kierstad


Folding the letter carefully, she sealed it with wax then addressed it to Jeremya, care of the Booty Bay inn. Going to the stables, she took Binky out, foregoing a saddle, and rode quickly to Goldshire, depositing the letter at the mailbox there, as a precaution. Weakened from the ride, she went straight to her room, feeling faint from hunger. Lying on the floor, she began to read from the Book of Revelations, studying it to better prepare herself for what lay ahead.

The blinding sun’s hot rays were beaming over the red-rocky dread wastes of the Badlands. Atop of a big jagged rock with a flat surface, in the heat of the sun, sat a motionless, bloodied, mutilated ogre - tongue hanging out of its mouth - which was about to rot. Flies came to its wounds like bees to honey. Against its back sat Jeremya, hiding from the sun in the shades provided by the corpse of his sparring subject, his two-handed dark iron red sword pierced beside him into a crack of the dusty rough ground. He whipped the sweat off his forehead. As much as he hated the tropical storm back in Booty Bay a few days ago, as much as he misses it right now. He’d die for some wind or rain. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he fought against a dangerous, precarious enemy in the open plains of the Badlands: tiredness. The surroundings became blurrier and his head heavier by the moment. Gone.

Then his eyes shut wide open again, startled awake. A creature had landed on his shoulder. Staring at the chestnut hawk drowsily, he noticed a letter attached to its talon. “So…the goblin kept his word after all.” He thought. In a relieved state he carefully took the hawk’s talon in one hand and detached the letter with his other, sending the hawk back to ascend so it may find its way back to the goblin. He watched it fly away and fade out of sight before he’d tend to the letter, as he realized the bird had saved his life by awakening him. Impatiently, Jeremya peeled off the wax and unfolded the letter, reading it.

He finished reading with a frown, pulled his sword out of the stubborn crack and moved himself towards the edge of the red rock, which had a height of about six feet. He folded the letter back in its previous state, hid it within his robes and gazed over the deserted plains into the distance. His mind drifted off again. “So, she believes there still might be a chance for me to redeem myself. That’s positive. Perhaps the others think so too..?” The thoughts reinforced his faith. He lowered his gaze down before lowering himself, taking a hold of the edge, and secured his way back down to the ground below the rock. Such actions devoured energy of a man like a felhound feeding itself on magic. “But she isn’t sure about meeting me however…” He mused on, and gazed about until finding the rocky, orange-coloured mountain that kept Fuselight on it. Pulling his cowl over his head to ward himself from the sun, he made his way back to the goblin town Jeremya would describe to be worse than the forges of Iron Forge, the Dwarven capital. “Alas, first I have to find Brother Herad. Let’s hope his madness hasn’t corrupted him to the bone yet.”

Later that day, at nightfall, Jeremya managed to talk to Herad already. He sat awkwardly at a table suited for goblins mostly, with a quill and bottle of ink as his arms. He asked Lady Estherat for permission to write to his wife but…

“Dear sister Farelin Kierstad,”

He paused for a moment, and searched within the turmoil of his own mind again. If one thing, it was perhaps wise to choose his words more careful now, this time. He rested his head within the palm of his left hand, tapping the quill in a decently paced monotone rhythm. He spent minutes contemplating regarding what he should write. He wanted to meet up with her, that much was certain. Something must’ve sparked her interest in meeting Lady Estherat. Was it actually being a naïve person? No, Jeremya doubted that. He recalled the conversation between the Lady and the Aspiring Shadowbreaker. Her faith was solid. Was it perhaps curiosity? Perhaps, he thought. Several moments passed again before he nodded to himself, and commenced writing.

“I’ve inquired about brother Herad. I know what you wish to know. I know a lot more about his state, and about that of my own. I think I might know one and another which would benefit the Chapter, but I might also know some stuff you’re interested in yourself. I feel extremely uncomfortable about writing of such matters, and definitely won’t do so either. I’ll meet under your conditions. But know I decline everything which involves other people, save from you and myself. Let me know.

Glory under the Light.”

He rolled up the parchment and took the candle – which was the only source that was shedding light into his dark room, and the only source of warmth too. How warm it was during the day, how freezing it was during night – and had a few tendrils of white wax seal the letter somewhat disorderly. Stuffing the letter into the mailbox, he shivered. He knew very well that he was threading on dangerous grounds. He also asked the Lady for permission to visit his…wife again, in case Farelin would be willing to meet up.

Farelin sat under a large oak tree, shaded from the sun by the branches of the trees that made up Elwynn Forest. Her blue eyes scanned the letter over and over again, an ongoing struggle taking place within her mind. She knew this was wrong, she knew it was stupid and she knew Jeremya probably thought she was insane for doing all of this. It didn't matter what they thought, she had her reasons and she was convinced that, in the long run, it would be for the best and that she was performing her Sacred Duty.

Taking a deep breath, Farelin lowered the letter she'd been reading and glanced towards Binky as the mare grazed nearby. Her mind raced, weighing and measuring her options. Finally, she made up her mind and got to her feet, once more wearing the Shadowbreaker armor and robes. Going to Binky's saddlebags, she retrieved a small writing kit and went back to her oak tree, sitting at its base and scribbling a quick message.

Sir,

I've decided to meet with you, against my better judgement. I will be dividing my instructions to assure that our meeting is indeed kept private from your end. I hope you trust me when I say that there will be no treachery from me and that I will be alone.

For now, I ask that you do the following: Go to Refuge Pointe in Arathi Highlands. I will leave further instructions for you there. I will tell the postmaster that the message I leave is for a Master J. Brooke. Offer that as your name, read the message and follow its directions to find my location.

Light watch over you.

~Farelin

Going to the inn in Goldshire, Farelin used a candle to seal the letter before mailing it off. Leaving Binky at the stable, she strode with purpose to the Flightmaster and hired a gryphon to take her to Arathi.

During the flight, she bowed her head and prayed for strength and forgiveness. If all went well, she would accomplish part of her goal tonight, Light willing.

"Thank you," Jeremya said as he walked away, opening the door and closing it behind him.

Farelin watched him go, her thoughts in turmoil. She let him walk away, fully aware that if anyone from the Chapter saw her in that moment, she would be branded a traitor, friend to heretics. Guilt consumed her conscience and she quickly turned away, lifting one hand to her mouth, closing her eyes firmly. This was madness...she must be losing her sanity to let Jeremya go like this. Her head screamed at her to chase after him and do everything in her power to subdue him and take him back to the Abbey.

Her heart, on the other hand, ached for him. In that moment, Farelin discovered her true weakness. Many within the Chapter saw only the dark side of a man or woman's choices. From what she gathered--and from what Jeremya had told her--few would take the time to listen to another's explanations.

Jeremya had made some difficult decisions. Could she really fault him for the choices he'd made? Until the day she found herself walking in Jeremya's shoes, she couldn't honestly say whether or not she would have done the same.

Dropping to her knees, Farelin joined her hands, pressing her knuckles against her forehead, her heart aching for the man who had just left. She felt pity and sorrow for his situation. She felt revulsion over the curse the foul witch had placed upon him. She felt guilt for her actions. Overall, she felt fear...fear of discovery by the Chapter, fear of treachery from Jeremya, and fear that her actions would one day bring about her demise.

"Why is it you label me as heretic and try to kill me, rather than lending me aid in my dark hours!?" Those words, spoken by Jeremyah not long ago, resonated in her mind, tormenting her over and over. She'd been raised a paladin, trained as a healer, and Jeremya was a soul who needed all that she had to offer. His pain called to her need to heal such deep wounds of the spirit. Tears pricked her eyes as she hunched over, joined hands tightening their grip on each other.

"Blessed Light," she prayed, her voice strained to prevent from wailing in despair. "Give me strength to bring salvation to one who has become lost in the Shadow. Let him be the instrument needed to bring down the cursed witch and free those souls of the Faithful she has captured and bound to herself! May the small hope kindled within him this night not be suppressed, may it grow until he finds the strength to deny the Shadow and walk into the Light once more."

Trembling, Farelin remained on her knees, hiding her face in her hands as she wept for Jeremya, sobbing wretchedly. It might be a sin to keep their meeting and correspondence a secret, but she couldn't turn her back on one who'd suffered as he had. She continued to pray for some time, weeping uncontrollably. Eventually, she left the small farmstead, climbing up onto her hired gryphon and heading south, letting the wind blow away the signs of her sorrow from her face.

She had learned much...good and bad. The lesson would not be lost on her. Should she ever choose to offer her heart to anyone, there would be no compromise: it would never be used as a weapon against her. It was secrecy or nothing...no one would have the right to know.

Her standards had been raised unreasonably high. She doubted anyone would ever be found worthy of her heart. So be it.

“Thank you.” Were the last words he uttered as he left the building where he had met sister Farelin Kierstad. It was quite cold on the gryphon that flew back to Fuselight, the current maw of Estherat.

The scene of the falling Vanquisher, Greagoir, flashed before his eyes. How Jeremya was knocked back by Lady Estherat’s magic and demon in the heat of the battle. How the Vanquisher turned to his loyal Shadowbreaker, and offered him a hand to get him back onto his feet. How Jeremya accepted the hand, and rushed his sword through the Vanquisher’s guts as he stood up, twisting it around in his intestines. Traitor…was the final thing he said to Jeremya, and that torn his soul.

Anger. Jeremya was furious. Was it an ongoing test of faith, and was he succeeding, or did he already fail terribly? Why was there so much confusion?

He then thought back about his wife. He hadn’t seen her for a bit now, because he spent his time on Farelin to aid him on his quest. She was a faithful woman and in fact, the very faithful person who turned Jeremya towards the Light. She taught him about Foal, Uther, the three virtues and so on. It was thanks to her Jeremya eventually stumbled upon the Holy Scriptures of Anethion, and joined the Chapter to become a Shadowbreaker. The woman was not only his infinite source of love, but as well the greatest beacon of Light he had ever found.

He recalled how he sat beside her bed, she being struck by illness. She coughed up black slime and could barely speak. Her face turned scrawny and her pain never seized. It felt as if someone kept stabbing her in her lungs, stomach and heart, she muttered to him. It slowly robbed her of her beauty and sanity. They tried several medics, healers, alchemists and what not. Even those who wielded the Light, but no, it was all futile. Incurable, is what the last medic told them. Until a dark skinned woman with fiery red hair entered their room, claiming she could certainly cure the disease. Jeremya’s mind was clouded in desperation and before he knew it, he was tricked into signing a contract where he’d obey this woman for ever, lest he wanted for his wife to die. He had never anticipated that the woman was a minion from the Nether. Perhaps his faith broke for a split second when the woman offered him to cure his wife. Perhaps…

Regardless, it was to either kill the Vanquisher, or let his wife die. No matter what choice he’d make, one of them would surely die. Even if he’d kill himself, his wife would die. The Vanquisher and his wife were both beacons of Light in his life. It was a tough dilemma and heart-tearing when he found out. His love for his wife got the better of him.

Jeremya stared into the distance as he still sat on his soaring gryphon, his cheeks were wet although there was no rain nor humidity… Look what happened to him. Lady Estherat poured eredar blood through his throat. He was addicted to demon blood now. She cursed him with magical gifts, showered him with luxury and corrupted other brothers and sisters. The Vanquisher’s gone, embraced by the Light. Who is the real victim here? Was it not Jeremya himself? Was it not Jeremya being tricked, tortured and unable to prevent the Lady from damaging the order he cared for so much? Why was he seen as traitor? He couldn’t comprehend in the slightest. The fact that atleast sister Farelin knew of his motives, however, sparked some more Light within the malefic ebon maze he tried to escape from.

Several days had gone by since Farelin had met with Jeremya. Guilt ate at her whenever she thought back on that day. She'd debated long and with difficulty before finally deciding to send that anonymous letter to Inquisitor (at the time) Melissa. She'd taken as many precautions as possible but she had no idea it would lead to this.

Farelin stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her. After several minutes of careful thinking, she began to write.

Sir,

I've been thinking very often of our meeting. The more I think about it, the more I want to shield you from that witch's influence. You need to be brought back to the Light and regain a positive influence in your life. What I mean to say is that I would like to meet with you again. I believe we have much to speak about and we need to focus on the good things, the things that will bring you hope and help guide you back to the Light and away from the evil influence that surrounds you.

If this is agreeable to you, we can meet again at the same place as before, you may name the date. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Farelin

Taking precautions as always, she rode to Goldshire with her sealed letter, depositing it in the mailbox. Instead of going straight back to the Abbey, she went for a ride, racing Binky across the forest glades. When that wasn't enough, she went back to the Abbey, got her sword and shield and went sparring on the training grounds until she was too exhausted to think. Guilt continued to gnaw at her conscience. Furious for herself, she went back to her room, knelt on the floor and began to pray, asking forgiveness for the treacherous feeling that haunted her.

Inside of a deserted lodge somewhere within the eastern hills of Loch Modan, Jeremya stood on the balcony admiring the morning vista.

“Hail Anethion.” Farelin greeted when she looked at Jeremya’s back, who turned around to face her. “Hail Anethion, sister.” he replied. The sight of her brightened him up again. Farelin too had grown into a beacon of Light and hope for Jeremya.

A gentle breeze was present alongside soothing chirping of the birds and the noise that came from other critters. It was a pleasant moment he hadn’t experienced for a while now, especially due to the thought that sister Farelin wished to meet him once more. Yes, he certainly was extremely glad that she wished to talk with him again. He could use good company. Jeremya had sent her a letter that he couldn’t travel that far away from Estherat another time, and gave her the directions to this private location.

Farelin advanced further onto the balcony until she stood at Jeremya’s side. She turned towards the awe-striking view and rested her hands on the banister. They inquired each other about their journey and had a brief laugh about why Jeremya had troubles finding this location himself. The dwarf who pointed out this lodge for him back at Thelsamar was drunken, he suspected.

“It’s good to know to know that at least someone’s by my side.” Jeremya said eventually, a warm and gentle smile pasted on his face. Farelin ducked her head at his remark for some reason, and although he had yet to avert his eyes from her, he didn’t notice. Perhaps he wasn’t even able to notice, as he simply couldn’t think ill of Farelin anymore. “I can't imagine how it feels being where you are. Everyone has the right to hope.” she said, and went to look back at Jeremya. A brief silence fell as the two looked at each other, offering the them a moment to muse. Farelin broke the silence: “Tell me something about yourself? Perhaps a fond memory you hold dear?” Jeremya finally lowered his gaze, peering at Farelin’s shadowbreaker garments. It didn’t take long for Jeremya to answer her question. “I remember when the Vanquisher informed me that I was to be promoted from aspirant to Shadowbreaker…”

“Were you married at that time?” she asked. “I was, yes. I was already married before I joined the Chapter. That too is a fond memory, of course.” Jeremya paused before proceeding, looked away and trailed off in his thoughts. “At the Cathedral. It was rather humble but…it was nice.” Farelin nodded slowly: “I don't think I'll ever be married, at this rate. All I hear are terrible tales of sorrow that happen to those married within the Chapter.”

“I had my fears too, to be honest…” came from Jeremya after a brief while. “…But I went on with everything, and it all went well for a long time too. Eventually I was convinced I had nothing to worry. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I got tricked.” he added, frowning.

“No, no...none of that. No frowning! This is supposed to be pleasant.” She said in regards to his frown, smiling warmly. Jeremya looked back at Farelin and arched a brow at her: “A-ha, my mistake…” He couldn’t help but to smirk and, in turn, she chuckled at his expression. The conversation didn’t seize to be pleasant, and Jeremya loved it. It’s been a while now he had seen a genuine, non-malefic smile.

“Tell me more...what do you plan to do after you're free of the witch?” Farelin questioned, and received a stern reply: “I will proceed tending to me Sacred Duty” a spark reignited his tired eyes. Sister Farelin went on about that Jeremya and his wife should take a vacation, but he declined such thoughts. No, he could never take a break from his Sacred Duty, knowing that others suffer the same fate as him, or worse. That’d be the worst case of selfishness, in his opinion. He also argued that one of the recitations states that the warriors of the Light should get their hands on all the possible time they could get in the fight against evil.

“Really, you should go home one day, approach your wife and say, "My darling--" ...wait, what's her name again?” she continued. Jeremya smiled weakly as he mentioned her name: “Joanna...” Farelin took a moment to look at him intently, trying to figure out whether he spoke the truth or not. He did seem genuine about it. “That’s a beautiful name…” she murmured gently. “…My darling Joanna, if you could go anywhere with me, where would it be? And then go there and spend some time away...it's not unreasonable.” But no, Jeremya shook his head, declining the thought yet again: “In my eyes, that’d be very, very unreasonable for me to do.”

“You’re an odd duck.” Farelin spat out, laughing out loud. “I…I’ll take that as…a compliment…” he commented, obviously needing to laugh too but suppressed it.

“You should laugh more, you know. It helps. Like crying...my mother always told me to go ahead and cry when I need to. It's unhealthy to hold it back. Same goes with laughter, in my opinion.” Farelin nodded sagely at her own words. “I'm a healer, I know these things”

The rest of the morning ran just as nice and well. He inquired for some more information, showing interest for his brothers and sisters, whilst she answered, and tried to give him more hope. He told her that he was addicted to demon blood, and she told him that he could overcome such an addiction. Trust funnelled relentlessly from Jeremya to Farelin. He even asked if she could perhaps keep an eye out on his home where his wife resides. She declined for now, in order to avoid any other risks, but wouldn’t mind to meet her in the future, when Jeremya would be free from his Lady’s wicked, strangulating grasp.

Jeremya frowned and ran a hand over his face in frustration. It was time for his departure again. An hour seemed to have lasted a minute, but the final thing he wished for was to fabricate suspicions within Lady Estherat’s cunning mind. He informed her: “Anyhow…the Lady thinks I’m training myself, I should return. She’s too intelligent to not become suspicious like this.”

“She can whistle up a tree for all I care.” Farelin replied.

“If only it were that easy, sister.”

“I know…” she exhaled in a slow sigh, nodding regretfully. “…Don’t lose hope, brother.”

Farelin hesitated, but stepped closer to embrace Jeremya in her arms. He froze for a moment, letting the moment sink in before he too spread his arms and wrapped them about her. “Faith shall overcome.” they ensured eachother. A minute now seemed to last an hour, fortunately. Jeremya even mentioned that regardless of what he thought previously, he was now glad Farelin met up with Estherat, for else he'd never met her. Farelin held on quite long, as if needing the hug more than he did, and eventually released him again. Before she knew it, she was looking at his back again, until he disappeared from her view.

Jeremya left with a satisfied, invigorating feeling. He knew she couldn’t really do much more for him, making his problems vanish into oblivion and such, but he was aware that just these mere friendly conversations were already of greater importance to him. This was exactly what he needed for now: A friend where he could build upon.

It was so late. The sun would be rising in only a few hours. Farelin knelt on the floor in her room, bare to the waist, a ribbon still holding her hair back. She stared at the stained glass window, trying to see the stars beyond, through the tree branches. Today had been an important day, she'd been given such responsibilities: she'd been inspected for corruption, then she'd performed her first conversion, she'd been given the task of whipping Brother Vane after the inquiry, then the Grand Inquisitor had said such things...

Guilt ate at her conscience and she looked down, at her lap, where the cat-o'-nine-tails rested. She'd gotten it from the armory, where the whips and lashes were kept. Farelin turned the handle over in her lap, holding it with both hands. She'd never done this before and she'd never considered it until now.

"What's her name...?"
"Joanna..."

Farelin bowed her head, holding the cat to her chest, an intense feeling of wretchedness causing her to hunch over. The woman was going to die, of that she had no doubt. And Jeremyah had called her his beacon...she was his lantern in the darkness, guiding him towards a brighter path. And because of her, Farelin, Jeremyah was going to lose that beacon. What was it the Grand Inquistor had said? Something about humans tricking themselves into thinking it was the Light guiding them when it was truly what their heart wanted.

She was so tired...it was all becoming so blurry. She just wanted to sleep but before she could permit that, she had one thing to do.

"Pain purifies the soul," Farelin whispered, straightening slowly. Staring at the stained glass, she took a deepy, shaky breath, then she whipped the cat over her shoulder. The young Shadowbreaker exhaled harshly as the lash struck, her bare skin turning red. Three more times, she struck herself, tears blurring her vision. At the fourth, she switched the cat from her right hand to her left, striking herself four more times. When she was done, she caught her breath, the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. Tilting her head back, she dropped the cat, letting it fall to the floor. Her hands joined, fingers lacing together. Her thumbs caught hold of the chain of her Anethionean Cross, bringing it closer to her lips.

Blinded by tears, her back gone red from the lash, blood slowly trickling down her skin, she closed her eyes, praying, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Blessed Light, full of grace, have mercy upon those who suffer. Shine down upon Brother Jeremya, for his need for salvation is great. Shine down upon Joanna, whose life will soon be delivered to you. Forgive me for what I have done...though it is part of my Sacred Duty to fulfill the orders of the Grand Inquisitor, I cannot forgive myself. Bless the Anethioneans, for we seek to bring Light to those who stand in the darkness. Forgive Brother Gaston Vane for his sins, that he may accept Anethion's teachings in full. Bless the Shadowbreakers who continue to fight in Your name. Bless the Witch Hunters, who strive to perform their Sacred Duty. Bless Grand Inquisitor Melissa, for she is responsible for all our lives now. Protect Inquisitor Thonius, wherever he may be. And bless my parents, for having directed me towards Your Glory. May it be so."

Trembling, feeling cold at her front, the skin of her back hot from its wounds, Farelin curled up on the floor, denying herself the comfort of her bed. Hugging herself, still bare to the waist, she stared at the wall, trying to force herself to sleep but finding herself unable to close her eyes. When the sun rose, she gave up and pushed herself into a sitting position, looking longfully at her bed, her back aching horribly.

Giving in, she snatched up her blanket, hugging it to her chest, and lay back down on the floor, adjusting the blanket so that it pillowed her head slightly. Humming quietly, Farelin forced herself to relax, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

Knock knock…

Joanna blinked her eyes at the sound resonating from the wooden door downstairs. Who could it possibly be at this time? Jeremya? Tensed yet curious, she walked down the stairs and made her way towards the door. Resting her ear on it, she asked “Who is it?”

“Name is Jack Williams, miss. Was wondering if I could ask you some questions.” Came from outside. Joanna pondered about the name. Jack Williams?

“Questions about what..?” she replied, looking worriedly at the door. “There has been some thugs running about this area and well… I am a concerned neighbour. I just moved here you see, and I am a protective man.”

She unlocked the door but only opened it for an inch and glanced through the narrow gap at the stranger, stumbling upon a warm smile he carried. “Evening, miss. I hope I am not disturbing you, but I run a shop just around the corner of here and there have been some thugs trying to rob me lately. Have you seen some people running past here lately? Maybe dark dressed?”

“I must say I’ve not, no. But I hear there are troubles of this nature nearby at the Dwarven District more often.”

The man coughed dryly, still baring a polite smile. “Oh I see. Well, mind if I ask for your name, miss?”

Yawning somewhat, she answers: “It’s Joanna, sir.” It was getting later and later. The man covered his mouth and started coughing again. “Excuse me miss Joanna, seems I’m a bit over worked. Joanna nodded absent-minded, but glanced briefly beyond the man, being cautious. She turns her attention back on the man as he kept coughing. “Sir, are you ill?”

“Well, I’d hate to bother you for a glass of water.” the man said, his speech occasionally obstructed by the turmoil from his throat, it turning worse. As she looked at the man, she sighed quietly. Hesitating, she opened the door further, leaving room for the man to enter.
Inside it was rather warm and cozy. Most of the furniture was crafted out of wood, red curtains hanging before the windows and several candles lit up the small room.

“Come on in then. But I will have to ask for you to leave after this one glass of water. It’s getting late. Do have a seat.” She gestured for the chairs. As the man sat himself down on a somewhat uncomfortable wooden chair with a thin, red, linen pillow, Joanna went for the table where she poured some water from a flagon into an old, worn-out mug. She handed it to the man who in turn drank it, and gave her his gratitude. “Thank you miss Joanna.” he said, after clearing his throat.

“No problem. Is it already turning better?” she asked him. He stated it was indeed getting better, and offered Joanna yet another smile. She felt more comfortable about the stranger now, finally managing to smile back. She always found it satisfying to be of aid to other people.

They went on talking about one thing and another. About Joanna’s husband, Jeremya. She told him he was on a test of faith given by the chapter. The man listened intently, until they swapped the conversation to another subject. Faith. “I’m glad that you are a person of faith too, sir.” But eventually, far too many minutes had already passed for Joanna. She was getting really tired now.

The man rested his gaze on the nearby bookshelves. “You’ve got quite some reading material there. Would you mind if I’d borrow one? To keep my head away from work when I’m in bed, you know?”

Joanna headed for the bookcase; the man stood up from his seat and followed. “Well, sure. As long you do retrieve them. What is it you enjoy, fiction or perhaps something more educational?”

She couldn’t breathe anymore, suffocating. What was happening? Everything turned blank. She struggled for a bit, but the darkness overwhelmed her sight and she passed out.

Next think she knew she was slapped gently on her cheek. “Waky waky eggs and bacy…” Awakening, she groaned a little. But then she froze, realizing what was going on, and stared at the man from the corners of her eyes. She tried to get away from the chair she was sitting on, to flee, but her efforts were futile. She was bound stuck and gagged. Trapped.

With that same warm smile as before, the man looked at her and leaned over, whispering: “Good girl...now...I'm going to un-gag you but you are not going to scream or yell, because if you do I will have to kill you and run, but if you are a good little girl and do as I tell you to then I promise no one will hurt you, okay?”

Shivering, the poor woman nodded faintly. Fear had struck her heart, mind and soul. The man nodded with his ever-lasting smile, and removed the gag. “You are going to talk calmly and not too loud, if you talk to loud I will not be pleased.” he continued.

Joanna swallowed, still staring at the man. “Y- yes, alright…”

“Good, now...sorry about the choking you, I'm sure I could have avoided it somehow, but...” the man went to lean against the table before Joanna and looked directly at her. “…but tell me everything you know about your husband Jeremya, and if I sense you are lying to me...I'll take a finger for each of them. Understood?”

Arching a brow at the mention of her husband, she besieged him with several questions. “My husband? What is wrong with him? Is he alright? You don’t want t-“ The man grunted in annoyance and slid a knife across her thighs, cutting off her questions and forcing her to freeze once more. Intimidating. “Tell me about Jeremya and do not lie to me.”

She stared at him in a moment of silence before nodding. She was confused. She truly didn’t have a clue as to what in the world was going on. She never knew of Estherat’s demonic grasp on Jeremya. Panic crept up on her back and her eyes turned wet, tears trickling down her cheeks. She told him how he looked like and that he was a Shadowbreaker of the chapter. Her mind was full and she really didn’t know what else to tell to the man.

“Ever heard of Sophyra?” he suddenly inquired.

“So-…Sophyra? No…who is she..?”
“She’s your husband's lover.” he lied. “So if you’re keeping any secrets from me, it’s best for you to spit it out now.”

Joanna fell silent again for a moment, the words slowly sinking in. “His what..?”

“You heard me right, miss Joanna…so please tell me…what are you hiding for him?”

She broke, drained of most energy, and could control the tears that ran out of her eyes no more. She was utterly confused, and the frightening part was that the man seemed to extract pleasure from what he was doing. Hysterically, she screamed “No! He would never betray me like that! Please, I beg of you, don’t harm me! I really do not know what you’re looking for! Please tell me what he has done?!” Her expression was desperate. The man leaned a tad forward again, giving her a pleading look. Joanna frowned tiredly, hung her head and murmured a silent prayer.

“Your husband has done some terrible things, miss Joanna. Are you certain you know of nothing?”

She seized her prayer at the question, and looked back up. Her voice was weak, but sincere. “I hereby swear in the presence of the Holy Light that I know of absolutely nothing.”

This time, the man sighed, and his smile had vanished. “Thank you, miss Joanna. You weren’t very helpful, but there’s nothing to worry. The Light will surely embrace your soul in the here-after.”

Before Joanna could respond, he locked his hands on her throat, and forced it shut, firmer and firmer. She tried to resist, but lacked the strength for it. What happened here was an event that went beyond her comprehension. Apparently, her time had come. As the last breath was squeezed out of her, she felt coldness pass through her skin into her body, to the very core of her bones.

The man maintained the grasp of death for a while, ensuring there’d not be a single sign of life left. Whistling a faint tune, he wrapped a rope around the still warm neck, connected it to the banister upstairs and hurled Joanna’s corpse down. As she dangled and twirled above the floor, Anethionean Witch-hunter Hawkeye made her seem suicidal, and sneaked off into the frigid night.

Jeremya made way into the biggest building of Fuselight where Lady Estherat usually homed herself, his crimson blade drawn.

“She’s dead! Gone!”

Estherat was surprised herself, tried to calm him down and offered him a glass of water. But he barely heard her. He was furious, overwhelmed by emotions, traumatized by the scene of the cold corpse of his dangling wife at the ceiling, which was now carved into his mind. Her skin had turned pale. He touched her feet, they were cold. Her eyes stared into the abyss of nothingness. There were even flies gathering on his beloved, faithful woman. The vermin smelled the scent of rot already. It was too late to attempt to bring her back from the dead. Her soul was on the other side now, for good, so he brought her down and cried when he burned her body to ashes. He cried like the defeated man he was. He had opened his heart, but it was entered and destroyed from within.

He walked further to Lady Estherat.

Darkness. It was nothing like the followers of the Light would tell you. It’s different than the feeling of being lost. It’s actually quite calming once the bright great Light isn’t casting itself into your iris any longer. Darkness, there’s so much more to it. You’re finally able to head into various directions, rather than that very same linear illuminated path you used to wander. Within darkness, you’re finally able to be who you actually are. Nobody’s watching you.

Jeremya fell to one knee before Lady Estherat. “Turn me into the most powerful being you have ever created…”

Some were going to have to pay by suffering agony not even demons would wish to be subject to.

Despite going to find Sister Gwendelyn for confession, Farelin's spirit remained restless. She took her horse out and rode around the grounds surrounding the Abbey but it didn't seem like it was enough. Sighing morosely, she left Northshire and went to Goldshire, hiring a gryphon and riding to the north, towards a familiar farmstead.

The farm remained untouched, not having changed in the least since her last visit, when she'd met with Jeremya. Going into the house, she lit a fire in the hearth and sat close to it, watching the flames, her conscience in turmoil over the events from the past few days. It felt nice to be alone, for once. She enjoyed the company of the other Anethioneans but now she needed to be alone with her thoughts for a little while. Maybe even spend the night here...

A sound caused her to turn, alarming her. The door had opened and heavy footsteps sounded down the stairs, bringing someone into the house. When Farelin saw who it was, her jaw dropped, the blood draining from her face.

"Oh, no..." she breathed, her throat constricting with shame.

"There you are," Jeremya said. His gaze met hers, piercing and harsh, but he smiled somewhat at her. "So...she's dead."

Farelin forced herself not to flinch. The guilt flared once more and she swallowed hard. "Brother...please understand, I never wanted that to happen...why do you think I didn't let you tell me where she lives?"

Jeremya continued to stare her down. He wore the same red and black armor that she'd seen him wear, last time. "I sort of told you that myself, unfortunately," he replied.

Farelin answered quickly, almost blurting out the words, "And I'm so sorry...she ordered me to meet with you..."

The expression on Jeremya's face shook her to the core. A vein in his forehead was pumping mercilessly. His smile faded as his expression darkened. "Can you feel my anger...Farelin?"

She nodded slowly, her bottom lip trembling. Farelin stubbornly lifted her chin, hoping the gesture would renew her determination. It didn't. "I sense it. And I also sense that you're lost to us forever now. Lady Estherat's letter made it clear, but I see it for myself, now."

Jeremya 's hands, trembling with anger, moved towards his necklace. He brought the necklace to his lips, consuming all of the demon blood in the vial. He brought his hand up to his face, whiping the back of it across his mouth, his eyes widening. "Oh, no. I'm not lost to you...all of you are lost to the world."

At those words, Farelin knew it was inevitable. She reached back, unslinging her shield and placing it on her arm as her right hand gripped Discipline's hilt and she unsheathed her sword. "My faith is my shield, the Light my sword...I will not doubt."

Jeremya continued to stare at her, the demon blood coursing through him like wildfire in a dry field. "The Light heeds no words. It heeds actions, Farelin. Actions. Deeds. It's about what you do, not what you say." He paused, staring intently at her. "It shall not heed you today." As she watched, Jeremya drew his sword, the long red blade as forboding as she remembered.

Not waiting for him to charge, Farelin reversed the grip on her sword and thrust her hand out towards him, sending a Judgement spell his way. As the spell struck, Jeremya lurched back, screaming in agony. His eyes blazed with fury as he became enraged. Both hands gripped his sword and she watched, horrified, as the magic infused the blade, lining it with unholy fire. Without warning, Jeremya charged, raising his sword, intending to cleave her in two.

Farelin raised her shield and met the strike, crying out at the force of the blow, surprised her arm didn't shatter from it. The attack forced her to take a step back and she cursed herself for a fool. Jeremya had managed to corner her. However, the grieving man's fury knew no bounds and he swung his sword like a madman, striking at anything. Seeing his eyes glowing with a fel hue, Farelin's heart went cold with fear. Waiting, she let him make a wild swing and ducked under, sidestepping quickly to the left. Swinging her shield around, she bashed it against Jeremya's side, causing him to stumble. The tall man slammed into the wooden furniture, his sword causing the wood to catch fire. Jeremya regained his balance but the damage had already been done. Flames licked at his cloak, making it catch fire. He turned to face her, not realizing that his clothing were about to catch fire.

"Do you know why the burning legion wishes to destroy all that exist, Farelin? Do you?" he demanded of her, his voice tinged with venom.

Glancing to her left, Farelin decided to take her chance. She shook her head, then bolted for the door, racing up the stairs and slamming her shoulder into the door to let herself out. She breathed in the fresh air and quickly turned around, expecting to find him racing behind her. Much to her surprise, Jeremya was still inside. Eyes widening, Farelin planted her feet into a fighting stance, waiting to see if he'd stay there. When she heard his voice, a chill went down her spine.

"To put a definite end to all the heresy, sins and eternal torment, Farelin," he bellowed from inside the farm house. "No existence means no evil!"

Furious, she shouted back, her voice hoarse. "And that's what you want, is it? The end of all things?!"

After a moment, Jeremya appeared. His cloak, tabard and robes had all caught fire but he didn't seem to notice. Instead, he gripped his blazing sword and hurled it at Farelin, the fire flaring as it sliced through the air. It struck her in the shoulder, clattering to the ground. Farelin's armor split from the blow, making her cry out in pain. She stumbled back a few steps and fell down to one knee, her gaze shifting quickly to stare at Jeremya.

The fire had done its damage and his robes were nothing but tattered shreds. She watched as Jeremya ripped them off his torso, then began clawing at his breastplate, the metal so heated from the inferno within the house that his skin had burned beneath the armor. "Blessed Light, give me strength," Farelin breathed, struggling to her feet as Jeremya approached her. His eyes glowed with the fel energies that raced through his veins now. Bare to the waist, his skin burned in more than one area, he raised his fists, fully intending to pummel her to the ground.

"You're mad!" Farelin exclaimed, her voice breaking with emotion.

"Am I?!" Jeremya snarled in response. His fist struck hard against her shield but he was heedless of the pain, unaware of anything but the need to inflict hurt upon the woman before him, going out of control and beyond reason. "You tear my heart and soul apart and you call me mad?!" he raged at her, swinging at her shield again and again.

His words, however, hit deeper than his fists ever could. Farelin's eyes filled with tears as she met his punches with her shield. " I wanted to save you! I swear, by the Light, I never wanted her to die!" she screamed at him, her voice hoarse from the constriction in her throat caused by the dismay she felt at his pain.

As they fought, she realized now that a foul stench filled the air and that it emanated from Jeremya. The veins in his body were swollen, showing against his skin with an unhealthy green glow, the scent of fel magic causing the air to reek. Farelin shook her head, shocked at the sight. " By the Light, Jeremya...you're beyond saving now. Light's mercy be upon you, my Brother."

Weeping uncontrollably, Farelin lunged forward, lifting her shield slightly and thrusting the tip of her sword forward. It plunged into Jeremya's gut, sliding into his flesh. Just as she did so, Jeremya roared menacingly, raising his fist. He froze as the sword gutted him. Blood, darker than its normal red hue, began sliding down the length of Farelin's sword. Farelin met Jeremya's gaze as the blood slowly slid down her sword, her eyes filled with sadness, almost begging him for forgiveness by a look alone.

"I'm so sorry..." Tears continued to slide down her cheeks. Blood began pouring out of Jeremya's mouth. As his life force seeped from his wounds, the engorged veins began to decrease in size, returning to normal. With a small sound of dismay, Farelin stepped back, pulling her sword free from his body. Jeremya fell to his knees, looking up at her in disbelief. So much blood...it pooled on the ground around him. Farelin wept openly now, never looking away from him. "Brother, forgive me...I wanted nothing but happiness for you...I wish I'd never let that vile bitch of a Grand Inquisitor see that damned report," she sobbed.

Once the words had been spoken, Jeremya closed his eyes and fell forward, his body drained of life. Farelin remained where she was, sheathing her sword and placing her shield on her back again, grateful that her helm hadn't been needed that night. Hiding her face in her hands, she wept uncontrollably, grieving for what she'd done.

Some time later, riding her gryphon to the south, her face pale but determined, she returned to the Abbey, a sack tied to her saddle, blood staining the cloth.