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Liero walked on the grounds of Abhorsen's house. Her father, the Abhorsen was off fighting the Dead, and she was stuck here, "studying." The House could be the most boring place in the world. Abhorsen rarely let her leave without guidance, now that rumors of Dead were flying everywhere. There was noone to talk to here- her mother hated the House, and lived in Belisaere. Her parents had broken up 5 years ago, when Liero was 12. They had gotten into a fight, and refused to see each other ever since. Her mother had grown tired of the Abhorsen's continual absences-she did not seem to understand the "saving the world" rhetoric.
Liero was desperatly bored. She know the basics of Necromancy and Anti-Necromancy-why did her father insist on her "innocence?" She resolved to find some way to escape from here...All she needed was an excuse...

Dancing flames roared all around. A crying young child reached out toward a woman whose flesh was covered in flames. Tears gushed out of the eyes of both. The crying girl, only covered by burnt rags, crawled toward the woman, pressing her soot-streaked face up against that of the burning figure. The little girl was trembling, biting her lower lip so hard her teeth went right through, sending tiny trails of blood down her chin.
The woman lifted her head up, caressing the girl's face in her hand.
"Hush, now, darling. It's going to be okay. Don't cry. Don't....cry...I...lo..." and the woman's eyes slowly closed.

The girl's eyes widened, her tiny mouth hanging loose. But a split second later, it was wide open, letting free an unearthly wail of pain and sadness. It brought the attention of a man, who picked up the screaming girl desperately trying to clutch the hand of the woman. And as the woman's hand slipped from the girl's, the little one passed out.



Sounds of screaming echoed throughout the village in the Northwest Kingdom. The wailing made Sayrike sit straight up in bed, a cold sweat pouring down her face. She felt her mouth, making sure it wasn't her screaming. Luckily, this time it wasn't. Her short, wavy black hair was damp from the nightmare. The hair framed her pale face with big, brown eyes. The paleness was not from the dream though; she had always been that whiter shade of pale. A twinge in the back of her mind made Sayrike shudder with fear, and it seemed connected to the cries of pain ringing through the village. Sayrike normally would have hid under her covers, but something made her wonder what was happening this time. Quickly getting dressed and strapping on her dagger, the young woman headed out to see what was up. Something seemed to pull her to the source of the cries. It had happened only a few times before, but it seemed that this event would not let her go as usual.

kestrel sat on her bed in her small room staring out of the window at the frozen glacier and the snow that was falling steadilly onto the ground, the sun was rising blood red behind the glacier causing a magnificent spectrum of red in her room. she focused on a single snow flake and watched it fall to the ground and murge into the rest of the white.kestrel slowly walked to the window and pushed it open, a wall of cold air hit her waking her instently from her half sleep.

It would be a few more days walk to get to the house. She looked around she could sence something dead near by. I need to reach water' she could see the Ratterin in the distance but it far far off. The sun would keep the dead off for a few more hours but water would keep them away the rest of the night.

After a long walk she reached the river, following it untill there was a small island in the middle. Wadding to the island she sat down, her hands resting on the mahogany handles of the bells. The bells to lay the dead to rest. She still had a lot to learn from the book of the dead. Looking up she noticed the sun setting. Standing up she took out her sword and thought up the marks to create a diamoned of protection. Once the charter fire was marking the line of the diamoned, she took off the bandolier and her sword and feel asleep.

Hedge could not keep it up. He swung Saraneth again, ensnaring more troops. Hedge leaped in the air, kicking a guard and slashing at another, before landing on another guard, stabbing him. Hedge decided that certain powers he tried to keep veiled would have to be used.
Now.
Hedge felt inside him, seeking that point of power, as he did so, his body continued fighting, and he began to chant a Free Magic spell. He found the point, and released the energy kept there.
Hedge's hands began to flame, and his eyes seem to glow hellishly. He moved faster, and his blows grew stronger. Sheathing Saraneth, he freed his left hand. His sword flames grew, and seemed to leap as if alive. With his free hand, he grabbed a soldier, who began to scream, and threw him into his fellows. With the Dead Hands defeated, it appeared Hedge would have to finish this himself, he thought, as he sliced through another soldier...

((the charter))

The door shut quietly behind Sayrike. She unsheathed her dagger, making sure the charter spells she had placed on it were still connected and in full power. They were spells for strength, speed, and endurance, keeping the blade and her strokes unwavering. It was her duty as a member of her village to see if whatever was happening had anything to do with the villagers from her village. A fresh wave of wailing reached Sayrike's ears, making her flinch once again. They sounded so much like the ones in her reoccuring nightmare.
I should really place a set of charter marks of silence on my lips at night, she thought. Charter magic wasn't hard; she had a knack for memorization and slight improvisation. Her main problem came with the interaction of the Dead. Mentally, she had no worries whatsoever about them. It was the feeling that came with the deceased that made her nervous. Oh, after all these years, whenever she came close to someone Dead, her body and mind ached. It was an intangible and undescribable feeling; every sense tingled, every nerve thrilled at the wisp of the Dead. Her body and mind yearned for something, something that she couldn't quite reach despite all efforts. Sometimes she just felt like withering on the floor out of sheer agony of the ache. It didn't physically hurt; just a simple yearn, like her soul trying to jump out of her body. It was this that turned Sayrike away from her contact with the Dead.
Other than that, her only other problem was the one that came with the presence of fire. That was easy to explain-- her nightmare made sure of that.

Sayrike climbed up the stairs of one of the two watchtowers her village had, looking for the source of the disturbance in the night. She saw it, off to east of her village, a few miles away.