Every time he had been in the Trench, Mehrin had encountered flying sand, whether it was thrown by him or at him. He had learned to watch for it. As the handful of sand flew towards his face, Mehrin pivoted to his left, against his instinctual reaction to go right. That reaction had caused him many bruises in his training. As he stepped free of the flying sand, Mehrin saw the cavalier rising from the dusty ground. On one hand, he could easily keep him down there. On the other hand, this was just far too much fun to end so quickly. Keeping his distance, Mehrin allowed Carnhain to stand. "You've got some guts, then," Mehrin taunted. The man's tactics were quite solid, too; he put up his broadsword in favor of the lance. "Not too much for brains, though," Mehrin added as Carnhain began to advance.

The lance would make a conventional hand-to-hand fight a bit more difficult. This, of course, meant Mehrin was more than excited for it. A feral grin was firmly plastered onto his face, his hazel eyes shining sadistically. It was almost as if he didn't have a blunted lance tip a mere two feet from his chest. It wasn't that important anyway. There were tell-tale signs that any opponent would give away before they-

Mehrin's instincts reacted before he could even process what he had seen. He pivoted on his left foot, leaning backward slightly to avoid the sudden stab from the short lance. Not losing a moment, Carnhain swung the long weapon at Mehrin's head. Almost contemptuously, Mehrin caught the shaft in his hands and gave it a sharp tug. Unsurprisingly, it came out of the slightly surprised man's hands. "Hmmm. I think this belongs to you," Mehrin said lightly as he threw the lance back to Carnhain, striking him in the belly before he could react.

Slightly winded, Carnhain probably didn't see Mehrin dash past him. He most definitely didn't see Mehrin twist at the waist, the back of his right hand connecting with the back of his skull, hard enough to hurt, but not enough to stun. He wasn't done playing, yet. As the man staggered away from him, Mehrin's hand went to the bullwhip on his waist. The unique sound of leather cutting the air, followed by a loud crack were enough to tell anyone what had happened. Except for Carnhain, who wouldn't have heard anything before feeling a sharp sting on his backside where the whip struck him.

"Are you sure that you want to continue?" Mehrin called tauntingly, cracking the whip above the other man's head once to punctuate the remark. "It's only going to get worse for you, you know."

Smiling quietly to himself and seemingly lost in his music, the man known as Jaros Nameros was sitting at one of the tables near the back, entertaining some of the wedding guests. If they would have known what Jaros was smiling about, the man was sure that they would have been fleeing in panic. Finely-woven threads of Illusion disguised his true features to something a bit plainer and less noticable, and a similar web hid his ability to channel; with everything inverted, no one would ever know that the gleeman-turned-court bard bore another face and name. A name that, he knew, would cause just as much panic, if not more, as what he was about to do. The Chosen were loose, and Asmodean was out for blood.

This would not be the first time that Asmodean had done something similar. In what these primitives had called the Age of Legends, there were originally more Chosen than what these people knew. Their constant infighting had seen many of them slain, either in defense of their life or in assault of another's life. As a matter of fact, Asmodean had done something similar to this once before...

Meldar Ciron Lacrimas had been one of Joar Addam Nessosin's biggest rivals throughout their schooling. The man somehow managed to outdo him in some way or another, be it in classes, in the musical ensembles, or in their composition. Secretly, Joar Addam had always harbored the hope that the man would lose his abilities in some tragic accident, but that had never come to pass. Until Joar Addam had thrown off the foolishness of the Light in order to achieve an eternity of music.

Meldar Ciron had been awarded yet again for his so-called talent, and it was during his acceptance speech that the newly-christened Asmodean had struck. Meldar Ciron may have been one of the most renowned composers of his Age, but he couldn't channel. And neither could anyone else in the room. Wartime had drawn most of the Servants to the front, leaving Joar Addam Nessosin as their only representative.

In the middle of Meldar Ciron's acceptance speech, Joar Addam rose and moved to the stage, a web of Air keeping everybody but himself from moving. As he stepped to the podium, Joar Addam spared Meldar Ciron a sneer before hoisting him into the air. "Too long you have taken from me what is rightfully mine. Too long you have wrongfully believed yourself my better. No more. I serve a new master now. For your arrogance, I sentence you to a world without your passion."

With a wicked grin, Asmodean set a web of Fire and Air around Meldar Ciron's hands and feet while fine flows of Fire entered the man's ears, boring out the nerves and organs essential to hearing. The agonized screams of the man were more pleasant than his music had ever been. The screams became more frantic as a web of Air seized onto his tongue and pulled it taut. A wild look entered Meldar Ciron's eyes as he tried to shake his head and beg for mercy. There would be none. With a wet, tearing sound, Meldar Ciron's tongue left his mouth, which immediately filled with blood.

Manipulating the flows of Air that suspended him, Joar Addam forced Meldar Ciron's head into a position where he could see his hands and feet. Then he touched each web with a flow of Spirit to activate them. The hard gaze never leaving his eyes, Joar Addam watched as Meldar Ciron's extremities reddened, then blackened, then burst into flame, bringing a bubbling scream of agony from the bloody opening that was the man's mouth. Soon, there was nothing left but heat-twisted bone. Another web of Air snapped away bones like twigs. "Thus is the price for rising above your place, Meldar Ciron Lacrimas," Joar Addam said coldly, bringing the man's face close to his. For a moment, their eyes met, agonized and panicked blue gazing into the cold and dark. Then two flows of Air plucked those cursed eyes from Meldar Ciron's skull.

Returning to the present, Asmodean realized that his music had taken on a decidedly unpleasant tone. With a rueful shake of his head, he addressed his audience, "I apologize for that. I felt that I would give you a preview of a piece that I plan to perform later today. Never fear, it has a cheerful and happy ending." Gathering his velvet cape around him, Asmodean moved on to the next group of guests, his fingers picking deftly across the strings of the harp.

With a look of feigned boredom, Mehrin perused the selection of weapons. He had had one specially made to his specifications... there! Hefting it once, Mehrin dropped his bullwhip onto the table carelessly and retrieved one of the more orthodox ones. The barbs and small razors woven into the one he normally used would certainly maim and most likely kill. Mehrin took a moment to bind the whip to his belt before taking his place at the other side of the Trench. Stretching his arms and shoulders, Mehrin hastily tossed his hat to one side, pulled his shirt over his head and rolled his neck, loosening the muscles and causing the whipping scars on his back to contort into shapes that were even more unpleasant on the eyes than normal.

Mehrin quickly assessed his opponent. Carnhain's form was really decent, and with that lance, he'd have a range advantage against Mehrin's claymore. However, there was something else showing through the man's eyes: uncertainty. The realization of what he had done was finally sinking in. Congratulations, Carnhain, you have instigated your own brutal beating, Mehrin thought wryly. With practiced ease, Mehrin brought the claymore to bear, the blade slightly angled across his body. Before he could begin his advance, though, a thought struck him.

Taking a step away from Carnhain, Mehrin stood upright and allowed the tip of the claymore to bury itself in the sand. Then, with a slightly sadistic grin, he called to the other man, "Let's make things a bit more interesting, shall we?" Not even waiting for the man's reply, Mehrin lifted the claymore into a left-handed salute, then tossed it to one side of the Trench. The move obviously wasn't one that Carnhain was expecting, and his shock allowed Mehrin to close in past lance range. The lance forgotten, Carnhain immediately struck out with his broadsword, a stab that would have taken Mehrin in the chest if he hadn't rolled around it to sieze Carnhain by his extended wrist. It was a simple task to throw the man off-balance.

Turning, Mehrin grinned again and put his booted heel against Carnhain's backside as he staggered past, knocking the man to the ground. With a laugh, he stepped back and let the other man stand up. "Get comfortable down there, Carnhain. You couldn't even give me a cold with the way you try to wave that thing around."

I second the nomination!

*grins evilly*

Bring it.

Question: if we were to start over, what would we do about the character situation? I mean, would everybody have to start over, or would the 'time warp' just bring everybody back to said time? Other than that bit of curiosity, I'm kinda neutral on the subject.

Out of everything that Aldar expected, the smaller hand slipping into his own calloused hand was not one of them. "Sir, could we see the Commander, please? Before I go I'd like to see him." Aldar took his attention from the road to focus on the young girl. She was smiling as winningly as she possibly could, he guessed, her eyes sparkling despite the obvious amount of tiredness that he was showing. Light, if the Commander can say 'no' to a face like that, he has no heart!

Returning the smile, Aldar said, "I don't see why not. We'd have to find him first, but-" A large, black hat stepping into the stables cut off Aldar's reply. He looked up the street to double-check, and was rewarded with the sight of the Commander stepping into the building's more shady interior. It's about bloody time, Aldar thought wryly. "You'll never believe this. I just saw the Commander go into the stable, so that'll take care of that errand, too." His smile never fading, Aldar set off again, mindful of the child's tiredness, yet anxious to catch the Commander while he was still in the stables. As he walked, Aldar added, "By the way, just call me Aldar. Only the lower ranks here call me 'sir.'"

Another five minutes saw the two outside the stables. Running his hand over his long, black hair, Aldar felt hesitant to confront the Commander. Not only was he away from his station, he was with the man's daughter. No telling how he would react. Ah, forget it. With a shake of his head, Aldar called into the relative darkness of the stable, "Hey, Commander! I've got someone out here who wants to see you." The light difference was enough that Aldar couldn't make out any details of the man's features, but he could tell that he was turning around...

**********

Common sense dictated that Renalie would return to the stables, so that was where Mehrin had headed right away. It had been about two hours since Renalie had fled the mess hall, leaving Mehrin more confused than he'd ever been. Standing outside, waiting for her to appear, Mehrin surprised himself. He discovered that he was becoming more and more worried about his missing daughter as the minutes ticked by. He didn't know why; he knew he didn't love her, though he knew that the potential was there. He felt a... connection with her, though, as if she were a link to a far happier time in his life. Then why do you want her to leave? a voice in Mehrin's mind asked him. And Mehrin couldn't answer it.

In an effort to escape the harsh sunlight, Mehrin stepped into the shade of the stables. The dim light also allowed him to show his emotions where none could see. Here, his worry became less hidden and more apparent. Leaning against a post, Mehrin put a hand over his forehead, partially to force the tears in his eyes to stay put, partially against the headache that had formed out of the mix of emotions and alcohol withdrawal. Light, if anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

"Hey, Commander!" Captain Gesparion's voice cut through Mehrin's melancholy, bringing a modicum of amusement to him. The man's insistance upon using his title was rooted in some longstanding joke, Mehrin was sure. He remembered that day at Bandar Eban. The man had been a fresh recruit and placed under Mehrin's command. He had fought well, but the Seanchan had been too many for him, and he went down from a cut to the back of his knee, and had never walked quite right again. "I've got someone out here who wants to see you."

Shaking his head as he turned, Mehrin called back, "I've told you time and again not to call me that! Do it again, and I'll have you running laps around the Citadel until I get tired!" The bright light outside made it difficult for him to make out Aldar's features though the cane was a dead giveaway. Absently, Mehrin thought about the rapier-like blade that was hidden within the cane and felt a brief stab of pity for the man who thought of Aldar as a defenseless cripple. Then his eyes fell upon the small silhouette standing next to him, and all sense of discretion seemed to flee.

A few long strides were enough to bring Mehrin close enough to his daughter to lift her into the air and hug her tightly. Sparing a quick glance at Aldar, he saw that the man was smiling happily. Returning the smile, Mehrin whispered to the child held closely to his chest, "You may not believe this, but I was worried sick about you."

Day twenty was not starting out very well. Mehrin had gotten used to the massive headaches that accompanied his alcohol withdrawal, but today's was much worse than usual; Mehrn felt as if his head was going to explode. And then there were the sounds. When he wasn't hearing every sound around him amplified tenfold, it was... screaming. That hadn't been the worst of it, either. When he had woken up, Mehrin had attempted to stab the man standing over him with the knife that he kept under his pillow, but stopped when he realized that he was stabbing at empty air.

It was now two hours later, and the hallucinations had only been getting more realistic. Mehrin was only half-aware of the little man giving his report, the rest of his attention focused on the miniature battle taking place on his desk. "Ummm... sir?" The man's hesitant speech snapped Mehrin back to reality. "Are you okay?"

Mehrin blinked dizzily. The room seemed to be doing a slow spin around him. And it was picking up speed. Standing unsteadily, Mehrin staggered to the door. The officer on duty looked at him strangely, wondering just what was going on, but Mehrin didn't pay any more attention to him than he would have paid a fly. Need to get back to my room. This ain't going to be good...

Why can't life be as simple as it used to be? A daughter that he didn't know how to raise. A woman who twisted his nerves around her finger, seemingly without knowing it. What was behind that explosion the other day, anyway? There was more to it, Mehrin knew, but he couldn't say what. And then there was the alcohol... or lack thereof. The pounding at his temples was enough to make Mehrin slightly queasy. And very irritable. What he needed, what he really needed, was a good fight. Maybe Amon would be willing to try knocking some sense into him. Taking a mouthful of water, Mehrin didn't even hear the man's footsteps before Carnhain was standing before him, throwing a sloppy salute and saying, "Up for a fight, old man?"

Light, I've had enough of the bloody saluting! Standing, Mehrin growled at the cavalier, "I hope you know what you're doing." Out of all the people in the Citadel that insisted on saluting him and using his title, Carnhain was the worst. And on top of everything else he'd been dealing with recently, Mehrin was not sure how much of the other man was going to be left intact after this confrontation.

But then again, the vast majority of his being didn't care at all.

Before the man even had a chance to withdraw his challenge, Mehrin said, "I accept. I'll see you in the Trench."

OOC: I'll let you decide how the duel starts.

*raises hand* I'll help!

Despite the Commander's height and unique garb, he was quite adept at disappearing when somebody was looking for him. Aldar sighed as he glanced into yet another side alley and not finding his quarry. The Citadel wasn't even complete yet, and it was already displaying some labyrinthine qualities. If she sticks around, I pity the Commander when he has to go find her. As he started off again, the child spoke for the first time since leaving the office. "What's he like?"

Aldar smiled quietly, looking for someplace to sit. The first seeds he had planted had blossomed. The child was obviously tired, and Aldar's leg was beginning to get sore. Spotting a wagon parked outside one of the nearby barracks, Aldar limped to the back of the wagon and sat down, offering the child a spot on the other side. "I can't keep up with you anymore," Aldar grinned as he made himself comfortable.

"What's the Commander like?" Aldar said as the child made herself comfortable. "He is a good man, but nobody ever gets to see it. His job is stressful, and when he's on duty, he can't afford to be human. However, whenever he's not working, there isn't a better man in the Band. He had never met me before, yet he jumped in front of that guy's killing blow before I got it." Stretching his leg out, Aldar massaged the back of his knee, where the man's blade had severed the tendons and ligaments. He had been lucky.

"He may be the Commander, but it wasn't a job that he wanted. That was no more evident then after Emond's Field." Aldar had been with him when they had found that tattered bullwhip and shattered saber. The man had not shed a tear there, but he looked haggard afterwards. "He's often said that if he felt that he could leave the Band, he would. However, I don't think he can. He's always believed in duty, and he can't leave because of it." Shrugging, Aldar said, "He's more or less trapped here."

Chuckling, he added, "I've been at the wrong end of his tongue on a couple occasions. If he doesn't know how to react to a situation, he can be a rotten cuss, but its almost never intentional. Maybe you'll have a chance to see him before you leave." Standing gingerly, Aldar tested his leg. It would hold up. Grinning at the child, he said, "Well, then, let's get going. We're getting closer to the stables now." It wasn't a lie. The had gone as far away from the stables as was possible inside the walls of the Citadel, and every step would only bring them closer.

-Aldar Gesparion

If Aldar had any doubts to the child's identity, her introduction banished all of them. "I'm looking to get out of this place. I came to see my father and when I found him it caused a big argument so I'm going home before I can get shouted at again." Wiping a hand across her face, the child added, "He doesn't want me here." Aldar managed to keep his face straight and not betray his emotions, but he was mentally laughing in amazed shock. Child, if you could have seen your father tear out of this office about ten minutes ago, you would change your tune. The words seemed to bring back the harsh emotions that she must have only just overcome, and the girl spent a short time trying to calm herself before speaking again. "I need to get to the stables. Will you take me there?"

Taking a clean handkerchief from one of his pockets, Aldar offered it to the child, setting it on the corner of the desk before speaking. "The stables? Well, since it is quite obvious that the Commander isn't here, it should be safe to leave the desk unattended for a little bit." If she's asking for directions to the stables, then she doesn't know her way around the Citadel. Besides, I owe the commander at least this. Standing to his full height of five-and-a-half feet tall, Aldar took only his belt knife and cane, which he leaned heavily upon as he limped out from behind the desk.

Seeing the look on the girl's face, Aldar smiled and said, "Old injury. I would have been dead but for the commander. 'Course, he was just a sergeant then, and me a dumb private. Took a nasty cut across the ribs to save me that left him barely able to use his left arm for a month. The man may be rough at times, but he'll put his life on the line for anybody." Smiling a bit as the first seed took, Aldar limped to the door and opened it for the child. "We'll have to take it slow, but I'll get you where you need to be, and maybe teach you some stuff about the place while we go."

Waiting for the child to catch up, Aldar turned and limped down the street... in the opposite direction of the stables.

-Aldar Gesparion

*blink blink*

*rubs eyes*

*stares*

Argono? *passes hand over face*

*faints*

Hey, man, howzit goin'?

*Very, very temporary character*

Plainly and simply, there were days that Captain Aldar Gesparion hated his job. Days like today, for example, when the Commander seemed to be out to kill somebody. Or when he just didn't care about his bloody job, like today. It had been about ten minutes since he had left the office, and Aldar was just starting to enjoy the peacefulness of not having to deal with the constant petitioners parading through the door. Leaning back in his chair, Aldar put his feet up on the desk and wrapped his hand behind his head. Life was going to be easy for the next few hours.

Aldar did not hate his employer in the least; he actually owed the man quite a bit, even if he didn't remember it. Besides, this was one of the easiest jobs in the Citadel. One told people to sit down and the Commander would be with them shortly, or one handled the more minor problems. And the pay wasn't too bad either. The Commander could actually be a fun guy, as long as he wasn't in one of his moods. And to top it all off, how often could a captain tell a Captain General to go boil his head?

A creak at the door told Aldar that somebody was coming into the building. Hastily shifting so he looked more professional, Aldar prepared to convey the Commander's message to the officer or petitioner who came into the room. What he wasn't expecting was a little girl. Children typically avoided this area. Maybe she's new here. Vaguely remembering the Commander saying something about his daughter, Aldar asked as kindly as he could to the lost-looking child, "Welcome to the Commander's office, miss. Can I help you?"

-Aldar Gesparion

-Officer on Duty

Mehrin's mind was a jumble of emotions that even he could not sort out. And he couldn't say whether it was Renalie's arrival or Drea's attitude that had done it. The woman confused Mehrin sometimes. No, wait... All the time. He couldn't even sort out whether she was a friend, an enemy, an advisor, or... No. It is not that. Part of him seemed to reply, Are you sure? It didn't take much to squelch that voice. Anya, her tanned and beautiful face framed by a myriad of blonde braids, was enough to do that.

But then there was Renalie. His daughter. Light, his daughter... Ana must be frantic about her child by now. A child that was in a far more dangerous place than Lugard. A child that he didn't love, but that he couldn't reject outright. That would devastate her and, Mehrin accepted glumly, himself. He could kill a man without a guilty conscience. He could kill a woman who was trying to kill him, though he may suffer for it later. He could not hurt a child. That made all the difference.

Mehrin's left hand slowly wrapped around the hilt of the knife still jutting out of the table, and with a heave that lifted the table off the floor, he withdrew the heavy blade from the solid wood. Sliding it back into its sheath, he looked down to where his daughter was sitting to tell her what he had decided to do... only to find that she was not there. There was just an empty spot on the bench where she had been sitting. Standing fast enough to knock the bench over, Mehrin said loudly, "Where'd she go?!"

The men and women closer to Mehrin looked at him, but said nothing right away. Angrily, Mehrin overturned the table that he had been seated behind and shouted, "Dammit, where did she go?!"

"Which one? Banner Captain Raylin or the little girl?" somebody offered. Opening his mouth to answer, Mehrin suddenly realized the validity of the question. Who was he looking for? Again Mehrin's mind was filled with confusion. If he couldn't answer that question... Light, what's wrong with me? There was only one solution. Remembering that Renalie had come in with a peddler, Mehrin waded his way through the mess hall. There was an answer that he knew, an answer that he intended to try...

*************

Sitting at his desk, Mehrin stared intently at the bottle that was occupying the spot in the middle of the desk. He had been staring at it for the past fifteen minutes. Occasionally, he would reach out to it, but something always stopped his hand. Mehrin couldn't say what it was, though.

If she hates you so much, then why do you persist in staying away from the drink? Why bother? It has helped you through the hardest times in your life. That thought had been cycling through Mehrin's head for the past fifteen minutes, as well. And it had just about convinced him many times. However, it didn't end there. If she didn't care about you, why would she want you to stop? She was right when she said that you were endangering the Band, so why would you continue to do so, especially now that you know.

"Light, I just don't know," Mehrin muttered to the air around him. His alcohol-starved mind was obviously trying to make its will known. As was Mehrin's conscience. A sudden thought struck him then. Light, man, you've spent the past fifteen minutes staring at a bottle, and another ten to get it and get back here! Your daughter is still out there in the Citadel somewhere, and you're sitting here with a damned bottle! If you're like this when you're sober, what in the Pit of Doom are you going to be like when you're drunk, you dumb bastard?

What will you do to your own daughter if you're drunk?

That did it. With a look of anger, Mehrin siezed hold of the bottleneck and strode out of his office and to the front door. With a yell, he hurled the bottle across the street, where it smashed against the stone wall in a spray of glass shards and hard liquor. Returning to his office, Mehrin retrieved his hat, leaving his cloak, claymore, and bullwhip behind. Slamming the door behind him, he told the officer on duty, "If anybody needs me, tell them that I'm looking for my daughter and that they can go boil their heads for all I care."

Not even waiting for the man's reply, Mehrin strode out of the office and into the streets, occasionally raising his voice to shout, "Renalie!" I'll be damned if I'm going to leave her alone in this place!

"No, Mehrin, I didn't know that you couldn't return to Lugard. And I don't know why. You don't share anything with anyone. You're the most cold hearted man I've ever met." Mehrin nearly started at Drea's words, delivered in a harsh whisper. They sounded odd in the context of the situation, but Mehrin didn't call her on it. It didn't work well to irritate people more. "If I were still Undercommander, I'd tell you to leave, I'd make you go back. Maybe a little enforcement in your life would do you good. You seem to have trouble doing your job anyway, maybe a vacation, or resignation would do all of us some good."

Drea's eyes stayed locked on Mehrin's, both of them trying to make the other look away first. It was a power struggle, and Mehrin would not back down. His gaze became hard, lips drawing back into something resembling a snarl. If he didn't vent his anger somehow... In one smooth motion, Mehrin drew the heavy-bladed knife that he kept belted on his left side and drove it into the table with a loud bang. The feel of splinters of wood hitting his leg where the knife pierced the bottom of the table barely even registered. Feeling the stitches in his arm pull, Mehrin dimly remembered to watch himself, but his mind was already somewhere else.

"You call me cold, Miss Raylin, when you would send me to my death without a qualm. I've wanted to return to Lugard, dreamed of it." Mehrin's voice sounded too calm in his ears for what he was saying. A strange sensation, as if his heart were being torn out, had set in, and he was not about to reveal that. Mehrin had only felt it once before, and he didn't know why he felt it now. "I often send a scout to Lugard under the pretense of picking up rumors. You've seen the scouting reports, I'm sure. I have them ask at the gate about me, quite discreetly. They're still looking for me."

Why was he telling her this? Surely she didn't need to know. Light knew that Renalie didn't need to know. "I'm accused of two murders, though I only committed one. The one of which I'm innocent was her grandfather!" Shut up, Mehrin, just shut up! Somehow, Mehrin had forgotten that Renalie was even there in his anger. All that existed was Drea, as beautiful and as cold as a winter morning. So she wanted to send him to his death, did she? "Blood and ashes, Drea, if you want me dead that badly, just kill me right here, right now. Don't push the dirty work off on somebody else. Do it yourself."

Eb didn't even say a word. Without even sparing him a look, she stormed away from the training grounds, leaving Mehrin with a confused look on his face and an arm covered in his own blood. Typically, there was at least a 'thank-you' after these sessions. There were times that Mehrin just didn't understand people. It was if he had done something to her that he wasn't supposed to do. "Ah, well," he muttered, "she'll get over it, I'm sure."

With that, Mehrin walked back to where he had deposited his bandolier and strapped it back around his shoulders. The medic that he talked to about his arm wouldn't be too happy about seeing him walk in like this, but Mehrin didn't care. It was what they were paid for, anyway. With a final shake of his head, Mehrin strode away from the disturbed sand, now reflecting some of the dawn's sunrays.

Renalie's tirade did not fall upon deaf ears. At the mention of Ana's cooking, Mehrin allowed his mind to drift back, trying to remember... The sound of a shattering dish and a scream in the kitchen drew Mehrin's attention away from the letter he was writing to Ana, trying to express with writing what he couldn't say. Running into the kitchen, eyes hard and his fists balled, Mehrin found Ana and Orin's wife holding onto each other as if they were the only things keeping each other standing. Both were weeping bitterly. Looking through the outside door, Mehrin saw why: Orin lay in the streets, a pool of blood spreading from around his body. And ducking into an alley... Mehrin dashed back to his room and seized ahold of his claymore, the man's last gift to him. With a sorrowful look at both Ana and her mother, Mehrin darted back through the door and out of their lives...

It was a bitter realization when Mehrin realized that he could not, in fact, remember Ana's cooking, or her laugh, or her smile. Light, why? The pain that that memory brought was not helped by Drea's sudden laughter. Mehrin's eyes locked onto hers with a look that should have sent her flying as if struck. She mumbled an apology, but that lasted for only a short time.

"Love? You're nine, and you think you know what love is? You come parading in here and expect everyone to drop what their doing and take care of you. Renalie, Merhin doesn't love you, he doesn't even know you." Drea's harsh words were enough for Mehrin.

His normally expression-vacant face twisted into a quiet anger, but his eyes were blazing. "That's enough Drea!" he growled, his voice more appropriate for threatening an opponent than addressing a friend. "She is young, yet, and I'll be damned if I'm going to change that so soon for her. What you say is true-" Mehrin spared Renalie a sorrowful look. "But that doesn't mean that she's ready to know. Now, unless you're willing to apologize and actually help me here, leave."

If anything, Drea's anger only seemed to increase. With an angry sniff, she replied, "Why should I apologize? I'm not the one who expects you to change your life for me. Maybe you should just go with her back to Lugard and live with Ana too!"

Mehrin shook his head. He was not going to mention what Drea had done to convince him to stop drinking, not in front of Renalie. She wouldn't understand. But he couldn't leave it at that. "You know just as well as I that I can't return to Lugard, Drea. Blood and bloody ashes, woman, if I step foot in the city, and they'll have my head stuck on a pike inside an hour!" As soon as he finished saying that, Mehrin wished that he could take those words back. He tried to spare his daughter one pain, just to give her another one. He also noticed that about half of the mess hall was staring at him and Drea. "Ah, son of a..." Mehrin muttered.

Asmodean acknowledged the man standing behind the children. One of the Ranch's many denziens of the Shadow, he was sure. With a smile, he gestured for the man to sit with the children if he so wished. Turning the gesture into something grand and proclamatory, Asmodean said with a smile on his face, "A story it shall be then, my young friends!" Asmodean made the flute deftly disappear into a hidden pocket inside of his cloak and pulled his harp out of its case. Running a hand along the strings, Asmodean quickly tuned the instrument. There. He was ready.

With a small smile, Asmodean's deft fingers began plucking the strings of the harp, the notes blending to create an air of mocking grandeur. "Sit back, my friends, and listen well," Asmodean declaimed. "For I have a story I wish to tell. A story of kings, and of riches untold. A story of a girl with hair of gold." This was not the way that the story had been told to Asmodean. He had memorized it in Common, Low, and High Chant, but none of those renditions could do the story's humor justice. It was Low Chant that he used, but he was sure that these children had never heard it in this way before. "Get ready, dear friends, for I shall now sing the song of Mara and the Three Foolish Kings!"

OOC: I have no idea how this story goes, so I'll leave it to your imaginations. If any of you have any ideas, feel free to PM me; this is an RP to establish Asmodean's character.

The dawn was getting closer; Mehrin could almost feel its approaching light. And Mehrin had still failed to strike Eb except for that first kick. He could feel the effects of his concentration on his body. He was getting tired. I am not going down that easily, Mehrin thought angrily. The thought gave him added vigor. A slight pause in the battle gave Mehrin another chance to evaluate his opponent. The smile that had suddenly crossed her face gave Mehrin all the warning that he'd need.

Mehrin's claymore shifted automatically into a guard position as the tip of Eb's left-hand sword dipped down, the tip cutting into the sand. With a sudden jerk, she flung the sand on her blade in his direction, probably followed by her own weapons. Mehrin didn't wait around to see. Pivoting on his right foot, Mehrin spun to one side of the flying sand, avoiding the spray to his face. It wasn't hard to pick up on Eb's two flashing blades. With a grin, Mehrin pivoted again, coming up alongside the woman before she could adjust. She never had a chance of stopping the powerful blow from the hilt of Mehrin's claymore.

The strength of the blow coupled with the weight of the weapon threw Eb to the sand. With a slightly victorious grin, Mehrin closed in for the kill. And halted in shock. Two things stayed Mehrin's advance. One was the fact that the sun had just broken over the horizon. The second was the darting forward of Eb's right hand right before then. The warmth on Mehrin's upper arm told him all that he needed to know, yet he looked anyway. The sword that Ebony had thrown at him was in the sand a few yards behind him, and the cut on the outer part of his arm was deep enough to need stitches, which he'd see to as soon as he was done here. He'd taken worse injuries; there wasn't even enough pain from this one for him to notice it.

Eb was looking up from the ground at him, the pain on her face only slightly masked by a scowl that only confused Mehrin. She won. Why would she be angry about that? Grounding the point of his sword, Mehrin left it quivering in the sand and took Eb by her right arm. It didn't take a lot of effort to lift her to her feet. With a smile, Mehrin said, "Well, I didn't draw blood before the sunrise, and you did. Congratulations, Ebony. You pass."

Eb was starting to catch on. With a grim smile, Mehrin checked the horizon. Two minutes to sunrise. As Eb began to advance again, Mehrin began slowly spinning his sword, the air humming as his blade cut through it at a steadily-quickening pace. It was time to see just how much she had learned. One step forward brought Mehrin into range. The next spin of his blade angled in at Eb's left shoulder, and was deflected up and around her head to the other side. Only a quick backstep saved her, though, from the heavy pommel of Mehrin's claymore. Using the momentum, Mehrin spun about, his heavy weapon gaining momentum before striking down in a heavy downward swing that he wasn't sure that Eb would have been able to block if she would have stayed in place.

Darting around the falling blade, Eb closed the distance between the two of them quickly enough that Mehrin had to toss himself to one side to avoid being struck. He came up quickly, though, his sword held like a short staff. Eb was pressing her advantage, her overhanded strike nearly catching Mehrin offguard before he could get his weapon up to block it. Giving her weapons a hard shove, Mehrin hoped to throw her off balance. As she staggered away, Mehrin aimed a cut at her leg, which she still managed to deflect despite being off-balance.

With a feral grin, Mehrin stepped up again. It had only been thirty seconds since he had actually started fighting; it was time to make Ebony earn this.

Mehrin chose a table as far away from the rest of the gathered soldiers as he possibly could. Very often, the far corners of the mess hall were left abandoned because of time; most people who came in to eat had maybe five or ten minutes to do so before their next training session or shift. Situating himself with his back to the corner of the room, Mehrin offered Renalie the open spot on the bench next to him. Unsurprisingly, Drea chose to sit on the opposite side of the table. What did surprise Mehrin, though, was her demeanor. She seemed almost... hateful for some reason. What puzzled him was why that hate seemed to be directed at Renalie. She had done nothing to the woman as far as Mehrin had seen. Mehrin couldn't say that he loved the child, but he could say that he owed her something, at least.

Mehrin allowed Renalie to eat in silence, his own mind struggling with possibilities. He couldn't ask her to stay here, he knew. She might prove to be too much of a distraction as it was. And with an army... Mehrin's rank allowed him some privilege, but he didn't know whether it would extend to protecting his daughter from some sick soldier who was feeling a bit lonely... The thought alone made Mehrin tighten his fists until his knuckles cracked. Light, Ana would be devastated. I'd be devastated. She can't stay.

Mehrin continued to watch his daughter eat, all the while trying to find the right words to say what he needed to say. He couldn't treat her as he would treat a soldier. He couldn't afford to show weakness. He couldn't make up his bloody mind. Blood and bloody ashes, man, just say it! As Renalie began to pick off the last of the meal, Mehrin said slowly, "So... what do we do with you now that you're here? I can put you up in my room and sleep elsewhere, and we can discuss how to get you back home in the morning."

It appeared that Eb had been working, though she had also hoped to end the duel quickly, judging from her fast opening attack. As clumsy as it was. His downward attack deflected to the outside, Eb tried to thrust her steel at Mehrin's left side, leaving her wide open. Mehrin's boot struck her in the belly, sending her sprawling. She gracefully turned her fall into a backward roll. Concentrating on not injuring the woman permanently, Mehrin aimed a downward strike to slice across Eb's shoulder, which she twisted around before coming back to her feet, her two swords held at the ready. "Good," Mehrin muttered, his words too quiet to hear, his lips lost in the dark.

Mehrin's advance was rapid, and his first strike toward Eb's left shoulder was caught between both blades. A quick spin of the weapon brought it free of Eb's weapons, and a quick backstep kept Mehrin from running a cut across her upper chest as the weapons separated. It had been maybe a minute from the start of the duel, but Mehrin was already sweating. Between he and Eb, Mehrin felt that he had the hardest job. If Eb seriously wounded him, it would be Mehrin's fault; if he seriously wounded her...

Again, Eb started dancing towards Mehrin, spinning as if she were dancing to some unknown tune, her arms held wide. The few lights nearby glinted off her blades. Biding his time, Mehrin halted Eb's progress with a stab at the ground in front of her. The brief pause allowed Mehrin a quick strike with the much-heavier pommel of his claymore before he withdrew again. A slight draft against his leg made Mehrin glance down briefly. He hadn't even noticed the sword cutting his breeches, a cut that had probably come during his strike. There was no cut evident, so the match was still on.

Recalling what he had done the previous time, Mehrin struck high again, the force of his swing striking sparks off the two swords held up to block it. As his attack was repelled, though, Mehrin spun it to strike at Eb's left side, once again deflected by her left-hand blade, the right-hand blade stabbing towards Mehrin's chest. Withdrawing to deflect the blow with the hilt of his weapon, Mehrin made to end the duel the way their second one had trained, with his blade against Eb's neck.

Even as he thrust forward, Mehrin saw that it wasn't going to work, and Eb's left-hand sword caught the flat of his blade and forced it outward. A sudden gust of wind blew hair into Mehrin's face, letting him know just how close he had come. Eb had a satisfied look on her face that turned suddenly vicious. The sharp toe of the boot that struck Mehrin in the shin told him why. Dancing back, Mehrin immediately found himself on the defensive again. Good, a part of him thought absently.

***Time: approx. 3:00

Renalie did not answer right away. Rather, she spent a few moments trying to compose herself. Just before Mehrin could stand again to stretch his back, he suddenly felt two small arms latching around him and a small face burrowing into his neck. "You don't know how long I've been looking for you..." his daughter murmured, her words muffled against his neck.

Mehrin was shocked. This child had only come into his life a few moments ago, and she was already clinging to him as if she'd known him for her entire life. It was odd how much trust a child was capable of showing. At any other time, Mehrin might have been flattered. However, he was still trying to get over his own shock at discovering that he was a father. Despite the part of him that was telling Mehrin to hug Renalie back, he couldn't. Mehrin spared a brief glance at Drea, hoping to get some idea of what he should do from her. To his hidden dismay, she was staring at the two of them with a barely hidden look of disgust, most of it seeming to be directed at Renalie. Blood and bloody ashes, woman, what's wrong with you?

"I'm hungry... Can we eat now, please?" she finally asked, disentangling herself from Mehrin. She stood back, sniffing and wiping at her eyes and dress and trying to compose herself. Her lip still trembled, but she sounded a bit more steady. "I'm sorry. Can we eat? Please?"

Do something, you bloody oaf! Mehrin's mind screamed. But what? another part of him answered. With a wry mental chuckle, Mehrin thought, Both of you just shut up. He wasn't anywhere near insane; a good laugh at his own expense was always a good thing. Standing up, Mehrin held his hand out to Renalie again. "Yes, let's go eat. I'm warning you, though, the food here is nothing like your mother's cooking," Mehrin said with a chuckle. A glance at Drea that demanded answers at a later time, and the trio was off again.

His status allowed Mehrin quick passage through the crowd, and in no time, the trio found themselves outside one of the dining halls strewn about the Citadel; Mehrin had chosen this particular one because the cook was actually capable of making the food edible. Of course, that made the place popular with the rest of the Band, meaning that there was quite the lineup of men and women in uniform. With a barely audible curse, Mehrin decided to do something that he didn't like doing. He pulled rank. "Okay, stand aside!" he barked. A few men began laughing rudely until they turned to see who was addressing them. The laughs gradually faded to murmurs as Mehrin nodded grimly. "Let's go eat something, then," he said lightly as the three of them walked past the line and to the servers.

There were very few things that frightened Mehrin, and up until the time he stepped out of the building he had been cutting through and into the streets of the Citadel, he had assumed that none of them were a sound. He was wrong. It started softly, but Mehrin could soon identify the sound, and it terrified him. It was the sound of a child crying. More specifically, it was the sound of his child crying. Oh, kiss a flaming goat...

Mehrin was a soldier, a commander of soldiers. If a man cried, it was because he was injured or green. An injured man could be comforted with brave words. A green man could be shouted at. A child? Mehrin had no idea. Her hand still held in his, Mehrin crouched down again so he could look at Renalie from her level. "Rena? What's wrong? Was it something that I said or did?" Mehrin asked, trying to make his voice as sympathetic as he could, but knowing full well how much sympathy his voice could handle.