Images of the past.. days? months? ...years?... came and went in a foggy blur.

He shivered, huddled in the corner of the thin room.

The sound of a slow drip... drip... drip... of water falling from the roof and bursting against the uneven rocky floor, echoed around the chamber.

In the wall in front of him was an opening big enough to pass through. The edges glowed faintly red, the only light alleviating the darkness.

Whenever he looked over and thought to leave by it, a terrible fear would wrench at his stomach and he would have to look away.

Turning to his thoughts, he couldn't quite grasp where he was or how he had become to be there.

Although greatly fatigued, he pushed into the corners of his memories to find a place with answers.

Visions of a town... Moorgate. The sun shone brilliantly and the town was full of life.

So many people, so strangely dressed, and not all like himself. Not all with wings of.. gold!

The recognition came slowly to his damaged mind. He used to have wings of gold. So bright and shining.

In his cell he reached round and stroked forward the tattered black things which hung from behind his shoulders now.

He released the wing and dipped his head to continue remembering.

Elves, whose lives, so long to most as to appear an eternity, had been extended even further and possibly without end. Their tall forms were lank and twisted, no longer elegant and lithe.

The lines that would have graced an elders face had come and gone. The skin on their faces had become smooth again, but left whorled and mottled like strange tatoos where lines would have been.

Their hair was lost and round their foreheads a leather band, and in the band a gem secured, fixed liked a third eye.

Colours swam and passed between the three gems, for three elves there were, and they stood, gazeless white eyes looking deep into nothing, standing at the points of a yellow triangle laid in marble on the floor. The colour in the gems settled to yellow also and swirled, like a whirlpool, synchronously in each.

The triangle was the outer most shape of the design on the floor. Inside lay a circle to touch its sides, and within that the pattern repeated again, and again, and again, only the colours changing.

Smoothly the three began to slide across the floor, as if upon ice, and came to rest upon the points of the next triangle in the descendance of the pattern, its colour red.

A thought passed between them.

'We will take the sprite through his life and correct the errors that have occurred.'

Gedrel’s concentration was interrupted by a sudden darkness. The red light had gone. Ahead, two torches on the walls, snapped into flame unaided and lit the corridor ahead.

The sprite blinked as his tired eyes became accustomed to the light. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he walked toward the flickering illumination, his hand brushing the wall to steady himself.

Holding one of the torches forward, he made his way carefully along the roughly carved stone route. He felt uneasy. It reminded him of when he had first ventured into the catacombs in his early days in Moorgate. In fact, it was extremely similar, but he expected that these types of places would have little to distinguish themselves.

Checking the walls and floors was standard procedure when moving around a new place, and Gedrel’s years of practice allowed him to move steadily on whilst doing so, constantly searching with his eyes and feeling the walls and floor. It was as if he was performing a strange dance, which he was.

His hand stopped on a crack in the rock. He didn’t look as his hand tracked back and forth. There was a muffled clunk and the wall began to move to one side.

Standing in the room revealed was Clio, his mentor at the guild. She smiled and raised her hand toward him. She continued to smile as a fireball grew in her palm. She laughed as she hurled the glowing force at Gedrel, who just stood and looked.

He trusted his mentor. The thought repeated in his head as he raised his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself. The flames encased him and pain was all he knew. He heard her laughter as he crumpled to the floor and passed out.

The sound of birds and the freshness of open air woke him. He jumped up and checked his body as the memory of the flames caught up, he was undamaged, no mark or scar.

He heard a crack of a branch and crouched quickly, looking to the noise. Through the trees he could see parts of a form moving. Shifting toward it, he soon saw the whole, it was the Stag. He remembered when he had stalked the creature before and had only managed to take it down with the help of… the thought was not completed as an arrow flew from behind him towards the creature. It was encased in a spidery web as the weapon found its mark and the Stag dropped to the ground.

‘Go on then.’

A voice behind him. It was Wolfshadow, helping him again as he had before. A small smile formed on Gedrel’s mouth. He had enjoyed hunting with the ranger. Instead of questioning his situation, he turned and raised his hand towards the trapped Stag and formed the pattern of a fireball spell in his mind. It wouldnt come. He had cast this spell too many times to count, but now it was beyond him. He pushed to shape the air into flame. Nothing. Another arrow shot past him. The animal had freed itself and was beginning to rise.

‘Come on’

Gedrel looked up to Wolf’s impatient call. He tried to form ice instead, staring at the space above his hand where it should have begun to appear, but it remained empty.

‘Pathetic. You are completely useless, completely…’

Gedrel looked to Wolfshadows face as the abuse continued. The words entered his head as looked to his hands, confused. He felt weak. The beratement from Wolfshadow was draining him. He felt small, vunerable. The trees loomed around him and the sky became filled with black boiling clouds.

The stag rose. Its eyes were red glowing fires. It charged towards him. He was helpless. He turned his head and saw the rangers back as he walked away. There was an impact as the stag crashed into him. He felt himself hurled into the air, and then darkness.

Once again his eyes opened. He was sitting at a table in an inn, a drink in his hand. Opposite sat a hooded figure, a monk. As the head lifted he recognised Colourman, leader of Gedrel’s clan. The monk nodded.

‘Your ideas are interesting Mage’,

the monk was continuing a conversation that Gedrel didn’t remember, but it seemed to him that everything was as it should be. He had admired the mysterious man, learned, thoughtful and strong. His ways weren’t clear and he kept much to himself, but Gedrel could see much in the monk that wanted to see in himself. Gedrel suddenly became groggy, his grip on the glass in his hand began to fail.

‘… and they are now mine. The clan will benefit greatly from your thoughts, and more from the death that you now move toward. Your drink was of course… poisoned.’

The glass fell to the table. Pain stabbed at Gedrel’s guts. He winced and doubled forward. The monk reached out lifted Gedrel’s head by the hair so he could see him once more.

‘You really weren’t clan material, but it has been entertaining playing with you. And now, the game is over.’

He dropped Gedrel’s head and it bounced as it hit the table with a thud. The monk raised his glass and relaxed back in his chair.

'Will the sprite survive?'

'It would be unfortunate if he ceased, we have expended much energy in his training. He has come close to attaining learning that will lead him to that which they call The Labyrinth.'

'It would, but of little consequence in our long term goals. He must succumb or he will be of no use to us.'

'He is strong...'

The thoughts are shared without a motion of the dark elves and are concluded in an instant.

'... the conditioning will continue.'

Gedrel rose, flying slowly up the long stairway towards the light of day above him.

His eyes were hollow black sunken holes which stared long into the distance to some unseen goal.

He crossed the landscape and began the long journey back.

Back to Moorgate.

Gedrel approached the city walls. In his eyes they loomed, dark and threatening. The teeth of the north gateway bent towards him and dripped with blood. He cringed as he walked between them and into the city.

The guards at the entrance were huge and grotesque. They were laughing as they lent slovenly against the guard post. Gedrel saw them all looking at him. They pointed and their laughing grew louder, deafening. He felt himself shrinking smaller and they were growing, huge, looming over him. He moved on quickly into Brent Street.

The little girl sat by the broken wall. Her head was in her hands as usual. He had remembered helping her in the past and struck by a moment of concern, he went over to see what was troubling her now. As he approached her head tilted to look up to him. Her eyes were red as blood and drool dripped slowly from her mouth, twisted in a wicked grin. Gedrel took a step back. Her hand reached out towards him, a claw of nails extended impossibly long threatening to grasp at his throat. Gedrel backed against the far wall and slid past, watching as her head turned full circle to stare at him as he moved on.

He flew through the street quickly to the gates of the guild.
He would have to be careful in this place of horrors.

He would have to find a place to collect himself. Hidden in a small niche opposite a house, he watched it carefully all day for signs of activity. That evening, when he was happy that it did not have any frequent visitors, he approached the door. Looking both ways along the street, he flicked his fingers, the lock clicked and the door swung open slightly. He quickly slipped in.

Moving through the darkness of the rooms, he made sure that the house was completly empty. He spat a small flame from his hand. It flew and settled on a candle which sputtered and began to glow.

There was a mirror above the fireplace. Gedrel looked. As the light from the candle hit his face he knew, it was obvious from his appearance. He fitted the horrors of this place. He would learn to control his fear.

He squatted in a corner of the room, bowed his head and slept.

He had braved the interactions he had absolutely needed to endure, but the visages of the peoples of Moorgate ripped at his sanity. He was often physically ill after spending any time in their presence. How could he continue this miserable existance?

Savagely he wiped the tears from his face. He steeled himself, resolving to continue. What other choice was there in this hell? But inside, he was worried. His mind was weakening and his dreams filled with as many nightmares as the day.

He took a water pouch from his backpack and quenched his thirst. His mind was drawn to a recent event which he was unable to either forget or resolve for himself.

His mentor, Clio {he couldnt think of her without snearing}, had sought him out while he hunted the Pass. Her voice came to him first, as he was gathering himself ready to search for battle. She had hidden herself. Gedrel staggered back as he waited for her powerful magics to strike him down, but moments passed and the blow did not arrive. Gedrel guessed she obviously had plans to extend her torment of him on this occasion.

She said she had hidden herself so as not to scare him, she said she wanted to help. Gedrel raised himself in challenge, he would stand up to her, he would show there was something left of him she could not destroy. But she continued her game, taunting him with her words of kindness.

The tension was too much. Gedrel dropped to his knees and began to cry, he was exhausted, he could not sustain his defiance. With a last effort he attempted to cover the weakness that his tormentor would now be delighting in and transported himself away from her and back to Moorgate.

Gedrel stoppered the pouch and put it back into his pack. Something must be done, he needed help. But who could he turn to in this hell?

Dark Winged Gedrel
Clio's Student
Philosophus of The Echoes

Gedrel had hunted the Pass for many years. Here he killed many creatures, mastering his spells. Longing for a break from the bleak weather he had wandered. In his journeys he had taken down many creatures, shrouded monks and birds with menacing talons. He eventually found himself at a lake.

The creatures rose from the waters and flew at him. He released his wrath against them, fire filling the air, raising steam from the waters surface. Horrible birds and fish of sickly colours died easily at his hand and, after a time he found his powers drained.

With insuffcient energy to return himself to the town center, he called on his Mage ring to bring him to the safety, but as he appeared, the guardians of the guild turned and raised their hands. He was hit by their spells and found himself slowed.

'So, now they show themselves as my enemies' was the briefest thought that passed through his mind before another magic struck him and he crumpled to the ground, unconcious.

But something made him pause. He had woken in the halls of the guild undamaged after being struck down. Hastily he had fled the building. But now he thought 'Why had the guardians not destroyed him?'.

Perhaps this world was a world of challenge and he had now reached abilities at which the guild inhabitants would no longer restrain themselves from attacking him. He had been a child before in their eyes, now he must be clever and learn to avoid their powers.

Were things beginning to make sense?

It mattered little to Gedrel now, as his mind had snapped and he was lost in a fog of incomprehension.

Much time had passed, and his attempts at hiding physically, controlling and understanding his world had failed him. Unable to cope with the stress of his situation, his concious thought had fled to the back of his mind.

Anyone looking upon him could fall into blankness of his eyes staring wild, seeing but not seeing. He drooled when not active and rocked back and forth, the normal functions of being, lost to him.

He still hunted, habits were all he had, but he would often fly into rages, his magic uncontrolled, or simply sit and accept the batterings of the creatures before him, laughing, blood spilling from his mouth until the fatal blow freed him to rebirth.

Gedrels head is filled with the rushing of blood, his breathing speeds and he slips from shadow to shadow, following the figure as it walks down the darkened street.

A twisted smile rises to to his lips.
The smile grows into a manic grin.

His eyes widen as he feels the pull of purpose, like a magnet, pulling him toward the unaware traveller. And how sweet that purpose is, filling him with a life he had barely felt for so long now. Closing his eyes for a moment to relish that taste, wonderful! His mind screams... REVENGE!!

Gedrel slips out into the street and concentrates as he watches the monk take a few steps further on, his back still turned. A ball of flame grows large in Gedrel’s hands and lights his lunatic face with orange grow.

The monks head turned to look back in time to hear a screeching cry...

COLOURMAN, BURN WITH MY HATE!

Not for the first time that night the idea of Charon the black being in the orders possession sent a sly smile across his often stony face. The first few drops of a cold shower stirred him from his thoughts, frowning he deftly pulled his robes a little tighter as he continued on his way. Cold and rain were not concerns of his, merely an absence of heat as Lord Mazruk once put it.

Turning a corner into a smaller side street he felt the wraith stir within him, like a lethargic animal restless in his mind. Continuing along the street it became more agitated, an itch becoming a scratch, becoming hot needles in the back of his head, a droning over his thoughts. He ducked into the shadows at the edge of the street, but continued. Something was not right. He crushed the wraith, subduing it brutally as its eerie scream disappeared back out of mind.

He needed to concentrate, what had wakened it? Glancing ahead movement caught his eye in the grubby back window of a tavern, a reflection moving across the street behind him. Without pause he loosened “Wisdoms Edge” at his side, whilst uttering the incantation of light shards under his breath.

As he turned a rage filled scream erupted behind him. Instinctively he dropped into a crouch stance mid turn, getting far enough to see the figures silhouette behind a ball of raging fire.

"The Ipsissimus should be nearly finished in the museum. I wonder if his interrogation of the scholars there has proven nearly so rewarding as my research?"

Slithex strode briskly through the light rain, the passerbys hurrying towards their destinations as well. The air had the smell of a storm coming, and no one wished to get caught in it. At least, not while carrying a dozen centuries-old tomes in their pack.

As the crowds thinned, Slithex caught sight of Colourman, trudging towards him, apparently lost in thought. Just as he opened his mouth to call to the monk, a rusty voice twisted with hatred screamed, something about burning and Colourman. Everything seemed to happen simulatenously. Slithex’s scales tingled as magic was called upon. The Ipsissimus turned, his hand darting to his katana, then cocooned in a blast of flame, picked up and tossed to the cobbles.

One thought leapt into Slithex’s consciousness before he found himself darting down the street, towards a small figure in tattered orange robes: " I guess the mysterious negotiator had decided there had been enough talk." The slight form in ragged orange looked familiar, even though his face was distorted with loathing as he approached the fallen Colourman, looking to finish the deed. Slithex spat words of power as he ran, but as he threw up a claw towards the Ipsissimus’s attacker, his tongue stumbled over the last syllable.

A sharp crack split the air, a twisting thunderbolt smote the assailant to the street, the smell of ozone lingered, but Slithex felt the weakness of the spell. It was not the killer sending he had tried for, half the strength he had hoped for. More words of power began to fill the air. This spell would finish what the first had started.

As he passed Colourman, Slithex noted in one part of his mind that, while thin threads of smoke twisted skywards from the monk’s robes, a blackened hand moved feebly. The assassin was on his hands and knees, apparently trying to gleam through his fog of agony what had interrupted his work. As the face turned towards the wizard, he noticed again the strange familiarity. The assassin’s eyes widened just as Slithex’s clawed foot impacted against his head, dropping the ragged mage into unconsciousness.

Slithex hurried back down the street, towards the pack of books and the wounded Colourman. "After the Ipsissimus is out of danger, there will be time for Gedrel to explain himself."

The fireball enveloped him, whisking him up several feet into the air, he turned to roll into the fall, ignoring the feeling of skin being pulled taught across his face. Extending his right arm he rolled down its curve, across his shoulders and back, until he came to a halt lying face up on the cobblestones. Lightning struck just out of sight from the corner of his eye, and for the second time that night he reached for Wisdoms Edge. Leather from his gloves cracked and flaked from the movement of his hands, the rune rings of fire still hot on his fingers from taking such a force.

The rain was dripping through the holes in his mask, tendrils of steam rising as it hit the hot bone. Muttering under his breath he turned his head toward the figure, it would be back, and he had no desire to be there when it did. His mind raced ahead… he could recall that reflection in meditation, that face. A dagger between the shoulder blades… when it was least expected.

He lay there for a few moments, tattered, charred and smirking over how the figure would die by his quill, sword if necessary, before releasing the hilt of Wisdoms Edge, and brushing a hand over his Monks Guild Officers badge.

Brother Colourman
Beloved of Mazruk
Ipsissimus Of The Order Of Echoes
Visit Colourmans vault
The Daisho Tapestry

A curse filled the now-still air as Slithex watched Colourman blink out of existence. The townsfolk were still sheltering indoors and the Town Guards had not yet decided the area was safe enough for them to "investigate" the scene of a spellbattle.

"A shame the Ipsissimus had not remained, he deserves to determine the fate of Gedrel."

Picking up the bundle of books, Slithex turned back to the unconscious pile of rags that was Gedrel.

"I have done way too much of this of late." Slithex muttered as he hoisted the now-trussed Gedrel onto a hurriedly rented cart. Why was it that murderous mages seemed to blunder across him recently? First Maldor and now Gedrel, whom Slithex had assumed died or drifted out of the city since he had last seen him some years ago. Apparently, such an assumption was wrong. While there are exceptions, dead people do not try to kill their one-time allies in broad daylight on a busy street. At least, not dead people who breath regularily and bleed and develop bruises.

"Why, Gedrel? We were colleaguess once, we are even both of the Labyrinth. What hass happened thesse lasst yearss to lead to thiss?"

Even though he was speaking Common, Slithex expected no anwser from the still form of the mage. It was a pretty good kick he had given Gedrel, and he was not the most robust of adventurers.

Plenty of time for Gedrel to answer those questions in a small, undistinuished stone storage room in the Vaults.

It had been easy enough to take Gedrel to the vaults, his strength was in mind rather than body. A sprites frame was light enough to be carried with ease, a sprites spells however were less easily managed.

Easing back in his seat colourman again shifted through the reports, two of the orders hands has been slain by Gedrel during one of his delusional rages, another had been bound with entrap for a week. It was fortunate a solution had now been found, before things could become uncomfortable. The hands were becoming discontented already.

As if hearing his thoughts, a muffled screech filtered through the wall into his office. During one of his explorations, he had come across a most curious creature. It was not overly intelligent, and it seemed to enjoy others suffering, not the sort of creature Colourman would normally pay any mind. It did however have an interesting grasp of magic, indeed, it muted its foe, before casting a spell not unlike the healing he himself used.

The result was it kept its foe alive, but in the case of a mage, disabled and helpless, often it tortured its captive at this point. Ironic its love of pain was the reason for those screeches. A slight smile crept over his lips as he let the reports drift back onto the desk. He could not have the thing damaging Gedrel, so it had been necessary to remove its arms and legs. A lesser man might have savoured the thought of torturing one who tried to take his life, but the thought never crossed Colourmans mind. Torture was irrelevant, it would gain him nothing he required.

By the screams permeating his office the creature would soon be ready to begin its guard. With a satisfied nod he reached across and turned his attention to the next report in a small pile that never seemed to decrease, the reports for his eyes alone.

The skeletal wizard was bound to a wooden board with steel strips across its chest and shoulders, its legs were severed just above the knee and what remained rested on a steel plate. The board itself was the flat of a vertical triangle, wheels at the ends for easy transport. As per his instructions its arms had also been removed.

It hissed and cursed, feebly trying to break free by contorting its torso. The screeches had ceased for the time being, he could not have it silenced permanently since its purpose required speech. He had however had a steel attachment put onto the board at its head. When the creature was not required to chant spells, it could be swung out and a length of wooden pole put down its throat.

"Very well, have it wheel'd intea Gedrels room." uttered Colourman, as he turned to pick up a section of skeletal forearm.

"An have its appendages taken tea teh Vaults, I will have them studied as time allows."

At his words four men wheeled the grotesque construction out of the room, the skeletal wizard continuing to waste its efforts snapping crooked and broken teeth at its minders.

Meeting Chamber
A dais stands proudly at the halls far end, the wood carved to represent a dragon spreading its wings. Surrounding it plush wooden benches line the sides facing each other across a table of white marble that catches and holds the dancing light.

Colourman eases to his feet.

Colourman says 'Tis time we address'd Gedrel.'

Slithex says 'I agree in thiss, Ipsissimus. It hass sstewed long enough'

Colourman gives a quick nod.

Passing through the rooms they stop...
The Vaults
Through the archway a network of criss-crossing paths open out through towering shelves, each lined with files, scrolls and boxes of long lost items, even the occasional specimen jar sits among them. The Impaliea Dragonus rests on display here.

Gedrel hangs from one wall, bound to the wall, a gag in his mouth.
As he hears the others enter he strains at his bindings , his eyes glare his hate as he sees them.

A skeleton creature, horribly mutilated and bound hangs opposite Gedrel.

Colourman gestures to the skeleton... causing it to gibber madly into a mumbling submisision.

Colourman says 'Gedrel.'

Gedrel drops, weakened greatly, his head bobs down

Colourman walks across the room to Gedrels side.. studing him thoughtfully.

Slithex stands to the side, eyes fixed on the ragged sprite

Colourman asks 'Do ye consider him of strength enough tea cast spells?'

Gedrel lifts his head slightly and jerks towards colourman

Slithex says 'I think not, Ipsissimus. He hass not been given the opportunity to recover hiss sstrength'

Gedrel drops again

Colourman nods, grasping Gedrels head in one hand, lifting it so he can pluck the gag from his mouth with the other.
You see Colourman let the gag fall to the floor, moist with spittle.

Gedrel gasps as the gag is removed
Gedrel exclaims 'I will have you both for this!'
Gedrel's voice is weak
Gedrel says 'Release me'

Colourman's lips compress into a thin smile.

Slithex's hissing takes on a humourless note

Colourman says 'Ye do nea know of what ye speak, my old friend.'

Gedrel tries to form the words of fireflames, but is overcome and can not complete the incantation

Gedrel says 'release me now!'

Colourman asks 'I now address teh Dark Elves.. teh masters of this being. Do ye hear me?'

Gedrel looks at his captors in turn
Gedrel laughs happily.

Gedrel says 'You are mad indeed'

Colourman's frown deepens slightly as he studies Gedrel.. before his face returns to stone.

Slithex asks 'Mad? Uss?'
Slithex hisses in amusement

Colourman raises a gloved hand, bringing down across Gedrels haggared face.

Gedrel face swings with the blow, he spits blood

Colourman flicks the blood on his glove onto the stone floor.

Slithex says 'I would ssubmit to you that you have been the party acting in a irrational manner, Gedrel'

Gedrel turns back, smiling with bloody lips
Gedrel asks 'You do do you?'

Colourman looks into Gedrels eyes for a moment, before turning a spinning kick into Gedrels side.

Gedrel gives out a terrible groan.
Gedrel's head falls

Slithex says 'Sss...well, you are the one tied up, Gedrel. While the Ipsissimus and I are not'

Colourman says 'Now... I will request again, tea speak with teh Dark Elves.'

Gedrel looks up again, he is close to unconciousness, his eyes roll

Colourman grips gedrels wet hair, wrenching his head upwould, and sending another blow into his chest.

Slithex says 'It would be ssimpler to ssimply accede to the Ipsissimus's wisshess, Gedrel'

Gedrel's eyes go white and his jaw drops open wide

The voices that now emenate from Gedrel are most definitely not as before.

Gedrel says 'leave our vessel be'

Slithex sends a significant glance to Colourman

You see Colourman take a single step back and run his clean hand over his creased robe.

Colourman says 'Ye vessel, is nea use tea ye now.'

Gedrel says 'release this form, our we shall seek revenge'

Colourman raises an eyebrow at Gedrel.

Gedrel says 'we know you, you are in his mind, monk'

Colourman says 'I was in his mind, what is in his mind since he return'd tea us, I can nea say.'
Colourman says 'Tis a question I would put tea ye.'

The voices from Gedrel seem to be discussing things with themselves.

Gedrel says 'we had lost contact with this one for some time'
Gedrel says 'he is not performing as we intended'
Gedrel asks 'should we terminate it?'
Gedrel says 'perhaps'

Colourman says 'Termination will serve nea purpose.'
Colourman says 'Cut it loose.'

Gedrel says 'the monk speaks, we should use him'

Colourman says 'Or turn it tea my control.'

Slithex stirs a bit

Gedrel asks 'what has happened to the sprite?'

Colourman says 'He has been made mad, his mind is in ruins.'

Gedrel says 'it was a risk we knew'
Gedrel says 'yes'

The moon is at its apex across the land of Cosrin
The star constellation of Kerits Bane dominates the night sky

Gedrel says 'it is of no use to us like this'
Gedrel says 'no'
Gedrel says 'we spent much time on it'
Gedrel says 'our efforts are wasted'
Gedrel asks 'what is it you wished to achieve holding it here monk?'

Colourman says 'Gedrel has potential to become somthing more than what he is now, I would have him meet that potential.'

Gedrel says 'for what purpose, he is ours'

Colourman says 'As he is, he will merely draw unwant'd eyes to cause's he nea longer understands.'

Gedrel asks 'how can you repair this weak thing?'

Colourman says 'I have a number of thoughts on that, if they fail I will terminate it myself.'

Gedrel says 'it is beyond help, we should leave it die'
Gedrel says 'we will listen to the monk'

Colourman says 'Turn it to my control, I will give it order whilst its mind repairs.'

Gedrel says 'he seeks to steal it from us'
Gedrel says 'we have no use for it, we can take it back at any time'

Slithex Whispers 'Are you certain, Ipsissimus? Gedrel would be a window the elvess could usse to sspy on uss' to Colourman

Colourman says 'I can not steal somthing you do not have, it is usless to ye.'

Gedrel says 'perhaps the monk can repair it'
Gedrel says 'we will give you the sprite'

Colourman gives a quick nod.

Gedrel says 'you have it for one year'
Gedrel says 'then we will decide how to proceed'

Colourman says 'Very well.'

Gedrel says 'its mind is yours'

You see Gedrel's mouth close slowly and his pupils return

Gedrel looks blankly at you

Colourman's lips curl into a half smile..

Colourman says 'Greet'ns, Gedrel.'

Slithex gives a thoughtful "Hmm..."

Gedrel nods slowly

Colourman asks 'Are ye aware of whom ye are, an teh company ye are in?'

Gedrel nods slowly

Colourman gives a quick nod.

Colourman says 'Ye will devote all mental power at ye disposal tea regain'n teh person ye were, before ye left us.'

Gedrel nods slowly

Slithex asks 'It iss truly Gedrel in there, yess? The dark elvess do not sstill lurk in hiss mind?'

Gedrel turns his gaze to Slithex

Colourman keeps his attension on gedrel, muttering "Tis a chance we must take" to slithex.

Slithex's tail lashes against the stone floor

You see Gedrel's mouth turn into the smallest of smiles, or were you mistaken

Colourman asks 'Do ye understand ye instructions?'

Gedrel nods slowly

Colourman says 'Excelent.'

Slithex mutters something in Saurian

Gedrel says 'I am weak'

Colourman says 'When he has regain'd some mental control, I will teach him tea rule his own mind..'
Colourman says 'Then rest..'

Slithex says 'Food and drink will be made available, Gedrel'

Gedrel nods towards Colourman.
Gedrel nods at Slithex.

Colourman lays a hand on gedrels forehead.. uttering a small incarnation. Gedrel head drops slowly, he has passed out.
Colourman snaps his fingers.. a number of servants entering from outside.

Colourman says 'Take him tea our tavern, an see him fed an rest'd.'

Colourman's henchmen lift gedrel between them..

Slithex says 'Ipsissimus, I wonder if Gedrel will recover at all...he iss like a zombie which sstill drawss breath'

You see Colourman's henchman unwind the bindings around his hands and feet

Colourman says 'If he does nea, we have lost nothing.'
Colourman says 'Slithex.. go with him an do what ye can.'

Gedrel recovered slowly now.

He still took refuge in the disused house that he had spent so much time in, but now he slept on the bed as opposed to hunched in the corner of the room. The peoples of Moorgate had lost their disfigured look. They looked the same of course, it is only a matter of perception to decide what is frightening and what is beautiful.

He still engaged them little though. His mind felt dull and sluggish. He had taken himself to the ice reaches of the Pass again, but hunting was slow as he relearned the abilities he held within him.

He still had little purpose other than to follow the order from his new masters. The order that he must regain control over his own being, to become what he once was. His will was used to being in the control of others and was comfortable. But this order was difficult, it fought against itself and brought unrest with each step.

From the haze a light grew, a light that was himself, but the other voices whispered to him, the voices that had always been with him. In these whispers were words that sought their way into places of his mind, where they sat and waited. Waited to connect to form their meaning.