Tristan's feet rested uneasily, dug deep within the shallow stream of snow that laid in-front of the temple's entrance. His knee's buckled for a moment, forcing his leg into a jagged curve and sending him down towards the earth. His hand provided minor relief, preventing his face from slamming against the ground.

A hand tracing the exterior of the door, he hoisted himself up. His legs still providing wavering support, he was able to part the heavy doors.

One step, than another, he made his way deeper into the Temple, each step unreliable and unsure. This thinly veiled guise was only possible for so long before he went crashing towards the ground again, idly rolling onto his back.

Dupont was drenched in blood, the entirety of his form plagued with deep gashes. Shallow purple patches dotted gingerly across his skin where the men's fists had met his skin. Even his breaths were labored, weak and pathetic.

The combined beating and days of travel without food nor water had seemingly broke Tristan, reducing him to a corpse on the ground.

Reis and Whisper trudged their way up the incline, the latter keeping a firm grasp on the arm of the former. More than once the way was wrought with treacherous obstacles, even for one who could see their way. Reis' assistance eased their travel, but their progress was painfully slow as he painstakingly guided their way.

The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached the precipice, and the evening air was taking on a cold chill. Before them stretched a plateau, half buried beneath a rock slide. The entrance way carved into the mountain face remained clear of obstacles, but one of the pillars that stood sentinel had been cracked clean through, the runic markings upon it faded and chipped. To the west could be seen the charred and blackened remains of a dead tree, its branches gnarled and twisted like crooked fingers. Beneath it rested a single gravestone with a worn inscription etched into its surface.

It did not appear as though anyone had lived here for some time.

Feeling their progress stop, Whisper seemed to pick up on their arrival and her tight grip upon Reis' arm lessened. “Are we there?” she inquired.

"We appear to be." Reis replies, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the doorway. "But there's only an entrance, and the plateau is covered in rocks." He frowned, the hiss of his slightly worried breath evident as he scanned the area.

Whisper nodded briefly. “The temple is underground,” she explained. Though what he meant by rocks perplexed her. “Shall we?” she asked. Her tone was carefully guarded and difficult to read.

Glancing once at the gravestone, Reis bypassed it, moving over the rubble towards the entrance, leading Whisper. "Of course." He replied, "it isn't a bad place up here, but for the rubble."

He swiftly lead them into the entrance, and down the stairs inside. Dodging the small lumps of rocks and other rubble, the way was easier than the main body of the rockslide. Upon entering, the right hand of the bard lit up with an eerie blue glow, though not visible to Whisper, it easily lit up the descent for the bard, clearing the shadows and darkness as they entered the main body of the temple, beneath the ground.

Despite the disrepair that had fallen over the place, the temple proper still held a majestic air to it. The walls were lined with black marble columns and intricately carved scrollwork while the floors were tiled in black granite. Beneath the thick layers of dust, varying runic symbols were etched in gold leaf upon the slabs of granite. Lining the walls between the columns stood tall statues of gods and goddesses long forgotten and at the base of each statue resided a small altar. A large unadorned altar rested at the center of the vast chamber. Extravagantly candelabras ringed the room, coupled with cressets affixed to each pillar. However, both candles and oil had long burned out and they offered no source of light. Further passageways opened out from either wall of the room, though the east tunnel was collapsed and impassable.

“Something feels wrong,” Whisper said softly.

As Reis' light further drove the shadows from the room, closer inspection would reveal fresh droplets of blood across the granite floors and the form of a fallen individual largely marred from view by the central altar.

Reis, crouching down, touched the blood droplet on the floor with his finger, letting Whisper go as he did so. Bringing it to his lips, he frowned. "Blood. Very recently too." Rising, and touching her arm again, he began to, warily, enter further. "The place is empty. There's blood on the floor." He focuses on the body, his eyes narrowing. "And something behind the altar..."

Tristan cringed at the sound of the pair entering. His eyes narrowing into tight slits, his lips spiking to one side. He was naive, yes, but no stupid. There was a semblance of danger about the pair that he'd rather avoid. He should of gotten up and ran, teleported even, but he was in a state of disrepair. What was he to do?

"There's someone here,” Whisper replied to Reis. Reaching up she carefully lowered her cowl, but with bandages wound tightly about her eyes, she could see nothing. Even without her vision though, the fear permeating the room was too potent to not pick up up on it. Had the Whisperer found them again? She had not felt his presence since they had left Reis' residence that morning, but that didn't mean much.

“Alrion?” Whisper called out.

"Alrion?" He whispered, an echo of her call. Someone involved with this whole business, most likely. Touching the small pouch with his free hand, Reis readied his magic in case of conflict, taking the time to glance behind him for any flanking force...

“An acquaintance,” Whisper replied. Picking up on the tension in Reis, Whisper moved her hand to rest upon his arm once more. It wasn't until now that the loss of her vision was fully beginning to weight on her. The inability to see what was going on, the reliance upon Reis, and her narrowed view of her surroundings... It was crippling. More so than she had cared to admit, having steadfastly pushed the matter from her mind in her efforts to forge ahead.

Their voices grazed painfully against his ears, turning his face away from them, pressing his cheek against the marble floor. Soon after, he'd attempt to shift the entirety of his body onto his side only to realize that even that was nearly impossible. His teeth grinded, his fists clinched, the pain rang through him violently.

A silver chain wrapped around his neck cradled a jagged red stone. As it began to tremor, his eyes shot towards it. A look of fear struck across his face, it was clear he knew exactly what the movement of the pendant meant.

His body shook, a surge of electricty riding through him as his limbs slammed down against the floor. His back would leave the ground for only a moment as the pain intensified. It was excruciating, as if his blood had been replaced with boiling water.

"S-stop" He whispered. His words had little use other than providing Tristan a guise of control.

As the 'attack' ceased, he laid against the ground once again, his wounds looking as if they were set ablaze, charred black. He shut his eyes, the last ounce of life seemingly tugging against his chest, begging for release.

“What's going on?” Whisper murmured urgently to Reis.

"Something is... writhing over there." He muttered, continuing to glance around. "Whatever it is..." He trails off as he moves closer, his light feet making not a sound on the floor as he attempts to illuminate whatever was thrashing. Again, despite his senses which told him to be cautious, he couldn't help but be curious.

"I think someone is injured ahead of us. There appears to be nothing else in the room."

“How badly wounded?” Whisper asked. She suspected the answer, but regardless, she couldn't do much for the individual when she couldn't see the injuries. She could coach Reis, as she had with her own wounds, but not without a better assessment of what they were dealing with.

"I can't... " Reis moved faster over towards the body, still wary, but faster. Crouching down nearby the body, he frowned again. "Gashes and burns, I think." He replies, before leading her hand down to the body. "How well can you see with your hands?"

Whisper shook her head and pulled her hand away. Groping around blindly at raw wounds with her bare hands would only risk infection. “You'll have to describe the wounds to me, I can talk you through what to do. Are they awake?” She could hear the sound of the individual's labored breathing, but it only furthered he frustrations at her inability to assess the situation.

"They don't appear to be." He replies. He knew little of injuries. Even with an expert guiding him through the motions, it would be hard. "The gashes are burnt over, little injury other than that which is visible." Of course, he couldn't see the stomach. Not yet.

Tristan was ridden with cuts, bruises sprinkled across his ginger skin. His stomach was paticularly purple, almost black now. A diagonal gash made its way below one of his breasts down to his stomach, about a foot long. The gash was burnt badly, as if someone had set it on fire, the result of the magical shock collar around his neck.

His arms seemed healthy enough, a small cut or two across each wrist. The more serious injuries laid dormant beneath the sleeve of his cloak.

“Check down the hall to the left. See if any of the dormitories are in order and if there's fresh water,” Whisper instructed. Moving her hands out to hover over Tristan's form, Whisper stared blindly ahead while she concentrated in silence.

Nodding, Reis stood up, taking a few steps before glancing back once. He wasn't so sure about leaving her alone, blind, in this place. It reeked of danger. Shaking his head, he moved quickly up the hall.

Quickly assertaining the dormatories were in order, Reis found himself crouched in front of a spout, attempting to flush the water through. Tapping his fingers, he felt almost like knocking the spout around. The more he saw, the more he felt that whatever had happened to this place was very bad. "Come on, come on." He muttered, tapping it for a moment before checking the water coming from it.

Not exactly clear, but it promised that there was likely clear water down the line a bit. That would have to do, he'd rather not leave Whisper alone and blind in this place a moment longer. He disliked the feel. Hurrying back, he called out to Whisper as he approached, relieved that nothing had happened in his absence. "There's almost clear water, and the dormatories look in good order. .. But..." Crouching as he neared the spot, he shook his head. "The signs of violence don't make me feel happy about sitting around in this place."

“I know. I can feel it all around. Something isn't right with this place. But we can't move him far,” Whisper explained. Nothing had changed since Reis' brief departure, not even Whisper's position with her hands hovering over the form of the youth. “I think he's stable enough, we can move him to one of the dormitories, dress the wounds. It will take me a few days, but I can mend the worst of the damage.”

"How easily can we move him a short way?" The question showed once more the lack of knowledge that he had on the subject. He knew more about injuries on his own body, but then, he could feel the exact extent of them, and even then, he was clumsy at knowing how exactly to treat them..

“His pulse is weak, but I think most of his injuries are external, it should be safe. Can you get him there?” Whisper asked. Truth be told, she really had no idea how large Reis was, having never lain eyes on him.

Reis leaned down, looking across the body. "I'm not sure I can carry him very well."

“We'll work here then. Bring what you can from the dormitories, whatever is cleanest.” Nodding a moment, Reis paused before remembering she couldn't see. "I'll see what I can find."

As Reis was leaving, Whisper called out to him. “Also, make a poultice for the burns, you know the one. The supplies are in my pack. When applying it, make sure the cloth isn't in contact with the wounds,” Whisper instructed. As Reis moved off to see to that, Whisper settled in for a long night of working over the injured individual.

Whisper carefully walked her way along the length of the altar room, tending to the cressets as she went. Replacing and lighting the oil was slow and maticulous, but it kept her busy, and furthermore, it was a simple enough exercise for learning to get around the room without her eyesight.

She had sent a reluctant Reis away, reassuring him that she would be fine while he gathered supplies for her. He would likely be gone well into the afternoon, given that some of the herbs she required didn't grow this far into the mountains. That left her and the wounded youth alone for the time being.

She couldn't help but dwell over the events of the past week. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control, and even now when she should be seeing to more important matters, she found herself tending to a stranger. A youth whos name she did not even know. But it simply wasn't in her nature to turn away.

The temple itself continued to leave her unsettled, but she couldn't quite ascertain why. Perhaps when she better understood what had happened here, the answer would come to her. However, until she and Reis had time to look through the place more thoroughly, that was a mystery that would have to wait until another time.

As she made her way along the length of the room, the flickers of firelight were beginning to drive the shadows back like a veil to leave the full spectacles of the templerevealed to those who could see them.

Tristan’s eyes slowly spread open, taking in his surroundings. He was confused, stunned, as if he was just born right this second. He didn’t understand anything, and honestly, his brain couldn’t handle trying.

He grew up believing nothing existed past the forest. Him and his father were the only people on this earth, plain and simple. He didn’t know of marble, or ivory, glass, running water or candles. Suddenly, they surrounded him. They scared him. He’d lost the only thing he knew in this world, left pain ridden physically and emotionally. Everything just seemed to well up inside of him with know where to go, no outlets-

God, it didn’t make sense.

He spotted the girl; his expression was first that of awe, but it was short lived as he remembered his interaction with the other group of men. He clenched his fists, his eyelids pressing against each other. His body seemed to flicker; Tristan was trying to teleport away. It was never guided, could be a hundred miles or two feet and it took every ounce of energy out of him.

Tristan couldn’t even do that. His lips spread apart, a harrowing scream escaping his lips in response to a combination of the pain setting in and his realization that he was trapped.

He wanted to fight back, to get up and run. All he managed to do was raise his arm above his face, whimpering like a wounded dog. “Don’t hurt me, I’m sorry. I just want to go home, dammit. I hate it here. I just want to go home!” His voice waivered, weak and harsh. Tears made streams down his face, forming a shallow puddle beside his head.

Whisper wheeled about at the sound of a scream, her own pulse quickening at the spike of terror that filled the room. It quickly became apparent though, that the individual was not being harmed, but rather, simply frightened. The tension eased out of her body and she took a careful step forward.

“It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you,” Whisper replied. “What's your name?” she asked. It was clear that the individual was distraught, but her voice held a soothing note. “Mine is Whisper,” she added gently.

The flickering fire light danced across her pale skin as she spoke. Her small stature and pale complexion left her looking little more than an ethereal wraith come out of the dark. Pristine white bandages were wound about her eyes and silvery locks of white hair framed her gaunt face.

His hand remained, a shallow sheild casting shadows across his face. Instinct, nothing more. It provided him a semblance of safety, like a child pulling up it's sheets to protect it from the terrors it's mind assure him rested in the night. His body trembled, breaths heavy, mind racing.

He tried to calm himself, running his hand across his face as he tried to gather himself. Attempting to shift himself onto his side, the pain got the best of him. forcing him onto his back.

“Don't try move, you're injuries were very severe,” Whisper urged him.

"Why did you do this to me?" His voice was calmer, but it carried an apparant sense of fear.

She confused him. To him, she was some sort of mystical creature. Her voice wasnt rough, it wasnt deep. It was soothing and feminine, something he had no idea existed. He knew one man his entire life and the extent of his experiences came from him. He was not kind, he was not calm, he wasnt soothing and he didnt take care of him. Tristan took this for granted, knowing nothing else.

“My companion and I found you here. We tended to your wounds, but there is much to be done still. I couldn't do more until you stabilized, not without risking further harm.” Whisper explained. “Your strength is returning though, and if you would permit me, I can see to your wounds further.”

"See to my wounds?" He spoke with earnest confusion. "I... don't know what you mean."

“Your injuries. I can help you. Here, just lie still,” Whisper explained as she made her way over carefully. Brushing her fingertips against the altar she knew she was close and she carefully knelt down beside him.

He pulled away, only in the slightest. He still wasnt quite sure how one could help with injuries, it made little sense to him. "Why do you wear that thing across your eyes?"

Whisper turned her head away, allowing the silvery locks of her hair to shield her face, almost as if she had suddenly grown self conscious. “Injuries of my own,” Whisper explained before moving her hands out to hover over Trystan's form once again. “What is your name?” she asked again.

As silly as it sounded, even the simplest question confused him to some extent.

"My name is Tristan."

He watched her carefully, his eyes slowly flicking across her body.

"I like your face."

“What happened to you anyways?” Whisper asked.

"I... dont know. I was in the cave, and some men chased me out of the forest. I sat with them first, but they held me down and hurt me. They stuck peices of metal into me. I dont know why."

His eyes rolled over the wounds on his arm.

"I didn't do anything. I swear."

“Well, you're safe here,” Whisper replied. “I would offer you something to eat, but I'm afraid until Reis returns, there won't be much available. I have some stale bread and jerky if you want it. It's in my pack there on the floor.”

"I... don't know what that is." He looked away, almost shamefully, reaching one hand into the other as he nervously playing with his fingers.

“What what is? Jerky?” Whisper asked.

"Yes... and bread?"

Whisper seemed perplexed by his response. Perhaps this wasn't the boys native language? “Jerky, it's dried meat. And bread is baked flour and water.”

He looked back at her, intent on maintaining some sense of pride. "Dried meat... yeah. That sounds good" He'd rather not mention he did'nt know what flour was.

"We don't have all these things back home...."

“Help yourself,” Whisper offered. Her hands didn't move from their location, but the pack was leaned against the altar, within arms reach. “Where's home?” she pressed, trying to learn more about the boys origins.

He reached out for the bag, haulting for a moment. "Are you sure i can have some? I dont want to take all of your... jerky?" Looking at her, he seemed confused. "What do you mean where? It's in the forest."

“Of course. Reis will be back with supplies soon. Take as much as you want,” Whisper encouraged. “Do you have any family or friends back home? Someone that might be looking for you? Someone we can contact for you?” Whisper asked.

"Friends?" This concept was foreign to him, days ago he didn't know that anyone else existed on this planet. Equally foreign was the concept of a family. "I have my father. He is my friend."

“That's good, you say you're from the forest? The pine forest south of here? Perhaps Reis can locate your father for you,” she offered. As she made the offer though, a stab of guilt struck her. She couldn't help but feel that she was being too free with Reis' generosity, too assuming. Surely the man had his own life and affairs to see to.

"There's more than one?" He stopped for a moment, catching himself. Slowly, he started constructing things, fitting them together. Obviously, this land was vast, larger than he imagined. There were also more people occupying it and there were certainly many things he'd yet to experience.

"My father is gone."

He spoke, his voice begninning to quiver slighty.

“I'm sorry,” Whisper replied, uncertain what else to say.

He put his hands to each side, attempting to force himself to set-up.

"I hate laying down"

His body surged with pain, instinctively reaching a hand to cover the wound. This only furthered it, causing him to grind his teeth, a muffled scream. He breathed, leaning forward on his hands as he sat.

"Wasnt fun"

Whisper withdrew her hands as Tristan forced himself upright. “Lie back, you shouldn't be up for at least another day. Your wounds have a lot of healing to do still,” Whisper instructed. Though from the pained sounds the youth was emitting, he had discovered that for himself. “You're going to re-open the wounds if you move about, and I can't bind them with those burns,” Whisper added. "I would take it as a kindness if you didn't undo my work, this isn't as easy as it looks."

He looked over, pain struck. With a breath, he leaned back and into his make-shift hospital bed. Reaching for the bag, he pulled out the bread, examining it closely. He broke it between his hands, poking at the inside of on piece. He sniffed it idly before taking a bite. He chewed slowly as he attempted to distinguish it from the other food's he'd tasted. "This is bread?"

“It is. I'm sorry I don't have anything fresher,” Whisper replied. “How are you feeling?” she asked. Though her efforts may have appear a lot like sitting there and doing nothing, she had made a lot of headway. Unfortunately, the physical drain upon Tristan would be heavy as she worked to accelerate his bodies natural healing capabilities. The effects had been subtle, but the wounds were already looking days old rather than hours. As his strength grew the process would be faster, but for now she needed to pace her efforts or risk leaving the youth worse off than she started.

He laughed idly, eying the bread. He was fascinated by how it crumbled and broke apart within his mouth. He couldnt help but smile despite the pain, his mouth filled to the brim. Swallowing quickly, he looked to her. "I like this... bread." He eagerly reached into the bag again, pulling out the jerkey. "I hope this tastes as good." He bit into it, his teeth lingering as he spoke. "It's stretchy" He yanked his head back softly, tearing it. He grunted as a line of pain shot through his neck.

All the while he felt his energy slipping away, far too interested in the food to say anything of it.

His appetite certainly seemed intact. It was a good sign Whisper thought. Retrieving her staff from its place near the altar, Whisper rose back to her feet. “Rest, I'll bring you some water,” Whisper instructed before moving carefully down the left hall.

Unfastening her pouch of herbs she deposited it onto a table before locating the water tap. She allowed it to run for several minutes to be sure it ran clear enough for drinking, even taking a sip of it herself to be certain that it was palatable. Rummaging about blindly, it took her several minutes of carefully searching the vicinity to locate an intact clay mug that she could utilize.

Filling it with some water she added a few pinches of ground bristlewood. Without any means of boiling the water, the effects wouldn't be as strong and it would be very bitter, but it was better than nothing.

The return trip was made all the more carefully, so as to not bump into or trip over anything and spill the mug. Perserverence and meticulous care saw her back with the mug safely in hand.

“Here, drink this,” Whisper instructed as she set the clay mug down beside him. “It will help dull the pain,” she explained.

He took the mug into his hands, shifting it from side to side as he watched it's contents crash against the mug's walls. Bringing it to his lips, he leaned off the ground a bit.

Dumping it down into his mouth, he seemed a bit confused. Water didnt have a taste, and the closest he had come to any sort of liquid with a taste was the one day that his father gave him an odd white liquid. Milk he called it.

Forcing it down his throat, he decided not to question it. One more discovery for the day.

“Get some sleep, if you need anything, just give me a call,” Whisper explained. The drug would already be leaving Tristan drowsy. The side effects were quite potent and he would be out within a few minutes, unlikely to wake for hours. She may as well use those hours to get some rest herself while she awaited Reis' return. Her efforts at mending the youth's wounds were leaving her fatigued, and she had yet to recover from her own wounds yet. Sleep beckoned, and for once she answered - regardless of what awaited her in that place of terror and nightmares.

Whisper was standing just outside the entrance to the temple, her back to the cracked pillar. There was a chill bite to the air, but it was giving way to the arriving spring. Bits of water trickled down the rock face from the melting ice and snow, dripping down to patter against the ground. It had a soothing rhythm to it and it helped to fill the silence.

Her few hours of sleep had been fitful as always, and she had woke feeling as if she had not even slept at all. The stress continued to wreck its havoc upon her form. Each passing day left her all the more gaunt and weather worn. The pristine bandages that bound her eyes masked the weariness that was once reflected in them, but the telltale signs still remained in her physical state and lack of personal care.

Doubts had begun to worm their way into her mind and were weighting heavily upon her. Blinded as she was, what match would she be if they came for her. What good was she if she could not see the threats that would confront her. Engrossed in her silent contemplations, Whisper did not hear Reis' approach.

Not that Reis was being particularly loud in his approach. As always, his soft footfall didn't make much disturbance on the air. The pack and back that he lugged along with him weren't light either. The supplies, some of which could've been replaced by simple foraging every day, would last a while. But only if it was Reis and Whisper.

He had no idea how the injured man inside would change that calculation. Thinking about something else, he wasn't aware of Whisper himself until he drew close, though the entrance itself wasn't exactly something to invite seeing others.

"How is the patient?" He asked, keeping his voice low. The freedom of the open air for a time hadn't removed that dark feel of the temple. The disquiet that Reis felt.

Whisper gave a brief start at Reis' voice, but as recognition settled in, the tension eased back out of her. “Resting. I gave him some bristlewood. He'll be out for a few hours still,” Whisper replied. “I spoke with him briefly, enough to ascertain that he seems to be on his own. No family left. He says he was attacked, but the wounds from what you describe seem too deliberate for simple robbery.”

"I agree with that assessment." He mused quietly. "Burning after the other wounds especially. Bandits kill or maim their targets, they don't injure or traumatize." The words had a ... familiarity to them. Like he knew about the subject somehow. "How're you holding up navigating without .... being able to see." A pause in the middle of the statement conveyed the small uncomfortability he had with the question. He didn't like pointing the conversation back to her own injuries.

“Well enough,” Whisper replied. Her answer was as usual brief. The topic of her eyes seemed to leave the woman introverted. True to form she quickly changed the topic. “I should thank you. I mean, for all of this. You scarcely even know me. But you should know that if you remain near me, there will be danger involved. It has a way of finding me, no matter where I turn. I think it's only fair to warn you, after all you have done.”

Truth be told, she couldn't have managed this far without Reis, and her words couldn't begin to express her gratitude. She didn't want him to leave. Part of it was her blindness, but another was her loneliness. Gone were her companions of old. Natalie, Dallas, Sylvire, Arrow, all memories of a time past. There was just her now, and it had been that way for a year. Reis helped to ease her mind to the present. But she hadn't the right to ask him to say, and she did not voice her wishes.

Cocking his head slightly, and smiling, Reis laughed. It wasn't a loud laugh, but a quiet sound of amusement. "Why would I be worried about a little bit of danger?" Oh, he was still afraid, of course. He didn't like combat. And he didn't like this temple. "Travelling only a short way with you has been far more interesting than my last few years of travelling around playing music at inns, taverns and public parks. And snooping around unknown areas."

And besides that, Whisper herself was an intruiging person. He felt bad about that, about helping her because she intruiged him. It felt like he was using her to find excitement. "How much have you eaten?" Another subject change, the subject now felt uncomfortable, after that last few thoughts...

“Enough,” Whisper replied. Her physical state betrayed her words though. The woman clearly had not been eating enough for weeks, if not months. “Have you found any traces of what happened here?” Whisper asked suddenly.

"No. It looks to have been a proper battle, though, rather than a slaughter. I'd say the invader most likely won, though." Pulling out a piece of fruit he'd foraged along the way back, he put it into her hand as he stepped up to her. "Here, a bite to eat." A casual approach to trying to deal with her reluctance with food.

Whisper didn't turn as Reis approached, still staring blindly out over the mountains, but her fingers closed around the fruit. “It's more than just the battle. It's something more... tangible. Something happened here, something potent enough that I can still feel it. Do you know how much emotion it takes to leave residual traces for this long? There's pain, grief, fear and anger, and it's all rolled together and I can't unravel it. There's something darker as well, I can't quite get a read on it. It's like having worms crawling around under my skin when I try.” For one who was unaccustomed to Whisper's capabilities, her words were probably a tad on the bizarre side.

Shocked into silence for a moment, Reis laughed again, humour overflowing despite the area. Or maybe because of it. Laughter chases shadows away, right? "So, that wasn't just my imagination and paranoia." Reis was both amused, and trying to help Whisper loosen. She was always so serious, would do her good to laugh a bit. He still had no idea what she'd dealt with, for the most part...

“This was once a sanctuary. A place of knowledge and safety,” Whisper murmured outloud. Though the thought didn't seem to go any further than that as she sighed and turned about to head back inside. “We should check on the boy. Oh, he said his name was Tristan.”

Calling distantly was a quiet voice as it was before. However this time it lacked the calmness and the patience.

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"Whisper,"

came the firm voice of Orochi. He didn't sound pleased, an uncharacteristic thing for him to show.

Once inside, Whisper had excused herself from further discussion with Reis in favor of retreating to the library for some solitude. Though she could no longer read the tomes that filled the room, the scent of leather and old parchment was a pleasant one. It helped to ease her nerves and allow her the peace necessary to think.

She could scarcely process everything she herself had endured over these past few weeks, without the task of trying to decide what to do with the wounded youth or Reis. Furthermore, Reis had a way of bringing up questions she didn't know how to answer. It wasn't his fault really, and she momentarily felt a stab of guilt for thinking it. Reis had proven a valuable asset, and he had given her far more than she had any right to ask for. It was wrong of her to fault him for his curiosity.

Sighing deeply she ran a hand through her hair as she mulled the matter over again and again. It lacked the same effect as writing her thoughts into her journal had served in times past. Storing information on paper to review later with a clear head was an option lost to her. For now she would have to rely upon memory and repetition of recollection.

However, as the time ticked away, Whisper began to nod off. It was then that the voice of Orochi came to her again, rousing her from her slumber. Her thoughts were hazy and she quickly felt around until her hand closed around her staff. With her vision gone, she hardly felt comfortable without it within arms reach anymore.

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"You had best be awake,"

the voice continued unhappily,

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"I don't want to be wasting my time I could be better using expanding my search."

Whisper rubbed at her brow trying to clear the fog of sleep from her thoughts. “What is it you want now, Orochi.” There was about as much warmth in her own voice as his.

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"Do you know what the Corruption is?"

he demanded.

"What business do you have with the Corruption," Whisper replied.

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"What business does it want with me? No, more importantly, why didn't you tell me about it?"

“Tell you about it? What do you imagine would have compelled me to do that? I don't make it a point of telling my life's story to random spirits who talk to me on the chance that there might be something in there of interest to them.”

There was a momentary silence of annoyance.

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"Then now would probably be a good time to share, since I have discovered it exists, and that it is killing the patron spirits of the Seven Swords."

“And why should I? What matter is this of mine?” Her words were harsh, but the past week had been difficult to say the least. It was leaving her worn thin.

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"Do you seek to chase away your allies when they present themselves?"

“An ally you say. And yet you sent another to take the very item I have sworn to protect. No, you are no ally of mine. You come now because you need me. Whether that is for your own ends, or the ends of the Corruption is yet to be determined.”

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"I sent no such thing,"

Orochi replied calmly.

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"Oh, you met Tycho?"

“Indeed. And if your pawn seeks me out again, it won't end well for him,” Whisper replied.

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"You call him a pawn, I call him potential salvation. But I did not send him for you. But please, share your evidence to the contrary."

“I will not split words with you, Orochi. I have seen far too much to believe in simple coincidences. You approach me about the staff, I refuse my assistance on the matter. You send me to meet with Tycho, I refuse. And yet, he finds me regardless, with an interest in the very same item - an item that is no ancient relic with lore and history books to lead you to it. No, it is weapon created only a few years past by the Corruption itself. And somehow, you know of its existence. I'll even add the recent discovery that the machine you wish to open your vault with, reside within no other than the realm of the Corruption itself. And yet, you wish for me to trust you? I think not.”

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"You are telling me I live in a realm of the Corruption, and you won't tell me what it is or what it does, because you happened to run into a man who was looking for your staff. Yes, it is likely he is the same man I asked to locate the staff. Did he attack you? Attempt to beguile you?"

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"I'm not going to split words either. I don't want your help. I need your help. If you don't trust me then I [i]am[/i] dead."

“You need my help. Has it ever occurred that I don't have it to offer? I've spent my life fighting other peoples battles, and for what? To lose everything? I cannot help everyone when I cannot even help myself - and yet there is no shortage of people asking for it. All I want is to go home, to settle down, to have a family, to just live my life. But no, instead I sit here reminiscing over the friends lost, the sacrifices made, knowing that I will never have those things. All while an unknown voice tells me he needs my help? That I apparently haven't given enough already? So tell me, what it is you need that another cannot give you.”

There was anger in Whisper's voice that was unbecoming of the normally gentle woman.

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"The staff. I don't even want it for myself. I just want it to be used appropriately. But even I don't know what that means anymore. I [i]don't[/i] want it to be used for whatever this 'Lzothozsh' does. Yes, my interests are primarily selfish. That does not mean I don't care about others troubles."

There was a pause followed by.

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"Is there anything I can do to help you?"