Felix paid attention to the what the Archmage had to say... at first. Looking at the sundial, he estimated that it might have had something to do with the temporal disturbance in the area. The pyromancer tried his hand at examining the thing as best he could, missing a large amount of vital information in the process while his attention was diverted. It was only when Belmont's name was mentioned that made him listen up. He'd heard quite a bit about the Chronomages, but mostly just in whispered rumours, and on one occasion smuggling out a book from the library from the restricted section that mentioned them a few times. Would they actually have to fight this guy? Even with the advantage of numbers, would it even the odds against a formidable opponent? Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Maybe they'd just find the... Wait, what were they looking for again?

Alexandria had listened to Tess, and immediately saw a problem with their mission; they were looking for a book that was enchanted to mislead people who purposefully looked for it. However, she suddenly saw the confused look on Felix's face once the briefing was over, and a plan of her own began to form.

"Felix, you're the only one who can do this." the elf said to her friend out of the blue.

"Wait, me? Why me?" Felix asked.

"Because the item we're looking for is... uh..." Actually, that question was a pretty good one. Why need him specifically to find the book? "Because it can only be sensed by powerful fire magic users. You're the only pyromancer around here!" she finished. It managed to not only convince him, but appeal to his sense of heroism, and without any further input necessary from the healer, Felix mustered the rest of the group to fall behind him. Luckily he didn't ask where to start looking, because that was a question that most likely couldn't be answered by anyone present.

"I'll explain this to you on the way, shall I?" Alexandria said to Tess as the two of them followed the wizardly procession.

The momentum of Zabu's efforts propelled him further downstream toward a black, yawning cavern, the screeches of hagfish resounding all around him, their thin, slippery bodies caressing his fur with the promise of agony as they closed in for a kill. The Rith'na could see nothing above or below him, but felt his body scraping across jagged rock, his feet occasionally touching down on a gravelly bottom. The sound of rushing water steadily increased, and he detected the faint, fishy odor of seaweed and brine tinging his nostrils. Soon, he felt cold, salty liquid gushing over his shoulders and past his ears until he could barely keep his head above the surface. At long last, the screeching began to die down, whether by the overwhelming noise, or, the eely creatures simply could not swim with the current. Just when the last whip-like tail snapped around one of his wrists and tried to take hold of his arm, he suddenly fell as if an invisible floor dropped beneath him, and another, stronger force met the current head-on, pushing him down.

Zabu's pulse pounded against his eardrums, his heart racing to pump oxygen into his bloodstream. Water began to fill his nose and mouth as he plummeted deeper into utter, abysmal darkness. A warm, fuzzy feeling began to settle over him as he sank, and his eyelids fluttered against the motion of the riptide until the saltwater burned and he had to force them shut. Phosphenes danced across his field of vision in random patterns of blotches and points of colorful lights, brighter and brighter until they blinded him in a flash of white, and a deafening silence stilled his throbbing eardrums.

Then, there was only darkness.

A ghastly, skeletal face with bulging eyes appeared before him, slick, crystallized tendrils of pale, stringy hair fanning out behind it. Thin, cracked lips broke into a crooked, toothy grin, and Zabu not so much heard as felt a presence probing his thoughts, a crone's voice, seeking entry into his mind

You have failed, like the rest, the thought-voice said.

<Look not into the eyes of the damned>

Face your demise, Key-bearer.

<Lest you lose your way>

The hag's mouth spread into a wicked grimace, and she cocked her head to one side. Laughter, icier than the unseen depths pervaded his thoughts, his very being, chilling him to the bone.

Your tale is over before it is begun.

The torches were very dim at this hour. Karem expected that the night guardsmen would refill them on their beats, but didn’t run into anyone as of yet. All the better. Once outside the captain’s office, he stopped. The heated debate had subsided, and he could not be sure that Cylas was still available. Karem was about to knock, but changed his mind. There would time to find out whatever details he needed to know before the conference officially began the next day.

Instead, the guardsman lowered his hand with a quiet sigh, turned on his heels, and headed towards where he remembered the Chancellor’s quarters to be. He was still unsure why the dark elf was there, as he had personally seen the guest list. There was one extra member in the elven party, and being his biased self, Karem was certain as to who that person might be. While the Embassy was always prepared for such unexpected events, the guardsman was less than pleased with the results.

Such thoughts brought back the less than pleasant memories of the dinner. The light fog of tiredness was temporarily shed as the primal caveman inside him growled. Slowly, but surely, his blood grew hotter.

If he hadn’t shown his bloody face – now those memories were brought forth.

Needless to say, by the time Karem reached Calihal’s ornate doors, he was ready to jump at the opportunity to unleash every bit of vengeful bitterness that his antagonist had unearthed. The reasoning being that he was first defending Sylwyn’s honor, and then his own. In truth, it was both in equal measure, but that was not the point at the moment. The caveman could not be contained any longer.

With all the force of the wind, Karem used the knocker twice, then the side of his fist to make his presence known to everyone behind the doors.

“Open the doors,” he ordered, looking at both the guards, who had stood at attention immediately upon his arrival.

Felix, followed by Alexandria, Archmage Tess and two students from her class, strode through the town centre, their trek taking them past the sundial, Gooseneck's only popular landmark which cast no shadow under nightfall and the boundless cloud cover of slow-moving stratocumuli. Vertigris deposits formed a crust at the base of the sundial's gnomon, around the die cast symbols representing the hours and eight celestial signs of the zodiac in a nearly perfect annulus. Its most notable feature was a large, bright lemniscate cast sideways in the copper, forming a double loop into which dust and grit had settled.

Outside the town centre, where the rain had long since ceased falling, pockmarks speckling the dirt were nearly trampled flat by passing feet though mud particles still sloughed off dusty wagons and rain gutters onto the cobbles. The narrow streets wove complex patterns through the town, sometimes doubling back or leading to an entirely different network. However, near the end of one of several residential roads lined with nondescript shacks with small farms, the street split off onto a junction illuminated by an oil-burning lantern hung from a hook on the siding of a dilapidated brown house. At first, Felix saw nothing beyond the lamp's yellow-orange glow. Then, Tess motioned toward the right, starting to suggest they head that way, when she suddenly shifted her attention.

"Look!" she exclaimed in a loud whisper, pointing in the other direction as a darkly clad figure jogged across the gap and disappeared into a maze of houses on the next street over.

"Sir," one of the guards started to extend a hand to bar his path before their eyes met, and the guard, incredulous, stammered, "It'-it's after hours. W-we're not supposed to let anyone in or--"

"Open the doors," the senior guardsman ordered, and the other man searched his gaze in a fleeting show of apprehension that suggested he both saw and understood the rage boiling beneath the surface of Karem's angry expression.

Something unspoken passed between them, from man to man. The guard could almost taste the blood in the air, but he nodded curtly, relaxing his stance and motioning for his comrade to follow suit.

"Shift changes in ten minutes," he responded with an understated, almost authoritative air, reminding him of the need to quickly wrap up his business.

Both guards gripped the round wrought iron handles on either side and swung the doors wide open.

Inside, the room was dark except for the faint, diffused light of the fully risen moons flickering between the curtains as they fluttered in the breeze coming in through the open double window. As Karem's eyes adjusted, finding discernible shapes among the hulking silhouettes throughout- an oak dresser, bookcase, nightstand and a mannequin wearing shimmering mithril- the stateroom appeared vacant, save a lone, motionless figure seated on the left side of the bed.

It is rumored that dark elves never sleep, that the dreamlessness in which they may achieve a still, quieted mind can only be described as euphoric. Branded hedonistic debauchers by the other races, the children of the night self-describe this as akin to that of reaching orgasm, the moment one reaches perfect bliss, before unveiling the world, in clarity, anew. Many have tried to attain this state of being and failed. The blue-skins, quick-tempered and boorish, were predictable more often than not, but it was only amid the silence which followed their transcendence that fear pierced the hearts of their foes, for it was then they were truly dangerous.

"Do come in," Titus answered coolly, without opening his eyes, not at first.

Then, Karem found himself staring into crimson hues glittering darkly back at him.

"But, pray, lest you violate the sanctity of my private space, leave your inimicality at the door."

Karem nodded back as an understanding passed before them. He knew them to be good men and trusted them completely in this regard.

He stepped into the stateroom silently and looked around slowly as his eyes adjusted. The stillness and quiet moonlight made it seem empty, until his gaze fell upon the statue of a humanoid figure. The form held a meditative aura around it, one he recognized. Although he had assumed such a state himself, seeing Calihal like this made him think of the stories of Dark Elves going mad afterwards - exploding tempers, uncharacteristic mood swings, violent lashings. Karem would put none of these things past the Chancellor. His own boiling blood did not help.

Karem scowled at the first comment. His hackles rose at what he saw behind that bloodred gaze, but he stood his ground. Then the request. " But, pray, lest you violate the sanctity of my private space, leave your inimicality at the door." What an uncharacteristic thing to say . . .

"Too late for that. The violence has been done," said Karem calmly as he unsheathed his scimitar. "Time to settle it."

His voice was calm, but every muscle was ready for anything. This was the first time Karem had personally drawn a weapon for non simulation purposes before the Chancellor. The last time, he had simply allowed his archers to fire their warning shots. Calihal had asked for it in both circumstances, really.

The air itself seemed to burn invisibly, fueled by the hatred between them, and it was with certainty there would be bloodshed before this exchange was over.

Still, Calihal responded only wth an air of distaste, like he had just sipped from a glass of fermented wine. "How typical. Blunder in to defend the woman in which you hope to stake your claim spilling your bastard seed...charming, really. Even a man of your station can do much better than a lecherous murderer," he emphasized the words, taking care to enunciate each syllable as if speaking to a child. "Oh! Do forgive my impudence. Did the lord's daughter leave out that tidbit when she lifted her skirts for you?"

The Chancellor rose, slowly, clasped hands falling to his sides, that Karem saw he looked unarmed, the loose, plunging neckline of his ruffled white blouse contrasting the dark contours of his chest in the gloom as he stood and spread his hands disarmingly, his gaze falling briefly to the blade in Karem's hand. "Never mind bothering a lowly guardsman as yourself with trivial details." He then locked eyes with Karem again, too, with blood in his eyes, a fury unmatched except by, perhaps, Karem's own, but his tone was dead calm. "Of course, you do realize the implications of actively drawing your weapon upon an Imperial Statesman, let alone on government property?"

The slow burn within Karem's glare flared as he tried to find words to express his wrath, failed, and moved to raise his sword instead. He had not been raised to resort to bloodshed so quickly when faced with umbrage, but the situation warranted such action.

Calihal's outward calm only infuriated Karem further. Whatever foreplay the chancellor was playing at, he just wanted to get to the point. Karem had been essentially challenged to this fight, had he not? Or was Calihal truly such a unique mix of cocky and bastard that he had not realized what he was doing? In any case, weapon drawn, Karem was now committed.

With no warning other than the one he had already given, the guardsman flowed smoothly into an offensive stance and slashed his curved blade from Calihal's waist to the opposite shoulder. The high contrast between his skin and clothing made the target easy to see.

"Self defense," breathed Karem shortly, putting all his thunder into his movements. "You threatened the Embassy's senior guardsman, remember? Bad move."

The memory of the short but vehement words that had passed between Calihal and Sylywn earlier that day regarding accusations of murder flashed in his mind. Being too young to remember said events, Karem had no idea what to make of it, and knew only that the bitterness of losing a mate could make one willing to believe anything that would help alleviate some of the suffering. And also that loving another could make one equally biased. Not that this changed Karem's firm belief that the chancellor deserved to have each extremity sliced off and the life bleed out of him. Not at all.

Where Calihal preferred to throw words and shadows at him, Karem decided that the only way to settle this score was man to man. Whether or not it would end in fatality was not important now. In fact, he would prefer to have Calihal feel the pain and live with it. For now. He was ready for the fight and whatever fate it brought.