Marth nodded at Dalanesca, before looking at the young lord. "Indeed, we should get moving. Martin, how far to your county?"

Martin scratched his thin beard. "No more than three days, if this weather holds. And I rather think it will, we'll be moving along favourable winds." He gathered the small things he'd dropped falling off the boulder. "But I assume we'll make it in two, what with the infamous Dragonlance to hold our whips," he continued, with a crooked smile. "To have made captain in Wyllmochvar's infantry at the age of 35… Not bad for a man born to the labour class."
 
Marth grunted, though he smiled a little himself. "I'm not the first and I won't be the last. But you're right, we should get there the day after tomorrow if we press on hard. So let's get moving." Marth nodded at Dalanesca, and began leading the party the long way to Reolar County.

---

The party arrived as predicted around dusk the day after the next. The county wasn't all that large, but what was seemed reasonably well-off. It was no splendid county filled with rich minerals or bountiful fields, but the few villages seemed to have all the necessities covered and enough left over to be prepared for bad times. The county was traditionally part of Adeluna, bordering the Vilapmolan coast, but separated by dense forested hills which meant it was screened to some extent from the outlaws that now called that place home. Martin's castle town was a fair sight to behold, if not too imposing - a palisade on a hill, dotted with houses, a hall, and an assortment of buildings hugging the wall. On sighting their lord, the already open gates were cleared of carts and such, allowing the party to pass through to the main hall more or less unobstructed.

Martin got busy getting reports from guards, greeting merchants, and listening to complaints from the town's blacksmith ('The iron you're bringing in is no good for armour, m'lord!') but somehow managed to get the party to the main hall without breaking stride.

"Well, we're not crowded by the smallfolk beyond the usual, so it looks like my steward's been doing his job at the very least," he said, with a nervous chuckle.

"If the worst you get is a complaint on the quality of iron from your blacksmith, but the people see fit to greet you in the streets, I'd say you're doing more or less alright," Marth noted, sith a smirk. "Even if it is your steward running things on a day-to-day basis."

Martin sighed. "In all honesty, I'd prefer to finish my training as a knight before ruling this place," he said off-handedly, before realising the implication. "Luckily, father was on the road a lot too, so he saw to hiring a damn good man to handle his lands."
 
Marth followed Martin through the doors to his main hall, where the party were greeting by a captain of the guard, steward, and court wizard. Marth stood tall and proud in this company, used to handling the formalities and politics of court. He gave a courteous bow to the bunch, and they bowed in return.

"Good to have you back my lord," said the steward, who looked like he thought of Martin as something of an entertaining hindrance of sorts - both good and problematic to have around. Martin smiled and nodded, suddenly getting all lordly. "I trust you're capable of running things for another while yet, master Chillion. We'll only be staying long enough to get provisions and such. Oh… And round up a few of the younger men. We'll need company." The steward - named Chillion, apparently - perked an eyebrow. "Planning on getting into trouble, sir? Along with…"

Marth stepped forward with a smile. "My name is Marth Coralax. As you can see, I am part of the fellhunter fraternity, same as the late lord de Reolar and his kin. The woman along with us is Dalanesca, a hireling under my employ to assist us and function as our bodyguard." Marth made a gesture towards Dalanesca - and gave her an apologetic look, as if to say 'sorry, but formalities must be observed.' "And while we don't expect to face much in the way of resistence, it's a 'better safe than sorry' scenario. You've surely been with the family long enough to understand the implications of the fraternity's work."

Chillion looked at Dalanesca and gave her a bow respectful enough. He turned back to Marth with a nod - not having reacted to the name. Clearly he was either not in the know at all, or in the know completely. "Very good, sir. While I am not familiar with the workings of the fraternity, it was often the late lord Reolar's fancy to bring some seasoned men along on his journeys. And we're always happy to host another member of the fraternity. As a mage, I am certain professor Orvaan here can supply you."

The mage stepped forward. "Dobar Dan, master Coralax. I would be happy to provide whatever you need." The man's accent was thick - thicker by far than the slight hint Marth had.

Marth smiled. "Debvar oza, Mayz Orvaan. Hesz óc à sobvra e holgora zo davje ovgo." The change to the Wyllmochvarian language was instantaneous and flawless, and left the mage rather surprised. The two had a short exchange in the Wyllmochvarian common tongue, before the mage headed off - presumably to collect Marth's things. Marth turned to martin. "My lord. I think it is high time we all got something to eat, don't you concour?"

Martin, seeming all too thrilled (already) to get out of this formal setting, nodded. "Indeed. Chillion, have some supper prepared for us and delivered to my quarters. And find suitable lodging for my guests as well. Mr. Coralax by the library, I think, and ms. Dalanesca somewhere near the armoury, so she can browse as she pleases. Both are to be given every courtesy and full freedom of the town."

Chillion nodded. "Of course, my lord. I'll send supper to your quarters immediately." He gestured towards the back of the hall, allowing Martin to lead his companions along.

Getting in, Martin chuckled. "Born and raised in a castle, and I still can't get used to it. The formalities. Anyway, sorry to push you a little bit behind back there, Dalanesca. As Marth will tell you, hirelings typically don't say much in those situations, and it suits us all that you appear to be one - at least until you can swing some personal authority around here."
 
Marth nodded. "Indeed. But with those tedious thing out of the way, do you have any early concerns?" Both men leaned forward in their seats, to listen.

Time passed at a regular pace for Dalanesca as they made the journey to this Martin’s county.  She took in the sights around her.  The edges of Martin’s county seemed to be well-enough off.  It seemed as though the area was nothing extravagant, but the people seemed to be in good spirits.  In the distance she could see what she assumed was Martin’s castle.  It was not necessarily intimidating, but it did boost her impression of Martin a bit.  It was easy for one to say that one was of noble descent, but proof always helped.

She was inwardly grateful that, although Martin seemed to have many people who wished to speak with him, bring up issues to him, or give him reports, their pace toward their destination never diminished.  Their journey had not taken long, but Dalanesca was tired and she was looking forward to regrouping and getting a bit of sleep.

She fell into step behind Martin and Marth, as what they were talking about made no difference to her.  She had no history with Martin - come to think of it, she had little to no history with Marth, either.  What had drawn her to this mission was an unexplainable urge to help a man she had just met.  It seemed wholly irrational, but at the time there had been a small voice in the back of her mind that urged her to help him.  Perhaps it was how utterly distraught he had seemed, or how much he had faltered when requesting her help.  She could not have said no to him - she did not want to say no to him.  

Gathering her thoughts she began listening to the two men again as they pushed through the doors into Martin’s main hall.  Glancing at Marth as he went through the formalities of greeting noble company, she stood awkwardly behind the two men, casting her eyes towards the floor.  She was unsure of what position to take on, as neither of the men had briefed her in protocol upon their arrival.  This, however, became clear once Mart introduced himself to Martin’s steward.  When he said her name, she bowed her head in respect to the steward but said nothing.  Though she would have normally took offense in not being politely introduced to someone in a normal social situation, this was different - she was playing the part.  Nothing in her expression gave away the fact that she had been a bit taken aback by the description of her being there.  She caught Marth’s apologetic look and flashed him the quickest of smiles - she understood.

She stood idly by as the men conversed, their language shifting into a tongue that she recognized as Wyllmochvarian, but she could not fully understand it.  It was a language she only knew a few words of, and definitely not enough to catch the gist of what Marth was saying - she only knew that he had requested something from the mage.

When the three were alone again and she was offered an apology from Martin, she shrugged, giving him a smile - though it was most certainly not as genuine as the one she had given Marth earlier.  “I understand,” she said.  “Whatever it takes to keep the integrity of the mission is necessary,” she added.  Marth’s question caused her to pause momentarily.  She was, truthfully, uncertain as to whether she had any misgivings. 

She was quiet for a moment, before speaking.  “My only concern right now is that after all of that male-fronted show of dominance back there I get some damn mead,” she quipped, both her tone and expression giving the jest away.  “But in all seriousness, I’ll have a better idea once I see what kind of equipment we can get.  Also, Martin… is there a shop nearby where I can purchase some clothing, or perhaps you have some here?”  She gestured down to the clothing that she currently wore.  “I don’t think what I have on right now is going to do much in terms of secrecy when we get back on the road,” she added.  “Of course, I’ll not need the garments until morning, but if you could either supply them or direct me to the right establishment, that would be helpful,” she added.

Taking pause, she looked down at her hands for a moment before looking up at Marth again.  “I”d like you to come to the armory with me,” she said, her sentence taking more of a form of question than anything.  “I’m still not entirely certain what we’ll be facing, and you probably have a better idea of what will be useful,” she added.  While the statement was truthful and she did in fact want his opinion on what weaponry and provisions would best suit their needs, she also wanted a moment to speak with him away from Martin, and she hoped that the knowing glance she gave him would help him understand such.  She could have simply told him to come speak with her in her quarters once they had been shown to them, but that seemed to have further connotations behind it than she wanted thrown out there.

“I am, however, feeling quite hungry.  Might we find our quarters and perhaps we can check the armory in the morning?” she asked, hoping that Martin (and Marth) would agree with such a decision.  The better rested they all could be would truthfully help with many aspects of accomplishing their goal, so it only made sense.

Marth and Martin looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded at Dalanesca. "Certainly. Why don't we take a stroll by the library and armoury after the meal? I'm certain Martin needs to catch up on some ruling and management anyway." Marth looked over at the noble with a sly grin. The noble leant back in his chair with a sigh. "You two can have your private chats any old time you want, just please don't sic my damned councillors on me. I'm fairly certain they have a hidden scribe somewhere, present only to make paperwork for me to endlessly sift through every time I return to this hall." Marth mused at the accusation. "Makes sense. I mean, if they want you to stay, there's nothing better than ensuring you're punished for leaving." Martin was about to reply, but a soft knock on the door was heard. "Oh, don't bother knocking, we asked to be served supper!"

The serving girls came and went, leaving behind mead, wine, soup, bread, butter, mutton, jams, honey, cheese, ham, fruits, some cold chicken legs and freshly made eggs and bacon. Marth looked to the host, who simply nodded at them while filling up his plate. Marth took that as an invitation and began filling his own plate - with a meal balanced to military precision, and even arranged according to shape and colour. Marth began eating, interrupted only occasionally by a sip of wine, leaving the meal mostly in silence. This was probably for the best, for both noble and mage suddenly realized how famished they were.

---

After the meal, Martin excused himself and left to attend his duties as lord of the estate. Marth looked at Dalanesca with a smile. "Well. A walk? I think I know where to find the armoury." Marth led his companion out of the room, allowing her to voice her concerns for him to address.

Finding Martin’s answer to her questions satisfactory enough, she sat through the ensuing meal in silence.  Chewing on a piece of cheese, she cast her gaze on Marth.  Allowing her eyes to rest on him, she watched with interest as he arranged his food, taking note of the strict organization he seemed to follow - yet another thing about the man that made him even more interesting to her.  Careful to not draw attention to her staring, she looked down at the table, reaching a hand forward to grasp the flagon of mead she had taken.  Going to take a long drink of it, she realized that she had already drained the flagon of its contents.  She reached instead for a carafe of dark red wine, filling her flagon up with such and taking a drink before setting it down again.

The meal went on in relative silence until Martin took his leave.  She had not eaten nearly as much as she had assumed she was going to - she had felt much hungrier when they had sat down.  She stood out of politeness when Martin excused himself, before sitting back down.  Draining the contents of her cup, she felt a warmth in her cheeks that made her know she would sleep well that night, which was a good thing considering the circumstances their journey followed.

When Marth stood, she followed suit, nodding silently at his question of a walk towards the armory, but warmly returning his smile.  She was quiet for a moment as she followed him out of the room, before her voice broke the silence.  It came much softer than usual, as though something had her concerned.  “How well do you know Martin?” she asked, hoping that the question was not overly prying for him.  “I mean… can we trust him?  Like, really, really trust him?”  She furrowed her brow for a moment, as though she was having trouble deciding how to put her thoughts into words.

She paused in the hallway they had been walking down, taking a moment to lean back against a wall.  She lifted one of her feet and bent her knee, pressing the heel of her boot flat against the stone of the wall.  She looked Marth in the eye, not saying anything, a drawn out sigh passing her lips.  “I’ll be honest,” she said, not pulling her gaze from him and pushing a lock of her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.  “I don’t want to go to the armory tonight.  I’d like to get a good night’s sleep before I decide what armaments we should bring alone,” she admitted, giving him a half-cocked smile.  “I just wanted a moment alone with you, away from Martin,”  she said.  “To talk,” she added quickly, realizing her indiscretion.  “I trust your judgement, and I wanted to hear true words on Martin from you before forming my own opinions,” she said.

She grew quiet again, pulling her lower lip into her mouth and chewing on it slightly in thought.  “I’m over thinking it, I suppose,” she said quietly, with a bit of a sigh.  She had been feeling odd since they had walked into Martin’s home, and she could not quite place the feeling.  “Do you know which direction the quarters I’m to stay in are?” she asked, wondering if he knew the place well enough to be able to answer the question.  She was ready to turn in for the evening, with a myriad of thoughts flying through her mind.  

Marth listened to Dalanesca's concerns, as they were, before carefully dismissing them. "Martin may seem a bit young and… peculiar, but he's a sworn brother of the Fellhunter Fraternity, as am I. He'd never do anything to jeopardize my hunt for the shards of Reaver, and he'd be hard pressed to ignore the word of the priests who tended to me after my excorcism. So yes, you are overthinking it." He smiled, and put a gentle hand on Dalanesca's shoulder as reassurance. "Don't stop voicing your concerns, however. I'll be trusting your keen eye to have my back."

He turned towards the west wing - the underground one - in response to Dalanesca's last question. "If you head towards the armoury, I am certain the hall's various servants can help you out. Alternately, I'm certain Martin wouldn't mind you taking one of the scholar's suites. The du Reolar have always been scholars, and fond of visitors, so there ought to be more than one room available there." Marth then gave a sly grin. "I could pick up a book from the library and tell you a bedtime story?"

Marth then began moving towards the northeast wing, hosting the library, observatory tower, and a number of guestrooms. He'd also turn his head and bid her goodnight, should she choose not to come along.

She nodded at Marth, accepting the answer he gave her one hundred percent.  If Marth felt Martin was to be trusted, then she would trust Martin.  His smile further reassured her, and she cast her gaze down momentarily to his hand that had come to rest on her shoulder.  She found it mildly surprising that he initiated such contact with her, but calming, none the less.  “I don’t think you need to worry about that.  If you haven’t noticed, I’m not afraid to speak my mind if I feel the time warrants it,” she said, with a cheeky grin, patting the back of his hand with her own.

She listened as Marth described to her the options that existed for her quarters for the evening.  While rooming near the armory would be advantageous for morning, she thought that being a bit closer to Marth would not be a bad thing - in fact, it would probably ease her mind more so.  Though he had told her Martin could be trusted and she was going to push herself to trust him, it was going to take time for it to become habit.  

She raised her eyebrows at his comment, a bit of a flush coming to her cheeks.  She said nothing for a moment, unable to tell if the comment was a tongue-in-cheek joke, and found herself sensing the slightest bit of truth behind it.  She gave him a bit of a smile, her eyes darting away from his own.  “As lovely as that sounds, I think I’ll pass this night,” she said, with a soft laugh.  “Need to get some sleep, you know?”  

As Marth began towards the northeastern wing, she stood still for a moment before finally making up her mind and following him down the hall.  “I will, however, find a room down this way, I think.  I’d rather not be on opposite ends of the place from you, just in case,” she said, though immediately knew that she was going completely back on what she had discussed with him earlier.  

When the two had reached the spot where they would take leave of each other, she gave him another quick smile.  “Goodnight, Marth,” she said softly, heading off to where she would spend her evening.

-

Dalanesca awoke with a start, the windows outside indicating that the sun was just beginning to rise.  She felt different, somehow - and what had happened over the course of the night was an explanation for that.  It was as though time had stood still and she had been transported to a different place.  Many had spoken to her there, though she had no inkling as to the appearances of those speaking.  A great power, of some sort, had been instilled upon her - a responsibility to uphold and maintain the world’s balance between good and evil.  The power had been sent with no instruction, but somehow she knew what it was she had to do - but whatever entity had instilled such a task upon her had also urged her to continue the mission at hand - she was no longer tied to time the way that mortals were, and could move back and forth from her realm without her companions even noticing.

She lay in her bed, both her heart and mind racing.  She sat up quickly, throwing her blankets off of her.  She quickly gathered her clothing and armaments from the bureau in the corner where she had neatly stacked them, getting dressed in a hurry.  She glanced in the mirror as she straightened her hair - it was slight, but she could see that she looked different.  Her hair fell nearly perfectly in waves around her shoulder, and her skin, still its pale white color, had a distinct glow about it.  Her eyes widened at the realization that popped into her head.  How was she going to explain this to Marth? 

She exited her room, possible scenarios of how to explain this change running through her mind, but stopped abruptly as she saw Marth exiting his quarters just down the hall from her.  She gave him a bit of a wave and hurried down the hall to him.  “Good morning,” she called as she made her way down.  Without giving him a chance to say anything to her when she approached him, she placed a hand on his shoulder and walked him backwards into his room before he had a chance to shut the door.  She closed it behind her, and tried to come up with the best way to explain the situation to him.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, looking straight at him.  “Look. Something happened to me last night,” she said.  “I’m… well, I’m not really sure how to explain it, but something changed.”  She furrowed her brow, as though she were trying to think of how to explain the situation to him.  “I had a dream or something - but then it turned out that it wasn’t really a dream, and…” she trailed off, her gaze drifting from his eyes, reliving the experience in her mind again.  “I was chosen,” she said, explaining it in the only manner she could think of to do so.  She let out an exasperated sigh, clearly frustrated with the difficulty of trying to explain it.  “Look, I don’t know how to say it any other way.  I’m… well, I’m a God.  A fucking God” she said, the curse word emphasising the absolute silliness she felt trying to tell Marth.  “How ridiculous does that sound?”

She sat down upon the floor, not even bothering to look for a chair or perhaps the bed to sit on.  She was so blatantly overwhelmed, yet oddly at peace.  “I know, you probably think I’ve cracked,” she said, laughing a bit.  “Fortunately, I did not go mad in the dead of night,” she said, and immediately stood back up.  “It was like time froze, and I went somewhere else and I was still here at the same time.”  She paused, taking a moment to study his reaction to what he was being told.  Her eyes suddenly lit up, and she realized - somehow, within herself - that she could show him that things had changed.  She swiftly took his hand, holding it tight within her own, and grasped it tightly - and somehow, she knew that he could see the truth behind her words.  If he looked closely, he would see it - the glow in her skin, blemishes gone; the bounce of her hair, more full of life than before; the look in her eyes - filled with power unmeasurable.  All signes pointed to it, he just had to see it.

After a moment, she let go of his hand and took a step back, looking at him with interest.  She knew not what his reaction would be.  “It’s not going to interfere with finding the shard,” she said.  “In fact.. It’s going to help,” she added - and she was certain that it would, for she could see that it would. 

After a bit had passed, she spoke again.  Her voice sounded more sure than before - more confident.  “So… where do we go, now?” she asked, hoping he would fully accept what he had been told.

Marth accompanied Dalanesca to the library wing and said goodnight, heading to sleep. Despite recent events and Dalanesca's proximity, his sleep was uneasy - burdened by a sense of foreboding and imminent disaster.

In his sleep, marth dreamt a peculiar dream. He was standing in front of a massive set of scales, held by an obscured female figure. Although the figure was oddly familiar, Marth couldn't place it. He could place the scales however, and the things that occupied them. On one scale was him, proud and tall, holding the Dragon Lance and a tome, clad in white and yellow. On the other scale was also him, but consumed by reaver. His skin sickly pale, his posture crouched and grinning, with fangs and claws in place of teeth and hands. As Marth woke up, the dream was forgotten, left to linger at the back of his conciousness.

Sunlight. Appropriately, it shone on only one of his eyes, the other shaded by the stained-glass window. Marth got up, feeling groggy. He realised someone had been in the room already. The small tub of steaming water and well-balanced breakfast laid out for him was a dead giveaway, not to mentioned his robes, cleaned and dried overnight. Marth groaned and got up, washing himself and getting dressed. He couldn't shake this sense of foreboding, and it accompanied him even as he arranged his breakfast by colour and nutrition yield.

Having eaten his breakfast, Marth stepped out of his room. He was immediately approached by Dalanesca - with a manic look to her eyes. She bade him good morning before pushing him back inside, and not really knowing what had happened, Marth suddenyl found himself seated on his bed, listening to his companion talk about dreams and divinity. "Whoa, whoa. Hold on, Dalanesca, so you realise how -"

Madman, manman, rubbing off on sweetheart there? Better run and leave her if you really, really care! Marth winced and braced his head in his palms. For the first time in days, Reaver's voice echoed uninvited in his head. Argh! Leave me alone, damnable creature! How do you expect me to make sense of this if you keep singing!? The mental debate shot back and forth. I won't. I don't! I couldn't care any less. But you have to see, dear Coralax, with you she isn't blessed! Reaver laughed. Marth tried to keep the voice at bay, but Dalanesca had surprised him. His mind had come unbalanced by her erratic behaviour, and as a result, Reaver had become strong. Marth tried. He wanted to believe. He remembered the dream from that night, but Reaver only scoffed. Come, now, little battlemage. Do you honestly believe this girl - this set of holes - is a diety? I'll prove you wroooooooong!

No, don't! Marth's inner shout was completely useless. It had only been a second since Reaver's voice had sounded in his mind, but Marth was no longer in control. He looked up at Dalanesca, his eyes wide and his mouth grinning. Black claws shot from his fingertips as the vile magic that had once corrupted Marth's body took hold once again. He cackled inanely, lunging forward with a lightning-quick hand, aiming to tear Dalanesca's torso up. You'll kill her! Dead or alive makes no difference to me, that cunt is mine - and also yours! You know how this will be! While Reaver taunted Marth in their common mind, the demon also spoke to Dalanesca with Marth's voice - although pitch and tone was completely different. "While way, which hole!? An existing one or new!?"

Her brows furrowed in disdain when Marth began to verbally object to what she had said to him - though the disdain diminished swiftly as he came to rest his head in his hands, eyes clenched shut in what looked like pain.  “Marth?” she questioned, stepping closer to him, and kneeling in front of where he sat on the bed.  She could see that something was wrong, and she could only assume that it had been her fault - she had startled him and confused him with her ravings about what had happened to her previously, and she could sense that something had changed within him.  She couldn’t see his face, and she reached out her hand to touch his cheek.  

Just before her fingertips made contact with the skin of his face, Marth’s head snapped up and he looked at Dalanesca.  She could immediately see that he was no longer himself - something evil glinted in his eyes, and his grin resembled that of an absolute madman.  Panic overcame her - she was not prepared to deal with this - not now.  She barely had time to react when she saw the jet black claws jutting forth from Marth’s fingers as he lunged at her.  She managed to throw herself backwards, but not far enough.  The tips of Marth’s newly appeared claws ripped through the fabric of her tunic, gashing the skin across her chest open.  

She let out a sharp gasp of pain, blood beginning to stain the white cloth of her shirt.  The cut was not deep, but it was enough to cause her pain and to make her bleed.  “What are you doing?” she cried, scrambling backward to get further away from him - but her answer was given shortly as he began to speak, the words and the intonation clearly explaining that he was, in a sense, no longer there.  The words he spoke placed terror into her mind.  She was strong, but wasn’t he stronger?  

But then, it dawned on her.  She was stronger than he was now - she just wasn’t sure how to manifest such strength.  She froze for a split second before scrambling to her feet.  Blood still seeped from the fresh wound on her chest onto her shirt, but her face no longer reflected the pain.  “None of these things shall happen.”  The statement was powerful even in her quiet, female voice.  She began to step forward towards Marth, though neither fear nor panic colored her face any longer.  Willing the entity within Marth to remain motionless, she came close enough to grasp his chin in her delicate hand.

The words she spoke were laced with anger and power.  “You’ll do me no harm, demon,” she said, the words barely above a hiss.  “This shall not end in any more blood being shed than already has,” she continued, not releasing the grip she held on his chin.  “Retreat now, to the far recesses of his mind,” she commanded, and some part of her knew that her command would work, at least temporarily.  She could see the outcome of the situation and it was covered in a gleaming light which told her of success.  

She was silent for a moment, her hand still grasping Marth’s chin.  Slowly, she raised her other hand to run along his cheek, calling for him to return.  “Marth, regain control - I know that you can.  Use me as your anchor, and come back to the surface,” she pleaded with him.  There was only a slight worry in her voice that she could not mask with her power - though she possessed the strength, a part of her cared for her companion, and wanted to make sure that he could come back from whatever the entity within him had done to him.  She let out a small bout of nervous laughter, continuing to speak, her words less eloquent than previous.  “Besides, you and I’ve got shit to do, we’ve not got time for this.”

Marth, terrified, locked eyes with Dalanesca. For a few horrifying seconds, he couldn't move. Reaver was still dominating the body, but something in Dalanesca's voice had frozen the demon. Authority, terror, cunning - neither had come close to stopping Reaver in the past. And Marth certainly knew that his own mental strength had nothing to do with it. So what was going on? As Dalanesca stepped closer, Marth tried to yell at her to leg it, hoping she could put Martin between herself and Reaver - but even as she came close enough to touch his chin, Reaver made no motion. In that moment, something ocurred to him - could it be that Reaver was immobilized? It would have to be strong holy magic to do that. It can't be… Was she serious?

Then, Marth's limbs began to feel heavy. For a moment, Reaver's hateful glare receded from his eyes, and Marth looked as though he might never wake again. But then, the mage stumbled backwards, back onto the bed, dazed. The voice was gone - Reaver's presence had been surpressed. In his mind, Marth imagined once again the set of scales from his dream, his sins and Reavers' weighing far more heavily than his virtues. But in this image, a familiar hand dropped something on the 'good' side of the scales - a weight of sorts, like a promise. The image faded in a heartbeat, and Marth was once again aware of the material world.

He looked up at Dalanesca. His eyes had turned pitch black, his claws still present. His skin was pale, and his teeth still sharp and wicked-looking - but around his eyes and mouth, his face was no longer twisted in evil. Marth looked at his hands, silent. What is this… Isn't Reaver..? Marth took a deep breath and flexed his fingers. His veins pulsed with deep purple, borderline black, magic energy, extending his claws. I see… Guess my body is accustomed to it… he couldsn't quite explain how he did it, but it didn't require any more effort than his dracomancy. In fact, it took him less than a second to lose the pale complexion, the claws, the fangs, and the black eyes. Instantly, he was himself again.

"I don't know how you pulled that off, Dalanesca," He said, looking up at her with a somewhat dazed expression. "But thank you," he said, a weary smile on his face. He thought for another second. "What you just did… I… I suppose I owe you at least a chance to prove you are what you say you are," he continued, still looking a bit distant. He rubbed his temple, and the slightly stern, but gentle expression of Captain marth Coralax finally returned. "If nothing else, you've proven you have abilities I didn't even know existed in such powerful forms. What you did wasn't just calling out to me. That was magic."

He looked up at her, and then at her wound. "We should attend to that wound before - " Marth cut himself off mid-sentence, seeing the ruin he had made of Dal's chestpiece, and the location of the wound Reaver had inflicted. His cheeks flared red, and he looked away. "I mean, unless we want people to ask what happened here. I… Will you take care of it yourself, or should… I know some basic medicine… Ahem."

While the whole situation was embarassing, confusing, and terrifying, Marth didn't even realise how very balanced he was at the moment. Though, if he was to be honest, right now his own sanity wasn't his primary concern.

Though part of her knew that her commands would work against the darkness within Marth, she still felt a wave of relief when Marth stumbled backwards to fall onto the bed.  She dropped her hands to her sides now that they were no longer holding her companion’s face, and stared at him, amazed that what she had attempted had actually worked.  Though Marth’s features still showed that of Reaver’s overtaking, she could see that the horrible expression he had worn on his face was there no longer.  Though his eyes were still black and magic still pulsed through his veins, and the talons that had shredded her skin still remained, there was something familiar about him once more.  

His black eyes locked with her own and she stared at him, unblinking.  Even when he looked away to view his hands, flex his fingers, and draw in a breath; she still stared.  Suddenly, everything different about him was gone and he was back to the state he had been in before Reaver had been triggered.  

She let out a massive sigh of relief when Marth spoke to her and his voice was back to the tones she remembered, not the frightening pitch and intonation given to him by Reaver.  She strongly fought the urge to fling her arms around him and embrace him, out of relief more than anything - but also because she was truly happy to see that he had returned to his normal state.  She could hear the confusion in his voice, and see it in his face - and she couldn’t blame him.  This was all as new to her as it was to him, and even with a better understanding of it since she was the one in possession of the power, she had difficulty grasping just what had happened.

“Marth… I told you,” she said, quietly, referencing what she had told him before the entire situation had arisen. She let him continue to speak, knowing that verbal exploration was sometimes the easiest way to accept something that was difficult to understand.  With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead in a hand for a moment before removing it again.  “Marth, I told you,” she repeated herself, though this time her voice was not so quiet.  “That wasn’t just magic, Marth.  That was me.”  She paused, unsure how to continue for a moment.   After a moment’s contemplation, she continued.  “Do you think I just went to bed not knowing how to do even the most novice spell, and woke up able to do something like that?  Just like that?”  Her voice did not echo annoyance, but more exasperation.  “Look, Marth… please, just trust me,” she added, though she knew what she was asking of him was a bit of a stretch.  She was sure that eventually he would know she was not raving, and that she truly was what she claimed to be.

She grew silent for a moment, before being pulled out of her reverie by Marth questioning her wound.  Truth be told, in the heat of the moment, so to speak, she had forgotten all about the bleeding gash that crossed the top of her breasts.  When Marth brought it up, however, she looked down.  The leather of her chest plate was destroyed - probably beyond repair, and hung in tatters to either side, held together only by a single buckle.  The white cloth of her tunic was shredded as well, stained crimson with blood still seeping out through the slice in her skin.

“Right,” she said, frowning.  Glancing back at Marth, she could see the blush in his cheeks, and couldn’t help but to laugh.  “Come, now, Marth… this probably isn’t the most you’re going to see of me, we’re travelling together after all.”  Though she attempted to lighten to the mood, her own cheeks reddened as well.  “We can’t seek outside help for this - they can’t know what has just happened in this room,” she said.  “Grab some water and a cloth, help me with it,” she said.  “We’ve still got to go to the armory, and then meet with Martin so we can prepare to be on our way,” she added.  It was an awkward place for her to treat the wound completely on her own, and she knew that the assistance would be useful. 

Sitting down on the bed while Marth presumably retrieved the necessary components to treat her wound, she pulled the sleeves of her tunic off as well as the collar down, exposing the wound enough to treat but still partially covering herself.  She winced as she her muscles tensed when she moved, letting out a sharp guest.  “You really did a number on me, didn’t you?” she asked, with a bit of a pained laugh.