He reached a doorway and carefully peered around it, keeping his back against the doorframe, his dark eyes of piercing brown staring into the darkness as though it was as good to them as light; which was not far from the truth. The room was small, presumably a study of sorts by the bookcases lining the wall. There was a table against one wall, the darkness effectively concealing whatever might be on its surface. But otherwise the room was empty, and Raphael moved past the doorway on his search.

He calmed his nerves and slowed his heart rate as he had so many times been trained to do, and so many more times practiced on his jobs. Keeping still a moment, the former killer honed his senses, listening for sound and searching for sight. Nothing. He took this opportunity to check his inventory, checking the pouches attached to his belt, each one filled with powders and liquids; poisons and anti-poisons mostly, some to kill, others to stun. It had always depended on the particular mission at hand. His leathers were lined with daggers of all shapes and sizes, his favored blades though, a pair of twin scimitars, hung on his back, crossed over the top of his light crossbow, a handle at each shoulder blade for easy reach. Raphael was glad he had never unequipped this outfit, leaving its effects readily attached; he had done it as his last act of memorial to Keilia when he had quit his assassinating days following her death. This outfit, he suspected, would serve him well now.

Finally sure that his old tools were at hand for an unexpected use, Raphael continued to move down the hallway, checking doors to find only empty rooms. Towards the end of the hallway he found a staircase, and up it he began to move with a silence that would suggest he did not even move, even step on the withered wood giving just the faintest creak into the emptiness. All was dark, all was silent, and anyone would be convinced that nobody had been within the place in years; even Raphael was beginning to wonder if, perhaps, he had made a mistake. This thought was disconfirmed when five figures, almost as dark as the darkness around them, dropped from the landing above, hitting the steps around the lone man almost silently. Raphael�s eyes glittered with anticipation of the battle he knew was to come; assassins. It had been so long.

-

Calia awoke from the unconsciousness faster than her counterpart, the other mind within the elven body; her days training as a monk had helped her build up an uncanny immunity to the effects of some poisons, and so had not stayed under the effects of paralysis as long as Keilia. Shaking her dark-haired head, trying to get the clouds from her emerald-like eyes, Calia squinted up across the room she was in. The darkness was thick, and it took a moment for her to adjust, and to see the long room, almost like a hall. The walls were stripped down of wallpaper, the remains existing only at the very bottom, peeled and withering. The floor was an uncarpeted, bare floorboard, and there were no furnishings or unnecessary ornaments to be found; apparently the location had been abandoned for some time. Calia struggled weakly against the shackles holding her arms to the wall, her eyes having realized her own nudity, her pale skin speckled with both mud from the vast forest and blood from her own veins.

Even these small efforts caused the elven girl to whimper in pain, the poison inside her bloodstream having weakened every muscle in her body, causing lactic acid to flow within each. She ached all over, every cut and bruise she had received in her battles with the assassins seeming enhanced to her, stinging afresh. Sweat matted her forehead, her chest, her naked breasts and bare legs. The poison was strong, too strong even for her resistance. Keilia was silent; Calia could feel her in there, dying slowly in her unconsciousness. Where was Raphael? Even with Keilia no longer present in her thoughts, Calia wanted him� she needed him, where was he? Why had he not come to her rescue? Raphael? It was as she thought of Raphael now that she saw another, less desired figure stood across from her on the other side of the room, his hood pulled up high over his head, hiding his pale, disfigured face despite the darkness already around him, around her. Anlat was the last thing Calia�s eyes saw as the poison coursing through her body dragged her back into a haunting unconsciousness.

-

Five figures. He had fought more men even in his days as The Wraith, plague of the pirates on the Nelanther. In fact, his former employer Anlat had set him objectives to kill more men than just five on several rare occasions. �But these are trained assassins,� he reminded himself, �not to be underestimated.� These were the only thoughts that Raph had time to think as three shortswords were swung his way. Raph hopped back hurriedly, landing firmly on the stairs� banister behind him. The wooden structure creaked beneath his feet, wobbling in a way that threatened to break and send him toppling to the bottom of the staircase; and inevitably to a broken neck. With reflexes like a bolt from a crossbow, Raphael pulled both scimitars from his back, and his twin blades clashed with the assassin�s shortswords as they came his way again. Only just in time did Raphael remember the two assassins who were not wielding swords, managing to duck their shurikens not a moment too soon. The three assassins at the front moved their shortswords through with Raph�s, before lunging forwards at him with a forwards thrust. The underdog managed to grab the masked head of the middle attacker though, using it as leverage as he performed a forward flip over all three men, the banister crumbling beneath him as his feet left it.

Raphael landed amongst the assassins, safe for the moment from their shortswords but not free of the two shuriken-throwers who hastily drew daggers that Raph could tell were poisoned from the glint of the blade tips. The first knife cut him on the side of the neck, drawing the first blood, and Raph was glad to respond by delivering a jaw-shaking sidekick to the head of its wielder. The second assassin�s knife came in for the kill also, but Raph deflected the blow with one of his scimitars, hastily giving the assassin foe a head butt in the face. The three shortsword holding assassins were spun around now, and Raph backed off towards the dagger-wielders, who were seemingly out of action from their new found broken noses. Raph ignored the blood trickling down his face, blocking the shortswords with his duel scimitars. The situation was becoming desperate though; as fast as he was, his two blades could not compete with three.

Stepping back against the wall, Raph solved the problem by planting his boot on the chest of the middle assassin and forcing him back, allowing him to concentrate his defense on the other two shortswords. The middle assassin moved back as Raph had planned, but as Raph had not planned he then took a fistful of throwing knives. The first caught Raph by surprise, imbedding itself in his shoulder, drawing from him an agonized grunt. This was all the warning the ex-assassin required, and he quickly turned away from the other two assassin�s shortswords, circling around to their side and dodging the next two knives. A shortsword caught him on the arm and he cried out, leaping backwards. The assassins were leering at him, their lips curled and their eyes sparkling with a sense of pending triumph through the eyeholes in their masks. Raph took a quick scan of his situation; the assassin he had kicked was getting to his feet, whilst the one furthest from him was drawing another throwing knife. The two before him were moving for their next shortsword jabs, and the final one was down for the count. Thinking fast as he had been trained to do under pressure, Raph grabbed the already bleeding assassin and pulled him in front of him. The assassin acted as an effective human shield, absorbing the shortsword blows, and taking a throwing knife through the forehead.

Letting the assassin fall to the floor, unsurprisingly dead, Raph hopped up several steps on the staircase, fighting off more angered shortsword jabs. Clearly the assassins had almost tasted victory and were aggravated that he had taken that from them. Raph could see that with the pressure of the blade swings they were putting forward, he would have difficulty in blocking them forever; he had to stop the onslaught now. Stepping forwards suddenly, Raph hooked both assaulting shortswords under his arms. The assassins looked shocked by the sudden movement as their blades became trapped. This shock was only momentary; Raph launched his feet off the ground, swinging through and booting both men on the jaw. The two assassins dropped like lead, their shortswords forgotten beneath Raph�s armpits, which were now cut to shreds, and bleeding under the tattered leather. Taking a deep breath and wincing back the pain, Raph stared ahead at the remaining assassin, a throwing dagger in one hand and his shortsword in the other. Raphael lowered his head, letting his dark hair fall over his eyes as they glared at his final foe, a smirk playing his lips as he licked blood from them. The assassin grit his teeth and lunged forward, shortsword held out. Raph swiftly met the weapon, fending off its blows with a scimitar and purposely tossing the other scimitar to the floor. Raph stepped back, defending his body, and then lunged forward but the assassin blocked.

Suddenly Raph heard footsteps on the landing above him� and on the stairs below him. Looking down and then up, he saw to his horror uncountable numbers of assassins rushing onto the dark staircase from both sides, surrounding him. He was cut off; no escape routes now, just him and over twenty assassins, every one clad in full black and armed to the teeth. Raph sought a way out, somewhere, some chance he might have of getting to safety� he had to, he needed to find Calia� the assassin he had moments ago been in sword combat with took Raph�s senses away from him with a stiff elbow to the head, and the would-be rescuer hit the staircase face first and completely unconscious.

-

With a stinging cheek, aching arms and a pounding head, Raphael�s senses returned to him and he lifted his heavy eyelids slowly. Dark eyes squinted out and he saw the room around him, light almost completely absent, the walls and floor bare and the room void of furniture. He became aware of his wrists shackled above his throbbing head, his feet dangling freely just inches off the ground. With a groan he turned his head and looked around, the sight he saw bringing a shocked expression to his face. There she was, shackled as he was to the wall opposite him, her eyes closed, her body naked of clothing and her skin a sickly white. Her hair was unusually black, quite a startling contrast from her usual head of lush blonde hair, although this new shade reminded Raphael of Keilia�s hair, for how often he had seen her hair laid out beside him in the darkness. He tried to call out to her, but found his throat too sore to make such a noise.

�Awake at last, Raphael? Excellent.�

Raph slowly turned his eyesight from Calia, her unconscious and ill form, and saw a sight he never thought to see again. Clad in the long black robes that Raph was all too familiar with, his dark hood pulled up fully over his scarred and deformed face, his and Keilia�s former employer, Anlat, now stood, a rapier in each hand. Anlat could use those weapons, Raph knew, for he had once been a prized and infamous fencer in the black market world of Waterdeep.

�Anlat, ya bastard, wha� tha� hell�s goin� on?�

Anlat gave a smirk that made Raphael want to lunge at him, but the shackles restraining his wrists prevented this, and he was forced to simply stare at the cowled man.

�You are here to witness first your beloved Keilia�s death� and then you are here to follow her.�