A bent and broken man...

[Gryphon the Pure]

... carried by fiery wings of his companion, is left on the steps of the temple. The glowing companion separates herself from his back, and soars away into the distance. He crawls to his feet. The scars on his bare back show clearly in the light of the sun behind him as he hobbles through the door. His silvered hair hangs limp before his face. He stands before the alter, and falls to his knees. He throws his arms out beside him and arches back, turning his face to the sky. His hair falls back, and his white eyes glow in the shadows of the temple. His tears become mist in front of his face as he cries to the sky."Great Semisa, I send you my plea. Let my life be reborn that I may ride again through the skies upon the wings of angels.H'Graa, of Wrath, I send you my plea. May my blessing be yours that I may again carry the strength to damn my agressors.And Los, if you listen, I ask for your aide. Would that you grant me your blessing, for his offense is great, and in lands of mine own.I plea to the gods! Let thou not forsake my pain!" Raised by a family of Griffins in the forests of Llanowar, this young mage is rumored to be the sole male born of the Serra tribe.

[Caesia Vox Consilii]

As the duke collapses in front of the altar, a common owl ghosts in on silent wings, circles twice, and lights on a decorative mantle above his head. The bird blinks gravely, as only an owl can, and settles its feathers. After a few minutes of regarding the battered figure sprawled across the cold stone from above, the owl launches itself noiselessly from its perch and begins spiraling downwards to a point just beside the fallen drow. Backwinging furiously, it hovers for a bare eyeblink and then blurs dizzyingly. The indistinct figure of a kneeling young woman replaces that of the owl, but refuses to coalesce immediately, wavering instead between two different forms - one wearing only a simple sleeveless knee-length grey robe, belted at the waist, but the other covered neck to sole in loose but cross-laced black shirt, trousers, gloves, and half-boots. Her features, however, are quite solid, and in no more than a few moments the shimmer fades leaving her robed and barefoot. She shakes back her long loose hair and fixes her grey-blue eyes on the duke, in a manner vaguely reminiscent of the owl. Shaking her head, as if in slight reproof, she reaches out and traces a line from his temple to his jaw, with a delicate touch. His contorted facial muscles go slack and his face assumes a more peaceful expression. Tilting her head to next look at the livid scars ridging his shoulderblades, she purses her lips and a small frown creases her brow. She passes her hands slowly over his back, about a hand's breadth away, lips moving silently and eyes focused inward. The flesh under her hands ripples and subsides, leaving the skin still marred, but with faded white scars, which look for all the world like strands of rope embedded in the skin, in place of the fresh wounds.The young woman straightens and regards her handiwork. Her face is now a study in blankness, and only her eyes reveal any emotion at all. She rises to her feet and steps back several paces, then takes on an air of... exasperation? Placing her hands on her hips and somehow managing to look both worried and vexed, she remarks to the still figure on the floor, "Baka. Take my eyes off you for one minute and look. I do wish you would be more careful... Can't you all just stop provoking each other?" Suddenly remembering herself, she looks around somewhat sheepishly. Resuming her more detached air, she drops her arms to her sides and lifts her chin. Pain shoots through her visage as her form blurs again, and she reaches one fading hand out toward him - but then only the owl is left, winging its way to the open air once again.-(hehehe)

[Brrapa Lu Eraro]

The Gods have heard your plees... And they shant go unanswered. Brrapa Lu'Eraro"Not all who wander are lost.."