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A small platelet of tears begin to surface on Elijah's eyes as he stared down at the raft he had made, the covered body of the Viceroy laid upon it. The same Viceroy that he respected and had given him a chance. Only moments before those same eyes had witnessed Aeris, the former Captain of the Guard strike his leader with a dagger tipped with poison. And only a few days before that, he had been granted the opportunity to be the Magistrate of Trolls Bane.

A single tear ripped free from the growing pools that were his eyes, as his hands begin to fumble with a rock at his belt. Shakily he struck the hilt of his dagger against the flaky stone, sending a shower of sparks down towards the wet craft. He pushed off with his leg as it begin to uproar in the steady beat of flames upon contact with the oil he had sprayed over his remains previously, slowly floating off with the current of the swift moving water.

The flames illuminated Elijah's face as he breathed in the moment, captured it, and soaked himself in the thoughts of the day. He would remember this, remember the slight twinge of pain that he felt as he saw his leader tumble over to the ground and his attacker flee. He would need that pain to feed off in order to accomplish the goal that dying man had set for him.

As the spark of light begin to float further down the stream towards the ocean and beyond, one could make it out for quite a distance in the night air. With the rumors swirling of his untimely demise, people flocked to the stream to pay their respects to the fallen leader.

As for Elijah, he took one final glance towards the burning memorial before turning back towards the town. The same one he was sworn to protect. He whispered something to the wind, his words trailing off with the swaying of the trees.

"I won't let you down."

Tick...tick...tick...

The dove follows the sounds of it's master. In the dark, a small shape looms from the blackness around it. It lights on his shoulder.

Tick...tick...tick, eh?

The halfling takes the note, lights a candle and squints in the gloomy light. Reading faster and faster, he suddenly crumples the note into a ball, and with a face of pure anguish, falls to his knees and cries. Long cries of sorrow for the man who helped him, and helped his Guild. He was a fair, impassive and righteous man of deep morality.

Tears drip onto the ground, making little mudpuddles of the coal dust.

After a while, the halfling sniffles and breathes noramally again. He wipes his face with his sooty sleeve, leaving more coal dust upon his furrowed brow.

"Who can we trust now?" he whispers to no one in particular. "How will Trollsbane ever recover?" He looks at the ground for some time, and then a smile crosses his face.

Under the flickering candle, he writes a note, licking his tongue with the ink-stained quill, he marks on the paper so fast, he makes a few errors. He gives the note to the dove, with an offering of some grain. "Take this to the Magistrate, Straight away!"

With that, the dove lifts off into the darkness toward the opening of light. Fading in the darkness is the renewed sound of mining...tick...tick...tick.....

The events of the last few weeks had been so many...
Alan enjoyed the cool night air to the full, breathing it in, as it cooled his face with the smooth eastern wind that carried his hawk Shadow upwards to the stars. Yes, it was a beautiful night. He had finally chosen what he had dreamed of so long before. He had loved Varshikar, he had given that town everything he had. But it was not enough - his home had been twisted, switched into a gathering of Djironnyma's puppets. Alan would not be part of it. Tonight had seen Varshikar's death in his eyes. It's spirit, if there had been anything left, was gone, only a small amount of it was still in his heart, the rest was blowing in that soft eastern wind.

He passed Troll's Bane on its eastern side, not going into town. Troll's Bane too was about to fall, it had only been three days since he had discussed this matter with the Viceroy in person. He hoped that this man would be stronger than himself, and would also be blessed with more political success than he had been.
Alan did not feel bitter about the political turn he had had to endure. To his own surprise at first, he had been relieved. Almost happy. And now that he had left the snakepit, he was sure that Sirani's true blessing to him had been granted. He was a free bard, full of spirit and energy to make his dreams come true. Ssar'neys words came back to his mind: "One hass one duty to forfil. None but zze Godss iss sstrong eanough for two."

In that moment he saw the shining, even sooner than he scented the smell of the fire. Frowning, he stopped shortly, then continued his way alongside the river, towards the harbour. But the river flowed too fast. The limping footsteps of Alan were not fast enough to actually make out the source of the strange firelight he had seen. And so he missed the news and soon forgot about the fire, thinking about all the pleasant talks he and the Viceroy might be able to have as soon as he visited Vanima again.

On the opposite bank, alone, is the barely visible figure of a young woman. Entirely cloaked, identification would be hard in the waning light. How long she had been there is uncertain, as she seems to have arrived long before anyone else. Soon enough, the fiery spectacle drifts from sight, yet still she stays, leaning upon a staff and gazing off into the waters.

((Not my best work, but meh.))