Deciding that discretion was the better part of... most things, Myra slipped into a shadow. Mentally pulling it around her like a blanket, she carried the shadows with her as she walked across the open spaces toward the shadows of the Crypts. She paused when she noticed a ranger - one she had seen at the Arrow only a while earlier - standing before the open door of Semper Intus Noctem. She looked around where she could but spotted no other figure. A light scent came to her on the breeze. How long had she known it? Since her days as an applicant to tel'Mithrim. Anga.

Myra stepped from her place in the shadows, eyeing the open door, but addressing the ranger that stood outside of it. In the next breath she mentioned Anga, hoping her guess was right, and so it was. Anga stepped from his well concealed hiding place with a light smirk. "You always were the better of the two of us, Myra." The three of them spoke briefly and Myra realized why the door had been open. He was here.

Just as the realization hit her, the door, which had closed previously, opened again. The sun sank down over the horizon completely and the area was dark. The ranger that accompanied Anga lit a torch, holding it in a particular area. There, before her, lie the shadow of the former Scion of Baal'Morda - Trenton Sythe.

The shadow lifted its hand, beckoning her inside. Only for one moment did she hesitate. Setting all other things aside in her mind, she followed as his shadow left the circle of torchlight, entering the doorway of Semper Intus Noctem.

The tower was dark. It was always dark. Some light flickered from the candle that lit the study above. But that was all. As she looked over the room, uncertainty filled her. Until she saw the blood on the pentagram. Blood was dropping from seemingly mid-air and pooling in the center of the tiled pentagram upon the stone floor. As her eyes focused, she saw a circle traced in the pool. With a suddeness that almost caused her to stumble, a magical force pulled her forward... to stand in the center of the pentagram, her feet in the pool of blood.

Lifting one hand she slid her skullcap back, smoothing her hair away from the mark upon her forehead. From nowhere, seemingly, a gash appeared on her forehead. She cried out, but before she could move back, she felt something - Trenton - grab her arm, holding her in place. Again the pain came. A second slash crossed the first. This time she muffled her cry, and blood began pouring down over her face. Into her eyes. Her hair. Saturating the upper part of her shirt. Again she felt magical forces gathering. This time, the force erupted in front of her. The pressure was so great that it flung her across the room.

"Seek...." his voice came through the red haze of pain, so long unheard. She clung to it as a dying man in the desert grasps for water. "Seek... a healer...." She looked up in time to see him make a gesture, before she was transported outside. He had seemed weak. Perspiring? from the effort of the magic he'd just worked. He was even short of breath. For now, though concern for Trenton Sythe was near to the last thing on Myra's mind. Blood flowed steadily from her forehead. Knowing there'd be a healer somewhere nearby, or at least in the Glade, she stumbled blindly through the forests.

Her feet did not fail her, as she noticed - wiping blood from her eyes - the Silver Arrow come into view. As she made her way, she had put a bandage over her forehead and held a hand there to help slow the bleeding. She wasn't worried about it being a serious wound. She knew, from her little experience, that head wounds always bled the worst. The bandage she stopped to replace was so drenched with her blood, one could hardly recognize that it might have once been white. Myra thanked whatever powers were listening that there had been no drow... or vampires for that matter... prowling the forest.

The ranger and Anga found her once more. Anga took her inside the small tower just near the Arrow and tended to the wound. Eventually the blood stopped. Her clothing was covered. She was in dire need of a bath. A bath that consisted of water. Not blood. Walking off the shock of the evening, she finally retired to sleep in a bed Anga'd offered to her. He'd be downstairs working on paperwork for the Elear.

For the first time in months, Myra fell into a deep, deep sleep.