He was reading, his back to her. Hearing her arrive, he put the book away and turned to her.
"Ah Sunveil. It has been some time"

She twisted a lock of her now darker hair and nodded, "It has."

"Please sit." He motioned to the chair against the wall.

She made her way over and settled into the chair. He waved a hand and the candles blazed to life. The sudden flare made Myra blink her eyes a few times to adjust again.

He stepped forward, peering at her with his crimson pinpoint eyes with almost a curious look. Running a gloved hand back over her cheek to her hair, he lifted a strand. "What is this...?"

Myra shifted a bit uncomfortably, and replied quietly, "It... changed."

He smiled to himself, not questioning further. "Yes, it has.."

He turned back to the shelf. His hands returned to the book he had been reading upon her arrival. Flipping through a few pages, Myra noted the title as he mused to himself. "The Last Days of Caramon Majere" Closing the book, he seemed to talk more to himself than to her. "Confusion in the translation, no doubt..."

He looked at her, and she lifted a brow inquiringly.

"Tell me Sunveil, have you read this book?" He motioned to the book in his hands.

"I have."

He nodded once. "Have you read other parts to this text?"

"I have read every book contained in these walls, unless there are others newly added."

He nodded, thinking to himself. Looking at her, he asked, "Tell me, have the elves spoken much of me since we last spoke?"

She glanced to the tomes on the table, unwilling to play her damnable part in all of this, she answered him nonetheless, "They noticed... those."

At her silence after her simple statement, he waited a moment, then prompted her further, "and... what are they saying..?"

She took a breath, searching her mind for the simplest answers, "They are seeking your phylactery."

He paused. His expression remained exceptionally calm, which Myra found very disturbing. "What, pray tell, leads them to believe I even own such a device?" his voice grew more agitated, "and how, pray tell, do they know what it is..."

"They've been studying... I suppose," Myra kept her voice neutral.

He bowed his head, holding his spellbook tight to his side. The crimson pinpoints of light that were his eyes grew larger with agitation.
"What are they looking for? What object?" The question was one of angst, she was certain.

"They think it's an 'orb'" She nodded to the book he had. "I believe they are wrong."

He sneered at her in anger "What you believe means nothing!"

She shifted her gaze to the table, keeping herself calm, passive. "Perhaps."

"Make sure, however, if they continue to search for this 'phylactery' that they continue to search for an orb..."

She glanced at the hand she remembered him to wear a ring. "They wouldn't believe me anyway."

His eyes blazed at the path of her gaze. "Let them doubt you then. However if there is the slightest trust between you and the rest of the Grey Company, they will heed your words. Even if your trust hangs only by a thread." He looked over her once fair form, noting the darkness that surrounded her now. "If they seek your counsel, tell them they should be looking for an orb."

She regarded him, hoping inside they would not seek her counsel. "And how does this benefit me?"

His brow furrowed in slight anger. "My dear... remember our arrangement. You help me... I watch over you. I protect your kin."

She leaned forward on the table, her patience wearing thin with life and her spirit feeling worn and broken, "But what is it you are protecting me from?"

"The dark forces, my dear. Tell me Sunveil...." He ran a hand over the lich statue. "Do you remember the strife Mord'sythe put you through...?"

She nodded. He stared at her.

"Do you truely believe Trenton to be dead?"

She shook her head slowly, a strange emotion flickered in her eyes as she remembered the confused emotions Trenton Sythe had awoken in her.

"He will not touch you as long as you remain my ears, my mouth, my eyes. I am taking everything from him in his absence... his very tower, this very foundation, I claim as my own."

"He will not be weak when he returns."

"I will erase you from the slate of your memories, and your future... He will not return."

She rubbed her arm where the first of Mord'sythe's marks rested.
He gazed off a moment, "Myra..." He extended a hand to her. "You are safe with me Chylde." His voice held some extra quality of warmth in that moment, some promise that her heart was far too eager to accept.

She tilted her head at him, her eyes softening a moment.

"I am your protector." In her minds eye, his hideous visage became that of the once living, handsome warrior, Caramon Majere. As her mind sought to accept it, it also fought to dispel it. The image quickly reverted to the dead eye less corpse.

She closes her eyes against it, and sighed quietly. He ignores her and moved to the window facing east. He gazed toward the Arrow. She sat up straight, openning her eyes to watch him once again.

Quiet reigned inside the stone walls for a few moments before he finally spoke, "And I promised you anything you yearn for once my plans are complete..."

"And what if you cannot give what I want?"

He smiled to himself, gazing off toward the glade, almost in a trance. "My dear Sunveil, my little Shadowwalker... When I am finished, I can give you anything..."

His grip tightened on his spellbook a moment before relaxing. He turned to face her again.

"Myra..."

She looked steadily at him.

"You had connections. With a priest dedicated to a deity..." He ran his hand along the table, circling it. "Tell me... did he speak to you ever of tales concerning his god..?"

Her discomfort, she knew, must have been hanging thick in the air. She could feel the pendant in her pocket. The very one Khellenduras had ordered her to be rid of. "You speak of Strongbow?"

He nodded once, resting his hands on the edge of the table.

"Corellon..." she began hesitantly.

He listened intently.

"He is the father of all elves..."

He speaks up interrupting her. "Yes, but how did he come to be? There are myths of HIS creation..."

She furrowed her brow in thought, trying to remember what she knew...

"Tell me, how did he come to be? Or is this a mystery even to his priet?"

"I think there are tales..." She furrowed her brow in thought once more as if reaching for a memory just out of her grasp. "My mind tells me there are tales of his creation, but... I cannot recall them." She frowned at herself, smiling inside, glad her memory failed her in such knowledge this time.

With uncharacteristic understanding, he nodded once. "Very well." He was silent for a few moments, then looked at her. "Never mind the creation myth... It is not of importance."

She said simply, quietly, her mind drifting with thoughts of Mord'sythe and what had happened with him, "There are ways of becoming a god."

He paused, taken aback at her abrupt comment. He nodded once, smirking slightly. "Aye, I know of these things Chylde." He regarded her, the light of his eyes seemed to be reflecting... hope? "Tell me, do you know of any myths in particular...? Or of places that might... harbor... such secrets and knowledge?"

"I know only of a few certain tales... and my own experience. Gods are not immortal... not truely." She hesitated, realizing what information she might be procuring to this... thing.

He sneered slightly, his expression twisting from child-like curiosity to an angry grimmace. She quickly finished her sentence, "...one becomes a god by killing another god... absorbing their essence."

The anger faded from his face, leaving it expressionless. He repeated her words. "...by killing another god."

She rubbed her arms and nodded slowly. He moved to the book on the table. He flipped through the pages frantically, reading some words aloud and she managed to catch a few words such as "absorb life". Then he slammed the book shut. Moving to the window, he looked toward the Glade again. Myra watched him in silence.

He began speaking to himself, almost in a mad fit, as if forgetting Myra's presence. "Of course... There is no need to drain the land... It would only strenthen my body and mana... I would be deity-like, not a deity. It would take decades..."

Outside, Myra noticed someone. Q'wellen approached the tower, and Khellenduras continued, "Yet if I were to..." He fell silent, then looked at Myra. Hearing Q'wellen enter, he faded into the shadows as Q'wellen came up the stairs.

Their eyes met. Q'wellen's suprise was clear on his face, as was Myra's hope that perhaps he could help her... somehow. A voiced entered her mind, shattering that hope... Khellenduras - "Be rid of him - Now."

Finding her composure as quickly as she could, "Is there something I can help you with Q'wellen?"

"What are you doing here?" his tone was nearly demanding.

She folds her arms carefully on the table. "I am studying."

They argued back and forth; he wanted her to leave, believing she could study perfectly well at the Great Hall from the tomes he had copied. Finally she pointed to the tome of indecipherable texts that rested before her on the table. "I am studying this. Did you make a copy of this? Can you even read it? I, for one, cannot." She hoped he would not note the book was closed and she had no papers to make it appear she was studying. Seemingly thrown off by the entire situation, Q'wellen gave in. He could not read that text, he admitted, and he backed down from pressuring her to leave further.

He turned to leave. "If you need anything..."

"I will send for you" she assured him.

Speaking softly, he says "I would do anything for you...."

Myra felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, at the slightest implication in his words.

"I will leave you to your studies. Do me a favor? Tell Khell I'm coming for him... Goodnight mi'lady."

"Quel du' Q'wellen."

She took a breath, hearing him exit the tower and leaned back in the chair. First Khell's eyes appeared from the dark, then his figure materialized. "Let him come. One less fool in the forest."

She lowered her gaze to the table, glad that Q'wellen had departed. He was safer now, even though she had to lie to him.

Khellenduras noted her gaze. "Sunveil." She looked up at him. "Do you care for the crusader?"

"He is one of my kin. As are all the elves of the Glade," she stated simply.

Khellenduras paused a moment. "I promised to protect you and those you love. However, if he draws steel, bow, silver, or mana against me, I will defend myself."

Myra nodded slightly in understanding, finally seeing some advantage in her situation, albeit a small one.

"Tell him to keep his distance from this tower..." He paused, then changed the subject. "Now my little Shadowwalker.... I have a task for you."

Feeling every bit the lackey, Myra's heart sank. She tilted her head a bit.

"Gather what you can concerning the Father of the Elves."

She nodded. The implications of their entire conversation gave her a sick, dread-filled feeling in her stomach. He turned to dismiss her but paused at a thought and turned back. "The man who entered here. What was his name...?"

Myra hesitated a moment, wondering at the liches motive. "...Q'wellen..."

He nodded once repeating the name. Myra looked at him inquisitively.

"Tell him of the orb. Confront him, face to face... alone. And tell him you discovered that the phylactery is in the shape of an orb. He's blind. He will believe anything you tell him. Now leave me... I have much re-planning. Much research. Travel safely Shadowwalker. Now begone with you."

She regarded him, relieved he didn't notice her gripping the pendant she was once ordered to be rid of, and left.