It is "morning" in the Hive of Sigil. In the ramshackle rows of dilapidated structures chaos reigns. Alley ways disappear under fallen rubble only to reappear later as decay or the hidden denizens of the realm may dictate. Pieces of brick, mortar and stone drop like rain onto the debris-strewn streets and floors. The ways of the Hive are dark, hidden, and everchanging -- chaos in all respects save one. It is morning.

The sound of heavy footfalls arrive right on schedule. Killraven jogs up the same jagged streets and alleys that he always uses. Over each broad shoulder he carries the same heavy sacks filled with bricks and stones -- the bones of the Maze -- and overhead flies the same two companions, Moc and Kalak. He is headed for the same place to which he always runs. Ordinarily Killraven takes comfort in this routine, but this morning is different.

He shifts the burdens on his shoulders slightly and leaps over a rotted beam. He cannot focus; he cannot let his mind drift to its accustomed place of calm so that his body might react to the ever-new obstacle course that he runs every day. His mind is far from calm. It storms and rages as new feelings that have awakened within him since his arrival in Sigil clash with the old.

Killraven never knew his mother; she, like almost all women birthing muls, died to bring him into the world. He was raised alone with no other children. He was taught to use tools and weapons as soon as he could walk. He never learned play, friendship, or love. He learned to fight. And when he was not fighting, he worked, ate, slept, or, as a reward, bedded women. Obedience he learned with difficulty. And Moc had taught him honor. That was the totality of him. He knew nothing else. Until Sigil.

He has no understanding of why things are different. How could he? How could he know that Valas has taught him patience, study and forbearance are worthy of respect, when he did not know the meaning of such words? How could he know that Chakan has taught him what it is to lead out of force of person rather than force of arms? He has learned negotiation and compromise from Rogan, loyalty, curiosity and ingenuity from [Karlina? Gavin? Dimish?], humor and equinimity from Ovi. And from Lilah . . .

He clenches his right fist tightly as a coldness seeps through him. He keeps running. The Post is just ahead. The Post.

He sees it now. The Post holds up its end of the second floor of a roofless building. It is a corner post. The walls and plaster that used to dress it and its nearby sisters have long ago fallen away leaving them exposed like the legs of a skinny girl in a short dress. The Post is 12" thick and is like its sisters in all respects save one -- a wooden figurehead adorns it. It was once the bust of a woman gracefully overseeing whatever it was that took place within the now ruined building. The Post was enough like the dimensions of a person that Killraven took an interest in it for practice. Now it is a beaten and scarred hulk -- little more than a few bulging lumps of chipped wood fastened to the interior of the Post.

Killraven reaches the Post and, sighing, drops the sacks. The echoing thumps of the settling weight shakes loose a shower of debris from the interior of the building.

Killraven does not pull his weapons today. He sits down on a boulder-sized chunk of wall and pulls out something else. It is a toy. A bauble. It is a clear hemispheric shape within which sands can be made to dance upon a tiny landscape. It was a gift to him. His first. Lilah's gift.

Kalak has settled on the top of the degraded hulk that serves as Killraven's gymnasium. Moc lands next to Killraven's knee and hops about.

The bauble looks tiny in his massive hand. He shakes it and watches the sands whirl. He hates Athas and wants no reminder of it. But he loves this gift. Love.

The icy feeling again creeps from his dead right arm toward his heart. What was it she had said that day?

Moc caws a warning.

"I want to say I want you right now, but I can't, I don't know what I want. I do know that I am willing to try, but there are certain things I need, want... They are really vain, and I hate myself for even thinking about them, but they are there, and no matter how much I try, I can't stop having them influence my choices."

She was right and he knows it now. How could she ever want him? The thought of it was simply laughable. He is half dead, his teeth are rotting, his hair is falling out in clumps, he is missing an eye and an ear and he has no nose and no lips.

Bitterness seeps into his heart and he lets go of the little bauble. Moc hops backward two steps and heads for high ground. Kalak seems interested in the bauble and drops down to investigate. The two birds pass in the air but do not acknowledge each other.

Of course, Swan does not see him this way. Why does Lilah? Why does he want, need, love, yes, it must be that, love Lilah and not Swan? The confusion and bitterness stir into anger and he approaches the post. He tries to vacate these thoughts from his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. He cannot. His anger rises. It is unfair. It is so unfair. To get so close and to be denied and it is not his fault, not his fault, not his fault.

He puts his hands on the Post and gently knocks his head into it, as if to drive away the bitterness. The battered knob that used to be a head is looking up at him. It is Lilah's head. It has Lilah's impish grin. The grin turns into a sneer. There is Lilah's voice in Killraven's head: "I HATE myself for even thinking it . . ."

Killraven's heart freezes with anger. Kalak fluts about with excitement.

"You little bitch!" he bellows, pushing back from the Post. "You snarly whore! Why did you do this to me" He pulls back his right arm and lets go with a punch of terrifying power that hits harmlessly on the lump that has become Lilah's head. The sneer remains.

"I swear I'll kill you. I'll tear that snile oth your thace!"

His blood burns with cold fire. "You think ne a nonster? I'll show you nonster!" Again and again and again he pounds the Post with his right. How could she? How could she? Plaster, grit, shingles, boards, rotted wood, and pebbles pour from the upper floors. The exertion unbalances him. To stay in his spot he levels a blow with his left.

A shock of pain flashes up his arm and he pulls back his hand swiftly. The leather has shorn away from the knuckles of his gauntlet and blood seeps through. Red blood. He looks at his right hand. The gauntlet is gone. His knuckles are crumpled into odd shapes under his bluish-white skin. Blackish ichor leaks from cracks in the undead flesh. He looks back again at his red blood, and again at the black ichor.

How he hates his own rotting flesh. How he longs to be rid of it. This dead hand with no feeling, that will never help him touch anything but only to kill. He loathes it. Kalak squeals at him as if to remind him of something. The Post?

His rage crystallizes. He wraps his right hand around the stalk of wood that passes for a "neck" of the bust on the Post and squeezes with all of his might. This exertion allows a moment of concentration free of some of the rage. He pulls his axe loose with his left hand, his silvered axe, and swings.

He severs his hand from his forearm. It topples to the ground.

Killraven stares at it in silence. Like lightning his memories of his days in Kalak's dungeon pit flash back for him. Memories dried up by the poison that courses through him. He sees the sorcerer king and hears his curse and Killraven understands.

He sees himself as he used to be. Barbaric, preening, vain. He remembers the poison going like ice from his right hand to his shoulder and down his side and down his leg. He remembers the nights and days and nights of pain.

Killraven sits wearily back onto his boulder and watches the stump of his right forearm squirt sporadic dribbles of ichor. His rage ebbs. He is neither a weak-bodied human nor a weak-willed dwarf. He is half of each. A strong willed strong bodied mul. A mul gladiator. Ars Noah. Killraven.

Kalak (the executioner raven) is standing by the severed limb. He plucks it from the ground and glares malevolently at Killraven.

"Go ahead. Take it. Enjoy. You'll get no nore."

He is so tired. He finds to his feet and starts to head back to the 'Sails. Moc calls from ahead. He recognizes that he is starting to suffer from shock. He hurries ahead, then stops. He has forgotten something.

He turns like a drunken sailor and staggers back to the boulder and falls next to his sacks of rocks. He puts out his hand and clasps it over the bauble. He closes his eye. "I win."

Lilah rolls over trying to pull the blanket over her head to block out the wane light filtering through her window. In her efforts she hears a metallic clank as something rolls from her bed to the floor. She opens one eye peering around the room, trying to get her bearings. Seeing the dried puddles of ooze marking the passing of her muddy visitor, she realizes the event of late last night was no dream.

Not wanting to give up her comfortable bed just yet she fishes her tail from under the covers, feeling around on the floor for the tube. After a moment of not finding what she was looking for, she peers over the edge of the bed, muttering angrily when she does so, "Sod it, it rolled under."

Realizing she is now fully awake, she relinqueshes and sits up. She doesn't seem to notice the chill of the room as she climbs out of bed throwing off her covers. Kneeling down, she quickly grabs the scroll tube from under the bed, carrying it over to the small dresser which doubles for her desk.

She pops the end off the tube, pulling out the brown leather-like parchment. She knows what the message says, she read it several times last night. "To my lovely SERVANT Granddaughter..." Lilah grabs up her hairbrush, and proceeds to pace the small room, brushing and fuming, trying to think of a way to get out of this servitude. The feel of the brush through her hair seems to calm her, helping her think, realizing what she needs to do, "... It's all a matter of timing... a quick flick of the wrist, she'll never know..."

After collecting her thoughts, she lays down the brush, re-rolls the note, and places it carefully back in the scroll tube. She pours herself a basin full of water, splashes her face, brushes her teeth, then proceeds to pull on her working clothes. "Hopefully Killraven will be doing his usual morning routine. He shouldn't be too hard to listen for and locate."

The tiefling quickly moves through the streets of the Lower ward, luckily it is still early, there is not too much traffic yet, and plenty of places to duck in to give the Hardhead patrols the laugh. As she approaches the Hive humming a song from the previous night's dancing, she quickens her pace, not wanting to miss Killraven on his route.

She winds through the debris strewn streets, realizing that she feels almost comfortable in this ward. The streets have grown familiar over the few months she has spent in Sigil. Thus, it is not hard for her to locate Killraven. She knows where he likes to run, having followed him a couple of times to see what he does with his time.

As she draws closer to his ending point, she softens her step, listening for the familiar sounds of his sparring with buildings. She never really understood why he chose buildings, maybe because they didn't hit back. Her ears pick up the sounds she was searching for, the call of a raven, and the thud of heavy hands striking wood. She shivers as she thinks of the pain he seems to ignore when he fights.

The sound stops, Lilah swears, "Oh, pike it, he's done... I'll never catch him..." She breaks into a run, hoping to somehow get to him before he leaves. <'Too late'>, she thinks as she hears his heavy footfalls moving away from her. She starts to slow, giving up on the chase, knowing she could never catch up with the gladiator.

She stops, catching her breath, muttering about having to go to the Sails to meet up with him now. A sound catches her attention, the call of a raven. She turns her attention to the direction of the noise. Straining to listen, she picks up what she was hoping for, the return of heavy footsteps, echoeing those of Killraven.

Lilah resumes her route, heading for the building Killraven so likes to bash on. Feeling cautious, wanting to make sure it is Killraven she heard, she moves to the shadows, making her way around a neighboring structure to get a look at the clearing where she hopes he is. She spies him, looking very tired, reaching for something on the ground. Lilah spots the source of his fatigue, whispering under her breath, "Oh Bast, he's hurt himself..." She sees him collapse, as she starts to move forward, his dull thud spurring her to sprint.

As she grown near to him, she looks around warily wondering how he was hurt. His axe is covered with the remains of the injury, leading her to believe it was self inflicted. She spots the two ravens, never far from their companion. The large one, Kalak, holds what she is looking for in his sharpened beak.

"Kalak, you little larvae, bring that back..." The raven eyes her maliciously, ignoring her request. Lilah looks down at Killraven, seeing the ichor dripping from the wound, then turns back to the executioner raven. "Kalak, look, I've got something better for you." She reaches into a pouch on her belt, bringing forth a paper wrapped package. "It's fresh..." She proceeds to unwrap the parcel, revealing a fresh piece of raw meat. Kalak, who had been picking at the hand he held under a talon, looks up at this, the smell of fresh blood drawing his attention. His head tilts, and he shifts his position, his wings flapping anxiously. "Come on you addle-coved berk, get over here..." At this point the smaller raven flies over and perches next to Lilah, knowing he will be fed if he begs right. "Hi Mok, want some...", not removing her eyes from the larger raven, she picks up a shred of the meat and holds it up for Mok to eat, who excitedly paces on the beam he is perched on. Kalak decides the meat is too good to pass up, and picks up his treasure, flapping over closer to Lilah. He drops the hand near Killraven's collapsed body, and lands on a pile of rubble a couple of feet from her. She mutters to herself, "Well, so much for my lunch", and tosses the meat to Kalak, accompanied by a frustrated squawk from Mok.

Quickly she runs over to Killraven, and picks up the hand, sending a shiver down her spine. Reaching into a side pocket on her pack, she brings forth a small flask and unstoppers it. Lilah sets the flask near Killraven's

head, and grabs a strip of leather from his arm, trying to tie the hand in place. After doing this, not knowing if her efforts will even be effective, she picks up the flask and holds it to Killraven's mouth, having no trouble pouring it in since his lips aren't there to prevent it.

"Come on Killraven, tell me you are okay, wake up..." She nervously watches over him, hoping the healing of the potion is enough to bring him back to conciousness.

As his life starts to drain from him Killraven dreams. He is thirsty, hot and tired, running and running for the bluffs and safety. He collapses. Moc (the elf, not the bird) is there. He helps him. He helps him toward a well and to blessed drink. Willingly Killraven goes to it. Moc pushes him in. Now he falls, falls, falls. Then he hits a surface. Someone turns his head. Liquid comes into his lipless mouth. He drinks.

"Yes. My first time in Sigil. Lilah and Gavin find me," he thinks in a dreamy haze. He swallows. Killraven's eye flutters open. Yes. Sigil.

He slowly looks around. He sees Lilah. "How did I come back in time? Why do I remember this?" he thinks. Then he sees the stump of his arm. Ahhhh.

Quickly he glances back at Lilah. She is really there, regarding him with anxious concern. A warmth spreads within him at the thought. He pushses himself onto his left elbow. The effort seems distant, like someone else is doing it. He is so lightheaded he feels as though the act of sitting up would continue to carry him up above the Hive. Slowly his conciousness returns fully. He is no longer watching himself, he becomes himself. Still alive? Yes! He is suddenly back in the present.

He turns to Lilah again, slowly this time, fearfull that the rage will return with his own self-comprehension. For a full minute he looks at her. He definitely feels something but it is not anger. He realizes he should say something, but he is uneasy with his words and none come out. He simply looks at her.

Lilah smiles at seeing Killraven coming back around. "Whoa, blood, you're really out of it." She helps him sit up, guiding him to lean on the boulder. "It's a good thing I came along when I did, you would've gotten peeled for sure, and probably ended up in the dead book." Her tail resumes its normal playful bounce, her face relaxing into a mischievious grin, "No need to thank me though... I think I kind of like finding you collapsed on a street in the Hive, it's the only time I feel I could possibly get the better of you if I needed to." She leans back on her haunches watching him as he gets his bearings, his silence as he stares making her nervous. Her gaze drops to his severed hand, seeing her job of tying it on didn't do much good. "So... we should get going and have Chakan and Valas take a look at that. Besides, if we sit here much longer, the barmies are going to find us." She waits to see if her words are registering. Her brow furrows as her nervousness turns back to worry. "Are you okay to walk?"

Killraven follows her look to his right arm. The hand dangles on a leather strap from his oozing stump.

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRGGHHHH !.!!!."

He violently shakes his arm to be free of the hand, and when that does not work, he grabs the leather strap in his left hand and pulls it off.

He watches the severed hand twist at the end of the leather strap. His breathing is shallow and now his is winded as well. His head swims again. He gathers himself to stand and does so, slowly.

"I . . . need Valas," he states, starting to weave a little. Lilah hurries over to him although she is not sure how she can keep him from falling. He doesn't fall but avoids a stumble by bracing himself briefly against her using what remains of his right forearm.

"I don't have . . . much time," he says, casually tossing the hand over to where Kalak feasts on Lilah's lunch. "Help?"

Lilah quickly sets her feet below her when she sees Killraven start to stumble. Luckily she guessed right about what angle he was coming at her so she was able to brace him solidly. "Great, now I have to get this cleaned too", she mumbles seeing the ichor from his arm drip on her cloak. She watches him throw his hand back to the large raven and complains, "Hey, I gave up my lunch for that, why do you want to go givin' it back to him?" She looks puzzled as he apparently looks relieved to be rid of it. "So, like what's the chant on you cleavin' off your hand Killraven? Did it offend thee in some manner?" Lilah shrugs, not really expecting the big basher to answer her, and begins to fish another vial out of her pack. "Here, hold onto this, and drink it in a little while... when you start getting light-headed on the walk back." She tries to reassure him as they begin their walk, "It won't take long to find Valas, he doesn't wander too much when there are things to research. The other potion should help too, at least to take the edge off." The bounce in Lilah's step becomes more noticeable as she changes the topic a bit. "Besides, I need you healthy, we've got another run to make for my... most generous... grandmother." She glances at him briefly, hoping to get a positive reaction out of him from her last comment.