Waving his hand in front of the globe, Rogan dimmed the continual light lamp to a more intimate setting. Moving the other hand inside one pocket, the sounds of other patrons in the establishment winked out as well. <<A valuable purchase, I think,>> congratulating himself. <<I can see many uses for these soundbubble coils...>> Returning his attention once more to his companion, Rogan resumes speaking, "Now where were we?" This last is said a with a broad grin, belying the trite phrase.

The ends of his partner's lips turn up slightly in the beginnings of a smile, hiding behind a gently swirling glass of wine. "I believe you were trying to apologize," comes the musical voice. "I can't *imagine* why else you'd dim the lights and surround us with a shroud of silence." With a wink at Rogan, the glass is tilted back and drained. The silence grows as Rogan refills the emptied vessel.

Rogan sits back and studies his guest. Diamond studs sparkle with rainbows in the muted magical light, set at the base of delicately pointed ears. These in turn lead Rogan's gaze upwards to the golden hair piled up and captured with a platinum hairpiece. Following the line of one errant strand, his eyes trace the line of the exposed pearl-colored neck down to the dark green velvet of his companion's gown. Swooping down the curve of the gold embroidered neckline, then traveling up the path of a platinum necklace supporting an ancient blackrock amulet, the Fated's gaze eventually rest on elf's face. His sight is instantly captured by her bright green eyes, hardly noticing the rest of her visage. With an effort, he tears his gaze and mind away. "Uh, um," he begins intelligently.

"That's a start, I suppose, though I expected somewhat more from a man with your reputation." Her eyes twinkle like emeralds as she chuckles softly. Her left hand rises absently to brush the errant strand behind her ear as the other brings the glass to her lips for a drink.

Rogan's captivation with her beauty ends in indignation. "Wait a minute! You are the one who tried to kill *me*! You set me up, betrayed me to that gargoyle, waylaid one of my employees, and for what? So I could apologize?"

Salisnania remains calm before the merchant's tirade, moving in lightly as he stops for breath. "I wanted a high paying job researching other people's stuff, and you rebuffed me without even checking my references. And then, of course, let's not forget barging in on me later in my weakened and helpless condition..."

"Barging in? That was *my* room, dear lady. And, now that I think about it, you destroyed a very nice set of silk sheets with your claws, not to mention the bloodstains. Ah, no, don't speak," Rogan says, aborting her interruption. "When you're not infuriating me, you are very beautiful. I haven't turned you in to the Harmonium yet, or to Jengrax, and I'm not about to now, so please do me the favor of not making me furious, okay? For a nice dinner in good atmosphere, I don't think that's too much to ask."

Watching Rogan carefully, Nani decides to stay quiet; taking another sip of wine she ponders her best avenue of conversation. After a few minutes of silence, she opens with "I suppose you expect me to thank you." Frowning into her glass, she keeps her eyes away from Rogan's, avoiding the smug look she's sure covers his face. "Well, it'll be a long wait, cutter." Her chin comes up, defiance thinly veiled in her emerald eyes. The sharp change and attitude and presentation catch Rogan off-guard, wiping the self-satisfied grin off his face. He starts reaching for weapons, instinctively reacting to the bite in her tone, then catches himself. Satisfied with the reaction, Nani shifts gears again, dropping her voice into a sultry tone. "But flattery, of course, is always appreciated. You really think I'm beautiful?" At his slow nod, she shifts one final time: "Then why didn't you hire me?"

Rogan sits back, shaking his head. After a few moments under Nani's stare, he leans forward again. "Very nice performance, my dear. What was that, three, four emotional shifts in a minute? Even I can't manage that on a good day. And you've answered your own question. I only hire people I can trust; how am I supposed to trust *you*? And you proved my point: one refusal, and you try to have me assassinated! That doesn't exactly inspire a close personal relationship. Besides, why are you complaining? You're alive, and I'm treammph!" Rogan's sentence is lost as Nani suddenly lunges forward to cover his mouth with a kiss. Just as he begins to enjoy it, though, she pulls away and resumes her seat.

"Does *that* inspire a 'close personal relationship'? Hmm?" she says, with a small smile.

"Umm, I *am* feeling inspired," Rogan begins, with a dreamy smile. Wiping the expression from his face, he continues, "but one kiss is not going to erase your past actions. I am very aware of your, ahem, charms, milady, but I am also aware of the mind behind them. Especially after the last few days. Don't think I'm going to let my guard down just because I'm (trying) to have a nice dinner with a beautiful woman. Now, why don't you tell me >pop<" Rogan looks up as the soundbubble is dispelled by the entry of the waitress.

The waitress takes in the scene without a pause in her step, years of serving making the analysis nearly instantaneous. <Well dressed man with hard expression, expensively attired woman with bored/spacey look, magical(?) protection... I'd say wealthy merchant, out to impress with appearance, perhaps with a hired "companion"...> "Welcome to The Prime's Ribs. Our entrees this evening include selections from bovines, sapiens, felines, and equines. A fine selection of greenery is available as well, from steamed spears of various plants, to crisp fruits and salads. What may I order for you?"

Rogan glances at Nani, then prepares to order. "I'll have a rack of bovine, with..." His order is interrupted by a gasp from Salisnania, as the list of offerings finally registers. "Excuse me, did you say *feline*?" When the waitress looks her way and nods, the elf slips out of the booth and strides determinedly for the door. With a muttered "Pardon me", Rogan gets up and heads after her.

"How dare you bring me to a place that serves cats!" The elf's voice carries through the establishment, causing everyone to look at the abandoned merchant. She storms out of the front door, a feat Rogan is prevented from repeating by two exquisitely dressed ogres. "PARDON, SIR. MUST PAY FOR WINE!" echoes down from above as two meaty hands drop onto Rogan's shoulders. Rogan stands still, watching the elf stalk off in her shimmering green gown. <Well... *that* really worked... I wonder if she'll return the jewelry?>

After storming off for several minutes, Nani slows down to a walk. She smiles and nods to a passing Harmonium patrol, which in turn ignores her. Strolling down a well-lit avenue of the Lady's Ward, her mind wanders. <"felines"... I can't believe they'd serve rack-of-cat... who would want to eat a cat? "Sapiens", sure... everyone's got their own tastes, but really. I wonder if he knew that when he picked the place. Serves him right to get dumped publicly. I'll ... oh damn. I can't go home; Jengrax probably has the place staked out. For that matter, he's probably got Rogan's place staked out too. Great... now where do I go?> Her thoughts continue in circles as she strolls, tangling with this dilemma. Enough so that she doesn't notice the obstacle until she runs into it.

>>PUFFT<<

*cough* *cough* "Aah! *cough* Arrrh, I'm covered in soot!"

"Oh, sorry, mistress. But you, you ran in to me. Stomped and trampled over my poor huhmble body, crushing me beneath your spike-ed heels like my masters does. Without the spikes, of course."

With a mournful sigh, Nani begins brushing herself off, succeeding only in creating smudges and smears in the coating of Lower Ward soot. "Look, you little shit. What are you doing in my path, and *what* do you think you're doing, covering the most expensive and beautiful clothes I've ever had with soot?!"

"Yes, mistress! Pour out your anger on me! I was just, following you, protecting you. It was foolish, I know, but master required it. I told him it was pointless. But here I am anyway. Ouch! Yes, mistress, beat me! Ow!" Gauntwing succumbs to the confirmation of his philosophy as Nani kicks him repeatedly. After a few minutes of releasing frustration, she collapses on a nearby bench. "So, mistress, shouldn't you be leaving now?"

"What? Oh, why?" she says, throwing up her hands then gesturing at herself. "My dress is ruined, I have no place to go, and my only company is, of all things, a dust mephit. Why should I leave this lovely bench?"

"You are so right, mistress. It would be so pointless to leave. The nasty stone flyer would find you eventually anyway. Especially once the Harmonium have you. Let us just sit here, enjoying the futility of your existence. It shouldn't take long..."

"What!!" Nani grabs the little mephit by the wings and shakes him. "What are you talking about??"

"Ow! Let go! Let go or I'll soot you again! >thump< Ow... thank you." Picking himself up off the ground, Gauntwing hops back on to the bench. "I can't believe you touched my wings! Kick me, stomp me, or even -horror of horrors- throw water on me, but don't ever touch my wings." Crossing his little arms, Gauntwing hunkers down to pout.

"If you don't tell me about the Harmonium right now, you little maggot, I'll rip your precious wings right out of your back!" Nani threatens. She slowly reaches forward...

"I wouldn't do that, miss," interrupts a deep voice from behind the elf. A tall shadow falls across the bench as a Harmonium peacekeeper walks up. His red-lacquered chainmail reflects glints of the lamplight, as does his polished steel helm. With one gauntletted hand resting on his sheathed sword, the guardsman continues. "Beggars are not allowed in the Lady's Ward, and assault is against the Law." The capitalization is clearly heard in the man's tone. "Move along, or be moved."

Stunned by the guard's characterization of her, Nani remains motionless, hands outstretched over Gauntwing's huddled form. Slowly she turns her head to face the patrolman. "Are you calling *me* a beggar?" she asks. The guard's face remains impassive, so she stands slowly from the bench, hands smoothing (and smearing) the dress along her sides and hips. "My name is Salisnania, and I am certainly *not* a beggar, by any means." Reaching out with her right hand, she traces patterns on the guard's chest, and slowly steps around to one side. Her hand trails up over his shoulder as she moves; the rest of the Harmonium patrol stand a few yards away. As she slips her left hand over his other shoulder, her teasing stroll is halted by the guard's firm grip on both arms. Lifting and twisting her arms, the guard steps out from under her embrace, locking her arms tight in front of her as her turns to face her.

"No, you are a criminal. Salisnania, alias Nani, alias Greyclaw, alias Smoke Cat. Wanted for burglary, assault, attempted murder, and resisting arrest. Thank you for identifying yourself; I would not have noticed under that layer of soot. Come with me," finishes the guardsman as he pulls her back towards his patrol.

From the bench, Gauntwing watches the confrontation end. Enjoying his sulk, and once again having his philosophy vilified by events, he quietly stares at the retreating back of the elf as she is pulled along with the Harmonium. <Not even Rogan pulls my wings, evil cat bitch.>

"And so, master, the mean nasty Harmonium dragged her down the street, kicking and screaming and making such a fuss. I *told* her they were coming. I even disguised her, like you do, protected her, but she beat and reviled me for it. Ahh, but it was pointless. Kitty is gone, probably hung by her tail, vital <*shudder*> fluids streaming from torture wounds, her eyes put out and..."

"STOP IT!" roars the distressed merchant. "That's enough! Alright, it's only been twenty minutes, how far could they have gone? Did you see which way they were headed? Come on, I can't lose ... um ... the jewelry! Do you know how much that cost?" Grabbing Gauntwing's arm, Rogan hurries off in the direction indicated by the mephit.

Running down the street, with a mephit waving behind him, Rogan draws a lot of attention from others in the Ward. Part of his mind notes this, but mostly he concentrates on the enchanting woman who has captured his thoughts. Since the aborted attempt on his life, and subsequently discovering the wounded feline on his bed, he has spent every moment with this mysterious being. Tending the cat's wounds (starting with removing vast quantities of dust from open gashes) and administering draughts of healing kindled a small spark of interest for the beast. Exhausted from his own evening, Rogan had curled up with the creature (on the old linen sheets) and gone to sleep. Sometime during the night, the cat resumed its normal form; Rogan woke next to a stunning, if somewhat pale and drawn, elven woman. And not just any woman, but one he had kicked out of his office just over a week previous. Startled embarrassment led to an impromptu interrogation. After which, Rogan surreptitiously smuggled Salisnania out for some new clothes. Shopping and talking together, the pair learned that they actually liked each other's company. Despite their rough beginning, Rogan found himself really becoming interested in her. Hence the nice dinner out... <Which has turned out nicely so far. Wait a minute...> Lurching to a halt, Rogan holds Gauntwing up in front of him by the arm he still grasps. "What was that middle part? About the stone flyer?"

"Didn't I tell you, master? The great stone beast, the one who was eating the kitty when I brought her to you. I saw him flying around earlier," stammers Gauntwing.

"Just flying? Nothing else?"

"Does it matter? You'll just be disappointed; you always are. All this hurrying about, dragging my arm out of its socket, it's so pointless. The Harmonium have probably already given the kitty to the beast. Why, I suppose they've even had time pocket their money, and to put those fancy black borders back around their >urk<! Mkstr ur chkng m!" Gauntwing is cut off by the rapidly increasing pressure of Rogan's hands on his throat.

Very calmly and quietly, Rogan confronts his less-than-useful minion. "You let Nani be taken by *Dirkaly's* men, and you didn't think it was important? You knew they were working for Jengrax, and you didn't think it was important?"

Clawing at Rogan's arms, Gauntwing struggles to answer him, but cannot. <Well, this pointless existence is about to end. At least my death is from someone who *truly* cares for me....>

After a few minutes of focused rage, Rogan comes to his senses. With eyes that are no longer red-clouded, he gazes down at the unconscious Gauntwing dangling between his hands. "Great. I lose one possible friend and choke the other. And the only one who knows where the first has gone. This isn't how the night was supposed to go... All I need now is to mugged by the Ten. That'd just make my evening complete."

"Excuse me, sir," begins a timid voice. Turning, Rogan sees a small human girl holding a battered doll. The youngster appears to be about 5 or 6 years old, and undernourished. Not starving, for she looks well-fed, at least recently. Someone had taken the trouble to try cleaning off the grime of living in Sigil's slums, but to little effect. Squatting down to face the waif, Rogan sets the limp Gauntwing on the ground and address the child.

Turning on all his politician's charm, he asks "Yes, little one. What can I do for you?"

"Um..." stammers the girl uncertainly. Then, in a rush, "Swansaidyouneedtolookforthecat in the, um, ohyeahyouneedtolookonthethievesroad. Yeah, that it! Okay, bye!" Flashing a brief smile, the girl turns and dashes off down an alley, disappearing quickly from sight.

"What?" Rogan asks to himself, standing up. "Swan's head uni-tollok forthakit? Uni-tollok onna theeve sowed?" Running the words over in his head, he slowly pieces together the excited child's message. "The Cat is on the thieves' road... The rooftops! Yes!" he exclaims. Headed for the nearest building, he makes a mental note: <Remember to thank Swan, and find out just how many strays she's taking care of...>

Several minutes later, a dizzy mephit regains consciousness on the sidewalk. "Oh," it says, sighing dejectedly, "I was wrong. Existence still continues; master has not seen fit to end my miserable life. He must want to inflict more pain and suffering upon my poor useless self." With another sigh, Gauntwing launches himself into the air, to begin the pointless search for a new kitty to replace the lost one.

"So..." begins the grinding-slate voice, "it.. seems.. you.. have.. be..come.. the.. prey." Looming over the bound elf, Jengrax permits himself a period of gloating. The darkness of the warehouse impedes his enhanced vision not at all; the helpless soot-covered figure lying on the cold stone radiates waves of heat, and fear. Her hands and ankles are fastened by enruned manacles, with a length of cord linking the joining chains of each pair behind the elf's back. The cord had been tightened so that the woman's shoulders and legs are arched backwards towards each other. Nani struggles once again to free herself from her bonds, but her awkward position makes her efforts futile. Smiling grimly, the gargoyle continues, "And.. don't.. try.. shifting... the.. manacles.. are.. planar." This last earns the creature a sullen glare from his captive, informing him that the attempt had already been made. <<Excellent. She is aware just how firmly she is trapped. I am going to enjoy this delectable appetizer... The main course should be arriving in a little bit.>>

Swooping down from his perch, Jengrax lands heavily next to Nani. In the dim light, her keen eyesight notices that the gargoyle's left wing doesn't quite fold up against his back like the right. Before she can study that, however, her vision is obscured by the monster's stony visage. As the malevolent amber eyes stare at her, Nani feels a sharp tug at her neck, followed by a snap. Moments later, a waving medallion breaks through the space between their faces. *No need for this between us,* echoes a deep baritone in her mind as the protective amulet is tossed away. The power behind the mental "voice" seems strong enough to knock her out, but the escape of oblivion is denied her. *Now, little mouse, let us see what secrets you have been hiding... Oh, and please struggle... I do so hate it when work is boring...* A terrified whimper is the only verbal response, but the gargoyle's grin deepens as his wings extend to engulf his captive.

After reaching the building's roof, Rogan quickly sheds the encumbering outfit he had worn for dinner. The loose clothes fall in a pile, leaving the merchant-rogue outfitted in a midnight blue silk bodysuit. Each thigh sports a sheathed dagger, while spring-sheathes on his arms hold another pair. With a look of regret, Rogan unfastens the padded moneybelt from about his waist and drops it into the mound of discarded clothes. Turning once more to face the direction Gauntwing had indicated, he heads off along the Thieves' Highway.

Ten minutes later, a flash of light off red mail brings Rogan to a halt. Crouched in the shadow of a brick chimney, he quietly watches the roofs ahead. A dull glow and the sound of muted voices betray a pair of sentries three roofs farther. Impatience wars with caution, bringing Rogan half out of his crouch. Caution wins as another sound enters the merchant's awareness. Freezing in place, Rogan waits for the sound to repeat. After subjectively long time, a figure detaches itself from the shadows on the next roof. A small figure hurries perpendicular to Rogan's intended path, making for the side of the roof. As the form dives over the edge, the light from the street below illuminates the figure's tail. <<Lilah? What would she be doing here?>> With a shake of his head, the merchant banishes the thought. <<Get a grip, Rogan. Infinite planes, infinite beings. I'm sure my fiery friend is not the only short tiefling in Sigil. *sigh* But help would have been nice.... Whoa, what's this?>> His attention is captured by several other figures hurrying from several nearby rooftops. The figures, now revealed, make no attempt to hide themselves; the distinct jingle of mailed troops follows from the figures as they converge at the recently vacated roof edge. Four men are clearly visible, streetlight shining off their rose-tinted armor. Two others hang back, the shadows of crossbows in their hands. After a brief discussion [<<Damn armor... can't hear what they're saying...>>], the pair with crossbows move to cover the edge while the other four make their way to the building's roof access. Drawing blades of varying lengths, the men quickly move into the building. <<Well, whoever that was, thank you! Let's see if I can't return the favor...>> Moving lightly from his hiding place, Rogan runs the gap and leaps to the guarded building top. Being careful to keep obstructions between himself and his final goal two buildings over, he moves quietly towards the streeward edge. The two guardsmen betray no signs of noticing his presence, intent on the scene below. Their heavy crossbows point over the edge, ready to shoot anyone flushed out by their comrades in the building. Moving very slowly, Rogan reaches for the daggers in his leg-sheathes. Releasing a catch on each tooled sheath, he coats the blades with an expensive concoction from Meister Brew. After a five-second wait, he draws both daggers and springs!

Leaving the rightmost dagger embedded in the frozen guard's back, Rogan grabs the falling lefthand guard with both arms. Blood fountains from the man's gashed neck, coating both men with warm sticky fluid. In the light from the street below, Rogan watches the matching light fade from the man's eyes as the merchant slowly lowers the unlucky guard to the rooftop. "Bad time to turn and look," whispers the merchant-rogue, as he closes the lids over the man's sightless gaze. Shaking his head briefly, Rogan puts the regrets aside and stands up. As he retrieves his other dagger from the surviving guard's back, he notes with interest that the wound seeps only a little blood. Being careful to remain out of the paralyzed man's sight, Rogan reaches around the man's front; with a twist and a snap, the man's Harmonium symbol pops free of the armor. Illuminated by the light from below, the black border is clearly visible. Rogan drops the symbol on the roof, then leans close to the guard, bringing his mouth near one ear. "The paralysis will wear off in an hour, I'm told. Your friend's commitment to duty killed him.... think about that as you wait." As Rogan begins to move away, a movement below catches his eye. Looking over the edge, he watches as a small figure rushes out of the building's front door clutching a large sack. Clothed in black leather, and sporting brown hair in 5" spikes, the tailed figure dashes across the street, and down an alley. Shouts from in the building arise as Rogan leans back near the living guard's ear. "My, wasn't that your target? Tsk! Perhaps you aren't cut out for this..." With a smirk, Rogan cleans both daggers on one sleeve of the man's undertunic. Replacing them in their sheathes, he continues towards his real target.

As he comes around one large obstruction of unknown purpose, he pauses to listen once more for the pair of guards he originally heard. Reassured by the sounds of talking ahead, Rogan leaps the gap separating him from the final building. After landing, he rolls towards the guards' position. The talking stops at the noise, the dull red light from a cigarette sent flying away. As the guards draw their blades, the merchant executes a tumbling attack; triggering both arm sheathes as he somersaults forward, Rogan launches for the nearest guard from the end of his roll, both daggers extended before him. The twin tenar'ri blades part the common steel mail, sliding easily into the first guard's midsection. As the man doubles over, Rogan releases the blades and rolls away. >CLANG!< A heavy sword skitters off the stone roof just behind the scrambling merchant. The remaining guard lifts the bastard sword to a defensive position as he fumbles in the darkness near the roof access door. Rogan draws his leg daggers and regains his feet in time to see a flask tossed to the felled guard. Moving in cautiously, Rogan and the upright guard begin warily circling each other. The intake of a deeper breath betrays the guard's intent to call for help; reacting instantly, Rogan drops one dagger and reaches for a soundbubble coil... only to remember that they lay abandoned in the pockets of his dress tunic.

"HARMONIUM!! ROOF 108!!" Any more the guard might have said is lost as the needs of combat take priority on the man's resources. Rogan and the guard trade a quick flurry of attacks, gauging each other's strengths. Bereft of the element of surprise, the merchant finds himself slightly overmatched. His exceptional- steel daggers, while strong, do not have the leverage to parry the other's bastard sword, nor the reach to land telling blows. On the other hand, the guard is having trouble hitting the elusive rogue, whose dark skin and dark outfit blends with the shadows. In fact... it seems that there are three of him! Stepping back, closer to the light from the street, the astonished guardsman discovers there *are* in fact three rogues assaulting him. "Freakin' mage!" exclaims the guard. Shifting to a left-handed grip, the man quickly grabs his dagger from his belt, tossing it through the center image. All three flinch, but the center rogue vanishes with a hiss. Taking a chance, the guard yells out an inarticulate cry, and lunges toward the leftmost image; at the last second, as the image's crossed daggers come up to block, he twists and slices cleanly through the right-hand rogue. The sting of cold steel rewards his wrong choice. As his life gutters out, he hears his assailant say "Fool. Never take a Chance against Fate's pawn..."

Rogan steps over the fallen guard, daggers still dripping. Moving back to the man he stabbed earlier, he finds only his daggers, an emptied flask, and a trail of blood. With the other guard's warning cry still ringing in his ears, however, the merchant decides not to pursue the wounded man, instead turning his attention to the locked door they were guarding. A minute's effort with the appropriate tools handles that dilemma, and Rogan slips inside the building. Conscious of potential followers, he takes a moment to both bolt and bar the door.

Stepping carefully down the wooden stairs, Rogan tries to make out his surroundings. Feeble light globes hang in each corner of the building, providing slightly less than twilight illumination. Ordered stacks of crates cover most of the main floor, while an office area (?) fills one corner. The stairs down which he has come end in a wooden platform about forty feet or so above the main floor, with a ladder descending from one end. Rogan stops at the bottom of the stairs and listens for.. anything. Several minutes pass, with the silence finally being broken by the sounds of people on the roof above. Jingling mail betrays the arrival of the other guardsmen, followed quickly by shouts of alarm and dismay after finding the results of the fight. Counting on the commotion to cover any noise, Rogan takes the opportunity to drop down from the wooden platform, rolling on impact with the stone floor to absorb some of the blow. Coming to a stop behind one stack of crates, he once again strains to hear any revealing sounds in the warehouse.

The noise of guards above banging on the barred door mask any obvious sounds. Resigning himself to a visual search, Rogan steps up from his crouch and begins slowly searching the warehouse. After a couple minutes, a scrape of stone against stone reaches the rogue's sensitive ears. Turning his head towards the sound, Rogan tries to zero in on the location. He begins moving in the suspected direction when another sounds reaches him: a soft whimpering. Changing directions, Rogan heads towards the new sound. Less than a minute later, he rounds a stack of crates to find the trussed form of Salisnania. Blood has dried in runnels from the corners of her eyes and from her ears; her wrists are torn and bleeding from pulling against the manacles. Her body shudders feebly as she whimpers through the bloody cloth gag, eyes wide in terror. <<Why is she scared of -me-??>> Glancing down at his dark-clothed, blood-covered form, the answer seems apparent; in an effort to both reassure and to help, Rogan rushes to her side, kneeling down and immediately slicing the cord linking the manacles. The instant release of tension rips an involuntary scream from her. As Rogan bends down to lift her, he feels a tapping on his left shoulder.

Normal instincts override combat reflexes, and Rogan turns partially to look; a large dark form with eyes of glowing amber is briefly seen before two stone fists slam into the left side of his head. The blow snaps his head around to the right, and throws his body down across the prostrate elven woman. Stunned, Rogan hardly resists as he is picked up by the gargoyle and tossed into a nearby column of crates. The impact knocks the wind from him, but luckily the jostled crates do not fall upon him. Frowning at the un-spectacular result, Jengrax walks over to Rogan. Picking up the rising merchant again, the gargoyle throws him across the warehouse once more. This time, the monster's aim is off; Rogan slams into a stone wall instead of the wooden crates. Groggily, he pushes himself up to his hands and knees, gasping in pain from a broken rib. As the gargoyle arrogantly makes his way to the struggling merchant, Rogan gazes in confusion at the object under his right hand. Before his blurred gaze can bring it into focus, he is lifted once more into the air. A thumping noise fills the air, as well as the more distant sound of splintering wood. The ground gets farther away...

Jengrax looks over to the roof access door as he flies into the center of the warehouse. The shouts reveal his bribed guards are almost through the door. <Not much more time to play,> he thinks with regret. Gazing up at the limp human held by one pair of arms, the gargoyle decides to have one more throw. Gripping the human by one leg, Jengrax dangles him over stone floor. The fog in Rogan's mind has a chance to clear, revealing the stone floor about 30 feet below. The thumping noise resolves itself into the gargoyle's massive wingbeats, while the splintering noise is out of sight. Concentrating briefly, Rogan triggers a power from the reversed Six of Swords - wizard lock. A faint yellow-green glow rises throughout the warehouse then disappears as all the crates become magically locked. The splintering roof access door also becomes magically enhanced, and ceases responding to the efforts of the guards outside.

Jengrax's attention is momentarily distracted by the change in timbre of the door's resistance; concerned, stops playing with the merchant, tucking him in to one side as he flies over to the wooden platform. Upon landing, Jengrax moves closer to the door to examine it. As he attempts to bring his considerable mental powers to bear, he discovers the telltale aura of magic. Pondering this development, he brings Rogan out from under his left arms, and holds him by the neck and waist. He looks at the door, and then at his captive. Rogan remains perfectly still, trying merely to ignore the pain of his broken rib and the vise-grip around his throat.

*What did you...* Jengrax's probing runs up against a familiar fogged boundary. Looking more closely, his amber gaze spots the end of the broken amulet chain dangling from Rogan's fist. "Drop.. the.. am..u..let, human," croaks the gargoyle. The grating noise of the creature's voice sends instinctive shivers down Rogan's back, causing him to gasp as the accompanying flinch jars his rib.

"I don't think so... I like my privacy." Rogan's attempt at looking defiant fails miserably, given his situation. The gargoyle illustrates this by merely grabbing the indicated hand, and crushing it in his stony grip. Rogan lets out a pained scream; when the pressure is released, the amulet drops from his shattered fingers. Landing on one edge, the blackrock disc rolls around briefly, then falls off the edge of the platform and drop from sight. <Ah shit!! This is -not- going like I planned!>

*That's -so- much better, don't you think?* queries the gargoyle, projecting into the human's pathetically open mind. *Now we can have a nice little chat. Why don't you start with door?* Rogan tries futilely to evade the psionic's probes, but cannot prevent the knowledge from being ripped from his mind. *How intriguing... Estevan did not mention -this- at all. Let's see what other tasty surprises you have for me...* Settling back on his haunches, Jengrax focuses his attention more fully, forming queries into jagged harpoons, picking through what gets pulled up.

*>knock< >knock< Rogan, are you there?* The low-pitched voice echoes across the barren landscape. *Rogan?* asks the slightly gravelly voice again, merging with the wind. As the breeze dies down, so do the echoes of the voice. The red-tinged, cloud-filled sky betrays no hint of the voice's origins, and the worker shrugs, returning to his burrowing.

The smooth, empty plains around the dig site stretch from horizon to horizon; indeed, perhaps the reddish soil curves up to meet the red-lit clouds at the edge. Perhaps, as in Sigil, the land is a torus, enclosed, contained. Then this excavation will lead out, providing escape. <Ah, but why leave?> ponders the worker. <When such treasures are still to be found...> Gesturing around the dig site, the worker reviews his finds. The skeleton of a mephit has been thrown across one exquisitely lacquered and inlaid wooden plaque, while another plaque lies atop a pile of inscribed pages. Glittering golden strands connect the plaques, with still more leading down into the hole. Other objects lay scattered about as well, from furs to a long club, to a painting of a young girl. The worker finishes his review, and returns his attention to the pit. He focuses briefly on his empty hands, which are suddenly filled with a glowing, jagged spear of bright yellow, and a wicked pick formed of purple-shot green.

Moving down the tunnel of previous digging, the worker passes the cracked metal box most of the objects above had come from. Glancing once more over the unknown symbols covering the safe, he moves on to what appears to be a buried wagon. Shifting the right pair of arms back, he casts the glowing harpoon at the wagon. It passes cleanly through the wood, disappearing inside. As the worker begins pulling the spear back, the other pair of arms begins picking away at the front edge of the wagon. Within minutes, the wagon's front is revealed, while its contents lie in a pile around the worker's feet, pulled out by the glowing spear. Kicking the piled nuts and spice boxes, the worker sighs in disgust. <I'm not interested in the manifests... Wait.. what's this?> The spear and pick disappear from the worker's hands as he bends down to retrieve one spice box with a curious symbol worked on it. Unable to read it in the dim light, the worker turns and heads back up the tunnel to the surface to examine his find.

As he approaches the entrance, however, the sound of movement ahead freezes him in place. Listening carefully, he hears someone or something moving around the dig site. Setting the box down, the worker vanishes to be replaced by a grey-scaled snake. The reptile slithers forward into the orange-red light of the surface...

Walking around the disorderly camp, the tall figure ponders the situation. <This mess is strange. Something is very wrong.> The black-armored form moves about, examining various items. <The Six of Swords, the Two of Pentacles, and,> he thinks, picking up the skeleton and blowing off the coating of reddish dust, <Gauntwing? Hmm...> Dropping the skeleton, he moves to the painting. Looking over the front and back, he finds a small inscription: "Sioran Dannerkin." <His daughter perhaps? Or a sister? Funny, he's never mentioned her.> Moving on around the obvious tunnel down, <And these would be... yes, the books for his business. But where is -he-?>

Intent on his search, the armored figure does not notice when the grey serpent moves out of the hole. As the figure moves around, the snake finds an advantageous location, and then quietly waits. After a few minutes of wandering about, the figure heads towards the tunnel; when one armored leg passes by the snake's hiding place, it launches itself out, sinking dark yellow fangs through the cuirboulli armor. The figure steps back, snarling in pain. Spying the snake hanging from his left leg, the figure reaches down to pluck it off. As the leather gauntlet closes over the small body, though, it disappears. Replacing it a few feet away is a huge stone humanoid. The armored figure backs away from the new assailant, bringing his hands together in front of him. Twin voids of darkness extend from the clenched fists, forming blades of black power, unrelieved by any color but a small silver skull at the base. Thus armed, the figure moves forward, menacing the golem. His imposing approach is marred, though, when his left leg is sluggish in responding.

The amber-eyed golem lifts both massive fists; the stone beneath the raised arms cracks and bulges out. Speeding up as the process progresses, two new arms push their way out of the creature's sides, showering the area with a spray of granite shards and powdered rock. When the new appendages are fully formed, all the cracks and fissures seal with a flash of gold light. Stepping forward, the four-armed golem faces off against the voidblade- armed warrior.

The two combatants circle warily. "Who are you?" demands the warrior. The gravelly undertones of his voice seem all too appropriate for the situation. His opponent makes no reply. <Alright, let's try a different tactic...> "Why are you poaching my territory?"

This seems to catch the golem off-guard. It pauses, as if pondering the idea. Encouraged, the warrior continues. "I own this mind and soul." <Leased it, actually,> he thinks. "If you leave now, we will have no quarrel." To illustrate this, the warrior lowers one dark blade. The black full helm nods to indicate the dig site as he continues, "If you delay, though, I will require payment for... damages."

The golem's head tilts back, and a booming laugh echoes across the landscape. As the mouthless stone head returns to regard the smaller warrior, the same voice responds. "PAYMENT? WHEN YOUR MANIFESTATION IS SO WEAK?" The voice breaks up again in laughter. Passionless, the warrior darts forward to illustrate his point. Leaping from the red plain, he launches himself at one of the lower arms. Swinging his dark blades through opposite arcs, he slices into the stone near the trunk. The granite sizzles as the voidblades carve into it; the heavy arm shatters as it falls off the golem's torso. Landing behind and to the left of the golem, the warrior collapses as his left leg buckles unexpectedly. Both voidblades vanish, dispelled as the warrior throws out his arms to catch himself. The wounded golem roars in pain, the deafening sound filling the reddish landscape with repeating echoes of agony. The huge monster turns to face its assailant as the warrior struggles to stand.

"THE POISON IS TAKING ITS TOLL. YOU MUST BE WEAK INDEED FOR THE EFFECT TO BE SO QUICK. GIVE UP, LITTLE ONE, BEFORE I INVADE YOU AS WELL." The booming voice is not so loud this time, but betrays no hint of the pain of moments before. Not waiting for an answer, the golem advances, - three- arms held ready. The warrior regains his feet, but his hands remain empty. Impassively waiting, resting most of his weight on his right leg, he remains still as the golem draws close.

Seconds before the golem strikes, the warrior disappears. Or rather, he is transformed into a dark blur, flashing upwards in a jagged, silver-tipped streak towards the golem's head. Compelled by momentum to finish its swings, the golem is unable to avoid impact; the blackness strikes below one eye and vanishes into the head. The golem freezes, still half bent from the recent attack. Tense minutes pass; nothing moves on the plains or in the sky. Suddenly, the golem explodes in black and gold burst! When the haze of powdered rock and the after-bursts of dark and light energy clear, two forms are revealed lying motionless on the plains. A four-armed gargoyle, wings bent underneath the body at awkward angles. A tall elf in dark clothes, unbound hair ruffled by a fresh breeze, lying face down, right arm twisted behind his back. The elf stirs first, pulling himself to his knees in slow, painful movements. Gather his strength, he lurches to his feet, then looks around. Ignoring the gargoyle, he bends down to pick up an item: a thick circular disc with a missing center. Shredded cloth flops about the center hole. Grimly, the elf jams the disc down on his head, then turns back to his enemy. Stepping up on its chest, he squats down close to its face. Slate grey lids slowly slide back, revealing amber eyes. "Good morning, sweetheart," says the elf. The gargoyle growls and begins to shrug the light figure off by standing. He halts his efforts as a familiar weapon appears once more in front of his eyes. Subsiding, he carefully watches the dagger-sized voidblade now filling one of the elf's hands.

"That's better. Now, I believe we were at 'Who are you?' " The gargoyle's eyes close; no response comes. With his free hand, the elf grabs the gargoyle's chin and shakes it. "Damn it, answer me. Who are you? What are you doing here?" The gargoyle remains silent. A few seconds later, the elf loses his balance as the form underneath him fades away.

"... up, Ro..."

<What?>

"... kup, Roga..."

"I said, wake up!"

"What!?" Rogan sits up suddenly, adrenalin pumping ice through his veins. Flailing wildly, he struggles to escape the grip that holds him still.

>SLAP!<

The sting shocks him the rest of the way awake, while the blow knocks sense back into his head. Way back... that hurt! Rogan stops struggling. Looking around, he sees Killraven holding him still, and Chakan standing nearby. The three of them are in the warehouse; light streams in from hole in the stone wall near the door. Following his gaze, Killraven comments, "Sorry about that. The door wouldn't open."

Rogan tries to make sense of what's going on. Shaking his head, he looks around; his eyes fall across a symbol on a nearby crate. The familiar "Arrowed DI" of Dannerson's Imports stares back at him; Jengrax had chosen one of his own warehouses for his little party! Frustrated, Rogan screws up his eyes, bring both fists down on the floor, and lets out a scream. Killraven glowers at him; Chakan disinterestedly examines his stovepipe hat.

"The girl is okay," mentions Chakan. "Valas and Swan are taking her to Swan's place. Pick up your things and get cleaned up; you leave for Gallowsgate in three hours. On second thought, don't change; Jarinda would appreciate the bloody look." Chakan turns to leave, but stops momentarily. Over his shoulder he says, "Jengrax was gone when I got here." He then steps out into the 'daylight' of Sigil, leaving Rogan behind in the gloom of the warehouse.