And of course her spirit-sister.  The image of her was the most vivid: she was stalking back to camp from her visit - 'home,' seeing a tall and ragged stranger lurking near the campsite, feeling the energy of immortality within him, and creeping up and grabbing him with the stealth and strength only the undead could muster...

"Dammit, wake up Oulan!  I said wake up, dammit!!"

Snapping awake unusually fast, even for the light sleep of a bodyguard, Oulan threw her blankets off her and sprang to her feet to see Sierra grappling the intruder from her dream.

{Idiot!  That last part must have been Sierra trying to wake you down the Bond - no wonder she's
pissed!}  Oulan thought as she closed the last few steps to their adversary.

Suddenly, he cried out, "Counter Rune . . . SHOW YOUR POWER!!", and with a sudden lunge, he rammed Sierra with his shouder, sending her flying into a tree with a solid THUD.

{All right, anything that can do THAT to Sierra gets no pulled punches from me,} she thought darkly, stepping in and slamming him with a right-left combination from behind, just as he stood up.  Her right hand caught him in the small of the back, and the warrior's breath left him in an anguished wheeze, just in time for her left fist to connect with the back of his head, sending him down with a sharp -Crack. -

"Sierra?  You all right?" she called, looking toward the tree her spirit-sister had hit.

"I'm fine, Oulan," the vampiress replied, standing up and brushing herself off. "That Rune was a
surprise, though.  I wonder who he is."

"Is?" Oulan asked, only then noticing the warrior was still breathing.  She turned him over, noting the many wounds on his body.

"He must have been desperate, whatever happened to him - there are bits of black armour still attached to these straps, and his sword's a wreck.  I don't know if the great Mace himself could salvage that mess," she pointed out, glancing at the ruined blade lying on the ground near the dropped hilt.

Meanwhile, Young Master McDohl had finally managed to get around to seeing what those two "ladies" were talking about.  Noticing the large, armored individual they had wrestled, he examined him, poking with the stick used to tend the fire.  McDohl got a better look at the man's face and paused.

"What?" Oulan asked, puzzled.  She turned her head to see McDohl staring down at the warrior's face.

"I know him.  That's Pesmerga, one of the 108 Stars of Destiny back during the Toran War.  He never said much . . . just chased Yuber all the way to Neclord's Castle and joined out of boredom.  I never knew where he went after the war ended."

While McDohl was reminiscing, Oulan was searching her pack for some Mega Medicine.

Moving forward to still her friend, Sierra found herself experiencing a burst of pain in her upper
thigh.  The maggot had packed a hard punch.  Not that it mattered of course.  Bruising had ceased to be a problem for her millenia ago.  Turning her thoughts outward once more, the albino observed her friend and the boy scramble about for some mortal pandemic or other.  Honestly, Oulan should know better...

"What do you two think you're doing?" the vampire drawled, obviously frustrated.

Young Master McDohl looked at Sierra like she had just ripped the throat out of a puppy and was
devouring it right in front of him.  Had she no heart?

"Hey, he's pretty beat up, so you're not the only one hurting here.  Come over here and help out."

So, the boy thought that he could command her!  Stupid maggot, just because he had led one pathetic army he dared to act as a general to a Lady?

At the moment, the vampire Sierra's opinion of the current Stars of Destiny was rapidly declining.

"Help you?" she briskly questioned, kneeling down by Oulan's pack to still the bodyguard's questing hands.  As her friend looked on with confusion, no doubt only half-informed of her emotions by the bond, Sierra wrenched the pack away.  Luckily she had caught Oulan off guard.

"THIS is helping you."

"Sier, what the hell..."

"What do you think you're doing?!" McDohl cried out in shock, next to Pesmerga.

"Keeping you from making a stupid mistake, Lord McDohl," she said, the word 'Lord' sounding slightly forced.  "This man snuck up to our campsite in the middle of the night and was obviously staking us out.  If I hadn't been out . . . strolling, then he could have slaughtered the both of you as you slept.  And now you want to *heal* him?"

Oulan was sending her disapproving feelings through their connection, "Sier, Lady Cleo *did* talk about the guy."

"Look, Lady Sierra," McDohl's voice had taken a rather sharp tone to it, not to mention he practically SPAT out the word 'Lady', "I will personally vouch for Pesmerga.  Now hand over the herbs."

Maybe it was the crisp night air, or fresh blood coursing through her veins.  Maybe it was the feeling of the soft, cold moonlight on her skin and residual bloodlust from her recent battle.  Or maybe, just maybe, it was that her journey home had rekindled that lust for command that she had lost somewhere centuries ago during her magical insanity.  Regardless, Sierra was feeling emboldened that evening.  As such, she was far less inclined to be diplomatic as when lack of
blood had kept her sedated in the sunshine.  The tension had begun to take on a life of it's own, and
she was tired of it.

"Star of Destiny?  Hah!  I've seen that kind come and go . . .  what exactly does it *mean*, 'Lord'
McDohl?"

Jumping back, she took the position most likely to give her an advantage should things get out of hand.  The vampire had to safeguard Oulan from the armored warrior - it had been so long since she had had someone to protect.

With a split-second grin, the vampire realized that her perch on a nearby granite outcropping was perfect.  The branch above would suit her needs quite well.  Satisfied, the albino continued with her tirade.

"Are you saying that every star of Destiny was a loyal, pure-heated paragon?  What of those like
Milich?  Like Kwanda Rossman?  Oulan told me enough about *them*.  Does this position give this Pesmerga any special power I should care about?  I already sense an energy from him, but not the same as yours.  As far as I can see all the title of Destiny's star signifies is your name on a tablet and the 'enviable' position of pawn to Leknaat of the Gate!"

Dodging the youth as he made a grab for the pack, Sierra proceeded to toss the worn black leather bag into the highest branch of a nearby evergreen.  It would be nigh impossible, she knew, for them to climb up and find it among the sharpened, shadowed boughs.  Those disapproving feelings were getting stronger- but it was for Oulan's own good.  To safeguard the ones she cared for was integral to the honor of a Lady.

Cutting off an infuriated McDohl, Sierra made her conclusion, "I see no reason to spare that robber, and I'm the only one who can get that medicine down.  You want to heal him?  Convince me."

Armed with flashing demon's eyes, crossed arms, and a chilling arctic glare, the undead woman made her stand.

And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.  McDohl glared up at Sierra, totally ignoring how spooky she was, silhouetted by the moon, and picked up his Heaven Fang Staff.  Twirling it, he held it in an offensive stance and poised himself.

"I have had it up to here with you.  I may have been the son of a general, but I was nothing like the
selfish, greedy noble class that you compare yourself to.  You call Pesmerga a thief; yet you stole that Medicine because things weren't going your way.  You're no different than Kanaan or Kraze ever were!"

McDohl stood firm, glaring, not giving an inch.

"And you can mock the Stars of Destiny all you want, but we accomplished something with our lives.  We protected those who needed us the most.  What about you, LADY Sierra?  Why aren't you with your people, whoever they may be, assuming you aren't as full of it as I think you are.  You can accuse me of abandoning mine, but you are doing it by choice."

McDohl then stood up and motioned to Pesmerga.

"Pesmerga is an ally of mine from the past.  If that's not good enough for you, then tough!  Even if
he was the criminal you accuse him of, he's still a living being, and we, as ethical people, cannot turn
our backs on him.  Letting him suffer would make us no better than Neclord."

Young Master McDohl then lashed out with the palm of his right hand, the Soul Eater Rune flashing to life, enveloping the tree Sierra was standing on in a blinding dome of energy that made it disappear.  The medicine and Sierra came crashing down to the ground.

"Either give me the medicine so I can help my friend, or I'll beat you senseless, then have to use
the medicine on the both of you.  It's your call!"

How dare he.  The tribe had been everything.

How dare he.  Her people were dead, DEAD.

How dare he.  How many nights had she cried herself to sleep for the crime of being alive?

Sierra looked up.  Why had she felt so powerful just moments before?  Tonight, the moonlight was with her - and so was regret.  But not for this boy.

Throwing McDohl off guard, she gave him a look filled with pure sadness and walked right up to him, clutching the bag she had caught in her left hand.

"You know nothing, little boy."

"Now what gives you the right to . . ."

She put a hand to his lips, "Shhhhhhhhh. You want to know what I am?  Fine.  But, I advise you to put that thing down or I *will* fly away from here and you shall never see a droplet of this medicine."

A blue aura surrounded her as the albino moved with blinding speed to a simple log where she could place herself.  Surprisingly, there were tears in her eyes - streams influenced perhaps by some odd mating of sorrow and rage.

"My name is Lady Sierra Miuret of the Moon Tribe, but it was once Baroness Sierra app Yashka Miuret of the Durnan Empire."

"Look, I don't care if your butt lights up when you hold your breath.  You have no right to . . . "

"I said QUIET!" she snarled.

"Unlike yourself, general's son, I didn't have a happy family or good friends," she said with a tiny
laugh.

"Basically, I was raised to be a brood mare - one of the 'greedy ruling class' that you were born into yourself.  Do you know, little boy, what you threw away?  So many people never have even one parent, but you . . . . you had caretakers and a father that truly cared for you.  And what did you do with such a blessing?  You threw it all away, murdered love in cold blood.  Don't talk to me about being like Kraze and Kanaan, little boy."

McDohl was giving her that look again.  As if she cared.

"Let her finish," Oulan quietly prompted him.

The vampiress smiled wanly, "Death was, perhaps, the best thing I ever did.  I gained the power of a great rune, at true rune like yours, little boy.  And I fled to the mountains to build a place where I could be not what my social standing and gender had destined me to be but a Lady, a true Lady.   And I did it without 107 'Stars of Destiny' to help me.  And I did it without strategists.  And I did it without the movement built by a martyr.  And I did it without an ancient Lady to guide me, without education beyond dancing and sewing.  I have accomplished more, *seen* more I my life than you can imagine."

Sierra rose, silhouetted once more, and began to walk back towards the camp.

"I took in the destitute, and the criminal, and the helpless, and those not much unlike the man who lies bleeding over there.  I gave them a new and better life - they made for me not just a nation but a home.  Yet one day, I took one of them for a lover.  I healed him just as you wish to heal this one, but in the end he betrayed me. In the end he killed them all.  My people are dead little boy, DEAD."

Her face was only inches away from McDohl's, and if she was afraid of the ghostly aura around his right and she did not show it.

"Ethical people . . . hah!  My ethics brought nothing but ruin.  It is all very well and good to
take the moral high ground when you have nothing to lose."

Shoving the pouch into his chest, Sierra began to walk away.  "My lover's name was Renillard Variev.  You would probably call him the Neclord.  For two thousand years I 'protected those who needed me the most' without pause and I will avenge them even unto a second death.  Four hundred years of hunting, of killing, of madness . . . is that enough dedication to prove my worth to you?  I don't believe in your destiny, little boy.  You're nothing but a bawling child who likes to play at being the knight in shining armor.  Everything you're given - a nation, a family - you throw away because it's just not a shiny enough toy for you."

Now standing far back, she spread her arms as if they were two wings and bared her fangs with a harsh gasp of air.

"This is the devil I am.  So make your mistake, boy.  I should have known better than to rely on
mortals and those like them."

Feeling betrayed by Oulan and a base disgust with the entire situation, the heartbroken vampire
transformed into an ivory bat with a scarlet flash.  As the two stared up, finally left with the precious
medicine, Sierra flew off into the night as her clothes hit the dirt with a soft rumple.

Oulan threw up an arm in a futile grab at the fleeting, ghostly bat as it flew away.

"Sier, WAIT!"

She missed by a wide margin, and drove her fist into a boulder in frustration before turning back to
the camp, cursing herself in her mind as she gathered up Sierra's clothes.

{Why're you so damned stubborn, Sier?  Oh, dammit, I should've seen that coming.  I should've realized just *why* she was so resentful of McDohl.  I should have-}

Her musings were interrupted by an eerie and (at the time) thoroughly unwelcome voice.

"That's it, mortal!  I can sense your anger at the vampiress!  Take me in hand, hunt her down and destroy her!"

The gag had slipped off the Star Dragon Sword.

In a moment of utter fury, her Rune flaring on her right hand, Oulan snatched the ancient blade off her back one-armed and spun around, hurling the Sword point-first at the rock, and it sankin to the hilt.

"Rune of the Beginning curse you, SHUT UP!  And you can STAY there until Viktor finds you for all I care!!" she screamed out, spinning back toward the camp and grabbing the medicine pouch from McDohl on the way.

McDohl stood still for a moment, in the exact pose he'd been in when Oulan spun around with the Star Dragon Sword and nearly decapitated him (he was, understandably, just a bit surprised.)  Then he, too, turned back towards the camp and his old ally, asking Oulan as he settled down with her to help Pesmerga,

"Hey . . . where did you get that?"

"It's a long story," Oulan sighed.  "I'll explain some of it . . . " she began as the two wanderers
began to tend Pesmerga's wounds.

"Pesmerga!!!  Help me!  Please!" The little girl pawed frantically at the water engulfing her tiny
frame, trying desperately to stop from drowning.  She coughed up streams of the blue, life-giving liquid, coughing and screaming for help from her big brother.  All Pesmerga could do was watch.  He grabbed a fallen tree-branch close by and tried to hold it out to her, but it was not long enough.  The young teenager's mind was racing, he couldn't let his little sister die.

He just couldn't!  She continued to scream and paw at the water, her little arms flailing wildly,
desperate for something to hold.  He just sat on his knees and cried, as the Duvatz river pulled her under, and the screaming stopped.

Another image lanced it's way into Pesmerga's mind, the image of a pale woman, her body fully bare to the moonlight, resting on a bed of rotting flesh.  Her face was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, she was his secret goddess, the woman he had loved, for reasons he did not comprehend, for hundreds of years.  He saw that same woman, her body bloody and lifeless, laying in a crumpled heap, the Star Dragon Sword impaling her.  Standing silently over her body was a man dressed in full crimson armor, his hair as red as the blood on the sword in the woman's chest.

Pesmerga stood behind him, tears staining his face, the result of helplessly watching as the woman he loved was torn apart.  Two other's, a red-headed woman, and a boy who resembled Young Master McDohl lay nearby, the red-head was also dead, and the boy was badly hurt.  A strange sword had found it's way into Pesmerga's grasp, and he charged, screaming incoherent curses at the armored stranger.  Before he could react, the stranger was gone, as his sword knifed its way through McDohl's tender flesh, spraying crimson into the air.  Another ethereal scream rose from his lips, the stranger was behind him now, taunting him.  The two clashed, as sword danced against sword. Sparks and rays of magic filled the air as both men dueled for hours upon hours, neither tiring or
submitting.  Finally, the crimson stranger ran Pesmerga through with his own sword, tossing his
bloody body to the ground.  As the final gasp of air escaped Pesmerga's throat, he finally saw the
stranger's face.

It was his own.

Pesmerga jerked forward, screaming at the top of his lungs.  He stopped as the cool night air struck his face, as he realized it had only been another of his cursed nightmares.  Bringing a shaky hand up to his face, he wiped away beads of sweat, and swept back his raven hair.  Just as he was getting his nerves under control, he felt a hand gently grip his shoulder, followed by a soft, reassuring voice.

"Pesmerga?  Are you okay?"

Pesmerga turned his head slightly, to see who the voice belonged to, noting first the green bandanna that adorned the youth's head, then the boyish smile, and the shining eyes that all had loved so much three years ago.  He knew now who had spoken to him.  The McDohl boy, leader of the Liberation Army.  Rubbing his throbbing temples, Pesmerga let out a long, mournful sigh and turned his attention too McDohl, and, as he now noticed, his red-headed companion.

"Yes McDohl, I'm fine.  You needn't worry about me.  And what the hell are you doing way out here in Jowston anyway?  Do you have some sort of death wish, McDohl?  You're a wanted man here."

McDohl seemed to tense at the mention of being a "wanted man" and then, with the obligatory "it's a long story" remark, spent the better part of an hour telling Pesmerga just how he came to be in Jowston.  At the end of McDohl's reminiscing, Pesmerga sighed again, and reached down to where his waist satchel was, hoping to find some medicine to cure his throbbing headache, only to realize it was no longer there.  Probably destroyed in the fight with Yuber.  He felt a tap on his shoulder, as the red-head handed him a bottle of Mega Medicine.  Pesmerga simply nodded,with a brisk "Thank you."

"Uhm . . . Pesmerga," McDohl was talking again, wincing at the battle scars adornning Pesmerga's body.

"How did you get so scarred up?  What happened to you?"

Pesmerga stared right into McDohl's youthful brown eyes, not exactly eager to tell all about how Yuber had beaten his ass three shades short of hell.

Instead, he replied with a question of his own, eager to find out just who had beaten him, so he could hurt them.  Badly.

"McDohl . . . . where is the third person?"

Young Master McDohl just blinked, "Third person?"

"Yes McDohl," Pesmerga replied, growing annoyed by the boy's naivete, or stupidity, or whatever it was he had that made him so dense, "the third person.  The one that beat me unconscious."

At that, the red-head gasped, and a visible blush crossed her cheeks.

"G - Gomen, that was me.  You were attacking my friend, so I was pretty sure you had to be either a bandit, or just some desperate guy who needed our things."  She gave a bow that Pesmerga recognized as one from the Matilda region.

"It's alright milady," he slowly rose to his feet, and returned the bow as best he could, "your friend
would be the one who attacked me from behind, right?"  She nodded.
 
   "Then where is she?"  Pesmerga crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.

"W - well," the red-head was either nervous, or just as dense as McDohl, and Pesmerga's patience was growing thin.  He had been beaten within an inch of death twice in two days, and he was far beyond pissed about it.  She swallowed a lump in her throat and went on, she was definitely nervous.

"You won't believe this . . . but . . . she turned into a bat and flew away."  She pointed to the
northeast, and when Pesmerga looked in that direction, the stench of runic magic slammed into his nostrils.

He felt the claw marks on his neck, dry blood forming scar tissue over the wounds, and a low growl rose within his throat.  He just knew it, the "third person" had to be one of the Moon Tribe.  A Vampire.

"Well then," Pesmerga turned and walked over to a nearby rock, spying the Star Dragon Sword buried up to the hilt in it, "I'm going after your vampire friend.  And I'm going to give her a lesson she'll never forget."  He reached out and grasped the hilt, yanking backwards as the blade ripped free of the boulder.

"Hey, wait a second!" the red-head was on her feet and coming towards him, rage flowing across her face.

"She was just trying to protect me!  So don't you dare hurt her!"

Pesmerga sighed, holding out his hand, "Don't worry milady, I won't hurt her, I promise you.  I will only ask her why she attacked me.  May I borrow a scabbard, if you have one?"

The redhead turned to look at McDohl, who nodded, and she unstrapped a scabbard from her back and handed it to him.

"I'm coming with you, and I won't take no for an answer."

Pesmerga noted the determination on the red-headed lady's face as he strapped the scabbard to his back, and slid the Star Dragon Sword into it with a gentle thunk.

"Very well then," he turned to face her and McDohl, "I'll take you with me lady . . . ." it was then that he realized he didn't know her name.

"Oulan," she quickly replied, with a slight smile, "nice to meet you.  Now, we should get going, it might take us awhile to catch Sier."

Pesmerga narrowed his eyes slightly, as he noticed McDohl walking up to them.  "I suppose you're coming too, McDohl?"  The boy nodded.  "Very well then, but if anything happens to you, you know Gremio will give me hell about it."

Pesmerga turned, and quickly grabbed Oulan and McDohl, each one tucked under an arm.  Both screamed things such as, "what are you doing!?" or "are you crazy!?", but he just ignored them, a silent incantation running through his mind.

Quickly ending the chant, he turned to look at McDohl, then Lady Oulan.  "Hold on you two . . . this is going to be fast.  If your friend is as quick as you say, this is the only way to catch her."

Pesmerga turned to face the night sky, as he added the final part to the chant.  "Counter Rune, show your power NOW!"  With that, Pesmerga took off in a golden blur of speed, with a screaming McDohl and equally petrified Oulan in tow.

Ten kilometers away from nowhere, an apparently young woman wandered through the dense Windian underbrush.  She should have been shivering, wrapped tightly in only the painstakingly crafted burgundy leather trenchcoat of an oddly familiar young man. Blonde, scrawny . . . she'd seen so many of the type - he was certainly nothing but a template of some long - lost acquaintace.  Whoever the mortal was, his unconcious body lay a few hundred meters back.

A Lady did not steal, and a Lady did not kill people she owed money too.

A Lady . . . how dare that maggot!  Annoyed, she slammed her fist into a tree, paused, and then sighed as the blow's echo rang out through the moon-dappled clearing.  This was getting her nowhere.  Sierra was tired, so very tired, of pain, and trauma, and worry, and angst.

All she really wanted was to rage against the cruel darkness of the night and the taunting glow from the heavens.  The vampire craved destruction, death under a bloody moon.  And she felt like she cold do it, she felt so very powerful . . .

This was nonsense.  There was nothing that she could possibly do without the rune.  It would be
better to sleep for a while and then perhaps ride this mysterious natural high to victory.  She didn't need them, after all; she didn't need any of them.  Stupid mortals.  It was time for rest.

Beautiful, relaxing, rest.  The ocean of sleep was coming to claim her, carry her away . . . .

~ Blood ~

But her eyes were opening almost of their own violation, sleep eluding her usually firm grasp.

~ Blood ~

It was running, coursing through her.  So much power . . .

~ Blood ~

"Sanglent Enfer!  Une mille malédictions sur lui!  LARVE!"

(translation: "Bloody Hell!  A thousand curses on him!  MAGGOT!")

For perhaps the first time in deacades the relative silence of the clearing was shattered by harsh human expression.  The invading tounge, however, was far more ancient than that.  It's owner was pacing about in a shameless disturbance of the pristine dew-tipped grass.

How had she missed it!?!  This had happened so many times before.  Why did he even bother anymore?

This was just great.  She bet that *Leknaat* never got into these situations . . .

~ Blood ~

Sacrifice; gory, ritualistic sacrifice.  The power never did him any good, the maggot.  Didn't he realize that the rune would have granted him what he wanted already had it been meant for him?  His grotesque attempt to parody her reign was noting but a waste of energy.  Unfortunately, such great power being pent up invariably spilt over to her happened to spill over into her.  Meaning that she probably owed the boy an apology.  It also explained her uncanny urge to blow something up.

~ Blood ~

And lo, a whisper of from the depths.

~ "Come back to me . . . " ~

Soon forgotten in the red haze and resistance to a tsunami of aggression.

"Quoi? NON!  Je ne vais pas etre une escalve a ceci!"

(translation: "What?  NO! I will not be a slave to this!")

Concentrating, Sierra managed to form a sea wall against her tidal bloodlust.  This sort of attack was gruesomly familiar to her.  Ensorcelled by her efforts, she failed to notice the blindingly amber
light courseing through the night air until it was apon her.

"Kill her!  Kill the demon!  Take your revenge . .."

"I . . . uuuuh . . ." Pesmerga breathed.

Turning, and rather inured against surprise at fantastical events considering the day's activities,
Sierra simply waited.  Whoever this Pesmerga was, he seemed to have a choke hold on her friend.  It would be so easy to kill him.

~ "Come back; I've been waiting . . ." ~

Much easier than heeding the quicksiver song of a siren she knew all too well.  But, a Lady never gave into her impulses.  A Lady had complete control - used whatever resources were at hand and put her personal revulsion aside.  Those were tendancies she would have done better to heed as of late.

"Some rune.  So what do you want, assassin?" emerged a greeting that was as close to welcoming as her primal distrust would allow.

Immobile, all the heavily-armed man could do was gawk.  Forget death for now; she could slay his
resistance with a smile.    Young Master McDohl, however, was not so easy to impress.

A vampire . . . he should have guessed.  All the signs were there.  Aside from the fact that she looked like death warmed over (well, it had), Sierra exhibited all the symptoms of vampirism.  McDohl killed enough of Neclord's "brides" to know them.  How she could stay out in the day must be through the same way her "ex-lover" could.  A corrupted rune.

Young Master McDohl stepped out from behind Pesmerga and stared at Sierra.  She caught sight of him and glared back.

"Did you bring him here to kill me with that abomination, then?  I should expect no more from one
such as you, little boy.  To think I was ready to forgive you . . ."

McDohl's eyes narrowed at the tone that was more icy than the breeze coming from the lake and the night sky.  But there was something more to Sierra's attitude than her disgust for him.

But, was too pissed off to notice it.  The whole time they were together, she did nothing but accuse
him of abandoning his people . . . as if it was of his choosing.  The deaths of Ted, his father, Odessa . . .were all on his head.  He had tried to do his best to live for their dreams; to honor their memories.  It was all too much for McDohl to bear anymore.  Three years of anguish, regret, heartache, and pain all flooded to him at once.  And he EXPLODED with ANGER.

"Big talk, coming from a Lady of Death.  Your people were created through your bloodlust and
desires.  You willingly created Neclord, the source of so much death and misery.  It doesn't matter if it seemed like a good idea at the time or not; you were only thinking of yourself!  A lover to lessen YOUR burden, to relieve YOUR loneliness.  The deaths of your people were the price paid for YOUR mistakes!  You have the nerve to lecture me about duty?!  Your claim to nobility . . . makes . . . me . . . SICK!!!!"

"Hypocrite.  You talk of ethics, of salvation.  Am I unethical, then, for not wanting to heal the
assassin while I am also unethical for healing another in need five-hundred years ago?  No . . . I can see that it is of no use to reason with a child.  Speak no more, mewling boy, for I'll have none of thee."

And his anger found a willing reflection in Sierra.  Oulan saw it coming, as did Pesmerga.  A deep growl rose in her throat and, with a swift motion, she lunged at the trio.

Oulan and McDohl managed to scatter, but Pesmerga was not quick enough.  Her claws slashed in a crescent motion, making deep grooves in his armor.  Pesmerga just gawked at the damage, stronger weapons having never managed to do this much.  His surprised could have cost him his life, had Sierra not been trained on McDohl.

Oulan had stumbled to her knees in dull shock as Sierra became almost feral in her rage, their bond encompassing rage and a twisted sort of joy.  {Something's wrong with her!} the bodyguard thought desperately.  {It's like she's riding the same kind of high as I get from the Angry Dragon . . .}

Sierra was beyond any care for reconciliation, and there was no reasoning with either her or McDohl now.

Lightning flashed across the sky, cloud cover appearing over the moon, as if to enhance the scene.
The night lit with each crack, allowing nothing but the briefest glimpse on the forms of Young Master
McDohl and Lady Sierra.

Neither moved, standing a good distance apart.  The wind howled, blowing blades of grass and whipping the clothing and hair of the two.

Young Master McDohl stood, holding his Heaven Fang Staff in front of him, eyes narrowed, his face taut with intensity.  His strange garb rustled in the wind and he stood firm, unmoving.  Despite all the leaves, twigs, and dust, he never blinked.  Not once.

Lady Sierra also stood tall, appearing proud in her rage.  The trenchcoat's edges flapped wildly, but her hair stood in place, defiant to the fury of nature.  Her eyes were cold and dead, filled with blood, sizing up what could possibly be considered prey right now.

Staff twirling and claws ready, both McDohl and Sierra raced towards each other, yelling at the top of their lungs.  Sierra winced as the staff rapped her soundly on the collarbone while McDohl cried out as his arm was slashed by her claws.  Both of them swung at each other a few times, neither landing any more blows, before both jumped backwards for more room.

Sierra and McDohl were breathing heavily, feeling numbness starting to set in their respective injuries.  But, neither noticed it.

Instead, Young Master McDohl's eyes were wide with shock.  Instead of Sierra standing there, with the night sky at her back, it was the noon sky . . . and he was staring at his father.  It was then that he saw himself from a third person perspective.

"I'd rather not fight you, father."  McDohl said, with Mathieu and his friends at his side.

"Sentimentality, from the leader of the Liberation Army?!  Don't make me laugh!"  General Teo McDohl said, with Alen and Grenseal behind him.

Frozen, he could only watch General Teo draw his blade and attack.  The grueling battle ended with Young Master McDohl's final blow, which cracked open his own father's skull.  And with Teo's dying breath, the Soul Eater absorbed the energy that came with his passing into the next life.

"NOOO!!!!!!   FATHER!!!!!" McDohl screamed silently.

And with a flash of light, he was back.  Sierra was still glaring at him, looking for a weakness to
exploit.  His right hand vibrated a little, the glow from the Soul Eater fading.  What . . . was this?

He barely noticed Sierra's next attack soon enough to turn, so her nails clawed the flesh of his chest instead of piercing a vital organ.  He cried out in pain, blood flying onto the ground.

She had backed up and was preparing for another attack . . . one that would finish off a weak McDohl.  Having his faculties back, McDohl realized this was pointless.  She was not herself . . . something was influencing her.  But the fight had to end.  And as she charged at him with all the inhuman speed at her disposal, McDohl had to use an old manuever.

Planting his feet on the ground, appearing to be bracing himself for the coming blow, he instead hopped backwards as she lunged.  Sierra's claws cleaved air, and his staff crashed down on her head, sending Sierra sprawling onto the grass.

"Sier!"  Oulan had finally gotten to her feet and ran up to Sierra, who had shaken herself loose from the insane bloodlust and anger.

Noting Sierra was no longer a threat to anyone, he noticed his chest was bleeding profusely and the world spun around.  Dropping to one knee, McDohl cried out with no sound and passed out, face down on the grass.

Oulan was just helping Sierra up.

"Thank god he shook you out of that, Sier," she commented.

"Ow.  Of course he shook me out of it, Oulan - that staff of his hits as if it were made of lead," Sierra replied sourly, rubbing her head.  Oulan smiled.

"Obviously you're back to normal," she quipped, turning away -

- just in time to see McDohl fall.

"Dammit!" she yelled, her hand dipping into her belt pouch for more Medicine and finding only a few doses.  She kept fishing with her left hand as she knelt down and used her right hand to turn McDohl over onto his back.  She cursed fluently in High Harmonian as she saw the huge gashes Sierra had ripped into his side.

"Chikusho! Jigoku ni otosu!"

"What?" Pesmerga asked as he and Sierra arrived by McDohl's side, startled by the sound of his native tongue.

"Do you know how *rude* that was?"

Oulan was startled herself now, and blushed.

"I'm sorry - I didn't think anyone would understand me," she apologized.  "It's just that I didn't realize how bad it was.  Remind me not to get you that mad at me, Sier."

"Not a problem," the vampire mistress replied, just as Oulan's hand, searching for her doses of Mega Medicine, found only two scrolls.

{Blast it! I remember now, I used my last two Mega Medicine doses to heal up after I let Sier drain me those times!} Half panicked, Oulan fished out the scrolls and looked at them in the light-

*Red* light. The Angry Dragon was shining on its own.  Startled again, the bodyguard shoved that to the back of her mind and read the scrolls, at the same time trying to remember which ones she'd bought to rescue a madwoman from North Window.

{Gomen, Sier,} she thought quietly to herself at the mental description.

She sighed in relief as she read the first scroll - a Healing Wind with two spells left on it.  Quickly
reciting the spell, she watched as the sparkles of light settled into McDohl.

"Come on, boy - I helped keep your father alive once, don't you die on me now!!"

As McDohl's breathing eased and his wound vanished, Pesmerga took a step back and threw a quizzical look at Oulan.

"Why is your right hand glowing red, young lady?"

Looking at her Rune, Oulan realized that she was still getting agitated feelings down the bond from
Sierra and realized what was going on.

"Ah.  That's the Angry Dragon Rune - it's fueled by anger.  I'm . . . ah . . 'connected' with Sierra, and I assume it's reacting to her feelings right now."

Glancing at Sierra, she was rewarded with a nod.

"So what's the problem here, Sierra?" she asked, noticing McDohl start to sit up.

As concisely as she could, Sierra explained about the Moon Rune and her . . "problem" . . with how Neclord was using it, getting her clothes back from Oulan in the meantime and dressing while her friend held up the trenchcoat as a screen.  When she was done explaining, McDohl sighed in mild relief.

"Well, that explains quite a bit.  Speaking of explanations, why are you here, Pesmerga?"

Pesmerga glanced down at his ruined equipment; the remnants of his once-proud armour, his shattered sword.

"I know of a Sindar ruin in the area of the Cave of Winds.  I am going there to . . replace . . certain
things."

"Such as your armour?" Sierra asked teasingly, giving Pesmerga's exposed sections of body a once-over - which was obviously not disapproving.

Oulan recalled some of what Sierra had regaled her with in the Cave of Wind, and blushed.  Luckily they couldn't see her colour change in the gloom.

{Sier can probably sense my embarrasment, though.  Please, something distract her from teasing me,} she thought.

Pesmerga actually appeared to be . . if not embarrased, at least different himself.

"I . . yes. I have a question myself - just to confirm what I suspect from your explanation.  Are you
the Lady Sierra of the Moon Village?  I . . know of you, from some time ago."
 
   "Yes, I am."

To the shock of McDohl and Oulan, he bowed to her.

"My lady, it is an honour to meet you.  I regret we must part now, but I should be off to the ruins."

"And why should you go alone?" Sierra inquired.

"The treasures from a Sindar ruin would have to be of *some* help to me - by resale value, if nothing else," she finished, recalling a certain tailor she had to repay.

"And who says we'd let you go alone anyhow?" Oulan inquired.

"Unless you plan to take-" she paused maliciously. "*My* sword-"

"What!" protested the Star Dragon Sword, only to be ignored.

"-off with you, you'd be unarmed and unarmoured.  You can use the sword for a while, but I come with the deal.  In exchange, we get fair shares of anything you don't need. Deal?"

Pesmerga sighed. "I suppose," he said reluctantly - but he snuck a glance at Sierra as he did.

In the light of the early morning, the four travelers set out for the Sindar ruins.

Well . . . . that's how it would have read if they were all going the same way.  During the middle of the night, Young Master McDohl had gotten out of the camp, managing not to whimper at his still mending wounds.

Those lunatics weren't going to drag him ANYWHERE.  He had to get to South Window, then Radat, and finally on his way to the Toran Republic.

And as sorry as he felt for the Star Dragon Sword, McDohl didn't figure there was a way to get it out of the camp without it shooting it's mouth off and waking the others.

In the past 48 hours, he had been knocked out twice and donated several pints of blood to the local forest.  Seeing as how it wasn't in his best interest to get knocked out more and donating blood to the local vampire, it was time to part ways.