Khymarah paced on the roof of Cook's Place. She'd found it easy enough, it had garish red lanterns out the front, but around the back their indeed was a set of stairs that took her right upto the roof. The windows on the side of the building had been interesting at first, just pretty rooms, but the last one had people in it. They didn't see her, but Khymarah sure saw them. She was still blushing as she paced.

She'd dressed in her blue town dress and black cloak. The hood was up, but this time, her hair was out and the assortment of trinkets was back in it. If she was going into this, she wanted the people to know who she really was.

Sighing, she paused and looked out over the other rooftops. It was rather peaceful up here, if she ignored the occasional cries from the building under her.

The night was peaceful, but broken suddenly by the almost noiseless thudding of a mass of black shadows against the stairwell wall, a few feet from where Khymarah waited.

A figure, clutching its arm, was collapsing to the ground. Khymarah could feel a flickering field, almost like a candle in a high wind; it was strong and erratic and seemed to cause the air to crackle. The galdori woman felt her ears pop several times from the force of it as she saw a puddle of dark blood spilling from the man's cloak.

"Uhng," grunted the man, finally falling to the ground. His cloak spilled open, and Khymarah could see a long gasp up the side of his ribcage and another massive wound in his upper arm.

Something had clearly not gone as planned.

Khymarah turned at the loud thumping, eyes wide. But the figure wasn't after her it seemed. It was a man, a galdor possibly, and he was seriously hurt.

"Oh Gods!" She said softly and ran to the man, kneeling beside him. He didn't look the type to just accept some strange galdori woman putting her hands on him.

"Sir, if you can hear me, I need to heal you. Right now. Please, please don't hurt me." Taking a breath, she closed her eyes to calm herself and placed her hands on the man's wounds. Gently, she spoke the incantation for Healing Force. The air tasted sweet, and she gently asked the mona to be quick so as to not hurt the man more than she needed too.

The stricken man let out a muted yell as the pain seared through his flesh, knitting his innards back together as if with molten solder. His field flickered again, and then seemed to come into focus, strong yet somehow reserved, and slowly his eyelids fluttered open and he gasped for breath.

"Vita bless you," he coughed, sitting up and feeling the spot where his wounds had been. "Couldn't rightly get out the words..."

He looked up at her with light grey eyes, and saluted with two fingers held to his forehead. "You must be Khymarah," the galdor said. "My name is Mr. Ceres."

Khymarah sat back on her heels. She hated that the healing spells caused so much pain. But at least he lived.

"Oh, I've met you before, sir. Outside of the bakery, after the fire." She smiled slightly.

"Good evening Mr. Ceres. Are you alright?"

The man looked embarrassed; his field was usually so well hidden. He supposed that a fellow galdor would understand better than most.

"Quite all right," he said gruffly, getting to his feet. She could see that his clothing was ripped and torn in many places, as though he had been chased by wild animals. "Ran into some traffic on the way here. I trust you found the place all right?" He offered a hand to help her up.

Khymarah took his hand thankfully and stood, brushing off her dress. She could feel his field clearly when she touched him, and it surprised her that she'd not felt it on the night of the fire.

"Yes, it wasn't to hard to miss once I knew where it would be. Bit different from the places I usually frequent." She regarded him for a moment.

"Must be some traffic. Not to be rude Mr Ceres, but you look like you got mauled by a herd of hatchers." Her voice was quiet, respectful.

"Dem near close to the truth," he said, chucking, but there was very little mirth in his eyes. He did not elaborate.

"I hear you're wanting in on the Party," he said soberly, sitting down on an upturned crate and turning up his collar against the wind. "What's a lovely gel like yourself doing throwing away your life like that, huh?" Pulling a silver flask from his pocket - Khymarah could see that it was quite nice, in contrast to his shabby appearance - he took a long swig and made a face.

Khymarah sighed and crossed her arms across her body like she was cold. She felt so untrusted, and it made her hate her race just a little bit more.

"Mr Ceres. I don't have a life according to the galdori. The ones I know would rather see me throw myself out of a high story window than see me at all. I hear the whispers, some of them had the audacity to call me a wick in sheep's clothing. They are suspicious, hateful, horrible people. All because I have different coloured eyes. I mean, its not as huge a rarity as it seems, but for the galdori, it means I could be impure. Even if I am not. I have endured a lot of things that have made me see the reality in the world. The suffering my race imposes on the others." She looked off into the night.

"It has to end Mr Ceres. I won't let my friends suffer anymore. And maybe, I will be able to end my suffering along the way. I am decided on this, sir. If it ends my life, or has me found out as a traitor, I will die proudly, knowing I didn't just sit by and do nothing. If the party won't take me, know that I will still be doing what I can to help those in need and to bring down the horse my race rides so high on." She had turned to face him, jaw set.

As Khymarah stopped speaking, she felt a tiny tug at her heart - a spell being untied. She had not felt it begin, but as it broke she realized that Ceres must have been casting it for a while; the air felt different.

"Yes," he said slowly, "I see now. That's the usual explanation, isn't it? Folks like us get fed up of getting the same treatment as everyone else, and we reckon we know what it's like. But, of course, we don't - not really. We've still got the wealth and the influence, just...less than usual. We don't really know. And perhaps we won't ever know the pain of being powerless." Ceres' voice was kind and patient, and gave the impression that he had initiated many other galdori in his day.

He spat on the ground; there was a bit of blood in his spittle. "Even being ganged up on by my own kind doesn't mean I know what it's like to suffer my whole life under someone's thumb. At the end of the day, I can go back to normal. And that is precisely why the resistance is paranoid about us, Khymarah. We got less to lose than we think. Even at the bitter end we can claim temporary insanity and get a slap on the wrist."

She frowned, what had he been casting?



Khymarah felt like a child being spoken like this. She knew he was right, but why did it have to be like this? She hadn't wanted to mention the oppression, but apparently just wanting to help out want enough. She sighed, it was like chasing her tail.



The red head looked at him for a moment, sorry about what had happened to him. But she was slightly fed up.

"Okay, Mr Ceres. I understand. I didn't grow up suffering under someones thumb. And I understand the resistance is wary because upon a whim, I can give this all up and go home to my comfortable chair and my box of concords. But you know what, something I can't go home with are my friends if something happens to them. Even if the galdori welcomed me back with open arms after such treachery, I would forever be dead in my heart if my friends were gone." She set her jaw and looked at the man.

"I might be a little miss woe-is-me, but I am not deluded sir, I know the suffering of the peoples is vastly bigger than my little incidents. If the resistance doesn't want me, please let me know so I can go back to helping my friends and their races as best I can on my own."

"Calm down, gel, I didn't say any of that," said Ceres gruffly, puffing on his pipe as though it had done him some great personal wrong. "Just want you to be prepared for how folks'll treat you. You won't get much gratitude in this. Oh, from the folks you help, yes, but there's nothing long-term to look forward to. No security, nothing. I wonder how I've lived this long myself."

He looked over to her and stared for a moment, as though reading her face.

"You passed, in any case," he said abruptly. "I'm to lead you to the Rally. You picked a good day to be in the partying mood."

Khymarah softened instantly. She blushed.

"I'm sorry Mr Ceres, I didn't mean to be so rude. I know i won't get much gratitude, that's ok. I'm not looking for thanks and admiration, I just want to help. Truly."



She nodded, her face still, but inside she was dancing. Finally!

"Thankyou, sir."

Ceres stood again and pulled a (somewhat bloodied) bandana from his breast pocket.

"Formality," he said, and from the tone of his voice it was clear he did not approve of the measure. "I know we can see without our eyes, but they want to be safe. No funny stuff, naturally." He lifted the bandana to her eyes and tied it behind her head. "I'll make sure you don't trip."

He put out his arm for her to take.

Khymarah patiently let him tie the somewhat bloody bandana to her eyes. Once they were covered she could feel her other senses compensating for the loss of vision. She could feel his field much more preciecly. Reaching out for his arm, she nodded.

"I trust you, sir."

Ceres led Khymarah to the edge of the roof. She could feel the cold wind blowing erratically against her clothes.

"Good," he said quietly, and, holding her tightly, pushed the both of them off the roof.

Before Khymarah could scream when she felt herself falling, there was a sudden halting of the air, and the taste of peppermint in the mouth as their momentum slowed. Ceres was casting; she could hear the muttered words of Monite as he caused them to drift down into the alleyway unharmed. The spell was strong enough to lift two people, but it did not arouse any suspicions.

When she felt their feet hit the ground, she noticed Ceres casting another, more powerful spell, and then another; she felt his field flicker and disappear, and felt the side effect of a substantial Invisibility spell as well.

"Got to be careful," he muttered. "We're more noticeable than the others. I can't dampen your field, though. You'll have to learn how, eventually. Come."

He lightly pushed her by the small of her back, leading her out of the alleyway.