<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Can I trust you with this, Tyrrus?"</span>The deceptively gentle voice still haunted him even now, as he saddled his horse and tightened the fastenings of his gear once more (a nervous habit he was never really aware of). Of course the conversation was hours behind him now, but he couldn't put it out of his mind.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"I know how important this was to your family. I trust... You would no sooner disappoint them than you would disappoint me?"</span>The crown-prince had whispered into Tyrrus' ear as the two stood in the courtyard, following the brilliant flame of the angel. It was bursting with all colors while the center remained (an ironically) pure white, a sight Tyrrus had not seen since his early childhood.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000">"I do your will,"</span>Tyrrus had replied then, and he said it quietly again to himself now as he mounted the saddle and lightly nudged the horse forward. He made his way out of the stables, through the great gates of the keep and out into a night still burning with colors, traveling in the darkness below such heavenly splendor.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>Tyrrus had to reach the angel in time, and he knew he was by no means the only one looking for her. These city-states that called themselves kingdoms were always seeking the advantage over one another, playing politics with the grace of the long-practiced. His own state, Theysia, was 'ruled' by a king but looked after by a circle of lords. The king was dying, this was common knowledge, and it was whispered in most corners that once the king died, the lords would directly take power rather than passing it down to the crown-prince Aedas. The prince, at first nonthreatening and gentle almost to the point of innocence, was behind this exterior a cold and ambitious man, laying schemes within schemes to claim at first his throne, perhaps later the thrones of neighboring states and eventually... Whatever he could reach.<br/><br/>But Aedas was by no means the only one playing for power, and in these chaotic times power came in many strange and terrible forms... The angel would be hunted by many others. The Cult of Mouths, the Daedeline, the kings of Gromma and Herestes... Tyrrus might not be the first, but he had to be the last at the end of the day. Failing the crown-prince was not an option. Death at his side was likely, death in his wake was certain.<br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/>The black-winged angel had fallen down to earth and landed just at the edge of the states of Theysia and Herestes. This area was cold, raining, flanked on the WEST by dense forest and the EAST by rugged cliffs that, while not impassible, were certainly daunting. These obstacles created something of a funnel, leading either NORTH towards Theysia or SOUTH towards Herestes.<br/><br/>The first to encounter the fallen angel was a young man with bright hair and eyes, clad in well-loved armor and armed with a simple but sturdy sword. He might have been a guard, or a mercenary from the way he was dressed, something in his manner suggested honor. As he saw the winged woman, seemingly lost and stumbling, he walked close to her but stopped shy of touching her. She looked very bewildered, but (as the finger missing from his left hand reminded him) danger could live in any skin.<br/><br/><span style="color: #008000">"Hold!"</span>His tone was strong, commanding but not insulting.<span style="color: #008000">"By my order, hold! You... You fell from the sky."</span>He stepped back, a hand on the hilt of his sword but he kept it sheathed.<span style="color: #008000">"What are you... Where are you going?"</span>