<strong>Name:</strong>Valentine Karskaja<br/><strong>Professions:</strong>Investigator / Alchemist<br/><strong>Damage Capacity</strong><br/><em>Physique:</em>5<br/><em>Agility:</em>3<br/><em>Intellect:</em>5<br/><strong>Defense:</strong>12<br/><strong>ARM:</strong>10*<br/><strong>Feat Points:</strong>3<br/><hr/><br/>The old whole timber of the broad nave doors heaved only with the dedicated press of Valentine's body, displacing the afternoon and evening's accumulated snow. Gray coal country snowflakes powdered from the carvings of menofix and flawless arabesque as her untrained strength juddered a progression in steps. She left space behind for her company to follow. "-oldest songs of mankind, predating a written language. I should think, predating a spoken one. Only much,<em>much </em>later were the verses added." A half-meter stepladder unfolded from her hands neatly beneath the antique lantern whose flame had given in to the wind and cold. "The traditional Sulese comes highly recommended, but one cannot get it on cylinder. To obtain a recording is forbidden." Gloved hands unfastened the latch on the glass, and a tiny, repetitive motion extended the wick.<br/><br/>On a night like this, the drifting snow swallowed the sense of depth to the world. Sound vanished into volumes unknown. For this one last task she was bundled in her fur-lined greatcoat, electric blonde coiffure swaddled in a knit wool brimmed button hat. Equally pretty boots searched for purchase in small steps, accustomed to finding ice in unexpected places. "But the idea stays with me. A distilled primeval sound of worship, as resonant with the human spirit as a cry for help or the sound of laughter. Would you not want to listen? Just to experience it."<br/><br/>The pale tongue of the wick peeked shyly, and filled the glass cabinet with a chemical cocktail of Valentine's own devising. Alchemy was the way for longer lasting, brighter burning lamps. There was a spiritual significance to the undying flames of the church and the first gifts of Menoth, but under the shadow of the forest, where the loggers were constantly displacing the wolves and their prey, it held a practical need, too. A spark burned up the fumes and extended the reach of the light a little further down the steps, across the paved brick, to the rough-hewn road. A horse was being led. "What are they doing?"<br/><br/>One last lick of the newborn flame against the confines of its glass cage cast Menoth's own light down the steps and robbed Valentine's face of even the softest shadow, utterly blank and bleached. "Oda," the reluctant doctor spoke privately, "they've brought a body."