The day passed on, the sun seeming to linger and reach out as if reluctant to abandon the elfin woman to her cold and lonely imprisonment.  But it did at last slip below the horizon and leave her to the softer and colder gaze of the moon.  The winds played over her, blowing down cold from the snow-capped mountaintop above.<br/><br/>And then the sound of soft footsteps as a lone figure moved to stand at the battlements.  Tall and gaunt and dressed in fine robes of silk the man studied her in the silvery moonlight.  His sharp eyes moved over her in silent appraisal as claw-like fingers stroked his chin.  And the collar seemed to squirm against her skin and murmur at his presence, and even without the touch of her goddess the elven priestess could feel the same taint that both that wretched band and Brom's armor had shared.  But it seemed to come not from anything on the man, but rather lingered upon him like the smell of woodsmoke might clung to the skin.