Armored footsteps clatter throughout the temple grounds; it's hard to concentrate on which are where with the throb of the moon in Laszlo's head. The cloud cover is beginning to shift, and Laszlo needs to get inside quickly before his reflexes are dulled by the direct light. He hides behind a saint in the statue garden as a few guards hustle by. There is energy here like a kicked hornets nest. The circuits he'd seen on the grounds earlier look abandoned, everyone's milling about in organized chaos. He'd known there'd be an element of the unexpected, but it was supposed to lurk in the massive building ahead, not swarm over the grounds. He quickly creeps to a bush, more footsteps, panting, the moon, an opening, he takes it. He's closer now to the temple than ever, a quick gesture and a voice calls out from the darkness, "Guards? Guards!" The two men at the entrance hurry after it, and Laszlo steals into the temple.<br/><br/>Inside the temple there is much less interference from the moon's glow. He sidles into an alcove along the side, gathering his senses and going over the route in his head. There will be a door in the back, the clergy use it to enter for sermons, through it a scroll chamber, the first of many to navigate. Eventually one of the chambers opens to a hallwa-<br/><br/>Laszlo tenses, the clanking footsteps of the guards draw near. They stop at their post, exchanging a few bewildered queries. They settle down and Laszlo returns to his route, there are many turns to make to get to the base of the southeast minaret. Somewhere at the base of the minaret is a secret back entrance to the vault, meant to be an evacuation route for the scrolls should the temple ever fall to invasion. It will be hidden well, but Laszlo is sure he'll be able to sniff if out quickly enough. There'll be guards along the way, but disguises are easy illusions. Still, should a guard or clergyman become too curious he should keep his eye peeled for a place to hide their bo-<br/><br/>Laszlo instinctively crouches into the alcove as a set of footsteps approach, eyes closing as he inhales, seeking out the stranger's scent. The smell of rust and sweat from the guards is strong on the cool air rushing in through the temple doors, but these footsteps are too soft for iron boots. A slight gust of air blows in along with a myriad of smells. Rose, honeysuckle, lavender, lilac, wisteria, jasmine, and many others he cannot name. The cascade subsides, and for a moment the soft smell of sunflowers is there in the background, and Laszlo is transported many years back in time. He opens his eyes. A winged silhouette walks through the door.<br/><br/>Laszlo watches in wonder as Anethrial slowly enters the temple. A match flares, and he squints night eyes sensitive to the sudden light. A gear clicked in place in his head, and his mind whirred into action. His sword would stay clean tonight. Lady luck has truly graced him with favor. He creeps out of his alcove after her, treading slowly and silently outside the ring of candlelight.<br/><br/>A hand reaches into cloak, and comes out with the sheathed short sword. His finger slips into the iron ring at the end of its handle. Another reaches out into the darkness, plucking a brown eye out of the air. Laszlo peels off his eye patch and inserts the orb, his scarred eyelid whole once more. He runs his hand over his remaining eye, it became brown as well. There's no need to let on more information than necessary, yellow eyes are almost entirely unique to werewolves. He adjusts his hood, pulling up a flap to cover his nose and mouth. The free hand reaches out.<br/><br/>Anethrial stops before a jeweled idol, a goddess Laszlo is unfamiliar with. He quietly ducks behind a pillar, noting the flame's reflection on the many facets of the idol's eyes. Those alone could buy a city block in a town like Kaze. As Laszlo calculates the statue's worth, the girl wanders into the back of the temple. He hears rummaging noises, and she returns with more candles, placing them around the idol in silence. Her movements are routine, yet reverent, like the tender ministrations of a nurse on an ill child. Laszlo waits, the half angel again inspiring curiosity that trumps reason.<br/><br/>Anethrial lights the candles and prostrates herself in the circle of light around the statue. From his position, Laszlo follows the curve of her back and feels a twinge of desire. It's been a long time since he enjoyed a women. The girl lifts her head whispering to the idol's feet, some language lost on Laszlo's ears. The tone is grave. He leans in, trying to glimpse the trinket she clutches in her hand. She suddenly continues in the common tongue,<em>"Do you know? I have seen the future..."</em>She turns suddenly, and Laszlo presses back into the pillar. The eyes he'd glimpsed were disconcerting. Laszlo's familiar with the many tricks eyes play with moonlight, his own mother's baby blues had reflected blood red. But hers held no worldly reflections, they were lit from within by a golden glow. The girl was speaking again to the statue, Laszlo waited silently.<br/><br/><em>"Once the humans have satisfied their hunger on everything else, they will turn on me and my kind. Your own children!! And then after we are gone they will turn on each other. Until there is nothing, but barren and death. Is this what you want for the world? Are you angry, and hide your damnation in a blessing?"</em><br/><br/>Her wings moved, pulling tight to her form. Laszlo watches, pondering Anethrial's words. The girl is a seer? The angel children truly have such gifts? His lack of knowledge is frustrating. The celestial are unfamiliar to him outside of folk tales and legends. How much was true, and how much an amalgamation of hearsay and priestly fabrication.<br/><br/><em>"I will accept my fate,"</em>she whispers retrieving her hand and standing. She refuses to raise her gaze above the statue's feet. 'Such faith will be the world's undoing,' Laszlo thinks. The girl bends down and extinguishes a flame, and he steps out from the pillar, slowly circling in behind Anethrial's back as the circle of light shrinks. She stands up from the last candle, and Laszlo is behind her, the heady floral perfume more pungent than ever.  His hand slowly reaches out, takes positions a hand by her head. The sword is behind her back.<br/><br/>The last few inches of the movement are quick as a snake bite, hand whipping over the girl's mouth and pulling the same instant the sword's sheath presses firmly into her back.