For about the hundredth time that day, Mord-Ra wondered whether or not he could set the sun on fire. Sure, he’d never been able to reach it with his fire before, but the bajillionth time had to be the charm, right? After an intense “staring match” where his eyes never penetrated the blessed black of his hood, he sighed and tugged his cloak tighter to his skin.  No, it wouldn’t do to blow up the sun; after all, the “fleshies” as he had taken to calling them, apparently liked it; a lot. Bastards. How was an honest journeyman supposed to travel in the daytime?<br/><br/>“Cat eat the Lady’s skirts, it burns!”<br/><br/>Mord’s eyes widened, taking a quick glance to his left and his right, noting that now he had several pedestrians of the fine city of…wherever the hell he had ended up now, somewhere in Alexandria, by the look of their dress…giving him the “Look”. It started out with the quizzical, “Who’s that madman that just screamed? Is he sun-touched?” They would then look a bit closer, thinking that Mord was just a might pale. Then their eyes would widen, and their mouths would unhinge, most too frightened to even scream. The braver of these “fine people” (who probably have never dealt with anything more dangerous in their fair city than a bad storm) would soon turn tail and run, screaming throughout the city streets for the guards.<br/><br/>Some of them might actually be worldly or learned enough to know just what it was they were so frightened of. Oh, he could hear them now.<br/><br/><em>“Wraith! There is a wraith in the city!”</em><br/><br/>Mord had enough of that in the last city that ran him out, and he had no intention of being run out of this one! Not after traveling through this Fates’ cursed sun! He snarled at the already rising eyebrows, drew his cloak even tighter around himself, and walked off to the city square. There was bound to be something happening there; tumblers, jugglers, bards,<em>anything</em>to draw attention away from the suspicious pale elf in decked completely in black and entirely onto the tone-deaf fools tripping over themselves while the public clapped adoringly and tossed them coins they could ill-afford to lose.<br/><br/>***********************************************************************************<br/><br/><br/><em>Well, this is, unexpected.</em><br/><br/>Mord found the stage easy enough; apparently today was a major day for performers, or maybe this was just a regular occurrence; whatever, no one noticed another face in the crowd, even a tall, decked-in-black one. There were the usual tumblers and fumblers, and all sorts of yawn-inducing acrobatics and nincompoops. Honestly, he almost preferred the stares; they’d be welcome if he was expected to be impressed by the next person who “ate fire”. Hell, sense he liked the taste so much, he just might give them a whole mouthful!<br/><br/>Then she walked onto the stage. If Mord knew how much trouble she would have brought him, he’d have burned the entire town. Just to be sure. He most certainly wouldn’t have let her speak! The way she spun her words, like a spider weaving its web; the way she accented one vowel, stressed another; gave a shake of the hip, a nod of the head. This was no low-rent tavern whelp singing for their next crust of bread and drop of mead. This was a high-class Court Bard, the cream of the crop that the nobles horded to themselves and their courts. Whoever she was, she was one accustomed to both receiving and deserving of attention.<br/><br/>She was also, Mord was than willing to admit, quite easy on the eyes; that most certainly helped in paying attention.<br/><br/>As desirable as she was, great a presenter though she may be, it was her tale that caught Mord’s attention. The Shadows, the Dreamer! A chance to make your dream a reality! Fanciful, whimsical, silly; not something Mord would have ever taken seriously…that he could remember anyway. Yet, the way she spoke, the words she chose:<br/><br/><em>"I will tell you my tale, and then, I shall I speak to whomever wishes to help me prove it. Many of you know me, by reputation, if not by name, and I promise you, that if you help me, I will write you a tale the like of which the world has never known, and you will go down in history as a hero."</em><br/><br/>It wasn’t the promise of rewards or literary immortality that interested him. She believed it. She believed she wasn’t spouting some myth of legends, but a real and reachable place that she fully intended to reach. This wasn’t a story of entertainment; this was a recruitment drive. And the prize at the end, not the immortality (wraiths already had that, after a fashion) but the wish one would receive!<br/><br/>When she descended the stage, he almost didn’t notice her being accosted by a rather dangerous and armed man; he barely took notice of the finely dressed elf fop, dismissing him as a threat altogether through carelessness borne of haste. He stopped just short of the three individuals, drawing his hood back just enough that he could get a better view of her.<br/><br/>“Bard! I would have you tell me more of this, ‘Gate to the Shadows’!”<br/><br/>His grin, his eyes, his claws; what he tried to make sound like a simple request, his ambition and nature made sound like a threat.<br/>