Exton

Guunnar looks at the list before him. Ramji and Dimitri have given a list of antidotes to poisons. None seem feasible. A chair scrapes and the three Riders look up. A black hooded figure drops into the chair. Twillon sags as he pushes back his hood.

"Welcome Dark Lord. How did you fare?"

Dimitri waves to Monty, who brings over a glass of wine.

"As poorly as you have, Rider of Herne."

Twillon rubs a hand across his eyes. Dimitri nods, looking to Guunnar.

"So who calls Mortuis and Keon? I have no recourse with the sorcerer, and I fear Keon will not take the news well. He likes and respects the Vampyre."

Guunnar shakes his head. "It ist Raina and Gareth I am loath to tell. They have so little hope and ve haff no gut news."

Twillon sighs. "Then I will tell Raina and Gareth. They are upstairs with the healer?"

At Guunnar's nod he rises slowly. "I have sent a messenger to the Unformed Plane. There is a healer who has taken up residence there many decades ago. If he still lives, he may be able to help us."

As the Sidhe heads for the stairs, Guunnar flips open his cell. He rings Keon, telling him in a few words that there has been no success. Ike stops by the table and speaks to him for a moment. She agrees to tell Tori so she can call Mortuis. Guunnar relays his message through the Gargoyles, knowing Mortuis will not be pleased.

Twillon stops, watching the coming and goings. Gareth is unmistakable. He remembers Raina as well. The Warrior is haggard, grief taking its toll. He leaves his hood down as he approaches.

"Gareth? I am Taibreamh Sca'th, some know me as Rah'sha Twillon of the Seelie. Is the Healer available?"

 Gareth shakes his head, brow furrowed.

"I don't remember you."

"Tis no matter. I left the Court many decades ago with Our Queen's blessing. I have the misfortune of seeing the Unseelie as not wholly without merit. The same as the Human races. Some would call it a fault. Our Queen, and myself, saw it as an asset."

Star slips to the door and motions. Rowan comes to the doorway, drying her hands.

"Mistress Rowan. I fear there is naught in the poisoner's diaries of an antidote. There is much on the effects of the poison on living creatures, albeit nothing on the effects on the Living Dead." Resignation drapes shroudlike across them all. "I have sent a messenger to a healer who went to the Unformed Plane in hopes of study. I fear the worst, for none have heard from him in decades. It is a long shot, but one that needs must be taken."

Bowing to the group, Twillon takes his leave. He joins Guunnar at the Rider's table.

"Not gut?"

"No, My Viking friend. How do you tell someone that you are grasping at mere straws?"

Monty brings Twillon a glass of wine. Twillon accepts it and asks for a glass of Keon's poteen. Guunnar coughs.

"You vill kill youself mit dat."

Twillon looks at the Viking and the other Riders.

"Here's hoping."