Blood of his blood

[Tyrion]

Tyrion ran through the forests as quickly as possible atop his corsair. He knew he would have to be careful in the contested lands of Britannia. With the upstart Telborea soldiers about, and the white-walkers stalking the dungeons, he knew, at some point or another, he would be bound to run in to trouble, especially so close to the outskirts of Britain, the largest city on the continent and the one which by happenstance was where most of the fighting had been taking place. Maneuvering as stealthily as humanly possible, Tyrion worked his way through the farmland; from what he could tell, he made a good effort of it, as no alarms had been raised. Reaching the graveyard, Tyrion spied the neophytes training and making short work of the undead things therein. A curious site caught his attention. From his vantage point, Tyrion spied an individual that on a first review of the person resembled another he had once known. He could not place it though.

"How do I know you," he spoke quietly underneath his breath. He moved to continue on his way and then took a second look at the man. Tall, dark skin, medium build, athletic features, movement and strength based on recent combative performances were slightly less impressive, a result of new training, Tyrion surmised. Facial features: prominent brows, squinty eyes, developed cheekbones, small ears tucked against the side of his head. Tyrion thought harder on the subject a moment longer. Nothing came to mind. "Who are you," Tyrion thought, feeling defeated for the lack of results. His stagnation in movement had apparently been noticed. The individual he had been spying on turned his gaze to Tyrion when he finished felling the last of the undead abominations. Tyrion moved to meet the man.

[Tyrion]

"Are you recently arrived from the boats, citizen?" The man nodded stoically. "Not that it really matters but how did you come to arrive here?" "I was on a boat, it docked, I walked off, and here I am," the man said rather arrogantly. Chuckling Tyrion met the mans forthrightness with a measure of mirth and understanding. "Perhaps the current locale of our meeting would be served better by relocation. What say you stranger?" The man shrugged his approval and waited patiently for Tyrion to complete his chant. Moments later the shining orange hole appeared. Tyrion observed the man curiously. He walked up to the portal; straddling the side he inserted one arm through and noticed it did not reappear on the other side. Tyrion quirked a brow at this. "After you," he offered respectfully. Keeping his composure the man moved through the gate. Tyrion followed quick on his heels.

[Tyrion]

They made their way carefully through the forested moon gate area. Understanding the danger ever present by the Shadow Clan, Tyrion took extra care to provide a wide berth. Rest here, the innkeepers in the city know me well; mention to them that you are my guest and you will have a warm meal and roof over your head for as long as you wish." The man nodded his appreciation and made his way through the city gates. Tyrion quickly chanted a recall for the temple. He spent a bit of time rummaging through the chests attempting to find the books: Genealogy of Imperial Members & Royal Encyclopedia of Imperial Members. He spent the better part of the night combing through the archives attempting to find answers to his questions. It did not help that sleep had been hard to come by the past week. His work normally required long range reconnaissance patrols be conducted deep into the heart of enemy territory. The sun began to creep into the study of his room and he realized he had gathered as much information as he possibly could. Taking a final sip from his mug, Tyrion moved to exit the study alcove. Surprisingly enough, as he exited the hovel, he was taken-aback to find his source of interest wandering the halls of the temple with such purpose and awe. He quietly observed the man until his presence became noticed. The man barely acknowledged his presence which irritated Tyrion a bit but he moved slowly from the rear, confident the man had registered his presence. When he arrived with in reasonable decibel levels worth of speaking distance, Tyrion began: "This is the temple of our Queen, Es Una, which in a foreign tongue translates, brokenly to, 'She is One' or 'She is the One,' depending on your preference, however they both imply the same thing. Listening intently now, the man nodded, recognizing and in perhaps a manner that, Tyrion realized, was the closest he would come to a thank you. The behavior was consistent at least, Tyrion thought to himself. "I am drawn to this place for some reason. My blood began tingling when I entered the grounds last night. "Last night?!" Tyrion started, immediately concerned. "Are you aware that the Shadow Clan patrol this island consistently, searching for wayward travelers or lost sheep to isolate and butcher! Why just this past fortnight. ." The man raised a hand to quell any further discussion and proclaimed: "I am no sheep, a wolf, perhaps, in sheep's clothing, that seems more fitting." "Are you in complete control of your memories," Tyrion asked. "I am, there is a fuzzy part of my past but I do remember most." "Are you the blood of his blood?" The man grinned slyly. . "Blood of whose blood?! These conclusions you draw are forlorn. . ." Tyrion intruded abruptly. "Do not play games with me, you know of whom I speak." Raising an eyebrow, the man stood silent, made a motionless movement with his head and returned statuesque.











When the chanting was complete Tyrion smiled, satisfactorily, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he crumpled onto the altar. Exhausted, he allowed sleep to take him.