The air was familiar. Strange, he thought, considering he hadn't set foot in this place in nearly a decade. Still, even as much as the Abbey had changed, it remained exactly as he remembered it all those years ago. For an age, it had stood, sheltering those within it's walls that had fled in a wave a midst The Hand's occupation of the City of Yew. The tall stone walls that had seen so much violence and bloodshed through their life now looked at once both healed... and still broken. It was an odd sensation; even for the Hand of Treachery. For years, Mikael D'Amavir's dreaded Hand had ravaged the lands of Yew and it's people. His clenched fist had squeezed the land hard, more than once drawing blood. Omen Tailamont's mind flashed backwards to the countless years spend rooting out the resistance organizations that had sprung up against them; names mostly forgotten by those that lived here now; battles and struggles forever lost to time... Not lost, he reminded himself. Not entirely. The Hand of Treachery still remembered them all. As the aging mage made his way towards the front door of the Abbey, he couldn't help but notice his anonymity. It was unsettling. Where once there was... at least revulsion in the eyes of those he passed, now, there was nothing; not even a glimmer of recognition. He swallowed it down; tucked it away inside. There would be time for that later. For now, he had other business. As he approached the high stone walls, he watched as a hooded figure atop a dull, gray horse slowly cantered towards him. A smile spread across dark lips as the figure heeled his mount to a standstill. "Hello, my old friend," the voice was low and powerful. The man pushed back the hood of his traveling cloak. His hair was darker than the Hand of Treachery remembered; his face a tad more grizzled. "How was the trip, Mikael?" "Dull. And uneventful," The Hand of Terror let out a bored sigh as his gaze swept over the area in front of the Abbey. "Much like this place," his gaze finally came to rest on Omen. "Why am I here?" "There's a meeting tonight in Britain." "I heard," Mikael waved dismissively. "What of it?" "The... governors are meeting to discuss some pending war with Nu'Jelm," The Hand of Treachery shrugged his shoulders, "I'm not sure what that's about yet, but, I'm working on it. Anyway... the Governor of Yew is said to be in attendance." The Hand of Terror's eyes flashed dangerously. "The Gov'nor of Yew," he spat the words. "When will people realize that I own these lands?" "It seems they may need to be reminded of that, old friend." "Indeed," he replied. Omen watched the man's dark eyes flash quickly, filled with dangerous intent as he nodded. The silence lasted only a matter of moments. "All right," Mikael finally answered. "Take me to see this... gov'nor. I'd like to have a few words with him." Omen Tailamont The Hand of Treachery >H< ICQ: 22265202 "The only way to make good is to be bad."