Morpheus' group traveled in silence back to their guildhall, Darthus' feet dragging with his realization of what he and his companions had done. Had he not joined this order to escape things like this? Or was fate giving him a hint that this was how he was meant to be?

For days after, Darthus would just sit in his room in the monastery, only leaving for meals, and meditating on what he should do. He finally decided that he must put that behind him, he couldn't sit cooped up inside all day, and he had to get on with his life. One single bad occurrence shouldn't sour him on this entire brotherhood that had become his home.

By this time he had grown to the age of 22, a seasoned monk and a veteran in many of his younger brothers' minds. He had begun to practice his fighting skills. He roamed the land, from Ashtan all the way down to Shallam, challenging people to friendly duels, to become a better asset to his brothers. Along the way he had a few encounters with Thakren, the knight their group had defeated, and only through use of his natural gift of a quick tongue did he save his skin.


One day he encountered a young knight, who had just recently joined the Templar order. He introduced himself as Sparhawk. This shocked Darthus, for he remembered that he had known a Sparhawk as a child. His old tutor, the Royal Knight, had been the boy's father. Sparhawk confirmed that he was one and the same, and Darthus offered his condolences on his father's fate. They quickly became friends, and Darthus decided that he would impart to this knight the things he had learned.

He taught Sparhawk the cures to the various afflictions that could be inflicted by the nefarious Serpentlords, among many other things. Darthus and Sparhawk participated in many spars together, and he swelled with pride as he watched this previously inexperienced knight become a skilled and dangerous fighter under his tutelage.

During his journeys, on one of his meditative walks in the Ithmia Forest, Darthus heard the sounds of battle nearby. He pushed through the brush and saw that a woman around his age was being cornered by a group of bandits. Darthus watched in awe as this woman moved with reflexes that seemed almost inhuman, her quarterstaff becoming a blur in her hands.

But there were simply too many, as soon as she'd turn to face one, another would move in behind her. Darthus waited no longer and joined the fray, throwing out punches and kicks as fast and furious as he could. He forced his way through, and they fought back to back, defeating the entire group. She gave her heartfelt thanks, and introduced herself as Mysti, a druid. This was the beginning of a long friendship.

A couple months later, Sparhawk and Darthus were practicing down by the Pachacacha, like they did every day. They were exchanging blows, swords blocked in turn by lightning quick feet and hands, neither gaining ground against the other. Sparhawk lost his concentration for a split second and let a strike fall through his defense, and it only took Darthus a moment to realize why. Morpheus was standing a few feet away, his dark robes motionless as he watched the display. Darthus noticed Danicar was standing a few feet behind him, his presence with the man now a common occurrence.

Morpheus clapped twice, as if in mock praise, his face a complete emotionless mask except for a devious smirk which never touched his eyes. He stepped forward slowly and smoothly, and his icy gaze slid from Darthus, to Sparhawk, and back again. "So, this is how you spend your time now my brother? Consorting with the enemy and showing him our secrets? This is how you repay us for the kindness we have given and the things we have taught?" Darthus was at a loss for words, and only managed to stutter, "We... were... simply... practicing, Brother Morpheus."

With that Morpheus' hand shot up and emerged from the sleeves of his robes to strike Darthus full in face, bloodying his nose. In the same fluid motion, his leg was flung out to the side in a powerful sidekick at Sparhawk, who flew back, hit his head against a nearby tree with a loud crack and was knocked off his feet. "Take this as a lesson brother, and see that it never happens again or it will be much more than your nose I will bloody." Morpheus then turned about and calmly stalked off into the tress, as Danicar stopped only long enough to give Darthus a snigger and scurry after him.

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Glacian, in the year 217 AF.