Darthus turned sadly away from the closed door, and jumped back in surprise as he almost ran face first into Danicar. "So, planning on leaving the monastery are you "brother"? You know very well that the oath of a Kharon monk is eternal, and breaking that oath is punishable by death. Do you expect me to just let you by? You're coming with me; I'm taking you to Morpheus. Come peacefully and I won't have to hurt you", Danicar said with an unctuous smirk, as if he finally had the upper hand on his training partner.

Darthus put out his right hand with resignation, as if to offer Danicar to take him away. As Danicar reached for it though, a look of concentration passed across Darthus' face, as he called forth the mental powers of paralysis he had trained so long to perfect. As Danicar clasped Darthus' hand, he suddenly jerked to a halt with a look of shock.

Darthus quickly slapped Danicar's arm away with his left, threw the inside his right forearm into Danicar's throat, swept his leg behind Danicar's, and flipped him to floor. He then ran off as fast he could, without looking back, the words "You will pay for this Darthus! You will pay...", drifting after him as he bolted for the exit.

He ran and ran and ran, longer and further than he ever had before. He ran deep into the night, his monk-trained eyes seeing clearly in the dim moonlight. He glanced behind and couldn't see his old home any longer at all, and yet still he ran. He knew they would soon be after him, and that he couldn't stop now, there was no going back after what he had done. When he finally could run no longer, he stumbled blindly and collapsed underneath some nearby bushes, and fell into the deep sleep of sheer exhaustion.

He awoke later, on his back, to the sounds of brush rustling nearby. He looked at the sky and saw the moon had made a large part of its nightly journey, and wondered just how long he had slept. "I'm sure I saw something, I swear I did!" He heard a young male voice say. "Are you positive? It was probably just your mind playing tricks on you again". Darthus slowly pulled apart the brush and looked out.

There were two men in the dark robes of the monk order, searching about in the brush across from him. "Oh no, not a search party, I'm doomed, I wouldn't have a chance against two trained monks in my condition", Darthus thought. He looked closer though, and noticed that the robes the men were wearing were plain brown, not the midnight black of the Kharon order. His stomach was rumbling, and he had cut his arm in his flight, so he thought he had no choice but to ask for help.

He stepped out slowly, and shakily got to his feet, every nerve in his body prickling with pain all at once. The younger man, with unkempt brown hair, whirled around, and shouted, "Kharon!" and sunk back into a fighting stance, the Scorpion Darthus noted with appreciation. He realized he was still wearing his tattered and dirty Kharon robes, and slowly put his hands out in front of him, one in a fist, with the other covering it, and bowed his head in a show of respect and peace.

The taller monk, a man a bit younger than Darthus with a face as calm and tranquil as a forest pond, put his hand lightly on the other one's shoulder. "Calm yourself Liberater, can't you see? This man means us no harm, and look, he's hurt." Liberater looked Darthus up and down, reluctantly stood up from his stance and took a few steps back, as if still wary.

The taller monk walked forward, "Greetings my friend, my name is Elsdragon, and this is my protg, Liberater. We mean you no harm, come, return with us to our home, it is not far from here, and we can have your arm looked at. You look very tired, I'm sure you'd like some warm food and drink yes? Do not worry, the Sentaari are a peaceful order, though some of us are bit more rambunctious than they ought to be", he said, as he shot a glance at Liberater, who lowered his gaze to the ground. "And I'm sure the story of why a Kharon monk would be this far from home, in this condition, would be a wonder to hear." Darthus thought for a moment, and nodded his head slowly.

He had forsaken his life, and the only people he had truly ever held in his heart as his family. For the second time in his life he felt lost, confused, his world turned on its head. He had no one to trust, and no one he could look to for help. He had always been taught from the day he joined the Kharon that the Sentaari were a group of lawless, oath breaking weaklings, but he had no place to turn. So as Elsdragon and Liberater walked off into the brush, he followed behind, entrusting his fate in their hands.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Mayan, in the year 217 AF.