In his mind, the feyborn wrestled with another, one more ancient than he, whom had been bound - and in turn was himself bound to - by several oaths sworn in blood, sealed by promised pain and death. Deleaduindill fought and now had for some days - though he was fighting a battle that he would lose - for spirits did not tire. In its' homeland, the spirit was twice as persistant, urgent and fierce. Still, Deleaduindill battled on, fiercely hammering back with his mind - and so continued throughout the night.

Some minutes after sunrise the feyborn failed, and the source of his rage manifested itself before him.

He was called Lordredd, Kinsman to Melnibone' herself, Armsman and Master of the Watch of the Black Gates of the Dreaming City. The two would have stood eye to eye but for Deleaduindill supporting himself on his hands, crestfallen and weak. Lordredd himself was not Melnibonean' in hertiage, though was a Myrrhn slave, raised under Melnibonean care, in life. As such, he had massive feathered wings that rivaled those an eagle migh have, perhaps thirty feet at the tips. He, like Deleaduindill, carried a greatsword, broad and black, and he too dressed himself in the finest of plate armor-craft, embossed with dragons and blued to the most inky darkness one might fathom. Lordredd's violet eyes settled upon Deleaduindill as he struggled to remain conscious. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply regarded the Living known as Deleaduindill in an impassive gaze that revelaed nothing, standing still and rapt. "You have feared this day since we met," the Armsman intoned softly, his black hair and cloak hanging long and straight, motionless despite the hard winds off of the waters of the sea. "though I know not why." The apparition canted his head softly, watching the struggling form of Deleaduindill beneath him, shrouded mostly by his cloak of shadowstuff, his body clad in the same black full-plate armor that he had been gifted nearly seven-hundred years ago. They were nearly twins - but for the wings of course.

"You have served my vengance well - yet have kept me from doing what I must. Your vows have been fulfilled, Deleaduindill - fully." At this the apparition smiled softly, a dark, comforting smile - though after a moment the expression died slowly. "Though your fear and your selfishness have kept me bound to you while my revenge must be relaized elsewhere. You have used all of my rage and have replaced your own passion with it - and now cling to the vestments of passion that I have to continue to exist as you would have - but I tell you now, no more will you do this." Deleaduindill's form sagged somewhat, but he snarled - as might a beast - and righted himself as he was able. Softly, Lordredd smiled, kneeling to watch Deleaduindill claw his way away from unconsciousness. "It is sad that you have insisted on keeping me with you - it was a cowardly thing to do. You fear what you will be unable to do without my presence - without my blind and savage rage to force you through it - even though you are capable of far greater things without me. Rage is power - though it is crude in the light of true passion - and that you should rely only upon it so that you cannot fail is to be pitied. Yet - I have withdrawn from you - far sooner than you could have guessed. I was dead to you when you took Nightsong, and slipped into her after you left to be rid of your demands and thoughtless flailings. Your very presence is offensive to me for you have lost the passion that you had first come to me with - I have not aided you for nearly a decade." Softly again, the apparition ran his eternally cold fingers through Deleaduindill's long midnight blue hair, smiling faintly. "The vampire lords of Ravenloft are responsable for your horriffic reveries, the murder of your comrades in arms - yes. They are the ones who murdered Xathgarian before your eyes - and perhaps it is even they - else the twisted form of fate called the Mists in that dark land - whom allowed you to live that day and not perish beside him." Deleaduindill growled, clawing for the apparition blindly, his breathing ragged and body tensed. Lordredd smiled that same dark, soothing smile, and stood. "Though you have taken something of mine which I require of you now. You are the one that lost your passion from ages past; you go and find it." The Armsman gazed long at Deleaduindill, his violet eyes abrimful with thought amidst his stillness and silence. "But for now...give me back my rage!"

Lordredd leapt onto the weakened form of Deleaduindill, tearing and ripping with his incorperial hands, causing the feyborn to shreak in terror and pain. The closer the apparition came to its goal, the more fierce it was, inflicting no true wounds upon the feyborn, though its armored gauntlets tearing, scoring, ripping away at his spirit.

At length, Lordredd plunged his hands deep into the feyborn as he lay screaming in agony, ripping a softly red thing free. The apparition paused briefly, gazing upon the sweet prize as one might a choice slave. Hungrily, Lordredd began eating it, tearing away with his teeth hunk after hunk, blood flowing in rivulets from the pulsing dim-red orb he held fastly - bloody gobbit after bloody gobbit being torn away from the core. All the while Deleaduindill's agonized cries ascended above even the sea and the waves, until at last Lordredd was gone - though Deleaduindill still lay amidst a gout of blood. The feyborn shook twice, froze, and his eyes went dark.

-//-

It was the rain, cold and swift, that awoke Deleaduindill. His dark blue slitted eyes searched his surroundings with scarcely the ability to do so - he was alone. Alone. Thunder cracked and rolled overhead, as a mammoth wave exploded upon the black graniute of the archipelego of Melnibone - the tandem a breath-taking thing. White water soared a hundred feet above the cliff upon which Deleaduindill lay, and moving only slightly, the feyborn watched it - soaring higher, higher, higher...then seeming to hang in the air wihtout motion at all...then falling, rushing, hurling itself downward. The granite about the feyborn hissed in the falling salt water, the drops large and painful. Several moments the water gored the stone - then nothing. Trembling softly, Deleaduindill righted himself, soaked and cold, stiff among other things. As he stood the feyborn again looked to the horizon - a dim, gray place where blue-gray waters rolled and wind hurled itself from. A thunderclap rolled low overhead once more, Deleaduindill beginning to re-gain more of hismelf as he felt his mind becoming more aware.

A splitting thunderclap cracked the air once more, rolling swiftly overhead. 'Passion.' Deleaduindill blinked lightly in spite of hismelf, his gaze falling to the churning sea so far beneath him. 'I have lost my passion.' The thought was slow in coming on part of the cold and the beautiful carnage of the sea that the feyborn presently captured with his gaze. Even when he thought of the answer - the feyborn was beset at once on all sides with the possibilities of failure, the anxieties of loss or victory. His reverie...could he bear it? Could he co-exist with it where before he could not? Not at all. He had already tried for so long - it simply was not going to work - was not going to be. These were truly his thoughts until the feyborn was struck by a moment of pause. Might he even find this true-beyond-true passion through his revieie? That question - he had to admit - could be either yea or nay. And even should it be nay - while he still lived he could search; should it be yea Deleaduindill would be whole once more. With a grim determination, Deleaduindill sat back down upon the black granite summit - lying back against a few stones. He would master his reverie - it had frightened him for far too long, he decided - passion or no. As to the matter of passion, yet, the feyborn smiled faintly just before he slipped beneath consciousness. He would find his measure of completion - his passion - as surely as he lived; for even darkness has a heart.