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[Narrator]

<The days were longer now, summer was approaching, yet she remained indoors, eschewing the sun for darker persuits....>

The day seemed only a little off from usual. Spring had hit Ansteorra, and a light breeze flitted through the air. The flame-headed Magess and her icy blue-furred friend sat on benches, as the ghost of the Purpled one schemed his return, and a wounded knight was harried by an interloper. From the shadows, a messenger creeped forward the redhead. She was an odd canine, posessed of a strange grin and vaguely checked white fur suited in crimson. The messenger stole toward the mage, with alarming speed, cackling a message half-derived from insane purpose.

<She took out her book again. "Very soon," she thought, "He will get what is coming to him. They all will.. They will feel it.. They will feel -me-." Her paw traced the cover of the leathern tome, sigils appearing under it, spelling out a title in an ancient arcane script - -Librum Haereticalis->

A loud smack was heard before the Harlequin furre bounded off. The mage's pride was shattered, but the slap held a far more venomous appeal, something that would open up another front in Ansteorra's battles against the darkness.

<It wasn't her who killed that murderer, you know..>