And time passed, and things happened. And an angry pregnant 
werewolf created a blast of sunlight within the Pub, which accidentally 
caught and nearly killed Rhiannon. And an albino mage argued with her 
about what she had done. 

Looking around after he can actually see again, "Aetna, there's no ash 
where Dante was although you seem to have done a great job of killing or 
injuring every other Vampire around," Shane says. "This is starting to 
look rather like you just wanting to beat up some mages and vampires 
becuase you could, thinking that we wouldn't do anything becuase you're 
pregnant. You had other ways of 'killing' Dante, didn't you?"  It's not a 
question. Aetna will also notice that Shane has moved into a defensive 
stance, although he hasn't produced any weapons yet.
Aetna doesn't seem to hear him at first--she stares at the ashy form of 
Rhiannon, utterly still.  Her gaze jerks to William, then to the 
reappearing form of Kao-Liang.  She involuntarily reaches a hand towards 
the ashes, then drops it.  The last comments seem to register on her, and 
her gaze jerks to Shane, brow furrowing in......an odd sort of anger.
Silently dropping Joe, she walks over to her forgotten backpack.  She 
opens it, and withdraws a smaller silver klaive, and a worn blanket. 
Walking back close to her original position at the counter, she stares 
for a moment where Dante's ashes were, then turns away and kneels down.  
Still in Crinos, she holds Shane's gaze as she gently places the grand 
klaive on the floor in front of her, and drops the blanket to one side.
With a sudden flurry of movement, too fast for anyone to interfere, she 
slices her swollen abdomen with the other klaive, drawing it across with 
oddly delicate precision.  Lips draw back from gleaming clenched teeth as 
she holds the pain inside...and reaches down with one clawed hand, to rip 
open the remaining layer of tissue.  Blood and fluids spill forward over 
her lap, as she reaches inward and brings forward a squalling, bloody 
baby boy, shaking with effort.  Hands trembling, she carefully wraps it 
in blanket, and sets it caressingly to one side.  
Aetna reverts down to homid, as the klaive slips out of suddenly cold 
fingers.  She stares at the blood bemusedly for a moment, then her gaze 
snaps to Shane's, oddly lucid.   "I'm....not pregnant...any more.  You 
don't have an excuse for....not doing anything."  Her voice is harsh with 
pain, panting heavily.  "You're right.....should've remembered the 
others." She waits.
Kao-liang, from where he's kneeling over by Rhi, watches this.  In a tone 
of voice that has more than a hint of reluctant admiration, he tells 
Shane, "I'd say she has you exactly where she wants you now.   
Considering that she burned Dante in response to your suggestion, has let 
the mage whose treatment you were protesting go, not to mention that if 
you do anything now you're going to be battling against *lots* of 
cultural conditioning regarding new mothers and babies..." shakes his 
head, "you're going to be in the wrong no matter what you do.  If you let 
it go at this point, you've caused her to hurt herself for no good 
reason, and if you hurt her now, odds are her coterie is going to really 
be after your tail, and your usual allies might not want to help someone 
who kills a new mother after she follows a suggestion of his."
Something changes.  As Kao-Liang delivers this little speech, the air 
nearby bends and turns inward, crimpling like cellophane.  There's 
terrific tension, anyone nearby can feel space warping in on itself, 
tugging at them.
And then it snaps back like a rubber band. 
A man in an unremarkable blue suit brushes his sleeves off.  He's average 
height, with a mop of unruly brown hair, and a set of horn-rimmed glasses 
over his  green eyes.  He wears a red tie and a white 
pocket-handkerchief. He has no suspicious bundles, no bulge that 
could-be-weapons-if-your-eyes-are-sharp.  He's distinctive by his very 
unremarkableness.
He looks around, then says in a distinct upper-class british 
accent,"Well, I had the devil's own time finding my way here, I can tell 
you." He looks at Kao-liang as though holding him personally responsible 
for this.  Then he frowns, and the look deepens as he inspects Kao-Liang 
more carefully. "Hmmm...tall bloke, thin, fancy clothes, eyes like unlit 
coals, handsome as Old Nick Himself...yes, I think that could be you.  
Tell me, you wouldn't happen to call yourself Kao-Liang (His 
pronunciation is horrible), would you?  And if you do, you wouldn't 
happen to know where I could find a miss named Rhiannon, or something of 
the sort, hmmm?"
"If it's bad news, it might be better to leave it unsaid for a while," 
says Shane.
The man shakes his head in perfunctory fashion.  "I wouldn't know, mate. 
I'm just the messenger." He reaches into the air and pulls out a plain 
white envelope.  "I have a registered letter here, adressed to a Rhiannon 
of Cyrmu, current location: The geo-temporal anomaly known as the Wolves' 
Glen Pub.  speaking of which, she's lucky, I was just about to give up on 
finding a path here at all."
"Kao-liang," the Kiasyd correcting the pronunciation, "and as to 
Rhiannon," a glance at the severely burned form he has just finished 
giving an odd version of acupuncture to, "I don't think she is receiving 
visitors at  the moment."
He looks down at the white envelope in his hand.  "Bloody flippin' heck." 
He sighs in a way that communicates to everyone how put-upon he is.  Then 
he reaches into the air, and with the deft touch of a stage magician, 
produces a clipboard with several sheets of paper clipped to it, which he 
begins flipping through. "Bloody secretary's got awful handwriting," he 
mumbles.  Finally he stops and squints at the clipboard for a few 
minutes.  then he looks up and says reluctantly,"Well, my instructions 
are explicit.  I'm to see this letter into her hands personally.  If 
she's not up to accepting it now, then I suppose I'll have to wait." He 
looks back down at the clipboard, squints again, and says, "Hang on a 
sec...theres an alternate named...you got a Rowan Silverhair of the 
Silver Pack hanging about?"
	Rowan reluctantly steps forward.  "Aye, tha'd be me.  Wha' di'ye wish?"
	Looking relieved that he's not going to have to wait for Rhiannon 
to wake up, he presents the envelope to Rowan with a flourish. "Delivery 
for you, Ma'am.  Don't bother offering a tip, I've been amply compensated 
for my services."
Silently, she takes the letter. 
He nods to Shane and Kao-Liang.  "And don't think it hasn't been a bloody 
barrel of laughs...because it hasn't." With another gut-wrenching twist 
of space, he vanishes.
Absently, "I hate when they do tha'," she says, as she opens the letter. 
She reads. 
Rowan stands for a moment, the letter in her hand. Then she moves to the 
bar, looking frustrated and immeasurably sad.  "Dumont, would ye mind 
gi'in' me th' bottle o' whiskey behind th' vodka?  Aetna's adament 'bout 
no' bein' healed 'til Rhiannon gi'es her permission, someone's got ta 
take care o' th' wee'un, I just got a letter tha' Garret's dead, an' I 
ha' ta break 't ta Rhiannon, when she's... 'n better shape."  Rowan looks 
up at Dumont, tears in her eyes beginning to trickle down her face.  
"Why?"  Taking a deep breath, noticing Kao-liang standing next to her, 
her face loses all emotion.  Marble mask on her face, Rowan's eyes still 
glitter with unshed tears.  "Kao-Liang?  Garret... Garret left all his 
property ta Rhiannon.  I've... I've th' deeds right here, wi' her name on 
'em."  A ragged breath, then, "How'm I goin' ta tell her tha' he's dead?"
Aetna whispers, "Garret?  Dead?"  Her voice is harsh as she focuses on 
Rowan--visibly pulling herself together.  "How?"
Her voice ragged with pain and unshed tears, she recites, from memory, 
"Though I ha' sent out many letters o' this nature durin' my 600 years, 
't ne'er dulls th' anguish I feel a' th' task.  'Tis my sad duty ta 
inform ye tha' on th' cold mornin' o' May thirtieth, 1997, Garret Eustace 
Corven, Master o' Life, Adept o' Prime, Mind, an' Entropy, rejoined th' 
Great Cycle after a fierce battle wi' a viscious splinter-cult o' his own 
Tradition, th' Euthanatos.  I knew Master Corven personally, an' I know 
ye must grieve greatly for him.  He was a good man.  But as we 're born, 
so we 're fated to die, an' although th' physical body may perish, th' 
spirit 's eternal.  This may seem poor comfort to ye now, but 'tis all I 
ha' to offer."  Rowan closes her eyes, and is utterly still for about 30  
seconds.  Then she looks up to Aetna, eyes glittering.  "'Twas signed by 
a  Master Senex."
William touches Rowan's shoulder gently, patiently. His eyes are 
suspiciously wet-bright.
She turns at the touch, then blinks rapidly a few times to clear the 
tears so she can see.  "How di'ye tell someone their own one's dead?  How 
di'ye tell 'em when th' one left 's yer friend, an' th' one who's gone 
on's yer heart-brother?" she asks, her voice cracking on the last.
Aetna's eyes narrow in thought.  "Rowan?  Is this Master Senex someone to 
trust?  Or would he be a rival--who would lie to us about this?"  Her 
hand claws the floor convulsively.  "If he is dead....would he be a 
spirit? A...wraith to contact?"
Rowan snaps, "I dinna know."  She stops, takes a deep breathe, and 
sheepishly continues.  "I ha' no idea whether 'r no' this Master Senex 's 
who he says he 's, 'r no'.  Garret... di' no' talk 'bout his work, ye 
ken.  An' 'f he's dead, th' way th' letter says, I dinna know whether 
he'd be a spirit, 'r moved on ta be reborn.  An' I dinna know who ta ask, 
either..." she trails off.  "Wait, he had ties ta spirits, aye?  Mayhap 
we could talk ta some o' 'em, an' see wha' they know, ye ken?"
Balinok stands quiet for a moment, leaning on his staff.  He looks as old 
as he claims to be, the weight of ages bearing down on him.  He then 
rolls his head back and howls, a strange sound coming from a throat not 
meant to make it.  He howls until he is out of breath.  It is about as 
close as a human throat can get to a howl of mourning. He shakes his 
head.  "Sorry," He appologizes, his voice hoarse, "It seemed appropriate, 
somehow."  Illyana sits down, sobbing softly.
Her face like stone, Aetna reaches into the neck of her shirt and brings 
out something in her cupped hands.  Breathing on it gently, she stares 
for a moment into space--remember Garret's features, and his 
mind-reflection that she's encountered.  The she holds it up, revealing a 
small pointed stone dangling from a string--spinning oddly.  The feather 
in her hair seems to twitch in response... The stone seizes, becoming 
utterly still. Moments pass.
The stone leaps, and begins swinging wildly, making small arcs at the end 
of its string.  Faster and faster it goes.  Then it stops as suddenly as 
it started and leaps straight up towards the ceiling, straining at the 
end of its cord.  It continues to pull in that direction like a 
bloodhound on a foxhunt.
Aetna looks around at the assembled mourning company, stone still pulling 
vertically from her hand.  With an odd note of relief, she pitches her 
voice to carry. "He's alive." She stares at the stone thoughtfully.
At that moment, a blaze of brightness explodes outside like a small sun. 
The inside of the WGP is lit up as bright as daylight, althought the 
light is clearly too white to be sunlight.
A ripple of muticolored radiance flickers into being in the center of the 
pub, then refines and coalesces into a human shape with definite features.
It's Garret.  Sort of.
He has both of his deep green eyes, and wears rather tight black pants 
with a billowing white shirt, similar to that worn by a pirate.  His 
black hair is short and close-cropped, and two silver hoops dangle from 
his right ear.  He wears thigh-high boots and elbow length black 
gauntlets. Dangling from the belt around his waist is a sabre with what 
looks like some sort of high-tech attatchment to the hilt and pommel.  A 
sleek silver raygun depends from his other hip.  Around his wrist is what 
looks like a little silver wristwatch with flashing lights instead of a 
watch face. Pinned over the left breast of his shirt is the insignia of 
the Sons of Ether.
He looks around the room, and makes a sweeping bow.  His movements are as 
graceful as Garret's, but there's an air of ostentatiousness, of 
showmanship, that Garret never had. "What ho, Wolves Glen Pub!  I am 
Captain Garret Corven of the ethership _Starjammer_, pleased to make your 
acquaintance!"
He looks at all the half-blinded, blinking people. "Ah.  So sorry, I felt 
an appropriately dramatic entrance would capture your attention." He 
lifts the wristwatch to his mouth, and squeezing it with thumb and 
forefinger, speaks into it. "Ensign?"
"Yessir?" comes a staticy reply.
"Cut off that annoying light."
"Yessir."
The lights shut off, making the pub look quite dark by comparison.