The house on Peregrine Lane was a legend. It had been the focal point of the countess' legends and superstitions. Its stone turret dominated the end of the street, cutting the house into two identical pieces. The entire house was made of stone and covered with unusual purple ivy. To most of the town it was a place to stay far away from, but to the Widow Fowler and her two tenants it was home. Alex and Mark walked around the side of the house. Mark purposely headed for an oblong rock that no one else could have described. But just as he got closer, a symbol began to burn in the lower left corner of the stone. . Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Mark drew a small pendant and held it over the symbol. “Manifestus” The word seemed to echo and ripple in the air and in time itself. There was a screeching, screeching sound as the stone sank into the wall and a door-shaped space formed in front of them. Without a word the two figures slipped in and were engulfed in darkness. When he was young, Mark ran up and down these stone tunnels. There were countless turns and dead ends that kept him happy for hours. Now he touched the sweaty walls with his hand and breathed in the scent of the wet rock with sad nostalgia. So much had happened since then and some days he wished he was that six year old again, without a care in the world. A long moan brought Mark out of his reverie. Pale candlelight bathed their faces as they entered the east wing. The East Wing was a series of rooms protected by more spells than the Lamia Council chamber. It was used for many things, receiving dignitaries and other guests, providing shelter for those in need, and hiding what needed to be hidden. It now contained a... half a sheet of paper... he stuffed one into Mark's chest and walked over to an open chest overflowing with assorted weapons. "Settle up, we're leaving." Alex instructed over his shoulder as he slipped heavy black combat boots onto his feet. Mark stepped into his Aegis, tightening the familiar straps and checking the various pockets of his vest for the usual packets of herbs, pieces of various stones and metals for use in trade, and assorted maps of different worlds. Next came the two throwing knives which he slipped into a sheath hidden in both sleeves. He then slipped his saber into the weapons belt around his waist, along with a short sword and a Saxe knife. Two more daggers were placed in both boots and two more swords in cross-sheaths on his back. When Mark looked back, Alex was just sheathing the last weapon. He looked back at Mark with dark determination. «It's time to go.”