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She inhales a sharp breath. 

"Could it be that the fates have ripped even me from your mind?  Every inch of you, love."

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"Forgive me lady. But I do not know you. If it is that you know me, then tell me, what is my name?"

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Without noticing it, he is speaking more loudly than he spoke to Morte, compensating for the strange dampening quality of his senses.

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"Err.  Chief?"

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"A test?  Adahn, you called yourself to me first, though I know you wore many names."

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"Thank you, spirit. I would speak to know you further. However I am in some danger and must be brief. I wish you to demonstrate that you know me as a man in particular and are not merely a shade bound to this sepulcher at the time of your death. First, who are you that knows me as Adahn?"

Volume still loud.

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"Danger?" The voice is both wistful and ragged.  

"Tell me what threatens you, dearest.  I will obey you as I always have."

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"Well.”

He pauses a moment.

“I may have been imprisoned or kidnapped. I was transported to this place without my leave. I cannot recall anything concerning who I am or who my friends are. If you have any aid to offer, I would accept it with gratitude. Please, spirit, what is your name?”

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"Deionarra. Do you know where it is you now stand?"

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“At the threshold of darkness, my love.  And of regret.  Where you left me.”

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To Morte’s senses, there is the sound of footfalls approaching from above.  

He rams his skull's body lightly into The Nameless One, hard enough that a smaller man would likely lose his balance, were he not expecting the blow.

“Hey!”  He whispers.

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He regards Morte for a moment and raises an eyebrow.

“Do you not see her?”

Then he turns back to Deionarra. He absorbs the gist of Morte's urgency.

“Please, Deionarra. Name to me the place you are in right now. If you can do so I will take what action I can to ease your suffering. The consequences of this moment to both of us may be very grave. Speak now!” He puts as much command into his voice as he can.

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The sound of footfalls quiets, then continues, proceeding with more stealth.

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Morte quickly moves against the wall, a few paces back and in position to ambush anyone who crosses the doorway into the room.

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Her vision snaps to look him in the eyes upon hearing his last sentence.  “A doorway,” she says quickly and softly.  “Lost, and surrounded by machines. Doors that open and close without reason, with the blind archer and the-”

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And the spell is broken. 

The woman vanishes, and there is a robed man standing before him, three stairs up from the base of the arched doorway, holding a truncheon in one hand and a lantern in the other.

“Hold still and draw no arms,” he says.  “Who are you and why have you come here?”

The man raises his lantern to cast light upon The Nameless One's face.  Upon seeing the bandana obscuring the face, he calls out loudly, "Eckhert!"

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Not a good sign if he intends to escape with Morte. He should act.

The dustman has about two feet of elevation on him, standing on the stairs. But taking a blow from a cudgel is unlikely to incapacitate him so long as he protects his head.

He leaps into the dustman's waist in a tackle. He positions his own head to the right, underneath the lantern hand. He prepares mentally for a blow to his backside.

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The two men fall into the staircase,  with the Dustman landing a hit on The Nameless One's shoulder. 

It strikes with all the force of what a middle-aged man might dish out, caught off guard and in an awkward position.

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He feels the blow but is not slowed by it. Upon hitting the stairs he'll push off the man to get leverage and bring his own right arm up to deliver a hook to the chin.

The action feels obvious and intuitive. It is accompanied by an expectation that his blow will incapacitate his adversary, or worse.

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The dustman tries to push The Nameless One down with his left arm, but he is not able to stop the blow.  His head slumps against the stone stair and does not move.

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“Morte! Come!” he says loudly. He gets to his feet.

He’ll stop long enough to deliver a hard kick to the man’s crotch before running up the stairs. What does he see?

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A landing and more stairs leading upwards.

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How many flights of stairs did he climb to get here?

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One-and-a-half or two, by his reckoning.

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