Berdine

I require accommodations. And I do not need a sick bed.

Wizard Zorander, it seems, has been speaking of me. I will not call him a liar because I have heard nothing that is untrue, although there is some that I consider somewhat out of date.

I will not try to convince anyone that I am anything but what he said I am with words, for I know him to be an honest man, and I have no reason to expect the trust I do not doubt he has gained.

Lord Rahl-my Lord Rahl-is not the man that Zedd and his people are fighting so desperately. Panis Rahl is his grandfather. Lord Rahl has given Mord Sith our freedom, and even more importantly, a reason to live that is not pain. He did this because of Wizard Zorander. I hope that anyone who respects Zedd's authority on subjects such as Mord Sith also respect his mind and logic...and will offer me the chance to demonstrate that neither I nor my Sisters are the monster that Mord Sith once were any longer.

[The sound of a rock bouncing away can be heard as the feed clicks on, showing a woman across the room, wearing tight red leather (that shows off her ample curves) and holding a thin, red rod in her hand, glaring at the PCD. There is blood on her cheek, though it seems to be spatter, not a wound. A moment later she moved closer, free hand going to her shapely hip. To one side, barely visible, are the remains of a school desk.]

This is Lord Rahl's job.

[a pause, while she stares into the feed.]

Why isn't he here to do it?

[she steps up to the PCD, though she is careful not to touch it. The grip on the leather rod is intense, and her knuckles are white around it. She squatts a little, studying the device]

Only wizards.