The Tales of Bastion

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Before Dawn

A shadow rested over Bastion. It seeped over the threshold of every home, defying the fires that sought to keep the dark at bay, and in mansions and hovels people pulled their blankets close and strove to shut out its insidious whisper. It was a shadow of waiting terror, of malefic patience, an umbral heartbeat that quickened at the city's uncertainty and pain. Far beneath the towering spires of Castle Bastion, the blackened remains of the Waterfront served as constant reminder of Bastion's frailty, and her isolation in the frozen northlands. And far above, the scar of the Shadow King's proclamation burned, a crimson gash in the sky that had only now begun to fade. Few were the eyes that could look upon the wholeness of Bastion in the dark without feeling a cold sliver of fear. But on that night, the eyes that gazed down from the Dawn District relished the sensation.

Turel stood above the thundering falls of the Royal Canal, black cloak whipping in the wind. Even through the mask of the Shadow King, he could smell the darkness that blanketed the city, the mounting disasters of the past winter infecting all of Bastion's half a million inhabitants with a bone-deep uncertainty that went to his head as surely as the finest wine. He could have lost himself in that lonely night, if the man in his hands had not groaned in pain, coming to after their brief struggle not minutes earlier. His mind returning to the now, Turel looked down on Andiron Falaeth, dangling by the throat over the edge of Bastion's only cliff.

"Awake at last, elf? Good."

Coming fully to his senses, Andiron managed a shrill screech as he saw the void yawning at his feet, his heart beating so loudly that it almost blotted out the sound of water crashing upon the unseen rocks below. Scrabbling against the glossy bracer of the arm that held him, he began to babble.

"Please...I'll give you anything...just...just...let me-"

Turel squeezed his hand tighter, cutting off the man's pitiful begging. Looking down, he saw a warm stain begin to spread over Andiron's pantaloons, and when his eyes returned to the man's face he saw tears streaming freely from his bloodshot eyes.

"Please..."

"The time for words is over, elf. Your decline has been amusing to watch, but now you've gone too far."

There was panic in his mad eyes, now, panic that blotted out whatever part of him might have understood what Turel was saying. What he'd done to draw the ire of the Shadow King.

Hours earlier...

The assassins came in the dead of night with the changing of the watch, padding soundlessly over the rooftops of Bastion's wealthy. Even in a neighborhood filled with grand houses, the Golden Carrack stood out, a sprawling three story edifice that occupied a city block. Their target rested within, a noble who'd done great harm to their employer. They'd almost been robbed of their prize days ago, when his lunch for the heroes of the Waterfront Siege had been attacked by demons, but he'd survived. Now, the three elves had but to slip into the Carrack's topmost suite and cut Turel Meresin's throat.

A grapple thrown from the nearest roof brought them to the Carrack, the hotel's slate tiles cold beneath cloth-bound feet. They moved like shadows, silent as the death they promised, and soon reached the balcony leading to Turel's sitting room. The lock was a simple one, a testament to the hubris of wealthy humans, and in minutes they were inside.

The room was magnificent, its walls painted in shades of red and gold, furniture hand carved and inlaid with gold and silver. A chair from here would have fed a family on the Waterfront for a week, but the assassins paid them little mind. As one, they ghosted over to the door to the master bedroom, thick carpets muting their footsteps. If what they'd been told was correct, there were several others in the suite's other rooms, and they were loathe to leave too many bodies in their wake. The door opened with a soft click, swinging on oiled hinges to reveal the chamber beyond. Their target waited on the massive bed, body unmoving beneath the sheets. Looking to his compatriots, the lead assassin crept forward, pulling a dagger from his belt. A single cut, and they'd be free to collect their reward. Raising the blade above his head, he brought it plunging down with the speed of a viper - only to be stopped short by an iron grip around his wrist. The elf's eyes widened as Turel Meresin's opened, revealing a pair of whirling purple firestorms that blazed in the darkness.

"Help!"

His companions stepped forward, so intent on the scene unfolding before them that they missed the shadow passing behind them. A sword sang from its scabbard, and before the elves could turn they'd been cut down. Smiling, Turel nodded to Marcoth before snapping the stunned assassin's wrist. Before the elf could scream, Turel's other hand was around his throat, choking back the sound and pulling him close.

"Tell me who sent you."

Now...

Turel smiled. The killer had been surprisingly loyal to his employer, but he'd surrendered Andiron's name eventually. It had been some time since anyone had tried to assassinate him, but the insult of their abject failure obliterated the comic effect.

"You have insulted me, elf. You shall not do so again."

Reaching into his belt, Turel drew forth the lead assassin's dagger. Andiron never saw the glint of steel before it was driven into his gut, and despite his best efforts he mustered naught but a moan as the blade was twisted, sending a shower of blood to mingle with the falling water. With a toss, Turel sent the dying man plummeting into the darkness, the sound of his impact lost in the churn of the waterfall. He'd be found, the grate at the edge of the Royal Preserve would see to that, and one more obstacle would be gone from Turel's path. He smiled again, breathing deeply the pre-dawn air, and as he exhaled rain began to patter down from the black sky. That morning would see the first spring rain, a sign of rebirth and renewal in a troubled land.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt
Evening

Falaeth Manor: Andiron's Study

“The physician told me that my condition may deteriorate. The cold air, he says – causes the congestion and fatigues the lungs. The stress makes it worse. His recommendation? A long vacation to Hefriz. Can you imagine? Nonsense. Eight years at the university and his grand advice is to drink coffee by the white cliffs.”

“You’ll develop a taste for it,” Stray hummed thoughtfully over the brim of his cup of black coffee. “Hefrizians drink it all day long and they live to be a hundred. Just take it like medicine.”

Andiron grimaced as he hazarded another sip before immediately setting his cup down on the table. “At least the Celish take theirs with milk.”

“Milk is only going to make your congestion worse. And that’s how children drink coffee.”

“I thought you were a great lover of all things Celish?”

Stray snorted, “They also think it’s queer to eat ham with pineapple and they can’t abide chilies on anything. Celish cooking is wonderful if all you have to cook with is meat and bread and cheese and meat and wine and cheese…”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had a chili pepper,” Andiron mused aloud.

“Well, I expect you’d better start if you mean to vacation in the Isles.”

“I don’t expect to. Hmph. What would become of my business if I’m a thousand miles away?”

Andiron had survived the winter in only moderately better condition than the sea captain. Months of sleepless nights and constant anxiety had left him looking years older. He was drained and pale with purple bags under his amber eyes. Suddenly afflicted by what everyone hoped wasn’t pneumonia, he seemed a revenant of his formerly robust self.

He coughed the same moist, rattling cough that had wracked his body for days and drew the woolen shawl tighter around him.

“What will happen to your business if you expire? You’re no good to me dead!”

Andrion smiled wryly and managed another gulp of coffee. “I don’t look that bad, do I?”

“I’ve seen dead men, Andiron. You’re far from death. But, I hate to think of what another Bastion winter will do to you. You really should consider summering in Hefriz.”

“Stray, the last trip you took to Hefriz nearly killed you.”

“Wrong! Hefriz was lovely. However, I cannot recommend the accommodations at Chez Impériale.”

“Whatever did you do to deserve being beaten half to death?”

Stray patted at the newly forming scar on his cheek. Considering Inquisitor Ramos had nearly split his face open only a few weeks prior, he looked good.

“Vicious rumors. I wasn’t taken by bounty hunters; I’m just terrible at boxing. Teach me to try and take up new hobbies.”

“Honestly though…”

“Honestly, no man deserves torture.”

Andrion chuckled darkly, “There are no good men, Stray. We all deserve to have the **** kicked out of us. If any of us knew what the other did behind closed doors…”

“And which of the old gods is punishing you for your misdeeds?” the captain interrupted.

“The old gods have no power in the city. Only money rules here. If they knew or cared, I should have been dead long ago. Really though, they say you escaped the capital prison. So, tell me the story. It will cheer me up!”

Stray propped a leg up on his knee and began to toy with one of the brass buckles. “It’s about time for a sherry, don’t you think? I won’t tell your doctor on you.”

“Whisky,” Andiron corrected, “It feels good on my throat. Don’t dodge the question.”

Stray had already made his way to the liquor cabinet by the time he could be accused to dodging anything. “I have it on good authority that whisky is an efficacious expectorant.”

“The doctor said the same thing… one of these days you’ll tell me what school you attended.”

“What would a smuggler do with a university education? Not that I’m confessing to being educated or a smuggler.” Stray eyeballed the crystal decanters, quickly trying to assess which of the whiskies was the most expensive.

“That’s the Celish brandy.”

Shrugging, Stray moved his fingers over to the next bottle and swiftly poured two glasses. “Not my drink of choice. I’m unfamiliar with whiskies.”

“You’ll drink anything that’s free,” Andiron mocked, remembering that Stray had relieved him of at least two bottles of champagne at the Sadah party. “Really, you have a terrible sweet tooth. Rum. Champagne. That’s how children drink alcohol.”

Stray set down Andiron’s glass on the small table, next to the overstuffed chair near the fire. “No one accused me of being a man. And you’d make a terrible father!”

“I know,” replied Andiron honestly before gulping the last of his cold coffee and washing that down with whisky. “I intend to spare the world my progeny.”

“And we are so grateful for your sacrifice. I hear the Church is making great progress in the field of ‘taking it with you after death’.”

“You mean to say I don’t win by dying with the most toys?”

“I own a warship. If we’re comparing toys, you’re sorely outclassed,” Stray taunted. “And you’re going to forfeit the game if you don’t take a vacation and get some rest!”

Andiron ignored the prodding. “I’ll trade my vineyard for your ship? It’s worth more.”

“Over my dead body.”

“I understand your dead body is a rare commodity. Not even the Empire can buy it. How did you escape?”

“Because the Vivexians didn’t want me dead, obviously.” Stray managed a sip of his whisky with pursed lips and flared nostrils.

“Then they are more forgiving than I. If you stole one of my ships, you’d be dead.”

“You’d make a profit from the insurance though. It’s a great scam!”

“What would you do with two ships?”

“Same thing I do with the one. Leave it in dock. Use it to pick up loose women.”

“Does that work?”

“You’ve seen my cabin. I didn’t have an oak canopy bed installed for no good reason. You wouldn’t believe some of the girls I’ve brought back there.”

“And so you’d pick up twice the women?”

“That sounds exhausting. Where would I find time to drink and gamble?”

“I wouldn’t know, Stray. I only enjoy one of those things. Having just one woman is exhausting.”

Stray hummed noncommittally over his drink. A hard swallow of liquor kept him from saying any one of the many things he wanted to.

“That’s such a clever trick. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so good at not answering a question.”

“Well, I did know this one fellow with an eye patch…”

“How did you escape?” repeated Andiron.

“How do I accomplish anything? I’m a terribly lucky idiot.” Stray shifted in his chair and turned to face the fire. “Besides, if I told everyone how it was done then everyone would be breaking out of jail, and then they’d have to increase security, and I’d have to become even more clever the next time I’m in prison, and then you’d badger me about it. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“You have a point.”

“I do?”

“If you were a clever man, you wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

Stray raised his glass. “Better rich than smart.”

“I’ll drink to that. Gold begets gold and it’s dumb as a rock.”

“Only because the people let it. Once the masses figure out the bankers’ trick, you’ll hang.”

“You need money to build gallows.”

“For you? They’ll improvise. I’ll sell them the rope.”

“Now that is the true spirit of capitalism,” Andiron laughed!

Stray smirked. “You wouldn’t let most men talk to you that way. Why do you let me?”

“Who accused you of being a man? You’re a scoundrel, Stray, a dishonest man (for lack of a better term). And you can always trust a dishonest man. I know exactly where your loyalties lie because you haven’t got any. I trust you like I trust my servants. You’re useful and if you pocket my silver I’ll feed you to my dogs. But, if they made me as much money as you did, I’d let them talk to me any way they like.”

“That’s the kindest thing I’ve ever heard. I know how much you hate people. I didn't know you had dogs”

Andiron had sunk deeper into his overstuffed chair, his eyelids fluttering. "Three or four. I believe Scarlett takes care of them. I don't like dogs either."

"Most men prefer the company of dogs to the likes of us."

The elf smiled, pulling his blanket up to this chin. "If you were a decade younger, I might prefer your company better."

Stray snorted, "And a foot shorter, I suppose?"

Andiron muttered something into the blanket that Stray couldn't hear. For a long while, Stray remained seated, nursing down his whisky. Once Andiron had begun to snore lightly, he went to fetch the elf another blanket from the dresser and draped it over his knees.

"Rest well," Stray whispered as he placed his own travelogue of the Hefrizian Isles on the end table. "Dream of the tropics."

The study door closed soundless behind him as he stole upstairs to Elizabeth's bedroom in the north wing.

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Dragon's Alcove

Christophe Marane look at his bar. The new doors and windows didn't fit with the old walls, and the furniture was mismatched - bought at extremely high prices over the last two days to replace what was lost. There was still a slight sooty smell as well, despite the entire building having been scrubbed 3 times. Still, it was looking much better.

He thought back to when he had first returned. The front wall of the alcove was badly burned, the windows busted in, the inside looted and most of the furniture broken. He had covered the walls and windows with linen, and begun the long process of cleaning up. Most of the materials had been bought at extremely high prices from some of the more upper class neighborhoods that had been untouched by the pirates.

While Christophe had been working on the Alcove, the Disciples were working in the rest of the waterfront. They moved quickly, and used the gangs large coffers to buy up most of the building supplies in the waterfront, selling it back for incredibly high prices. They would offer discounts to those who signed protection agreements, however, and in this way, they quickly gained control of the entire docks.

The Disciples weren't all bad however. They organized labor gangs, helping repair the damaged homes and stores. They opened food banks, serving the homeless. They began to win over the waterfront.

By now, things have calmed down. There is still much to do, but nearly everyone has a roof over their head, and most even have some food. Nearly all of them have the Disciples to thank for it. Christophe was pleased. Things had gone better than he had expected when he was leaving the city with Stray.

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Dawn
Courtyard of the Manse Junker

Dr. Frederick Welf

The coachman stood before the carriage waiting for the new master and his...bodyguard. It was just unnatural, he never dealt with a mage before and a man should talk. The doctor has been here an all of 3 days and he could have sworn he never heard a word out of his mouth. Pate the footman said he heard the master speaking to the butler and his valet, but he never heard a word out of his mouth. The blonde bear did all the talking for him. Now, that was a man to be terrified of him and his giant ax. Who needed an ax at dinner?

The main doors of the Manse swung open with Bruno Holt leading the way. His giant ax resting across one shoulder. The coachman rushed to open the door to the carriage and waited anxiously. Behind Holt came Dr. Welf. He was dressed as he was normally dressed in red, gold and blue robes with a tinge of brown along the edges. It symbolized his mastery of the elements. Atop his head was the red biretta declaring him a doctor of the University of Vorarl. From his hip hung an extremely ornate sword. It was more for show than anything, a symbol of his station. One hardly had need for a sword when one can turn someones belly into fire and burn them from the inside out.

Holt waited by the side of the carriage as Welf got aboard. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to the coachman as he shut the door. Holt climbed aboard next to him and growled "Bastion University" And, with that they were off.

The trip to the University took only a few minutes and without a word and just a nod, Welf disembarked and entered the hallowed halls of the institute of learning, with Holt and his ax by his side. A half groggy student manned from the front desk, no doubt paying off his university expensives. His eyes popped from his head as he saw the odd pair enter, he fixed his sights on the ax and took a swallow before asking "May I help you good sirs?"

In his heavily accented common Bruno Holt answers for the two "You have the honor of speaking to Dr. Frederick Welf, Mage of the Crystalline order and Professor at the University of Vorarl" he bangs the haft of his axe on the marbled floor as emphasis before continuing "and I his sworn-sword Bruno Holt of the Crystal Swords," once again banging the haft of the axe against the ground before presenting the student with a sealed letter from the deans of Vorarl asking for Welf to be given the courtesy and respect of a travelling professor.

The student looked over the letter before responding "I shall take you to the headmaster than...um...you'll need to leave your axe..."

Holt scoffs at the comment before responding "Would you ask a man to leave his hands at the door?" Whether accepting the logic of Holt's statement or being intimidated by the large, crazy man holding the giant axe the student leads them to the headmaster's office.


<to be continued>

[Aux-Ash]

Fifth of Bargenholt, 1218
The royal canal, by the grate
Midday

Bargenholt had begun as such as nice month. For once the Lord-Marshal had been able to enjoy his days. The waterfront was quiet, the disciples were actually doing good in helping repairing the place. While some concern had been justly raised over allowing them to consolidate their power to such a degree, they were actually pulling the district up ay the moment (and while doing so... too busy to aggravate the merchants and guilds). The nobles were plotting against one another, as always, but not doing anything overt.

All in all, Alric had been able to actually rest and let some of the stress gained over the waterfront slip off him. He'd taken Gala to the Opera a few times. He'd acquired a new painting. A beautiful piece depicting the city from the northern hills, the castle shining majestically in the morning sun. He had even managed to get more than halfway through that new book everyone was talking about. He liked it a lot.

Story element:The songs of our Father's land
The latest vogue in Bastion nobility. A grand collection of over 800 poems tied together in a emotional narrative of a (noble) family's life and struggles in love, politics and the struggle between the new and the old. Everyone who is someone is either reading it or have already finished it. It is the talk of every salon and the bookbinders guild have (to their immense satisfaction) been positively swamped with orders to have books delivered to the mansions of the city.

Some of the more savvy readers can glean the rather witty social commentary hidden between the lines as well. Adding to it's popularity in the homes of the First Estate.

Then this had happened, leading to the Lord-Marshal having to leave his warm cozy fire and comfortable armchair to having to seat in his soaked cloak atop his equally soaked horse as it was raining cats and dogs while having to watch his men carefully trying to fish a dead body out of the canal (which was easier said than done). Needless to say he was pretty miserable.

Adding to his foul mood was the simple arimethic of noble intrigue: If a body is found a watchman is called. If the body has had a belt cut, has had it's fingers cut off or similar a officer is called. If the body wear ruined silk, velvet or other expensive clothing (or armour) a higher officer is called. If the body wears expensive clothing -and- gold, it must be a higher noble and the Lord-Marshal is called.

And everyone in the city knew it. Which means that since the Lord-Marshal arrived a fair few minutes ago the entire city knew that someone important was dead. A massive crowd was already pushing as close as the 1st company of the First allowed them. Trying to get a glean of who it was or hear what was said.

The miserable old soldier looked on as two of his men, having removed their armour and tied ropes around their waists, had waded out into the canal and were now, with water up to their necks, trying to pull the body against the strong current generated by the rain. It was amazing how quickly it had been found. Had the body not been so fresh that blood as been sipping out in the water by the harbour noone would have noticed until the rains stopped.

As the bloated body was dragged up onto land with much effort, the Lord-Marshal looked it over. Noone he recogniced easily... but then it was bloated by the water, covered in dirt, leaves and battered by rocks and twigs that had rushed against it by the grate. It'd take some work by a skilled hand to make it recognicable again.

"Send word for a physician. I want this body examined and identified as soon as it is possible."

One of his men threw themselves up on a horse and rushed away into the city to find a doctor, the crowd obediently parting for him. There was no way they'd delay news of what had happened. Meanwhile some of his men hoisted the body onto a stretcher in a hastily erected tent.

The Lord-Marshal dismounted and stepped in, and looked over the rings on the body's hands. Trying to see if the signet ring was still on it. But no avail. Must've been ripped off in the current. Identification would have to wait a bit longer. The thought to do a head count among the city's nobles had struck him, but it was both insulting to them and his men (how could they have missed a murdered noble after all) and in all likelyhood he'd get a whole bunch of false trails to follow. Her ladyship Ironbrook had already sent a letter asking if it was her son. The Lord-Marshal had almost sent "no madam, he's in the brothel like always" back to her. Almost.

So he'd have to rely on the deft hands of a physician to clean the body up enough to identify it and then, of course, deliver the news himself.

Wonderful

[Jade_Tarem]

5th of Bargenholt, Bastion University, Afternoon

Maranis surveyed her new home, a wizard's study by every measure except contents, "inherited" from the university's last elemental magic teacher. While somewhat dusty and more than a little picked-over by the other faculty, it was hers now - which was good, because she'd been booted out of the hovel she'd been using for lodgings the previous day.

While there was little in the way of helpful materials within (despite the overall clutter), the area itself was the true luxury - this much floorspace within the university didn't come cheap, and she was sure she could make good use of it in the coming weeks.

Before she could explore any further, though, there was a knock on the door...

Waiting on hi-mi for this.

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

Dr. Frederick Welf


The student led them to the office of Headmaster Arnus Frenzer. Telling them to wait for a moment he went inside and emerged a few minutes later. The student introduced them "Headmaster Frenzer. May I present Dr. Frederick Welf, professor at the University of Vorarl and...his...uh...sworn-sword Bruno Holt."

Frederick bowed low and for the first time since leaving the Manse Junker today spoke in a soft snd slightly accented voice "It is pleasure to meet you headmaster. I trust you have read my University's letter. I am at your service."

"Of course it is an honor Doctor. Having someone of your renown working and studying with us shall surely help the reputation of our magical school. I trust you wish to see the library?"

"Thank you, Headmaster," the trio began the walk to the library "My Order is very interested in the library here at Bastion. We heard it was one of the finest in the land."

"It is small but excellent. Our primary focus is not the arcane arts however. It is something we are looking to expand upon...ah yes here we are the arcane library. Your man must remain outside though. The tomes within are not for the eyes of all...my apologies."

Holt about to answer was abruptly stopped by Frederick's raised hand "The men of the Crystal Sword are sworn on their honor and on magics never to reveal what they have seen or heard in the service of the Order. He can be trusted as much as myself not to reveal anything seen within." Holt meanwhile shifted his axe from hand to hand, whether it was an implicit threat or not was rather unclear, but he was still a giant man with a giant axe.

"Of course than...well I will leave you to your work. If there is anything else I can do for you please do not hesitiate to ask. And, if you wish to give a lecture please just let me know and I shall make all the necessary arrangements."

As the headmaster departed Welf browsed the aisles of the library before finding a tome that he knew was not present within the expansive halls of Vorarl. Taking the book on magecraft to a table he began examining it in earnest.

[have_a_cow]

3rd of Bargenholt
On the road to Bastion
Early Morning

A gilt carriage surrounded by men on horses leisurely rolled down the road. Two of the horsemen carrier banners, the golden grapes on powder blue of the House of Verteoux, signifying the owner of the carriage to be Auguste Leblanc, Duke of Verteoux.

Inside the intricately adorned carriage, Auguste sat with the captain of his guard and right hand man Jonathan Black discussing the plans they have for Bastion.

"Can you feel that? It's hardly even properly springtime and already it's much too humid for my liking. It's a wonder any civilized city was established here at all; only a brute could stand conditions like this for long," whined a short, thin man, obviously the duke, dressed in splendid clothes of the finest silk. His dark blue jacket stood in stark contrast to his golden vest.

"You had best get used to it or at least act like it isn't a problem, my lord. The people of this city are quite proud of it," replied the handsome young captain.

"Yes, I'm quite aware of the delusion shared by the inhabitants of this city. I'm also quite sure that if they would spend a month in Vertoux they would see the errors of their thinking." commented an irritable Auguste.

"You are quite correct, your grace, but in the meantime it's best we stay on their good side, until we are able to move the capital to a more civilized city."

"As always, you are correct. *sigh* I just hope we can manage this quickly. The sooner I can get home the better. Now tell me, what do you think of these rumors from Vivexia? Could that ruin our plans?"

"The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, my lord. But in this case I believe this could be a boon for us. You know the king is little concerned with day to day life in the city, but if war with Vivexia looms he will have to make a move. And if Vivexia just so happens to have a mole inside the palace, well, let's just say that the king probably won't have enough time to worry for too long."

"I see, truly you have thought of everything. However, don't refer to me as a mole again, it isn't befitting to one of my lineage."

"Apologies my lord, now let us go over the rest of our plans one more time before we get to the city..."

[white rider]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Around Midday
The Pit

The Prophet

Deep in the middle of the darkest slum in the city, a figure of light strode foreward. A small group of people followed it, staring in awe at the brilliant divine being. The figure walked slowly, occasionally halting to murmur a blessing to a begger or small child. Finally, the figure came to a small square and stopped, beginning to speak.
"People of Bastion, you are troubled. Your lives are hard, and it seemes that nobody cares for your hardships. But know that your pleas will be answered. There is one who watches you. He cares for you. And although it seems that there is no hope, there is a chance for salvation."
The Prophet pauses, and light begins to swirl around him, illuminating both him and the group of people before him with a subtle light.
"Follow, to safety. Follow, to riches. For there is another relm, that of the spirit, and those who suffer the greatest pains in this existance will beget the greatest luxuries in the next. Remember my words, and heed them well, for obedience in this life will bring great rewards in the next."
The Prophet continued to speek for some time, extrolling the virtues of faith and obedience, before speaking a blessing for the entire crowd and turning away to vanish without a trace.

A few minutes later, a man collapsed onto a small cot in a dark room, nested in one of the worst parts of the pit. For a while, he lay motionless, before speaking softly..."I did well, didn't I? I am doing what you would have wanted?"
For a while nothing happens. But after several minutes, the man makes a small gesture. A figure appears in front of him, a middle aged man in noble cloths.
"Yes, you are doing well. And soon, we will have our vengance. Again, we will rise."

[Valgunn]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Before Dawn

Invereil House Parterre

In the pre-dawn twilight, lying on a stone bench in Invereil House’s formal garden, Caydan watched a bee crawl on his arm. The house’s beekeeper had explained several things about the creatures to Caydan by request, and ever since then Caydan has come out early each morning to watch this particular event that had struck him as so odd: Rather than return to their hive during the night most of the bees were trapped outside when the sun set and hunkered down amongst the flowers until the warmth of morning when they could fly again.

Even in the cool, pre-dawn twilight the bees of Invereil House were already beginning to move about as the spring day prepared to arrive. The characteristic buzz hadn’t yet began, the air wasn’t quite warm enough yet, but as Caydan watched that particular bee crawl up his arm as he lounged on a stone bench he found that even without it the creatures were still charming. Even trapped outside their hive they never gave up, and instead weathered the night until the morning came. It was admirable, and almost without noticing Caydan began to identify with them. You work hard every day for other people, and you try not to upset anyone, but if you’ve still got a sting if your home is ever threatened. If only more people were like bees. Closing his eyes, and trying not to twitch as the bee continued to wander around on his arm, he listened to the sound of the birds. Even bees get frightened though, and they’ll sting you if they feel threatened, so maybe people are like bees after all. Smiling a little he let himself become absorbed by the sound of the birds, and forgetting his body he drifted away.

Dawn

Invereil House - First Floor, Morning Room

“Are you okay?” It was the familiar, if a little worn, voice of his mother, Pasara. She was tall, like her son, but her hair was much lighter than his and after decades of hard work she was approaching her forties with dignity as small lines appeared on her face. Caydan gently nodded his head in response. “Did you sleep out here all night?” She said disapprovingly. “And why have you got a bee on your face?”

After Dawn

“You shouldn’t sleep outside.” Caydan’s mother said over the breakfast table as she finished her meal. Caydan hadn’t felt particularly hungry so he’d decided to skip breakfast, and that had only annoyed his mother even more. “I know it seems perfectly sensible to you, but nobody else thinks like that.” Caydan nodded. It was the only thing he could do as almost anything else would prolong things. “I know you think I’m just some old fool-”

“I don’t!” Caydan cried out.

“Then why don’t you listen to me?” Pasara countered. Caydan remained silent, and his mother sighed. “You haven’t left the house for days. You’re becoming peculiar -- more peculiar.”

“I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About?”

“What I should do.”

“Oh, well that’s perfectly fine then.” Pasara mocked. “I love you, but if somebody doesn’t give you a hard kick every now and then you’d spend your whole life thinking.”

“You keep saying I should think more, and now you’re saying I should think less. Which is it?” Pasara stared at him. “What?” Caydan asked defensively.

“You need a wife.”

“What!” Caydan shouted. “I-I-I... what? I’m fine!”

“So you really are still a virgin.”

“What!” Caydan shouted again. This wasn’t the sort of conversation you really wanted to have with your mother over breakfast -- or, to be honest, any meal.

“I’d thought that with so many years in the army you’d at least have grown up a bit in that area. I would have thought that would be unavoidable. You’re a very handsome young man, and I know what a handsome young man in a uniform does to a young lady-”

“Mother! Please!”

“Oh, shut up, Caydan. I’m not just your mother.”

“I... I didn’t mean...”

“I know you didn’t mean to, but I’m not just your mother and while it makes me happy you want to look after me I can’t dedicate the rest of my life to you.” Pasara lanced him in place with her eyes. “You can look after yourself.” She said with finality while Caydan’s mind tried to find out how the conversation had gone from him sleeping outside to his mother being a woman as well as his mother.

“I don’t understand.” Caydan pleaded.

“I know.” Pasara said softly. “Why don’t you go see one of your married friends. See if they know any eligible ladies.” Caydan remained silent as he stared at his mother and tried to figure out what was happening inside her head, but as usual he couldn’t fathom her mind any more than that bee from earlier could fathom his mind. “Unless you already have a girl in mind.”

“No.” Caydan said, defeated. “I’ll go see Lady Falaeth?” He ventured, and from the slight smile on his mothers face he assumed she approved. “Yes. I’ll go see her. She might even like the company.” Caydan couldn’t finish the sentence, that she might like some company other than her husband. That would be disrespectful to not only him but her too, and if there was anyone in Bastion Caydan respected it was Lady Falaeth. It couldn’t be easy remaining faithful to a man she didn’t like, but she had the strength of character to persevere through her marriage.

[shorewood]

5th of Bargenholt
Dawn

The bright orange dawn crested the horizon illuminating the great city of Bastion. It was a breath taking sight to the passengers and crew of the Midnight's grace.

It was a wide galley that sailed through the predawn air. Its dark almost blue wood clearly indicated its origins of the troll colonies. One troll named Ralin wearing nothing but a sash of knots and hardened leather pants, stood at the bow of the ship gazing with amazement at the city. It was enormous, perhaps twice the size of the Capitol of the Isles at Rokenor. He listened to cry of the gulls and the gentle sounds of the waves they are beautiful sounds.

As the sun rose into the sky and the city grew larger, another troll joined him. This one smaller with raven black hair and dark green skin.

"You must be sweating in that ridiculous get up." Ralin said with a look of pity.

Looking down at his white cotton shirt, brown cotton pants and light leather vest Tilian frowns. Ralin was right of course, even with the pre dawn chill Tilian was beginning to feel a little warm with all of those clothes and his tail swished in an effort to cool down. "Its more appropriate than the drab your wearing. We should be presentable when we make our case to the monarchy of Bastion. That means dressing as the natives do."

Pointing toward his sash Ralin retorts"This is a symbol of the republic not drab."

"Forgive me. I stand corrected" Tilian said, letting the matter drop.

The two trolls watched the city grow larger and larger as the ships crew scrambled around on deck preparing the ship for dock. After a few hours Tilian turned toward his larger companion. "Did you read the report from the northern isles before we left?"

"Yeah, Ga'Khan spotted six Loyalist scout ships from Lookout point."

"That's twice as many as last year." Tilian noted "When do you think they will attack?"

"I figure they have had the ships to invade for a couple years now. All that's stopped them them is that none of the enchanters want to risk their neck leading their armada."

"Thank the gods for politics."

"That's an odd thing to say, especially considering how you ended up here." Ralin said, continuing despite Tilian's protests "I'm not so ignorant of politics that I don't know why you were sent away from Rokenor as my attache."

"I will trade greed at home for cowardice amongst the enchanters any day. With any luck the treaties with Bastion will convince the loyalists not to go to war." Tilian said with some hope in his voice.

"I doubt things will go as smoothly as that. I really doubt it."

The two trolls stopped talking as Midnight's grace entered Bastion's bay and slowly made its way towards the cities docks. It didn't take long for the galley to talk and before they knew it the two trolls had gotten off the galley and had taken their first steps into Bastion.

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Morning

The watch came less than an hour after Turel's return, the squad's young lieutenant looking nervous beneath his dripping helmet. They'd moved the bodies to a pile in the suite's sitting room, leaving a growing stain in the rug beneath them. Turel sat nearby in the wheelchair he'd been "confined" to since the attack, tightly bound bandages visible beneath a silk robe. His left arm was in a sling, another affectation of his supposedly grievous injuries, and while it made a pretty picture to assure Bastion of humanity he found the limitation tiresome. Yet he endured, for it was a small enough price to pay to allay suspicion.

When the lieutenant entered, his eyes grew wide at the sight of the three corpses, but to his credit he did not falter. As Marcoth moved to stand silently beside Turel, the rest of the First Regiment squad entered the room and began wrapping the unlucky assassins in burlap for transport. As his men got to work, the lieutenant stepped forward.

"Sir, your man tells me these elves were sent to kill you. Do you have any idea why?"

Turel's face grew stricken at the question. He knew exactly why, of course, but it would not do to let the lieutenant know that.

"No, Lieutenant, I'm sorry. I've never seen these men before in my life!"

"That's not surprising, sir. These look to be professionals. Do you have any enemies? Anyone who'd benefit from your death?"

"A man doesn't get to my position without ruffling some feathers, but I can't think of anyone who'd want to kill me, no."

"Alright, Mr. Meresin-"

At the slip, Marcoth growled.

"That's "your grace"."

The lieutenant was taken aback. Obviously, news of Turel's ascension to the peerage had not yet spread. Understandable, really, considering he was still living in an hotel.

"Apologies, your grace, I meant no offense."

"None taken, Lieutenant. Please, continue."

"Yes, well, I'll report this attack directly to the Lord Marshal. With your permission, I'll post one of my men outside until the Lord Marshal decides what to do."

"Is that necessary? I don't want to waste the First Regiment's time."

"Your grace, an attempt on your life is something we treat with the gravest seriousness. I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving you alone, even with your capable bodyguard."

"You must do what you think is best, of course."

Later...

A letter arrived for Christophe Marane. None could say where it came from, or who had brought it, but as the Dragon's Alcove was opened for the day it was found pushed beneath the front door. Its black wax seal held no impression, but the parchment was of the finest make and the ink was strong and heavy. Cracking the seal, the leader of the Dragon's Disciples found a short message.

Mr. Marane,

Your benefactor desires a meeting with you. He shall be at the burned house on the corner of Drake Street and Fifth one hour after sundown. Come alone.

[hi-mi-tsu]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Morning

Oh, it had been delicious to stir awake when she wished to, as opposed to being awoken by Andiron's calling of her name, demands for tea and medicine and a fire and a hundred million other tiny things that the servants could do just as well as she. But he was ill, he said, and she was his wife, and if she was going to be useless in every other way she should at least care for him this way.

As though he deserved it. As though he didn't go into rages at the slightest implication, as though he wasn't still mentally and verbally abusive--though, thank all the gods, he hadn't gotten physical since the last time he'd struck her. She rather thought it shocked him as much as it had shocked her, that she had walked out.

Still...by this point, there was usually noise. Slipping out of bed--Stray startled, stirred, but a gentle touch and a soft shushing noise gentled him back down into sleep--and pulling on a dressing gown, she entered the bathing chamber. A quick wash of her face, a loose braiding-back of her hair, and she was out into the hall; hang him, if he thought she was going to put on all that finery before even eating breakfast.

A trip to the kitchen brought consternation; the cook was taking inventory, and was pleased enough to see her, but "No, my Lady, he's not been down for toast and tea. Like as not he's just sleeping, being as ill as he is. The usual?"

"Yes, thank you," but the answer was distracted. Andiron was always awake by this point, bundled in his smoking jacket by the fire, reviewing his work. And yet...not in his bedroom, not in the library. Not the office. Not the balcony, not the window terrace, not the garden where he sometimes wandered the path to clear his head.

And her footsteps were a bit more frantic, then, almost running through the manor, checking even the most unused rooms, but he was nowhere. Nowhere. She may not love her husband--she may not even like him--but he was ill, and in the eyes of the other Bastion elite that made him her responsibility as much as she was his.

It was a good thing that the door did not work on Liz, because the frantic noblewoman burst through it a little more than an hour after waking.

"Stray, get up! Andiron is gone!"

Later that Afternoon...

Garbed in a deep blue and silver gown (http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5hixtIXxl1qzgmd6o1_500.jpg), Liz sat tensely in the antechamber, waiting. Letters had been sent immediately to the Lord-Marshal and, more personal--and desperate--to Maranis. A missing nobleman, especially one of such prominence as Andiron...this was bound to get around to all the other houses within the day. She appreciated her servants and knew that they were loyal to her, but they gossiped, as everyone gossiped, and the letter-runners would also gossip, and the story would spread.

Her skin was bloodless, paler even than usual, and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. She was almost afraid to even move, to stir; there was the thought that if she did something, anything, the entire world would shatter apart.

To Alric:
Lord Marshall:
While normally I would be less formal, or more polite, the time for pleasantries is gone. Andiron is missing. He apparently never returned home last night. Considering his current physical and mental health, I am...concerned. Please, come swiftly.

All the best,
Marquise Elizabeth Falaeth.

At Maranis's (new) Permanent Location

When the door was opened, the young runner thrust a letter to Maranis, clearly impatient to be off for more custom and more pay.

"Marquise Falaeth sends this, mum, requests your immediate attention if'n y'please." A tip of the cap and he was off, racing back out to the street.

Maranis:
Andiron is missing. Gone. Please, come. I don't know what to do. I need you.
Liz

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt

After being abruptly awoken from his typical ten hours of beauty sleep, Stray dressed hastily. He assured Elizabeth that he'd discreetly ask around the docks and Drake street if her husband had been spotted. There was no telling with Andiron; he might be feeling particularly spry this morning, despite his illness. Worse, he worried, Stray might have botched his spell and Andiron might have hopped on the first ship to Hefriz. A quick trip to Andiron's study and Stray reclaimed his enchanted travelogue, as well as the draft to sell the vineyard in Celand.

After securing the evidence of Andiron's evident fugue, Stray gave the study and master bedroom a quick once-over. Nothing amiss: the windows were secured, the bed undisturbed, no footprints he could see, no clothes or valuables gone from what he could tell (though Stray certainly didn't have Andiron's possessions memorized).

Borrowing one of the Falaeth's horses, Stray rode down to the docks where he spent most of the afternoon. He managed to round up a few gangs of Disciples and slyly ask gather the who, where and when of the day's ship departures without revealing the urgency of the situation. While he liked Christophe well enough, it wouldn't do to blab that a nobleman was missing... or to implicate himself in caring.

Towards the evening, he'd exhausted his options and assured himself Andiron hadn't been to the waterfront, so he returned the manor.

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Morning
The Gates of Bastion
Grover Dubois

It's gonna be one of those days... the guard thought to himself as the rain lightly bounced off of the polished steel of his helm. He stood there in the cold rain with another guard to his side, the two of them relatively alone defending the towering gates of Bastion with tall, commanding halbreds out and ready for the worst the day could throw at them. Rain however... was something that could not be defeated with such a tool. And so the Guard stood there, sighing in annoyance at his inability to do something about the downpour. Of course, he was not counting on the absolute chaos that is fate to change such a dull day, for not even that lowly guard was prepared for what would happen that day...

It came walking at a slow pace, but a mere vague shape on the horizon making its way forward. It came closer and closer until the shape stopped being an indiscernible grey and a more humanoid green... wait, green? The guard's eyes narrowed to a squint as he tried to hone his impressively normal vision: indeed, the shape was green, and carrying some kind of parasol. A woman in a green dress? he thought. Well, at least the day would behold something beautiful for him. Oh how wrong would he be. As the shape walked closer, more discernible features could be seen. Apparently this person was wearing a frilly green dress of some kind and... branches coming out of their head? Or were those antlers? It was still difficult to tell from this far away. It only came closer, and closer, causing yet stranger scraps of stray thought to enter his head until the entirety of this... thing's visage could be seen and be anything but appreciated. Before the guards dumbfounded eyes was... a tree. A walking tree, humanoid, but essentially a walking tree. This thing, visibly masculine, seemed more plant than man. His hair was composed of leaves, his beard a thick pile of vegetation, as was what could be considered his "chest hair". His muscles seemed wrapped and defined with an extensive body-covering expanse of vines and branches extending from his back and shoulders. The head of this thing was crowned with great branches who rose into the air like antlers. Sweeping down his... legs... if you could call tree stumps legs were leafy robes, open and a vibrant green. It grew from under a thick and mighty belt which was fastened around the man's torso. His hands seemed more akin to gauntlets if gauntlets were made of thick and slightly mossy wood. And that parasol was no parasol. Held by one arm was a towering mushroom he held over his head, wide and easily keeping the rain off of his person. His eyes were a cheery green, and slung around his torso was a thick sash of green vines holding some object well fastened. He stopped a good distance away from the guards, who though dumbfounded and not sure how to react, did not point their weapons at him.

"Good morning my fine fellows! I say, I have been traveling for quite some time and I am a slight bit on the travel weary side, so pardon my questioning but I must inquire: is this not Bastion and is this not its entrance?"

The guards simply stood there, trying hard to come to terms with the fact that the walking tree just spoke to them.

"Wait, I have it! The rain has left your minds a tad waterlogged has it? No need to worry, I have just the thing."

Reaching his free wooden hand into the giant mushroom above his head, he pulled out one of the dark brown gills of the mighty toadstool. He broke it in half, and threw both separate pieces to the grown, allowing them to soak in the rain water.

"Plants like these grow best in a moist environment."

His hand waved over the pieces as emerald light washed over them. The pieces seemed to crawl into the ground and move behind the guards. The earth started to split under the Guards' feet as they both, in surprise, lurched forward, their weapons drawn towards whatever emerging. The tree-ish man merely smiled as great roots started to set into the ground and upon the walls that surrounded the gates. Now well anchored, two great mushrooms found themselves emerging from the city walls, and hanging over like a thick canopy above where the two guards were standing.

"Now your minds can think logically without the rain water to weigh upon your thoughts." he whimsically declared.

The guards turned to look at the leafy man, and then towards each other, and once again at the walking tree, who simply stood there smiling.

"Who... who are you?!" The guard questioned.

"Who am I... Who am I? I'm Grover Dubois, a pleasure to make your acquaintance good sir!" Capped off with a hearty laugh.

"And I..." he started, "...seek to enter this fine city of Bastion."

[Jade_Tarem]

Unknown Location, Unknown Time

The dungeon was mostly empty. Chains hung from the walls and ceiling, their links nearly fused together with rust, the implements of torment that came with them in a state of advanced decay. Once dark, erosion had worn away the hill above this particular dungeon until large holes in the ceiling actually allowed ample amounts of daylight in. Rain too, but that only helped the now-flourishing ecosystem. Plants and greenery had sprung up, here and there, and the western wall was now claimed on the outside by some strange type of ivy. Were it not for the obvious history to the place, it might have even been cheerful.

But at night...

At night it all changed. Even in the full moonlight, the odd mist that tended to rise from nowhere changed the area into a silvered gloom full of shadows cast by rusty iron bars. No animals stirred, no wind moved, but still, there were occasionally whispers. Was the place haunted? Probably. Any place that had seen as much torment and death as this one tended to have a few restless spirits, but more than anything, what stuck in the casual observers mind was how strongly defeat and despair clung to every surface.

It's really the sort of thing that could get a fellow down, Doctor Jack Whatley mused, as he hung from one of the few remaining lockable sets of chains. He was only a recent addition to the scenery, and although his time spent running and hiding - and lately, hanging - had caused him to lose some of his excess weight, his own force of will and innate optimism held out. For now. It helped that his interrogator still hadn't gotten serious about her task yet - likely because he was cooperating fully. He needed his bones unbroken and his eyeballs working, dammit.

His interrogator would have been the best part of being down here, but her garments - the red robes over the black tunic and pants ensemble that Whatley also wore - and the circumstances robbed her of most of her appeal.

But she was tenacious, and curious, which were arguably the best two qualities for one in her profession. "Stop a moment. You've already gone off on another tangent. What does this "Andiron's" murder - one that he had coming by almost any account - have to do with anything? And who are all these people you keep introducing? I recognize some of them from our earlier session, but we were talking about the Codex, and what actually happened at Bastion."

Whatley nodded obediently. "Well, my dear, Andiron's murder was what restarted a most interesting sequence of events. One that had been postponed for nearly three months while everyone had a breather and tried to reassess how best to kill each other. What's more, it never rains in Bastion, but it pours. Mix enough plots and subplots and crossed plots into one city, and something exciting happens! It could even be what you're looking for, though of course I make no guarantees."

"Ah, but I do. I guarantee that if you don't quit stalling, one of these is going to go right up y-" She grabbed an overhead chain with a hook attached to the end and yanked it down to eye level, only to have it disintegrate in her hand. She gave the rusty powder a scowl before looking back at Whatley. "Fine. You get my point. Keep talking."

"Mrm. Where were we? Ah yes, Andiron's murder..."

5th Day of Bargenholt
Bastion University/Falaeth Manor, Early Afternoon

Maranis wasted no time in reaching the manor. Once there, she simply passes through the front door for the first time despite having visited many times before. There was a brief objection from one of the servants as she dragged water and mud across the foyer, but it was silenced when the offending fluids were pulled from the elf's clothing and the floor and hurled themselves outside to splash down the front steps.

***

She arrives outside the antechamber to find Jalzin already there, waiting. News travels fast in Bastion, but never so fast that the elder Sentinel couldn't be among the first to catch it. The two quickly compare notes, and then Maranis knocks.

[Valgunn]

Some Time Later...

Falaeth Manor

Caydan wore, in deference to the rain, a cloak like most other people who ventured out into the city during today during the first rain of spring, but unlike his ‘travelling companions’ that scuttled about in the city Caydan wore his cloak with the hood down. He enjoyed the feel of the rain on his head, and with his hood up he couldn’t hear the patter of the rain as clearly. He enjoyed the sound and feel of the rain that he had even taken a nap on a stone bench under a new tree in his garden earlier while it rained. Some of the people who knew this about him suggested that he was a frog turned into a prince.

The trip to Lady Falaeth’s home, where she tended her sick husband, was quite short as they both lived in the same district, but even so his head was quite wet by the time he arrived. As Caydan came up to her door he gave his hair a tousle to try and made it halfway presentable, and pulled up the hood on his cloak to at least seem halfway normal. With several quick knocks he musically announced himself with Lady Falaeth’s front door.

[Ipphli]

5th of Bargenholt
City of Bastion
Shortly after dawn

Quinn sat under the partially collapsed roof, his blanket thrown over his head as an extra layer of protection against the cold spring rain. He glanced around the large, mostly open space. It had been a merchant’s warehouse, before fire and looters had gutted it. By the strange smells mixed with the smell of charred wood and burnt metal, spices had been stored here. The thought sent Quinn back nearly 20 years, memories of playing hide and seek amongst the bins, and later helping to count and sort through their contents.

Shaking his head, the middle-aged man stood up. It was obviously the rain wasn’t going to stop any time soon, so working on fixing the place up was hopeless today. He was lucky to have the space at all, really; the local gang in charge had control of most of the buildings in the Waterfront. Why they hadn’t claimed this one yet, Quinn didn’t know. True, while it wasn’t exactly in the Waterfront, it was close. But he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as the saying went. But the inside still needed a good scrubbing down, and the holes in the roof really should be fixed as soon as possible. Two more things to add to the growing list of things that needed doing or buying.

With a sight, Quinn stood up and stretched. Since cleaning or repairing were out, that left buying or practicing. Walking over to the old blanket he used as a door, he peeked outside. No one waiting outside. Nodding to himself, the healer walked back inside and gathered up this things; no sense risking their disappearance by leaving them behind. Besides, he’d carried most of this stuff so long it was like they were friends: his walking staff, his backpack with all its herbs and poultices, some bedding and clean clothes with his mortar and pestle wrapped up inside. All things he just couldn’t afford to lose.

Returning to the doorway, he peeks outside again. When he’s confidant no one is watching, he quickly steps out and starts walking down the street. He need to find a sponsor, and soon. He was running low on…well, everything. He needed a wealthy patron, someone who wouldn’t mind donating either money or supplies for his little venture. He was afraid to go to the Healing House, afraid someone there would recognize him, maybe even connect him to…No, that wouldn’t do at all.

A thoughtful expression spread over Quinn’s face as he walked down the street, shoulders hunched against the rain and the people around him. ”Perhaps,” he thought to himself. ”Perhaps the Disciples? They’re doing charity work too, or so people are saying. Maybe helping fund a free clinic would have some appeal? I don’t know anyone else with the funds.” Happy to finally have a plan, however horrible it might be, the healer steered himself towards the Alcove. Everyone knew where to find the Disciples, its just most people didn’t go looking for them.

Saying a prayer to any and all gods that might be listening, Quinn soon found himself in front of the Alcove’s door. A nervous glance around did nothing to make him feel better, but he was determined. The people needed his help, and he needed a sponsor. Taking a few deep breathes, Quinn opened the door and stepped inside, unsure what he’d find inside.

[Aux-Ash]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
The royal preserve, by the canal grate
Early afternoon

It had taken almost an hour for a surgeon to get there, his men had done what they could to clean up the blueish bloated body. They had also found the dagger stuck in the gut of the man. It was a stroke of luck that it had not slipped out and washed away with the river. With the surgeon present, the speed of cleaning up the body increased dramatically.

"The body has multiple fractures all over in addition to all these bruises and lesions, which suggests to me that it fell a rather long distance around the time of death."

The surgeon, a number of soldiers and the Lord-Marshal all turned their gaze up the waterfall towards the Dawn district. That made sense. He had not been in the preserve a dark night but rather above it.

"Though I fear it is impossible to say where or for how long... he was still bleeding while he got these cuts and lesions however. He was likely not dead by the time he went down the waterfall"

The Lord-Marshal stepped closer and examined the cleaned up, if highly disfigured, face of the dead elf. He looked over one of the notes he had just recieved and once more studied the face. Yes, it was likely Falaeth. Though suicide could not be ruled out, the marquis had never struck him as suicidal... granted he had not met the man for a few months. The dagger in the gut though... who in their right minds commit suicide by stabbing themselves -and- throwing themselves over the falls? Either would suffice on their own.

So he likely looked at murder then. Alric felt a cold sinking feeling. Noble intrigue was brutal at times. But this... this was as raw as a robbery. Except he still had gold jewelry... and had come from the Dawn district. When the high nobility dies... it was with poison... a dagger across the throat while sleeping. It was clean, efficient. Intended to leave a message.

This body was so mangled by the rocks and branches and bloated by having been in the water that it was difficult to identify. Nobles did not die this way in times of peace.

Wrap the body in cloth and prepare to move it. Doctor, thank you for your time. I will ensure that your expertise and discretion is duly rewarded.
Lieutenant, I want this dagger identified. Clean it up and question every smith in the city, even the waterfront ones. One of them is bound to have made it.
None of you will say a word about the identity, gender, status or race of this body. Is that understood? And get that crowd away from here.

With that, the Lord-Marshal exited the tent and pulled his cloak around himself again. Blast this infernal downpour. He mounted his steed and waited for some of his men to form up around him. He would have to visit lord Meresin later. An assassination-attempt on the man required his attention, but first he had to deliver the news to a recently widowed friend of his.

As the First began yelling for the members of the crowd to return to their homes, the Lord-Marshal started riding towards Manse Falaeth.

A short moment thereafter...

Alric slipped down from the horse and removed his gauntlets and handed them to the lieutenant in charge of the escort. With a nod from him, one of the men walked up to the door of the mansion and knocked on the door.

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Mid-Morning
Dragon's Alcove

The alcove is quiet early in the morning, which made the arrival of Quinn Vestigoth that much stranger. Christophe knew of his arrival the moment he stepped in the Alcove, but had decided to keep him waiting - besides issuing the mornings orders to the Disciples, he had been finishing off some paperwork, and now walked out into his taproom as Bastion's newest shipping mogul, having put the finishing touches on his buyout of the Black Horse Shipping Company, a small, family run business who's family had, sadly, not survived the assault. Their company had grown in the last few days however, and now counted near every porters guild and dock worker in the waterfront, as well as all the prime docks not reserved for the nobility.

When Christophe stepped into the main room, it was obvious that he was in charge. Besides his natural bearing, everyone was clearly deferential to him as he stepped from behind the bar carrying two glasses and made his way over to Quinn, the only non-regular in the Alcove this early. Sliding a mug of ale across to him, Christophe begins the conversation."What brings a healer such as yourself to my bar? I thought you tried to prevent alcohol poisoning, not support the establishments that cause it."

[Ipphli]

5th of Bargenholt
Mid-Morning
Dragon’s Alcove

Quinn had stood up from the table he was ordered to sit at when Christophe approached. He’d never met the man before, but he’d heard people talk. That, and the way the other man carried himself, the way he was treated by the other staff, it was obvious he was who he was waiting on. Sitting down after Christophe does, he eyes the tankard for a moment before forcing a smile as he looks at his host.

”Alcohol poisoning is one thing, drinking in moderation another. Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink.” Quinn mentally kicked himself as soon as the words left his lips. Here he was, coming to ask for money, and he might have just insulted the most powerful man in the district. Trying (and failing) to cover his nervousness, Quinn somehow manages to continue. ”I’m surprised you know who I am sir. Well, I guess you make it your business to know. A man in your position needs to know lots of things I suppose…not that I pretend to know anything about your business, sir….Um, right, why I’m here.”

Quinn takes a deep breath, only partially succeeding in calming himself before speaking again. ”Well, as you know sir, I’m attempting to set up and run a clinic for the poor people of the Waterfront district. You know as well as I that there’s precious little help for them when they are injured or sick. Unfortunately, good will and well wishes only go so far. People talk about your generosity and eagerness to help the people, so I thought you might, um, be interested in…sponsoring my clinic?” His final words come out in a rush, as if he has to force them out. Holding his breath, he watches Christophe’s face, waiting for some sign of anger or threat.

[Lady Serpentine]

[5th of Bargenholt, Early Morning
The Winter House
Anastasia, Drahka, Darius Ironbrook]

Darius blinked, trying to make the room focus. So far, it hadn't been going well; otherwise, he wouldn't have kept trying after the first two attempts. This one, though, seemed to be working a fair bit better, the chandelier finally having resolved, rather than simply being a bright splotch in the middle of his vision...

Blinking again, he jumped in surprise as a face suddenly appeared over his own, then paled in shock, stomach churning, a moment later as he took in the features of the woman leaning over him. Not that she was repulsive, or anything of that sort, but the white-dyed hair and sharp features were quite unmistakable...

"Ah, what... Why... Is there some reason you're in my room?"

"That implies that it belongs to you," Anastasia pointed out, flashing an impish grin at him. "I believe that the real question is why you are in my room."

Darius frowned in confusion as he took in the surroundings. While, admittedly, he didn't have the best memory of what had happened last night, he was fairly sure that this was an entirely different room than the last one he'd gone into...

"Where...?"

"As I said, my room. Or at least, a room in my part of this place. You passed out, so I brought you up here to sleep it off... Speaking of which, did you know that you talk in your sleep? And you say such interesting things, too. Is it true that you think you saw your half-sister downstairs?"

"Er, well, yes...", the poor noble admitted, nodding dazedly. "At least, that's what she looked like, and there have always been rumors about that sort of thing."

"Huh. Interesting. You'll have to point her out to me later.

Anyway. Moving on. I'd guess you've probably got a rather nasty headache, seeing as you drank enough to keep a small distillery in business for a year last night, so would you like anything for that? Coffee, perhaps, though that's bloody expensive, so you'll have to pay, but there's free stuff too..."

Darius nodded again, still most bemused by all of this, though as he was coming to realize that apparently, Anastasia's presence didn't mean he'd done something spectacularly stupid last night and offended her, he was slowly starting to relax.

"Perhaps something not quite so costly, for the moment?", he ventured, smiling warily at her. "If I'm going to have coffee, I'd prefer to be able to drink it for the flavor, or at least to stay awake, not just because it feels like I've a very angry mouse trying to chew its way out of my head..."

Anastasia laughed softly, nodding, and reaching out to pull a thin cord by the bed, presumably some sort of bellpull to alert one of her servants to the fact that their presence was required.

"Smart of you. Do you want me to have Kayla bring it up? Whatever it is that you came here to drink away, it's obviously got you tense, and she can probably help with the hangover, too..."

Despite where she worked, Kayla wasn't actually called on to sleep with anyone; her talents lay in other areas, specifically, some sort of natural magical ability to heal people simply by touching them

While not powerful enough to do more than treat minor bruises, it had made her extraordinarily popular, both in her own right and as an 'accompaniment', of sorts, to the other girls, as many who came to the Winter House were under a great deal of stress, and to have someone who was not only somewhat proficient at relieving that through more normal means, but could loosen tense muscles simply by brushing them with her fingertips, was quite a relief.

As such, Darius nodded once again, looking quite pleased at the prospect of a massage from the deft half-elf, then chuckled, smiling faintly, apparently finding something in the offer amusing.

"Yes, that would be lovely... Do you do this for everyone, though? You treat me better than my own family, half the time."

[hi-mi-tsu]

5th of Bargenholt, Falaeth Manor
Early Afternoon

They came practically atop one another, Caydan and Maranis. Maranis first, sweeping into the manor with Jalzin at hand; the knock on the antechamber door was almost deafening in the stillness of the house. Stray was gone, searching, and Elizabeth was...alone.

The door was opened by a servant, who gestured to the armchair by the fire, voice lowered in deference.

"M'lady waits. She won't move. She's hardly said a word since she's sent the letters. Thank you for coming...perhaps she'll talk to you. See if you can get her to eat something, will you? If you can."

Then came the knock at the front door, and Elizabeth's head lifted, turned, a small frown crossing her face before her eyes settled on Maranis.

"You came! Oh...thank you for coming. I don't..." The Marquise rose, shakily, and looked back at the elven woman she was swiftly coming to consider a friend.

"I'm...Maranis, I'm afraid. He's never gone missing like this before."

"Ah, Milady--" Another servant stood at the antechamber door, Caydan behind him.

"M'Lord Caydan, here to see you."

"Oh, Caydan..." Elizabeth gave a wan smile, at the sight of the sweet, bumbling young man; a little naive, a little odd, but sweet nonetheless. "Thank you for visiting, my dear, but...I don't know if I will be able to be terribly social, today."

And again, another knock, and this time there was no doubt who it could be; there was only one person left, after all, and Elizabeth's face went pale once more as she sank back into the chair.

"That must be the Lord Marshall...please, let him in. All of you, sit, sit with me...we'll get some tea. ...Or maybe something stronger."

The doorman was dispatched to bring the Lord Marshall to the antechamber, and the Marquise shook her head.

"Maranis...come sit by me. Jalzin, too. If...the worst has happened...you know more about elven custom than I do, what do I do? If he dies...oh, I suppose I'll have to send word to his brother...what a nightmare. A noble funeral, and then there's the will, and everything..."

She's babbling, almost manic, and if one looks close one will notice her hands shaking, even clenched tightly together in her lap.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, Dawn
Crowley Manor

Laying under the soft sheets in Crowley Manor's grand master bedroom, Luke Crowley blinked the sleep from his eyes and ran his hand through the mess of short brown hair atop his head, having just awoken from a restful night of doing battle with dastardly villains atop a rushing waterfall in his dreams. Hearing only the pit-pat of bare feet on the hardwood floor in the silence of the morning, he sat up in his bedclothes and looked to the side of the room to see his petite elven wife pacing back in forth by the silk-curtained window in her nightgown.

"Good morning, dear," said Setselia with a cheery smile, taking her eyes off the window at the sound of her husband's stirring.

"Ah, good morning, Cecily dearest." Luke slipped out of bed and joined his wife at the window. "Why, you're quite the early riser today! Are the servants putting on some fine spectacle out there this morning?"

She put a finger to her chin and hummed curiously to herself as she thought about this question. "No, not quite, dear. I've just got the most certain feeling that something exciting is going to happen to us today, so I came to the window hoping to catch a glimpse. But all I've seen is the watchman feeding the leftovers of his breakfast to those adorable cats he's befriended!"

Luke put an arm around his wife's shoulder and chuckled heartily. "Ho ho! So, the game's afoot, then! The grand mystery of today's agenda... I like it! Let's get to taking breakfast then, because a gentleman never starts an adventure on an empty stomach!"

In response, Setselia laughed with delight. "Hee hee! Of course, dear. And I'll have a girl fetch one of those Vivexian dresses we had tailored, because a lady always looks her best when she's adventuring!"

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Chateau Verteoux
Afternoon


*knock knock knock*

Auguste looked up from the book he was reading, The Songs of Our Father's Land, happy for the distraction. He found the book to be dull reading, but he didn't want to be the only resident of the Dawn District who was ignorant of the book.

"Yes? Come in," commanded the small noble.

Jonathan Black swept quickly into the room, and locked the door behind him. He wasn't wearing his exquisite enameled armor like he normally would, but instead was wearing heavy riding clothes and a rain-resistant cloak.

"My lord, there is a commotion in the King's Reserve. From what I've gathered a noble was murdered," whispered an excited Jonathan.

"And I assume from the way you are dressed that this will somehow involve me getting out in this terrible weather?" groaned Auguste. His eagerness for a distraction from his book was quickly tempered by the thought of going outside in such dreary weather. "Fine. Let me get dressed."

A few minutes later on the road near the King's Reserve

So, you brought me out in the rain to offer my help to the Lord Marshall. Couldn't you have done this yourself?" said an extremely irritated Auguste. He was now questioning whether or not being king would be worth all the trouble he went through to get the crown. But he was here, so he might as well make the best of it and complaining would just make Jonathan irritable too.

"I certainly could, my lord, but part of the gesture is the fact that you deemed it important enough to come out yourself. The Lord Marshall could prove a powerful ally, or an equally powerful enemy in the months to come." explained a cheerful Jonathan. Secretly he was enjoying the annoyance caused to his lord.

After a few more moments of riding in silence the pair arrived at the entrance to the King's Preserve. A pair of guards flanked the entrance and motioned the two riders to stop.

"By order of the Lord Marshall of Bastion, no one is allowed entry into the King's Preserve." announced one of the guards.

"This is Auguste LeBlanc, Duke of Verteoux, who are you to deny his grace entrance?" Jonathan's clear deep voice rang throughout the street.

"I'm sorry, my orders are not to let anyone in who is not part of the First or the King himself. I cannot allow you to enter."

"I am Duke Auguste LeBlanc, on my authority as Duke of Verteoux I demand you let me in." Auguste infused his words with the power of enchantment, not wishing to spend more time that needed out in this weather.

"Apologies my lord, now that you've put it that way, I see that you're an obvious exception to the Lord Marshall's orders. Please come in and stay as long as you see fit." replied the guard while signalling for the other to open the gate.

"Was that necessary, my lord?" questioned Jonathan.

"Yes!" snapped Auguste, The sooner we can get in contact with the Lord Marshall, the sooner I can get out of this infernal weather."

After a short journey the pair were able to make it to the top of the waterfall where a small crowd of First Regiment soldiers stood investigating the scene.

"Excuse me Lieutenant, but could you direct me to the Lord Marshall, I need to speak with him. It's urgent," said Auguste addressing the only soldier on a horse.

"I'm sorry, my lord, but the Lord Marshall has directed me to keep his whereabouts secret. He doesn't wish to be bothered by anyone," replied the Lieutenant.

"I am a duke of Bastion, for generations my forefathers have been dukes and before that they were kings in their own right. I do not bother people, lieutenant, they bother me," Auguste put great emphasis on every syllable of the officers rank, driving his point home, "Tell me where the Lord Marshall is, now".

"Yes my lord, he went to deliver the news of her husband's death to Elizabeth Falaeth. Your should try her manor if you would like to find the Lord Marshall."

"Thank you very much lieutenant. All of you forget that I was ever here," ordered Auguste. With the last enchantment, wiping the soldier's memories, Auguste and Jonathan departed for Falaeth Manor.

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Mid Morning
Dragon's Alcove

Christophe was secretly amused by how nervous Quinn seemed. Waving one of the serving girls over, he has her remove Quinn's drink, before listening to his proposal. "I keep tabs on anyone around the waterfront. I know you are a doctor of some sort, though whether you are good or not, I haven't heard." He stops and thinks for a moment. "As to your clinic, I think I know a building I could rent you. It wasn't damaged in the recent attacks, and is just outside what is officially the waterfront." he waves over a man, telling him to bring up a standard contract. "As long as you prove a good doctor and not a quack, and abide by the terms of your contract, you may use the building rent free, to do with as you wish. Aside from the normal contract terms - not burning the place down, paying for any damages caused, etc, you would also be obliged to pay 10% of the earnings of any business you run out of the building. A free clinic would of course not have earnings, so this doesn't really apply to you, but it would if you ever branched out." The man returns with a piece of paper and a pen. Chiristophe signs, turning it around and offering the pen to Quinn. I may also send you some of my men to patch up from time to time, no questions asked. You fix them, send them off, and neither one of you saw the other that day. You may also be called up on to offer you medical opinion on cases that will also fall from your memory. Agreed?"

[shorewood]

Rain, why did it have to rain? Tilian thought to himself as his new cotton clothes soaked up the moisture like a sponge. Out in the ocean the day's weather had seemed clear but if as bidden moments after the trolls docked the sky had opened up. Seeing his companion doing a poor job at suppressing a smile Tilian growled Did you know this was going to happen?

"One does not sail the ocean for as long as I have without acquiring a sense about the weather." Ralin replied unable to keep the smile from his face any longer.

"Then why didn't you warn me? By the time we reach the royal residence My clothes will be so soaked I won't be presentable." Tilian asked his tail shaking about in annoyance.

"Because its funny. You look like a puppy left out in the rain. Besides I doubt we will be granted an audience today. We will most likely be guided to the diplomatic residences to unpack and get settled. I imagine we won't meet with anyone of real importance until tomorrow at the soonest."

Grumbling Tilian pulls out a long string of knots from a pouch on his belt, running his hands over it carefully making sure he was reading it correctly. "The directions say we should go this way to reach the palace"

The two trolls made there way off the docks and into the city proper. Passing through the waterfront any sense of excitement the two may have had were drained away by the grim visage of destruction around them.

"There must have been a fire of some sort recently." Tilian noted as he looked about.

"I don't think that's all that happened here." Rilian said keeping his voice even as he spotted several distrustful glances from the shadows "Quicken your pace, we can learn what happened here later."

It didn't take long for the two ambassadors to reach the royal palace where things began to go downhill.

"What do you mean we aren't expected?" Ralin asked incredulously causing the three Guardsmen the troll towered over to shuffle about nervously.

"I'm sorry" the Lieutenant said, looking up at the wet frustrated troll "I am responsible for making sure no... making sure that only those with an appointment are allowed into the residence. I can assure you that no appointment has been made on your behalf."

"We have a letter of confirmation." Tilian began as a quick search of his person found an official document. Handing it toward the Lieutenant the guardsmen looked it over with a critical eye.

"I'm sorry but I do not recognize this signature. I can not simply let two foreigners with possibly forged documentation into the royal residence. I hope you understand."

Sighing Ralin rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration "Then we would like to arrange a new appointment with your royal personages or with some other representative who has the authority to negotiate trade contracts. We come on behalf of the Independent...

Raising a hand palm up the Lieutenant interrupts Ralin "I'm sorry it does not please the Royal personages to meet with any foreign dignitaries at this time."

Looking at the raised hand Ralin fell silent. A minute passed with only the pitter patter of rain breaking the silence. Tilian was the first to act, rummaging amongst his pouches he produced a single gold sovereign and placed it into the Lieutenant's hand. "Perhaps you could double check your records. Our appointment must have fallen through the cracks. We understand how these things can happen."

Closing his fist around the gold the Lieutenant face broke into a broad smile "I'm sure you are correct ambassador. Come back tomorrow once I've had a chance to review the matter and I'm sure this confusion will have cleared itself up." giving the trolls a small bow the officer walked back into the royal residence and out of sight.

Midday at the Clay Jug an inn near the docks

Ralin and Tilian sat across from each other at a table near the fireplace, happy to dry themselves off. The two hadn't talked since the encounter at the palace besides ordering a hot meal from the waitress.

Shall we visit the University next?" Tilian asked tentatively.

"After we've made arrangements with the Midnight's Grace's captain. We should make sure that the cargo is sold without delay, it seems that we will need the funds sooner than expected.

[Valgunn]

Early Afternoon

Falaeth Manor

Caydan tried to smile too, but he was grappling with a small amount of confusion, concern, and mood shock after his pleasant walk in the rain. “It’s okay. If it’s okay I’d like to stay and help keep you company.” After that Caydan remained standing, trying his best to be supportive without doing anything stupid.

Hearing her babble was too much for Caydan who, moving to her Elizabeth quickly, placed his hand on hers gently. Caydan wasn’t sure why his friend was so upset, but he couldn’t have sat there while a woman who was normally so strong shivered in distress for any reason. “It’s okay.” He said with a more warm smile. “You can take it slowly.” He looked to Maranis and Jalzin for a moment, two elves and friends of Elizabeth's though Caydan didn’t know them himself, and then back to Elizabeth. “We’re here for you.”

[Jade_Tarem]

5th day of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor

Maranis remained standing as well, but her attention remained on the Lord Marshal. She had nothing to say - not yet, anyway, and certainly nothing the more personable Caydan couldn't say as easily. Andiron was not from any of the Brightleaf Clans, and unless Elizabeth wanted to join one there would be little in the way of applicable customs that wouldn't be better performed by the Bastionite locals.

And she didn't want to get Elizabeth's hopes up. Better to learn more.

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Midday
Dragon's Alcove

Having finished his business with Dr. Quinn, Christophe had retired into his room to read The Song's of our Father's Lands. Apparently it was the latest rage in the city. He was just getting to a good part when there was a knock at the door. One of the Disciple's lieutenants stepped in with a beggar boy. "Tell him what you saw, boy." the lietenant says, pushing the kid forward. He starts to speak. "Outside the palace, some trolls got turned away by the guards - said they were here to arrange "trade shipments". Said they were from "Independant", where ever that is." Having finished, the boy stepped back. The lieutenant ushered him out of the room, and stepped back in. "A ship docked today from the Republic of the Independent Isles, and the trolls the boy saw are at the Clay Jug."

Christophe dog eared his page, and closed his book. with a sigh, he stood, and dismissed the lieutenant. grabbing a coat, he headed out and down the waterfront.

Midday
The Clay Jug

Christophe entered the bar, walking up to the barkeep and speaking to him quietly. The barman comes around the corner, and escorts him to a private room, before returning and moving to Ralin and Tilian. "Christophe Marane would like a word with you two, if you would join him in his private room?"

[Ipphli]

5th of Bargenholt
Mid Morning
Dragon's Alcove


Quinn looks down at the contract, reading over it briefly before looking back at Christophe. "That's very generous of you sir. I was wondering, though, if your generosity might extend a little further? I lack the funds for equipping such a space. Perhaps, to help a poor healer with such a poor memory, you could provide a small stipend? I'll provide receipts for everything I purchase, to show its going towards the clinic and not anywhere it shouldn't. And of course everyone who comes to the clinic will hear about how it was made possible by generous contributions from you, sir."

[GuyFawkes]

5th of Bargenholt, Evening
Stafford Manor

Tap.

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

The sound of raindrops hitting the ornate glass window behind took Liam's attention. He was there, sitting in the comfortable velvet-lined chair inside the Duke of Stafford's study, wineglass in hand. Across the fireplace, opposite him, was the the Duke, seated in a similar chair, similarly with a glass in hand. Liam was looking at him as the latter talked about matters of the commotion earlier at the Royal Preserve. Something about a nobleman being found dead. He was looking at the Duke's eyes, nodding when he thought he should, but his mind was verily elsewhere. Far away from the coziness of the chair and the warmth of the fireplace. But where his mind went, it was raining as well...




*


Tap.

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

"You do not have to leave so soon. Sofia...she will look for your song each night. I will miss you," came the familiar sweet voice from the woman lying on the bed before him.

"You very well know I do not want to ever leave you and Sofia. More so right now. But you also know orders are orders."

He leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead, then on the forehead of little Sofia, who was soundly asleep in her mother's arms.

"Do not worry. The summons state that this time would just be an escort mission, and everything will be done in a week. I can take care of myself. Even if you are not there to watch my back," he said with a chuckle.

"If it is so simple, then why does it have to be you?"

"...I do not know myself. But you know the Empire is engaged in wars at all fronts. They probably had no commanding officer left for this mission. Do not think too much about it. Before long, you shall see your charming husband riding through the gates of this manor, and I shall see yours and little Sofia's smile once again," he said with a broad smile.

Helena smiled back at him, but it was that particular smile he knew she gave when there was something bothering her.

"...What is it?"

"...nothing."

"I know there is something on your mind." His hand found hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Tell me."

"...I...I have a bad feeling about you leaving."

He leaned in again, this time putting his right arm over Helena's body and held her close, his lips almost touching her ear, and whispered.

"Are you perhaps worried I am going to fool around while I am away?"

A swift but careful knuckle strike found its way to his forehead as soon as he could finish his sentence. Through his half-closed eyes, he saw Helena's face wearing a mock scowl before slowly melting into a smile, this time a genuine one. And it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He playfully pinched her nose. "That is better. Now rest. You will need it. This young one seems to have inherited his father's high spirits." Placing a light kiss on her lips, he slowly stood up and looked down on his new family. He smiled and mouthed an 'I love you' before turning and heading out the door, where he stood there and looked back once again, before pushing the heavy oak doors open.



*


"...course of action?"

The Duke's question cut through Liam's memories. "Ah, yes. I beg your pardon?" he replied calmly, hoping the Duke did not notice he was not paying attention.

Lord Hauser looked at him and took a sip from his wine before speaking. "It seems something has occupied your mind these days, my friend. If you need it, I am willing to lend an ear, or perhaps even more if needed," the Duke said, his face showing a genuine concern.

"Ah. Ah! Ahahaha! My apologies, Your Grace. It is only the rain. Never was I fond of it. Please do not worry about it," Liam quickly recovered. "As for our late Marquis Falaeth, I do not see any reason to be involved with the Lord Marshal's investigation. There does not seem to be any connection whatsoever with our work. Any of the cutthroats these days you can hire for a few Marks could have done it."

The Duke nodded in reply, but was silent in deep thought. "I do not know. There is something about this that is getting to me, but I cannot put my finger around it."

Liam looked at the fire cackling in the fireplace as he tried to run through the small details the Duke shared to him, but found nothing amiss. Still, the Duke's gut feeling more often than not meant something than nothing.

"If Your Grace is having thoughts about it, then maybe I can do this for you. I am not making any progress with my current assignment anyway. And I am currently experiencing some difficulties with my writing as well...Perhaps, perhaps if I visited Falaeth Manor with the reason of gathering material for a play in honor of the late Marquis, I am then killing two birds with one stone."

The Duke paused to consider the proposal for a few seconds before nodding. "Very well. Is there anything you would need for this?"

"A letter of recommendation from Your Grace would certainly make matters easier."

"Consider it done." Lord Hauser took another sip of his wine before putting it down on the desk nearby. "By the way, is not the construction of the Monde finished?"

"Yes, Your Grace. It is now currently being prepared for its opening this week."

"Good. I trust you shall go, how do you say it, over the top, on your maiden performance as per usual?" he said with a sly grin.

"Ha ha ha, no, Your Grace. Well, yes. Certainly the audiences will be blown away," he replied with a sheepish grin.

"Blown away, eh? I shall trust you on that."

[Aux-Ash]

The Lord-Marshal handed his soaked cloak to the servant letting him in through the door as his escort took up positions guarding the approach to the mansion. The elderly man pushe doff his muddy boots and was handed his more delicate indoor shoes by his aide. Some nobles would wear luxurious things in silk and pearl, and he would too (if not pearls) in the proper occassion, fully armoured however that would simply look laughable.

Finally, he presented his sword and dagger to the servant. No proper gentleman brings their own weapon into the household of another (except if it's part of the evening wear of course), and the Lord-Marshal considered himself to be one. He would not insult the household or their guard by carrying arms unbidden.

With that he followed the servant through the hallway towards the antechamber, going over how he would gently put it forward to the young lady (a paradoxical description with any of the elven blood) over and over in his head. How exactly do you tell someone their spouse is dead? The same way you tell someone their children are dead he guessed. Not that he had ever felt he was good at it...

As he stepped into the chamber, the elderly soldier had to pause for a brief moment. Lady Falaeth was someone he deeply respected, perhaps even cared for, and seeing her so fraught with worry cut deep. Gathering his courage he stepped forward gently took her hand in his in greeting.

"Milady, I came as soon as I could. I am terribly sorry for keeping you waiting."

He exhaled deeply and continued on.

"Unfortunantely I come as the bearer of grim news. We have found your husband, unfortunantely not alive. His body was discovered in the royal preserve, in the canal..."

He left out the details of exactly how he was found and precisely where. That was no way to honour the dead nor console a grieving woman.

"... and to make bad news worse. I have strong reasons to suspect he was murdered."

He left off there. Any further questions could wait. There were things he needed to know. But it could wait.

[hi-mi-tsu]

5th of Bargenholt, Falaeth Manor
Early Afternoon

The words that spilled from the Lord Marshal's grip caused the grip on Caydan's hand to become vise-like; it was good the young man was a sturdy sort of fellow, else that clenching of fingers might have hurt.

"...Dead...?" She had thought, suspected, but hoped not...taken leave of his senses, perhaps, because of illness, but this? Not this. Never this.

And then--

"Murdered?" Impossible. Impossible! She was standing, suddenly, on her feet, and words clamored in her throat but couldn't seem to make it past her lips. Her husband was dead, murdered in a canal, and she was-- she was--

"They're going to think it was me." Those words were the ones that sprang forth, finally, as the lady sank back into her chair. Her face was bloodless, even lips gone pale.

"It is not exactly a secret that my husband and I do not--did not--get along. Nor is it a secret that he was abusive, though he would have denied it. The nobility...they will blame me." A pause, and wild eyes flew up to the Lord Marshal's face.

"Do you? Am I a suspect? Are you here to arrest me?"

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Falaeth Manor
Early Afternoon

The slow approach from the corridor to the sitting room felt a little like walking to the gallows. Alric's voice carried, though Stray could barely make out Elizabeth's gasping babble. He'd come in through the side gate to stable his horse, then taken the servants' entrance to the manor. He lingered just on the other side of the doorway, espying Elizabeth and resting his shoulder against the wall. Silly woman, it wasn't she they'd suspect, but rather the notorious man with a phoney name who'd been living in their guest suite. Stray could run; that's what he was good at. He'd be out to sea by the time the old man would think to ask, "What about the rakehell?" But, he kept his eyes on Elizabeth and his heart sank into his stomach.

"No one suspects you, Lady Falaeth," he sighed, moving into the doorway. "It would be quite a feat for a waif like Elizabeth to drag anyone up to the ramparts and hurl them off the other side, wouldn't it Lord Marshal?"

He set his eyes on the grey haired man. If his speech sounded loveless and a bit morbid, it was because Stray had hated Andiron for years. Though business partners, Andiron was ruthless and uncharitable with him and he'd known how he practically reviled Elizabeth. Little wonder, he'd married her for the money and had no interest in her... or any woman. Publicly, Stray and Andiron got along well. For Andiron's part, he might have considered Stray one of the closest things he had to a friend. As for Stray, he'd entertained the notion of choking the elf to death.

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

The library was unusually quiet today. Many days would find numerous students studying for a test or jokingly trying to get into the restricted sections that held things like the Journal of Ka or Book of Mask. Some days would find a particularly frustrated teacher coming in here just for a bit of peace and quiet that he could never receive with desperate students banging on his door, trying to get some last-second office hours in. Once in a long while, a day might contain a guest of the University present for some light reading.

However, almost every day since that horrible stretch of hours last Auravath when so many misfortunes hit the city all at one time, a new seemingly-permanent fixture had been added to the Library of the University of Bastion: One ordinary-looking graduate student had spent many long nights studying here, forgoing sleep despite the fact that he wasn't even currently enrolled in any classes. While this alone would have been somewhat strange, but not particularly unbelievable, he was accompanied by a slightly stranger sight.

A large and slightly pale man, at least six feet tall when standing and armed with fire and sword, was seated to one side the student, not even pretending to read but simply watching all that went on around him. As Frederick and Bruno entered the library, his eyes narrowed upon them, his neck craning to follow them until they sat down. Even then, while they were no longer his direct focus, he still glanced over at Bruno to ensure that he wasn't going to cause any trouble with that axe.

The student himself was at a lower profile than the larger individual, for obvious reasons, as well as the fact that he was buried in a fairly large pile of books and loose paper. He was definitely researching something, and probably something big too given the sheer volume of ink and paper upon the table. Still, despite the obstruction, some details would have been easy to make out.

William Knob, for that was his name if either cared to ask, had a not-really-groomed mop of mousy brown hair atop his head, and a facial structure typical of a Bastion native (which is fairly strange, given that he's from the Free States). His clothing was of moderately high quality but not ostentatious in the way that noble clothing usually is; more typical of a very well-off commoner or merchant than a noble scion.

This is probably a minor concern though, as a few minutes after entry, the larger man, seemingly bored, stands and approaches Bruno. Looking at him, it becomes obvious just how tall and lanky he is, but at the same time it's clear that he's possessed of a wiry strength just based on his gait. A very observant individual might notice a set of lumps protruding from under his naval coat, a sign that he's carrying several concealed weapons, including four short blades of varying lengths and at least one black powder pistol. More conspicuously, there is a rapier at his belt and a cutlass on his back. He's wearing a black tricorn hat with a gray hood, and a simple cloth mask covers his face from nose to throat. He's generally a rather sinister figure, and probably terrifies the hotshot students here to no end. Indeed, there's something about him that just seems a touch otherworldly, and certainly uncomfortable. It's not long though before he speaks, quietly, with a heavy Rhetizian accent.

"Greetings. You look a touch out of place here. Are you looking for something?"

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

Dr. Welf was deeply engrossed in the book before him. His biretta was folded neatly next to him and on the other side were a few pieces of parchment. Every now and then Fredrick would pick up quill and dart down notes or a quick drawing from the book. The author's thesis on the transformaiton of the natural or primal spirits into those of the constructed spirits of magecraft was insightful and interesting but Frederick believed they were wrong from his own experience with the mastery of the elements. However, without practical knowledge of magecraft he would not be able to disprove the theory. He was hoping to rectify that soon when he could obtain some scrolls and books on the practical casting of magecraft, but for now he would concern himself with mere theory.

Behind him stood Holt, hands atop his axe leaning heavily upon it as he often did while on guard duty. He had spent the last 12 years of his life guarding the mages and their sanctums and it was a position he knew well. His demanor would appear to be that of a person who is bored, but his eyes scanned the library constanly always looking for a sign of a threat.

Bruno saw the man before he spoke and one hand dropped down to the half of his axe gripping it securely in case of a threat. He did not say anything until the man approached and spoke first. "No. My place is with the doctor."

Welf stopping and looking up from his studies responds also "Good morning, good sir."

[shorewood]

Midday
The Clay Jug

Christophe entered the bar, walking up to the barkeep and speaking to him quietly. The barman comes around the corner, and escorts him to a private room, before returning and moving to Ralin and Tilian. "Christophe Marane would like a word with you two, if you would join him in his private room?"

The two trolls looked at each other skeptically. "Now what could he want?" Tilian asked leaning forward and lowering his voice.

Examining the crowded room Ralin calmly replies "I haven't the foggiest idea."

"Then lets go find out, no one gained anything by sitting still."

Nodding Ralin stands up and heads to the private room with Tilian close behind. The room itself is roughly twenty feet by twenty feet with a long oak table running down the middle and a fireplace nestled in the far wall. A Man lat at the far end of the table facing the door with his back to a wall. A cautious man and a confident one to be alone in a room with two unfamiliar trolls. A dangerous combination.

"Hello name is Ralin Plorator and my attache is Tilian son of Raspian. But I figure you knew that already. What would you like to discuss?" Ralin stated sitting down and motioning for Tillian to sit across from him.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion

Luke and Setselia made for a bit of a sight as they merrily made their way through the streets of town arm-in-arm, Luke wearing an expensive-looking cloak and pants and Setselia wearing a frilled red dress specially shortened for her small stature.

"Say, Cecily dearest. I've been thinking, 'what exciting thing is going to happen today?', but is it possible what we really need to do is make something exciting happen with our own two hands? Take fate by the horns and run it up the flagpole to see if the ship sails? Something of that sort, at least."

Setselia grinned. "Oh! What a brilliant idea, dear!" Her grin faded a bit as she stopped to actually process these words. "Except... no, I'm fairly sure something exciting is going to happen to us, not the other way around."

Luke also stopped to ponder this for a moment, or at least he would have if he hadn't then caught sight of a ponderous, leafy mass shuffling across the street in front of them.

"Good gracious! It seems we might've gotten our answer right here. Excuse me, Mister, ah, Tree, sir! A moment, if you please?" Luke called out to the green man.

Setselia laughed with her hand politely raised to her mouth. "Hee hee! Why, the groundskeeper would have a fainting fit around this fellow!"

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois

Somehow our leafy friend made it past the guards. Perhaps they let him through as thanks for their newly hewn cover from the rain, perhaps they simply were too dumbfounded to want to deal with him. We shall never truly know. However, as the walking tree made his way into the city, he suddenly came upon a curious couple who called him out, making remarks at his verdant extremities.

"Tree? Tree you say? Well, I can see why one would mistake me for one, but I am no tree! I am a... a..."

The leafy man stroked his thick bush of a beard with his free hand, the other still grasped upon his giant toadstool umbrella, as he took a moment to think on his status of being.

"Hm... to be frank I don't know what I am..."

His eyes fall upon the two once more, as he lets out a roaring laugh.

"But that is of no concern to me! No no, I might not quite be a tree, but I am quite tree-like, what with roots and vines all abound, not to mention the thick greenery. And my lady..." the tree-like man starts, "...I daresay no keeper could keep these grounds tame!" he proudly proclaims, letting loose another hearty laugh.

"But now, you have called me, and came I did: what can I, Grover Dubois, do for you two?"

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
midmorning
Dragon's Alcove

"Of course, what was I thinking. Yes, we would of course supply your clinic. Simply drop off a list of what you need with the barman, and it will be at your clinic within 3 days, sooner if it's something common." Christophe repies to Quinn. "I believ ethat is everything, is it not? If you need to discuss anything - special medicines, or something about your contract, or problems I could solve, leave a message with the barman." He stands up, preparing to leave. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have just bought a copy of The Song's of Our Father's Land. Apparently it's all the rage in high societies these days." With these words, Christophe walks back behind the bar and out of sight.

midday
The Clay Jug

"Please, sit. My name is Christophe Marane. I have ears in the city, and heard that you were turned away from a royal audience. I also believe you have a ship full of goods in dock, waiting to unload. I happen to own the sole porter business in Bastion at the moment, as well as all the warehouses near the docks. We can start with working out a deal for renting you the storage space and finding you the workers you will need. Then, perhaps, we will move on to other matters."

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dainty Swallow Inn

"His Magnificence demands eggs and steak!" Dennarius Mungle, the lord of the forgotten House of Mungle, walked down the stairs with pompous authority that did not fit the young man. He offered a bright smile at the innkeeper.

"And the good noble wants this on his tab?" Mags Quispin cocked an eyebrow.

"But of course my humble serv-" Ecks ducked as a cutting knife flew over his head. "Hey! Since when did you start trying to kill me?"

Mags let a small smile through. "Since you first stepped into my first place, boy." She handed over a bowl of stew left over from the night before. It was luke warm.

Ecks took to the meal, taking large spoonfulls and shoveling it down. He had been trying to regain his strength, and it had made his appetite bottomless. His expression hardened as his mind moved towards the events that led him here. Something was terribly wrong in the city. It all surrounded the fall of the Whispering Ring. Several of them had been killed by some enigmatic figure known as the Candleman. Then the Ring was accused of being the ones behind the demonic activity despite being the ones to save the children... most of them. His fist clenched for a moment at the memory. In the end the whole city had come down on them.

And who was this Shadow King that everyone talked about? Was he one of the Dragon's Disciples? What of the pirate attack? What of Reynald Lucan? Ecks put his head on the tavern counter to dull the pain.

Mags slammed an open hand next to him, forcing his head to jolt up.

"Quit thinking so hard, boy. Leave the thinking to smart people."

"Yeah... as you say."

Mags leaned forward. Ecks could smell the scent of licorice on her. "Don't get yourself killed today."

"As you say."

-

Noon
Waterfront

The fake noble was standing where the bodies of several burned bodies of Whispering Ring agents had been held up. Ecks was wearing a dark green tunic and black trousers. The clothes were nicer what he was used to, and not particularly practical, but given the amount of suffering this part of the city had faced, and how the Dragons Disciples were trying to consolidate their power as opposed to taking risks, it was unlikely anyone would trouble him.

The bodies has long since been taken down. Whatever clues were there now vanished. Still, it was a start. How was it all connected? It was no coincidence that the Whispering Ring had fallen so quickly, the question that remained was whether all the groups that had seen their downfall were all preying upon the criminal group individually, or together? He had a guess which made him sick in the stomach.

The Lord Marshal had given Ecks a small amount of money, which the former rogue had been burning through quickly. Still, he needed answers, and would likely need to pay for them.

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

"Morning, Doctor."

Captain Hetfield, the tall ex-Pirate, turns right back to Bruno and continues being chatty and no doubt distracting.

"Bodyguard, then? I hear you. I mean, have you heard about the giant rolling ball of hungry undead corpses that someone made here in the University Enclave? Or the pirates that showed up a few hours later? City's going crazy, so it's no wonder people are hiring left and right."

He probably would continue, but a rather annoyed voice comes from the scholar at the next table.

"Hetfield, I'm sure the esteemed Doctor and his friend have better things to do than listen to your rambling."

The man walks right back over nearly instantly, grumbling all the way.

"My apologies. He gets antsy when there's nothing for him to do and the man refuses to read anything, so he gets into trouble wherever he can."

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

Bruno emits a low growl, more reminisicent of a bear than a man. He is quite annoyed at being compared to that of a mere bodyguard. He is one of the crystal swords, sworn men who take no wives, hold no lands and keep no wealth until their service if faithfully completely. He was able to answer the pirate until Welf raised his hand to stop the Vorarlan soldier from starting a potential fight.

"The pursuit of the scholar is not for all. There must be men who plow the field, forge the shovel, and to wield the sword."

[Ipphli]

Noon
Waterfront District

Quinn walked down the streets, taking a leisurely route towards the building He had just been given control of. An undamaged building at that! He couldn't believe his good fortune. True, he'd had to bow and make deals with what was probably one of the most powerful and probably corrupt people in the district, if not the city. And that big about patching up his men and 'offer his medical opinion' and forget about either?

Quinn shrugged. It seemed a small price to pay to get the resources he needed to help people. Of course he had his ethics, and he'd stick by them. What harm was there in patching up his men, of sharing his knowledge? With a quiet chuckle, the healer shook his head; he already knew the answer to that, even if he didnt want to admit it.

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William turns his head and raises an eyebrow, while Captain Hetfield shoots an amused glare at Bruno, as if daring him to raise a hand in violence.

"That's from the works of Herr Sonnenmond, yes? It's actually quite refreshing to encounter someone with good tastes in poetry, instead of the useless drivel that the nobles around here read. Would you believe that a poorly-paced 'novel' about forbidden romance between some vapid heiress and a Ghoul was popular for a time?"

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

"Yes, yes it is. And, the masses must be entertained somehow. That is why I concern myself with the arcane. It is a pure science and art."

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Manse Falaeth

The ride from the King's Preserve to Falaeth Manor wasn't a long one, but Auguste felt like he had been riding in he rain for hours by the time he and Jonathan arrived. The pair dismounted from their horses. Jonathan took the reigns of both horses and walked away, looking for a place to tie them up.

Auguste went on ahead and knocked on the door. After a moment a butler opened the door, and recognizing Auguste, motioned for him to come in.

"Your grace, I presume you are here to see Lady Falaeth. Lady Elizabeth is not in a state to receive visitors, but if you must speak to her then I will take you to her"

Without another word the butler escorted Auguste to Elizabeth and her motley crew. Upon entering Auguste took a moment to look over the occupants of the room. His gaze lingered upon the young knight for a moment, before he quickly cleared his throat and addressed Elizabeth, ""My dear Lady Falaeth, please forgive my intrusion and accept my sincerest condolences on the loss of your husband. If there is anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask."

Once Auguste was finished addressing Elizabeth he turned his attention to Alric, "Lord Marshall, I would like to offer my men to assist in whatever way they can with the investigation into this heinous crime. I have heard rumors about an attempt on the life of another noble, and I'm sure your resources will be stretched thin with an assassination to investigate, an entire city to protect, and what I assume will be a stronger Watch presence in the Dawn District. Maybe with the testimony of Lady Elizabeth and yourself we can even move the King into action. I'm not sure how much you know about the Purge, it normally deals with rogue mages and other undesirable magic users, but with the threat of the Shadow King and rumors coming from Vivexia we might be able to re-purpose the organization into something more befitting to modern times." Auguste pauses to listen to the reaction to his words.

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William cracks a smirk.

"If that's so, you should consider switching to a more recent textbook. The one you're reading is about fifteen years old and a tragic number of the formulas are erroenous due to a mathematical error on the author's part. I'd recommend Animation and Manipulation of Common Objects, Tenth Edition if you're looking to learn Magecraft."

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

"Hmm...yes I was considering it. The intersection between the elements is my primary concern." Frederick rises from his seat and approaches the the magecraft shelf removing the book Knob reccomended. "Are you a practioner of the art?"

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William jots down a few more notes. Seems he found something worth copying down during his own research...

"Yes, actually, assuming that you were referring to magic in general rather than Magecraft in specific."

[shorewood]

5th of Bargenholt

midday
The Clay Jug

"Please, sit. My name is Christophe Marane. I have ears in the city, and heard that you were turned away from a royal audience. I also believe you have a ship full of goods in dock, waiting to unload. I happen to own the sole porter business in Bastion at the moment, as well as all the warehouses near the docks. We can start with working out a deal for renting you the storage space and finding you the workers you will need. Then, perhaps, we will move on to other matters."

"Whether or not you are the sole porter of Bastion I don't see why we can't do business. If you can guarantee sufficient storage space and provide lets say a 20% discount on normal storage and labor fees I don't have any problem with using you as the sole porter for the Independent Isles in Bastion."

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

"Ah, Grover Dubois, is it?"

With a winning smile, Luke put a hand to his chest and elegantly bowed.

"Before you stands the one and only Luke Crowley, at your service. And this beautiful lady is my wife, Setselia."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance!" said Setselia cheerfully with a curtsy. "I must say, I've never met such a leafy man before."

Luke chortled. "Ho ho, indeed! I daresay the closest I've ever seen was when one of the serving girls tripped on the gazebo and tumbled downhill into the brush! Why, the poor girl was picking leaves from her petticoats for days."

Setselia stepped a bit closer to Grover and peered curiously up at him, their difference in height even more apparent at a shorter distance.

"Say, Mr. Dubois. What exactly brings you to Bastion, anyways? It seems you're going to be a bigger player than most in the days to come, but... well, what are you going to do? That's what I still haven't figured out."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
midday
Clay Jug

Christophe laughs. "I am the only porter in Bastion that matters, when you want to come in through the port. After the recent firestorm, I have donated some of my money to help with the repairs, and nearly everyone that I helped then took my... recommendation... that they allow my company to buy them out. Your deal, however, is almost even believable. Accept a 10% discount, and I'll have word to the docks by tomorrow that you are to be given the top priority with unloading and storage."

[shorewood]

5th of Bargenholt
midday
Clay Jug

Christophe laughs. "I am the only porter in Bastion that matters, when you want to come in through the port. After the recent firestorm, I have donated some of my money to help with the repairs, and nearly everyone that I helped then took my... recommendation... that they allow my company to buy them out. Your deal, however, is almost even believable. Accept a 10% discount, and I'll have word to the docks by tomorrow that you are to be given the top priority with unloading and storage."

"Make it 15% and you reimburse our merchants for any stolen or lost cargo." counters Ralin.

[ForzaFiori]

"Make it 15% and you reimburse our merchants for any stolen or lost cargo." counters Ralin.

"My boys don't lose cargo. 15%, and it goes down 1 percent every 3 months without an incident, until it hits 10%. And I may occasionally ask you to ship something to or from the isles for me, at an equal discount."

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William jots down a few more notes. Seems he found something worth copying down during his own research...

"Yes, actually, assuming that you were referring to magic in general rather than Magecraft in specific."

So he was merely a scholar and not one with the talent for the art. Or, so he claimed. "It is a fascinating field." Dr. Welf cracks open the book and begins reading intently "where are my manners. Frederick Welf of the University of Vorarl."

No sooner than he introduces himself Bruno chimes in "And, I, his sword-sword Bruno Holt of the Crystal Swords!"

[shorewood]

"My boys don't lose cargo. 15%, and it goes down 1 percent every 3 months without an incident, until it hits 10%. And I may occasionally ask you to ship something to or from the isles for me, at an equal discount."

"If your boys don't loose cargo then you won't mind insuring against an event that will never happen." Tilian said producing a nod of agreement from Ralin.

Continuing where Tilian left off Ralin says "As long as each incident resets the discount back to 15% then that is settled. However we will not give you a discount in shipping. The ocean is a treacherous mistress while there is little risk in keeping a warehouse on dry land. We can instead give you preferential treatment for our merchants. If you offer a competitive price for anything they will buy it from you before any other and if you have something to ship your cargo will always find a home in our hulls. But no discount.

[Jade_Tarem]

5th day of Bargenholt, Falaeth Manor, Afternoon

The elven commander's eyebrow rises as Stray walks into the room. "No one is accusing anyone of anything yet, Captain. The Lord Marshal merely stated that Andiron was murdered and found in the preserve, not by who or even how."

A bit later...

Maranis wasn't familiar with Auguste, but she did know that something wasn't right about this situation. Human and elven customs did not diverge so greatly when it came to death and mourning - and she strongly suspected that this man had only been let through the door because of his perceived rank, rather than through propriety or invitation.

Then he'd started talking about some sort of Purge program, and Maranis made a decision.

"You will have to forgive me, Baron." Maranis took a perverse glee in getting the rank deliberately wrong. Outsider or not, she'd spent enough time with Elizabeth to know all the basics of the absurdly complicated system of Nobility the Bastionites used. In the Brightleaf Clans, the only real titles were "Elder," "Senior," and "Master," and all of them were attained, not granted by being born to an advantageous set of parents. This wasn't to say that the elves were immune to favorites and nepotism, but at least they hadn't institutionalized it. For now, though, Maranis pressed on, "But while I may still be ignorant of some human customs, it strikes me that this is not the best place or time to discuss political maneuverings or social initiatives. You have given your condolences, and now I think the Marquise would prefer to remain with her friends and family."

[ForzaFiori]

"If your boys don't loose cargo then you won't mind insuring against an event that will never happen." Tilian said producing a nod of agreement from Ralin.

Continuing where Tilian left off Ralin says "As long as each incident resets the discount back to 15% then that is settled. However we will not give you a discount in shipping. The ocean is a treacherous mistress while there is little risk in keeping a warehouse on dry land. We can instead give you preferential treatment for our merchants. If you offer a competitive price for anything they will buy it from you before any other and if you have something to ship your cargo will always find a home in our hulls. But no discount.

Christophe stops and thinks. After a couple minutes, he extends his hand, saying a single word - "Deal." After shaking Ralin's hand, he continues speaking. "Now, onto other matters. You and your attache were trying to get a royal reception, correct? Now, I do not have the king's ear, but I believe I could get a message to a member of the upper crust - someone smart enough to realize the benefits of diplomatic relations with the Free Isles. All I would ask in return is that you take 3 men back to the Isles with you, and assist them in getting any documentation they may need for an extended stay."

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

Not necessarily. He implied that he wasn't a Wizard, specifically, as opposed to an elementalist, a necromancer, an enchanter, a diviner, a holy mage, a summoner, an illusionist, etc. Coincidentally, he does understand the theory behind all of those schools, even if the only one he actually practices is Necromancy.

In any case, William raises an eyebrow and looks vaguely impressed; It seems he's at least tangentially aware of what those things are.

"Pleased to meet you Master Welf, and you as well Herr Holt. My name is William Knob, from the University of Varsten in the Free States. I've been studying here in Bastion for three months now, and I'm happy to say that the collection is excellent. Back in Varsten, you were lucky to find a book or two on a useful topic. Here, you'll find at least a shelf or two worth of material unless you're looking for something obscure."

Captain Hetfield speaks up, feeling left out of the introductions.

"Oh, and I'm Abdul-Aziz Hetfield, the kid's bodyguard. Makes sense to have one, too. Have you seen the stuff that happens around here?"

"Please just ignore him."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Royal Canal
Midday

Franco Fiore (http://talesofbastion.wikia.com/wiki/Franco_Fiore), newest Sergeant of the First Regiment, had apparently picked a horrid month to join up. The waterfront attacked, a madman declares himself king and rains fire on the city, and now, a clearly noble man washes up in the Royal Canal. It had added up to days without sleep, and nearly every waking our spent stressed as the Regiment tried to keep the peace in the wake of crises. At least now, he was only sitting waiting for his lieutenant.

Franco kicked a rock into the canal. I was supposed to have today off too... I was going to finally have a chance to look around this strange city... he thinks as he waits. Finally, he sees his commander walking towards him. Standing at attention, Franco salutes. The lieutenant saluted back, and started talking. "You should be done for now, sergeant. Return to the barracks for now - you may need to be called out on short notice."

[Aux-Ash]

5th of Bargenholt
Falaeth Manor
Early Afternoon

The elderly human kept his calm as Elizabeth reacted to the news, grief and fear. Hardly surprising reactions. Either the noblewoman was far more skilled an actor than he gave her credit for or, as he suspected, her shock really was as genuine as it struck him. Propably the latter. When Stray spoke up he simple inclined his head in a calm nod.

"Indeed, you have nothing to fear from me milady. You are not a suspect, nor do I expect you will be. Marital spats are unfortunantely something of a common occurence between spouses in the first estate. As of right now we do not have any suspects, but are looking into the manner.

I will have some questions about your husband but it can wait."

This wasn't really a time for prying questions. It was for grief and the caring for the dead. Finding a trail quickly was of course imperative. But overwhelming her with questions was rather insensitive so soon after news of her husband's eath. Regardless of how close they actually were.

Carefully, he added:

"My men are waiting for my command on where to take the body. Would you like us to send him here or directly to the temple for funerary preparations? I think I should warn you that his body is in a rather bad shape."

Auguste's arrival was quite the intrusion and the gall at inserting himself into not one but two investigations, one whom Alric had barely begun looking into himself, irritated the Lord-Marshal. He did not know whether the Duke had come in the name of business repurposed into a social call or something else. But there was a time and place for visits and giving condolences, and it was after the official announcement. And political initiatives... they come well after that...

"Milord, if you wish to discuss any initiatives we can do so later. Here and now, we come only to help a friend to deal with loss."

It took some effort to remain that polite. The duke came across as someone wanting to capitalise on someone else's death at best. It was... poor form. Regardless, he was an important man and at least to some level he probably had good intentions. Still hardly the behaviour of a gentleman.

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

"Well, I am glad you asked miss! You see, I was sent here by a Dryad, a fair creature of womanly wood. She said I needed to be here, to bring nature back to this, well, less-natural place."

With that, he clasped his free arm across the shoulder of one Mr. Crowley in a rather casual fashion.

"Imagine Bastion, but with trees- trees everywhere. I see this place not as the city it is, but as the land it could be Mr. Crowley! A land green and prosperous as nature and city mesh into a utopia for both! Ah, but first, there is a slight issue, an... infestation I must purge."

He releases from the semi-embrace, facing the man and wife pair once more.

"Demons, Mr. Crowley. This city is full of them. They hide with guises lesser men cannot penetrate, and perpetuate their ichor throughout all facets of this city. They hide, scheme, manipulate, control, and would do their ill will upon this land and the city which stands upon it! I..."

He starts, pulling out from behind him the mighty, root-held hammer from its former location behind his back.

"...am the pest control, sort to speak. I have come here to hunt these unnatural creatures, and pound them to naught but fodder for nature to break down."

With a stern and overly serious look in his face, the tall and not-so-jolly-at-the-moment green man leans down, staring at a Mr. Crowley directly eye to eye.

"You wouldn't know where these Demons are, would you Mr. Crowley?"

[Nefarion Xid]

Challenge: Claire "Colibri" Lapointe
Known as "Hummingbird Claire" or the Celish "Colibri", this aspiring duelist and 5th child of the lesser Lapointe house has planted herself in the Dragon's Alcove Inn until she's been satisfied. With lightning reflexes and years of dedication, Claire is an excellent fencer. However, due to her short stature and noble birth, few take her seriously. To make matters worse, none of Bastion's bravos want the reputation of having lost to the sylph of a girl. After a week of picking fights, Claire has only managed to provoke two opponents: a tipsy guardsman and a lecherous corsair. She won both duels handily, leaving both men with a slash across the left cheek.

Claire (24 years old) is 5'2" with distinctly Celish features, black hair and wide blue eyes. She wears a trim leather gambeson over a brilliant indigo coat. Her weapon of choice is a particularly light and slender uru steel rapier, inlaid with a round amethyst on the pommel with a mother of pearl grip and a silver guard with gold filigree in a feather motif. She can be found at a corner table in the Dragon's Alcove, nursing straight gin.

A sportswoman, she will duel for wagers, though all she seeks is a reputation.

Claire fights with a +6 bonus. She fights to first blood, nicking her opponent in the shoulder. If she isn't treated with respect prior to the duel and wins, she'll instead leave her opponent with a scar across the cheek. If she loses, her opponent has earned her respect and she goes in search of a new master to further her education, possibly asking the victor to train her. In the event of a tie, her opponent earns her respect, but she remains in the Dragon's Alcove until she can be bested.

For every three opponents she defeats or ties with, she gains an additional +1 bonus in combat.

Reward: 1 AP or Claire's Rapier (+1 Short Range; if wagered)
Defeat: If male - mockery from the Disciples and news of your defeat spreads through the city and a possible facial scar. If female - nothing. The flesh wound is inconsequential.

[Valgunn]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon

Falaeth Manor

Caydan holds fast next to Elizabeth as first Maranis and then Alric said their piece about the entrance Auguste had made -- and as she digs into his hand with her fingers, but he hadn’t just lost his spouse so he didn’t speak against it. It wasn’t his place to speak on behalf on Alric on the topic of the investigations, ‘Purge’ that he talked about wasn’t a suitable topic at a time when Caydan was focussing his energy on his friend, and what he had to say about the thoughtless actions the man had taken were already said, so Caydan, uncharacteristically, stayed silent -- the matter of Elizabeth’s culpability fell into the same category as the ‘Purge’, a topic to be discussed later as any discussion now would only distress his friend further, though Caydan personally couldn’t see his friend doing it he would feel better once there was proof for the disbelieving.

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt
The Dead of Night

Night fell on Bastion, sending commoner and noble alike to the welcoming embrace of sleep. Some dreamt of sweet nothings beside their loves, others were haunted, but the eyes of the city closed nonetheless. In that ignorant darkness a figure stalked the rooftops of Bastion's wealthy neighborhoods, nestled around the base of the Dawn district's cliff like beggars clamoring for bread. Here dwelt merchants and artists, captains and guildmasters, the ambitious few who fed the wonts of the nobles above. All of the houses held secrets, but one alone carried the stench of the Nether. It was a subtle thing, all but undetectable to the mortal senses, but in one house the shadows were darker, the temperature warmer, the very air prickling in the presence of Malice. No mortal could sense it, but to Turel the presence covered the block like a stain, a seeping liquid hate that sent shimmering waves of wonderful pain into the cold night. Another week, maybe two, and the Bastionites would begin to feel it too.

Coming to a stop where a street interrupted the rooftops, Turel scanned the nearby houses. He was close now, that much he could tell, but he might not have identified the source of the taint were it not for the shadow that followed at his side.

"Where did you see her, Zhirad?"

Resolving into a leather clad figure in a steel plague mask, Zhirad pointed a thin finger at a house near the end of the street, a handsome three story affair that showed all the hallmarks of an up-and-coming socialite.

"She returned there with her prize, Master."

"One man?"

"I cannot say. I dared not tarry overlong lest she detect me."

"Strange. To have affected this area so drastically in so little time she must be powerful. Powerful enough that she should have sensed your presence. You're sure you were undetected?"

"Yes."

"Hm. All the better, I suppose. It would be a shame if our first demonic interloper was a bore as well as a trespasser. Come."

Together, Zhirad and Turel vanished from the rooftop, only to reappear across the street from their destination. The curtains were drawn over the bay windows of the house's first floor, but on the second a room stood open to the moonlight. In the shadowed gloom beyond, they saw a bed, and resting upon it two figures in the violent throes of passion. Soundlessly, the two demons shared a glance, and were standing in the dim pool of moonlight inside the bedroom. On the bed lay a man insensate with ecstasy, his eyes glassy nothings looking up at the thing that straddled him. To him, she was beautiful, but to Turel's eyes she seemed wispy and insubstantial, a flickering facsimile ready to change at a moments' notice.

"I hope we're not interrupting."

[hi-mi-tsu]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor

"Oh, I...no, not here." The lady of the house shakes her head, a little, places a trembling hand to her lips. "No, take him to...to the temple, for now. I...I suppose I have to make arrangements...I don't want him here. That would be...that would be too much."

Unbidden, tears spring to amber eyes, and Elizabeth looks determinedly into her lap. She had not thought she would weep at Andiron's passing, whenever or however it was--and it was true he was a brute of a man, hardly worth weeping for. It wasn't for him the tears rose, not truly, but the stress, the idea of all of the planning and preparations, funeral events, will-readings--oh, she would lose her title, that would go to his brother--would she lose her home--no, surely not--

The trembling fingers cover her eyes, and she inhales, shakily, voice taut when she speaks again.

"Forgive me, I...I do not mean to cause such a scene. This is...unacceptable behavior from me. Unbecoming."

A maid arrives, carrying a tray of tea and sandwiches, and casts a worried look at the lady of the house.

"Milady, as you requested...tea. Would you like some...?"

"Ah..." Elizabeth fights for composure, and wipes at her eyes. "Yes, please."

A pause, for tea, and then the noblewoman lifts her eyes to the Lord-Marshal.

"It is...better, if the pain comes all at once. Tell me...how he died. And then ask me...whatever you need to."

A few hours later...

The conversation, such as it is, is interrupted by Auguste; Elizabeth's eyes are red, and raw, and she stares in nigh-uncomprehending shock at the Duke as he enters and makes his speech. Others speak before her, as she seeks to put herself back together, but she shakes her head at his words and stands, trembling, to face him.

"Your Grace"--the emphasis is not polite--has come at a very bad time. I have not even made a public announcement regarding Andiron's death, and yet here you are, at my door, offering your 'condolences'."

A pause, an inhale.

"If you were here to actually be consoling, or to at least pretend compassion for the situation, I would have no problem. But you are not here to see me, Your Grace, you are here to see Alric, who is in the midst of a sensitive conversation. If you expected to surprise me, to gain support in my grief of your 'Purge', you will find no such thing, not now. Not here. My husband was slain by a knife to the gut,"--her voice cracks, wavers, but she lifts her chin--"a knife, not magic, and I trust the Lord-Marshal to handle things as he always has done and will continue to do, with tact and dignity. Now, if you don't mind, I have to figure out what to do with my husband's body, and how and when to have a funeral, and what customs I should adhere to when doing so."

Spent, the lady sinks back down into her chair, looking far older than her years--a contrast to Auguste, who looks far younger.

"Please, Your Grace." Her voice is quiet, now, tired.

"I cannot stomach this."

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove Inn

Ecks felt an almost overwhelming sense of apprehension as he entered the Dragon's Alcove Inn. Never did he imagine he would step foot in this place unless it was with thirty Whispering Ring members putting an end to their rivals once and for all. However, there weren't even thirty able bodied Ring members who were still alive, the dream was realized by their rivals instead. However, that was why he was here. The Candleman, the one thing that seemed to link the recent events, something that seemed both horrific enough to be the work of demons, and which directly benefitted te Dragon's Disciples.

He was dressed as Dennarius Mungle, a fictional noble with land nobody one. His nose was still healing, and would need magic to make it look as it once did, something he and Alric disagreed on, and a beard. As he was never directly involved in the fighting against the Disciples, there was a chance he was not recognized. A chance.

It was a place to start, to ask questions. However, first thing was first.

Dennarius Mungle walked towards the corner of the bar, looking down at the woman who occupied the corner table, wearing a bright indigo coat.

"May I sit with you, Hummingbird Claire?"

5th of Bargenholt

Challenge: The Baron's Son

The Baron Lucan has sent a bounty to return his son to him, alive. Young Reynald has been missing for some time, and the family is only now willing to let go of its pride to have him found.

Reynald was at the center of the fiasco during the party at Falaeth Manor. He was kidnapped by a group of thugs, but luckily due to the heroics of Turel, the young man was freed, albeit without pants, leading to a number of cruel japes as to the nature of the kidnappers. Still, shortly after he vanished. Some believed he was distraught after the experience, others who knew more of him thought it more likely he was recovering from an injury. Still, darker tales run that it may have been darker things that caused him to disappear. In the darkest alleyways, there have been some people looking for Reynald, questioning what sort of dealings Reynald has had.

This challenge will be in five parts. Each part, players will have a total of three days to post, making the challenge last 15 days. As a hint, it will require some fighting, some social skills, and to start with some investigating.

Prize: 1 Wealth if you return Reynald to his father, or 1 AP if you have Wealth II or above already. Or, you will have Reynald at your mercy.

Misc. Rules: Up to two character can participate as a team. Followers will only be allowed for the first two parts of the challenge.

Part One: Investigation: Difficulty 7
For anyone looking for Reynald's son, they need to first catch a scent of the trail. Through contacts, word of mouth, searching for clues, etc, your character needs to weed out the rumors to the truth.

Post by 9:00AM, February 16th, Eastern Standard Time

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

Unfazed at the sight of the rather imposing man before him, Luke seemed to perk up even more at hearing Grover's purpose.

"Oh ho! I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Dubois. Er, not where the demons are, I mean, but that Bastion is positively brimming with shadows that prey upon the good men and fair maidens of the city. That's why I spend my days tracking down diabolical fiends and unraveling their plots, of course!"

Setselia nodded enthusiastically at her husband's side. "We're a husband-and-wife investigative team! You should really join us sometime, Mr. Dubois. It's great fun solving mysteries and catching culprits, and we could always use an extra hand."

"Of course! What a splendid idea, Cecily dearest. Come stop by our home in the Dawn Quarter sometime for afternoon tea and a tour of the gardens, and I'm certain we could find some way to help each other out."

The pair stood side-by-side grinning at Grover after extending their invitation.

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

Not necessarily. He implied that he wasn't a Wizard, specifically, as opposed to an elementalist, a necromancer, an enchanter, a diviner, a holy mage, a summoner, an illusionist, etc. Coincidentally, he does understand the theory behind all of those schools, even if the only one he actually practices is Necromancy.

In any case, William raises an eyebrow and looks vaguely impressed; It seems he's at least tangentially aware of what those things are.

"Pleased to meet you Master Welf, and you as well Herr Holt. My name is William Knob, from the University of Varsten in the Free States. I've been studying here in Bastion for three months now, and I'm happy to say that the collection is excellent. Back in Varsten, you were lucky to find a book or two on a useful topic. Here, you'll find at least a shelf or two worth of material unless you're looking for something obscure."

Captain Hetfield speaks up, feeling left out of the introductions.

"Oh, and I'm Abdul-Aziz Hetfield, the kid's bodyguard. Makes sense to have one, too. Have you seen the stuff that happens around here?"

"Please just ignore him."

"hmm...We have arrived 3 days before. You should see the library at Vorarl. It is one of the great wonders of this world. That is part of my reason for arriving here in Bastion. We wish acquire copies of books we do not yet possess. And, the good captain is correct it seems. I did not expect to see the city so destroyed. I heard there was trouble, but it was nothing like I imagined."

[Valgunn]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon

Falaeth Manor

“Please, Elizabeth, you don’t need to force yourself.” Caydan said with more concern in his voice than was strictly warranted. “I’m sure Alric would understand if you wanted to wait. Let your mind settle.” His head turns to Alric, and then back to Elizabeth. “It doesn’t need to be now or never.”

A Few Hours Later...

Feeling a decision had been made, or perhaps inventing the decision himself based on what he believed should happen, Caydan turned to face Auguste. Under normal circumstances Caydan slouched in a conscious attempt to avoid towering over people, but that evaporated as he turned. “Please.” Caydan said, mimicking the words of Elizabeth, but rather than the desperate request of a woman on the edge it mingled with his looming shape to become an imperative.

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William actually offers a genuine smile to that.

"I've never been there in person, but I've heard stories and seen artist's depictions of the University of Vorarl. It's beautiful enough in those mere facsimiles, and I can scarcely imagine what the real thing might be like.

And there have been quite a few upsets during the last few months. I actually helped suppress the rampaging Necromental and the Pirates. I still hired Captain Hetfield afterward in case anything else happens, though."

Welf's understanding of Arcane Lore is probably enough to at least know the basics about what a Necromental is, and exactly how bad it is to have one rampaging. Also, considering that he doesn't look like a master swordsman or anything like that, "suppressing" two threats that would have been a difficult proposition for trained guards implies some level of magical ability.

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

Frederick rubs at his goatee, in thought at Knob's comments. He wonders just how much of the story is true and how much of it is an embelishment on the part of William. While Frederick had no interest in the city itself he still had a job to do of scouting Bastion for a potential take over. "what of the rebuilding effort? Is there an organized front?"

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

If William knew about that, he'd likely be quite a bit less friendly. :smalltongue:

Ironically, though, he's telling no falsehoods, though he didn't mention Colmdran or the First Regiment.

"Not to my knowledge, but things are getting back on their feet too quickly for it to be total anarchy. There is also a suspicious lack of activity on the part of the local organized crime syndicates, so I suspect they're helping out for once."

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

Frederick continues to rub at his chin pondering the situation. Bruno interjects on hearing about the gangs He had been to the city a few years before and knew some of the seedy underworld "Do you mean to tell me the whispering ring and the disciples are working together? That's a load of bull if you ask me.

[shorewood]

Christophe stops and thinks. After a couple minutes, he extends his hand, saying a single word - "Deal." After shaking Ralin's hand, he continues speaking. "Now, onto other matters. You and your attache were trying to get a royal reception, correct? Now, I do not have the king's ear, but I believe I could get a message to a member of the upper crust - someone smart enough to realize the benefits of diplomatic relations with the Free Isles. All I would ask in return is that you take 3 men back to the Isles with you, and assist them in getting any documentation they may need for an extended stay."

"So you want us to help you establish three spies back in the isles. Spies that would have had only a moderate amount trouble establishing residency without our aid but now we know the identity of?" Tilian states not quite managing to keep the amusement from his voice. "I think we can manage that."

Ralin smiles in agreement "Just make sure your men are not the type to get sea sick, otherwise they will have a most unpleasant stay. I digress, since the volume of trade that the Independent Isles will be doing with Bastion largely depends on what degree your government is willing to reduce their tariffs, It would be in both our best interests for you divulge as many details on this message and its recipient as best you can."

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William raises an eyebrow at the outburst from Bruno.

"I take it then that you haven't heard about the Waterfront Siege yet; A few months ago, the docks erupted into all-out war. However, some incident with noble children happened and the First Regiment started a manhunt upon the Ring. An Ooze infestation, of all things, drove the leaders of the Whispering Ring out of their hiding place in the sewers, where the survivors were captured and/or executed by the First Regiment. There are probably a few members hiding out, but the Whispering Ring is finished."

He then apparently reads across something very interesting, from the speed at which he moves to jot it down.

"Haudanim, really? Why didn't I think of that?"

[ForzaFiori]

"So you want us to help you establish three spies back in the isles. Spies that would have had only a moderate amount trouble establishing residency without our aid but now we know the identity of?" Tilian states not quite managing to keep the amusement from his voice. "I think we can manage that."

Ralin smiles in agreement "Just make sure your men are not the type to get sea sick, otherwise they will have a most unpleasant stay. I digress, since the volume of trade that the Independent Isles will be doing with Bastion largely depends on what degree your government is willing to reduce their tariffs, It would be in both our best interests for you divulge as many details on this message and its recipient as best you can."

5th of Bargenholt
Midday
Clay Jug

Christophe fakes offense at Tilian's speculations. "I do not deal in espionage. These men work for my organization, will be looking for possible business partnerships in the Isles. Neither they nor I work for the government of Bastion."

turning to Ralin, he elaborates on his earlier comment. "I have a business associate who knows the wife of a noble. She is less than friendly with her husband, but is influential in her own right. She is almost certain to understand the usefulness of at least listening to what you have to say. That is as much as I'll say for now, because I prefer my contacts to remain unknown unless absolutely necessary."

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Afternoon


Surprised at the hostility he was met with, Auguste decided to try to salvage as much of the situation as he could by tucking his tail between his legs and leaving.

"I apologize for upsetting you so much, my lady. I was just trying to make sure this doesn't happen to another person's husband. I seems like my timing was poor. Maybe we can discuss things some other time, but for now I bid you all adieu."

Auguste then turned on his heal and left Falaeth Manor without any delay. Once outside he found Jonathan returning from dealing with the horses. "Jonathan, fetch the horses. We are leaving."

"But sir, we ju-"

"Now! We are leaving!" bellowed an enraged Auguste. Without having to be told twice, the unfortunate guard captain left to retrieve the horses he had just put up.

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove Inn
Claire's Challenge

Claire ignored Dennarius until she'd finished her page in The Songs of our Fathers' Land. Her slender hand drifted from the smudged glass half full of gin and over to her tankard of water.

"New Bastelle poetry is... terrible. Would you like my copy? I can't stand to finish this."

She was nearly three fourths finished with the book when she slammed it to the table and slid it over to Dennarius, not caring if he picked it up for not. After a long drink from her tankard, she asked tersely, "There are many free seats; what do you want with me?"

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

Grover listened to what they had to say, and grinned back with a wide, tooth-filled smile.

"I must say, that sounds rather intriguing! Alas though, I am merely a bud yet to bloom; my knowledge of this city's layout is rather sparse and only inclusive of what I have most immediately seen. I would hate to be a thistle hanging onto the skirts of your clothes, but otherwise I would be but a dandelion blown to and fro as I wander about. Would you mind terribly if I trailed along, and learned a little more about the city as I did?"

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove Inn
Claire's Challenge

"Why not? Bad poetry is still poetry." Clearly Ecks was out of his element. "I was thinking we could chat for a few minutes to get to know one another, I'd take a drink to steel my nerves, and then I'd take you up on your offer to duel." He extended his hand. "My name is Dennarius Mungle, I was one of the people who helped repel the pirates from the Waterfront."

It had not taken long for Eacks to here about the lady duelist. He could use for some practice himself, and this was the perfect excuse to come here. Win or lose, he'd have more than just one drink after this was done, and he'd get to know the other patrons...

He hoped his introduction was enough to get her interest.

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove Inn
Claire's Challenge

Claire pursed her lips, looking back and forth between her drink and the man. With a flick, she produced a lambskin dueling glove from her belt and began to fit it snugly over her left hand.

"My poetry lecture is tomorrow afternoon in Steen Hall. If you want to discuss poetry, that would be the place for it, Lord... Mangle, did you say? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your house."

She rose, adjusting her belt and briefly letting a thin, haughty smile show. "I'll buy you a drink if you win. If. Until then, I assume you can find the bar without my help."

With that, she snatched up the rapier in the deep purple scabbard that had been leaning against the table and headed for the street.

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor

Moments after Auguste's swift departure from the sitting room, Stray came trotting down the front steps to the duke's carriage for a word in confidence. He paused, reconsidering what he was about to say, unsure if the man had heard anything of his exploits or cared.

"Your grace, a moment, please," he settled, "Do you know me?"

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove Inn
Claire's Challenge

All business. Ecks had been hoping to spend a little time to get to know her, mostly her weaknesses. Favoring one side, a lock of hair that got in the way. Something. She wasn't going to give him the benefit.

He moved to the bar. "A quick shot of rum, my good man. I'll be back for a second shortly."

Dennarius Mungle had his pride, for his house, for his people! Ecks smiled at the thought of how he was letting his noble title get to his head. Perhaps Mags was right.

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William raises an eyebrow at the outburst from Bruno.

"I take it then that you haven't heard about the Waterfront Siege yet; A few months ago, the docks erupted into all-out war. However, some incident with noble children happened and the First Regiment started a manhunt upon the Ring. An Ooze infestation, of all things, drove the leaders of the Whispering Ring out of their hiding place in the sewers, where the survivors were captured and/or executed by the First Regiment. There are probably a few members hiding out, but the Whispering Ring is finished."

He then apparently reads across something very interesting, from the speed at which he moves to jot it down.

"Haudanim, really? Why didn't I think of that?"

Welf cuts back in to silence his outspoken guard. "We have yet to catch up on the gossip on the streets. Word travels slowly to Vorarl and claims become quite fancifull."

He begins jotting down notes of his own on the book he is reading. He would surely need to hire the services of a scribe to begin copying some of these texts to send back to his order.

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Oustide Falaeth Manor

Auguste whips himself around to face this new distraction. "No, I'm afraid I do not know you. Are you here to remind me of how rude I am, because if not I might have time to speak with you." The enraged noble also mentally kicks himself for using his magic so gratuitously right in front of someone else. He'll have to be more careful how he uses it in the future.

Note:
There is a chance that Stray will have noticed that Auguste was using his magic on Jonathan. I'm not sure if Stray was outside at that time, but you can roll it if he was. I'll roll in the OOC thread.

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Oustide Falaeth Manor: Front Steps

"No! No, I... I think you meant well. I..."

Slightly befuddled and unsure of his plan, he reached inside of his coat to produce the leather folio containing his letter of marque from the king. Offering it over, he continued, "Well, I'm a Corsair Captain. When you mentioned rogue mages, I... well..."

He sighed touching a finger to his cheek and nose, "I owe mages for these scars. And I'd like to..."

Abashed, he began to turn away, taking a step up. "Begging your pardon, your grace. I don't suppose you have a use for someone like me. Honestly I can barely use a sword. I just..."

[Jade_Tarem]

5th of Bargenholt, Evening, Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

The door swung open to let a curious pair into the room. One of them seemed more than a little bit shady. Between the scars and the poorly concealed weapons, this was the sort of elf most parents wouldn't like to see their daughter being too friendly with. He was offset by his companion, an almost too-pretty elven man who'd nearly 'gone native' - he had the best in high-yet-affordable fashion on, if such a thing could be said to exist, and no visible blemishes.

These were Calis and Wynbi Hadrio, Maranis's tacticians, and two of the three Sentinels not currently pretending to be anything else. Both were dangerous, though the first in a more conventional way than the other.

"Well?" Maranis said, without preamble.

"Glad 't see you too, boss." Calis grinned. "Warms me heart, it does, see'n how well yeh've taken t' the duties of hostess."

For his part, Wynbi frowned. "We were unable to gain access to the weapon - legally, that is. Your instructions were to avoid forcing the issue, so we didn't." In contrast to Calis's speech - which would fit right in on the docks of the Waterfront, with a splash of Hefrizian accent to boot - Wynbi had the smoother tones of an aristocrat.

"We saw it, though, didn' we? Elf-make, but not one of ours." Trust Calis to know who made what daggers. Maranis would take his word for it.

"Which is just as well. After being handled so many times, I'm not sure I could get a clear reading on it anyway." Wynbi paused. "But there is some good news. The word among the nobles is that Luke Crowley and his wife are back in town."

The elven commander tried to place the name. "Do I know Luke Crowley?"

"No. At least, not that I know of. But you should know of his wife - Setselia, originally of the clan Anarion."

"Oh! The sage. She's..." Maranis trailed off before putting her foot in her mouth. Wynbi grinned, though - of course he'd heard the rest of the sentence. "Oh, you can go ahead and say it. She is better than me; you should absolutely meet her, and they say her husband is fairly perceptive too."

"Assuming he'd even want to spend time investigating this."

"Assuming that, yes."

Maranis considered, but not for long. "Call to her. Use your powers - I'm tired of correspondence being intercepted by who knows how many people the moment it hits the streets."

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Outside Falaeth Manor

A smile crept upon Auguste's face. A flicker of hope that the day may not be a total waste sprung up in his thoughts. Auguste even seemed to like the man, for he surely knew how to speak to his betters and, aside from the scars, he had a roguishly handsome face. Quickly summing up the risk in his head, Auguste decided that this man would make a very loyal (and handsome) follower, or if not he'd regret the day he crossed the Duke of Verteoux.

"Wait, don't go. I don't blame you for wanting to get even. If I had such a handsome face as you, I know I'd want to do everything in my power to punish whoever is responsible," said Auguste with an excited smile. "Do you have a horse here you can ride? I'm eager to get home and out of this rain but I only have two horses here. One for my guard captain and one for myself. If you do, please come with us to my home, if not you may come when you are able."

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Oustide Falaeth Manor: Front Steps

The first thought to cross, Stray's mind was, 'Not again...' He managed a convincing, if slightly coy smile when he was accused of being handsome. Certainly, his time in Erebus had diminished his good looks. His face was gaunt from the starvation and his left cheekbone was still tinged purple from a bruise. The laceration on his cheek was healing well, but the scar across the bridge of his nose would never vanish. He was missing a piece of cartilage there and it looked as if he'd been branded.

"A farewell gift from the Inquisitors. Honestly... you steal one corvette and they start accusing you of this and that."

Resuming lying through his teeth, Stray said, "The late Marquis was a dear friend of mine. I should stay and comfort the widow. But, Lady Falaeth goes to bed early and I keep queer hours. After a day like this, I wouldn't say no to a sherry."

A wan smile as he took back his letter and deposited it within his breast pocket. "If your grace drinks sherry."

5th of Bargenholt, Night
Falaeth Manor: Elizabeth's Bedroom

Like clockwork, Scarlett slipped into the hall, gingerly closing Elizabeth's door with her foot while balancing a silver tray and washing basin in front of her. She padded gracefully across the cherry wood floor, sidestepping the spot that creaked. A smile spread over her, as she paused to regard the landscape painting on the left. She must have passed it a thousand times in her years of service to the Falaeths, but it was only this last week she'd paid it any mind. Something about the snowy mountains and crystal lake tugged at her heart and she desperately wished to go there in person. Wherever this was. The Brightcrest range probably held a hundred vistas like this. Maybe if she saved, she could go north one day. Perhaps Lady Falaeth would need a vacation after this terrible business. She smiled against in spite of herself. Try as she might, she couldn't summon up any sympathy for Andiron.

Just like every night for a week, Stray sidestepped the daydreaming Scarlett as she stared transfixed at the enchanted painting. He paused, taking note of the vial of laudanum on the tray. Thoughtful girl. Elizabeth needed a deep, long sleep to put her mind to right. Quiet as a cat, continued on down the hall and whisked his hand over the lock to Elizabeth's door. A muted click greeted him obediently and he slipped inside.

Elizabeth didn't startle. She knew the sound of Stray's bare feet and how he could open a lock just by asking it nicely. The two regarded each other in the dark and silence for a moment; Elizabeth peeking out from the between the drapes encircling her bed, her muss of red hair and the duvet that had been pulled up to her nose; Stray balanced on the balls of his feet with cuff of his fencing trousers falling over his heels.

"You're better off..."
"Maybe there's time for us now..."
"There's nothing to be afraid of..."

Nothing sounded right. There was little to say at a time like this. After a while, he turned to the door, relocking it. His fingers traced over the paneling, leaving faint, shimmering green symbols as he whispering in an old tongue. Crossing to the windows, he repeated the ritual one by one. While his spells wouldn't forbid access to the determined, they did make the chamber unexceptional to anyone looking in.

Stray's gold cufflinks went on the vanity and his shirt across the chair. Wordlessly, Elizabeth held up the velvet duvet for Stray to join her. Gripping him tightly about the waist, she pulled herself close and rested her chin on his chest. Another long look passed between them, but neither spoke. Tears began to well in the corners of Elizabeth's eyes, not from loss, but exhaustion and stress. Stray only brushed his fingers through her hair. At length, Stray sighed and forced himself to do something he had always dreaded of doing in front of her. He began to sing.

He was no performer, but the words were gentle and rich with magic. It was a song of the old places in the world, the wood's heart, the snowcapped peaks and the golden land beyond the western sea. Go into the west, he sang, beyond the path of the setting sun. Your father is waiting for you, in the white city above the cliffs.

Raisa had taught him the words, singing to him most nights when he was still little. Even now, the pixie would steal into his cabin when they were at sea and sing him the lullaby. She had a curious way to knowing when Stray felt far from home. All fey knew the song by heart, she said, and all fey knew where home was.

When he was little, Stray had asked if he'd ever seen the white city. Raisa had only smiled and told him, of course, one day we'll have a ship faster than the wind, and we'll sail into the west until the sun sets behind us. The thought always made him happy.

Story Element: Fair Speech
The language of the Fey, is like the weather. It possesses the capacity for great beauty and terrifying woe. While the words themselves carry no power, enchanters and the Fey may use them to great effect, weaving them into song and sigils. The heartbreaking Keen of the Banshees and the fabled Siren's Song are both sung in the Fair Speech. "Fair Speech" is, somewhat of an unfaithful translation from the Fey name for it. However, "white-gold colored soul words" doesn't have the same impact in human tongues and requires a bit of transliteration.

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William starts writing notes furiously, seemingly just copying down a passage wholesale.

"Truly, gossip is the bane of reliability. If you'll excuse me, Dr. Welf, I'm about finished here. I've been studying since late last evening and from the light through yonder window I can tell that I've been out far too long. Good day to you."

With that, he starts putting his books away, soon finishing and moving to gather the rather large pile of notepaper he's accumulated over this long study session.

"If you have need of me for whatever reason, my room is on the third floor."

And with that, the student leaves, the Ghoul trailing him on the way out.

[GuyFawkes]

5th of Bargenholt, Afternoon
The Winter House

"Please. It is only to you that I shall give my body and soul, my mind and my heart. Why do you deny me so? Is it...is it because of my family? If so, then for your love, I shall forsake them!" Liam's voice filled the room.

"No, heavens no! It is not because of your family! And please, do not do such a thing! It is because...it is because..." replied the man wearing a long, straight, chestnut brown wig and heavy makeup in front of him in a high-pitched voice.

"Then tell me! Is there anything more I have to do? Anything more I have to give to prove my undying love for you?" Liam closed in, holding the man tightly on both shoulders.

"No! There is nothing you have to do. It is I who has to tell you something," the man said as he freed himself from Liam's hold and showed his back to him.

"The truth is...the truth is..."

The man suddenly put his hand on his head and spun and faced Liam, removing the wig on his head in the process; the heavy makeup and distinctly male features with the bald head made it ridiculous to look at.

While the words "...I am not Hilda." were still spoken in high-pitched voice, the next words were spoken in a deep, raspy, and distinctly male one, "It is I, Howard. Her brother."

The two looked at each other's eyes for a while, Liam's face filled with shock, the man-woman's filled with make up. And what seemed to be embarrassment. It did not take long for the other men in the room, who were sitting down on the couches in silence, to break into laughter. And with that, the two dissolved their characters and joined in.

"Man, I tell you! That face of yours when you remove the wig gets me every single time!" one of the seated man said in between laughs.

"Truly there is no one else for the part!" said another before, laughing again.

The man in question, Pepe, simply smiled and scratched his head before curtsying, and then proceeded to throw the wig on to the face of the man sitting down closest to his right.

"Now, now," Liam said as he was able to calm himself down. "Our friend Pepe here has his charms in his own ways. Why, if not so, it would have been impossible to have sweet Yolanda swooning over him and chasing him each time they meet!"

The men who had quieted down now resumed their laughter, including Pepe, who could only scratch his bald head. Yolanda, bless her heart, was a sweet girl, and worked as the dishwasher of the Winter House. But to describe her physically, she was, to put it gently, ugly.

As soon as the laughter died, Liam cut in. "All righty, boys! That is it for the day. We resume on the morrow, at around the same time. For now, I gather the usual is in order?"

"The usual!" answered the group, their voice as one.

Liam picked up a small bell on top of the desk beside him and chimed it a couple of times, whereby a lady opened the door and approached him. Liam told her "The usual", and she nodded and smiled before bowing and heading back to the door and closing it behind her.

"Well boys, enjoy the rest of the afternoon and the evening. Unfortunately I have some business to attend to, and so I shall be off now," Liam said as he fixed his tunic and his hair.

"Boo! You are always away for the good part. Stay for once," one of the men spoke up.

"As much as I am deeply touched by your words, Gregor, I think we all know that you need my purse to stay, and not necessarily myself," Liam replied, eliciting another round of raucous laughter from the group.

"But, in the spirit of those very words," he continued as he strode towards the low table near the couches and picked up one tankard of ale, "before I depart your company for the day, a toast! To Lord Hauser's Men! And to the benevolent and magnanimous Lord Hauser, who made this happen for us lot! Cheers!"

Liam raised his tankard as the rest grabbed theirs and raised them as well, shouting "Cheers!" back, before all of them gulped the contents down in one go. Liam finished his before the others, and slamming his tankard it down on the table, nimbly crossed the space from the table towards the door.

"On the morrow, boys!" he shouted before closing the door behind him.

In the hallway, Liam looked outside the window, and deciding there was still enough time, he took a left on the next corner and stopped on the third door to the right. It was open and so he peeked inside, knocking on the wooden door.

"Does Madame Anastasia have time for but a humble player, or shall this humble player pay some other time for a little talk?"


6th of Bargenholt, Morning
Outside Falaeth Manor

The sun shone down on the morning bustle of Bastion city. Liam wiped the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead with his green satin silk handkerchief and tugged his tunic in and out to provide air circulation as he walked towards the ever-growing facade of the mansion of the now-deceased Marquis Andiron Falaeth.

He cursed under his breath, particularly at the whimsical Bastion weather. Yesterday had all been about rain, but now the sun claimed the sky, and the lingering humidity brought about by the previous precipitation made it unbearably hot and sticky to walk outside.

Liam looked up the sky. It was all blue and bright, but dark clouds loomed on the horizon, threatening to challenge the sun's authority anytime. How appropriate, he thought to himself.

He looked down and rubbed his irritated eyes that were dark on the edges and under his lower eyelid. He had been getting inadequate sleep lately. Liam closed his eyes and covered his eyes with both hands before shaking his head and opening his eyes.

Now is not the time.

Before he had realized, the front doors of Falaeth Manor stood before him, and so Liam stopped and wiped the remaining beads of perspiration on his face, quickly fixed his tunic and cape, and, as soon as he was sure he looked presentable, knocked on the door.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

Luke waved Grover's worries aside with a literal wave of his hand.

"Why, it'd be no trouble at all, my good man! In fact, Setselia and I were pondering taking up a rather mysterious-looking case which could very well bring us all around the city."

Setselia nodded in agreement. "Mm-hm! Just leave the investigating to us and enjoy the city! We can show you the sights while we're hunting down clues, and a delicate lady like me would certainly appreciate having such a tough-looking gentleman around if we end up cornering the culprit," she said with a playful smile.

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Noon
The Streets of Bastion
Challenge: The Baron's Son

"So, what's our plan for today's case, honey?" asked Setselia as she headed through the streets of Bastion hand-in-hand with her husband.

"Fantastic question, Cecily dearest! The case is a kidnapping, but the crime itself occurred quite some time ago. I'd imagine the physical trail has gone long cold by now, but what could be more enduring than the hearts of man?" he asked rhetorically, a hand placed dramatically upon his chest.

"Ooh, of course!" Setselia pondered this for a moment. "Actually, I'm not quite sure I understand, dear."

Luke looked back at her a bit sheepishly. "Ah. I suppose I got a bit caught up there, didn't I? Oh ho ho! What I meant to say is that the details of the crime may still live on in the memories of those who witnessed it or played some part in its events."

Setselia planted a fist in her other hand decisively and nodded. "Of course! I mean, that's only natural, since the beaten path is carried on by the whispering wind where flowers bloom with spring long past." Quickly seeing that Luke wasn't exactly getting her point, she hastily revised her statement. "Er, sorry, dear. I forget sometimes that not everyone can interpret visions. I mean to say that you'll most likely pick up the trail speaking to someone in the vicinity of... a florist, perhaps?"

"Brilliant deduction, Cecily dearest! Come now, we've not much time if we're to question every fellow at a florist, so onward!"

The married couple took off energetically through the streets, their investigation of the case now well underway in their own unique manner.

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Answering the call of her fellow diviner, Setselia and her husband soon arrived at a certain office in Bastion University. Stepping up to the door, Setselia gave it a couple of dainty knocks before calling out.

"Miss Maranis? It's me, Setselia."

Giving the verbal greeting was largely a matter of courtesy at this point, as Wynbi would already have been well aware of her intention to come after being magically subjected to the divination equivalent of an energetically delivered slideshow of honeymoon photos during the time she had spent heading to the University.

[Jade_Tarem]

5th of Bargenholt, Bastion University, Evening

"You could have come tomorrow." Maranis says wryly. Behind her, on a thread-worn couch, Wynbi sits massaging his temples as he tries to process a number of days' worth of bubbly newlywed bliss delivered in just under a few minutes. "But since you're here, welcome back to Bastion, both of you. Wynbi assures me that your honeymoon went well, so I'll cut to business instead." The elven commander pauses to consider her next words carefully as she sits at her desk, inviting the two guests to take a seat as well with a gesture. "The Evergreen Sentinels do allow for retirement and honorable discharges, although I don't think we ever got one from you... Strategist Emdrin doesn't keep me appraised of everything, so I don't know whether you actually left the Sentinels or just took a break. The first order of business, I suppose, is to clarify that."

[shorewood]

5th of Bargenholt
Midday
Clay Jug

Christophe fakes offense at Tilian's speculations. "I do not deal in espionage. These men work for my organization, will be looking for possible business partnerships in the Isles. Neither they nor I work for the government of Bastion."

turning to Ralin, he elaborates on his earlier comment. "I have a business associate who knows the wife of a noble. She is less than friendly with her husband, but is influential in her own right. She is almost certain to understand the usefulness of at least listening to what you have to say. That is as much as I'll say for now, because I prefer my contacts to remain unknown unless absolutely necessary."

"An unknown associate makes contact with an unnamed noble who might be willing to listen." Ralin let that sink in for a moment "Its a better plan than bribing lowly officers I'll give you that. I'll trust you to contact us whether or not your friend is successful in his attempts." Turning toward Tilian he continues "Tie and write up the deal we have an appointment at the University to keep.

Nodding Tilian produces five long thin strings and begins to weave them into the intricate pattern of the troll language. Handing it to Ralin Tilian produces a sheet of parchment and begins to write in the human tongue with a sharpened reed and small inkwell produced from one of his pouches while Ralin ties his signature into the string. Handing the string to Christophe Ralin takes the parchment and scribbles a much sloppier signature passing that to the merchant as well.

Anticipating any confusion Christophe might have Tilian shows the merchant how to tie his name in knots and although it is sloppy it is legible.

After everything was signed the trolls stood up and pushed in their chairs. "Unless there is something else you wish to discuss we will be off." said Ralin as he offered his hand to Christophe.

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Outside Falaeth Manor
Afternoon

"Of course I drink sherry. We Celandians practically invented the stuff. However, I have recently opened a cask of Vetreouvian Cognac that I think you might prefer. But we can decide which is better tonight. Until then..." And with a flourish Auguste turned away from Stray, mounted his horse and rode off to his manor.

Later at Chateau LeBlanc

"... and as you can see, that meeting went poorly. Make sure someone sends the Marquise a nice bouquet and a basket full of some of the expensive wines and cheeses I brought from home. It's a shame it's going to some half-elf who probably can't tell a brie from a Camembert, but it it smooths things over between the two of us, it is a small price to pay," said Auguste as he finished up filling Jonathan in on what happened inside the manor.

"What about this Stray fellow, it seems a bit suspicious that he would be close enough to Lady Falaeth to be there to comfort her, but would also appear to want to work with you. Can you trust him?" questioned Jonathan (http://talesofbastion.wikia.com/wiki/Analmalech).

"Of course I can't trust him. He's probably some stooge working for either Elizabeth or the Lord Marshall. He could still prove useful to me. With any luck I can convince him of my sincerity and that will make it back to someone who matters. If not I'm sure I can find some useful out of the place project to put him on. The King got some use out of him so I'm sure I can find something for him to do without any trouble."

"Yes, your grace," agreed Jonathan.

Later that Evening

Auguste sat in his library reading while his niece was in a nearby room practicing her harpsichord (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3oyFFH0Ibo), as a butler came in announcing the arrival of Stray. On the table next to Auguste several different bradies and sherries were laid out next to a pair of glasses. Obviously Auguste wanted Stray to enjoy himself tonight.

"Send him in."

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove Inn
Claire's Challenge

Ecks stepped outside, the fiery taste of the cheap rum made him more alert. He took a look around, before he pulled out a short sword, purposefully holding it backwards so that the blunt end would strike her. Ecks did not know any formal fighting stances, so stood there dumbly as his opponent raised her own weapon.

"So they say it's to first blood, no?"

"Indeed." Claire looked disappointedly at both the weapon he was holding, and the lack of skill he was already seeming to possess.

Ecks blinked a few times. "So... how does a duel begin?" He had never fought in a formal duel before either.

Claire stepped forward quickly and gracefully. Ecks backed up just in time as her sword flashed where his nose had been a second earlier. He continued to step back, side to side, to avoid her blows. her hair danced in the wind, and her colorful attire distracted him from the slender blade biting at him. He threw a strong upswing hoping to overpower the smaller girl, but she turned it aside, stepping on the fake noble's foot deliberately, and tussling his hair before pushing him away.

She was playing with him. Ecks knew that, and though his pride was starting to ache, he could take some humor in it. "My lady-" His voice cut off as he ducked under a casual swing of her sword, exploiting the face he let his guard down by speaking. She pressed her advantage. The demon hunter could not think, and instinct began to take over. Pull him in, let her strike and...

A flash of red, and then realization. Dennarius Mungle looked at cut wrist, a thin line of blood starting to form. Fool. He had exposed his wrist to draw her in, but this fight was to first blood. He had lost sight of it, and fought as he would any other day. It was not as if he was fair against her, but it was a poor way to lose.

"You say you are a noble?"

Ecks pressed his unwounded hand against the cut to let it close quicker. "Dennarius Mungle of House Mungle, if it pleases you." He has an apologetic look on his face for not providing enough sport.

"You fight like a common thug."

I am a common thug. "If I promise to attend your poetry lesson, will you spare my face a scar?"

Claire pursed her lips. "You were better than the last two."

Small compliment, they say the last two were piss drunk. I want to be piss drunk.

A minute later both were back inside, Ecks hearing the jeers from the patrons. Some hero he was. Trying to increase his standing, to have a chance... even a small chance. Now his exploits against the pirates would be forgotten, replaced by this. "Barkeep. I wish to become drunk. The next few drinks for the lady are on me too."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Midday
Clay Jug

Christophe is confused at first when the trolls bring out their string and begin tying knots, but understands once it is explained. "An interesting concept - I'll have to have my men teach me the language when they return..." he thinks briefly, before putting his signature on the written document with a flourish, attempting to make up for his lackluster knot tying skills. Standing, he shakes Ralin's hand, then Tilian's. "I will let you know either way. Should this method fail, I will continue to look for one, should you wish. I hope your business at the University goes well, and please keep me in mind if you need anything in the city."

5th of Bargenholt
2ish
The Winter House

2 men, clearly thugs, enter the Winter House. They are clearly not customers - their clothing marks them as too poor to hire any but the most ugly traditional whores, yet they walk up to the front desk as if they own the place, brushing the bouncers aside. They eye the lady at the counter, then the larger one speaks. "Youse gots a pretty nice little set-up here... very nice indeed... Looks like dere's a lot of expensive decorations, don't it, Nunzio?" the smaller (though still large) man looks around. "Yes indeed, dey's got plenty of expensive and breakable things. It sure would be a shame if any of it broke." They both give a look to the person minding the counter. "Our employer would like to offer dis place his protection. For a small price, say, 10 percent of what youse earnin', we would insure that nothing bad happens. If you don't accept the offer, well..." he reaches out and tips over a vase, letting it fall to the floor. "Who knows what would happen. We'll be back in a week for da first payment, capice?"

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

Franco had been let off of the on call list, and had decided to explore the waterfront of Bastion, see how the repairs were coming. As he walked the streets, still amazed by both the large areas still marred by charred wood and scorched stone and the amazing amounts that the city had rebuilt in the short months, he overheard a conversation about a female fencer accepting all challengers, at a bar called the Dragon's Alcove. Franco asked directions, and found his way to the bar just in time to watch the woman's current challenge. A man claiming noble birth was fairly quickly defeated in what was only barely not an embarrassing fight. Franco follows the too of them back into the bar, and stands next to Claire. Getting her attention, Franco dofts his large hat, taking a bow. I am Franco Fiore, M'lady. At your service. I would request the honor of being your next opponent, if you will accept."

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

"Hahaha, splendid!" Grover proclaims.

"And my dear lady..." Grover begins, gently taking her free hand. "...if I could not aid in the fight, take heart that I could at least offer cover from the rain." He says this as he moves the rather large toadstool umbrella over them.

"But now, we have a city to explore and demons to slay. Lead the way Mr. Crowley!"

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Noon
The Streets of Bastion
Challenge: The Baron's Son

Our leafy friend has continued to follow the two throughout the day, now tagging behind in an exploration for the lost son of some Baron. Ah well, perhaps if there were fiends who would do harm to his new found friends, he could fend them off with his might Oak.

[Ipphli]

Waterfront District
Mid-afternoon

Quinn scratched his head as he peered up and down the narrow alley. He had heard from a local yhat the boy had been seen on this street shortly before he disappeared. He'd heard of the Baron's bounty from a loose-lipped patient back at his home. The news had given the healer an idea: save the boy, and gain the sponsorship of a noble! With more funds he could expand, perhaps get out from under Christophe's thumb.

Sighing, Quinn walked up to the first door and knocked. No one answered. Shrugging to himself, he moved on to the next door. Shortly after knocking, a large, angry looking gentleman in a stained undershirt and ragged pants answered the door. Smiling, Quinn bows his head respectfully as he speaks. "Excuse me sir. I'm looking for a young man, a friend of -" The door slamming in his face cut him rather abruptly.

So it went all the way up and down the street. By the end, Quinn was very frustrated. This had been his only clue, and with no answers forthcoming, the healer was out of ideas. With another sigh, he started his way to the clinic, head down in a mix of shame and thoughtfulness.

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

"Hein?" The Celish syllable that bubbled out of Claire was a bit unladylike, more of a startled squawk. She was on her third victory shot of rum, but immediately lowered the lipstick smudged glass when she received the second challenge of the day.

"Mon diue! J'ai de la chance..."

The slim brown haired man sitting to her right elbowed her in the arm, prompting, "En Bastelle, cous!"

Claire blinked twice. Speaking to her cousin in rusty (if proper) Celish came easy after a few drinks, but changing back to Bastelle was like hooking up a fresh team of horses.

The man cuts her off, laughing, "Monsieur, you have surely made many mistakes in your life. This is one of them. If you were lucky, you will live to make many more."

Claire snickers, shoving at the man's shoulder, saying, "Sois gentil, Remy! Non, Seigneur Fiore, I will duel you. And, I will be gentle."

Still chuckling with her lips parted, she licked her front teeth. "For you? I'll even kiss your wound to teach my cousin manners . Tell me, where would you like it?"

Once Franco answers, she gives him a firm shove in the chest towards the door.

"No backing out now because I'm tipsy! You'll insult my honor if you do!"

Claire vs Franco
[roll0]

5th of Bargenholt, Night
Chateau LeBlanc: Salon

After putting Elizabeth to bed, Stray had stolen back to the guest suite where he was supposed to be sleeping. Willingly and blissfully enchanted, she'd sleep a beautiful sleep until mid morning. After dressing, he donned one of Andiron's old cloaks and swiftly made his way up the road to LeBlanc's residence.

He decided to put his Sadah outfit to good use again, reasonably sure the Duke hadn't been in attendance. The obnoxious bells had been removed, of course. Excepting the emerald green cravat, the rest was just as it was months ago: a green coat with floral brocade in silver trim, a frilly white lace shirt and brown trousers tucked neatly into his tall black boots. They were the same boots he wore everywhere; he couldn't stand the dainty slippers the posh nobility found fashionable. He'd even gone to the trouble of combing his hair and tying it back with a black ribbon. Apart from the nasty cut on his cheek, he cleaned up nicely.

Entering the salon, he surrendered his estoc to a servant. The blade was exquisite. The man he'd stolen it from certainly thought so. It fit the dashing captain far better.

"Monsieur le duc," he spoke in practiced Celish, with a bow at the waist. "Thank you for receiving me, especially this late."

A rake like Stray didn't look like the sort to speak proper Celish, let alone do it with such canny proficiency. He had a scholar's accent -- technically correct, but lacking any regional nuisance. Come to think of it, his Bastelle accent was damned hard to place as well.

He grinned, adding, "This is your home, your grace. Will it please you to continue in Celish?"

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt
The Dead of Night

The image that was overlaid over the true horror of the creature before them smiled. It was a beautiful smile, fresh like a spring's breeze, yet the full red lips that curled upwards spoke of wordless promises, of pleasures to be had that no man could deny.

Her eyes turned towards Turel, meeting his gaze for a moment. As she did, the fuzziness disappeared for a moment and the image became more focused, revealing a woman of dazzling beauty with long blonde hair, fair features and green eyes, her shape very attractive and voluptuous, but not exaggeratedly so.

A brief pain behind the eyes, sharp and gone as quickly as it came. There was an impression of sharp teeth and claws, of something entirely inhuman, though that should hardly come as a surprise to the sudden intruders, sitting next to the man.

"Shhh," her voice rang out, sweet and melodious, as she placed one finger on the lips of the man who stared at her in adoration, the constant groans of a man in the throes of passion escaping his throat. He had not noticed the two people coming in, entranced by the woman who sat at his side, still caressing a lover he believed to sit upon his loins, the tent apparent on the bed-sheet a ready sign of his lust. A single drop of blood escaped his lower lip, evidence of a cut where the demon had actually touched him. That, too, he failed to notice.

Nor did he seem aware of the impeding danger when the demon placed a single hand upon his head, lovingly, caressing it for a moment. Abruptly, she twisted it around, snapping the poor soul's neck with a crunching sound. Her plaything now no longer worth attention of any sort, her gaze drifted back to her two guests.

"Nothing of consequence," she offered, her illusory eyes narrowing as she examined the two of them more closely. The so far silent Zhirad didn't seem to interest her as much as Turel, however, upon whom she immediately focused. "How curious. And daring." She paused, stretching languidly. "Envy and Pride, is it? What brings you into my territory?"

She was acting relaxed, confident; regarding the both of them with the disinterested manner of a cat that is currently deciding whether something is or isn't prey. Something about the way she didn't stop looking at Turel for a single moment, however, made it quite apparent that she wasn't nearly as uninterested as she pretended to be. As if she could sense that Turel, somehow, was different from the doctor beside him, even beyond the obviously greater power.

Their fellow demonic being and current subject of attention, on the other hand, had a curious aura indeed. Now that they were close, it was obvious that her fell powers were great; yet there was a certain freshness about them, the youthfulness of a demon still stretching its legs and coming into its power. It also had a chaotic element to it, one that seemed to affect the very space around her, stronger than usual. Most likely, this was the reason why even Turel could not entirely see through her illusions simply by merit of his status as a Pride Demon.

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

Considering Claire rolled a 12 and Franco can't possibly beat that, I'm already posting this. Sequence-wise, it belongs after the next post by ForzaFiori.

In one of the four corner tables, the one closest to the entrance, sat a lone man who, so far, had been quietly enjoying his food and drink. His dress was impeccable, a white shirt with a respectable amount of frill tucked into a cerulean-coloured mantle, beneath of which he wore pants of the same shade. Black leather boots and a rapier, usually at his side but now strapped over his chair, completed the image.

His face had an unpleasant quality to it, even though he looked very neat and like a man who took good care of himself. This was mostly because his eyes had a cold gleam to them that indicated he would be more than happy to make the day of any person overly interested in him very unpleasant indeed.

Still, when the fencer woman had beaten yet another opponent, it appeared as if she had finally captured his interest. This man was obviously not someone who fought duels for fun, though as he rose and reattached his weapon to his hip it looked far too comfortable as to not indicate a certain level of skill.

Without producing a sound, he stepped towards Claire, a severe expression on his face as he took pains to actually enter the radius of her sight before getting closer. "Bonjour mademoiselle," he addressed her, his voice oddly melodic yet monotone at the same time. "Je vois que vous êtes très qualifié avec l'épée. Will you allow me to test it, as well, if your previous battles haven't exhausted you?"

I refrained from describing his appearance in greater detail, since I kind of misplaced the picture I meant to use for inspiration and need to find a new one.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion

Setselia smiled and giggled at Grover's gentlemanly display.

"Hee hee! How delightful. Thank you, Mr. Dubois; I suppose in all the excitement today, I neglected to predict today's weather! How silly of me."

Grinning at Grover's enthusiasm, Luke seemed even more fired up than usual.

"Ho ho, of course! Er, it's actually not entirely clear if there are any demons involved with this case, but... ah, metaphorical demons, yes! Let us chase down the metaphorical demons plaguing the good residents of this city!"

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Afternoon
The Streets of Bastion

As the investigation carried on, Setselia peered up at Grover again, this time eyeing the mighty Oak he carried with him.

"So, Mr. Dubois? I know you said that you aren't a tree, but that hammer you're carrying - it really is a tree, right?"

Luke chuckled. "Yes, I confess I'm rather curious about it, too! It certainly is an impressive weapon. Why, it's perfect! After all, all the great heroes carried some sort of signature weapon, and it seems to me nothing could fit you better than a mighty tree-hammer." He looked down at the dueling rapier he carried at his belt and idly tapped his fingers along the hilt with a slightly concerned look on his face. "Come to think of it, all I have is my dueling sword, and it doesn't even have a proper name..."

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Luke gave a well-practiced bow as he entered the room.

"Pleased to meet you, milady. The humble Luke Crowley stands at your service," he said with a charming smile.

Setselia and Luke took the seats offered to them, Setselia smoothing out the frills of her dress before looking up cheerfully at Maranis.

"Oh, no, I couldn't make you wait any longer, Miss Maranis! When I heard from Wynbi, I just had to come straight away."

Seeing Wynbi seated behind Maranis, Setselia waved in greeting with all the innocence that only someone who failed to make the connection between his headache and her own actions could muster.

"Oh! I wasn't aware there was any confusion, but I suppose there's always the chance something like that might happen when I leave the city and shut out all the other sages for a while. Yes, I'm still a Sentinel, I think, so I'll help you with anything you want!" She put a finger to her chin for a moment as if remembering something. "A lot of people seem surprised when I say it, so in case I forgot to mention, I was the Senior Sage of my previous division. So while I really would try to help you with anything you want, you'd probably have the best luck if it was something I could divine."

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

Claire turned to the newcomer and her drunk smile began to curl into a snarl. Something about the man's cold tone sobered her up like a bucket of water dumped over her head. She took an instant dislike of the man.

"Didn't your mother ever smile at you?"

Remy had nothing to add, apparently taking a sudden interest in his glass and avoiding Lester's uneasy gaze. Claire's nostrils flared. She looked Lester up and down. She swallowed once in hesitation, then quick as her namesake, she snatched up Remy's glassed and gulped down his double shot of rum.

She raised her voice so the room heard her boast, "Oh, monsieur!" she said, fanning herself. "You stir something deep within me... my lunch, I suspect!" With that she tears off towards the street, loosing her rapier and flinging the scabbard to a surprised onlooker with quick reflexes.

[roll0]

[VonDoom]

Challenge: Phony Fortune, A Challenge in Two (or Three) Parts

A fortune teller has appeared in the Docks, making a name of late because her prophecies are often highly accurate. That name is Madame Selene, after the moon goddess.

Indeed, she can tell the future: If not for her tip, the inn over at Bartram Way would have burnt down to a crip. The bartender was able to keep the fire that had unfortunately broken out from spreading, however, thanks to her advance warning.

Old Mac, the aged courier, broke his left foot stumbling on the way, just like Madame Selene had told him.

Yaren indeed had great luck and won a hefty sum playing cards. That his rival players later beat him up and took it back could hardly be something to blame Mme. Selene for, after all, the future is a fickle mistress.

Madame Selene is a woman of middle age who affects a foreign accent, but seems unable to decide which foreign country it is she actually stems from. She is neither ugly, nor pretty, with the lines of a hard life on her face, long black hair spilling forth under a red headscarf. Her fortune telling tends to be very dramatic … and utterly phony. A young group of thugs is helping her out in exchange for a bit of pocket money, though she is also rather adept at reading body language and picking up information from others. They set fires, trip people up, just so happen to rob a certain individual, they're nothing if not flexible.

---

There are three possible challenges, all involving a visit to Madame Selene and getting a fortune told for whatever personal reason the character may have. For the purposes of this Challenge, feel free to roll in advance and narrate accordingly.

Challenge 1 - The Phony:
Realizing that Madame Selene is, indeed, a fake via a Lore Check or actual Divination skill. To do this, the difficulty is 7. The character may be satisfied with the fortune telling if they fail and effectively end the challenge pre-maturely, receiving no reward. If they are not satisfied, then failure of Challenge 1 always leads to Challenge 2.


Challenge 2 - Thug Hunter:
This challenge is by default the result of failing Challenge 1. However, characters may choose to undergo Challenge 2 even if they succeeded at Challenge 1, though in this instance Madame Selene will likely have realized that the character knows too much and have sent her thugs to shut them up, rather than to provide a more convincing fortune telling experience. If they suceed, they receive a +2 bonus to the final challenge roll.

Those who get a fortune from Madame Seleme but seem unsatisfied with her regular tricks will receive a bad fortune and get a chance to become the victim of her thugs. They generally show up in groups of four against one but aren't actually very good fighters. They can be fought off with a combat challenge versus a difficulty of 7. They can also be tricked via a mental or social challenge, versus a difficulty of 8.

If the Challenge is completed after having failed Challenge 1, the thugs will accidentally give away that Madame Selene has sent them.

Challenge 3 - Resolution:
This challenge is fairly flexible. It basically is a test for the resolution of whatever the character intends to do about her. The difficulty for this is, by default, again 7.

If the character decides to opt to drive her out with physical violence and/or threats, she will have some more thugs to back her up. Social discredit or confrontation, blackmail, the sort involves a more diplomatic challenge. Proving her a fraud via fact-finding and bringing proof to the authorities is a challenge of Utility, mostly to mental advantages such as Intelligence and Cunning.

There are of course many further options, but since there are as many ways to handle the fake fortune teller as there are characters, the abstract is this: whatever your plan, post about it, roll, and then we will look over your advantages and deem which are appropriate to add to the result.

Reward: 1 AP
Defeat: If beaten by the thugs, a good bruising. If failed to deal with Selene after drawing her ire, she will spread bad rumours and advise people that the character brings bad luck.

[VonDoom]

The stranger stood before her, having followed without hesitation, but hadn't drawn yet. His cold eyes studied her, a somewhat puzzled look in them at her apparent rudeness. After a moment, something occured to him.

"My apologies," he reasoned in the same sing-song monotone, "I have forgotten my manners." He lowered his head for a moment, the emotionless expression on his face belying the soothing nature of his words. "Please forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Tamitee. Lester Tamitee."

The man inclined his head a little, not an ounce less unsettling than he had been while he was still an unnamed challenger. "They sometimes call me 'Spider'. Please don't make the same mistake, I do not like that name." Even as his nigh-hypnotic voice droned on, his rapier suddenly flashed out of its sheath, held up high in front of him.

His stance was that of an excellent fencer. As was his opening move, flashing into a feint right away when Claire hadn't yet gauged his real skill properly. The only problem was that the woman was faster than him. By a good amount, too, as soon became apparent once they started crossing blades.

There was a brief moment when it looked like Lester might well win as he stepped around another strike of Claire's blade, eerily silent throughout the encounter, but that was precisely when he made his mistake.

With a disturbingly enthusiastic (but still subdued) look on his face he aimed a stab right for Claire's stomach, but stopped himself at the last moment and switched it up to striking at her shoulder instead -- the problem was the splitsecond of hesitation, that his opponent took advantage of.

And quickly poked him on the cheek with the tip of her blade, spilling the first blood.

The man's cold eyes flashed oddly for a moment, in response, but he immediately relaxed and returned his own rapier to his belt. Then, Lester bowed slightly. "Thank you," he said, his voice still the same lyrical deadpan, without a hint at whether he was upset, disappointed or perhaps even happy to have fought another skilled fencer. "This was very instructive."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
In front of the Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge - Franco's Defeat

"If the wound accompanies a kiss from you, signorina, then where it is scarcely matters. I will leave it up to you to attempt to strike me in the place you most wish to kiss."Franco says with a smirk before steping outside behind Claire. He draws his rapier and main gauche, coming into mid guard. He gives a salute and bow to Claire, and waits for her to do the same. "Shall we cross swords first, or just begin swinging for each other's head's?" he just manages to get out before Claire's first strike parry's his rapier aside and heads for his shoulder. Whipping up his blocking sword, Franco manages to avoid her blow, stepping to the side. Claire keeps up the attack, forcing Franco back down the street. Hitting a loose cobble as he back up, he trips, dropping his main gauche and only barely manages to roll away before Claire's rapier comes down. Standing, he manages to regain his composure, launching an attack. His first attack nearly makes it through Claire's gaurd, but her quick riposte killed the only chance Franco would have of winning this fight. Franco's second attack, a slightly wild swing, is stopped nearly as soon as it starts, Claire's epee reaching out, and with a flourish, tossing the sword from Franco's hand. She sheaths her sword, turning to head back into the bar. As she opens the door, she looks back. "No wound, no kiss!" she says with a laugh.
Franco picks his swords up off the ground walking back into the bar amid the jeers of it's patrons. Sitting down next to Ecks, he turns to the bartender. "Barman, I'll have one of whatever he's having," he says, motioning to Ecks. "And one for him as well. The vanquished must look out for one another after all."

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Evening
Manse Junker
Dr. Welf's study
Challenge: The Baron's Son

"The servants have been talking about how some noble's welp gone missing." Grumbled Holt in Vorarlan.

Frederick sititng at his desk composing letters paid the Crystal Sword no mind. "Might be good to go looking for him. His father placed a hefty reward out for him. Plus Pate said that some drunkard at the Dancing Horse saw the boy."

Finish a letter to be sent back to the order he places the quill down. "Hmm...I believe you are right, Holt. If we help rescue the boy we will have an ally within Bastion's nobility...we are going to need help though. I fear we don't know enough about this city yet to engage in the task on our own. We may need that student Knob's aid."

Taking up quill and parchment he scribbles a quick letter to the student before sealing it. Handing it to Holt, Holt stomps out of the room grumbling about pirates, and mere bodyguards.


Attention: BladeofObliviom
5th of Bargenholt
Early Evening
Bastion University
Outside Knob's Room


Footman Odo, sweaty and out of breath from running to the university knocks heavily on the door of William Knob's room a sealed and signed letter clutched in his hand.

The letter reads:
Mr. Knob,

As you may or may not be aware a young nobleman has gone missing in the city and his father is offering a substantial reward for his safe return.

I am lending my services to the search and your help and knowledge of the city would be greatly appreciated.

If you would like to assist me please meet us at the Dancing Horse Inn.

Sincerely,

Frederick Welf, Doctor.


5th of Bargenholt
Mid Evening
Outside the Dancing Horse Inn

Welf and Holt waited anxiously across from the inn. They weren't sure if Knob was going to show up, but that wouldn't deter them. They were almost certain the drunkard with the information they sought were inside. Now, they tried to remain as inconspicious as possible. For Welf that meant he replaced his Robe of the Elements with a simple black robe and cloak...for Holt...it meant very little he still had his axe and there was no way a 6 foot plus bearded man is hiding in plain sight.

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Night
Chateau LeBlanc: Auguste's Salon

"That is like asking a fish if he'd rather swim through water or air. Of course I'd love to speak in a civilized tongue for once. So, what is it I can help you with?"

6th of Bargenholt
Dragon's Den
Morning

The docks were shrouded in a dense fog this morning. The rain had stopped but the sky was still covered in dark ominous clouds. The red slash across the sky was difficult to see. It almost felt as if the city was back to normal. Almost.

This morning a Lizard dressed all in brown leather (http://skins.wrenchbox.de/splash/normal/Renekton_Splash_2.jpg) walked into the Dragon's den and approached the bar. This was Cooper Harris, one of Analmalech's favorite alter-egos. The demon preferred to use him when he wasn't being particularly stealthy but still needed to be a bit underhanded.

"Oi, barkeep I have a bag of coin 'ere for your boss. Bring me a beer an' give your boss a 'oller and I'll make sure you see some o' it." yelled the Lizard as he slammed a bag full of coins on the table.

[ForzaFiori]

6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

The barman looks at the Lizard, cleaning a mug with a rag only slightly less dirty. Without stopping his cleaning, he starts talking. "Now, what would a Lizard like you need to talk to da boss about? Tell me, and it better be important, and in a lower voice than you just announced yourself, ya big mouthed snake, and maybe I'll go and get da boss man."

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Afternoon
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

At the mention of his weapon, Grover pulled it out from behind his person, revealing the weapon in its entirety.

"Yes, it is a living tree! How perceptive of you miss. With this mighty hammer of mine, I can use my more supernatural abilities through it. It is a focus of sorts, as so."

He holds out the hammer, the wide, flat, root covered side of it held out for a brief moment as emerald light breaks through the tightly bound roots of the Oak. It shimmers, twisting and merging into a sprout, which soon develops quickly into some kind of flower. Sprouting out of the blossom are a pair of round shape that grows to naught but the size of about a palm's width. As the light dies, now fully grown and there for the two to see are two small tangerine. Grover plucks them and offers it to the Crowleys.

"For you, my friends."

"And don't look so crestfallen Mr. Crowley. My Oak came with a name as it was given to me, and I have called it such ever since. But to have a weapon by your side with a name is perhaps the highest form of belonging you can place upon an object. To name it makes it special, and should be named such for a good reason. My Oak, for instance, is named so because its handle is literally a small oak tree while it embodies the strength of nature. "Oak" is curt, to the point, and easily expresses the weapon in a single word. If you ever do intend to name your own blade, it should be for good reason, and with a choice word!"

Grover beams proudly at his explanation, complete with a wall of pearly teeth.

[have_a_cow]

6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

Cooper used his hand to shield his face from onlookers and said in a quieter but still much too loud voice, "Sorry about the voice mate, of'ntimes I forget me lung power." At this point he let out a loud laugh, as if he had just said something quite funny. "I've a business proposal fer yer boss man. I need a building to run my business out of, an' it looks like yer boss owns all the ones that have'n' been burned down. Now if'n you'd kindly fetch yer boss fer me I'd gladly give you this shiny silver coin." Cooper tosses a silver mark into the air and deftly catches it as he concludes his little speech.

Note:
It doesn't matter too much, but he speaks with an amalgamation of Australian, American Southern Drawl, Scottish, and pirate accent.

[ForzaFiori]

6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

The barkeep puts down the mug he's cleaning, and points to a door in the back corner of the bar. "Wait in there. Christophe will be in soon, if he decides it's worth his time. I'll let you know if he decides it isn't." He tosses his rag on the counter, and turns to a young barmaid. "mind the bar for a moment, dear." he tells her, before ducking into the kitchens. When Cooper enter's the room, he finds it to be an elegant private parlor, in stark contrast to the main room, the floors are of exotic wood, the walls adorned with paintings by some of Bastion's best artists, and the room lit by a crystal chandelier. Christophe enters a few minutes after Cooper sits down. He extends his hand. "I'm Christophe. I hear you wanted to rent a building?"

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Night
Chateau LeBlanc: Auguste's Salon

Stray rocked on his heals, again feigning nervousness. His eyes passed from the assortment of Celish liquors to the pastoral painting on the opposite wall, briefly wondering if the duke owned the land pictured, and how much the Disciples would charge him to fence the crystal if he stole it.

Beguiler Rule #3 - Always let them think they're the smart one

"Your grace," he began with a measured level of subdued propriety, "You needn't be coy. You're a man of tremendous means. And I'm a clever man. I know you've had your staff working all evening to prepare a dossier on me. You know I'm wanted by the Empire. Most men can only guess at what you have to do to merit a one thousand sovereign bounty. Though... I'd be surprised if it wasn't higher after escaping the capital prison. News moves slowly when you have one of the fastest ships on the seas. Truth be told, I'm anxious to see the new numbers."

Moving to the liquor, he pointed to the Verteoux, "That's a unique level of accomplishment, isn't it? Having a brandy named after your own duchy. All my father left me were his green eyes. The only uncanny thing I've ever accomplished is collecting my own bounty. I don't suppose I'll be able to repeat that. The next time the Inquisitors catch me, they'll throw me under the capital jail. There are easier ways to make money, I suppose. Of course, they don't make wars like they used to. Someone could make a killing in a war with Vivexia, if you pardon the phrase. Bastion needs more timber and a new shipyard, you know. I don't think I can steal a frigate all by myself. I've only tried the once, but..."

He'd poured two snifters by the time he'd finished rambling. Offering one over to the duke, he sighed, "I'm terribly sorry. Where was I?"

6th of Bargenholt, Noon
Waterfront
Phony Fortune

After a late breakfast with Elizabeth, Stray had made the trip down to the Alcove to fetch his first mate. Remy had only said he'd be spending the evening with his cousin, but if they were drinking at the Alcove, Stray knew exactly how much trouble they could get into. Luckily, Remy was only hungover. The slender Celish boy staggered after Stray, carrying the captain's shopping: a tall crate, a sack of potatoes, onions, and a wheel of cheddar.

"If you were going to buy so much, why didn't you take a carriage?" Remy growled, "And why do I have to carry it!?"

"Because! ..." Stray paused in the middle of the street, "... because I'm a man of class! I'm trying to make something of myself and I can't be seen carrying my own groceries. And because you got despicably drunk last night!"

"You could hire actual servants. And this from the man who once 'boarded' a passing carriage, claiming to be, what was it? Oh, yes, the infamous pirate, Long Dong Silver!"

"... it was Jack Rackhandler and you know it."

"You shouldn't be without adult supervision!"

"Read your fortune, Captain Rackhandler?" giggled the woman from the silk draped market stall.

Remy and Stray exchanged a look. "It's catchy," mouthed Stray at the incredulous first mate.

Stray had heard the rumor of a fortuneteller going by 'Madame Selene' the previous day when he'd been in the neighborhood, looking for signs of Andiron. The curious prediction of an inn burning to the ground has piqued his interest and his outrage. He was no fool; the gift of foresight was perhaps the rarest of of all magical traits, and no one with that ability traded their talents for silver marks on Drake Street. Nonetheless he put on a roguish grin and propped his elbows up on the table between them. In a flick of legerdemain, a silver piece appeared at his fingertips.

"Lay it on me, witchy woman."

[Aux-Ash]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Falaeth Manor
Early afternoon, prior to the Duke's interruption

When Elizabeth insisted on taking it all at once, Alric simply nodded. Though he wanted to spare one of the few people outside the First that he well and truly considered a friend, he realized that perhaps she was much strong than he had given her credit for.

So he sat down in a empty chair, rubbing his hands as he begun telling the woman what they had learnt.

"He was found in the Royal canal, washed by the current against the grate. A thorough examination revealed that he had been stabbed hard in the gut once, the knife still embedded in his body. It is unclear what exactly killed him, the knife, the fall or if he drowned.

It is an exceedingly brutal death in either case. Though he still carried valuables on his person, which suggests it was not a robbery. And comparatively clean, which suggest it was a deliberate kill and not an act of passion."

The soldier inclined briefly to Elizabeth, as if to gesture that is why he does not suspect her. If she had killed her husband, it would have been unlikely that there weren't any passion or hatred involved.

"So I must ask... does you husband have any enemies that you know of? Rival nobles? Old grudges? Business partners that he did not get along with? Please, do not hesitate to tell me even if they are dead or it took place long ago."

---

The golden carrack.
Later...

After his questioning of the widow and the interruption of the Duke, Alric had excused himself at a convenient time. He had another urgent matter to attend to, the attempted and failed assassination of the city's most prominent of the recently ennobled.

And so he and his escort ended up at the luxurious hotel in which the noble stayed. Sliding down from the back of his horse, he entered the hotel and announced his presence and requested to speak with Lord Meresin.

[Jade_Tarem]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

"Absolutely." Maranis leans back. "We have a curious case regarding the string of murders. However, the Lord Marshall is already looking into that - as are the two of you, I suspect - and there is a bigger problem." She sighs. "There is a man here in Bastion - either a blood mage or an abomination - who has stolen the Codex of Blood. He has already used it to wipe out an invading fleet, and worse still, was never caught or identified. He appeared in concealing black armor and calls himself the 'Shadow King.' Months later, one of my Sentinels witnessed the now-Duke Turel Meresin teleporting." She lets that sink in. "She was then injured by demonic spirits. In fact, it was only the secondary account of one of the students that let us identify Mr. Meresin, but before we could confront him on the matter, he was assaulted by a man in the same black armor, claiming to be the Shadow King. This figure did not utilize the Codex, or hellfire, nor did he teleport."

Maranis leans forward again. "It is possible that Meresin is a victim of circumstance and bad identification, and that this Shadow King is a completely separate entity with a diverse skillset. I find it more likely, however, that Meresin either is working for or is the Shadow King. That said, If this is the case then I would like to be able to prove it beyond a doubt to the Lord Marshall and the other nobles - not only to avoid the international incident that would result from us killing a duke, but to gather as much support as possible for retrieving the Codex." She looks back and forth between the two Crowleys. "I won't presume to tell you your job, Setselia, nor does everything rest on you, but if you see a chance to divine something about Meresin or the Shadow King, you should take it." She looks to Luke. "I cannot, obviously, order you to participate, nor can I pay particularly well, but the scale of this threat vastly exceeds even someone knifing nobles, and if you would like to volunteer your skills..."

"Don't forget about the festival!"

"Is this really the time?"

"Why not?"

Maranis blinked at the abrupt segue. "Ah, yes, and you are of course both invited to the Everbright Festival. It's coming up on the tenth this year, I believe."

Story Element: The Everbright Festival
The Everbright Festival is a multi-clan tradition going back many generations, always occurring on the first day of spring. However, while the clan elves use the nearly-universal Javorian Calendar that most other nations use, their holidays operate on the old Sylvan Lunar Calendar, so some drift does occur. This year, the festival is coming a good ten days late.

Most people tend to think of Brightleaf celebrations as fairly exclusive affairs, and indeed most are. The Everbright Festival, however, is an exception. Those invited include elves, half-elves, anyone with elven blood, and anyone who has ever spoken to an elf. Similarly, there are special requirements on where the celebration can be held, so long as there is sufficient space.

The celebration itself is based around old, old Sentinel traditions, which have been bastardized throughout the ages but are still vaguely recognizable. Activities include singing, dancing, the Iron Elf competition, various other games (most involving some form of gambling), and telling embarrassing or interesting stories about the local Sentinel CO.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Afternoon
The Streets of Bastion

The Crowleys happily accepted Grover's gift and took a few juicy bites.

"Wow! I didn't know you were a mage like me, Mr. Dubois! Er, maybe not exactly a mage like me, since I can't pull fruit out of thin air, but you get the idea." She intently nibbled away at her tangerine. "Hrmm... I don't think I can do anything that exciting with my powers," she said with a hint of a childish pout.

Luke laughed. "Ho ho! You truly are an interesting fellow. At any rate, I suppose you're right about the weaponry. After all, the sword is only the extension of a hero's one true weapon - his heart!" he said, putting a fist to his chest.

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Setselia listened intently to Maranis' explanation, finally humming to herself as she pondered everything that had been said.

"Well, I suppose that is a bit of a fix," she said, twirling a bit of her long hair around her finger. "I mean, someone that scary-sounding is usually the type that sort of splashes around in the timestream instead of bobbing along quietly, so it's a little hard to just take a look and see what they're going to do next, unless it's really soon or close. If you happen to figure out any places or things with some significance to what you're looking for, it'd really help me clear up my predictions and my auguries a bit."

After a brief pause, she giggled innocently. "Of course, I'll let Wynbi know right away if I can tell you're about to get melted into a pile of goo or something, though."

Luke then laughed heartily and extended his hand for dramatic effect. "Worry not, milady, for you most certainly have my services at your disposal. After all, what proper gentleman would stand idle for want of trifling silver coins when his lovely wife ventures forth and heartless cravens threaten the good townspeople?" Losing himself in his fantasy, he practically beamed with enthusiasm. "Why, just think of it - a mysterious masked man stalking the night, and a stolen artifact of unimaginable value! I can scarcely wait to dramatically unmask the fellow atop the castle ramparts or some such place."

He quieted down a bit as he began actually considering the reality of the situation. "Now, that said, do you have any leads you might suggest we start with? If this Meresin fellow is really who we think he is, it seems rather ill-advised to simply confront him directly from the beginning."

At the mention of the Everbright Festival, Setselia perked up again. "Wonderful! We'll be attending, of course, as soon as I can pick a fitting dress for the occasion."

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, Noon
Waterfront: South Drake Street
Phony Fortune

After snatching up the mark from Stray, the fortuneteller had her tarot out in a wink. A great show was made of lighting candles and calling on the spirits of mind and air. As an actual practitioner and someone who evoked the power of the spirits of the mind daily, Stray slouched with his elbows on the table and chin cradled in his hand, half grinning and silently imploring the melodrama. A patchouli infused incense stick was waved through the air, nearly making Stray gag.

"The spirits tell me... your name is... Stray!" cried Madame Selene, massaging one her temple and pointing an accusing hand at the captain.
"You have recently returned from a long voyage by sea. Yes. And you have endured great hardships."

Stray, sporting his signature style and well loved blue coat, glanced down at himself, then turned his head south to where the famous Red Wind lay at Dock Seventeen. Touching his bruised cheek, he muttered, "Uncanny..."

Further mockery was curtailed when one of Christophe's lieutenants walked past, greeting them with "G'day, Captain!"

Undeterred, the fortuneteller took up the tarot deck and began a row of three cards, naming them as they were revealed. "The Red Man, ill dignified; the Priestess; the Seven of Cups. You have dealings with bad men. You abide them, but their actions weigh heavily on your conscience. Ambition, greed, illicit gain. It poisons you. You contemplate working for a higher purpose. You wish to be unburdened by your past."

"The King of Pentacles; you are a talented man, shrewd and cunning. You get what you want from others easily. You are beloved, but they do not know the man, only the mask." With that, she obscured the sinister Red Man with the King.

"The Fool; trust your heart, not your head. Look to..." the last card of the row, "The Queen of Cups, ill dignified."

Remy whispered with a snigger, "He already dated the ill dignified queen of 'cups'. It didn't end well."

"No, do NOT trust this woman!" shouted Madame Selene, "Your affections will lead you to ruin. She cannot be trusted. This feckless woman will use you for your own gain and discard you."

"And who, exactly, is beguiling woman?" said Stray through gritted teeth.

The cards forgotten, Madame Selene smiled wryly and stared back at Stray. "A beauty with red hair. Do not follow this woman. She only wants you for your gold."

Uncharacteristically shaken, Stray lurched away from the table with an angry gasp. "You! You... you. You! AGH! You stupid hack!"

Unfazed, the fortuneteller again picked up the deck, merely asking, "Shall I continue?"

"No need! I'm going to go **** a red-head out of spite!" he snarled, wringing his fists and storming up the street.

"You'll be sorry! Heed my warning, Stray!" she shouted after him as he shoved his way into the crowd, losing Remy in the process.


***

Still incensed, Stray stomped towards the Drake Street Market, determined to... well, find something to distract himself, likely rum. He was a grown man and if he wanted to get drunk at midday that was his right!

He sighed, remembering he'd promised to make potato soup for Elizabeth tonight. It was one of the few dishes he could reliably prepare. Drinking and napping in his cabin wouldn't accomplish anything and poor Elizabeth needed him around now. Even if they couldn't be together in the day, she looked to him constantly, reassured that he was just in the same room, even the same city. They were the fluttering glances of a schoolgirl at times. The thought made him smile.

Stray's reverie was broken by the fluttering, demure glances of a red haired young woman strolling along the sidewalk. She sucked at her lip and feigned embarrassment, looking down first, then back to Stray's eyes. With a blush and a laughing smile, she beckoned Stray to follow her down the alleyway.

He would have ignored her, of course. Despite his bravado, the real Stray was too sensible and too shy to really go darting after strange women who curled their finger at him. He went after her now because he had seen the woman passing north as he turned to look at his ship. She'd nodded in his direction, or rather to Madame Selene. Without a doubt, she'd been waiting on him. And the three rugged looking men exchanging ever such unsubtle glances between themselves and trying hard not to look at Stray or the redhead, they were here to rob him.

"Mon petit lapin!" he cried as the woman gathered up her skirts and dashed away around the corner, leaving him alone in the middle of the alley.

The splash of a boot stepping into the puddle he'd leapt over gave the thugs' approach away, though Stray was already loosing his sword with a laugh. "This is so much better than getting drunk..."

Stray vs Madame Selene's Thugs
(Cunning + Beguile III + Duelist)
[roll0]

[ForzaFiori]

6th of Bargenholt
South Drake Street

When Stray emerges from his back alley duel, one of the Disciples is waiting for him. "G'day Cap'n. Would have 'elped you out, but ta be 'onest, seemed like you 'ad it covered. Christophe said to give you this letter - said it would explain everything" Inside the envelope the man hands Stray is yet another envelope, and a letter, written in a much more elegant handwriting than would be expected from a crime boss.

Captain Stray -

I have what may turn into an interesting business proposition for you to pass along. Recently a group of ambassadors from the Independent Isles - that new Troll nation that just finished it's war of independence - showed up in the city, looking to speak with our high and mighty. Do you still talk with Elizabeth Falaeth? I was hoping you could give her the letter included with yours, or simply bring up the topic. Her and her husband are smart enough to realize how useful trade and diplomatic contacts with the Independent Isles could be.

As to how it helps you, well, there will likely be ships carrying expensive and valuable trade goods from exotic isles pulling into our ports fairly regularly. Now, I am honor bound to protect these goods once they have entered the docks, but on the high seas? I will leave it to you to ponder what could happen to ships in such conditions.

-Christophe

[hi-mi-tsu]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Falaeth Manor, Early Afternoon

"It's all right, Caydan..." Elizabeth squeezes the young man's hand, gently. Sometimes she forgets the impulsiveness of youth, though in elven standards she is not so old herself...but still older than this young man, who has taken such a position of protection for her despite their budding friendship.

"I requested this. I would rather it happen now." The Lord-Marshal asks his questions, and Elizabeth is quiet for a moment, thinking.

"Enemies...?" The half-elven woman sighs, fingers carding back through her hair. "Of course he had enemies. He was a highly successful, influential man, with a ton of wealth and a lockdown on the trade goods from his clans to Bastion. Any noble with trade interests that wasn't partnered with him was an enemy."

A pause, and she looks up at the Lord-Marshal. "No one specific springs to mind, but you know how it is in our circles. Nobles are like wildcats, but twice as canny; they keep their claws sheathed behind back-handed compliments and passive-aggressive party invitations until the exact right time to strike. Even I have been guilty of such behavior."

After the duke leaves, Elizabeth's hands clench tightly in her lap, and her voice is quiet--especially with the departure of Stray.

"Please...thank you for coming. Maranis, if you can...do what you can with the information we have; I would appreciate your eyes on the situation. And Caydan, my dear, I appreciate your fortuitous arrival...but I have much to do, and little time to do it in, and I would appreciate being left alone."

Of course, once the company left, there was very little she accomplished; changing into a robe and hiding in her room, she let the echoing silence of her own thoughts enfold her. She hadn't thought she'd be able to sleep, but...Stray's music pulled her down into a deep pool of peace, and she drifted off with her head on his chest and her arms loosely wrapped around his waist. When he left, she didn't wake; in her dreams, she was on the ocean, on The Red Wind, free as the gulls that kept pace with their ship and able to do whatever she pleased.

6th of Bargenholt, Morning
Falaeth Manor

Elizabeth woke slowly from dreams of salt-spray and laughing green eyes, into a world more nightmare than reality. Hang it, comes the rebellious thought. I'm not dressing today.

So it was in a satin nightdress (http://www.sleep-pretty-nightwear.com/user/products/large/satin-3271.jpg) and a broad-sleeved robe (http://s2.thisnext.com/media/largest_dimension/2E738F8B.jpg) that the lady of the house sat down to her table, to begin writing the important correspondence required of her at this time.

To Andiron's brother
Durothil Falaeth:
I regret to inform you that your elder brother, Andiron Falaeth, has passed away. I do not know if you wish to attend the funeral, as you did not attend our wedding, but I feel it only proper to inform you. Please let your Clan know; if any should wish to attend, the funeral will be the 12th, in Bastion. There will be no need to make arrangements for sleeping accommodations; I have plenty of room.

Regards,
Elizabeth Falaeth.

Obituary: To be posted to the papers 7th Bargenholt
It is with great sorrow that the Falaeth Estate reports the passing of Andiron Falaeth, a pillar of the community and a strong economic force in Bastion. Childless, he is survived by his brother, Durothil, and his widow, Elizabeth. For those who wish to attend, a public viewing will be held the 11th of Bargenholt, at the Falaeth Estate; Elizabeth requests that any and all gifts instead be donated to a charitable organization, for they need it more than she does. The funeral will be held the 12th of Bargenholt, again at the Falaeth estate; Lady Falaeth requests that only those who personally knew Andiron attend, as she does not have enough space for everyone.

Meanwhile, the butler opens the door; seeing Liam, he frowns.

"May I help you, sir? Do you have pressing business? The Lady is...engaged."

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt, Noon
Dragon's Den
Ecks and Franco


"Dennarius Mungle" raised a foggy mug of cheap rum. "Cheers, friend." He took another drink. A small smile crept to his face. "Looks like I have some work to do. Frightening times of late. Pirates, monsters... though there's one that seems particularly frightening... the Candleman." Ecks said the last word louder so nigh anyone who wasn't in their own conversation could here. "Slit my throat, put an arrow in my chest, throw a wonderously fat woman atop of me so that there is not breath in my lungs. To be burned though... I'm surprised more people to not speak of him. He could strike again at any time. Give me another barkeep."

Update on Baron's Son Challenge
Wating a couple of days for one more to post, to give us two teams of three.

[GuyFawkes]

6th of Bargenholt, Morning
Falaeth Manor

As soon as the door opened, the show began. Liam quickly transformed into something else. He started with a low, theatrical bow, then began to speak.

"My apologies. Allow me to introduce myself. I am but a humble player who goes by the name of Liam Brandish. I know I have come at an inappropriate time, but my patron, His Grace The Duke of Stafford, wished to extend his condolences to the Lady Falaeth at the soonest possible time. He wished to do so in person, but he thought the best way to do so was to offer a chance to immortalize the late Lord Falaeth through literature. And so he sent his humble servant, yours truly, to do such task."

"I need not disturb the Lady's wish for solitude. I could start by speaking with the people of the Manor, those who were with Lord Falaeth, such as yourself. I might even consider putting some of them as characters, if they so request and if I deem they are necessary."

Liam then searched his pockets and produced a letter, sealed with the mark of the Duke of Stafford. "But of course, I could only do so with the blessing of the Lady Falaeth. And so, if you would be so kind as to give this letter to her."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt, Noon
Dragon's Den
Ecks and Franco


"Dennarius Mungle" raised a foggy mug of cheap rum. "Cheers, friend." He took another drink. A small smile crept to his face. "Looks like I have some work to do. Frightening times of late. Pirates, monsters... though there's one that seems particularly frightening... the Candleman." Ecks said the last word louder so nigh anyone who wasn't in their own conversation could here. "Slit my throat, put an arrow in my chest, throw a wonderously fat woman atop of me so that there is not breath in my lungs. To be burned though... I'm surprised more people to not speak of him. He could strike again at any time. Give me another barkeep."


Franco look at Dennarius. "Si, it's frightening times indeed. You may have it worse than most I've met since I got to this city though - slit throat, arrow in the chest, and a large woman on top of you? Mama mia, it's a wonder your alive! Who is this Candleman that did this to you?" Taking a drink, he extends his hand. "I'm Franco Fiore, Sargent of the First Regiment, son of the Duke of Florentina, by the way.

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt
Mid Evening
Outside the Dancing Horse Inn

Welf and Holt waited anxiously across from the inn. They weren't sure if Knob was going to show up, but that wouldn't deter them. They were almost certain the drunkard with the information they sought were inside. Now, they tried to remain as inconspicious as possible. For Welf that meant he replaced his Robe of the Elements with a simple black robe and cloak...for Holt...it meant very little he still had his axe and there was no way a 6 foot plus bearded man is hiding in plain sight.

5th of Bargenholt
Late Evening
Outside the Dancing Horse Inn
@Daelrog


A drunken man stumbled out of the Inn. He matched the description the footman gave of the guy gossiping about seeing the baron's son. Holt prepared to grab the man after getting a nod from Welf. Waiting for the man to pass by the alley they were hiding in Bruno grabbed the drunkard and dragged him into the alley.

Holt's bear paw of a hand wrapped around the man's throat as he slammed him against the wall and lifted the drunk off his feet. Leaning in close he growled at the drunkard "Where did you see the young baron?" He tightens his grip momentarily choking the man before loosening it up so he can speak "You best tell me everything or I'll rip your neck off with my bare hands."

Frederick stood nearby silently, if Holt's type of persuasion didn't work Frederick would intervene with his own magics to convince the man it would be best to talk.

Rolls for Holt:
[roll0]
Adding strength and intimidation to his roll

[Jade_Tarem]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Setselia listened intently to Maranis' explanation, finally humming to herself as she pondered everything that had been said.

"Well, I suppose that is a bit of a fix," she said, twirling a bit of her long hair around her finger. "I mean, someone that scary-sounding is usually the type that sort of splashes around in the timestream instead of bobbing along quietly, so it's a little hard to just take a look and see what they're going to do next, unless it's really soon or close. If you happen to figure out any places or things with some significance to what you're looking for, it'd really help me clear up my predictions and my auguries a bit."

After a brief pause, she giggled innocently. "Of course, I'll let Wynbi know right away if I can tell you're about to get melted into a pile of goo or something, though."

Luke then laughed heartily and extended his hand for dramatic effect. "Worry not, milady, for you most certainly have my services at your disposal. After all, what proper gentleman would stand idle for want of trifling silver coins when his lovely wife ventures forth and heartless cravens threaten the good townspeople?" Losing himself in his fantasy, he practically beamed with enthusiasm. "Why, just think of it - a mysterious masked man stalking the night, and a stolen artifact of unimaginable value! I can scarcely wait to dramatically unmask the fellow atop the castle ramparts or some such place."

He quieted down a bit as he began actually considering the reality of the situation. "Now, that said, do you have any leads you might suggest we start with? If this Meresin fellow is really who we think he is, it seems rather ill-advised to simply confront him directly from the beginning."

Maranis nods. "Assuming he and the Shadow King are one and the same, it would be extraordinarily dangerous. Even if he's perfectly innocent of all blood-magic related crimes, he is - as I understand it - wealthy and powerful. At the current time, most of our leads are months old... except whatever happened on the Opera House rooftop. He went somewhere with Elizabeth Falaeth, teleporting to get there. I realize it's a bit outside a normal investigation, but wherever he went might still bear traces of his passage, especially for a Diviner. Oracular alerts would also be most kind. We'll begin looking for opportunities to get you near Mr. Meresin or something important to him right away."

She leans forward. "But let me make this clear, just for future reference - if and when the Shadow King is unveiled, and whether or not it turns out to be Turel Meresin or another interloper, do not attempt to confront him on your own. At the very least, contact both the Lord Marshall and me, and we'll use all available firepower when we do go after him."


At the mention of the Everbright Festival, Setselia perked up again. "Wonderful! We'll be attending, of course, as soon as I can pick a fitting dress for the occasion."

Maranis finally grins. "Make it a dress that you won't mind parting with after the festivities. I'm not sure how your home clan did it, but many of the elves at this one will be from Southwest 3, and it tends to get a bit... rowdy."

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, Noon
Waterfront: South Drake Street
Phony Fortune

Stray emerged from the alley with one of the thugs in tow, pinching his ear cruelly. Judging by the man's limp and the trickle of blood running from his mid thigh, he would get far, even if Stray let him go. Stray's left arm hung dead at his side. One of the thieves had managed to clip his shoulder with the axe handle he'd been using as a cudgel and a shooting pain had rendered his arm useless for the moment.

"Well, you know, two on four just isn't sporting."

The captain looked to his dead arm and gave it an experimental shake. No luck.

"Just, eh... just put it in my pocket, will you?" he asked, settling on awkwardly shifting towards the Disciple and attempting to nudge his coat open with his chin.

With the letter deposited, Stray gave a nod towards the two unconscious men (the missing fourth had fled at the first sight of blood). "Awfully bold for muggers to operate in Disciple territory, isn't it? Christophe will want a word with those two. Bad for business. I know who their boss is. Nip this in the bud and Christophe will be impressed. I don't mind sharing credit."

Forcing a smile despite his aching shoulder, he tugged his hostage along the road south to Madame Selene's stand. Stray slammed the man down on table, sending cards fluttering into the street and rudely interrupting someone's reading.

"That's a cute trick. Easy to see the future when you've got a band of loyal mooks to make your visions come true."

Stray beat the thief's head against the table once more to discourage his struggle. Blood spattered the cards as he started to gag from his broken nose.

"I don't mind a little bit of crooked business, I really don't." Stray chuckled wryly, "I don't even mind getting mugged. Honestly, it's been a while since I won a fight. Arson though... that's one step over the line. Your boys here nearly burned down Sanders' Bar, didn't they? David has a little girl. You could have killed them all. And for what? For a handful of silver from people too stupid to understand that real seers don't turn tricks on the street?"

Incensed, Stray seized the thug by the collar and hurled him over the table. He paused to push up a bit of lose hair that had fallen out from his bandana during the fight.

"I'd call the First, but they're nearly as dumb as you are and I can't see the benefit of wasting our tax money on your trial. So, what I'm going to do is give you time to get out of the city. I'd say you have about as long as it takes that man to tell Christophe Marane all about your operation."

Stray gave a nod to the Disciple and raised his voice, "Sanders' Bar is under Christophe's protection. Fair's fair, right? Though... you'll be lucky if all he does is set fire to your little lemonade stand."

For an instant, Stray's eyes flickered with a baleful green flame as he stared down at the woman.

Intimidate/Enchant
(+3 Beguile, +2 for beating up the thugs)
[roll0]

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt, Noon
Dragon's Den
Ecks and Franco

Ecks shook his head and laughed. "Nothing to me, friend. Oh... but on the other side of the docks, this... thing burned over a score of men, men who from what I hear knew how to fight. Lit them like candles!" Ecks was speaking very loudly now. "Odd how peaceful it is. Say barkeep, why do you think that is? Head to another town? Stories over more pyres somewhere far away?"

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt, Noon
Dragon's Den
Ecks and Franco

"Burned alive? A horrible way to go. Franco waves over another 2 rounds. "So why are you in the docks? If the murmurs I heard while you were fencing are true, you're nobility, si? We do not belong in places like this. At least, not to live here. To come here to drink, fight, and find loose women, that can be ok. But live here? Your family must have fallen far."

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt, Late Afternoon
The Golden Carrack

As the Lord Commander was ushered into the hotel's main suite, he passed the Golden Carrack's manager, an man of some fifty years who still managed to carry himself with the stiff perfection of the marble that adorned his foyer. He was a commoner, but like all commoners who moved among Bastion's nobles he'd acquired the regal air of those he served. Seeing the Lord Commander, faded green eyes blinked behind steel rimmed spectacles before he nodded slightly and went about his business.

Inside the room, Turel sat facing the door, the bandages around his torso now covered by a crisp white shirt. But the sling remained, and as he moved to recognize Alric's entrance Turel winced in pain.

"Lord Commander, it's good to see you. Please, take a seat."

Turel motioned to the plush armchair separated from his own by a circular end table holding a bottle of Wraenar red and a pair of glasses. As Alric took his seat, Turel took hold of the bottle in his good arm and poured himself a glass.

"May I offer you some refreshment, Lord Commander? It seems unkind to drag you down here without showing you some hospitality."

The Dead of Night

The strange demon's question hung heavy in the air as Turel and Zhirad watched the last trace of life drain from her erstwhile lover. Then, finally, a chuckle escaped Turel's throat as he returned his attention to the murderess upon the bed.

"Your territory? You're a bold one."

Reaching up to his mask with one hand, he released the hidden latch and pulled away the face plate, pulling the horned visage from his face and tossing it into a nearby chair. The desire demon saw the human face that held Turel's demonic power, his eyes writhing pools of eldritch fire.

"So bold that I might be inclined to destroy you. But you are young, and strange, and you've aroused my...interest."

He circled the bed, heavy cape whispering over the floorboards as he moved.

"Where have you come from, child, to think that this city was unclaimed? And more importantly, how have you come to reside in a doll?"

The demon's eyes hadn't left his, but suddenly Turel was no long standing at the foot of the bed.

"But most important of all-"

Her head snapped around, to see him standing not a foot away from her.

"What are you?"

He took her chin in his hand, and before she could protest he was kissing her, the spirit behind the touch probing outward to examine her in the most intimate way possible.

[VonDoom]

The Dead of Night

"Oho?" The thing wearing a woman's face gave a light chuckle, as she reclined into her bed, settling against the corpse as another might a cushion. "The whole city? So it really was Pride I sensed. And something else ..."

She trailed off as Turel suddenly spoke again, then stood before her, an intrigued look in her eyes replacing the one of displeasure at the fact that he had discerned her true nature beneath the delusion she broadcasted towards the both of them.

Still, the chaotic nature of her power continued to insist on defying even his superior rank and when he suddenly reached to kiss the desire demon, an attempt that she had no intention of resisting, his lips met with the pleasurable silken embrace of another all too human mouth, readily opening for him, even as a small part in the back of his mind tried to ascertain that it was just a very attractive lie being forced onto him.

For an Abomination, the impression flowing from desire demon into him might actually be a pleasant one: unending hatred for living things of flesh and beauty, that which she inspired and pulled to herself by merit of her abilities, that which she pretended to. A mind keen yet utterly alien to human comprehension, more chaotic than other specimen one might compare her to but still with reason, still with purpose.

A sense of power, a veritable well-spring of it, fresh and youthful; an odd reminiscent feeling welled, an impression that there was something familiar but not exactly so. Some madness inherent to her being, a delusion that captivated and destroyed the unwary, inspiring and corrupting. Life and beauty and freedom, twisted to seduce and deceive and spread dissent.

She was barely more than a child even by mortal terms, that was clear, yet also possessed of an odd wisdom, an innate knowledge of her being and purpose, a knowledge that had allowed her to identify Zhirad and Turel both despite the fact that her past experience with other demons was likely non-existent. Still, there was a strong sense of attraction, of intrigue -- towards Turel himself!

And even as Turel looked into her, the creature looked back, a light moan vibrating from her throat as she in turn read him.

When the kiss finally broke, the horrid twisted visage of the demon's true shape leered at him, its limbs at an odd twisted angle as it inclined its head. "How curios," it breathed between sharp teeth, hollow puppet-eyes alive with a yellow glow, still speaking with the musical voice of the woman it pretended to be. "How beautiful. A human, ascended."

With the clicker-clacker noise of wood joints brushing against each other her hand moved to touch Turel's chest; it was not an aggressive gesture, stroking over it once, the sharp feeling of her claws oddly gentle.

"Yes, perhaps you could destroy me, if you tried," she drawled, her seductive manner and voice at odds with her monstrous visage. Despite her words, there wasn't an ounce of fear in her. Perhaps she was incapable of it. "Your power is great."

She left unspoken that hers was not that far removed, it didn't need to be said. Turel had gotten a taste of it himself and knew all too well that she might prove quite a challenge to overcome -- or a great asset to his cause indeed.

"But you won't," it added, as the image of another woman once more washed over her, this one quite different though no less beautiful. The details weren't quite certain, almost as if the demon hadn't decided who she was pretending to be yet. Indeed, Turel could now tell that not appearing as an object of desire to others took a conscious effort on her part, rather than the other way around, so to show her true face as their kiss had parted had been her full intention. A smile curved over scarlet lips. "You want me. Like no other man, you want me."

It was a statement. Neither an attempt to compel him, nor a spell or even mere seduction. She sensed Turel's intent.

She had not yet addressed his question regarding her origin and body, nor had the look inside her revealed a precise answer. Right now, she had other priorities.

[BladeofObliviom]

((My sincerest apologies, LongVin. I thought that I'd responded to this days ago, but the forum seems to have lost the post without my realization. This one is modified a bit to fit the fact that you appear to have moved on without me.))

5th of Bargenholt
Early Evening
Bastion University
Outside Knob's Room

The door was answered by a grumbling Captain Hetfield, already dressed as he was in the morning. Seeing the letter, he gave a nod and took it inside, before calmly and simply disrupting one of William's light reading sessions with it.

"Letter for you!"

"This had better actually be important this time, or so help me..."

"It's from that Welf guy."

"...Fine."



5th of Bargenholt
Late Evening
Dancing Horse Inn
Outside

Somewhat awkwardly, during such a vicious interrogation, one figure stepped from the shadows and another landed from a building above.

The Ghoul, pulling out a dagger that could only have been made for ritual torture, added one simple sentence to Holt's request.

"It is highly recommended that you listen to our friend here."

William, for his part, was in a heavy winter coat and simply standing back while the two enforcers did their work.


For my part, adding an extra +1 from Captain Hetfield's Intimidation. I don't think Strength actually applies to something like an attempt to beat information out of someone since it isn't a social advantage, but if it is Hetfield has a level of that too.

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
the burned house on the corner of Drake Street and Fifth
one hour after sundown

Christophe arrived early at the burned out house, and entered carefully, wary of both collapsing timbers, and of any traps that may have been set. Technically he was alone, though the area in general had a slightly higher amount of Disciples than it normally would, even at this time of night, and they all had orders to come immediately if Christophe blew the signal whistle in his pocket. He pulls out a folding stool, smooths his clothes, and brushes a small amount of ash off before sitting down, waiting for his employer.

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House

As Christophe moved to set up his folding stool, he heard a voice echoing from deeper into the house.

"Come in, Mr. Marane. I assure you it's quite safe."

Following the source of the sound, Christophe ventured deeper into the house, to a hallway the fire had not completely destroyed. One end was open space, the wall collapsed in the blaze, but sitting on the other was a blackened door, flickering light shining beneath its uneven crack. Pushing the door aside, Christope saw what once must have been a bedroom, blue wallpaper boiled to the point where the walls appeared covered in black wax, the ashen remains of a small bed shoved unceremoniously to the side. Black iron lamps had been erected in the corners of the room, black tallow candles filling it with a weak orange light. Sitting at the center of the devastation was a pair of red leather chairs, and seated in one was the Shadow King.

"Welcome, Mr. Marane. It's good to see you."

The Dead of Night

Turel smiled at the presumption of the demon lying before him. She was not wrong, but it had been some time since anyone had dared tell him his motives.

"Yes, I want you. You are powerful, girl, and wonderfully new."

He moved to a nearby chair, slouching into it as he brought a hand to his chin.

"But you are young still, and ignorant to the dangers of this world. There are mortals who hunt us, whose frailties are armored by the strength of misguided righteousness. I can teach you of them, and of so much more."

He stood, once again disappearing to stand before the bed. He reached out with one clawed gauntlet, hand open, waiting for her to take it.

"Come with me, and I can show you the world as you'd never see it leeching off these small things. And when I rule this world you shall have an honored place in my court."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House
Christophe and the Shadow King

Christophe bows, just sincere enough to not insult. "It's good to see you as well... I suppose I should call you 'Your Majesty' now? I enjoyed your show a few months ago by the way. Very... extravagant. Good trait for a king to have, though I find it less useful in my own line of work most of the time." He walks over to the chair. "Very nice chairs for such a devastated background. Am I correct to assume this one is for me?"

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House

A deep chuckle resonated from behind the Shadow King's helmet.

"Of course, Mr. Marane. I would not summon you here without providing some of the comforts of home."

As Christophe sits, the Shadow King motions to an end table sitting between them, holding a crystal decanter filled with a deep amber liquid.

"Whiskey? The blend is exquisite."

As they settled, the Shadow King steepled his fingers and looked down at Christophe.

"You've done quite well in the wake of the attack, Mr. Marane. Buying goodwill with one hand while taking power with the other - I could not have hoped for a better outcome to the Whispering Ring's destruction. It's a shame the Vivexians had to interrupt our plans with their pirate fleet. Regardless, I am pleased."

Reaching into the folds of his cape, the Shadow King pulled forth a vial of crimson liquid. In the flickering light, it seemed to bleed from red to black and back again, leaving dancing traces of darkness on its surface. Even with the light, though, Christophe saw a faint shimmer coming from behind the glass, speaking to the liquid's arcane origins.

"A gift for you, to help solidify your hold on the Waterfront and beyond. A man who drinks this will become faster, stronger, and more resilient than he'd have dreamed possible. I'd recommend against taking it yourself, though - it has something of an addictive quality."

He placed the vial down on the end table, leaving it pulsing between them like a glass candle.

[daelrog]

Baron's Son Challenge, Part Two of Five
If any of this conflicts with your current character's timeline, let me know and we'll get things rearranged.
5th of Bargenholt

There are a few dozen people who are searching for the Baron's son. Most are guards and sellswords with too much time on their hands without any practical experience, wandering aimlessly without luck. However, two groups seem to find some success.

The first was an optimistic group. Luke Crowley and his wife Sestelia were apt at finding just the right the people. Starting near the Lucan manor, they charmed and cajoled their way across the city, with their new friend, the dryad Grover Dubois following along beside them.

The first day led them to Drake Street, but it grew late, and people were starting to fall asleep...

-

"Honestly sir, I saw nothin', I swears it!" The man yelped. Another gesture by Holt changed the man's tune. "All right, all right! You're looking for the Lucan kid, right? One with an extra set of sharp teeth? Yeah, I saw him around Drake Street. Covered in a monk's robe. Ha! Think that little sadist posturing as a holy man! No, don't hit me, it was him all right! Ain't nobody with teeth like that but him!"

When Frederick, Holt, and William arrived on Drake Street after getting all the information they could out of the man, which was little else, it was getting late.

6th of Bargenholt, Midnight
Drake Street

Five men, dressed in red cloaks approached from behind Setselia, Luke, and Grover. Each had a knife in their hands, recently polished, and gleaming in the light. Their faces were covered with masks made from the skulls of different animals.

As the characters turned around, one of their number stepped forward. "Leave Reynald Lucan be... he is our prey."

-

The other trio searching for the Baron's son were on the other side of the street, but the robed men were there to greet them too. Unlike the others, only three cultists faced them, one for each, but they were armed differently. One held a long, curved sword, another a long axe, and the third held a spike bludgeon.

"Reynald Lucan is ours, wizard. You and the dead one should leave."

Part Two: Cultists have caught wind that both groups have caught the scent of Reynald Lucan, and wish to stop them. Your options are to flee or fight. If you flee, there is no penalty. If you fight and win, you move onto part 3, if you lose, each character suffers one AP for a month's in-game time.

Each cultist group is at 3+d6. Mid and close combat range can be used.

5th of Bargenholt, Noon
Dragon's Den
Ecks and Franco

"Dennarius Mungle, Baron of the Mungle Murkwoods... best place ever." Ecks was starting slur his words a bit. He shook Franco's hand.

But you see..." Ecks's voice was now quite loud. "No one knows who the Candleman is! Might not even be one person. Might even be a woman! Might even be our woman, Franco! Where is she? I want to know some poetry, damnit." he banged his mug on the counter, but he shook his head off and got back to the topic at hand. "That's what's so scary. Just some monster that burns people alive. Some say it's random. I saw nonsense. There's a pattern, there's always a pattern, and I plan to get to the bottom of it sir, yes sir. That's Dennarius Mungle... making a name for himself that way, since dueling ladies has proven unsuccessful." He looked at Franco. "Hey... First Regiment? You must know Alric. Caaaan't stand him."

[LongVin]

Baron's Son challenge

5th of Bargenholt


Bruno looks over to Frederick giving an inquiring glance on what to do next. He received a nod and Bruno dropped the man to the floor before growling in this thick accent "If I find you lying, I'll come back for you and chop off your *****" He stabs the axe down menacingly towards the man's crotch stopping only inches away from it.

"Well, I guess we know where to begin. Shall we be off?" Welf says to no one yet everyone as he pulls his cloak tighter around him and trots down the street. He wondered what the man meant by the one with the extra set of teeth.


6th of Bargenholt, Midnight
Drake Street


Oh joy! Cultists of some sort. It seems this Lucan has gotten himself involved with some strange business. And, the dead one...what is that supposed to mean. It was no matter at this time, but he would need to figure it out. Now, he had to deal with this trio before they could move on. "Good sirs, it would be in your best interest to leave us be. You will find only death here." Welf's fingers began moving in intricate patterns and it was clear to see to anyone who had magical training or saw a wizard in action that he was preparing a spell. It was rather ornate, but he wanted them to know he had the power to destroy them at his fingertips.

Bruno moved defensively to the side the good doctor and slapped his axe against he hand prepared to move against the first man that tried to intercept his master. "I'll gut you all you animal headed bastards!"

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt, Noon
Dragon's Den
Ecks and Franco

"Si, si, I know Alric. He's my Captain's superior. Seems like his sword is up his *** more than in his scabbard, but he's a good commander." Franco isn't slurring, though his hand gestures have gotten large, even for a wraenar. He looks around the bar, and not seeing Claire, turns back to Dennarius. "I believe our vanquisher has retired for the night. Perhaps you can hear some poetry tomorrow. Tonight however, let us discuss this Candleman. As a member of the First Regiment, I feel it my duty to keep the streets safe. Perhaps we could work together to bring down this pyro?"/COLOR]

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House
Christophe and the Shadow King

Christophe accepts a small glass of the whiskey, and takes a sip.
[COLOR="DarkOrange"]"Your right, this IS excellent. I may have to get a bottle to keep at the Alcov" When the Shadow King offers the vial, Christophe takes it and holds it up to the faint lightexami, ning it. Removing the stopper, he wafts a small amount of air to him, sniffing. "Somehow, I think I will regret asking, but what exactly is this? Clearly, something magic, which means addiction is probably the least of it's side effects."

[BladeofObliviom]

6th of Bargenholt, Midnight
Drake Street

William looks at the cultists and laughs.

"...You're joking. You're joking, right?"

Both the wizard and the captain sighed as the unfortunately less-than-effective cultists moved to the attack, and their compatriots in battle moved to intimidate rather than simply destroy.

William, on the other hand, knew enough of the recent rumors and troubles in the sewers to be entirely sure that he had no patience for blood mages, nor for their servants.

A sudden gesture from William, and one of the cultists simply keeled over, his soul torn from his corporeal form. Within a second or two, another had been disarmed and disemboweled by Hetfield's rapier, and he'd moved on to lock blades with a third before bringing a dagger around into his foe's neck with his other hand.

Of course, the two of them had this fight well in hand, but there was certainly still room for Welf and Holt to do some fighting.

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor

"This hero complex of yours is going to get you killed, Captain," fussed Remy in tow behind Stray, still burdened with the day's shopping. Though, now he did it because his friend was hurt, not out of some mock sense of propriety.

"Then I'll die a hero and the bards will sing songs of me. That's not a bad end." Stray forced a laugh. His shoulder still stung and now his eyes burned as well.

"They don't write songs about men who get beaten to death by cutthroats in the alley. And we all **** ourselves when we die; there's nothing noble about that."

"Are they still cutthroats if they bludgeon you? Bit of a misnomer. And I didn't... honestly... who actually throws chili powder in your face? Why would a fortuneteller even having a bowl of chili powder?"

"Perhaps she was preparing tamales between readings?"

"You're funny. Really, you should be the king's new jester!"

"Worse pay. Less to drink. Fewer perks. Besides, I doubt the king would teach me such colorful expressions. What does it mean 'to guzzle' anyway?"

"What kind of sailor doesn't know what a..." Stray shushed himself as Scarlett scurried past on her way to the kitchen. "Will I find Lady Falaeth in the library?" he asked. The maid nodded.

Outside the library door, Remy stacked the boxes and groceries in a pile. Stray fished out a silver mark and pressed it into Remy's palm. "Look after the ship and don't drink too much."

He paused with a hand on the door, turning to Remy before he vanished down the hall. "How do I look?"

"Like you need sleep," Remy said truthfully.

Stray shrugged, retorting, "When I'm dead", before he slipped into the library.

[LongVin]

6th of Bargenholt, Midnight
Drake Street

William looks at the cultists and laughs.

"...You're joking. You're joking, right?"

Both the wizard and the captain sighed as the unfortunately less-than-effective cultists moved to the attack, and their compatriots in battle moved to intimidate rather than simply destroy.

William, on the other hand, knew enough of the recent rumors and troubles in the sewers to be entirely sure that he had no patience for blood mages, nor for their servants.

A sudden gesture from William, and one of the cultists simply keeled over, his soul torn from his corporeal form. Within a second or two, another had been disarmed and disemboweled by Hetfield's rapier, and he'd moved on to lock blades with a third before bringing a dagger around into his foe's neck with his other hand.

Of course, the two of them had this fight well in hand, but there was certainly still room for Welf and Holt to do some fighting.

Frederick stops his casting and pacifies the fire spirits he was calling up. There was no need for him to add his own touch to this, the situation was clearly in hand...and it turned out that Mr. Knob was a practitioner of the arts, which art however was unknown. While it was possible for an elementalist to freeze the heart or boil the blood of a person it was an extremely difficult task. That left other possibilities and the claim of the "dead one" could have certain implications. Implications he might need to investigate on.

However, Bruno was not content to leave all the killing to the captain. Seeing that his boss was no longer threatened he raced up behind the last remaining cultist currently battling with the Pirate and with a vicious overhead swing he slams the axe deep into the man's head splitting the animal skull and the man's skull itself creating a nice gory mess.

[TechnOkami]

6th of Bargenholt, 1218
Midnight
The Streets of Bastion
Grover & The Crowleys


Reactively, almost instinctively, Grover turns on trunk with his Oak in his hand. With the strength of a landslide, the flat head of the terrible hammer hits squarely against the head of the cultist most immediately behind him, sending him into a wall.

"Oh? Funny, we're hunting him too! Predators on the fields clawing over the kill? Jolly!"

Grover lets the shaft of the hammer slide through his hand, his other grasping where his other hand was. Now the mighty tree-man wields his weapon with both of his gauntlet-esque wooded hands, ready to bring down cultists left and right.

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House

The Shadow King chuckled again, and in the corner of his eye Christophe could almost make out a purple shimmer where his eyes must be.

"Demon's blood, Mr. Marane. To imbibe it is to take the essence of the Nether into oneself, to strengthen the body and hone the mind. But yes, there are some side effects."

The Shadow King reached out his hand, and with a flex of clawed fingers summoned a gout of purple hellfire into his palm. It writhed for a moment before taking the shape of a man.

"At first there will be no sign, of course. Simply power. But over time, a body...indulges in the depravity of the demonic spirit."

The man of hellfire changed, growing taller even as his shoulders hunched, his ears coming to points and his teeth growing sharp.

"Such a change is gradual, of course. It wouldn't be much use to you if your men became bestial in the course of a day. But in a month? They will be more than just metaphorical hounds."

Without warning, he balled his hand into a fist, crushing the homunculus of fire and leaving naught but a wisp of smoke.

"The loyalty the substance will foster is more than worth the effect on your minions, but you are free to use it as you see fit. My supply is endless, so should you find yourself in need of more you have but to ask. Of course, should you choose to indulge your enforcers I'd recommend distancing yourself from them in public. It will be much easier to have you knighted if your daily affairs don't include common thugs."

6th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
The Road to the Falaeth Estate

He'd gotten up early that morning, as every morning, his body showing none of the fatigue one might expect from his midnight rendezvous. Turel still marveled at how unnecessary sleep had become in his divinity, though he retained enough humanity to enjoy the slow slide into untroubled oblivion. Now, dressed fully for the first time since the attack, he sat in his carriage on the way to the Falaeth estate. Rumors had been circulating since late the day before, but only now did it seem proper to pay his respects to the grieving widow. Staring out the window of his carriage, Turel grinned at the idea. It was unlikely Andiron's death would weigh too heavily on the young Marquise, and within a few weeks he felt certain she'd warm to his advances once again. How odd, that the past few days had seen so many changes to the board he played on.

Five Days Earlier...

The luncheon had been organized in the Golden Carrack's main dining room, a sumptuously warm chamber just off the lobby. A bay window looked out on the prosperous people strolling the streets, flanked by arboreal murals that looked new despite their great age. It was a testament to the hotel's obsession with quality, and no doubt helped ease the minds of those paying the exorbitant sums necessary to dine there.

On that particular day, most of the tables had been moved to storage rooms, leaving a single long dining table of sturdy oak to dominate the center of the room. Covered in white linen and set with lapis-inset china, it was a royal reception for those few who'd been declared the "Heroes of Bastion" at the gala the night before. Turel waited for his guests in a deep blue ensemble, his icy eyes filled with a welcoming glow as he stood beside the chair at the head of the table. One by one the heroes arrived, the necromancer Knobb and his friend, the golem Colmdran. Then came Maranis Selshiram with a guest, an older elf whose gaze was ever so much sharper than the others'. Turel presumed him to be some kind of specialist - he'd had brief encounters with the Sentinels during the war, and was bemused that she felt the need to bring a senior member along. Was he a chaperone? A talented subordinate? It mattered little, though Turel was sure the rest of her merry band were nearby, no doubt waiting with baited breath for the signal to rush in and apprehend the snarling villain. They'd get their chance.

Smiling, Turel motioned his guests to their seats, hiding a chuckle as Colmdran tested his chair. As at the opera, Turel had commissioned a reinforced seat for the juggernaut's use, but even the steel reinforced seat groaned beneath his weight. They exchanged some tense small talk, the necromancer and the elves doing a fine job of hiding their suspicions. The demon hunter had declined the invitation, it seemed, but it was of little importance - eventually he'd reveal himself, and then the Lord Marshall would have to answer for his deception.

After a few minutes, the first course arrived from the kitchens, a Wraenian tortellini dish in a warm broth. On its own, it was an invigorating treat on the cold day, but there was something extra in this dish, something special. The older elf noticed it first, predictably, and to his credit he wasted little time in striking the spoon from Maranis' hand. But it was too late by then, as Turel felt a searing tightness work its way up his abdomen. The poison was special, debilitating without being lethal, and he was sure Keller had greatly enjoyed picking it from his library of toxins. As William began to clutch his stomach, he managed a faint cry, but the substance of it was lost as an armored figure came crashing through the bay window.

Clad all in black, the Shadow King cut a terrifying profile, heavy cape flapping in the slight breeze, a cruelly sharp blade in his hand. As he straightened, he was joined by a nightmarish coterie, four figures out of nightmare wielding steel and flame. Everything seemed to happen at once then, the debilitated heroes overcoming pain to fight their great nemesis. Without a second thought, Maranis loosed a gout of flame towards the Shadow King, only to be intercepted by a blast of flame from a tattered monstrosity of matchsticks and blood. William stood from his seat, only to be seized from behind by a gangly figure in an avian mask, one spidery hand wrapping around his throat as the other raised up a foot long knife. Jalzin raised whistle from his pocket, only for it to disappear into the hands of a sinuous, scaled thing that might once have been a woman as another shade with an estoc coated in black foulness leapt the table. In the center of it all, Turel stood, screaming protestation, until the blade of the Shadow King was rammed into his stomach. Turel was lifted into the air, blood soaking his fine clothes, until he was shoved off the blade with a kick that sent him flying into the wall with the crack of breaking bones.

As Keller's poisonous blade dove towards Jalzin, the older elf suddenly wasn't there, a figment double evaporating as he sidestepped the killing blow. Seeing her fire blocked, Maranis whispered a few words of power and sent a hail of cobblestones flying through the shattered window towards the demons, knocking Zhirad from William's throat and sending Annah flying against the table. The Shadow King turned, seeking new prey, only for the adamant fist of Colmdran to collide with the side of his head, sending him skidding through another wall and into the lobby. As Zhirad grappled with William, the necromancer managed a blast of necrotic energy to the demon's chest, throwing him off even as a gangly figure dove from a nearby rooftop to tackle the demonic doctor. Maranis danced away from Keller, the toxic duelist pursuing, every reflex going towards dodging the stream of fire and detritus she was throwing at him. Jalzin moved to help, only to find the serpentine woman standing in his way. Her slap nearly sent him to the ground, sharpened talons raking across his face, but as they separated the whistle was once again in his hand.

The shrill sound of the Sentinel signal coincided with Annah's return to the combat, an explosion of flame rippling towards Captain Helfield and sending him flying off Zhirad and back into the street. Standing with a snarl, two scythed arms sprouted from his shoulders, and he and William began a desperate duel of blades and necromantic puissance. Hissing, Siras' leapt at Jalzin, only to pass through another illusory decoy. Before he could take advantage of the fact, though, she was gone, and wrapping her hands about his throat from behind. Keller and Maranis finally reached the end of the table, where his flying lunge turned into a painful uppercut as a blast of solid air caught him in the chin, sending him tumbling back to shatter the table with his impact. Colmdran moved to assist his friend, but before he got two steps and inhuman scream echoed through the room. The Shadow King came charging through the breach he'd made, his wounds trailing fire as he drove towards Colmdran. The construct was taken by surprise, and before he could move to block the strike the tip of the sword had rammed into his adamant chest. The blow was so powerful it sent both combatants against the wall, demonic steel vying with blood-crafted body, until finally both gave way. The Shadow King's sword splintered, but as it did a crack ran through Colmdran's chest, allowing the fragmented remains of the blade to drive through his body and into the wood beyond. He made no sound, but as the Shadow King turned Colmdran hung there, impaled like a macabre doll.

Jalzin had nearly passed out before a blast of wind separated him from Siras, Maranis moving to protect her comrade even as Keller regained his feet. A wall of fire suddenly separated them, Annah's cackle rising above the blaze, but even as Maranis recoiled she heard the thrum of a bowstring. The arrow struck the matchstick monster in the shoulder, and as her attention was diverted the wall of fire died. On the rooftops across from the battle, the Sentinels arranged a firing line, and down the street more elves could be seen rushing to aid their commander. Zhirad, distracted, took another blast to the chest, sending him skidding to join his fellows as they gathered in the center of the ruined room. Looking over the violence, the Shadow King uttered one word.

"Now."

And then they were gone, vanished without a trace as Hetfield stormed back into the room at the head of a battalion of elves.

Now...

Turel smiled at the memory. It had been a masterful performance, and the pain was a small price to pay to send his enemies into confusion. True, he'd have preferred to see more of them dead, but the look on the necromancer's face as he collected his fallen comrade had been priceless. Turel reminded himself to check whether the construct still clung to life.

A clatter of wheels on the cobbles roused Turel from his reverie, and through the window he saw the high walls of the Dawn district's estates. Turning, he looked at the silent youth sharing the car, Jon Cole whose blood was anathema to magic. A special child, and one who would prove most useful in the future.

"What are you thinking about, sir?"

"Nothing, Jon. Just the last few details of the orphanage before we open. I'm rather looking forward to it."

"So am I, sir...I mean your grace!"

Jon's face flushed. The orphan from the street had made remarkable progress in the past weeks, but he still was not at ease with the vagaries of nobility. Still, he was charming enough, and pliable.

"Don't trouble yourself, Jon. You'll get the hang of it."

The carriage turned, and through the window walls disappeared in place of verdant grounds - they'd arrived. Pulling up to the front of the mansion, Turel's crimson carriage came to a stop some distance from the front door. As it did, the driver and his companion climbed down to open the doors. Reaching into the carriage, Keller and Marcoth gripped the chair securely before lowering Turel to the ground, jostling their wounded master as little as possible. Jon followed, coming to stand at Turel's right hand as they approached the door. All the men were clad in somber black, lacking any decoration in observance of the tragedy that had visited the house. As they reached the entrance, Keller and Marcoth lifted Turel up the few stairs until he was secure on the landing. Then, as instructed, they withdrew to the carriage.

"Jon, please announce us."

Hesitantly, Jon approached the thick wooden door and gave several swift knocks. He withdrew to Turel's side, and when the butler appeared Turel gave a subdued nod.

"We've come to pay our respects to the Lady Falaeth, if she's receiving visitors?"

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Luke nodded a bit more seriously than usual.

"Yes, of course. I plan on walking away from this little affair with my life, so I'll be sure to play it safe until I have some extra support."

"Don't worry, Miss Maranis. I'll make sure we run straight away from anything I can tell isn't going to end well for us," said Setselia with a smile. "At any rate, you can have Wynbi call me anytime if you need a retrocognitive reading done."

The mood lightened again with the conversation shifted back to the Festival.

"Oh? I guess you might be right, actually. I've been to plenty of quiet Anarion gatherings and more than a few classy galas, but I've never spent much time with the, er, feistier kind of folks." she said, pausing a bit in the middle to fish for the right adjective.

"Ho ho, now that you mention it, I suppose the same goes for me! Well then, I'll definitely have to make a point of attending for the sheer experience of it, won't I?"

6th of Bargenholt, 1218
Midnight
The Streets of Bastion
Grover & The Crowleys

Setselia laughed and clapped her hands excitedly at the cultists' approach.

"Hee hee! Oh, you're perfectly on schedule! This is going to be exciting," she said with a cheery smile.

"Ho ho, indeed!" chuckled Luke while drawing his dueling sword and assuming a practiced, gentlemanly fighting stance. "I look forward to seeing what that Oak of yours is capable of," he said with a quick glance over to Grover. "Now, have at thee, knaves!"

Luke quickly disarmed the first of the five cultists with a graceful flick of his sword and dealt him a staggering injury with his next stroke. "Oh ho, it seems you are bested!"

As another of the cultists rushed at Setselia with knife in hand, she quickly sidestepped and sent him stumbling and tripping forward with her outstretched leg placed conveniently in the way of his. She then lost her one-footed balance and tumbled down onto the street in a mess of frills and hair at precisely the right time to avoid the cultist's second attack as he regained his balance and aimed at her head. "Tee hee! You're so obvious, silly!" she laughed as Luke took advantage of her attacker's vulnerability to dispense with him.

[hi-mi-tsu]

6th of Bargenholt, Falaeth Manor
Morning
Liam

The butler looks the player up and down, his eyes disapproving and lips pursed as he takes the letter.

"I suppose he must know due to gossip, as my lady has not yet published an obituary." The implication was that the Duke was in quite poor form for offering his "condolences" so early, and not coming in person. Sending a lowly player to do so...in some circles, it could be construed as disrespectful.

"Wait here." He disappears inside; the wait is long, but he eventually reappears, frown even more pronounced.

"...My lady says it is acceptable for you to enter, but she will not stand on ceremony. If you wish to speak with her, she can be found in the drawing-room currently, though she will soon retire to the library."

6th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor
Stray

A nearly-full tray of food sits beside the lady of the manor; she stares into the fire, but does not see it. Her head reels with thoughts of funerary arrangements--she must plan to have his body lifted into the trees--would the city protest at that arrangement? Maybe it would have to be done in their own gardens. But oh, she does not want his body in her trees.

It is likely she would have sat and stared into the fire forever, had Stray not slipped into the library. At the captain's step, Elizabeth stirs, blinks, offers up a faint smile.

"Ah...my captain. Returned from your daily adventure, I see. Did you find anything exciting...? ...Are you hungry? Scarlett brought me a tray, but...I find myself lacking in the desire to eat any of it. It's all my favorite treats, too...I'd feel awful sending it back."

She pats the settee next to her, inviting him to sit.

"Keep me company, for a while."

A few hours later, Falaeth Manor
Turel

"Another visitor?!?" The elderly butler is practically apoplectic, by this point, brows furrowed so deeply they nearly shadow his eyes.

"I shall see if she is accepting more 'well-wishers'. Wait here." Turning on his heel, he strides away; those with good hearing will discern him muttering "Plague rats, all of them, coming to see a show...my poor Lady."

The wait, again, is long; after about ten minutes, the butler returns.

"My Lady is in the library, being attended by Captain Stray. She says you may come, but she is not garbed appropriately for visitors, nor will she change." Sweeping his arm to the side, he beckons them in, but does little more; Turel has been in the manor before, it is assumed he knows his way to the library.

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor

"If you don't have an appetite, I'm going to feel bad about bringing you this." Stray sifted through his sack until he produced a sausage on a stick, wrapped up in a bit of wax paper.

"I'll gladly trade you this for one of those watercress sandwiches." The two were swapped out in a wink and Stray nibbled politely, despite the fact that it was the first thing he'd eaten all day.

"There's a Vorarlan word, I forget what exactly, but it translates to 'grief bacon'. Some tradition of stuffing your face with whatever you damned well please when someone dies. Heh. Where I come from, we just drink corn whiskey until we forget everything bad the deceased ever did to us."

He smiled wryly, "Eat. You're light headed and it'll just get worse between stress and hunger."

[hi-mi-tsu]

6th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor

"...Grief bacon...how on earth do you know these things...?" A faint smile, barely there and then gone...but Elizabeth takes the sausage dutifully, and just as dutifully takes a small bite. It was slightly more appealing than the sweet, delicate things made to appease her, though on a normal day she would eat those delights until she was sick. All of her favorite, sinful little things, tiny chocolate tarts and raspberry jelly cookies, pasties stuffed with fragrant lamb and mint, pouches stuffed full of cheese and olives...

It was all ash in her mouth, today.

It wasn't as though she mourned him, not really. Not at all, in honesty. Andiron had been rotten to the core, and she had not loved him, nor really even liked him. But this limbo...this was what she did not like. This feeling of being trapped in a space she did not want to occupy, widowed woman, forced by social convention to appear sad and mourning. Forced to plan an exotic and elaborate funeral, because that was what was expected of her, forced to gratefully and graciously accept the "well-wishes" of "mourners" who came for a spectacle.

The sausage consumed, Elizabeth's hands fold in her lap, and she sighs.

"I don't know what to do, Stray."

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Falaeth Manor: Library

Seemingly ignoring Elizabeth, Stray went over the tray of delicacies. "What is this, havarti and a... peach chipotle coulis tart? Gods be good, I'll sail off with Scarlett and get fat. That's obscene; no one should eat this good."

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, leaning his hip against the long oak table. "You do whatever the hell you want. In a month, that smug, arrogant piece of **** will be forgotten and you'll be a wealthy woman. Cast thy nighted color off. Throw a party. Invite that Tyrel fellow. Turel? We'll even let you play cards with us this time."

"They're not coming for you," he sighed, changing the subject slightly and pouring himself a cup of wine from the decanter. "Whatever threw Andiron in the canal... if they wanted you, you'd be dead already. Andiron had many enemies. Everyone loves you. You have the money, the manor and a good man in your bed. All that you've lost is a bore and an obligation. I know how much stress you must be under, but that will pass. Give his body to his brother, settle his affairs and then you're done. You're officially out of men telling you what to do!"

[GuyFawkes]

6th of Bargenholt, Falaeth Manor
Morning
Butler, Elizabeth

"Of course, of course. There is no need for the Lady to bother herself on my account. Thank you," with that he bowed low. "If you would be so kind as to lead me to the drawing room."

Liam tried to make some small talk with the butler as he followed him, and again bowed a low theatrical bow as he said his thanks when they arrived at the drawing room. As soon as he was announced, hee walked in and bowed before speaking.

"My deepest apologies for intruding at this time, my Lady. The Duke has heard of the Marquis' demise late last night and wished to extend his condolences. But unfortunately, he is engaged at the moment. His Grace shall do so when the news gets public and he has time, as is more appropriate, but on my insistence, he allowed me to come here to ask for your permission to make a play to honor the Lord Falaeth. I know you need your time to grieve, but I thought it best to do this as soon as possible, while the emotions are still high among the people."

"I thought it best to start with interviews from the people who work here, until my Lady is ready to give an interview. But of course, this humble player would need permission to do so. Or if my Lady would permit the writing of such play at all."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House
Christophe and the Shadow King

Christophe is clearly taken aback by the identity of the liquid. He takes a moment to collect himself before he speaks. "Demon blood. You just handed me a vial of what you say is an unlimited supply of demon blood. Which means your either a demonologist, summoner, or demon yourself... Another pause, as his voice had started to rise, indicating his growing stress in the situation. By the time he was under his own control again, he had decided to take a more pragmatic approach. "Know what? It doesn't matter. As long as I don't have to get personally involved with any more demons than is in this bottle," he shakes the vial gently "And always get my pay, all of Bastion could be demon's and I wouldn't give a rat's arse. I'll give this blood to the leader of the Basher's. he won't take it himself, but give it to some of his stronger, less dedicated members. Two birds with one stone, and all that."

[Aux-Ash]

5th of Bargenholt, Late Afternoon
The Golden Carrack

As the Lord Commander was ushered into the hotel's main suite, he passed the Golden Carrack's manager, an man of some fifty years who still managed to carry himself with the stiff perfection of the marble that adorned his foyer. He was a commoner, but like all commoners who moved among Bastion's nobles he'd acquired the regal air of those he served. Seeing the Lord Commander, faded green eyes blinked behind steel rimmed spectacles before he nodded slightly and went about his business.

Inside the room, Turel sat facing the door, the bandages around his torso now covered by a crisp white shirt. But the sling remained, and as he moved to recognize Alric's entrance Turel winced in pain.

"Lord Commander, it's good to see you. Please, take a seat."

Turel motioned to the plush armchair separated from his own by a circular end table holding a bottle of Wraenar red and a pair of glasses. As Alric took his seat, Turel took hold of the bottle in his good arm and poured himself a glass.

"May I offer you some refreshment, Lord Commander? It seems unkind to drag you down here without showing you some hospitality."


5th of Bargenholt
The Golden Carrack, Turel's private suite
Afternoon

Alric stepped into the room and inclined his head politely to Turel, looking a bit out of place in his well-fitted service armour. It was not a complete set, like his battlearmour was, this was a much lighter piece. But it still featured greaves, armguards and a breastplate.

"Lord Turel. I do apologise for keeping you waiting. It has been a busy morning I fear."

The elderly man gave a brief nod as Turel gestured to the chair and took a step over to it. With a firm grip on the armrest and a slightly weary expression, the old soldier lowered himself into it. In that brief moment, it looked like the armour was doing more to burden him and make him look aged than it helped him seem authoritive.

It was over as soon as it showed however, and the firm expression he always wore quickly found itself. Smiling a bit when Turel offered him some wine.

"Please.

I understand you were attacked in the middle of the night as you were trying to sleep? A terrible piece of business, but it certainly speaks highly of you and your people that you were able to defeat their attempt at such an hour. Not many could do that in your shoes."

He studied Turel briefly, he couldn't say he trusted the man but he did respect him for being capable. Someone else must clearly have found the ambitious and recently ennobled man a lot less worthy of respect though.

"My men reported that you did not know anyone in particular coming after you and that the perpetrators were elves?"

Maybe Alric's position would make Turel feel more comfortable with letting slip more. Maybe it wouldn't. Regardless, doing a visit like this was for all intents and purposes a requirement. Even if Turel didn't care, the other nobles of the city certainly did. He let his gaze wander up and down over Turel, his mind already at work trying to decipher the mystery.

[VonDoom]

The Dead of Night

"The world," the demon repeated, as if testing the word upon her tongue. It seemed to agree well enough with her, eyes trailing after Turel as he sat down. "I have been growing bored of these easily seduced fools."

"And you would teach me, hold a place for me amongst your court?" An intrigued look crossed her face, though with a Desire Demon that didn't necessarily mean much. Turel himself interested her greatly, that much he knew from their brief contact, but his offer? That was more nebulous.

Aware of this predicament, the demon seemed to instead change the subject: "This silent one, he looks too sharp to be a mere bodyguard. Your second, I presume?"

The thing in a female's shape regarded him with an odd look, considering the strange notion of using a literal creature of Envy for such a position and the implications thereof for a moment, before she returned to the true query, the one she had been leading up to: "Tell me of this court of yours."

I'm not trying to end the scene here, by going on to a different point in time, just speeding things up a bit since we know the ultimate outcome already: I'm still very interested in his response and how he describes it to Cerese.

==================

A later date
Meresin Manor

The scent she brought with her was reminiscent of a heady autumn breeze, the exotic fragrance of orchids subtly tickling the senses as the feminine figure of Cerese Meresin passed through the entrance to Turel's study, her dress a delectable purple color that made a striking match match to the dark hair that framed her lovely face.

She found her supposed sibling studying a document, a letter of some sort, but decided to quickly alleviate to tedium such a task must invoke as she leaned into his shoulders, the soft touch of her warm cheek against his as she spoke into his ear, with that melodic, pleasantly rich voice of hers. "Brother dear," she began, a hint of amusement in her voice, "I met the most interesting man today. You'll want to hear this, if you can divert your attention from those letters for a spell."

The Royal Museum, five hours earlier

It was a testament to the purple-clad woman that her beauty compelled more attention from many of the visitors than the art pieces she had come to examine, her black hair fluttering in the soft breeze as she fanned herself. At the moment she stood before a five year old painting of the current monarch, looking at it in the obviously disinterested fashion that many generations of nobles had turned into an art.

Already she had sent two sons of wealthy merchants who had felt particularly brave away with a polite but cutting remark, at contrasting odds with the lingering heat of her brief touch. Still, another encounter was on its way.

"What a beautiful piece of art," someone suddenly said from over her shoulder. The woman, Lady Meresin, had not noticed his approach until the man had announced it. His voice was an odd thing, devoid of emotions and monotone yet somehow almost lyrical.

A slight frown marring her otherwise perfect complexion, Cerese turned to regard this man who had so evaded her senses. He was staring at her, his head slightly inclined to the side, with a fascinated impression on his face. The black-haired man didn't even pretend to look at the building.

Another mortal man, fallen prey to the deceptive beauty of the Desire Demon that hid beneath the Lady Cerese's face. Nothing out of the ordinary. And yet … there was something about his stance, the way he carried himself that spoke to the demon. The man was a killer, uncompromising, ruthless and one who took great joy in his work. She could tell.

This alone was hardly enough to keep her interest -- there were plenty of fools about to send at others with murderous intentions and even as she regarded him from beneath her eyelashes, her thoughts were already drifting in other directions. Until he spoke again.

"Such excellent craftsmanship," he continued as he somehow looked past her dark, alluring lips. The way his expression didn't change at all might have been unsettling to an ordinary woman. "I could spend years working on the finest log and never achieve such perfection."

Meresin Manor

Cerese laughed lightly as she leaned back into a chair, crossing her legs enticingly at her brother.

"He saw my true self, Turel. A common man, looking right at me, as if it was plain as day." A brief glance towards the door, a brief sending out of her other senses to confirm that none were listening, before she continued. "He must be quite mad. I thought to kill him, but he said I was beautiful. That he wanted nothing more than to serve me. Words I hear often, of course, but never meant in such a way, not from a mortal."

"He appears quite skilled at killing others of his kind, from what I gather. His name is …"

The Royal Museum, four hours and fifty minutes earlier

"I am terribly sorry, milady, I haven't introduced myself." Despite saying that, the well-dressed man did not bow, nor did he look particularly regretful. At this point the Desire Demon suspected he might not experience emotions as other people do. "My name is Lester. Lester Tamitee. At your service."

He paused, his dead eyes resting upon Cerese's form. "Truly, I mean it. Consider me at your service. I certainly need not tell a woman of your caliber what these include."

Meresin Manor

"… of course I dismissed him, looking upset at his strange behavior. It wouldn't do to associate with such a man. Not in public." Her smile told the rest. Of course she had met him again, likely even followed him in secret. A man who found the horrible thing that she really was enticing? How could a Desire Demon ever resist?

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt, Late Afternoon
The Golden Carrack

Turel waved Alric's apology aside as the older man sat.

"Please, Lord Marshal, there's no need to apologize. I understand your responsibilities are both numerous and never-ending, and I was in no danger."

Pouring a drink for Alric, Turel allowed himself a friendly smile.

"I'm afraid I can't claim much credit for stopping the assassins. That honor belongs to my bodyguard, Marcoth."

Turel nodded to the tall man standing in the corner, a long sword hanging from his belt and an unyielding expression on his face. He had a dangerous mien, an uncanny glimmer in his eye that brought to mind soldiers who enjoyed their duties more than was seemly. Yet many nobles employed such men, and his skill had saved Turel's life.

"Alas, I cannot shed any light on the nature of the assassins, though they were indeed elves. I imagine you might learn more from the examination of their bodies - your men took them to the nearest guard post, I believe."

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House

The Shadow King inclined his head, clearly pleased at the response.

"A most pragmatic view, Mr. Marane. I'm glad to see my gifts being put to good use. There is but one other matter I wish to discuss with you this night. My ascent to prominence has been swift, as intended, but it has garnered the attentions of certain self-appointed saviors of the city. I don't wish you to expose yourself, but it would please me if you would keep an ear to the ground, as it were. Take note of any...worthy individuals snooping about our business. I think you'll agree that the removal of such pests is to our advantage. Additionally, should you discover anyone of singular ability who might be amenable to our goals, make sure to report them. Powerful allies could be of great help in the days to come."

The Dead of Night

Turel chuckled at the creature's observation. Turning towards Zhirad, he held out his hand.

"Of course, where are my manners? This, my young beauty, is Zhirad. He is my oldest companion, my most faithful servant. There are few like him. Most of our kind are content to writhe in the Nether, glutting themselves on the suffering of this world and their own petty intrigues. They press in on this world, but it is a disorganized front, an assault led by the rumbling whims of the Nether Lords and the fickle ambitions of Pride. But some of use are different."

He lowered his arm to touch his breast.

"Mortals are weak, mewling things, but in the hearts of a rare few is an ambition, a focus, that can transcend even the orgiastic chaos of the Nether. Those few demons cunning enough to survive on this plane for long enough know the truth of this, have remembered that sole worthy aspect of their humanity. They are not defined by the sin that spawned them - they define it. These rare few are zealots searching for vision, and in his searching Zhirad found me. I have walked this world for more than five decades. I've raised no armies, claimed no lands, toppled no dynasties. That is the path of blind ambition, a path all to quickly crushed by the manifold defenders of this world. Instead, I have learned. I have watched for the shadows are pieced together the lore of our lost history, when demons rules supreme over heaven and earth. That is the reason the Shadow Court follows me, above all else - I am pride tempered by pain, and in the purifying fire of my divinity I have retained that singular spark of mortal insight. I have seen beyond a mere kingdom, to a time when all the souls of this world are naught but loyal worshipers, all to happy to sacrifice themselves for my pleasure and the pleasure of my chosen few. I do not seek lordship, I seek godhood. And I shall have it."

6th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
The Falaeth Estate

Turel's eyebrows crept higher at the butler's disrespectful welcome, though he said nothing. It was inevitable that Andiron's death would have unnerved the servants, and though Turel expected better he was not about to reprimand one of Elizabeth's faithful. Not now, at least. As the butler swept his arm in an inviting gesture, Turel nodded to him.

"Thank you. Jon, help me."

Turel gripped one of his chair's wheels with his free hand as Jon got behind, his head barely clearing the chair's high back. Together, they maneuvered the wheeled seat into the mansion, down the carpeted hall towards the Falaeth library. It took some time, but eventually they arrived.

"Jon, if you'd be so kind."

Jon came out from behind the chair, his breathing heavy, and made to walk towards the door.

"Wait a moment, catch your breath."

"Thank you, your grace."

Turel reached into his breast pocket for his silken pocket square, pulling it out and passing the black silk to Jon. With a timid smile, the boy accepted it and mopped a few beads of sweat from his face.

"Good. Now."

Jon nodded and moved to the library door, knocking to announce Turel's arrival. Once permission was given, he opened to door and allowed Turel to wheel himself inside.

"Elizabeth, I just heard the news. Is there anything I can do?"

6th of Bargenholt, Late Afternoon
The Royal Bank

After he departed the Falaeth Estate, Turel had one more piece of business to attend to, one that had weighed on his mind for some time. Sailing over the smooth cobbles of the Dawn district, his carriage passed through the fortress of the First Regiment and into the streets of Bastion's upper class neighborhoods. Eventually, the carriage pulled up to the magnificent edifice of Bastion's Royal Bank, and after a difficult journey up its marble steps he was inside. The deep oak paneling and gold fixtures of the interior glowed with warmth despite the outside chill, a side effect of the lamps that shed a brilliant light over the main room. Two dozen tellers stood behind a barred counter, aiding their wealthy clientele. But Turel was no simple merchant, and as he was wheeled into the private offices of the bank's overseer there was not a word of protest.

Dashel Broddick's secretary sat behind a monstrous desk covered in papers, each deliberately organized into the proper stack, waiting for the merchant prince's signature. Broddick may not have been royalty, but he was richer than any other commoner, and a good number of the peerage as well. His secretary revealed him to be a businessman first and foremost, a handsome woman in her late forties dressed conservatively in silver-grey. Seeing Turel, her hazel eyes widened slightly and she stood.

"Your grace! Welcome to the Royal Bank. I'm sorry, but Master Broddick is very busy right now."

"I'm sure. However, I think you'll find he's expecting me."

The secretary frowned. Clearly, she was not in the position of admitting people without an appointment, but for a man of Turel's standing she would make an exception. She stepped out from behind the desk with a slight curtsey, moving to Broddick's door and entering with a knock. The words were low enough to be indistinguishable through the door, but she exited with a smile.

"Please, come inside."

"Thank you."

She held the door open as Marcoth wheeled Turel into an office that was larger than most of the city's houses. It was two stories, the second one a balcony lined with thousands of ledgers, the accounts of the bank and the city's mercantile enterprises going back centuries. Below, the walls boasted masterful paintings while the thick carpet was dotted with statues of great beauty and a few pieces of exquisite furniture. At the center of it all was a desk with a polished top of white marble, its wooden sides engraved with majestic carvings of the sea. Behind it say Broddick, a feeble man of seventy arrayed in silk and silver, his buttons inlaid with rubies. It was a sight that would humble many, but as Marcoth left and the secretary closed the door behind her Turel's expression shifted into an assured smirk.

"Dashel, how is business?"

"Fine, my lord."

Absently, Broddick rubbed a hand over his heart, as though bothered by the memory of pain there.

"It's "your grace" now, Dashel. Don't insult me."

The old man's eyes widened in fear, his words tumbling from his lips.

"Forgive me, your grace! Please, I meant no offense!"

"Calm yourself, Dashel. I believe you. Now, how goes your task? Is everything in place?"

"It was difficult-"

"Difficult?"

Broddick paled.

"But it is done! The King is convinced that something must be done to prevent another disaster at the Waterfront, and the guilds agree."

"And his conviction will benefit us?"

"Yes. You're the only noble with the faith of the merchants and without a political agenda. You were the clear choice."

"Well done, Master Broddick. I am most pleased. See to it the transition goes smoothly on your end - I'd hate to have to make an example of someone."

Turel turned his chair towards the door without difficulty.

"Good afternoon. Marcoth, come!"

Broddick slumped into his chair as Turel was wheeled out, his face grey from fear and remembered pain. He'd grown wealthy from Turel's machinations, incredibly wealthy, but the cost of failing his master was terribly high.

Plot Ticket

Master of Trade

On the seventh of Bargenholt, King Bastion announces the creation of a new royal office. The Master of Trade is responsible for the flow of goods and people into and out of Bastion. As such, he is given authority over the city gates and the Waterfront, and in return for his service is allowed a small percentage of the wealth passing through the city. After consulting with prominent merchants and the Guild of Bankers, the King has named the newly ennobled Turel Meresin to the post, to the surprise of many of the city's entrenched aristocracy. In addition, in order to cement the importance of the office, the King has conferred the long-abandoned Mayor's Estate upon Duke Meresin, to the silent pleasure of the Golden Carrack. Upon reception of his new title, the Duke Meresin has begun renovation on the palatial estate and summoned his sister to the city.

8th of Bargenholt, Afternoon
The Meresin Estate

Turel laid the recently delivered deed to his new estate back on the temporary desk at Cerese's touch. It was a compelling thing, the lust of demons, deathly hot yet terribly cold, but it still sang in his inhuman heart nonetheless. Reaching up, he stroked her face as she lay against him, eventually pushing back to face her with a smile.

"Why, my dearest sister, how could I refuse you?"

As she told the story, Turel's expression became thoughtful. He did not speak until she had finished, at which point he steepled his fingers.

"A madman who wishes to serve? A not uncommon occurrence for creatures as compelling as you, Cerese. If he is as capable as you say, you should make use of him. If nothing else, he'll prove a useful pawn and plaything, but if you take a liking to him and he lives up to your expectations, we might elevate him."

8th of Bargenholt, Afternoon
Drake Street Market

"Doom!"

In a corner of Drake Street Market, a crowd is gathering, centered on a ragged man atop a crude table. Clad in scorched robes, he might have been a corpse save for his blazing eyes and the spittle that bubbled on cracked lips with every word. Those watching him were little better, the destitute and forgotten from Drake Street's alleys, drawn to his call.

"Doom is coming! It stalks our streets wrapped in silk, dripping with gold drenched in blood! It is the sin of the rich man, come to strike the poor man in his home! Disaster looms over our city, but there is still hope! Still time to plunge the dagger of righteousness into its black heart! If you have courage, we might yet be saved!"

The crowd around him murmured agreement, enraptured by his evangelism. Meanwhile, the merchants and customers of the market gave the gathering a wide berth, trying to ignore this latest intrusion of poverty into their lives.

Challenge

The Doomsayer

The doomsday prophet in Drake Street Market is quite mad, but it is a compelling madness. Over the next few hours, his crowd continues to grow as he preaches the purifying of Bastion to rescue it from the claws of the impure. If he is not stopped, the crowd will riot as the sun begins to set, brutally attacking the patrons of the Drake Street Market before moving towards the First Regiment fortress protecting the Dawn district, smashing shop windows and trailing a line of looters and anarchists.

To defeat the doomsayer, there are three options. The first is to convince the crowd to disperse, which will require success against a target of 10 on a social test where Wealth and Nobility act as negative modifiers. The second is to engage the doomsayer in a social battle. He has a +5 to his roll, and in this situation Nobility and Wealth are simply nullified, they do not work against you. The third option is to drive the crowd off with violence, winning a combat against a roll of +3. Success in the first two options will result in the crowd dispersing peacefully, disregarding the doomsayer as a madman. Success in the third also results in them dispersing, but the character who does it will carry a black mark among the commoners of Bastion for weeks, and will want to be careful about what they eat and what they buy. Failure on the first two tests results in the doomsayer using your interference as fuel for the fire, making you a potential target in the riot and drawing more people into the riot itself. Failure on the third incites the riot immediately, likely resulting in much more damage to Drake Street itself.

Advantage Gain

1 - Wealth +1
1 - Nobility +1
1 - Estate (Luxury II)

[Aux-Ash]

5th of Bargenholt, Late afternoon
The Golden Carrack

The old man nodded as he sipped from the wine Turel had poured him. The man appeared quite humble as they sat there, perhaps Alric had misjudged the young up and comer. He had always figured him as a bit overambitious and overbearing. He probably still was, but taking the effort to hide it was saying something as well.

When Turel bestowed honour upon his bodyguard Alric inclined his head and raised his glass in a silent and private toast to the dangerous-looking man. Honour to whomever honour is due, after all.

Turning his attention back to Turel, he returned to the topic of their discussion.

Indeed, I believe it is my next stop. Unfortunantely, dead bodies tend not to be very forthcoming with regards to who previosuly employed them. But regardless. Is there anyone in particular you've had a falling out with the past months among nobility and the rich? Someone that covets something of yours? Someone that has appeared envious of you and your success?

Even if it just seems minor, I would appriciate hearing about it.

5th of Bargenholt, early evening.
A guardpost of the First.

Looking over the dead elven assassins and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. It did not add up. Not at all. Two had been cut down from behind, and one had a broken wrist and a massively bruised throat that had been slit. What exactly had transpired was a bit unclear... as always. Probably the large soldier had caught the third one in a grip before he killed him. Used him as a shield, perhaps?

The doctor that had been called in had completed his work and concluded they died early last night. Possibly prior to Andiron.

Which made the last clue really difficult to add into the picture. The dagger that had killed the marquis had come back. It had not been made in the city, but one smith had recogniced it as elven make. Three dead elven assassins and an elven dagger found dug into a Bastionite nobleman. His gut told him that this was too far fetched for a coincidence. Elven daggers are not this common.

But why would the Toldarim attack Andiron? Or Turel? Were they even Toldarim?

Sitting down by the table for a brief moment, the Lord.Marshal hastily scribbled a note and handed it to his aide.

Take this to ms. Maranis at the university. I require her aid with this matter urgently.



Ms. Maranis

I do apologise terribly for disturbing you at this hour. I fear I need to ask for your help. We have in our keeping the bodies of three assassins and I believe I am in need of your expertise regarding the northern elves to help in their identification.
I hope to hear from you urgently

Regards
Lord-Marshal Alric M doSturmbhat

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt, One Hour After Sundown
The Burned House
Christophe and the Shadow King

Christophe gestures around. "Look at the city. Pragmatism is about the only thing that keeps you alive here. I'll be on the lookout for anyone who fits what you're looking for. Is there a way to contact you, or should I just wait for my next mystery summons?"

[TechnOkami]

7th of Bargenholt
Midnight
The Rooftops of Bastion
Grover Dubois & Company

A demon a day keeps the nether at bay... thought Grover. He sat on one of the many roof's of Bastion, admiring the night sky. His trusty Oak rested on the ground, his wooden hands resting on its hilt.

This is my purpose, after all. To slay demons where they stand. After all, how else could the world remain such a jolly place?

The living tree-man laughed heartily, wiping a tear or two of amusement from his eyes. Of course, what washed away from his face wasn't only water, but traces of blood. Beneath him sat a small pile of corpses of the most foul and putrid kind: demons of all shapes and sizes. A couple of overly-wrathful beings, some who were but rolls of fat, greed guzzling creatures with thieving hands, all manner of filth lay dead beneath his rump.

All throughout the day, Grover had gone to every place he could and every business he found, proclaiming that he challenged the demons of this city to a one on one duel with himself as their opponent. The winner got to live another day, and he had mercilessly carved his way through many a demon that day.

Grover thought to himself, about why he only had smaller demons pay him a visit today. He was sure that something larger should have arrived to pay him a visit. Alas, it didn't seem so...

A moment passed, a breeze, and then a sudden uneasiness wafted in, like a thick fog that clouded over everything, yet the sky and moon were as clear as ever. The moon was full that night...

Grover stood up, his hammer held at the ready. Something wasn't right... he could feel a foulness, a truly strong foulness permeate the air, like a black wind blowing through his soul. He nary saw a thing, but he could feel something out there in the dark, like two eyes staring out from the void at him.

"...show yourself!"

Your move Dark.

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt, Night
Chateau LeBlanc: Auguste's Salon

Stray rocked on his heals, again feigning nervousness. His eyes passed from the assortment of Celish liquors to the pastoral painting on the opposite wall, briefly wondering if the duke owned the land pictured, and how much the Disciples would charge him to fence the crystal if he stole it.

Beguiler Rule #3 - Always let them think they're the smart one

"Your grace," he began with a measured level of subdued propriety, "You needn't be coy. You're a man of tremendous means. And I'm a clever man. I know you've had your staff working all evening to prepare a dossier on me. You know I'm wanted by the Empire. Most men can only guess at what you have to do to merit a one thousand sovereign bounty. Though... I'd be surprised if it wasn't higher after escaping the capital prison. News moves slowly when you have one of the fastest ships on the seas. Truth be told, I'm anxious to see the new numbers."

Moving to the liquor, he pointed to the Verteoux, "That's a unique level of accomplishment, isn't it? Having a brandy named after your own duchy. All my father left me were his green eyes. The only uncanny thing I've ever accomplished is collecting my own bounty. I don't suppose I'll be able to repeat that. The next time the Inquisitors catch me, they'll throw me under the capital jail. There are easier ways to make money, I suppose. Of course, they don't make wars like they used to. Someone could make a killing in a war with Vivexia, if you pardon the phrase. Bastion needs more timber and a new shipyard, you know. I don't think I can steal a frigate all by myself. I've only tried the once, but..."

He'd poured two snifters by the time he'd finished rambling. Offering one over to the duke, he sighed, "I'm terribly sorry. Where was I?"



5th of Bargenholt
Night
Auguste's Salon

"I believe you were about to tell me how I could make, as you put it, a killing in a war with Vivexia. Exactly how much money are we talking about here, because for the effort a one thousand sovereign bounty sounds like a killing for an hours work," says Auguste with a grin on his face. "I'm just kidding of course, Captain Stray. You're a much more useful ally than enemy, and one of the few people in this town I can have a conversation with in a civilized tongue."

Auguste's face darkened as he began in a more serious tone, "Enough joking around, I'm afraid if we stay here too much longer we'll both be too drunk to remember anything in the morning. You wouldn't risking coming to my home if you didn't need something from me, and I can only assume that something is money. How much are you asking for, and why should I give it to you?"


6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

The barkeep puts down the mug he's cleaning, and points to a door in the back corner of the bar. "Wait in there. Christophe will be in soon, if he decides it's worth his time. I'll let you know if he decides it isn't." He tosses his rag on the counter, and turns to a young barmaid. "mind the bar for a moment, dear." he tells her, before ducking into the kitchens. When Cooper enter's the room, he finds it to be an elegant private parlor, in stark contrast to the main room, the floors are of exotic wood, the walls adorned with paintings by some of Bastion's best artists, and the room lit by a crystal chandelier. Christophe enters a few minutes after Cooper sits down. He extends his hand. "I'm Christophe. I hear you wanted to rent a building?"
6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den
The big 'Gator immediately became more docile as Christophe entered the room. "Yessir, I be needing a building for me new store. A buddy of mine is sailing to Hefriz to open up a contract with one of their trading houses. He'sn't told me what their trading, sir, but says it's bound to make rich lizards out of the both of us. So yehsee, sir, I be needing a warehouse that also has a storefront attached. Preferably with good access to the docks. Is that something I could get?"

[ForzaFiori]

6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

"That can likely be arranged... There are several properties that match what you are looking for. If money is an issue, we could also lend you a lot or burned out building that you could renovate yourself." Christophe replies the reptile. he taps his finger on the table in front of him, thinking for a moment before continuing. "For your price, how does...10% sound, plus free passage for myself and up to three passangers to go to Hefriz and back at any time, so long as we keep it reasonable? I would rent you the land, and the deal would include service from the porters who work from me. Your import fees and finding merchants are your own business." He pauses, and looks at the lizard. After a moment, a sly smile comes onto his face. "If your looking for ways AROUND the import fees, however, I may be able to help you."