Tidecleft: Edge of the Storm (IC)

[Nefarion Xid]

http://i63.tinypic.com/eupm9u.png

Tidecleft, Sunday Morning

Sunrise on Tidecleft was a sort of spiritual experience during the summer months. From anywhere in the city with an unobstructed view of the ocean, you could see the sun crest over the horizon and rise just between the gap in the Carmine Cliffs. For a few minutes the bay was set on fire and a golden column stretched from the waterfront to the heavens. Someone with a poetic heart might have taken this sight to mean the city had been placed just so by the gods, wise and good, and that this was the best of all possible worlds. This small miracle was routinely witnessed by almost no one and fewer people cared. It was just a bloody sunrise, same as the day before.

The workers on the docks were already at work by now. The fishermen had set out on their small boats. The bakers were up to their elbows in dough. The nobles were still asleep in their high beds, which was nearly a shame because the view of the crimson sea from the heights of the Bouquet was particularly impressive. Given the chance, the dockworkers would have no problem trading the scene for a fine goose down pillow and an extra hour of sleep.

Today, there was extra hustle in the morning bustle. Day of rest or no, there was always something that needed doing in the city and the people doing it meant to have it finished as quick as they could. With a little luck, they could file into the Salt Graves a bit early and be rewarded with a good view of the day's events.

Hoss Bravo was accused of something. Just what hardly mattered. Likely he'd broken a nobleman's jaw or tied a horse to the wrong post or broken the wrong horse's jaw. No one cared. The lad had quite the budding reputation, having escaped unscathed from the Graves twice already. Everyone was looking forward to him putting a bear in choke hold or something equally surreal. Whatever magic or god or dumb luck Hoss had on his side, it wouldn't help the others. Two were no-name criminals just desperate enough or just so painfully guilty that a plea for trail by combat was their only sliver of hope. No one would remember their names when they were gone and few could be bothered to learn them before hand. Westley Gulch was special; he had the court of popular opinion on his side.

The sorry truth of it was that Westley had the misfortune of falling in love with a girl who happened to love him in return. This could have been a tragic combination even under normal circumstances, but Miss Elisa Tisdale was approximately five social tiers removed from Westley. Her father and mother hadn't married for love, and they saw no need to make an exception for her. The magistrate didn't need much monetary persuasion at all to concur with Lord and Lady Tisdale. The exact nature of these events varied in the telling and rumors had swarmed for weeks now. By Sunday, the city was neatly divided on the issue with people naturally agreeing on their own side of the social strata. Depending on their station, people either wanted to see a fairy tale ending, or bloody justice.

Castle Briarcroft, Morning Room

The duke took breakfast late in the morning and the castle revolved around his schedule, hypothetical as it was. The staff was usually kind enough to set out something for the other residents (fruit, cold cuts, bread and butter, tea) while they waited for the duke to arrive anywhere between ten and eleven. He was up suspiciously early today and already half way through his meal before most of his guests had even found their way downstairs.

The appropriately named morning room was an oblong octagon in the eastern staircase tower. Three arched windows dominated the outward wall, still high enough to gaze unobstructed over Camellia Court and to the bay. His Grace always sat at the south end of the oval table, the end of the room guarded from direct sunlight. The table was large enough to seat twelve, but with so few people living in the castle, only seven places were regularly set. Three places were already occupied by the elderly retired Captain Renalds and the Raub sisters, both widows in their fifties, dressed in a ghastly shade of fuschia and puce. The grey marble floors positively gleamed. The stonework was the same here as in east hall, but this room actually benefited from regular scrubbing.

"Really," Alden huffed, unable to contain himself any longer. He threw down his newspaper in disgust. Even reading a second and third article hadn't curbed his indignation. For a moment, he continued to stare blankly at the last story, an unfortunate accident involving the newlyweds Sir and Lady Varutin. Evidently, their horse had spooked and sent their carriage careening over the guardrails of a Skyway where they fell some two hundred feet to second bridge. The paper didn't mention the grizzly state of their bodies, but from that height they were assured an instant death. Thoughts and prayers were with the Varutin family, particularly Wallace who was busy both grieving his brother and deciding what color he wanted to restain the wood finishing in the study of his newly inherited home in Camilla Court.

"Blood sports? Really," he repeated with all the moral indignity he could muster. "They're going to let convicts fight lions and tigers? What was the tiger's crime? Hmph. Waste of a good tiger. I can only imagine what the Crown is spending on this nonsense."

He gave the woodcut image of a tiger mauling a gladiator an angry prod with his finger and instantly regretted the gesture as he'd now poked a hole through the paper and into the salmon salad beneath. The Salt Graves had such events near weekly and King Frederick was an enthusiastic patron, so one found it hard to imagine he'd somehow remained oblivious to this fact in the three months he'd lived in the city.

"Forgive me," he said with a wan smile to his assembled guests. "I shouldn't speak ill of His Majesty's wasteful spending. Not at breakfast."

Basil, the overworked castle butler, promptly took the soiled paper away, replaced Alden's napkin and refilled his teacup. "A lord should be at liberty to speak his mind in his home," he said while Alden muttered his thanks. Basil was a man in his late forties with balding salt and pepper hair. He towered over the other servants at six feet and four inches. There was a great range to his voice and his behavior. Having been in this line of work his whole life, he was very particular about the way a household should be managed and had no problem with loudly informing the rest of the staff of this fact in a comically shrill tone. With Briarcroft though, he was a model servant, if obsequiously eager to please

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft

The claret beauty of the sunrise was lost on Senna. She had risen before dawn with excitement. The Duke had granted her permission to set up an alchemy lab in a tower attic and she set to work dusting and arranging her furniture and equipment just so. Something nagged at the back of her mind while she worked. She did her best to ignore it as she carefully set her stoppered vials and meticulously labeled jars upon the shelves in alphabetic order. She was sorting her books on alchemy from her books on thaumaturgy when she spied the flier tucked into her dogeared copy of Master Ross's Practical Guide to Reagents Volume 1. She plucked it from the pages and regarded it as one might view a particularly unwelcome relative at suppertime.

"Damn." She glanced around the attic guiltily. She never swore out loud when her parents were alive. She shook the thought off, unwilling to immerse herself in the gray fog which had coloured her emotions since their death. There was no time for wallowing, Everly would soon arrive to pick her up for the blasted Graves. She lifted a small ivory handled looking glass and peered at her reflection. Oh goodness no, that would never do!

She rushed downstairs to her apartment which she had luxuriously appointed with furniture from her parents old estate on Lilac Lane before she signed it over to her obnoxious cousin Georgio. He had been none too happy to find a goodly portion of the sitting room furniture missing. She took a brief moment to smirk at the memory before calling for a hot bath. She emerged into the morning room freshly bathed and groomed, her fair skin and bright blue eyes complemented by her choice of gown for the occasion. The pale blue, airy gown looked deceptively simple at first glance but a closer inspection revealed intricate embroidery and bead work around the short sleeves and hem.

Senna smiled warmly at her host just as Basil refilled the Duke's teacup. She chose the seat to his left and added a variety of fruits and cold cuts to her plate.

"Good morning My Lord." She spoke as she stirred a cube of sugar into her tea.

"Thank you again for allowing me to set up my lab in your attic. It is such a wonderful convenience. Will you be going to the Graves today?" She felt a tad inane as she attempted her small talk with Lord Alden. Of course he was going, practically everybody who was anybody would be there thanks to King Frederick's predilection for the bloody sport. And why Everly had insisted they attend as well, Senna would much rather spend the afternoon in the attic if it was up to her. She did her best to not look overly dour and upset the Duke's digestion.

[DoomHat]

Holding Cells of the Salt Graves, Sunday Morning

As usual, Hoss Bravo loved his new friends. As usual, the friendship was far from mutual.

Bundy Roberts was stern and intensely weathered man. He spoke as little as he could get away with, and stewed in a meditatively focused hatred of his surroundings and future prospects. As far as Hoss was aware, Bundy was his new best friend, because he was, "such a good listener". Bundy meanwhile has long since resolved that killing Hoss came a close second on his wish list, right after somehow surviving the day.

Victor Holister was Hoss's least favorite new friend. All he did most of the time was scream at the guards about his right to something called a 'champion'? Hoss tried to get him to explain it, but it made no kind of sense.

"Wait, so you want... someone else... to fight, instead of you?" Hoss asked, scratching his head and straining his eyes.

"YES!" screamed Victor, "I have a legal right to have an appointed champion, should one volunteer! I have no business being personally mauled along with common hoodlums like you! Some mercenary could do it for me, and even live! If they failed, I'd be graced with a simple dignified dose of hemlock. LIKE! A! Gentleman!"

"So..." said Hoss, pushing his faculties to the breaking point, "you'd miss a chance to wrestle one of these super giant kitties... on, purpose?!".

"That is the general idea, yes!!" said Victor through clinched teeth.

Hoss took a moment's meditaion before replying, "Oh. Kay. Does that mean, I can, fight yours too? You wouldn't mind if I cut in and got to fight TWO giant monster cats? Even if that means you got none?"

At that, Westley Gulch burst into another brief fit of laughter. Westley was fairly grateful for Hoss's presence in a neighboring cell. The absurdity of this unworried fool did much to distract him from his own sense of mortal terror. Where the other two prisoners generally respond to Hoss with curses or silence respectively, Westley found a great deal of entertainment in light heartedly quizzing and teasing him.

Westley chimed in, still chuckling, "It's nice of you to be so willing to share Hoss, but if you really want, you can have mine too!".

Hoss shook his head solemnly, "Big sis would break my fingers again if she caught me being greedy...".

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Morning Room

"Good morning, Miss Clark," chirped Briarcroft automatically in response. He gave a nod and weak, but genuine, smile when she mentioned the tower. He'd pulled away from the table a bit and sat slouching in his reported great grandmother's beloved beech chair with one ankle propped up on the opposite knee, his teacup and saucer in hand. Despite his status now, he was rumored to have not had the benefit of a proper upbringing, which was the polite way to say he'd been raised by foreigners. Typically, his manners were par excellence, but he had a way of forgetting them when he was out of sorts.

"You look well rested." This was the polite way to say a woman didn't at all look as if she might be dealing with grief by burying herself in her work at odd hours. One wouldn't ever be so bold as to say she looked quite pretty.

Alden straightened, simultaneously remembering the day he'd gone with his mother to pick out the beech table and chairs. He'd much preferred the cherry set, but mother thought it best to having a light, cheery color for the morning room. It didn't quite match the tile, but he hadn't the heart to move it. He scarcely had the money to refurnish this room anyway. Perhaps he'd compromise and have this set stained a dark cherry, cheerfulness be damned.

"Will you be going to the Graves today?"

"Do I have a choice? I've run out of excuses and if my absence is noticed henceforth, I'll be accused of protesting the king's favorite sport. And we can't have that. I'm supposed to be ingratiating myself to these people, not alienating them. I'm just rather fond of tigers is all."

"Bit of sun's good for everyone, my Lord," rasped the elderly captain, attempting to be helpful or turn the conversation to something pleasant like the weather.

Briarcroft shrugged, but otherwise ignored the man while glancing to the wall clock. "Yes, yes, I'll go but they can't make me enjoy it. I suppose I'll have to hire a cab or I'll never make it in time to mingle."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Morning Room

"Do I have a choice? I've run out of excuses and if my absence is noticed henceforth, I'll be accused of protesting the king's favorite sport. And we can't have that. I'm supposed to be ingratiating myself to these people, not alienating them. I'm just rather fond of tigers is all."

"Then the tigers shall have two people rooting for them today." As Senna smiled a small dimple appeared in her left cheek.

"Yes, yes, I'll go but they can't make me enjoy it. I suppose I'll have to hire a cab or I'll never make it in time to mingle."

"I told Everly that I didn't have time for such barbaries but she's insisted on going and my accompanying her." She sighed.

"She shall be along any moment, I am certain you may ride along with us if it please you, My Lord." Her eyes moved from her plate to fall upon Alden.

"That's Everly Sinclair, My Lord. Have you had occasion to meet her yet?"

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
Outside of the Holding Cells, Salt Graves

This particular Sunday found Dr. Stimme where it always found him, tending to those warriors who had come willing or no to fight in the Salt Grave matches. He did his best to ensure that the combatants all began on as even a keel as possible, and nobody would be unduly hampered at the start by a nagging wound or an oozing cut. He went cell by cell and occasionally somebody would entreat him to soothe an aching knee or shoulder. He tended his business with deft hands and a warmth to his voice. Many of the men he treated Sunday mornings, wouldn't be around for him to treat Sunday afternoon. His might be the last kind word these men ever heard, and he took that responsibility to heart.

Veridian approached the cells this Sunday morning to an unusual sound. The laughter was a welcome change and he wore a smile on his face as he greeted the men held within.

"A man that can laugh still has hope. That's what my Grandpap use to say to my brother and I when we caught him laughing in a room by himself. I always thought he was just crazy, or senile. But time has a way of teaching you what you don't know. And now I'm not so sure. I'm Dr. Stimme, but you can call me Veridian. Some call me Verd and that's alright too. If you got any wounds need tending, or aches that need soothing before the fight, you let me know and I'll fix you up best I can." His friendly amber eyes moved to Hoss.

"What'd you do to get locked up in here son?" He asked easily, without accusation in his voice.

[Tentreto]

Sunday Morning
The Violin Inn

Buce yawned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he came down to the bar-front from his hired room. The previous night, he had handed old Crassus a small bag of powdered chilli to cover his board and bed, and the old bird still looked smug. Quietly, he sat down to his bowl of stew, which was luckily still steaming hot, having just been served out. Apart from Buce, the inn was otherwise empty, the patrons either having been dragged passed out to a small room to the side, or still rich enough to be able to lie in. Buce was neither.

"You heading out t' the graves today?" questioned Crassus, quite obviously making conversation. "Its a pretty big event I hear." Buce sighed.

"Of course I'm heading out there, won't be anyone but thieves and thugs anywhere else." He took a moment to shovel a mouthful of stew into his mouth. "Anyway, my stock needs to go before some of it denatures." Again he shoveled a mouthful into his mouth, "and some pretty notorious fights are happening today which do indeed make it 'pretty big'."

"Well then, I wish you luck" replied Crassus, who then leaned in a little. "Probably best you avoid here for the next few days, Guilders love my spiced cider, and well, you know." Buce nodded in return, and mopping up the last of the stew with a piece of bread, returned to his room. It was a modest affair, with a bed, a desk, and cupboard for 'discreet' conversation. Buce ignored them all, throwing on his altered guild cloak, strapping on his belt with many various bags on it, and attaching his backpack to his shoulder, which he slung over his shoulder. He threw up his grey hood over his dark hair, and nodding to Crassus, set out into the city, to the Salt Graves, with everything he owned on him.

[DoomHat]

Sunday Morning
The Holding Cells, Salt Graves

"What'd you do to get locked up in here son?" Veridian asked easily, without accusation in his voice.

"Those boys with the spears and the pretty 'Salt Graves' logos on their armor let me in. They always let me nap in here a day or two before the big fight. It's kinda a bummer they won't let me have a walk around and see more of the backstage, but I guess it's for the best. I might forget they have a cool fight waiting for me and accidentally wander off." Hoss said with every outward intention of being helpful.

Across the way, Victor Holister struck his head against the bars of his own cell before shrieking, "He's asking about the crimes you committed, you gross simpleton! He savaged one of Baron Garamond's sons!"

"Garamond?" Hoss said, as if asking himself about the name, "Some rich boy named Garamond roughed up one of Madam Esposito's girls last week. But he didn't say that was his pleasure ahead of time, or pay any extra for the bruises! Madam Esposito's business is protected, so I broke his arms."

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Morning Room

Regor Harland was up with the sun. Sunrise over Tidecleft was as magnificent to a foreigner as it was normal - even bland - to a native, and he never missed a chance to watch if he could help it. Having stood at his apartment's wide windows for about half an hour, he felt refreshed and ready for the excitement at hand, and came down to breakfast in a simple blue jacket and plain trousers. There sure are a lot of stairs in this place, he thought to himself for probably the hundredth time.

Regor took a moment to listen before joining breakfast. It sounded like the conversation had moved how the Duke and his guests would be traveling to today's event, not a topic he particularly cared to address but a necessary one all the same.

"Good morning, Your Grace, Miss Clark, Captain, mesdames. You will be at the Graves today?" he said as he entered and took his usual seat. It was the polite thing to say, even though he already had his answers.


* * *

"I told Everly that I didn't have time for such barbaries but she's insisted on going and my accompanying her." She sighed.

"She shall be along any moment, I am certain you may ride along with us if it please you, My Lord." Her eyes moved from her plate to fall upon Alden.

"That's Everly Sinclair, My Lord. Have you had occasion to meet her yet?"

Regor waited for an appropriate break in the conversation before quietly asking Senna, "Would it be acceptable to you and Miss Sinclair if I accompanied you as well? I would rather not risk being knifed in the street again if at all possible." His left eye twitched momentarily at the memory.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Morning Room

"Would it be acceptable to you and Miss Sinclair if I accompanied you as well? I would rather not risk being knifed in the street again if at all possible."

Senna looked at the newcomer with no small amount of surprise at his boldness. However she could hardly refuse a request for safe passage, even though it was Everly's to grant or refuse.

"Mister Harland, isn't it?" She said by way of greeting.

"How dreadful to hear of your stabbing. Would you care to share your harrowing tale whilst we await our carriage?" She stirred a single sugar cube into a second cup of tea and sipped as she awaited the man's tale.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft Morning Room

"Mister Harland, isn't it?" She said by way of greeting.

"How dreadful to hear of your stabbing. Would you care to share your harrowing tale whilst we await our carriage?" She stirred a single sugar cube into a second cup of tea and sipped as she awaited the man's tale.

"Ah, there is not much of a tale to tell. But if you are certain you wish to hear it, Miss Clark...."

Regor fidgeted with his ring for a moment before continuing.

"I was traveling on foot through the Royal Skyways when a rather disreputable-looking man jumped out of the crowd and did his utmost to put a knife in my chest. I was able to fend him off, though just barely. As he was hauled off by the guard he made some statements that give me good reason to think he or another will try again, though for what reason I cannot fathom."

He picked up his own cup of tea and stirred in two sugar cubes, then took a long sip.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Morning Room

"I was traveling on foot through the Royal Skyways when a rather disreputable-looking man jumped out of the crowd and did his utmost to put a knife in my chest. I was able to fend him off, though just barely. As he was hauled off by the guard he made some statements that give me good reason to think he or another will try again, though for what reason I cannot fathom."

Senna had of course, heard the tale before. Her acquaintance with Mister Harland was a recent one, and the truth of which she hoped to keep out of the public's eye. The retelling of his tale was for the benefit of the others at the table, as far as they were concerned, Senna and Regor had only just met and that suited her purposes just fine.

"Goodness, is nowhere safe anymore? I should be frightened to travel even the highest Skyways at my peril." despite her words, she did not look or sound particularly concerned.

"Well, I am sure Everly will be along soon. We shall be quite the crowd. Safety in numbers and all that." She looked amused as she contemplated her friend's response to discovering she'd been volunteered as the castle's coach for the day.

[Aedilred]

Sunday morning
Tulip House

Sunyer watched as his breakfast approached rather slowly, trying his best not to look overly impatient. The man was trying his best, but it had been evident for a while that his time was done: he had difficulty moving his feet with any alacrity or stability and his hands shook. It was a small mercy the food wasn't soup, at least: it would have been all over the carpet.

He realised he was not the only one looking, and for a moment his eyes met those of Popillon, before both looked away. The fact of the matter, which everyone knew but which nobody would speak, was that Sunyer couldn't really afford to employ any new staff without dismissing the old ones without pension. He had no desire to turf those who had served his family faithfully out on their ear and they had no intention of forcing his hand, so he continued to employ servants who were barely capable of doing the job because nobody wanted to admit that things had to change.

They had forgotten the fork, too. At least the food was only fruit and so he could eat it with his hands. Although it would have been quicker to have found the nearest peach tree and plucked one himself, he did wait until it was on the table and the footman had moved off before picking it up.

"The cook wondered if hot food will be necessary this evening or whether your lordship intends to dine out," Popillon said, as the peach was halfway to his mouth.

"I hadn't thought about it," Sunyer said. "I can't imagine I'll have much of an appetite after the Salt Graves, though."

"Indeed, sir."

Sunyer bit into the peach, which all but erupted across his chin. He snatched for his handkerchief, just in time to rescue his velvet coat from a rather large globule of juice. He dabbed at his chin in annoyance.

"Trial by combat? What is this, the Dark Ages?"

"As you say, sir."

"Still," Sunyer went on, "perhaps there is something to be said for it, in equitable cases at least. I'd happily take my chances in the arena against Ramon."

"I understand his lordship Master Guillyer feels the same way. Indeed, I believe he intends to ask-"

"His mother's said he can't go, so he's planning to ask me for a second opinion, I imagine?"

"I believe that to be an accurate summary of the situation, sir."

"Then he'll get a no from me, too. It's his mother's decision, and bad enough that I have to go to this nonsense without dragging the rest of the family along with me."

"Indeed, sir, and on that subject-"

Oh yes. He had almost forgotten. He hadn't seen Senna since the news about her parents had reached him.

"Ah yes, I'm sure that watching men rent to pieces by wild animals is just the thing to take her mind off her situation," he said, finishing the peach and tossing the stone back on the plate before rising to his feet. "I'm surprised she'd even consider attending." But of course she would. They all would, because nobody could afford to miss a social event like this even if the event itself was somewhat distasteful. Especially when one's parents had just died, it was all the more important to remind society that you existed.

"This might be an opportunity, sir-"

"Oh no, we've been through this before," Sunyer said, raising a finger. "Unless her parents have left her a hitherto disregarded fortune or the services of a genius trust lawyer, she's not a viable prospect. And none of that 'wild oats' business, either," he added hastily, heading off a dangerous glint in his major-domo's eye. "She's my cousin, for gods' sakes. And her parents have just died!"

"Very good, sir. Has your lordship considered his route to the Salt Graves?"

"I'll walk," he said, after a moment. It was cheaper, apart from anything else - in every respect except boot leather.

"I will arrange your escort, sir."

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Morning Room

"Couldn't possibly imagine why someone would want to stab Mister Harland. But, I shall try," Basil muttered aside to Briarcroft as he removed his plate. The butler made no secret of the fact he thought the castle ought only cater to a higher class of clientele. Without a name or title, or at least distinguished military service like the Captain, Basil couldn't be bothered to give Regor the time of day. He always had something cross to say and would always sigh and twitch his pencil mustache when serving him.

"I shouldn't want to be an imposition," Briarcroft said at last. "It's entirely my fault for waiting until the last minute to hire a cab. There couldn't possibly be one available at this hour." He waited for another insistence from Senna. Arriving together could only have a positive effect on both their reputations, she an heiress and he on the very short list of the most eligible bachelors in the city.

"I haven't had the pleasure yet, but I am acquainted with Miss Sinclair's grandfather. He enjoys backgammon and I rather enjoy beating people at backgammon." A small laugh. "He was kind enough to vouch for my lineage when I arrived. You see, he'd been good friends with my grandfather. It's really the least I can do to repay him."

The duke rose from his seat, making an allaying motion towards the Captain, who reflexively attempted bolt up in deference. The old man's knees wouldn't let him accomplish that with any speed.

"I need to fetch some things from my room. I shall meet you on the porch, Miss Clark?"

"My lord, whatever you need . . ." began Basil, dashing into the hall ahead of the duke, eager to be of use

"Basil, I'm more than capable of finding my own chamber. I think the captain would enjoy a digestif. Offer him an amaro?"

The captain perked up considerably at the mention of liqueur with his brunch. Briarcroft had already vanished down the dim corridor towards the north wing. Precisely where the duke's private chambers were in the labyrinthine castle were an amusing topic of debate, even among some of the staff. The east and west wings had been completed, but much of the castle was still under renovation and it was impossible to cross from one end to the other via the northern towers without encountering a locked room, dead end, or a confused man with a tool belt.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft

Everly took in Castle Briarcroft from beneath the fringed canopy of her carriage as it drew closer. She had always admired the building, had even dreamt of living there as a young girl. When the mysterious Duke had arrived in Tidecleft and taken up residence in the castle, she had been happy to see it gradually returning to its glory of years gone by piece by piece. By her Grandfather's account, Duke Briarcroft was a decent young man, and handsome. Grandpapa Everett had been none too subtle about mentioning the Duke's many perceived admirable qualities. A fond smile curved her lips briefly, fading as Senna came to mind. She loved the woman dearly, but she was beginning to suspect that her friend took their dalliance a lot more seriously than Everly did. Especially since the poor dear's parents had died. Senna did not seem to share her notion that at some point they would have to end, in order for them to ascend to their proper roles in society.

She tried to shake off her concern as James pulled the carriage to a stop and lent her a hand as she stepped out.

"Thank you James." Nearly an afterthought, she spoke to her Estaz gardener-turned-driver over her shoulder before she walked up to the castle porch. Old Cornelia had clucked when Everly had requested the gold lace gown with roses to be pulled out, but Everly had shrugged off her maid's admonition that the dress was too fancy for a match at the Salt Graves. As far as Everly was concerned, if she was going to an event strictly to be seen, she had better look her best. She spied Senna waiting on the porch and sighed to herself. She really was lovely.

"Beautiful day to spend outdoors, don't you think?" Her smile was genuine as she approached and greeted her friend.

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
The Holding Cells, Salt Graves

"What'd you do to get locked up in here son?" Veridian asked easily, without accusation in his voice.

"Those boys with the spears and the pretty 'Salt Graves' logos on their armor let me in. They always let me nap in here a day or two before the big fight. It's kinda a bummer they won't let me have a walk around and see more of the backstage, but I guess it's for the best. I might forget they have a cool fight waiting for me and accidentally wander off." Hoss said with every outward intention of being helpful.

Across the way, Victor Holister struck his head against the bars of his own cell before shrieking, "He's asking about the crimes you committed, you gross simpleton! He savaged one of Baron Garamond's sons!"

"Garamond?" Hoss said, as if asking himself about the name, "Some rich boy named Garamond roughed up one of Madam Esposito's girls last week. But he didn't say that was his pleasure ahead of time, or pay any extra for the bruises! Madam Esposito's business is protected, so I broke his arms."

The doctor's smile was gentle as he listened to Hoss's reply, but turned troubled when Victor chimed in to clarify.

"You did a good thing by protecting those girls. Good deeds are rarely rewarded, luckily you won't have to wait much longer for yours." He took in the assembled "criminals" steadily.

"Any of you men need healing or pain relief before you go in?"

[Lleban]

Sunday Morning (the hour of Sunrise)
Aunt Margret's Bakery

Duggin began his morning routine struggling against the disorganized pile of items between his bed and Aunt Margret's Bakery, though lately the pile seemed more sparse than usual. Many would consider it tedious and and unnecessary, but a little tedium is good in Tidecleft's ever changing landscape.

As Duggin entered the bakery's lobby the orange sunlight put the Edwardian style parlor in to full relief against the stern, unpleasant, plump Estaz woman looking directly at him. Duggin sheepishly smiled "Hey Margret can I have some hot Ano, and a fresh cleft pastry?"

Margret laughed and stepped forward"Ano hahaha.... Not until you pay me rent and compensate me for pilling all that... that...Stuff in the basement!!" Shrugging Duggin took a Ruby necklace out of his jacket and attempted to hand it to her. She slapped it away exclaiming "I don't want to have take time out of my day to pawn whatever you items you don't feel like keeping. I want coins...ya know copper coins block head." Duggin conceded, not wanting this dispute to drag past breakfast "Alright, alright, I'll uh, sell ...pastries at the Salt Graves, to the nobles in exchange for rent. You know as much as the upper crust say they despise the barbarism of the pits, they always come out in droves and cheer like the rest of us." Margret was taken aback by this suggestion and, not wanting this dispute to interrupt cooking smiled gently. "Sounds good, I'll get the you a uniform and some Ano."

Armed, if not slightly exasperated with his uniform, a modified bright green Edwardian sailor suit. Duggin donned his Emerald spectacles and wheeled his cart carrying the mornings baked goods to the Salt Graves. Duggin smiled "Hopefully I can find some exotic items among the crowd."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

"Beautiful day to spend outdoors, don't you think?" Her smile was genuine as she approached and greeted her friend.

Senna's attention was pulled to Everly as she took in the other woman's approach. The sunlight reflected off of the golden gown to surround her with a glowing nimbus of radiance. Senna swallowed past the lump in her throat even as her heart skipped a beat. Her welcoming smile was nearly as effulgent as Everly was in the late morning light.

"Beautiful is the appropriate word, certainly." Senna drew close to Everly and kissed each cheek in turn.

"Ah..." Her thoughts refused to be sorted into coherence for a moment, though she persevered shortly through concentration.

"We have company to share the carriage with us. I hope you don't mind. Mister Harland and Duke Briarcroft shall accompany us to the Graves today." Senna looked around for the gentlemen in question in order to make the appropriate introductions.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

Briarcroft had been attending to his roses, which was to say the greenish sticks that were allegedly young rosebushes when he'd bought them. The estate's facade was really the only place that got enough sunlight for them to grow. Naturally, these were Briarcroft roses, a hybrid of a tea rose and the wild roses that grew in the duchy. Like their namesake, they grew alarmingly fast once established, choked out everything else in the garden and were particularly thorny. The duke rejoined his party, still sucking a drop of blood from his pricked thumb.

In the time since brunch, he hadn't changed anything about his appearance spare that he'd put on a leather thong necklace holding a pierced foreign coin. He still wore the same black wool trousers and a flimsy white linen shirt. The sleeves had been neatly rolled up and cuffed at the top his muscular forearms. In the sunlight, his skin was nearly identical to the pale polished limestone facade behind him.

"Miss Sinclair! How lovely to make your acquaintance. Your grandfather speaks fondly of you, and often." He approached Everly with a gleaming smile. Had another vampire seen that smile, he might have more accurately described it as predatory.

Working as a "face" for the Petrescu Clan, Alden was required to make frequent public appearances, often in bright sunlight. Normally fatal for a young vampire, the Petrescu's solution for the problem of immolation lay in a closely guarded secret alchemical tincture they had devised some centuries prior. While the quicksilver and verbena oil potion allows a vampire to go unharmed by the sun, it has the side effect of halting their regeneration. The Petrescus referred to the tincture as Potable Deniability since anyone who bleeds and walks unprotected in the noonday sun could easily escape suspicion of being undead.

Alden drinks a small dose most mornings, enough to manage a few hours of being noticed running errands about the Amaranth District. However, three months on, he's down to the last vial and is desperate to find or make more to preserve his cover. Today, he's taken a large enough dose to preserve him until sundown.

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning
The Gilded Oar

Magnus was one who cared little for the beautiful sunrise, and he quietly cursed the fiery ball that sent shafts of light intruding through the window into his second-story room at The Golden Oar, waking him from a repose induced by copious amounts of alcohol imbibed the night before. Located near the water's edge in Tidecleft's waterfront area, and a short walk from most of the ships docked there, The Golden Oar was frequented mostly by sailors (one of whom was Magnus), and owned by an unlikely pair. A tavern first and foremost, but also offering a small selection of rooms on its upper level, the establishment was operated primarily (and co-owned) by a stout man with a bushy red beard and matching hair named Owen Hayes. A good-natured fellow with a quick smile and ready laugh, Hayes kept the place in a seeming state of disrepair, which (he said) added to the atmosphere. He seemed to be right, as the Oar was near crowded to capacity almost every night.

Standing next to the small window was a fiery-tempered young woman with shoulder-length hair that approached, nay, vied with, the dawn for splendor. Dressed in a plain clean dress (though well-made), the woman matched her surroundings. She'd drawn the shade back to allow light into the small room, and now stood bathed in the morning light. Magnus propped himself up on an elbow and admired the view before him. "Lass, I'll not lie: You're as pretty as a picture standing there with the sun in your hair, but what'd you have to go and wake me early for?"

"Och, Magnus Hakonsson, your head's still muddled from your drinking last night. And maybe you've a bump on your head likewise!" The woman spoke in a lilting, almost melodic, manner that was pleasing to the ear. "You would have awakened soon, at any rate, what with how many mugs you had." Resting her fists upon her hips, she gave the man a disapproving frown. "Why must you fight so? You know most of the men cannot match your strength, and you leave so many with injuries that will take time to heal. It effects the business, you know, and Owen doesn't approve." Jeanette Mercado (Scarlet to most) was Owen Hayes' partner, though she left the accounts and most of the tap and barrel work to Hayes, instead overseeing the legion of serving girls the Gilded Oar fielded every night. Her complaint (and Hayes') was not so much that Magnus fought - fights added to the rough "feel" of the place - but that he so often left his opponents broken and bloody with little to show for wounds of his own.

Magnus was a strong man, very strong. Blessed with an almost superhuman physique, he could lift by himself that which took several normal men to handle, and his hands could crush another man's skull like an overripe melon. He pulled his punches, however, when it came to tavern brawls (except in cases where an opponent drew a blade or cudgel: he was not invincible), though men on the receiving end would not have thought so. The burly man stretched in his bed. Measuring at over six feet in height, Magnus' feet stuck out over the end of the bed, and he wriggled his toes. "Why don't you close that shade back up and join me, lass. Won't be many customers at this hour, and Owen won't mind." He winked at the woman, but she shook her head.

"You know I won't, Magnus. Not until you ask me proper." Then she smiled, and the room lit up once more. "Besides, have you forgotten what today is? Four trials by combat at the Graves, as well as a match between two mercenary companies. You won't want to miss that, I'll warrant."

"Rydos' Stormy Gales, I almost forgot!" Magnus thundered, as he threw off the bed sheet and reached for his pants. "That Hoss fellow is up again for one of the combats, and I'll warrant he'll surprise a lot of folks today. Few win that, but he's done it Three minutes later, the couple was seated at a corner of the bar downstairs, and Magnus was devouring a breakfast of toast, eggs, and bacon, accompanied by a cup of coffee. Magnus was not overly-fond of fish, though it was plentiful in the waterfront. He'd eaten less appetizing things aboard ship, however, and he took good meals when he could. While Jeanette discussed the day's expected business with Owen, Magnus finished his food and brushed the crumbs from his beard, letting his attention drift to the few other patrons sitting in the Gilded Oar's common room that bright and (he thought) unreasonably early morning.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

"Miss Sinclair! How lovely to make your acquaintance. Your grandfather speaks fondly of you, and often." He approached Everly with a gleaming smile. Had another vampire seen that smile, he might have more accurately described it as predatory.

Everly turned as she heard herself addressed. For all of his enthusiasm, her grandfather had not exaggerated the Duke's charms, much to her surprise and she found herself returning his smile.

"Duke Briarcroft, it is a pleasure to finally meet you." Everly curtsied gracefully and held out her hand for the Duke.

"I could say the same of my Grandfather for you." Her tone was light and her lips held her smile.

"You are very kind to visit with him. I try and see him every week, but I am afraid my father is too busy with his position in the Institute." Suddenly aware she had rambled, her smile turned rueful as she cut her thought short.

"My Grandfather and I appreciate your time, was all I meant to say." She was keenly aware of the other's presence and turned towards them.

"The carriage awaits at our leisure. We may leave at any time." She sent a smile Senna's way, though who it was meant to reassure, she could not be certain.

[TheDarkDM]

Sunday Morning
The Waterfront

Sturdy black shoes rang merrily along the cobbles as a woman alone made her way down a waterfront alley. Dancing around the muddles and stray cats of the shadowed way, she seemed oblivious to the danger in her solitude. Even in daylight, the domain of the Kindly Ones was rarely safe, and she was a more tempting target than most. Above her plain shoes whirled a skirt of deep green linen patched with darker whorls, cinched tightly at the waist and giving way to an airy white blouse that rippled invitingly in the morning breeze. The green scarf tied around her hair cast just enough of a shadow to add mystery to her features, but even from a distance it was clear she was beautiful. And beauty could fetch a high price in the right markets. Yet still she walked alone. For while she hid it well Molly Poole was one of the most dangerous things on the street that morning.

She emerged from the alley just as the sun crested the outermost warehouses of the district, light spilling into the shadowed recesses around her and making her grateful for the scarf. A light, wordless tune escaped her lips, and she smiled as she spied a shard of loose shingle on the ground. Pulling back her foot, she revealed a flash of stocking before whipping her kick home. The hardened clay flew fast as an arrow across the street, only to strike a pigeon rooting around in one of the district's ubiquitous midden heaps. The poor bird exploded in a cloud of feathers, and Molly's song increased in volume. Surely, the bird had simply been unlucky. She could not have meant to kill it. Surely.

It was not hard for Molly to sustain a good mood that morning. The commotion when she'd driven the Varutin carriage off the Skyway had been so raucous that no one of consequence had noticed her jumping clear in midair. Normally, she'd have preferred to kill someone other than the driver with her bare hands, but the client had been quite clear that it should seem an accident. And while subtle jobs didn't come naturally to her, she was quite proud of her creativity. She hoped Grandmother Death would be as well. The thought of the elder assassin put a hitch in her step for just a moment, as it did with all members of the Knives, but it was quick to pass. Regardless of how the escapade advanced her chances of official Guild membership, she was soon to be paid. And paid handsomely.

The betting slip tucked in her sleeve was the ticket. While the Market usually operated more directly, the sensitive nature of the job necessitated greater care. Thankfully, the Spiders' connections ran deep. They'd known almost immediately when Braeden Fuller had made his little deal with Lord Tisdale, and it had taken little effort to piggyback onto the deal. That the arrangement gave Molly free seats to one of the Graves' spectacles was an added bonus. She had already started planning how she'd spend her money when she sighted the arena, as well as a green-uniformed hawker with pastries. How she loved the thought of pastries on a day like today.

"Excuse me! Yes, yes you. How much for a hamantash and some rugelach?"

There are a great many odds set for the upcoming confrontation at The Graves. The usual assortment of bets predominate - who dies first, who dies last, who manages a kill. The more outlandish the bet, the better the reward. The foolish or the desperate often turn to these long shots, but today one long shot has been assiduously ignored. The longest odds of the day are for Westley Gulch to survive the battle only to succumb to his wounds after receiving his pardon. With public opinion so polarized, none would take so spiteful a bet. But it is a bet that is guaranteed to pay off. Lord Tisdale could not abide even the possibility that so common a mongrel survive his punishment, and has struck a deal with Braeden Fuller to make sure he does not.

Before the match, Westley will be given a drink of spirits supposedly sent in secret by his love. For luck. In truth, the draught contains a fantastically potent blend of stimulant and analgesic, so potent he will fight like a man possessed. His performance will no doubt please the crowd, and give hope to the downtrodden. Then his heart will explode. Westley's death is assured - what matters is what comes after.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

Regor had spent most of the time since breakfast in his apartment, alternating between staring out the window and pacing in circles. He was taking a massive risk, but there wasn't really another choice. The only way to gain a lead on whoever was sending killers after him was to let them try again.

There sure are a lot of stairs in this place. The one hundred and first time, now.

He arrived at the porch a few minutes later than he had intended, just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. He straightened the same blue jacket he had worn earlier and stepped outside.

"Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair. I hope I will not be too much of an imposition." Regor bowed politely.

[Lleban]

Sunday (later in the morning)
Salt Graves

About midway to the Salt Graves, not far from the Crimson inn, Duggin got a good look at the competitors, clenched his fist and nearly spit out out his hot Ano. "Westley, the fool....I knew he was a romantic but..." Dugggin trailed off. Surely he must've known the limits of being an Estaz, surely he must've known. Deflated Duggin continued making his way to Salt Graves with a chip on his pastries.

Much closer to the Graves he ran into a beautifully pale woman.

"Excuse me! Yes, yes you. How much for a hamantash and some rugelach?"

Looking at the list Aunt Margret scribbled in the pocket of his uniform. Smiling he told her "5 copper dollars for hamantash and 7 for rugelach. However, for a beauty such as yourself you can get 3 cleft pastries for 6 copper dollars."

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

"You are very kind to visit with him. I try and see him every week, but I am afraid my father is too busy with his position in the Institute." Suddenly aware she had rambled, her smile turned rueful as she cut her thought short.

"My Grandfather and I appreciate your time, was all I meant to say."

"Oh, you wouldn't call it kindness if you saw how mercilessly I beat the old boy at his favorite game. I play for blood." Briarcroft took Everly's offered hand and gave it an aloof kiss.

Rejoined by Regor, Briarcroft went to stand by the carriage door and offer his hand for the ladies taking the step. "Yes, it was quite generous to invite us along. I'm afraid I've been too busy to engage the services of a driver. It's just as well, the stables need a new roof. I do hope there's room. Or should Mister Harland and I draw lots to see who gets strapped to the roof?"

[Tentreto]

Sunday
The Salt Graves

Having gotten up at sunrise, Buce managed to get to the Salt Graves before too big a crowd had formed. He was not going to enter yet though, while business was business anywhere, he did not want to be caught by any Guilders while inside an arena. It was time to start the days work.

Buce pulled his cloak up, revealing his vast array of spices, herbs, and medicines and quickly poaching a box left in the street, put a number of various products in it.

"Fresh Spice" he shouted at the streetside. "Perfect with Alo! Mint leaves for sucking!" he continued spying out the crowd near the Graves.
"Sleep soothers, helps relieve pain!" he ventured, " Clover leaves! Help bring you luck today!"
"Anything you want, mixed right now!" he threw in whenever a more inebriated person walked past, "I have hangover relievers, pain relief. Fresh Spice..."

It was going to be a long day, and the crowds had yet to fully emerge.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

"Oh, you wouldn't call it kindness if you saw how mercilessly I beat the old boy at his favorite game. I play for blood." Briarcroft took Everly's offered hand and gave it an aloof kiss.

"Oh, so that is why he insisted playing three games against me last time I was there. I think he's training!" Her genuine laugh was a creature altogether different than the polite titter Everly normally employed in the company of high society. It bubbled out of her as her head fell back and her shoulders shook.

"It's a shame that I am rubbish at the game." She collected herself as another gentleman appeared and introduced himself.

"Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair. I hope I will not be too much of an imposition." Regor bowed politely.

"Of course, it's no bother." Everly gave her most gracious smile even though the situation was quite irregular.

Rejoined by Regor, Briarcroft went to stand by the carriage door and offer his hand for the ladies taking the step. "Yes, it was quite generous to invite us along. I'm afraid I've been too busy to engage the services of a driver. It's just as well, the stables need a new roof. I do hope there's room. Or should Mister Harland and I draw lots to see who gets strapped to the roof?"

"Happily there is plenty of room for everybody, and nobody will need to sit atop the roof. Unless they are so inclined." She took his offered hand and stepped lightly into the first bench behind the carriage driver.

[woolli264]

Sunday Morning
Sunfall, The Salt Graves

Little Bear woke up early, as usual. There was blood sport today and he wanted a good seat. Of course, it is most exhilerating to fight the wild animals and crimnals yourself but watching is still entertaining enough. It was also worth noting that Hoss Bravo would be there, that was a fellow who could fight. The dimwitted gangster was one of the few people that Little Bear could look up to as a warrior.

The hairy northerner yawned loudly and stretched, throwing his blanket to the floor in the process. Little Bear wasn't worried about the other residents of Brunos Bunks waking, he didn't think himself capable of making a noise louder than their incessant snoring. He reached under his cot to retrieve his sack of possesions and while his arm was there he recovered his fallen blanket to return it to the bed.

Little Bear looked around at the other sleepers, most were relatively shifty folk but he knew a good many of them, at least by name, and he knew which to trust and which not. Three cots were empty, that night they had held a trio of men who also worked for the counterfeiter Captain Chrysos. On Sundays Little Bear got the day off barring emergency but his colleagues (if such a formal term were remotely appropriate) would still be busy as usual keeping the operation running as smoothly as it can.

Little Bear then checked through his sack quickly to make sure no one had looted it in the night and he headed out for the morning.

The first thing Little Bear would do was to stop at Agathas across the way for a brief exchange of pleasantries and a purchase of some herbs. He liked the old woman, she reminded him of his village elders only she was much more polite and even willing to teach Little Bear a thing or two from time to time.

Next Little Bear walked through the city, towards the sea, until he could find a fish monger who looked easy to intimidate. A few minutes and a copper dollar later his belly was full of raw fish and he was on his way to the salt graves. Hopefully he could meet up with Koro and Anesha. They would definitely come to a big event, especially one with gambling.

It was on his way to the gamblers that Little Bear spotted an Estaz man dressed in green selling something that smelled delicious. Most people these days seem to dislike the Estaz but Little Bear worked for one and was quite comfortbale around the minority so he decided to investigate. As he approached he heard the vendor say, "...for a beauty such as yourself you can get three cleft pastries for 6 copper dollars."

"And what's the deal for an ugly fellow?" Little Bear grunted as he stopped a few feet from the Estaz and his customer.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

Senna watched the exchange between Duke Briarcroft and Everly quietly, her countenance mild despite the small sting of jealousy that prickled her heart. Everly had continued to speak of eligible bachelors throughout their relationship, albeit short. Senna had done her best to humour these notions, perhaps too confident in her ability to sway her friend away from these girlish aspirations.

Rejoined by Regor, Briarcroft went to stand by the carriage door and offer his hand for the ladies taking the step. "Yes, it was quite generous to invite us along. I'm afraid I've been too busy to engage the services of a driver. It's just as well, the stables need a new roof. I do hope there's room. Or should Mister Harland and I draw lots to see who gets strapped to the roof?"

Senna took the Duke's hand stepped into the seat next to Everly.

"I do believe it would be poor Mister Harland on the roof, given your station Your Grace." Her tone was teasing and the dimple reappeared. She felt the tension which had gathered release from her shoulders as she relaxed. How silly she was being! Everly and the Duke had only been greeting each other after all. Duke Briarcroft had never been other than a perfect gentleman. Why, he could probably woo the Princess Farrah if he were so inclined. She felt rather low for thinking it, but what would a man of station want with the wealthy but ultimately title-less Everly? Her face turned slightly towards the woman in question. Everly's large eyes still sparkled with laughter and her shining dress framed her bountiful decolletage perfectly. Same thing I wanted from her, most likely.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

"Happily there is plenty of room for everybody, and nobody will need to sit atop the roof. Unless they are so inclined."

"Good, I am glad that I will not be too much of a nuisance to such a charitable lady as yourself."

Regor returned Everly's smile, hanging back to allow the ladies and the Duke to go ahead of him. He quickly scanned the grounds and road, then stepped into the carriage last with a look over his shoulder.

"I do believe it would be poor Mister Harland on the roof, given your station Your Grace."

"Ah, if it proved to be necessary I should ride atop the carriage with pleasure, and spare anyone else the discomfort," Regor chuckled. He reached into his jacket pocket, extracting a small pocketwatch which he briefly consulted before placing it beside him on the seat. An astute observer would have seen the watch disappear a moment later.

As serious as the events ahead would be, Regor might have been beginning to enjoy himself just a little.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft, Porch

The duke slid into the bench opposite the ladies and patted the space next to him for Mr. Harland. He grinned to himself, remembering that it wouldn't have been the first time he'd ridden on the top of a carriage (without permission) or been transported as cargo (without his permission).

"I did find time to read this month's issue of the Silverleaf Journal," he began, still examining the dot of red on his thumb. "I though you might be interested to know, in my mother's country, the peasants wear charms at the wrist or the neck, tiny silver cages stuffed with white vervain flowers. It's absurdly difficult to come by, terribly scarce in the country, and it only puts out little pea sized flowers. They claim it wards against impure thoughts, nightmares, and evil creatures."

A disappointed look spread across his face. "They swear by it. Mothers half strangle their children tying on their charms before they're allowed to step foot out of doors after dark. It would be an amusing custom, but due to its rarity, a pinch of vervain can go for a fair bit of silver. I always thought it was sad to see farmers throwing away what little money they had on a superstition, so I must confess I'm rather happy to hear the Institute confirm its effectiveness."

"Of course," he paused, looking out the window with a bit of a pout. "You wrote about lemon verbena, which I believe is also known as beebrush? How similar are they? Beebrush and white vervain, I mean. I should hate to think one country had it wrong entirely!"

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves


Senna brightened as the duke professed his familiarity with the Silverleaf Journal.

"White vervain and lemon verbena are indeed related, and one might be forgiven for confusing the two from a distance as their flowers are very similar." She could not help herself from interjecting her with her herbal knowledge.

"Up close however, their difference becomes more obvious, as white vervain has jagged, nettle-like leaves and lemon verbena has long thin leaves which are smooth." She had fallen into her best lecture voice as she intoned upon the plants.

"And of course, it has the powerfully strong scent and flavor of lemons." She sat back again, pleased to have gotten a chance to impart her knowledge in conversation.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Sunday Morning
The Wolves' Den

Nespira had been up for hours; morning training was followed by her stint in the kitchens, helping to prepare breakfast for her fellow Wolves. She'd traded lunch duty with a friend, so that she could go to the Graves - it was the event of the week, and everyone who was anyone was said to be in attendance.

Not that she was particularly interested in the nobles (at least, not as any more than potential clients). Her main interests were twofold: watch the other mercenary companies fight, and cheer on Hoss Bravo.

She and Hoss had met during a rather..."eventful" job. She'd been transporting a package through gang territory, when a particularly bold group had chosen to liberate it from her and her fellow Wolves. Hoss had, in a stroke of luck, needed to show these particular gang members who was boss, and after a whirlwind of fighting and re-stealing her package, they'd become fast friends. He was an idiot, but a lovable one, and though others found her bond with him strange, she enjoyed her Kindly Ones drinking buddy.

Plus, who knew? He could come in handy.

"All right, I'm off. If Zatra needs me, send a runner to the Graves."

"Just don't do anything dumb!" Eli, her friend, watched her sign out on the roster.

"Come now. I'm always proper!" Nes laughed and flung her hand up in a half-wave, hitting the streets of Tidecleft. It was a bit of a walk - she'd have to make haste.

The Salt Graves

There were more people than she'd anticipated, here, and she felt distinctly under-dressed. Not that it stopped people from looking. After all, it wasn't every day that a blue-skinned, horned woman casually wandered through the crowds. For a moment, she considered putting her hood up...but only a moment. Giving herself a mental shake, she squared her shoulders and stood tall.

Spotting a man selling pastries, she wove her way through the crowd to him, giving a bright smile. He was in the middle of engaging with two others - she shouldn't interrupt, but it was likely to be a long day.

"When you're through with their orders, I'd like a pastry as well, if you please!"

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

Everly listened thoughtfully as the duke spoke of white vervain and his mother's traditions. She took in his fair skin and and unusual hair. Her head tilted slightly to one side as she regarded him. She had just opened her mouth to speak when besides her, Senna chimed in with her expansive herbal knowledge. She smiled indulgently and waited for her friend to finish.

"I haven't personally tested white vervain, so can not attest to its efficacy in warding off so-called evil creatures, supernatural or no. In fact, an herb that could ward off evil humans would be far more useful as there are far more of them than not humans." She shrugged delicately.

"However, humans are not my area of expertise. I can definitely say that lemon verbena is repugnant to all manner of insects and vampires. And I have hard science to back that up that claim." A self-satisfied smile curved her lips. It was evident she took great pride in her work.

"I admit, I had never heard the lore on white vervain and am extremely intrigued. I shall have to find some and test its efficacy, beginning with impure thoughts. It would be the easiest to test on myself." Her smile turned mischievous as she turned fully to Senna.

"Do put white vervain on our shopping list."

[Lleban]

Sunday Morning

Outside The Salt Graves

"And what's the deal for an ugly fellow?"

Despite playing the role of merchant Duggin was still surprised by the brisk voice behind him. Duggin had seen his fair share of Northerners during his time as a navy boy, but few as hairy as this, and fewer still so magically endowed.

"For an ugly fellow eh... 2 cleft pastries for 6 copper dollars sounds right." Duggin then nudges the large fellow and winks "In fact you're so ugly I'll throw in a third one for free."

While Duggin is quite shorter than the north man, a perceptive individual would notice that Duggin was staring not at the man's face but at his amulet. "Sir may I ask, what's your name?"

Nearly immediately after he heard a third voice "When you're through with their orders, I'd like a pastry as well, if you please!"

After quickly examining her frame he handed her a cleft pastry and held his hand out expectantly "3 copper dollars please." While she scrambled to hand him the requisite coins he queried " Who are ya rooting for in today's battle?"

At this rate he'll certainly make the enough coins to satisfy aunt Margret.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

"Well, I certainly hope you're not having impure thoughts now, otherwise we'll have to turn around and fetch Basil for a chaperone. Gods, I can hear him tutting about it from here! Poor man's been married fifteen years and couldn't find his wife's chamber with a map of the castle and a dowsing rod." He laughed, but felt guilty for picking on the butler when he wasn't here to defend himself.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

"Well, I certainly hope you're not having impure thoughts now, otherwise we'll have to turn around and fetch Basil for a chaperone. Gods, I can hear him tutting about it from here! Poor man's been married fifteen years and couldn't find his wife's chamber with a map of the castle and a dowsing rod." He laughed, but felt guilty for picking on the butler when he wasn't here to defend himself.

Everly joined the duke in his laughter at his butler's expense.

"Well, in that case if I am I shall keep them to myself." This little trip was turning quite merry, she would have to thank Senna later for inviting the gentlemen along. Her mind turned back to something the duke had said earlier.

"You said white vervain was known for these properties in your mother's country. What country is that? If I may be so bold as to ask." She had already asked, so she supposed she was that bold.

[Rolepgeek]

Sunday Morning
Outside the Holding Cells of the Salt Graves

Andon shivered despite his cloak as he walked down the stone steps that led to the holding cells. The morning chill was normally offset by the sun's rays, stretching out over the whole vertical city, but inside the cells, the night held for that much longer.

But that wasn't why he shivered.

"I heard there was request for a champion." Andon pushed down his hood as he stepped out into the main hall between the cells. "Victor Holster?"

Victor's face was rather amusing to watch, as it went from relief through anger into annoyance. "Holister! Victor Holister!" The man huffed as he inspected Andon. "And it took you long enough! I've been stuck with these buffoons so long I was starting to think I would actually have to die with them. What took you so long?"

Andon's eyes narrowed as he closed the distance to the cell bars in front of Victor, speaking softly. "I offer my life for yours, voluntarily, without request of payment. I would ask you to show the basic courtesy that should afford."

Victor's eyes widened, a comical reflection of the larger man's face, though there was still suspicion in them. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, "I've just been very stressed, you know, with all of this. The cell was bad enough, but then he had to be here too," he angrily gestured towards Hoss as he said this, before continuing to whine. "And no one said anyone was coming! I have rights as a citizen of Tidecleft, you know!"

"Worry no longer, then. I will fight in your stead," Andon replied, inwardly sighing. If he were perfectly honest, that wasn't the only reason he was here. True, the man did have a right, and as a servant of the God in Chains, ensuring that it was honored was his duty, but he had also been hoping there would be some evidence of attempting to cheat magically. He hadn't been able to eat anything for a few days. Bread and salted fish this morning with a surprisingly good cheese, but Andon needed something less substantial.

Victor's suspicion was not necessarily ill-founded. Standing nearly as tall as Hoss, he should have been an imposing figure, and yet he wasn't. Perhaps it was the bags under his eyes, or the overly pale skin that practically screamed 'clammy'. Perhaps it was simply his posture, which lacked the confidence of a man secure in his station as bigger and stronger than everything around him. Or maybe it was just the pain evident in his eyes, and the way he drew the cloak around himself as if in a winter storm, rather than a slightly damp corridor.

Maybe the tigers would be magical. That would be nice.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

"Carpathia." The duke beamed, remembering the scenery quite vividly. "A country famous for precisely nothing except the beautiful mountains and the beautiful women. And the beautiful, mountainous women. I never knew him, but my grandfather was supposedly so enchanted with both that he never left. That's what the villagers told me in Wolseley at any rate, that he quit university and bought a bit of land in the foothills of the Blue Mountains where he could live out his days with gran. Now, I only remember her as a hunched old woman who hobbled around the manor with three toes on her right foot, but she had been accused of being radiant in her youth."

He lied now. The woman Alistair Briarcroft had fallen in love with had never grown old.

"I, uh, I got my complexion from her." Alden curled a bit of his long hair around a fingertip and admired it in the sunlight. "That and the anemia."

Carpathia is a principality somewhere across the sea to the south, nestled in some grand mountain range hundreds of miles inland. Its exact location changes depending on the map and even the people who have been to Carpathia can scarcely agree on the best way to travel there. It is famous only for its uncanny remoteness, it's heart-breakingly beautiful landscapes, and the 2% of the population born with white hair. Similar to albinism, this is caused by a recessive gene which flourishes in the rather isolated population.

[DoomHat]

Sunday Morning
Holding Cells of the Salt Graves

"Any of you men need healing or pain relief before you go in?" the doctor inquired.

Before anyone could respond, the tale figure of Brother Andon stepped into the cell block, drawing the room's attention.

He exchanged words with Holister, concluding with "Worry no longer, then. I will fight in your stead,".

"Hey!" shouted Hoss Bravo, cheerfully waving an arm laced with a tapestry of scar tissue, "Hey! Can you really do that? Just come in here and fight some monsters without getting caught doin' nothing? Also, you look sick? A big fight's a bad place for sick folks isn't it? At least that's what Poppa told me, never been sick myself."

While Hoss lobbied for the newcomer's attention, Westly cleared his throat in an effort to catch Dr. Stimme's.

He smiled softly and said, "I have a few lingering bruises from my, uh, 'capture', if there's anything you could do about those..."

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

"I, uh, I got my complexion from her." Alden curled a bit of his long hair around a fingertip and admired it in the sunlight. "That and the anemia."

"White hair is so unusual, it really is very striking." Something tickled the back of Everly's mind, but it wasn't anything she could put her finger on at the moment.

"Anemia? Have you seen a doctor here in Tidecleft for it? I would recommend Grandpapa Everett's doctor, Veridian Stimme. He's quite good, and discreet."

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

Alden gave Everly a dazzling smile. "Oh, I have my vitamins and Basil forces a bit of bloody steak on me once a week. I do manage. But your concern is touching, Miss Sinclair, and I'm glad you like my hair."

His kind grey eyes stayed on her a moment longer than was proper.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

Everly felt her cheeks warm as the duke held her gaze, slightly taken aback by his words. Had she been concerned for him? She supposed she must have been to have asked after his health as she did.

"I am glad to hear you are in capable hands, Your Grace. Coming to a strange city must have been terribly lonely at first, but it sounds like you are finding your way." She broke their eye contact first, her glance first moving down to her dress where her hands fiddled with the lace of her dress. She stilled them and looked out the window past Senna.

"I do believe we nearly there." As she spoke, the crowd gathered for the Graves sprang into view, along with the noise.

[Jade_Tarem]

Sanctum - Black Sector 4, Primary Transport Hub
Sunday Evening

Sable shivered and wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself. It was always a bit chilly this close to Gate Two, which notoriously connected to the world's northern, frosty climates more often than not. Still, this was the place with the best view of the city, way up high where only a few of the nearby towers could cast shadows down on it, and she liked to come up here to get one last look at her home before departing on a mission.

That said, it was time to get going. She turned and took the lift down, until she reached the level of the sky bridges that would take her to where she needed to go. She was lost enough in thought - mentally reviewing her checklist of packed materials, getting into character and forcing herself to use the superstitious and often poetic descriptions of aetheric phenomena, and just generally dealing with a case of the nerves that preceded every mission - that she didn't notice the first time her name was called.

"Sable! Sable!" Finally she looked up and spotted them, a smile springing to her face before it really registered. Two of her friends, Cerise Blinkenbirne and Tyrian Rose (both Red Caste, of course), had caught up to her, apparently having stayed up quite late in order to greet her on her way out. "We thought we'd missed you."

"Aww, you didn't have to do this, Cerise."

The shorter, blonder woman pouted, crossing her arms. "Sure we did! We barely managed to catch a meal together this time."

"Seriously, I thought agents were supposed to get two months off in between missions." Tyrian - a tall man with a long face and longer hair, scratched at his head. "What gives?"

"They cut the rest time in half if your mission lasts less than a week - though there's a nice bonus and a commendation for getting it done quickly. As it turned out, all I had to do for the last one was burn down the lab... hut... thing of some guy who was close to rediscovering basic anagathics."

"Ahh..."

"Yeah, doesn't do a thing for us and helps them catch up. Recruitment was never going to fly."

"That's a shame, though."

"It always is." Sable shrugged. "Can we walk and talk? I'm kind of on a deadline, here..."

They set out, chatting about everything and nothing, trying to pack a month's worth of catching up into a fifteen minute walk. Cross-caste friendships were rare but hardly forbidden, and even romantic entanglements were not entirely out of the question, though it did add a new layer of complications. Since time immemorial, the Director had known - and imparted into every Sanctified - that human nature was largely static. It was almost always better to manage than forbid.

Not that this came at no cost. The tram might have gotten them to their destination faster and in greater comfort, but the Director frowned on using the public transit over such short distances, noting that it was a waste of resources, and Sable judged that they had just enough time regardless. That was always the way of things here - fantastic variety, incredible capability... sharply limited supply.

"...so yes, I've been practicing." The brunette said, brandishing her authentic-looking 'coilwork' weaponry. "Burning the lingo into my head, too, to make sure my vocabulary doesn't give too much away."

"You'll be fine." Cerise patted the agent on the shoulder. "When you get back, you should consider auditioning for one of those Red Day festival plays. You're getting enough practice lately..."

Sable grinned lopsidedly, "Well sure, but that's less acting and more just furious rehearsal so that I don't get burned as a witch. I'm sure what you two do is different."

"You haven't met our manager." The three laughed, and then they were at the door Sable had been quietly dreading. "Alright, this is goodbye for a bit. I don't know how long this one is going to take, but apparently Tidecleft is a bit bigger than the last village I was sent to."

"Stay safe out there." A pair of hugs later, and Sable was inside.

The interior lacked the sparkling lights of nighttime Sanctum, as well as the breathless view. It was adequately illuminated, of course, but this was a building for the comings and goings of agents on ugly business. There was paperwork to sign, one final check to make sure nothing had changed since her briefing, and then, at last, it was time to go. Sable was escorted deeper into the facility. Her final stop was an otherwise unremarkable onyx room, gold and azure rings around the edge the only illumination it had. The voice of the day manager for the transit hub reached her.

"Alright, Black Thirteen, this is the final equipment test. Please verify connection to Director subroutine #13t."

Sable focused for a moment, activating the Aetheric Insight for which her line was semi-famous, and her vision shifted. Bright points of light marked everything of interest in the room, including the hidden aetheric connections and the mechanisms hidden behind the walls. Even with the new clutter, Sable was still dwarfed by the massive chamber, which extended fifteen meters in every direction around her and rose in a cylinder to a point some twenty meters above her head. Something that her brain had always interpreted as a voice insistently but politely intruded on her consciousness. Good morning, Sable.

It's the middle of the night.

Not at our destination. It should be dawn at arrival.

Lovely, she'd gotten the pedantic controller bot. Still, better that than an inaccurate one. "Connection verified. Signal clear."

13t? I'm gonna call you Jet.

Nickname is recognized and approved. I am now Jet.

What would you have done if I'd called you 'assface' instead?

I would have responded to obvious provocation in a manner calculated to be irritating without violating my controller protocols. And scrubbed it from the log as an obvious error.

This relationship is going to be tricky.

There is no cause for this. I live to serve.

Ignoring a brief flash of irritation, Sable took a deep breath. "I'm ready. Let's get this show on the road."

"You've been hanging out with those Red friends of yours too much, Black Thirteen. Your destination is Tidecleft, capital and primary trade hub of Pravia. We will test your connection one more time when you have arrived. Beginning dimensional expansion."

Tidecleft, Behind the Gilded Oar Inn and Tavern
Sunday Morning

Imagine a species of people that live exclusively in two spatial dimensions.

They are infinitely thin and flat, but they live, play, and work the same way you do, with the same societies, hopes, fears, dreams, etc. They simply cannot move in three dimensions, and can somehow survive like that. Now imagine that you, a three dimensional being, were to appear in their plane - a literal single plane - of existence. What an incredible sight that would be for them! It would be completely impossible for them to see, or even properly imagine, your true appearance or form. Now imagine that you stepped away from that plane in the third dimension and re-entered it at another point. You would appear to those people, for all intents and purposes, as if you had somehow... teleported. Manged to move from point A to point B without crossing any space between. That's not what happened, of course, they just couldn't see the curve.

Now imagine that the plane, while still infinitely thin, is not flat. It is folded over itself again and again, many times, like a roll of parchment left to lie on the floor. Now picture that those infinitely thin 'pages' are pressed together. The two dimensional people would find it a very, very long journey to get from one end of the roll to the other. But taking the third dimension, you would only need to move in a straight line, relative to you, and a very short distance indeed. Mere inches would take you the same distance that seems thousands of miles to the two dimensional citizens.

Now picture instead a three dimensional world, and in it Sable was standing in an n-dimensional chamber. As a three-dimensional person, her mind and senses could not properly understand, comprehend, or even detect the true shape of the chamber. There weren't even words in her language to describe it, nor the trip she was about to take. The appearance of a giant cylinder was a soothing illusion created within her own consciousness to keep it from snapping under the strain of trying to figure out where she really was. She carefully avoided thinking about that too hard while the "rings" of light grew ever brighter, whirring noises and alarms grew louder, and the air around her twisted and distorted - moving even a single person in this way required tremendous energy, but unlike the tram, the security it provided Sanctum was deemed to be worth it. And after a few seconds that seemed rather longer, Sable Einsheld "fell" otherways.

For all the drama at the Sanctum end of things, her arrival in Tidecleft would appear largely anticlimactic. The sole vagrant who witnessed it saw something, which his mind cheerfully purged from his memory to avoid permanent damage. One moment there was nothing there, the next a white-cloaked woman fell backwards into a trash midden. Climbing out and grumbling, muttering nonsense, she made her way past him and out into the street to get her bearings. For his part, the vagrant shrugged, chalked it up to mage business, and went on his way. There was nothing good that came from getting tangled up in something like that.

Tidecleft, slightly later Sunday Morning

Sable had forgotten about the dawn. She just stood there, slack jawed, for entirely too long. Sanctum didn't have dawns and dusks, not unless you went through one of the three big gates. They had a 'sun' that did the job well enough, but it was a swift change between night and day. On and off, flip a switch. The Director likely hadn't spared a single thought for it in centuries.

This, though, was magnificent. Her last three assignments had been to perpetually rainy and surprisingly goat-strewn parts of the world. She'd seen nothing like this during any of them. It's beautiful.

Naturally, that was when Jet 'spoke' up. Connection appears to still be adequate. Control recommends you get your bearings quickly. Your combat attire will be noticed if you tarry.

Sable spun to look deeper into the city, and froze again. She'd been thinking of Tidecleft as a glorified village. People who had learned about masonry recently and were darn proud of it. This... this was something completely different. Towers raced up the cliffs, crowned the city, seeming to scratch the sky. They were imposing in spite of - or perhaps because - they were less than a third of the height of the average towers in the depths of Sanctum. The brain turned large numbers into abstracts eventually, these buildings were large enough to be intimidating and small enough to still be in your face about it. Arches that had to be supported by magic stretched across the massive cleft in the rock that gave the city its name, supporting bridges and causeways that themselves supported neighborhoods all their own.

Jet, we're gonna need more guys.

There are no more 'guys.' Prioritize, search, and destroy.

[woolli264]

Sunday Morning
Outside The Salt Graves

"For an ugly fellow eh... 2 cleft pastries for 6 copper dollars sounds right." Duggin then nudges the large fellow and winks "In fact you're so ugly I'll throw in a third one for free."


Little Bear smiled at the little mans wit and handed over the appropriate fee while saying, "Seems a fair price."

"Sir may I ask, what's your name?"
Hugh Mungus
Little Bear was only slightly confused by the mans interest in him. Most people were not to comfortable talking to such a man but merchants had a tendency to try to sell things and being nice is definitely one method.

"I am called Little Bear." He said, still smiling as he recieved his food, "And you?"

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

"I am glad to hear you are in capable hands, Your Grace. Coming to a strange city must have been terribly lonely at first, but it sounds like you are finding your way."

"It is lonely. I have no family left in this world. The least I could do was open up my home to people who might enjoy it half as much as I do." The duke smiled wistfully, glancing between Senna and Regor before becoming self conscious about his display of emotion. He turned to feign looking out the window.

"Everett is a dear. The young accuse the old of rambling, but I think at his age he's earned the right to do it if he pleases. I can only hope when I'm his age, someone will do me the same courtesy. And I do enjoy hearing about all that's happened since last there was a Briarcroft in Tidecleft."

"My birthday is soon," he said, suddenly excited and happy to change the subject. "Not terribly soon, but soon enough that I can do a bit of planning and extend invitations. Miss Sinclair, would you like to join the festivities at the castle?"

[Tychris1]

Sunday Morning,
Castle Briarcroft, Tower

"There aren't nearly enough stairs here." Bergen mused aloud to himself, the spectral king had ensured that this section of the castle was vacated of both staff and guests before dropping his guard, and now leisurely sprawled himself out on a dilapidated and abandoned fainting couch. The Mist-Bound King had arrived at Tidecleft not long ago, his previous time spent wandering abroad securing him a supernatural refuge for his services rendered in protecting the Duke of Briarcroft, and while he was eternally grateful for the discretion infinite consciousness confined to tight spaces lead to infinite boredom.

He had counted every tile, every knob, step, glass pane, loose floorboard, cobweb, drape, piece of silverware, painting, chair, couch, and brick in the rarely visited corner of the castle. His only respite was from the occasional reports he had been given from his ghostly soldiers who he sent out during the night to gather information for his quest and find a suitable bearer. Glancing across the room, Bergen Valdof conjured forth one of his guards. Hanns Günfelshtek, the name screamed throughout the King's memories as he did so, and the horribly maimed soldier knelt before him. The deadly gray mists that killed him in life cloyed at his body, seeping in and pouring out haphazardly throughout his emaciated form, and was the most notable detail aside from the longsword impaled through his right ribcage. His face was a permanent rictus of hate and flayed skin, the glowing white pinpricks of baleful energy in his eyesockets fully punctuating the neverending spite he held for his king, and was only further cemented with the resentful tone he spoke with. "What is your bidding... my king."

"Wait near the door and inform me of my vessel's arrival." He sighed, standing up from his sprawled position before walking over to the nearby window. "As you wish." Hanns hissed before fading from sight. "He is right to resent me. All of them are. For so long I have wandered these lands, finding failure in every attempt to fix the sins of my past, and for my shortcomings we shall know an eternity of wretched life. No, not life. To live would involve experiencing the full breadth and width of what the world has to offer. To feel the warm waters of a river spring passing through my fingers, to taste the sweat of my brow after a hard day's work, to smell blooming blue lions at dusk, have my heart beat erratically with fear, and smell the heady aroma of my love's hair before fading into slumber. No. What I know now is not life but a mockery of it, a joke with no end, an empty hollow shell.

As Bergen moped he leaned against the glass that provided a partial view of the front of the castle. His metallic fingers rhythmically drummed against the window a melldy he vaguely remembered from ages ago. When he had first awoken in his cursed form he had found his mind was plagued aswell, the Fairies finding sixk amusement in blanketing the Misty King's memories with a fog of their own, and the years spent abroad did no favors in correcting his memories. Everything came in jumps or whispers, half forgotten battles mixed in with pleasant moonlit nights spent singing his son to sleep. One thing he couldn't forget, though, was the name and face of every soul he had damned with his hubris. And they would never forgive him for what he had done.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted them to.

Stepping away from the window, Bergen looked back to see Hanns glowering at him intensely. "Your vessel approaches shortly, my liege." He spat.

Sunday Morning;
Castle Briarcroft, Tower Entrance

Sweat and goosebumps roiled across Adrian's body as he approached one of the imposing towers of Castle Briarcroft. After months of listening to his mother complain to him regarding his lack of a job suddenly he had a steady source of income lined up infront of him and from a reputable source too! Sure he had heard the rumors about Briarcroft and how some odd people tended to stop by but who was he to judge the company of nobility. Duke Alden of Briarcroft might have come back under odd circumstances but his legitimacy was without question and with enough time spent around him maybe Adrian could rub enough elbows to get into higher class society himself. He wasn't entirely sure what being a "factotum" implied but it sounded pretty important, it even had the word fact in it! As his eyes slowly scanned upwards the young man felt his own hopes drift ever upward in tandem. The gruff treatment the butler had given him and the occasional stumbling incident he had incured by tripping over a part of the castle in need of renovations did nothing to damper his spirits. Excitedly, he knocked on the door three times before patiently waiting.

Sunday Morning,
Castle Briarcroft, Tower

"These gladiatoral fights today, they are my best chance at finding Bravery. Be it the man willing to stare down a feral beast or one of the other burgeoning warriors or aspiring sell swords. Perhaps if I am lucky I might even find one of the other virtues. Go, leave me now Hanns, and let our guest in." Bergen clenched his cold iron gauntlet, ushering his spectral servant to leave once more, and he continued to brood near the window. Looking out at the glorious morning sun, The King was stricken with a vision of his own homeland, and watching the dawn crest over the Reichsblak Hills. The memories soon turned bloody, filled with flashes of Fey monsters butchering his men on those same hills, and of fields of brave knights put to the sword. Averting his gaze from the pain, Bergen looked further down and was once more smote with a memory.

"It.... it cannot be. Gertruda? My love, my life? Another trick played on me by those damnedable fair folk? Or the work of some benevolent and just God granting me a small measure of pity? What sorcery is this!"

And yet there she was, as clear as day and as beautiful as the moment he had first saw her. She was even dressed exactly as he had remembered her the first day they had met. She was approached by a woman with a coach and was accompanied by the Duke for some reason. Each piece of this puzzle infuriated and emboldened Bergen, flaming the empty space that would be his heart, and granting him a small semblace of the desire he once felt as a man of flesh and blood. Hearing the footsteps of his vessel approaching, Bergen quickly remembered himself, and stood at attention in his usual nondescript form.

Sunday Morning,
Castle Briarcroft, Tower Entrance

The door opened before Adrian and yet no one stood at the other side. "Uh.... I guess I'll just let myself in?" He chirped before scratching the back of his head and stepping into the tower. Step after baroque step awaited the young commoner as he climbed up to the room he was told to go to two nights prior. The seemingly abandoned nature of this part of the tower unnerved him slightly but it didn't last long as soon he was face to face with the second door to his right. He didn't even have to knock this time as the door was left wide open for him. Stepping into the lounging room, he looked around at the dusty environment before his eyes settled on the most interesting set piece: a well kept suit of armor with a cape attached to it. As he began to inspect the suit of armor the door behind him suddenly closed. Jumping in fright, Adrian whipped around to look at the door before suddenly a voice emanated throughout the room.

"Put on the armor."
"What? Who's there?"
"Don't be daft boy, put on the suit of armor. This is what you're being payed to do, do the job."
"Is this some sort of a prank? Leonard, is that you?"
"I will smite you where you stand peasant I do not have time for this! My wife is moving farther and farther away from me with each passing second! Put on the armor!"

Frantically darting his eyes around, Adrian approached the austere armor and began to put on pieces of it, and as he did so he felt the process go by surprisingly quick. Too quickly considering the skill he had in putting on armor in such a frightened and haphazard state. Actually, he didn't recall putting on that left greave at all. And how did his breastplate get tightened to his measurements? He was almost ready to speak up when once again the voice came from all around him, though this time it was unbearably close.

"Follow my instructions precisely, do not speak unless told to, and if you feel something tugging at you do not fight it. Do all this and you shall be paid well. We are going to the Graves. Let us move."

[lt_murgen]

Artur stepped down from the hired handsom, tipping the driver well. The long winding trip from The Gatehouse all the way to the Salt Graves was a strain on his older frame, but the driver managed it expertly. He mentioned that, should the driver be available at the end of the events, he would certainly seek the man out again.


Sunday Morning

Outside The Salt Graves

"And what's the deal for an ugly fellow?".....


Nearly immediately after he heard a third voice "When you're through with their orders, I'd like a pastry as well, if you please!"......


The conversation caught his attention. He had spent the bulk of the night deep in the Menagerie, and the rest of it in the glass-blowers shop. The woman was restoring a massive Crown Glass window for a hefty fee. His expertise and financial backing were welcome in equal measure. He was hungry.

He looked over the small knot of people. Duggin, that weedy, ill-nutured barnacle. A furry creature barely passable as a man. A curled-horned, slate-skinned fey girl of some type. He turned away, seeking food from another hawker.


[B]"Anything you want, mixed right now!" he threw in whenever a more inebriated person walked past, "I have hangover relievers, pain relief. Fresh Spice..."

It was going to be a long day, and the crowds had yet to fully emerge.

Artur spotted a small man in a gray robe. "Good day, fine sir. I hope you are finding this a profitable morning. If it is no trouble, I am in need of a draught of Carpenter's Comfort this morning."
ooc: Carpenter's Comfort is a Black Cohash flower, hollyhock leaves, and burdock root suspended in rum. A mild curative for arthritis, inflammation, and swelling. And something I just made up.

[Tentreto]

"Good day, fine sir. I hope you are finding this a profitable morning. If it is no trouble, I am in need of a draught of Carpenter's Comfort this morning."

Buce turned around sharply to greet his customer. He was an older gentleman, with whitish hair and dressed impeccably. He probably was from a guild or a noble, though definitely not a grocer, and that was enough for Buce.

"Certainly sir, let me mix it up quickly," he replied, giving of a faint smile.

The leaves and root were already on his tray, and it took all but a moment for the experienced merchant to crush and chop them into a small wooden cup, without even putting they tray down. Buce quickly extracted a small container of rum from his belt, and filled the cup. To finish, he plucked a small mint leaf from his tray and placed it on top. All in all, he had probably used smaller amounts than others who sold it, but he had the dubious benefit of in-depth knowledge and superior quality.

"Here you are sir, I find mint helps with the aftertaste, and helps it down the throat. That will be 2 coppers please."

Buce, having mixed his medicine made to hand it to the man. It was unlikely he was going to refuse to pay, anyone that well dressed could afford to buy anything he had to hand.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

"It is lonely. I have no family left in this world. The least I could do was open up my home to people who might enjoy it half as much as I do." The duke smiled wistfully, glancing between Senna and Regor before becoming self conscious about his display of emotion. He turned to feign looking out the window.

"Everett is a dear. The young accuse the old of rambling, but I think at his age he's earned the right to do it if he pleases. I can only hope when I'm his age, someone will do me the same courtesy. And I do enjoy hearing about all that's happened since last there was a Briarcroft in Tidecleft."

"I do enjoy his stories, however rambling they may be. Especially when they involve Grandmother Abigail. My memories of her from when I was a child can be a bit fuzzy. He helps to bring them into focus." It was Everly's turn to look out the window.

"My birthday is soon," he said, suddenly excited and happy to change the subject. "Not terribly soon, but soon enough that I can do a bit of planning and extend invitations. Miss Sinclair, would you like to join the festivities at the castle?"

Her face brightened as she turned it back to the duke. He was fast endearing himself to her thanks to his fondness for her dear Grandfather. Still, over-eagerness was always unseemly.

"I would be delighted! I wouldn't miss such an event." She may have missed the nonchalant mark she'd been aiming for, but she found herself not caring particularly much at the moment.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
Carriage en route to the Salt Graves

Regor listened politely to the botanical discussion, nodding occasionally. Though it wasn't his particular interest, he would have to see about getting some vervain if Everly's research proved it capable. One less thing to worry about.

He became much more interested as the conversation turned to the Duke's family and Carpathia. Briarcroft seemed a bit anxious, but it was only natural that a foreigner like him would be a little apprehensive about sharing his family history, right? Regor certainly understood. He'd had similar experiences when he'd first come to Tidecleft.

He was about to speak up when the subject changed again.

"It is lonely. I have no family left in this world. The least I could do was open up my home to people who might enjoy it half as much as I do.”

Regor returned the Duke's smile and went back to listening. No reason to intrude on anyone's personal memories, nor to commit another faux pas today, either. There'll be plenty of time to converse.

It was his turn to glance out the window, though he was truly focused on the activity outside the carriage this time. No reason to take unnecessary risks, for that matter.

[zabbarot]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves Holding Cells

There was a quite a commotion as a herd of footsteps made their way down the stairs. Two guards emerged first, followed by Lucre Phoenix, and his attendants, who did their bests to gently carry a massive trunk, nearly the height of man, into the room without scraping it against the wall. The guards took posts to either side and the aides, clearly haberdashers based on attire alone, began setting up an impromptu workshop. The trunk opened down the center revealing an array of high fashion in various stages of completion.

Nothing in the trunk could quite compare to what Lucre Phoenix was actually wearing however. It was a floor length black gown that glistened as if it was woven from glass. On his left leg the dress was tied at mid-thigh, showing enough skin to make a sailor blush. This trend continued from the waste up as the gown was backless and featured a long thin diamond cut on the front, starting near the solar plexus and meeting back up at the neck where a collar of incandescent feathers exploded upwards and outwards providing a constant halo. Tangerine lips and bright amber eyeshadow added to the effect.

"These three are the main event?" He pursed his lips and looked over each of the prisoners in turn, generally looking displeased. His face lit up when he reached Hoss however. "Darling! It's been too long. I wish we didn't always have to meet like this though," Lucre said with a wink. "Did they trump these charges up, or did you really break his arm?" He waved his hand like he was swatting the question out of the air. "It doesn't matter. What are you wearing? Really, you should just let me dress you all the time. Come model for me." He snapped his fingers and an attendant came forward with an outfit. He leaned in, "It's from my new mercenary collection. I want you to debut it during your fight!"

The outfit consisted of leather boots, orange and black slashed trousers, and a thick leather belt (a girdle really) that covered the abdomen and was embroidered with a menagerie of fearsome creatures. "It's a shame to cover those abs, but your fans will just have a suffer through. Most would wear this with armor, maybe a breast plate, but it's not allowed in penal matches. And most aren't chiseled from stone, so I'm sure you'll be fine. Please, try it on. I think I have your measurements this time."

[Rolepgeek]

Sunday Morning
Holding Cells of the Salt Graves

"Hey!" shouted Hoss Bravo, cheerfully waving an arm laced with a tapestry of scar tissue, "Hey! Can you really do that? Just come in here and fight some monsters without getting caught doin' nothing? Also, you look sick? A big fight's a bad place for sick folks isn't it? At least that's what Poppa told me, never been sick myself."

Andon turned to look at Hoss, one eyebrow raised, before his face settled once more. "Anyone may serve as another's champion, so long as they are not themselves in need of one. Did you get caught intentionally, then?" That would certainly be an interesting development. Though Andon's job, at least, would be easier with the boy. It was hard to think of him as a man, given his attitude, but Andon suspected underestimating Hoss Bravo was a mistake few survived.

Before he could continue, the imminently...fashionable(?) Lucre Phoenix walked in. Andon had heard of him, of course. If there was anyone in Tidecleft who hadn't, they were like as not unable to understand Pravian. But seeing him in person, at the Salt Graves? This was...unexpected.

Nonetheless, Andon felt obliged to answer the young Bravo, out of politeness, or camaraderie, or something. He wasn't entirely sure himself."...I am not ill in such a manner that rest will help me," Andon said absent-mindedly. "A fight may help me feel more like myself, in fact."

And then the Phoenix began to speak, and Andon stopped paying attention to Hoss. At least at first.

"These three are the main event?" He pursed his lips and looked over each of the prisoners in turn, generally looking displeased. His face lit up when he reached Hoss however. "Darling! It's been too long. I wish we didn't always have to meet like this though," Lucre said with a wink. "Did they trump these charges up, or did you really break his arm?" He waved his hand like he was swatting the question out of the air. "It doesn't matter. What are you wearing? Really, you should just let me dress you all the time. Come model for me." He snapped his fingers and an attendant came forward with an outfit. He leaned in, "It's from my new mercenary collection. I want you to debut it during your fight!"

Andon looked between the Bravo and the haberdasher, consternation evident in his face. "Uhh...I'm sorry, but do you two know each other?" A few moments later, the rest of what Lucre had said filtered through Andon's foggy mind. Lucre Phoenix did not come all the way down here just to test out some new clothes. Or, well...he probably hadn't, anyway.

"I believe there are four of us, sir." Andon didn't know the proper way to address someone who was Guildmaster twice over, but that was probably fine, right? "I am serving as champion for Victor Holister."

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning,
The Gilded Oar (Outside)

Magnus finished his breakfast quickly, and after a tip of the head to Owen and a wink for Jeanette, he stepped outside into the morning air. The sailor wore sturdy trousers, but no shirt. Instead, he had a leather harness with a pair of hardened leather pauldrons, one capped with a thick chunk of decorated steel. A small band of chain mail encircled his waist, and his boots were studded on the outside. He had an array of weapons at his back, and a knife at his belt. None of them matched the others, but all appeared well-made, and Magnus had both the look and musculature of a gladiator, and he carried himself in a way that an onlooker could tell he knew how to use both his body and his weapons in a fight. His path was pointed toward the Salt Graves arena that morning, but he would not be competing this day, not unless Graves ran out of competitors early and someone made him a good offer.

The big man clomped down the few wooden steps from the door and stood in the street, looking first up one way, and then down the other. His gaze followed that of another, a begger or tramp about to begin his daily regimen of panhandling. The man was looking at a white-cloaked woman who struggled out of a trash heap. Magnus watched her as she moved out into the street before he spoke. "Good morning," he offered her politely. He didn't inquire about why she'd been in the trash heap. That was none of his business, and asking awkward questions was impolite. In a city the size of Tidecleft, you could go your whole life without meeting half the people who lived there more than once, but Magnus believed it was always nice to be courteous. After all, that might be your only interaction with a particular person in your entire life.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

After quickly examining her frame he handed her a cleft pastry and held his hand out expectantly "3 copper dollars please." While she scrambled to hand him the requisite coins he queried " Who are ya rooting for in today's battle?"

Passing the vendor the coins and taking the pastry, Nespira grinned.

"The only one worth rooting for, of course. Hoss will run roughshod over the beasts, as I've heard he's done before. Though I do feel for that one fellow...Westley, was it?"

Taking a bite of her pastry, she chewed contemplatively. "I mean, word in the lower rungs is that he and the girl were truly in love, right? And this is all a setup. It'd be nice to see him come out unscathed...but unless there's a miracle, I doubt that. The wealthy can be vicious." Another bite of the pastry and a shrug, and Nes was back to smiles.

"But there's no use dwelling, is there? At the least, there will be some entertainment! I'm interested in the mercenary groups as well, seeing as they're my competition for work. But what about you? Are you stuck selling pastries, or are you rooting for someone on the side as well?"

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
Outside of the Holding Cells, Salt Graves

"Any of you men need healing or pain relief before you go in?" the doctor inquired.

While Hoss lobbied for the newcomer's attention, Westly cleared his throat in an effort to catch Dr. Stimme's.

He smiled softly and said, "I have a few lingering bruises from my, uh, 'capture', if there's anything you could do about those..."

The doctor's attention had been on the newcomer when Westly spoke up. He was slow to turn towards the man, being so surprised by Victor's sudden good fortune.

"Yes, of course." He worked his hands over the affected areas with a slow deliberation. As he finished, yet another visitor arrived at the holding cells. His eyebrows raised a bit to see the esteemed Guildmaster down in the cells.

"I believe there are four of us, sir." Andon didn't know the proper way to address someone who was Guildmaster twice over, but that was probably fine, right? "I am serving as champion for Victor Holister."

"That's right. Four brave souls for the Graves." He turned to address the Haberdasher directly.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. However, the inimitable Master Lucre Phoenix needs no introduction. I am Dr. Veridian Stimme." The doctor finished his introduction with a short bow.

[DoomHat]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves Holding Cells

Lucre Phoenix had always spoken a little fast for Hoss to keep up, so he usually didn't try. Hoss smiled and nodded, not really focusing his eyes on anything in particular until the attendant stepped forward with the outfit.

It consisted of leather boots, orange and black slashed trousers, and a thick leather belt (a girdle really) that covered the abdomen and was embroidered with a menagerie of fearsome creatures. "It's a shame to cover those abs, but your fans will just have a suffer through. Most would wear this with armor, maybe a breast plate, but it's not allowed in penal matches. And most aren't chiseled from stone, so I'm sure you'll be fine. Please, try it on. I think I have your measurements this time." Lucre said.

"You're always such a help Mr Phoenix," said Hoss as he began casually stripping down, "those guard boys almost never give out a change of cloths. Been sleeping in these the last few days and they've been getting real itchy. I'll do my best not to get these torn up too bad out there."

[Lleban]

"But there's no use dwelling, is there? At the least, there will be some entertainment! I'm interested in the mercenary groups as well, seeing as they're my competition for work. But what about you? Are you stuck selling pastries, or are you rooting for someone on the side as well?"

It wasn't often Duggin was surrounded by a Tiefling, a large hairy man, and a normal woman, in fact...This is the first time Duggin was surrounded in such a way. Duggin's facsimile of smile briefly broke before deciding to telling her "I'm stuck with pastries for now, but I know Westley. While we've drifted apart since our naval days, I'll still root for him. Realistically though he'll probably die, the upper crust is a lot of things but half-baked isn't one of them. Most we can hope is that it'll be more tragedy than farce."

Tapping his head, attempting to remember anything....really scraping the bottom of the mental barrel top say "I bet mercenaries will have an exciting bout though." Duggin groaned on the inside, clearly this is what happens when you stop keeping track of a field for a decade and a half.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

The carriage rolled to a halt outside the arena's grand atrium. A beveled arch twenty feet wide lead to an open air pavilion sheltered with red silk canopies. A slender, diamond shaped reflecting pool dominated the space with nine feet tall marble statues of Rydos and Lyrelle posed stoically on either side. Within, the aristocracy mingled enjoyed the first round of complimentary food and drink. Healthy contingent of the royal family's personal guards were present in addition to the city watch, not that they were necessary here. The rabble were kept far away from this vaunted entrance; they were too busy fighting for cheap seats anyway.

Briarcroft peered through the carriage window and suddenly looked adorably befuddled. "How does this work? Oh gods, I don't need a ticket, do I? I hope there are some left." A second passed and he smirked slyly. What good was being a duke if you couldn't use your name to get special treatment?

"Seriously though, we should hurry before they run out of Rosé."

He slid out of the carriage after Regor and flipped Everly's driver a coin. Heads soon began to turn.

[zabbarot]

Sunday Morning
Outside of the Holding Cells, Salt Graves

"You're always such a help Mr Phoenix," said Hoss as he began casually stripping down, "those guard boys almost never give out a change of cloths. Been sleeping in these the last few days and they've been getting real itchy. I'll do my best not to get these torn up too bad out there."

Lucre caught himself staring and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "I'm sure you'll be just fine."

"I believe there are four of us, sir." Andon didn't know the proper way to address someone who was Guildmaster twice over, but that was probably fine, right? "I am serving as champion for Victor Holister."

"That's right. Four brave souls for the Graves." He turned to address the Haberdasher directly.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. However, the inimitable Master Lucre Phoenix needs no introduction. I am Dr. Veridian Stimme." The doctor finished his introduction with a short bow.

"Four? I could have sworn there were three..." He clicked his tongue while an aid brought him one of the event flyers, "Four it is. Alright, champ, do you know your measurements? If not Violet will take them down so we can get you fitted." He motioned towards a thin man with long violet hair, who was already digging for a measuring tape.

"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor," he extended a hand in greeting "Has anyone told you that you have the most... entrancing eyes?"

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Seriously though, we should hurry before they run out of Rosé."

"We'll be right along, Your Grace." Everly turned to Senna.

"Do you have the shopping list? We need quite a lot of dried lemon verbena, I do hope Buce has enough on hand. If he doesn't have any oil, then we will need to make a stop at the Elixirium later. Oh and don't forget the white vervain, we really must do a study." She spied the pastry cart.

"Oh! I will meet you back here in a moment, I have an errand." She walked away distractedly and got the green-clad man's attention once the gathered throng had dispersed around him.

"Pardon me, I would like half a dozen hamantash, three lemon curd and three jam, wrapped please." The estaz man seemed awfully familiar to her, but she could not place him in his current bakery get-up.

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
Outside of the Holding Cells, Salt Graves

"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor," he extended a hand in greeting "Has anyone told you that you have the most... entrancing eyes?"

"You are very kind, but in a desert, the eye is drawn to the oasis." His expression was warm, but his smile self-depreciating as he gestured to his simple but well-made clothing.

"There is simply nothing else interesting to look at." He took the Guildmaster's hand and gave it a brief kiss. Veridian dug into a pocket and pulled out a small card that held his contact details.

"If you should ever need a physician, Veharae forbid, I would be honored to attend your needs." He turned back to the men in the cells.

"If nobody else needs me, I'll be tending to the mercenaries next. I hope to see you all after the fight." He gave them each a nod and began to make his way to where the free men awaited their fight.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"We'll be right along, Your Grace." Everly turned to Senna.

"Do you have the shopping list? We need quite a lot of dried lemon verbena, I do hope Buce has enough on hand. If he doesn't have any oil, then we will need to make a stop at the Elixirium later. Oh and don't forget the white vervain, we really must do a study." She spied the pastry cart.

"Oh! I will meet you back here in a moment, I have an errand." She walked away distractedly and got the green-clad man's attention once the gathered throng had dispersed around him.

Senna didn't say anything as Everly ticked off their list, she had forgotten several items Senna had wanted anyway. It was no matter, she was headed to Buce on her own it seemed. She watched the other woman walk away, if Everly had glanced at her face, she would have noticed a slight frown there.

"Good day, Buce always a pleasure." She greeted the spice merchant pleasantly, she had been going to him for some of the more esoteric ingredients her alchemy required for quite some time now.

"I've got a rather large order today. I need about five hundred grams of dried lemon verbena, and two ounces of the oil. Have you any white vervain? I shall take whatever you have of it on you. And I shall need 10 ounces of quicksilver, and twenty grams of hyssop. I think that will do for now. Would you be a dear and have it sent to the castle for me?"

[TheDarkDM]

Sunday Morning
Outside the Salt Graves, Commoner's Gate

Molly waited patiently as the Estazi man consulted his crumpled notes, quietly humming the same tune that had brought her there.

"5 copper dollars for hamantash and 7 for rugelach. However, for a beauty such as yourself you can get 3 cleft pastries for 6 copper dollars."

She favored the man with a surprisingly brilliant smile. While her clothes spoke of common blood, she had the teeth of a woman of property.

"Then I'll have the lot, Goodman."

Reaching into the sash cinching her skirt to blouse, she pulled forth a small coin purse and counted out the coins. One unum and eight copper dollars, perhaps more than she would normally spend. But today was a special occasion. Dropping the coins into his box, she took the pastries with a wink and turned aside for the next customer.

Only to stifle a gasp when confronted with a walking rug.

The noise of surprise almost swung into giggles at the ridiculousness of the figure before her, but she managed to control herself. Control, as Grandmother was always telling her, was the mark of a true professional. She gave a slight curtsy to the hirsute gentleman and backed towards the arena entrance, only surrendering to her wicked smile when her back was to the pastry cart. She was so lost in thought at the strangeness of her city that she failed to notice the golden vision making its way towards the cart from the direction of the High Gate. However, she could not help but catch the scent of mint on the wind, and as her attention turned to the small man in grey she could not help but noticed the woman standing before him. A long, slow whistle of appreciation escaped Molly's lips, and she lingered a good few minutes longer than was proper watching the stranger go about her business.

[Minescratcher]

Regor stepped out of the carriage and handed two coins to Everly's driver. As he did, the Atrium caught his full attention and he let out a low whistle. Even after more than a decade in Tidecleft, the city never failed to amaze him.

"Seriously though, we should hurry before they run out of Rosé."

"Indeed. It would be a great shame to miss the wine. One of Tidecleft's best treats for foreigners like us."

His eyes quickly took in the scene below him, outside the Graves' main entrance. Crowds, a few vendors, more crowds, a pastry cart, a somewhat familiar chef, a very familiar art dealer - Oh dear. Now was not the time for someone to recognize him and make a scene. Only the assassins needed to notice him, whoever the "Platinum Hand" was.

Regor quickly followed Briarcroft through the relatively uncrowded road and into the Atrium, taking the time once within and less visible to look around and absorb every detail of the pavilion.

[Tentreto]

"Good day, Buce always a pleasure." She greeted the spice merchant pleasantly, she had been going to him for some of the more esoteric ingredients her alchemy required for quite some time now.

"I've got a rather large order today. I need about five hundred grams of dried lemon verbena, and two ounces of the oil. Have you any white vervain? I shall take whatever you have of it on you. And I shall need 10 ounces of quicksilver, and twenty grams of hyssop. I think that will do for now. Would you be a dear and have it sent to the castle for me?"

The Salt Graves
A little later

Buce turned to Senna with a genuine smile on his face. Senna was a regular customer, and was one of the few who actually made good use of his stock, contributing regularly to the Silverleaf Journal, something which Buce had heard much about in his previous occupation. Though today's order was quite large and unusual. Vervain was always annoying to find suppliers for. Luckily for both of them, he had it all on him, or easily available.
"Certainly Senna, I think I have all of that available. I do in fact have some white vervain on me."
Buce put down his box carefullly, and, reaching down under his cloak carefully with one hand, took a small bag off his belt, about the size of a plum.
"Incredibly annoying to find this, almost costs more than its weight in silver though they do say it has mystical properties."
Buce offered the bag to Senna, in case she wanted to inspect them. As he did so, he asked, somewhat intrigued about specifically asking for white vervain:
"What is your research on this time, if I may ask?"


She was, in fact, probably the first person to ask him for it ever. These leaves had come from a sailor who had managed to grow it without realising what he had on a voyage, so had come in relatively cheap.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Senna had been distracted from Buce momentarily by the sound of a low whistle piercing through the chatter of the crowd. She glanced up and caught the eye of a woman who seemed to be looking in her direction. Senna glanced around her, sure at first that she was not the target of the stranger's admiration, as she was certain she was a stranger to her. There seemed not to be any other likely targets available however, and so Senna surmised the whistle had indeed been aimed at herself. Both amused and caught off guard at being cat-called in the middle of the street, Senna met the lovely stranger's eye and smiled shyly at her before she set her attention back on Buce and her alchemical ingredients.

"Incredibly annoying to find this, almost costs more than its weight in silver though they do say it has mystical properties."
Buce offered the bag to Senna, in case she wanted to inspect them. As he did so, he asked, somewhat intrigued about specifically asking for white vervain:
"What is your research on this time, if I may ask?"

She waved off the price.

"The silver is no matter, write up the total and I will see you get paid." She snuck a look over her shoulder to see if the strange woman was still looking at her.

"I have recently heard some interesting foreign lore about white vervain. That it's a ward for evil, along those lines. Do tell me of these mystical properties you have heard about. This is the first I am hearing about white vervain and I am quite intrigued." She turned back to the spice merchant and bid him speak.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

As Briarcroft approached the archway, just ahead of Regor, one of the royal guards moved into his path. The duke barely changed his trajectory to skirt the man, patting him on the shoulder as he did so. A moment later a second guard whispered something in his ear and the dumbfounded expression melted from his face. The man returned to his position and snapped to parade rest, though he still wore a look of relief at having avoided offending a duke.

There were muttered Your-Graces from the gathered aristocracy and a few people had the good sense to courtesy or bow at the neck. Most looked to the more informed of their circle and mouthed the words, is that him?

"I prefer not to think of myself as foreign," Alden said to the only person nearby with whom he was acquainted, suddenly finding Regor's company more welcoming than the sea of well dressed strangers. "Prodigal, more like. My family merely lived abroad, but we've always been Pravian." It sounded as if he must have grown up speaking the language as there was no hesitation with him and only a hint of some foreign accent.

The duke was absurdly under dressed for the occasion, but he either didn't care or had deliberately chosen this style to provoke someone. He repaid any accusing glances with a scrutinizing gaze and a bemused pout that made them look away bashfully. From the other side of the pool, a servant came around with a silver tray and wine flutes filled with, as he promised in the carriage, sparkling pink Rosé.

"Avoiding an ex girlfriend, Mister Harland?"

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

Regor breathed a quiet prayer of relief that he was with someone much more interesting to the gathered nobility than he was. It would make things easier for the time being, even if he was more under-dressed than the Duke.

"I prefer not to think of myself as foreign. Prodigal, more like. My family merely lived abroad, but we've always been Pravian."

"Ah, that is sensible. A true Pravian-in-exile, as it were."

Regor took a glass from the servant, but before he could taste its contents, the Duke noticed his watchful glances around the room.

"Avoiding an ex girlfriend, Mister Harland?"

"Half right, Your Grace," he chuckled. Just loud enough for Briarcroft to hear, he added, "An old friend who I have not seen for some time. I am beginning to think that I did not quite think this through."

He took a sip of the wine, his resulting expression proclaiming that it was just as good as he had expected.

[Lleban]

"Pardon me, I would like half a dozen hamantash, three lemon curd and three jam, wrapped please." The estaz man seemed awfully familiar to her, but she could not place him in his current bakery get-up.

Duggin had heard this voice somewhere before. Examining this new customer more closely it became obvious enough this beautiful woman was....was uhhh. While trying to remember her name he quoted the half a dozen deal scribbled on his notes "6 hamantash costs 6 copper dollars, however, I'll cut that in half if you can answer this? Where have we met before, its on the tip of my tongue, but I don't quite remember."

Upon telling the woman the price for half a dozen hamantash, it clicked. Yes this was Senna's friend.....Emily, that has to be her name!! Duggin had to avoid salivating at the prospect of another hunt.
After she answered his question he gave her a note with basic contact information, looking almost apologetic.
"If ya see Senna again, can ya give this to her, I know I was the Hydrangea job didn't go as planned, but I can throw in a freebee."

Getting that off Duggin's chest lightened his spirits to attempt some small talk.

"So which do ya think will have more teeth by the end of this, the tiger or Hoss Bravo?"

[Aedilred]

"There is a saying, is there not - that a man is born in a stable does not make him a horse." Sunyer stepped forward towards Alden, one hand already occupied with a wine glass, and gave a small but respectful nod. "Welcome back to Tidecleft, your grace."

The duke had only been in the room a few moments but was already something of an enigma. From what he recalled of the nobleman's history, Alden was several years younger than Sunyer, but he walked with the poise of an older man. And to arrive dressed in such a manner, even for a duke, said something in itself, whether or not that something was merely "ignorance of Tidecleft cultural mores". But that seemed unlikely, under the circumstances: he suspected Briarcroft was trying to make a point of some sort. He looked in the direction of Briarcroft's companion for a moment. Things that he would never dream of saying to a duke could be expressed without fear to a commoner.

"And what have you come as?"

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"A guest of mine," Alden interrupted. The uncharitable question had amused him, but not so much as to let it go unanswered.

"I've never been to one of those events before. I thought the claws were for the condemned." His eyes were alight with mischief, but the rest of his face betrayed nothing.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

Duggin had heard this voice somewhere before. Examining this new customer more closely it became obvious enough this beautiful woman was....was uhhh. While trying to remember her name he quoted the half a dozen deal scribbled on his notes "6 hamantash costs 6 copper dollars, however, I'll cut that in half if you can answer this? Where have we met before, its on the tip of my tongue, but I don't quite remember."


"I employ James. Aunt Margrett's James? I am sure we have met at the bakery." She was certain this was true, but she felt as though she knew him from elsewhere as well.

Upon telling the woman the price for half a dozen hamantash, it clicked. Yes this was Senna's friend.....Emily, that has to be her name!! Duggin had to avoid salivating at the prospect of another hunt.
After she answered his question he gave her a note with basic contact information, looking almost apologetic.
"If ya see Senna again, can ya give this to her, I know I was the Hydrangea job didn't go as planned, but I can throw in a freebee."

At the mention of Senna, she finally recalled who he was, along with his side hobby. Or was selling pastry his side hobby? No matter.

"I will give Senna the card, if you pass along to Margrett that we are pleased with James's work thus far. He is not real creative with the topiaries, but reliable. I have decided to give him extra work as my driver as well. If James comes over, give him a pastry on the house, would you?" She passed over the full six copper dollars.

"I am certain Senna holds no ill will from your last contract." She tucked the card away.

Getting that off Duggin's chest lightened his spirits to attempt some small talk.

"So which do ya think will have more teeth by the end of this, the tiger or Hoss Bravo?"

"That Hoss is nigh indestructible from what I hear, my money would be on him if I was a betting woman. I almost pity the poor unsuspecting tigers he comes across." She collected her pastry and sent Duggin a friendly smile, careful not to flirt with the man. He was handsome enough, but she would not be responsible for another Westly.

"I will be sure to pass the note along to Senna, enjoy the Graves." She nodded and walked off, looking for Senna in the crowd.

[Tentreto]

"The silver is no matter, write up the total and I will see you get paid."

Buce nodded. It was unlikely Senna had much on her at the moment, and credit was credit.

"I have recently heard some interesting foreign lore about white vervain. That it's a ward for evil, along those lines. Do tell me of these mystical properties you have heard about. This is the first I am hearing about white vervain and I am quite intrigued."

Buce put on a more serious face, now that his professional knowledge was being put to use. He put a finger to his chin for a moment, and quickly recalled what he knew, which honestly was not much.
"The most common thing I have heard about it is it keeps away the creatures of the night. Though that is a slight double entende, if you err, " Buce paused, looking slightly sheepish, "take my meaning." He recovered quickly. " I have heard the oil can slow or stop the regenerative powers of vampires, and a few hunters always keep some on them to prevent being fed on." Buce slightly rolled his eyes. "Of course, the tricky bit is actually finding out, and while it may prevent being fed on it doesn't provide much defence against being stabbed."

Buce coughed, realising his slightly morbid shift. "Aside from that, it has fairly common uses for treating cuts and bruises, and can be used to ease labour and help new mothers. So all in all, it is a pretty useful plant. Some say the white vervain is especially potent in the verbena family, but I have no true idea about that, as I can't really afford much time for experimentation."

"Anyway," Buce finished, "thats pretty much all I know off hand about it. Hopefully that is enough for you. I assume you are going to watch the fights now?"

[Minescratcher]

Regor took another sip of his wine as the noble approached. He took in the man at a glance and waited to see what he had to say.

"And what have you come as?"

"A guest of mine."

"Indeed, " Regor continued, playing up his distinctive Sullander accent. "His Grace was very benevolent and allowed me to watch the combat along with him."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Buce put on a more serious face, now that his professional knowledge was being put to use. He put a finger to his chin for a moment, and quickly recalled what he knew, which honestly was not much.
"The most common thing I have heard about it is it keeps away the creatures of the night. Though that is a slight double entende, if you err, " Buce paused, looking slightly sheepish, "take my meaning." He recovered quickly. " I have heard the oil can slow or stop the regenerative powers of vampires, and a few hunters always keep some on them to prevent being fed on." Buce slightly rolled his eyes. "Of course, the tricky bit is actually finding out, and while it may prevent being fed on it doesn't provide much defence against being stabbed."

Buce coughed, realising his slightly morbid shift. "Aside from that, it has fairly common uses for treating cuts and bruises, and can be used to ease labour and help new mothers. So all in all, it is a pretty useful plant. Some say the white vervain is especially potent in the verbena family, but I have no true idea about that, as I can't really afford much time for experimentation."

Senna nodded along encouragingly as the merchant spoke and paid rapt attention to his knowledge of the herb. She mentally filed it all away for later for when she could write it down and plot out a course of study with Everly.

"Thank you Buce, that is quite helpful and corresponds surprisingly well with what I know of it." She handed him a slip of credit for her purchases.

"Anyway," Buce finished, "thats pretty much all I know off hand about it. Hopefully that is enough for you. I assume you are going to watch the fights now?"

She sighed heavily.

"Yes, I am afraid so. A woman in my position is either seen or forgotten." She turned once more to look for the strange woman over her shoulder.

"Thank you again Buce, you're a dear. I really mustn't keep Everly waiting any longer." She said her farewells and searched for Everly in the crowds, she was hard to miss, being the shimmering golden vision that she was today.

"There you are, shall we find the duke?" Her tone was mild, but she still felt a bit pouty. Surely Everly hadn't needed to be quite that charming with the duke.

[TheDarkDM]

Sunday Morning
Outside the Salt Graves

Despite her humble origins, Molly had been raised with the manners of high society in mind. She knew she should avert her eyes as her whistle drew the attention of the woman buying spices. Those were the rules of polite society, a society her mother had always dreamed she might return to. But her mother was dead, and as Senna turned to look her way Molly caught her gaze boldly. It was clear the mysterious woman was confused at the attention, but the shy smile removed any doubt it was welcomed. Molly returned the smile with her own wicked one. She continued watching as the woman turned away to complete her business, only to give her a final wink as she glanced over her shoulder once more. As though the wink had broken a kind of spell, Molly spun to continue on her way, nibbling on her hamantash as she finally entered the arena.

Inside...

The cheap seats at the Salt Graves were built for quantity, not for comfort. Row after row of stone benches rose from the edge of the fighting pit, worn smooth by the energy of thousands of onlookers over the years. Hawkers moved through the stands, selling a dizzying array of snacks and drinks to those too impatient to wait at the stalls outside. Perhaps the most popular items were the ragged red cushions sold to soften the cold stone of the seats, but Molly had no need for one of those. Lying in wait atop a dockside clocktower for three days had taught her the true meaning of discomfort, and money spent on extraneous cushions meant less for revelry after the fight. More than one man tried to sit next to her, but something in her eye always turned them away. Molly was here for blood.

And blood she would have.

[Lleban]

Late Sunday Morning: Still outside the Salt graves


"I am called Little Bear." He said, still smiling as he received his food, "And you?"

Duggin looked Little bear in the eye and gave a smug smirk that later morphed into a shrug as his answer progressed "I'm Duggin, hunter of treasure, but today I'm peddler of pastries. That amulet of yours is quite unique where'd ya find it?"


After Little Bears response Duggin's excavated a note from the cart to give the ironically named Little Bear. "I find, that owners of supernatural objects tend to encounter them fairly often, so if ya find something unknown I'll happy to assist."

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"There you are, shall we find the duke?" Her tone was mild, but she still felt a bit pouty. Surely Everly hadn't needed to be quite that charming with the duke.

Everly wasn't completely oblivious to Senna's mood. The women had been friends for years before their current entanglement, after all.

"Yes, we must not keep His Grace waiting." Her teasing tone softened slightly and she held up her bag of pastries.

"I bought you some of Aunt Margrett's hamantash. They're very good. I'm sure they will go with Rosé brilliantly." She giggled and took the other woman's arm through her own and began to make their way into the Graves.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Yes, we must not keep His Grace waiting." Her teasing tone softened slightly and she held up her bag of pastries.

"I bought you some of Aunt Margrett's hamantash. They're very good. I'm sure they will go with Rosé brilliantly." She giggled and took the other woman's arm through her own and began to make their way into the Graves.

Senna's pout melted as Everly held up her peace offering and transformed into a bright smile as they walked arm in arm past the guard without question and under the archway into the atrium where the wealthy guests were mingling. Her search for the duke was a short one, but she had not expected to find her cousin with him. She extricated her arm from Everly's and took two wine glasses from a passing tray.

"Here you will need this." She handed the drink over and made her way up to Sunyer.

"Your Grace, I see you have met my cousin Sunyer." She gave the men an amused smile and took a sip of the Rosé, which was just as good as had been promised.

[Jade_Tarem]

Tidecleft, Sunday Morning
Outside the Gilded Oar Inn and Tavern

"Good morning."

Sable spun at the voice to find herself confronted with a massive man carrying a number of weapons. He was clearly some kind of fighter, which put her on edge right away. Status on the translation, Jet?

You should be able to understand, comprehend, and speak the local language in approximately three hours and thirty-eight minutes.

That was impressive, but not enough to help her with the wall of muscles and steel in front of her.

Alright, Sable. Context. For something that short, it was either a simple greeting or a 'get lost' threat. Either way, she needed a little help. It wouldn't do to start a fight and have to murder some random sailor within minutes of arrival.

So she made a pair of nonsense hand signs at him and pointed at her ear. Maybe pretending to be deaf would get him to pantomime his intent.

[Aedilred]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"A guest of mine," Alden interrupted. The uncharitable question had amused him, but not so much as to let it go unanswered.

"I've never been to one of those events before. I thought the claws were for the condemned." His eyes were alight with mischief, but the rest of his face betrayed nothing.

"Ah well, I understand a number of savage creatures from far away have been brought for our entertainment." He took another sip from his wine. "AAlthough I believe the convention is for them to remain in the arena."

Senna's pout melted as Everly held up her peace offering and transformed into a bright smile as they walked arm in arm past the guard without question and under the archway into the atrium where the wealthy guests were mingling. Her search for the duke was a short one, but she had not expected to find her cousin with him. She extricated her arm from Everly's and took two wine glasses from a passing tray.

"Here you will need this." She handed the drink over and made her way up to Sunyer.

"Your Grace, I see you have met my cousin Sunyer." She gave the men an amused smile and took a sip of the Rosé, which was just as good as had been promised.

"Cousin," Sunyer said, bowing to kiss her hand. "AI am glad you felt able to join us. Please allow me to express my condolences on your loss. I hope those responsible will be swiftly apprehended."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Cousin," Sunyer said, bowing to kiss her hand. "AI am glad you felt able to join us. Please allow me to express my condolences on your loss. I hope those responsible will be swiftly apprehended."

A faint smile touched her lips at his condolences.

"A normal routine helps the time pass, I have found. Every day gets slightly easier." As it was, the prospects for finding her parents murderer was looking more and more slim as the authorities has been unable to discern who or what had killed them.

"I missed you at the funeral." It wasn't quite a question or an accusation, but it wasn't entirely not those things either. She looked around suddenly as though remembering where she was.

"Sunyer, this is my good friend Miss Everly Sinclair." She turned to the duke,

"Duke Briarcroft, this is this is my cousin Sunyer, the Baron Berenguel."

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Baron?" It had been Count. Was Senna mistaken? Briarcroft made a token attempt to hide his surprise. "You're ... Ramon's son?"

He looked vaguely stunned, clearly wracking his brain to keep the dates straight. "No, his grandson, surely? I'm very sorry; the book of peerage I studied abroad was many decades out of date. I'm afraid I've been so busy with my family's affairs and the estate that I've barely had a chance to visit the library!"

Without further facial contortions, the duke compartmentalized Ramon's death like he'd done so many times before. Everett hadn't mentioned it. They'd all been about the same age, Ramon a few years younger. They hadn't quite gotten on. Ramon thought too much of his birthright and Alistair too little of his own. He saw it now, the resemblance on Sunyer's face. Did women really go for beards? Was that what passed for fashionable these days?

"Cousins?" he asked after what felt to him like an uncomfortable silence. His mind had only drifted a second. "You must educate me. How are you related to this charming young woman?"

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning,
Outside The Gilded Oar

What on earth was the woman doing? Magnus briefly considered that she'd fallen out of a window or from a bridge and landed upon her head. That would have explained both the trash heap and the odd behavior. "Sorry, I don't understand...hands," he said patiently. Magnus talked slower, making sure to enunciate his words. He knew some folks who'd gone deaf later in life could sometimes read lips. "What is it, you hit your head?" He pointed upward, and then at the midden heap. Then he made a fist and slapped it into his other palm, then pointed at his head and lastly the woman.

[Jade_Tarem]

Tidecleft, Sunday Morning
Outside the Gilded Oar Inn & Tavern

As it turned out, Sable couldn't understand a language she'd never spoken in her life even if the man's lips were moving very slowly. Worse, his pantomiming was becoming more hostile. Something about the trash heap and hitting things. He probably wants me gone.

She supposed that was fair. No one liked strange people hanging about, and she had a job to do. She bowed and shook her head in what she hoped was a conciliatory fashion before turning to leave.

[Rolepgeek]

Sunday Morning
Outside of the Holding Cells, Salt Graves
"Four? I could have sworn there were three..." He clicked his tongue while an aid brought him one of the event flyers, "Four it is. Alright, champ, do you know your measurements? If not Violet will take them down so we can get you fitted." He motioned towards a thin man with long violet hair, who was already digging for a measuring tape.

Andon shook his head, unclasping his cloak. "Afraid not. Last time I saw an armorer..." He simply shook his head again, to clear it, as he pulled out of the cloak and straightened up. Underneath the concealing garment, he wore sturdy, simple clothing, well worn; a leather jerkin, a cotton shirt and trousers, and a fine silver chain around his neck, hanging down. "Though I doubt those would be of use for your profession."

Andon knew there would be clothes that fit him in the chest. Lucre Phoenix probably carried clothes suitable for Faeries with him at all times. Somehow. The man was a contender for richest alive, and yet he was here...Well, at least the Phoenix could be counted on to be eccentric.

Though, he was curious, still. While Violet wrapped tape around parts of his body he didn't think even could be relevant to tailoring, or haberdashing, or whatever they called it, he watched the Guildmaster. "If you don't mind my asking, how did the two of you meet?"

[lt_murgen]

[COLOR="#FF8C00"]
"Here you are sir, I find mint helps with the aftertaste, and helps it down the throat. That will be 2 coppers please."

Buce, having mixed his medicine made to hand it to the man. It was unlikely he was going to refuse to pay, anyone that well dressed could afford to buy anything he had to hand.

Artur paid the man, and took the draught. Taking a small sip, he closed his eyes and gently moved it about his mouth. Breathing deeply through is nose, he swallowed, then sighed. "Truly an excellent mixture, fine sir." He handed the man an extra copper. [B]"You are truly a maestro of your craft."

He stepped aside to finish his morning potion as Buce handled his other customers. The delightful Miss Clark had a large order to place. He listened with casual disinterest to the herbalists' discussion as he sipped his cocktail. He tarried for a few more moments, finishing the drink. Then he retrieved a small handkerchief from is pocket and carefully wiped the glass before returning it to the herbalist. "Thank you again, Master Herbalist. May your day be as pleasant as it is prosperous."

Speaking more informally, "If I might ask, what is your opinion on the matches of today? I must admit I find myself at a loss; I do not recall much about the fighters today."

[Tentreto]

"Truly an excellent mixture, fine sir." He handed the man an extra copper. "You are truly a maestro of your craft."

A little earlier
The Salt Graves

Buce nodded in the mans direction. Buce would hardly consider this the epitome of his work, but genuine praise was a rarity. As were tips.
"Thank you very much sir, it is a simple recipe really."

"Thank you again, Master Herbalist. May your day be as pleasant as it is prosperous."
"If I might ask, what is your opinion on the matches of today? I must admit I find myself at a loss; I do not recall much about the fighters today."[/QUOTE]

A little later

Buce knew the major participants almost off hand. The tale of Westley Gulch had been a common topic of conversation recently, to the point where Buce had considered selling incense for prayers about the poor idiot. Aside from that, Hoss Bravo was, for what it was worth, more low key, though notorious in his own right, and definitely had higher odds in Buce's mind. The fact the man had heard of neither meant he was a recluse, trying to gauge public opinion, or just genuinely making polite conversation.
"The two major names today are Westley Gulch and Hoss Bravo. Westley fell in love a little high, and was accused of rape, although that whole depacle is," Buce coughed, "a different matter entirely. No clue if he can fight, but he's where the betting is focused."
Despite himself, Buce grinned. "As for Hoss, well, he's been in the Graves before, twice in fact, and, well you have to see him yourself. I think people would be more surprised if he died."

"As for the others..." Buce shrugged, "don't really know much about them except one is accused of banditry, and the other didn't pay his taxes. The bandit might have more chance, but don't bet on it unless something crazy happens."

"As for who will survive? Well, Hoss for sure, but it depends how much they want to tug on heartstrings for the others. Either way, a lot of people are going to be disappointed tonight."

[zabbarot]

Sunday Morning
Outside of the Holding Cells, Salt Graves

"If nobody else needs me, I'll be tending to the mercenaries next. I hope to see you all after the fight." He gave them each a nod and began to make his way to where the free men awaited their fight.

Lucre turned the card over in his hands and watched as the doctor left. "Veridian..." He said it slowly, tasting each syllable, and smiled before slipping the card into his pocket.

Andon shook his head, unclasping his cloak. "Afraid not. Last time I saw an armorer..." He simply shook his head again, to clear it, as he pulled out of the cloak and straightened up. Underneath the concealing garment, he wore sturdy, simple clothing, well worn; a leather jerkin, a cotton shirt and trousers, and a fine silver chain around his neck, hanging down. "Though I doubt those would be of use for your profession."

"The two have more in common than you'd imagine. Fashion is a weapon in the right hands. If living well is the best revenge it's only because envy cuts right to the heart." Lucre looked back to see Violet on his knees with the measuring tape in hand, and sighed. "What are you doing? We aren't fitting him for a codpiece, you don't need to measure that." Lucre chased the man away, "Apologies. Now, do you have any preference for how much skin you'd like to be showing? As I understand it you aren't allowed armor."

"If you don't mind my asking, how did the two of you meet?" Andon asked.

"Oh, Hoss? He's a dear. He let me dress him up last time he was here."

[lt_murgen]

[B]"As for who will survive? Well, Hoss for sure, but it depends how much they want to tug on heartstrings for the others. Either way, a lot of people are going to be disappointed tonight."

"Hoss Bravo. I do recall that name. Quite a brute. In the best way, of course. All strength and little guile or technique. How much that will avail him against a hunting cat, though." He shook his head sadly.
"Goodman Gulch, wasn't he the man involved in the unfortunate situation with the young Lady Tillsdale? Such a terrible thing, and yet people choose to wager upon the misfortune." He said neutrally.


Later, First tier Atrium:
Artur approached the guards to the atrium smiling “Yeoman Beattie, fair greetings to you.”
"Master Nicolescu." The royal guard replied with slight bow.
"How is your goodwife Parisa?"
“Doing well, Master. Still employed in the household of Baroness Klasson. Thank you for making the introduction.”
“Unnecesary, but welcome. You wife is an exceptional milliner. The Baroness rejoices in her creations. Should she accompany her husband today, I am certain you will see for yourself. Be well, yeoman.” Artur said as he stepped inside.
The other guard glanced at Beattie. “He is a good man to get to know, Cristos. Almost tolerable, for a court-sparrow."

[Aedilred]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"I missed you at the funeral." It wasn't quite a question or an accusation, but it wasn't entirely not those things either. She looked around suddenly as though remembering where she was.

"Yes, I must apologise for my absence; I did not hear until after it had been conducted. I hope you know you can count on my help should you need it, all the same."

"Sunyer, this is my good friend Miss Everly Sinclair." She turned to the duke,

"Duke Briarcroft, this is this is my cousin Sunyer, the Baron Berenguel."

Sunyer turned and bowed similarly to Everly. "Charmed, Miss Sinclair. I hope you find the hospitality to your liking, though the entertainment may be something of an acquired taste."

"Baron?" It had been Count. Was Senna mistaken? Briarcroft made a token attempt to hide his surprise. "You're ... Ramon's son?"

He looked vaguely stunned, clearly wracking his brain to keep the dates straight. "No, his grandson, surely? I'm very sorry; the book of peerage I studied abroad was many decades out of date. I'm afraid I've been so busy with my family's affairs and the estate that I've barely had a chance to visit the library!"

Without further facial contortions, the duke compartmentalized Ramon's death like he'd done so many times before. Everett hadn't mentioned it. They'd all been about the same age, Ramon a few years younger. They hadn't quite gotten on. Ramon thought too much of his birthright and Alistair too little of his own. He saw it now, the resemblance on Sunyer's face. Did women really go for beards? Was that what passed for fashionable these days?

"Cousins?" he asked after what felt to him like an uncomfortable silence. His mind had only drifted a second. "You must educate me. How are you related to this charming young woman?"

"Ramon's grandson, yes. My grandfather died five years ago, though some of my relatives have seen fit to contest my inheritance, so most of the estate remains within the grasp of the Chancery. I have heard you are in a not entirely dissimilar position, though they have managed to fritter most of yours away?"

"Senna is my cousin on our mothers' side, and consequently my favourite, since she is just about the only one not trying to beggar me."

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Bloodsuckers!" hissed Alden, only slightly louder than he'd intended. "Those parasites had the audacity to levy three generations of inheritance taxes on the castle! My own steward is too stupid to realize that the summer manor is not his merely because his father grew up there. The oak forest was declared a "public good". And now I'm being told that I can't toll grain shipments that travel on the highway my family built. As if the city would starve for barley prices to rise two percent."

His anger had leveled off at a steady blitheness when he'd finished ranting. He event smiled through the last bit, though he spoke through his teeth.

"Of course, none of this really compares to throwing me in prison for giving my name to a clerk. Impersonating a noble is a serious crime. I could have been the main event at the Graves today, martyred for attempting to access my own accounts. Alden: Patron Saint of Clerical Work!"

[DoomHat]

"If you don't mind my asking, how did the two of you meet?" Andon asked.

"Oh, Hoss? He's a dear. He let me dress him up last time he was here." Lucre answered.

Hoss had only just finished looping the girdle suspending his fabulous new fancy pants, and so heard the exchange. Up to that point he'd been muttering under his breath, explaining the process of putting on cloths to himself.

"Mr Pheonix is a good guy." said Hoss, half shouting.

Hoss hated lying, and was largely incapable of it, but his older siblings had systematically beaten into him the 'right' way to talk about family business. Hoss was vaguely aware the Bravo family had done some kind of 'Kindly' service for Lucre, but it wasn't his place to know the details.

It was common culture among the Kindly Ones of the waterfront to refer to respectable people involved with criminal enterprises as "a good guy". But the statement would have little meaning to those unfamiliar with the thieves' cant. As such, Lucre Phoenix suddenly had Bundy Roberts' full attention.

Bundy stood up, moved to the bars of his cage, and stared into Lucre with his icy blue eyes, surprised and inquisitive, but intense.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Senna is my cousin on our mothers' side, and consequently my favourite, since she is just about the only one not trying to beggar me."

Senna looked slightly surprised by this news.

"Your favourite? Georgio will be ever so disappointed to hear that." A small smirk twitched at the corner of her lips for a moment.

"Is he coming, do you know? I imagine he might be occupied with the renovations." Last Senna had heard, their cousin had grand plans for her parents old estate on Lilac Lane.

"Bloodsuckers!" hissed Alden, only slightly louder than he'd intended. "Those parasites had the audacity to levy three generations of inheritance taxes on the castle! My own steward is too stupid to realize that the summer manor is not his merely because his father grew up there. The oak forest was declared a "public good". And now I'm being told that I can't toll grain shipments that travel on the highway my family built. As if the city would starve for barley prices to rise two percent."

His anger had leveled off at a steady blitheness when he'd finished ranting. He event smiled through the last bit, though he spoke through his teeth.

"Of course, none of this really compares to throwing me in prison for giving my name to a clerk. Impersonating a noble is a serious crime. I could have been the main event at the Graves today, martyred for attempting to access my own accounts. Alden: Patron Saint of Clerical Work!"

"Goodness forbid!" Senna seemed genuinely unnerved by the thought of the charming aristocrat being forced to fight tigers for sport like a common criminal.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Sunyer, this is my good friend Miss Everly Sinclair." She turned to the duke,

"Duke Briarcroft, this is this is my cousin Sunyer, the Baron Berenguel."

Sunyer turned and bowed similarly to Everly. "Charmed, Miss Sinclair. I hope you find the hospitality to your liking, though the entertainment may be something of an acquired taste."

"A pleasure, Baron Berenguel. I find good company can often make up for an otherwise lacking event, though this one at least promises some measure of excitement. Base though it may be, those who crave it must find it where we can." Her smile was vague as she turned her attention back to the duke and his accession woes. If she was upset by his outburst, it didn't show on her face.

"Of course, none of this really compares to throwing me in prison for giving my name to a clerk. Impersonating a noble is a serious crime. I could have been the main event at the Graves today, martyred for attempting to access my own accounts. Alden: Patron Saint of Clerical Work!"

"Patron Saint of Forbearance is more like it. That level of incompetency is a travesty." Everly took a sip of wine.

"Still, criminals are being sent to the Graves more and more commonly these days. I would not expect that zealousness to change anytime soon." King Frederick's enjoyment of the matches would see to that.

[lt_murgen]

A bit later, fist tier atrium

With a polite clearing of his throat, Artur made his presence known.
“Duke Briarcroft, your Grace.” He bowed formally.
“Baron Berenguel, my Lord.” A slightly less deep bow.
Miss Clark, Miss Sinclair,” He acknowledged each in turn, taking their offered hand in his, and pressing his lips to the back of his own, gloved, hand.
“Harland, always a pleasure.” He spoke, finally, to Regor.

[woolli264]

Late Sunday Morning: Still outside the Salt graves

Duggin looked Little bear in the eye and gave a smug smirk that later morphed into a shrug as his answer progressed "I'm Duggin, hunter of treasure, but today I'm peddler of pastries. That amulet of yours is quite unique where'd ya find it?"

Little Bear responded carefully, "I did not find my totem in a place, as a treasure hunter would be accustomed to, but in a state of mind. I was deep in a cave, deep in the woods and, most importantly, deep in meditation far north of here. Is there a reason you ask?" He had been exiled but he was still not eager to divulge to much of the tribes secrets.

After Little Bears response Duggin's excavated a note from the cart to give the ironically named Little Bear. "I find, that owners of supernatural objects tend to encounter them fairly often, so if ya find something unknown I'll happy to assist."

Little Bear accepted the note and put it in his pocket. "Ah. In that case I will be sure to contact you if I need your help." He then nodded to the vendor and went on his way to the arena, he had two extra pastries and a specific duo in mind for him to share with.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

Regor took a moment to breathe. It wouldn't do to respond to the Baron's baiting, right now at least.

"Still, criminals are being sent to the Graves more and more commonly these days. I would not expect that zealousness to change anytime soon."

"Nor would anyone else. There even seem to be more criminals appealing for a match these days." He sipped slowly at his wine, composing himself the rest of the way.

“Harland, always a pleasure.”

"Ah, Master Nicolescu. It is good to see you indeed."

[Tentreto]

"Hoss Bravo. I do recall that name. Quite a brute. In the best way, of course. All strength and little guile or technique. How much that will avail him against a hunting cat, though."

"It depends who gets the first blow I suppose," Buce suggested, "though what would you do as an apex predator if a soft skinned clawless biped suddenly rushed you?"
"Goodman Gulch, wasn't he the man involved in the unfortunate situation with the young Lady Tillsdale? Such a terrible thing, and yet people choose to wager upon the misfortune." He said neutrally.


Buce let out an audible sigh. "People will bet on anything in this city, if you give them a story and good odds. And Gulch is both a pariah and a saint." Buce shook is head, knocking his tray a little, the various spices sliding slightly. "Poor man is probably dead no matter what. If he doesn't die today, some assassin will get him, and then in a week, some new idiot will be in and be the new betting target."
Buce quickly shook himself from his slight rant. "Forgive me, as I say, the matter is hard to put to words, its more than just Wesley Gulch. I don't suppose you are betting?"

[lt_murgen]

"Forgive me, as I say, the matter is hard to put to words, its more than just Wesley Gulch. I don't suppose you are betting?"
[/COLOR]

Earlier, outside the atrium

I will bet on the mercenary companies, most certainly. Honest and competent people engaged in straightforward combat. The Greythorn Company is reliable and fight cohesively. I think they will take the day." He paused, "One on one fighting, two people throwing their skill and power against the other. Those are the fights I love. Even engaged in a few, in my youth." He shook his head, frowning. "This spectacle is not for me. King Fredrick clearly knows what is best for his people. Probably my age, I suppose, is my deficiency.".

"And you, my good man? Will you be wagering this day?"

[hi-mi-tsu]

Sunday Morning
Outside the Salt Graves

"I'm stuck with pastries for now, but I know Westley. While we've drifted apart since our naval days, I'll still root for him. Realistically though he'll probably die, the upper crust is a lot of things but half-baked isn't one of them. Most we can hope is that it'll be more tragedy than farce."

Tapping his head, attempting to remember anything....really scraping the bottom of the mental barrel top say "I bet mercenaries will have an exciting bout though."

"I certainly hope so - otherwise, what are we paying to watch?" Nespira grinned again, patting Duggin on the shoulder. "If you do get a chance to come inside, feel free to find me. I've got some mid-tier seats thanks to my company. I'm not hard to spot, y'know, on account of being blue and having horns!"

Another pat, and Nespira headed into the Graves with a wave. He wasn't the most interesting character in the world (certainly not like that hairy man, who she hadn't gotten much chance to speak with), but the outcasts always had to stick together, right? In a city like this one, the more friends you had, the better off you were.

Inside the Salt Graves

Being one of the more prosperous companies in the city had its perks; the Wolves always had three seats reserved in the mid-tier section. While they weren't quite as fancy as the boxes the nobility had, they were vastly more comfortable than the bare, worn stone the general public had to deal with. Plus, they gave a pretty good view of the field. She was alone - none of her fellows had elected to come, which was fine with her. Sometimes, it was nice to do things on your own.

She wouldn't mind meeting more new people, though. More friends meant more information meant better chances at better jobs. Slowly eating her pastry, she waited for the excitement to start.

[Rolepgeek]

Sunday Morning
Outside of the Holding Cells, Salt Graves

Lucre looked back to see Violet on his knees with the measuring tape in hand, and sighed. "What are you doing? We aren't fitting him for a codpiece, you don't need to measure that." Lucre chased the man away, "Apologies. Now, do you have any preference for how much skin you'd like to be showing? As I understand it you aren't allowed armor."

Andon shrugged after a moment. "Probably the less, the better," he said, pulling off his shirt. Underneath, his skin was marked by swirling lines of raised flesh, scars darkened by ink, sprawling across his arms and torso. There was a pattern there, though it only just skirted recognition. "I'm guessing these would ruin the-"

Victor, having grown bold again in the discussion of such supposedly non-lethal matters as fashion, took this moment to shriek. "Just make him look good! Naked if that's better!" The man looked at Andon, somewhere between a glare and a plea, as he continued. "As my champion, you represent me! And that means looking the part!"

Andon stared the man down for a few seconds, suddenly less confident about his choice. He didn't really mind what he wore; he hadn't been phased (much) by Violet, and you didn't get to have modesty when you fought, so he doubted Lucre would produce something that would be unwearable. But this man..."Up to you, sir. You're the King of fashion. I think I can trust your judgment." Andon smiled at the Guildmaster, and his entire face changed, just for that second.

"Mr Pheonix is a good guy." said Hoss, half shouting.

Andon nearly jumped at the sudden change in Hoss's activity level. That was...odd. But it was probably just the general concentration of...eccentricity. He cast a curious glance at the Guildmaster, but otherwise held his tongue.

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning,
Outside The Gilded Oar

Daft woman, Magnus thought. He shrugged and turned away as well, his feet leading him down the street toward the Salt Graves arena, hopefully in time to find a decent seat.

The Salt Graves

The waterfront area was always bustling, and that morning was no different. The streets were busier the closer Magnus came to the docks, though most of the traffic seemed to be moving in that direction, so he made good time. Magnus waved to a few of his crew that he passed on the street. Magnus had lost his second ship at sea several months ago, and what remained of his ship's crew had settled in to the waterfront area and now took whatever work they could find. Some had died in the wreck, and others had abandoned him once safely reaching shore - to those, he was considered unlucky, and the epithet "Twice-Drowned" was whispered quietly behind his back - but a core bunch of loyal sailors stood ready to follow him should be once more obtain a ship.

He reached the entrance of the Graves and paid for his ticket. Passing inside, he spotted the arena's owner, Braeden Fuller. He heard the man calling a warning for people to finish placing their bets as the festivities were due to commence. Magnus ignored the calls. No bets for him today. He simply wanted to watch, and he couldn't really afford it anyway. He needed to save what he could to fund the building of a new ship, though he hoped to find a wealthy backer from whom he could secure an investment, and frittering money away at the games would place him in an unflattering light. Besides, sometimes one could spot a decent fighter in the arena, and maybe offer them a position in his crew. If the contender survived, that is.

Besides, he didn't like or trust Fuller. The man had his fingers in too many pots, and Magnus was certain the man was connected to the criminal underbelly of Tidecleft. Not that Magnus was much better, but at least he had the veneer of being able to call himself a privateer, rather than pirate. Respectability was a fine line, and Magnus considered himself to be a gentleman of sorts, even if he did enjoy the occasional evening tavern brawl.

The privateer found his way to where the common folk sat and dropped heavily onto a seat. Those around gave the man plenty of elbow room. Who wanted to get in the way of someone who looked more like he belonged in the arena than as a spectator?

[Tentreto]

"And you, my good man? Will you be wagering this day?"[/QUOTE]

Buce shook is head. "Not on the criminal fights. Though I might check the odds on the Greythorns if you have faith in them."


Later
The Salt Graves common seats

Buce looked around the mostly filled out seats. He clutched his bet of the Greythorns winning, which had cost three unums, a fairly hefty bet, but to be honest, he needed something to raise his spirits, especially as the criminal fights would come first.
Glancing around, the only space he could currently see was a space right at the front, which was being argued over by two individuals in the isle.
"I got here First!"
"But I put my drink here before that!"
Buce quickly slid past their debate and sat down in the seat. Both of the men turned, and realising that they no longer had a seat, quickly went off to find one before they were all gone. Buce allowed himself a smile. Maybe he was luckier than he thought.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Good day, Master Nicolescu." Alden gave a polite nod to the art dealer. With his nearly bare chest, Artur could see one of the artifact he'd inspect to confirm Alden's identity -- a trinket really, though a historical curiosity. At his throat, Alden wore a silver coin from antiquity, the face of some nearly forgotten emperor all but faded away from generations of rubbing against skin and clothing. Unfortunately, in its state it wasn't worth much, not with a hole drilled out just above the emperor's head so it could be strung on a necklace. Still, in 1505, one enchanted young woman had thought to record its appearance in her diary along with detailed, if poetic, descriptions of Alistair Briarcroft. It had come to him by way of his mother's father and was frequently seen wearing it. It looked as if Alden was continuing the tradition.

While Artur greeted the others, Alden flagged down a servant and requested a betting sheet. He frowned, looking over the odds. "What the devil is a Hoss Bravo?"

[Aedilred]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium


"Your favourite? Georgio will be ever so disappointed to hear that." A small smirk twitched at the corner of her lips for a moment.

"Is he coming, do you know? I imagine he might be occupied with the renovations." Last Senna had heard, their cousin had grand plans for her parents old estate on Lilac Lane.

"Not so far as I am aware. I don't think this is... entirely his scene." Nor really was it Sunyer's, and he could hardly imagine Senna being thrilled to attend. "My brother and Lady Sofia will also not be joining us." He was rather grateful to Sofia for having made the decision for him: he would not want Guillyer here if it could be avoided. This kind of savagery was no place for an impressionable young boy. Jousting or fencing or other proper honourable combat and display of the masculine arts was one thing, but this felt rather distasteful.

"Of course, none of this really compares to throwing me in prison for giving my name to a clerk. Impersonating a noble is a serious crime. I could have been the main event at the Graves today, martyred for attempting to access my own accounts. Alden: Patron Saint of Clerical Work!"

"That was indeed an outrage."


"Still, criminals are being sent to the Graves more and more commonly these days. I would not expect that zealousness to change anytime soon." King Frederick's enjoyment of the matches would see to that.

"Accused criminals, I believe, Miss Sinclair, although the publicity for this event did not make much of the distinction. This is supposed to be a trial, after all." His voice was studiedly neutral, though he could not prevent a slight narrowing of the eyes. He had grave doubts over the extent to which the interests of justice were served by combining them with entertainment, and while he was not overly concerned about fair treatment of brigands and ruffians, he was less confident about the Westley situation. Initially he had viewed it with a somewhat blasé attitude - rapists should get what they deserve, after all - but some pertinent remarks from his stepmother had struck home and he had started to view the young man with rather more sympathy.

[Tychris1]

Sunday Morning
Briarcroft Tower

"So I'm to go to-" "The Salt Graves! Post haste! Every minute we waste is another minute my freedom and my wife elude me! NOT THIS TIME!" Bergen cut in as suddenly his inanimate form took on a very animated gait, the previously nervous actor held within now flabbergasted by his sudden pounding footsteps, and he stammered out a question "Hold on, wife? Freedom? Who are you?" Throwing open the discrete side entrance of the tower, Bergen hissed with equal levels of kingly orotund notes and mist-drenched keys of despair "I am a dead man walking. You are my alibi to sift amongst the living on my noble quest. Tell no one and you shall be paid handsomely. Speak of this and I shall snap you like the wolf biting the babies neck. Now, quick! Quick!" Staring after the entourage of the Duke as it escaped from sight, Bergen cursed at himself and proceeded to sprint with all the strength of the dead.

"O-O-O-OKAAAAAAAAY!"

Finding himself rapidly eating the dirt of his target, Bergen buckled and stumbled to a halt. "This is getting me nowhere. Damn my greaves! Cursed to trudge like the shuffling masses!...." Kicking a giant chunk of dirt out of the ground, Bergen watched the earth go airbone before rapidly hitting the ground once more, and as the flying debris reached head level he noticed a figure before him.

A man on horseback.

A satchel sat on his side and considering his generally sophisticated attire Bergen presumed him to be some kind of noble messenger or courtier. From the way he disdainfully looked down at the furtive masses implied a level of protection and superiority over the common folk, a shield of status, and upon his chestnut horse he almost seemed to be in a different world from the rest of them.

It provided no protection from Bergen's cold iron fist.

Gripping the front of his fluffy shirt tightly, Bergen flung the messenger effortlessly through the air and onto a cart of cabbages behind him. The vendor screamed in dismay at the sight of his product being destroyed but the Fallen King paid the scene no mind. He had a wife to find.


Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Bergen pulled the reins of his steed harshly as the sight of the Graves (As it was described to him by Alden offhandedly) loomed overhead. Sliding off of the horse, he handed the reins to the first person he encountered and cheerily gave it to them as a gift. He passed by the various merchents and vendors paying them no mind as he sought the one who could grant him access to this bloody spectacle. Standing over many of the people milling about he was an odd sight to be sure, drawing the attention of a few curious people before they shrugged and went about their business, and he stared deeply into each of them searching for his wife's pure crystal eyes. He did not find them anywhere. Deflating in defeat, he heard the groans of Adrian within his metal form and quickly rectified his posture out of pity for the poor boy. Procuring a ticket, he easily pushed his way through the motley crowd and began the painstaking process of trying to find a seat.

"This is what I have been reduced to, forced to sit amongst the common masses and carry around a child to reduce the amount of fear I may distill in others at my ghastly sight. The King of Nothing indeed."

He groaned interally to himself before finding a spot oddly vacant of people save for one woman with a disturbing presence in her eyes. She sat on the cold stone and stared hungrily into the pits, as if she were one of the advertised beasts to be thrown into the mess. Sitting down beside her on the cold stone, Bergen felt no discomfort at the touch, and politely inquired "Is this seat taken?"

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

With a polite clearing of his throat, Artur made his presence known.
“Duke Briarcroft, your Grace.” He bowed formally.
“Baron Berenguel, my Lord.” A slightly less deep bow.
Miss Clark, Miss Sinclair,” He acknowledged each in turn, taking their offered hand in his, and pressing his lips to the back of his own, gloved, hand.
“Harland, always a pleasure.” He spoke, finally, to Regor.

"Good day, Master Nicolescu." Senna smiled politely as Artur took her hand.

"I trust the day finds you well."

While Artur greeted the others, Alden flagged down a servant and requested a betting sheet. He frowned, looking over the odds. "What the devil is a Hoss Bravo?"

Senna was distracted from Artur's answer by the duke's question.

"Not a what, Your Grace, but a who." A grin had appeared upon her face as she was well amused by his words.

"Hoss Bravo is a big brute of a man, by all accounts good-natured and rather dim. He seems to have a knack for getting into trouble, I believe he has survived two of these matches previously?" She looked around to her fellows for confirmation.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

After a few affirming nods, the duke scoffed, "Oh, then by all means, I'll have two thousand on the brute to win. His odds are three to two."

This comment won him a number of disproving glances, which he dismissed with an icy stare.

The prospect of gambling seemed to do wonders for Briarcroft's mood. He'd seen enough to know when outside forces were at work. No one could be dumb enough to face trial by combat thrice. Someone had engineered this. Surely, someone would engineer his downfall too, but that would come later. He idly wondered how much money it would take to have Hoss poisoned. If someone didn't see to that around the fifth time

Shrugging off the evil notion, the duke gestured for the impresario and placed his bet. "Em, better make that four thousand, Bravo to win. Thousand on the Greythrons as well. Ladies, do you have any favorites? I'll be happy to cover them." He turned back to Everly and Senna before signing his name in Fuller's book.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

Shrugging off the evil notion, the duke gestured for the impresario and placed his bet. "Em, better make that four thousand, Bravo to win. Thousand on the Greythorns as well. Ladies, do you have any favorites? I'll be happy to cover them." He turned back to Everly and Senna before signing his name in Fuller's book.

Everly raised a delicate eyebrow at the duke's large bets. Either he had exaggerated the dire state of his affairs or he knew something about the match that she did not. Or perhaps he just wanted to show off. Everly looked around, several others had overheard the duke's bets, she was certain word of them would spread before the first match. A rather roguish smile curved her lips, if he was inviting her to ride his notoriety coattails, it would be impolite of her to decline.

"Your Grace is too generous. My money is on Mr. Bravo as well." She was not really a betting woman, but Hoss seemed to be smart money.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Hoss Bravo is a big brute of a man, by all accounts good-natured and rather dim. He seems to have a knack for getting into trouble, I believe he has survived two of these matches previously?"

"Indeed, and reportedly come out without injury each time. if half of what I've heard is to be believed," Regor chuckled. "The tigers must hate him."

Finding a sheet of his own, he glanced down the numbers, stopping only once to ask himself, What sort of fool would bet on Westley both to win and lose? Why are the odds on that even listed? He followed the numbers back up the page, then up off of it entirely, scanning the atrium once more. Just in case.

Once the Duke was done placing his bets, Regor wrote in his own, rather more modest ones, muttering, "Hmm, I like the Greythorns' chances myself...." He seemed to be getting into the spirit of things now as he handed over the coins, more upbeat and those who had noticed his glances would have seen them coming less frequently now.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

After a few affirming nods, the duke scoffed, "Oh, then by all means, I'll have two thousand on the brute to win. His odds are three to two."

This comment won him a number of disproving glances, which he dismissed with an icy stare.

The prospect of gambling seemed to do wonders for Briarcroft's mood. He'd seen enough to know when outside forces were at work. No one could be dumb enough to face trial by combat thrice. Someone had engineered this. Surely, someone would engineer his downfall too, but that would come later. He idly wondered how much money it would take to have Hoss poisoned. If someone didn't see to that around the fifth time

Shrugging off the evil notion, the duke gestured for the impresario and placed his bet. "Em, better make that four thousand, Bravo to win. Thousand on the Greythrons as well. Ladies, do you have any favorites? I'll be happy to cover them." He turned back to Everly and Senna before signing his name in Fuller's book.

Senna seemed amused by the thought of pacing a bet.

"Oh I hadn't really thought about it. Can I bet on the tigers?" Her smile faded a touch.

"I know, I shall bet on Westly surviving the match. 100 please. And thank you, Your Grace. You are quite generous." If she was going to watch the match anyway, she may as well have a somebody worth rooting for.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Ah, there we are then, one hundred for Mr. Gultch to keep his mortal coil un-shuffled and another hundred on the Bravo for Miss Sinclair. And another glass because I don't mean to watch this entirely sober." Reaching past the impresario, Alden placed his empty glass on the tray and pilfered a full one.

"Gultch is a bit of a long shot, isn't he?" The look the duke gave Senna wasn't a disapproving one, but he had a small pout on his full lips. "The servants have been clucking about that one. According to them, he's some sort of star crossed romantic."

Shortly, the impresario announced that bets were closed and bid everyone find their seats in the arena.

[Jade_Tarem]

Tidecleft, Sunday Morning
Ascending

The city went on, and on, and on, and Sable couldn't exactly whip out her tools and start scaling it more efficiently. She refused to be daunted by the size of it, though - a plan would come in time, and for now, she needed to gather information.

The language processing was still ongoing, but she had other ways of learning things. A huge mass of people was moving toward some kind of... arena like structure near the waterfront. Translation on it was shaky at best, but it appeared like some kind of combat, or perhaps an execution, was scheduled. This was apparently A Big Deal around here, and she made a mental note of that, along with a second one.

Whatever identity I establish here, I'm "new in town." She couldn't pretend to have grown up here, there was too much she didn't know. She suspect that would still be the case at the end of her mission.

That left setting goals. Strictly speaking, she was to seek out and destroy any 'magical' equipment, gear, weaponry, arcana, texts, or active effects that might assist the people of Pravia in locating Sanctum, or else might push them toward avenues of research that would lead them in that general direction. Once located, she was to destroy them and, if necessary, anyone who insisted on continuing to pursue them.

That hadn't been a problem in the last town. Upon seeing his life's work up in flames, the man whose lab she'd burned had promptly walked off a nearby cliff.

Shaking that unhappy thought away, Sable activated her Aetheric Insight again and began taking a good long look at the city's infrastructure as she walked. The massive causeways were impressive, and obviously magical in nature, but geological and architectural reinforcement was only a tertiary priority target - and the most complex work involved in them was still mathematical more than anything. The engineers knew what they were doing, they just lacked the materials to make the ruling class's dreams reality without cheating. No, she'd leave the bridges alone for now, though noted that taking one down in the pursuit of a larger target would be a bonus.

She wished for a speedy conclusion to the language algorithm. Wandering around, dumb and illiterate, always made her feel even more alien than she really was.

[zabbarot]

Sunday Morning, Salt Graves

"Mr Pheonix is a good guy." said Hoss, half shouting.

Bundy stood up, moved to the bars of his cage, and stared into Lucre with his icy blue eyes, surprised and inquisitive, but intense.

"Thank you, dear," Lucre smiled back at him, "Oh! That looks just perfect on you. Lilly, help him adjust the belt." He turned back to Andon, "You seem nice enough though, so I'll clue you in. Actually you'll all realize it soon enough, so you might as well listen up." Violet laid a wooden box down for Lucre to step up onto and he did. "These are no ordinary clothes. I'm sure you're all aware that a bit of illusion is common amongst the best haberdashers. Sometimes the fabric needs a bit of help to meet the structural needs of genius." With a flourish of his wrist Lucre produced a single black rose. "What some don't realize however, is that we are not limited by reality. Yes, we can reproduce something that looks and feels like the softest fabric, but," he swung the rose at one of the iron bars and it rang out as if he'd stuck it with a steel rod, then disappeared in a puff of smoke, "I have never considered myself to be so limited. The clothes you are receiving today are part of a public test of a new material for my new line. I said it was for mercenaries. It's built for mercenaries. It isn't quite as strong as steel, but it can slow a blade enough to save your life. Today we'll see how it fairs against the tigers, and if you survive, which I truly hope some of you do, you can look forward to some easy coin helping me extol it's virtues."


Secret business dealings! Lucre Phoenix is using today's games to exhibit a breakthrough in haberdashery! One that will likely upset armorers and is just barely inside the letter of the law when it comes to trial by combat (Combatants are not permitted any metal armor.)

[TechnOkami]

Ionatán
Sunday Morning
Salt Graves

The crowds were gathered. Men and women of all stocks and colors from high and low across society had come to witness a show. The grave itself was an endless and ever open one; the taste of salt on the lips reminiscent of that sickly sweet smell brought on by death. Agitation and anticipation were in equal measure today. People have come for blood, and blood they shall receive... but not without a show!

Upon the Salt Graves tread a figure from one of its many gated entrances. A thin thing of light musculature, though hardly the most prominent. No, most would first take note of the three point horns erupting like tree branches from the curled horns that crowned the sides of this figures head. Working past the goatee, beard, and long hair was that aforementioned bare, glistening chest, yet where one would think bare nakedness was all you would receive if you kept looking down you were instead met with fur, fur that matched the hair and stretched down to a pair of black, cleft glossy hooves. The figure looked around with a bright smile to his face, and if one saw closely enough, solid gold eyes to behold the crowd around him.

He walked to the half-oval's center, raising his arms to the crowds.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Good morning, and welcome to the Salt Graves!", began the fuzzy horned man.

"Today's entertainment will be brought to us by means of survival of the fittest, animal against man, though I admit I sympathize with such a push and pull of powers for I am a Satyr, and have a bit of both in me!"

Whatever whispers or conclusions which would normally bloom from such a statement were interrupted as the self-stated Satyr began to speak once more.

"I must confess my fair people that I am a bit of a newcomer to the wondrous city of Tidecleft, and have yet to truly experience all she has to offer. Don't think me ignorant though, for I am well traveled enough to recognize a King when I see one!" He finished his statement with an open hand presented towards the royal box, where King Frederick Atherton and Queen Winifred sat. The crowd, naturally no doubt, broke into applause at the sheer mention of their king as a display of the unanimous loyalty and unity they held with and behind him.

"But as a King your Majesty, isn't this a tad bit of a, how shall we say, lowly place for you to be in? Now now I don't mean to say that your love for the games is unwarranted, as all love a good bloody fight whether they be spectator or participant. No no I refer to the arena itself, a stadium set upon the tides of the sea herself. Would it not rather be, my King, more fitting for one of your royal station to host a game like this, say, at the deepest depths of the ocean herself?"

At this, some of the crowd would have burst into laughter at the impossible notion, which the Satyr promptly ignored yet again.

"Don't believe me? Well, I will have to show you!"

The Satyr clopped his way over to the oceanic edge of the Salt Graves itself, where he knelt down and splashed his hand a bit in the cold saltwater. He then reached his hand into the water, and pulled at it like a blanket. It seemed effortless how he did it, for he simply started walking backwards with the ocean itself, and it followed where he dragged it like an endless cloth of water. He pulled 'til he was towards the Graves' center once again, then threw it to his side, sending a wave clashing against the wall. The water began to churn and swirl around him, filling and filling until the water erupted in a solid column of the stuff, and then stretched to encompass where the crowd itself sat. Immediate panic set in as many thought this to be quite real, until they realized that they were still breathing though apparently underwater, even if they could see the exhale of bubbles from their mouths. All looked around them in amazement, as the Salt Graves was suddenly at the depths of the ocean floor, sunken cyclopean ruins littered around the Satyr and well past him where the ocean entrance was, though the ocean was all around him.

"Behold the ocean depths!"

Immediate applause.

"But perhaps we've sunken too low now, being on the ocean floor and all that eh? I think a more fitting station for a King and his games would be sitting upon the peak of a mountain, wouldn't you agree?"

Almost immediately alongside his words, they seemed to rise up and out from the ocean deeps towards the sky, and a tumbling very much heard yet not felt alerted everyone to the idea that they must be rising from a mountain springing from the water itself, until they were just out of reach of the clouds themselves, the winds roaring and roiling to tousle the hair of the crowd goers.

"Now this is a royal setting indeed. Only the highest of peaks for the mightiest of kings!"

As the crowd unleashed another barrage of applause upon the Satyr, he methodically began stroking that wryly goatee of his in thought.

"...I feel as if some bit if panache is missing still. What though? We have the height of the place, the wailing winds and clouds a-swirling... what else could be-" He then stopped, and went wide eyed with realization. A smile crept across his face, a devious, sadistic smile of pure glee at the thoughts which were unfolding inside his head.

"The blood, of course! How could I be so foolish as to neglect the blood? But of the prisoners you would think? Nay, of the earth!"

What happened then was an eruption, though an odd eruption at that. They could definitely hear it, and they could surely see the arena sway about them, but they could not feel it. That, at least, would be noteworthy for the more calm of mind and keener of the senses. Most of the crowd was fixated on the sudden darkening of the sky, and an eerie orange glow which began to overtake the surroundings. It formed more prominently by the oceanic entrance, as the orange glow which slowly grew in strength and intensity revealed itself to be the very vulcan essence of the world, the solid earth made liquid and raging with heat. All could feel it radiate from beneath them, though none could say it was overwhelming in its intensity. The ground of the Salt Graves itself began to take on an eerie under-glow, as if the earth threatened to open upon those who were to undergo battle upon it; jets of smoke and steam seemed to erupt sporadically across its dubiously solid surface. Across where the ocean should have been was an object coming into view. It was long and flat across the molten surface of the now volcano the Salt Graves stood upon, made of some unknown material similar to wrought iron. It sailed to the ocean opening on the grounds itself. The Satyr stepped upon it and turned to face the crowd once more.

"Behold, a battlefield worthy of a monarch!"

The crowd roared in response.

"Ah yes, how rude of me to not introduce myself after all those theatrics. My name is Ionatán! Ionatán O'cochlain! I have no home here in the mighty Tidecleft, but I would be happy to stay with whomever would desire my entertainment services the most!"

He slammed his hoof upon that metal ship and began sailing just out of the reach of the fighting grounds itself.

"LET THE GAMES BEGIN!"

[lt_murgen]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium
Finding a sheet of his own, he glanced down the numbers, stopping only once to ask himself, What sort of fool would bet on Westley both to win and lose? Why are the odds on that even listed? He followed the numbers back up the page, then up off of it entirely, scanning the atrium once more. Just in case.


Artur looked up from his wine at the comment. Whatever one thought of the Graves, and of Bloodsports in particular, Braedon Fuller knew his business. The odds were always stacked in the house's favor. If "win, but lose to injury' was listed, there had to be a reason behind it. And never less than a truly nefarious one.

"Impresario, if you please. 500 on Gulch to win, but lose. And 500 on the Greythorns."



Sunday Morning
"Gultch is a bit of a long shot, isn't he?" The look the duke gave Senna wasn't a disapproving one, but he had a small pout on his full lips. "The servants have been clucking about that one. According to them, he's some sort of star crossed romantic."

"Yes, your Grace. The city is quite divided over the man. Some claim he is a rake of the basest kind. Others claim he is a victim of true love being dashed against the bedrock of culture and class. Either way, the wagers will be strongly swayed by the sentiment of the bettor."


Shortly, the impresario announced that bets were closed and bid everyone find their seats in the arena.


Ionatán

[b]"LET THE GAMES BEGIN!"

Artur was impressed. More than impressed. He recognized an artist when he saw one. And this...man? thing? Had enough talent to overcome Artur's natural distaste for performance art and non-humans. Massively overcome it. He quickly arranged for a note to be brought to Ionatan after the conclusion of the festivities, requesting his presence at the Guardhouse at his earliest convienence.

[TheDarkDM]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Molly was growing bored. Sensible shoes tapped with increasing rapidity against the stone bench in front of her, as the last flakes of puff pastry were licked from her fingers. The calm before a storm of violence was always the worst time for her, not because of any fear or hesitation, but because of her unruly blood. She considered the crowd, and was gratified at least to see the same eager impetuousness on many of the faces around her. It promised to be an exciting day. At least once it got started. So consumed was she in trying to keep hold of her excitement, Molly barely registered the heavy footfalls of the man approaching from behind her. At least, until she turned and saw an antiquated suit of armor looming over her.

"Is this seat taken?"

Her mouth opened slightly in shock at the strange scene, he imminent fight temporarily forgotten. It was hard to make out the face in the shadows of the helm, but there was a queer quality to the eyes. Stranger still, that someone would wear a family heirloom to so public an event.

"Not...taken, no. Are you in the right place, though? Seems you'd be more comfortable up a ways."

Her eyes flicked down towards the stands of the lesser nobility, close enough to see every movement in the oncoming ballet of violence. Armor suggested a wealth that would allow him entry, and she wasn't about to indulge some noble's attempt to slum it in the commons. But before that question could be answered, the strange fellow with cloven hooves appeared on the arena floor.

And all hell broke loose.

Unaccustomed to panic, Molly nevertheless felt her heart lurch as the surface of the arena was transfigured into a ruddy hellscape. All around her, people who had been on a knife's edge already erupted into a full panic, streaming towards the exits as jets of steam erupted behind them. Most were intent on escape, but in a mob there were ever opportunists. A man made a grab for Molly's skirt in the confusion, only to fall away with a broken nose for his trouble. Near the entrance, two men made a run for one of the betting stations, only to be cut down by the long knives of the Salt Graves' guards. Somewhere, a woman was screaming for her children, and as Molly stood she saw the ripple of chaos streaming along the common seats. Aiming a swift kick at another ruffian that looked overlong at her, she turned back to the strange armored man.

"So, you still want to sit?"

[Aedilred]

For most of the introductory ceremony, Sunyer showed little more than polite interest in what was going on. The whole thing was rather overblown and over-indicated for his taste: spectacle shouldn't need to announce itself, but should rather just be. While not a magical man himself, he had seen enough displays in his time too to recognise that the man in the arena was little more than an enthusiastic amateur. His illusions would fool the unschooled eye of the commons, perhaps, but he wondered if to the king they might look somewhat... cheap.

Then the hellscape appeared, and he began to wonder if the satyr would escape with his life. A battlefield fit for a monarch - and you show us that? What does that say about your opinion of the royal family, Mr Ionatan?

Something caught his ear, or eye, quite apart from the illusions, however. The unschooled eye of the commons... Oh gods.

He turned to Regor and spoke quietly. "Mister Guest of His Grace, are you capable with that weapon you carry? I fear we may have cause to defend the king - and ourselves - if something cannot be done to calm the storm that fool is brewing for us."

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

Regor recoiled momentarily as the Satyr worked his illusion, reflexively leaning back from the Atrium's massive window. As it continued, he relaxed more and more - until the panic below reached his ears. He immediately snapped upright and searched the room for any sign of the assassins he awaited - this was pretty much the perfect distraction. Nothing showed itself, for now.

"Mister Guest of His Grace, are you capable with that weapon you carry? I fear we may have cause to defend the king - and ourselves - if something cannot be done to calm the storm that fool is brewing for us."

"Capable enough, my Lord, and I have a few small magical abilities that may also prove themselves useful," he responded in a lower voice. "I hope it will not come to that, though." Regor's hand went to his ring, making sure it was still there and ready.

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Oh gods, what is this? Magnus sat stunned as he beheld the...witchcraft before him. He hated magic; it only caused problems as far as he was concerned, and he could already see those around him start to panic and look for the exits. The danger of being drowned didn't phase the pirate, he'd been nearly lost at sea twice, and that was old hat. But the...fiery liquid, now that looked bad. Almost as bad as the poor souls who were about to be trampled to death by their fellow citizens. He stood and looked for the owner of the Graves. Braeden Fuller was a detestable man, but he knew how to keep order.

As if on cue, Fuller appeared at the announcer's box, flanked by a quartet of guards armed with clockbows. "What's all this then!?" He glared at the horned figure and pointed as the guards brandished their weapons. Around the arena, more guards fanned out, both attempting to keep the spectators from trampling each other in their terror and trying to keep an eye on the disruptive person. "You there! I order you to cease...whatever it is you did!"

Braeden Fuller, owner and operator of The Salt Graves, takes a dim view of anyone going outside the prearranged entertainment. This includes people in the stands attempting to aid or hinder those in the ring, assault of spectators, or general disruption of the games. He has a team of paid security guards to handle anyone who gets out of line, and has no qualms about ordering them to use lethal force if necessary. And right now, Ionatán has his full ire.

[Nefarion Xid]

Salt Graves, First Tier

Briarcroft had just found his seat between Everly and Senna when the spectacle began. Even when the brawling started, he sat still, holding his Rosé in one hand and a small platter of inexplicably acquired tartines in the other -- some blend of ricotta and goat cheese topped with shaved radish and a drizzle of honey.

"Do you mean to say this isn't how these events normally go?" He rose with a huff and set his hors d'oeuvres on his vacant pillow; he kept his wine at hand though.

"Miss Clark, I think you'd better stand behind me. Miss Sinclair, I ... understand your vocation involves killing vampires. I'm sure you'll be fine."

[PepperP.]

Salt Graves, First Tier

Briarcroft had just found his seat between Everly and Senna when the spectacle began. Even when the brawling started, he sat still, holding his Rosé in one hand and a small platter of inexplicably acquired tartines in the other -- some blend of ricotta and goat cheese topped with shaved radish with and a drizzle of honey.

"Do you mean to say this isn't how these events normally go?" He rose with a huff and set his hors d'oeuvres on his vacant pillow; he kept his wine at hand though.

"Miss Clark, I think you'd better stand behind me. Miss Sinclair, I ... understand your vocation involves killing vampires. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Though she knew better, Everly couldn't help but hold her hand out as though to touch the water and the later hellscape that had followed the aquatic theme. Her childlike wonder was short lived however, as those in the common seats began to exit in a disorderly mass of hysteria. She downed her wine in a gulp and stood alongside the duke.

"Only the ones that require killing." Her smile was pleased as she quickly scanned the arena for the nearest open flame. It being warm and mid-day, none could be found at a convenient distance so she produced a sharp, shiny silver dagger and held it at the ready. Though nobody could be said to be threatening them at the moment.

"I am touched you know so much about me." Her voice was playful though the mirth did not reach her eyes as she kept alert for possible threats.

[Tychris1]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

"Not...taken, no. Are you in the right place, though? Seems you'd be more comfortable up a ways."

A small rumble escaped from Bergen's breastplate, a facisimile of laughter for the Ghostly King, and he looked down over where the nobles sat. But before he could properly retort, that thing took center stage, and suddenly Bergen found himself flung back centuries in his mind. A warzone surrounded him, screaming men and women rushing to and fro, fire raining down from above, arrow heads whizzing by missing by inches, and the only recognizable friendly face being his Shieldmaiden Gruntilda. A man slammed against Bergen's armor, his body instantly crumpling against the cold iron frame of the King, and yet two more joined in quickly in an attempt to loot some of Bergen's ostentatious attire. A bottle was smashed over his helmet, causing Adrian to grunt, and yet Bergen was completely unfazed. Snapped back to the present day, he took the fat nosed bottle wielding man by the leg and hoisted him upside down. Vigorously shaking the man of all the possessions in his pocket, Bergen watched as a knife and several other trinkets fell out.

"So, you still want to sit?"

Suddenly remembering the woman's presence, Bergen turned back to face her as the sea of chaos raged around them, and he continued to shake the man until he eventually passed out. "Maybe once this is over. Here, take this." He offered her the man's knife "Stay calm!" He boomed to the various fleeing and panicking citizens around him, but mostly directed at the quivering pile of flesh that was Adrian.

[Tentreto]

Buce held his nerve during the panic in the common seats. With a seat at the front, his only way to escape would be into the arena, which would be suicide. It also helped that he knew this was in no way harmful, just some illusion magic, which every so often he had had to watch out for from his guild days.
So, while there was panic behind him, and the people sitting next to him ran from there seats, Buce sat there, flinching only when the orange liquid appeared. Buce pulled his hood up, and closed his eyes. Like this, he could almost imagine nothing was there. Apart from the screaming, which was almost worse.

"You there! I order you to cease...whatever it is you did!"

That had torn it. Whoever that satyr was, he had probably lost his wage for the day, and possibly worse. Buce personally had enjoyed it for its grandeur, though, that might have been its problem. Buce reopened his eyes, and glanced around, looking at the royal box in particular.

"Hope the Kings in a good mood." he muttered, to no one in particular.

[woolli264]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, outside the arena, common seats

Little Bear heard noises in the arena nearby, Damn. I'm missing it. he thought to himself as he stuffed a pastry in his mouth and began to head to the graves at a quickened pace. He had made such an effort to see the legendary Hoss Bravo in combat that he could not stand the thought of missing the event.
He swallowed another pastry and took off at a run. A small child stared, his head slightly tilted as the massive hairy man came barreling past them with a sac slung over his shoulder and a pastry in his free hand. He would have to tell his brothers about this when he got home.

Little Bear rounded a corner and made it to the commoner seats just in time to see the arena burst into flames and a stampede of people come fleeing towards him. Little Bear came to a halt in astonishment. He felt like the little kid as he the goat legged man who claimed himself responsible for this left the arena. What's all this? was all he could think before the wave slammed into him. Unfortunately this was not an illusory wave from earlier but a wave of panicked event goers fleeing the newly decorated arena. Chaos ensued as Little Bear tried to push his way through, he was sure the event would go on even if these people weren't to see it. People darted by, someone stole his last pastry right out of his hand, a woman tripped in front of him so he helped her up and kept walking, he felt a tug in his sac but a loud growl was enough to frighten away the would be thief. Then suddenly he came upon the girl from the pastry vendor, sitting beside a man in armour, surely a knight, and beating the snot out of some fellow who must've done something terribly offensive.

Little Bear decided he had imitated a salmon for long enough and would take one of the now many free seats on the bench. He sat down on the other side of the girl from the armoured fellow looked into the unusually fiery arena and said, "Well that's one way to start the games that I haven't seen before."

[Lleban]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

About half an hour after the blue lady left Duggin heard noises coming from the arena, perhaps it's time to end this pastry venture. Realizing he had little better to do, duggin remembered that the blue mercenary invited him to sit in her box.

After moving the cart to a carriage area and making sure he had enough coins to satisfy Aunt Margret Duggin set off to find to the mercenary seats. This shouldn't be too hard.

Salt Graves: 5 Minutes Later
Whhyy....whhyyy is this so hard. Finding her should be a piece of cake. Duggin expected a lot, of things today, a paniced mob engulfing him as he made his way to the mercenary stands was not one of them. Being 4'11 in a maelstrom of human panic is a good recipe for getting trampled or worse. Perhaps seeing an easy target two men attempted to rob Duggin while he was struggling to stay afloat within the crowd. The first attempted land a punch right between the eyes excepting to steal his spectacles, while the second man tried to steal Duggin's coin purse. If Duggin were born yesterday, he'd have considered not bringing his knife everywhere. Poor bastards, the thief that went for his coin purse got his fingers cut opened like ripe melons. The thug that had the shear gaul to touch his glasses got a blade slipped roughly through his wrist. This incident had the unfortunate side effect of staining the gloves of his uniform, Damnit Margret's gonna ask me a 1000 questions, and I'll have to clean the uniforms. Duggin sulked at the prospect before finding the blue woman in the viewing stands.

Smiling and giving a now blood soaked thumbs up alerted Nespira " So, what did I miss?"

[TechnOkami]

Ionatán
Sunday Morning
Salt Graves


As if on cue, Fuller appeared at the announcer's box, flanked by a quartet of guards armed with clockbows. "What's all this then!?" He glared at the horned figure and pointed as the guards brandished their weapons. Around the arena, more guards fanned out, both attempting to keep the spectators from trampling each other in their terror and trying to keep an eye on the disruptive person. "You there! I order you to cease...whatever it is you did!"

Braeden Fuller, owner and operator of The Salt Graves, takes a dim view of anyone going outside the prearranged entertainment. This includes people in the stands attempting to aid or hinder those in the ring, assault of spectators, or general disruption of the games. He has a team of paid security guards to handle anyone who gets out of line, and has no qualms about ordering them to use lethal force if necessary. And right now, Ionatán has his full ire.

Ionatán, the devious goat man he was, was standing happily in the "iron" boat he was floating in among the "lava" that surrounded him, gleefully smiling to himself as he watched the spectacle of the crowd's reaction to his performance through a spyglass. They must have loved it, obviously. Though as he looked around, he noticed a rather cross looking Mr. Fuller, marching in his direction with a small contingency of guards behind him. Oblivious to any trouble he might be in, Ionatán greeted the gentleman with a wave of the hand, from the safety of a few yards of illusory lava between them.

Listening to his rather blatant request didn't sit well with the Satyr, however.

"Oh come now Mister Fuller, I haven't done anything worth ceasing the festivities over! And besides, I'm under contractual obligation to deliver the aforementioned show at one Salt Graves for its duration, with my only stipulation being that I'm to deliver a show "like none other".

The Satyr said this as he produced a paper document, sealed and signed by two parties with a promise of payment therein.

I've brought your coliseum to the depths of the ocean and to the tippity top of a volcanic crater, all without water or fire damages to the property itself! How can you call rain and water to snuff out such a feat, all within a span of minutes good sir?"

Noticeably, he did not ask the man who was actually rowing the boat to move closer to shore.

[Rolepgeek]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Andon breathed in deeply. A part of him was vaguely surprised at being able to do so comfortable in the outfit Lucre had given him, but the man was Guildmaster for a reason, it seemed. He didn't sacrifice practicality for fashion, apparently. He'd been trying for the last half an hour or so not to damage the illusions that had been put into his -and the other combatants'- new clothing. While Andon was reasonably certain he didn't particularly need it, if Lucre connected it to him, the man would probably be...upset. Having an armored clothing line's debut showing involve it being torn to shreds was likely to shred sales.

Andon also struggled not to affect the illusion affecting the stage in front of him, with yet greater difficulty. His self-defense reflex had kicked in when the lava started, but he didn't want to ruin the entertainer's performance; Andon had been sure it was paid for by the Graves, and while this method of trial was disgusting for a number of reasons, that was no reason to bring the items of those who run it down on the performer's head. They were obviously skilled; he could tell that much from when he skimmed it the first time it appeared, before he pulled back.

Now, however, with what sounded to be a riot above them, he felt there was a more pressing reason to be involved. Though to be honest, there really didn't need to be much of one. And while the illusionist was skilled, this was a very large illusion, and complicated, too. There was plenty of space for him to reach in and pry some ends loose.

So Andon grabbed one of those threads, and pulled. And pulled, and pulled, as the whole weave of the magic fell apart, and into him. Outwardly, he would just look like he was standing with his mouth slightly open, brow furrowed in concentration, at first. But as the illusion began to recede, grow patchy, and finally die, his scars would glow silver, and his face lit up, fatigue disappearing alongside the illusion.

This! This was what he'd been hoping for! By Faelkas and all the gods it was a relief to feel it again. Magic, filling his very bones with the him and thrill of it. Illusion magic might make his senses a tad unreliable for a bit, but it didn't matter! Andon could feel his pains leaving him, and by the time the last of the molten rock had drained towards the gate they stood behind (as this is what anyone bothering to watch would see, as the illusion strained to fill it's purpose even while it slid down the former knight's gullet), he felt duly satisfied.

Andon was looking forward to this fight, now. He had been expecting to have to work with one of the others, perhaps Westley, in order to win without a great deal of pain or injury. Now, he thought, Now I can show the strength my Lord has given me.

[TechnOkami]

Ionatán
Sunday Morning
Salt Graves

As he finished pleading, the illusory world Ionatán painted about him vanished into the gullet of a magic-hungry man whom he didn't know. The sky was its normal blue. The ground sturdy and solid and ever so painfully brown. The lava now cold, salty ocean once again. His first reaction would have been sadness, annoyance when he threw the document into the now normal water, and then resignation as he slammed his hoof onto the now very wooden boat he stood on.

"Ach, be done with it then. My show's ruined."

The boatman sailed back to the edge of the Salt Graves, Ionatán walked upon plain ground, and grumpily raised his arms forward to the establishment's owner to be clapped in irons.

[DoomHat]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves,
Holding Area

The four fighters had just been moved past the first layer of portcullis when the illusions began, and the sounds of chaos erupted. Horns blared, summoning the stadium's guards to action. With the accused trapped in the small tunnel between the arena proper and the small armory where they'd been issued their choice of knives and clubs for the fight ahead, their escorts felt safe in briefly abandoning them to check on the disturbance.

Bundy Roberts wasted no time. The moment all but one guard was out of sight, he moved on the inner portcullis and began straining to lift it.

"Hey!" the guard yelled, brandishing his spear, "You get one warning! Step back, now!".

Bundy refused, continuing to strain. The Guard stepped forward to make good on his threat. With lighting speed Bundy released his grip on the gate and grasped the spear as it passed through the bars. Yanking it and the man holding it hard into the portcullis, stunning him.

Pulling the spear the remainder of the way through, he returned to his straining. In the spur of the moment, seeing some wild hope, Westley joined in.

Hoss, bewildered, asked "What are you guys doing? They won't let you fight if you escape!"

"Damn it, Hoss," Westley said, gasping, "Don't you... ugh! Ah, Hoss! They're not going to let us fight!".

"What?!" said Hoss, his face flush with outrage.

"Yeah Hoss, can't you..." Westley gasped, torn between the effort straining against the portcullis's weight and attempting to formulate a lie, "Can't you hear all that fighting in the stands? They're bored with us Hoss, you won't be able to fight a tiger today unless you help us out so we can find them? They're hogging all the tiger fights to themselves up there Hoss!"

With that Hoss added his own strength to the lifting. The three men managed to leverage to gate just high enough to awkwardly slide under.

Pausing a heartbeat to catch his breath, Bundy turned to Hoss, shouted, "Nothing is forgiven. Next time we meet I'm going to rip your guts out Hoss Bravo." and ran away.

Westley followed after, giving Hoss a winning smile and a salute-like gesture.

"Okay! You guys check for tigers that way! Leave one for me if you find them first!" shouted Hoss, waving at their retreating figures happily.

Hoss ran with all his might, untiring for a solid couple minutes and past several confused guards until he found his prize. He paid little mind to armored Salt Graves personnel stabbing and bludgeoning him as he fumbled with the cage latch. His attackers quickly retreated in the face of his success.

Salt Graves,
First Tier

The sound of a great beast roaring in the middle distance was nearly drowned out by a servant's screaming. Soon the roars became far less distant, and less distant still. Clattering up the stairs and into view came a massive panicked tiger. Clinging to its back was a most peculiar man.

He was scarred heavily in a random tapestry all across his visible skin. His outfit consisted of leather boots, orange and black slashed trousers, and a thick leather belt (a girdle really) that covered the abdomen and was embroidered with a menagerie of fearsome creatures. His long black hair wiped around with the rollicking motion of the tiger attempting to throw him between pauses to try clawing him off.

He gripped tightly to the tiger's neck just below the jaw with his arms, and his legs wrapped around the pits of the beast's forelegs. He was laughing maniacally while the beast screamed in confusion and outrage.

Well dressed men and ladies scattered or stood in paralyzed horror, not knowing what direction would prove safe from the beast's random thrashing. It up turned couches and tables and ruined wall drapes with slashes of its mighty claws.

Blind to its surroundings, the beast and rider began hurtling into the couch moment's ago occupied by Alden Briarcroft, Everly Sinclair, and Senna Clark.

PLOT TICKET: In the chaos of the riot, Bundy Roberts and Westley Gulch are able to equip themselves with simple disguises and escape deep into the city's Web. Rumor has it they died in the confusion, as they are not heard from again for weeks.

[Dorizzit]

[Unknown Crevasse]
Two Weeks Ago

They do not know their own name. They have no history. No memory at all, beyond pain and need. Ideas and concepts, orphaned and mysterious, occasionally flit through their mind, but nothing lasts for long. Trying to hold onto a thought is like trying to hold sand in shaking hands. Not entirely futile, but utterly impermanent. They don't have the energy to devote to fully doing so; they have a more important undertaking at hand.

They cannot move. Two thick chains bind them to the ground below, one at each wrist. Even more than that, a heavy, invisible weight presses down on them from above.

A gravity amplification matrix.

A name for the weight, composed of words they don't understand. What they do understand is that they can reach out to the effect keeping them trapped, and touch it. Mold it. Doing so is agonizingly slow and a process consisting almost entirely out of trial and error, but they have all the time they need. And, now, after an subjective eternity, the solution clicks into place. They feel the effect reverse, pushing them upwards until the chains halt their ascent.

One more step, slow but far simpler than what came before.

One week ago

The second chain snaps. They float upwards, eventually coming to a halt at the upper end of the effect. Reaching out, they feel a hard surface through the darkness. Digging their fingers in, they climb.

The Ocean Floor
Six days ago

There is no more wall. Fingers claw into thick sand as they pull themselves over the edge, collapsing into a heap once they do so. As the burning, aching pain in their body slowly begins to subside, they look upwards at the tiny glimmers of light visible far above.

I can see. I can...I know what that is. I have seen before.

A mystery for another time. They rest, letting the pain fade and giving time to adjust to their newfound sensation. A few hours later, they rise, refreshed despite the agonizing pain in their chest and stomach, and begin walking. Direction is irrelevant. Sooner or later, they will find something.

One hour ago

It's bright, now, but they can only make out blurred shapes through the salt crusting their eyes. Seeing is, for the moment, irrelevant. They don't need to see to walk. To make it to land and air. They don't know the meaning, but they feel an intense need, a knowledge that it will let them escape the pain that has been a constant companion throughout their existence.

A large, dark shape looms before them. Another wall. Not the first, but hopefully the last. Just as the last six were. They wonder if their mind is just playing tricks on them. It doesn't feel like it, everything feels right, feels the way they expect. But perhaps if they were insane, it would feel that way, too.

Nevertheless, they climb.

Three minutes ago

Lights and sounds explode from above, deafening and blinding after so long looking at the same blurs and shapes. They take a moment to adjust, shaking their head before pressing on.

The Salt Graves
Now

Unnoticed in all the commotion, a hand breaks the surface of the bay, pausing for a second before feeling around for the ground and hauling the rest of the body over. Rolling over onto their side, they take a moment and look around, scraping some of the salt from their eyes in the process. The first thing they see is a group of people - humans? - ahead, confronting another like them. They wear strange clothes, carry strange devices - weapons - and look displeased. A chain of flashbacks triggers.

Another group of humans with weapons. Violence. Blood spilling, bursts of pain as heavy impacts rain down on them. Chains. Being dragged away. Being sealed, down in the depths that had been their only memory before now.

A sense of terror creeps over them. Scrambling to their feet, they run as fast as they can. It feels different, moving without the crush of water around them, but if anything it's easier. Lacking any direction, they unconsciously gravitate towards the brightest thing they can see, a streak of black and orange above them. Slamming into another wall, they reorient and climb up it. Reaching the top, they fling themselves over the side just in time to be rammed by an irate predator.

Quickly pushed aside by the beast's strength, they roll to a stop near the feet of the three nearby spectators before vomiting an improbably large amount of salt water onto the ground. Their chest clear of the obstruction for the first time, they begin gasping for air like a newborn.

[Aedilred]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

Well dressed men and ladies scattered or stood in paralyzed horror, not knowing what direction would prove safe from the beast's random thrashing. It up turned couches and tables and ruined wall drapes with slashes of its mighty claws.

Blind to its surroundings, the beast and rider began hurtling into the couch moment's ago occupied by Alden Briarcroft, Everly Sinclair, and Senna Clark.

Sunyer paused for only a moment before the obvious course of action presented itself. His hand had instinctively leapt to his waist anyway as soon as the beast had appeared.

"Protect the king!" he shouted loudly, drew his sword and leapt forward to engage the beast and the brute grappling with it.

Wherever the guards were, and however this had been allowed to happen, somebody still needed to stop this, and it would do him no harm to be seen to be the first. He did rather hope that the king's men and the rest of those armed would come to his assistance, however, as he had some doubt about how effective a single smallsword would be under the circumstances.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

"Protect the king!"

Regor jumped sideways as the beast crashed into the Atrium and the strange, apparently drowning man rolled onto the floor. He seriously doubted that his own sword, good as it was, would do much against a creature so strong. He had a different plan in mind.

As the tiger continued to thrash about, he snapped his fingers, then flicked his right hand forward as if throwing something. One end of a rope soared through the confusion, looping around the tiger's neck before returning to Regor's other hand. He knotted the ends together and began to pull the creature backwards, towards the Atrium exit.

"Guards, would you help over here? This isn't exactly a one-man job."

The nearest two guards, seemingly relieved not to have to face the tiger directly, joined him. One also began to pull, while the other held the beast at bay, preventing it from turning to attack Regor and the first guard. The tiger began to slowly slide backwards out of the Atrium.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Well dressed men and ladies scattered or stood in paralyzed horror, not knowing what direction would prove safe from the beast's random thrashing. It up turned couches and tables and ruined wall drapes with slashes of its mighty claws.

Blind to its surroundings, the beast and rider began hurtling into the couch moment's ago occupied by Alden Briarcroft, Everly Sinclair, and Senna Clark.

Sunyer paused for only a moment before the obvious course of action presented itself. His hand had instinctively leapt to his waist anyway as soon as the beast had appeared.

"Protect the king!" he shouted loudly, drew his sword and leapt forward to engage the beast and the brute grappling with it.

Senna snorted from behind the duke and muttered about kings and ambitious cousins. She fumbled in her purse which seemed to hold a surprising amount of objects that were not coins. She ignored the powders and darts and pulled out a small stick that had been wrapped in charcloth. She sat and stuck the unwrapped end between her knees and struck her firesteel until it was aflame. She stood and held it out to Everly,

"There you are dear. You really should keep one with you. For... emergencies." She looked on the chaotic scene with a frown.

"Goodness, this really is too much."

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

"There you are dear. You really should keep one with you. For... emergencies." She looked on the chaotic scene with a frown.

"Goodness, this really is too much."

"You're so clever. However, I am uncertain that a flaming tiger would improve our current lot." Everly took the tiny flame with a grateful smile.

"Besides, this dress doesn't exactly leave a lot of room for stashing things. I could barely find room for my dagger." She waved the small, silver blade for emphasis.

"In any case, it seems Mr. Regor has the tiger under control." Her face shared the surprise in her voice as she watched the unassuming man wrangle the tiger out through the atrium.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier

Initially more annoyed with the continued pandemonium, Briarcroft poured the last half-flute of wine down his throat and glared coldly at the tiger, the crazy man attempting to ride or subdue the tiger, and the naked, wet man who'd managed to clamber up the wall from the arena floor and flopped over the balustrade like a dead fish. He still made a token attempt as chivalry and interposed himself between Senna and the danger with one arm out.

It was then Briarcroft remembered he had two hundred milligrams of white vervain concentrate clawing its way through his veins, effectively poisoning him as fast as his supernatural nature could repair the damage. Next he remembered that he had made a valiant and successful effort to abstain from human blood for nearly six months now. His skin hadn't the range to grow more pale, but the sensation occurred all the same. How did humans tolerate being this fragile? How could they possibly risk their delicate, short lives in the name of heroism?

In a practiced motion, he dashed his wine glass against the railing, transforming it into a makeshift punching dagger. Subtly as he was able, he attempted to lock eyes with the tiger during the fray and wordlessly commanded the creature's simple mind to flee instead of fight.

"I'm certain his Majesty is well secured! We should, em ... stay here?" He glanced down over the balustrade, certain he'd break an ankle if he jumped. "I think they're managing the beast."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

"You're so clever. However, I am uncertain that a flaming tiger would improve our current lot." Everly took the tiny flame with a grateful smile.

"Oh my, I suppose you are right. I did bet on the tiger, after all." Senna grinned ruefully but her smile quickly faded as she spied the wet, naked man lying against the baulstrade.

"This is quite irregular." A small pout pursed her lips and she was very close to stomping her foot in frustration.

"Really, who is in charge here?" She pushed gently past the duke's protective arm and approached the half-drowned man cautiously.

"Pardon me, are you a criminal?" She caught herself.

"One of the alleged criminals, that is? If you are, I shall have to report you to the proper authorities. I do hope you understand." She looked around for the proper authorities, but all seemed otherwise occupied at the moment.

[TheDarkDM]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

The man's face was scarred with pockmarks, likely the result of a childhood brush with some illness. Whatever luck helped him survive that, however, failed him when he tried to grab Molly from behind. His chin shattered beneath a blow from the iron knuckledusters she had retrieved from somewhere, before her free hand grabbed hold of his collar and sent him tumbling over the railing overlooking the lower seats. He vanished from sight with a burbling scream, and Molly turned to assess the situation.

The panic of the commons had evolved into a more nuanced riot. Some still sought to escape, with more than a few poor wretches trampled underfoot, but many more had turned to looting and opportunism. Some of the less committed mob had turned and joined the exodus when the tiger's roar had echoed up from below, but most remained intent on stripping the Graves and its audience of whatever valuables could be found. And that was only what Molly could see - in the darkened corners of the arena, she had no doubt that viler crimes were being committed. But she had problems of her own. No sooner had the furred man appeared than the looters around her and the armored stranger decided they must be defending something of value. Now, they were well and truly surrounded by almost two dozen increasingly crazed toughs, wielding concealed or improvised weapons. Two men with broken bottles in hand charged the furred man, while an enormously fat member of the mob seemed intent on wrestling the armor off of her new friend. For Molly's part, the man that had tumbled over the edge was replaced by a man and a woman with equally jagged tattoos along their jaw, symbolizing some gang she couldn't be bothered to remember. They edged closer with knives drawn, and Molly twirled her gifted blade between her fingers. She knew by now she wasn't getting paid, but this was coming close to allaying her disappointment.

"Say, you two want to get a drink when this is all over?"

[DoomHat]

As the tiger stormed forward it collided past the sudden appearance of a naked man, and was rope lassoed from behind by the short rotund figure of Regor Harland. At the same moment, subtly as he was able, Alden Briarcroft attempted to lock eyes with the tiger during the fray and wordlessly commanded the creature's simple mind to flee instead of fight.

Two other men had joined Regor in pulling the tiger back, all while the beast was overcome with a desperate need to flee Alden's presence. It twisted away from him and attempted to dart toward the path of least resistance, the sudden change in course potentially jerking the three men off balance.

Just then Sunyer Berengueler lunged his sword into the beast's flank as he called out, "Protect the king!".

It immediately retaliated with a heavy swipe of its claw, flight having given way again fight.

"HEY!" shouted Hoss Bravo, angrily from the tiger's back, "Get your own! I'm trying to get this boy in the arena where we belong!!"

He spared a hand to quickly point at the arena visa just a rail ahead.

With renewed rage, the tiger now turned on the source of the rope digging into its neck, pouncing at Regor and company.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

People were getting a bit antsy for the activities to start - even if the warm-up was just a fight between mercenary companies, it was still action, good for drinking to and cheering on.

Finishing off her pastry, she tilted her head as the...satyr? Really? I didn't think those existed... entered the ring. The theatrics of his announcement made her smile.

The theatrics of his illusions, however, did not. The smile vanished as the screaming started behind her, commonfolk leaping from their seats, rushing around in a blind panic. While this sort of grandiose magic might be common among the wealthy (she wasn't sure, as she wasn't wealthy), and she'd seen enough traveling and being a mercenary to not completely lose her head, even she felt a clutch of fear at her throat as water enveloped her, as what looked like the fires of Hell opened up beneath the arena, as madness erupted.

Then, almost as soon as the show began, it was over. Solid ground reappeared, the comforting familiarity of stone stands and a normal skyline. But it wasn't enough. The terror had struck - and with it, opportunists. Even amongst the middling stands, merchants and guildmembers sought to leave. Several people were already unconscious, having either knocked themselves out in panic or gotten into fights with those around them, and the chaos only grew worse as one ascended into the commoner stands.

Thank the gods above and below that I brought my sword.

" So, what did I miss?"

Nespira drew her weapon instinctively, spinning to the voice; her tense posture relaxed, slightly, seeing the pastry-seller from before, and a hint of a smile touched her lips.

"Oh, you know. An ill-advised show of power that's caused mass panic." Taking in his bloodstained hands, she frowned. "You seem to have experienced some of it already. I'm..." She wavered, uncertain. Pragmatism told her to head for nobility; they'd be the ones with the coin to express gratitude, should she save them and get them out of here in one piece. But...

"I'm headed up. I might cause more panic, looking like I do, but there's people in those stands with children who might be in trouble. And there's others who might be looking to steal anything not nailed down, and commonfolk have little enough without worrying about losing it."

She smiled again, but anger was in her eyes at the thought of innocents being injured for a coin or some bread. It was never right. And this sort of madness only harmed the weakest.

"Care to come with?"

[Dorizzit]

"Pardon me, are you a criminal?" She caught herself.

"One of the alleged criminals, that is? If you are, I shall have to report you to the proper authorities. I do hope you understand." She looked around for the proper authorities, but all seemed otherwise occupied at the moment.

The individual pushes up off of the ground, finally getting their breathing under control.

Criminal...? Criminal...wrongdoer. Law breaker. Laws...rules. Obligations. Punishment against those who break them. Am I...? I was...trapped. But not by these people.

A name flares into their mind, a surge of anger not far behind.

Sanctum.

While this processes, the stranger just stares blankly at her before their eyes refocus and they shake their head in response.

"N-n-n-n-no. I...I am..."

They break off into a coughing fit. More sea water leaks from their lips.

"No-o-o-ot cri...crimimi...c...that."

Whoever they are, they clearly aren't used to speaking.

[Rolepgeek]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

"...check for tigers that way! Leave one for me if you find them first!" shouted Hoss, waving at their retreating figures happily.

As Andon returned to his senses, such as they were, he was able to realize that the other prisoners were fleeing. He didn't really understand why; with the armored clothing, himself newly rejuvenated, and this Bravo character who was apparently blessed by the gods, they were unlikely to get a better chance to prove their innocence in the eyes of the law. This was, technically, a trial after all. If they were caught again, he suspected they would be executed with less room for chance.

But that was their issue. The Lord of Chains would keep them bound, or not, as He pleased. May our bonds grant us strength... The prayer was an afterthought, but Andon really did hope that they turned out alright, and found their way to Faelkas. Or any of the gods, really. And from what he could see developing outside, Hoss had found himself some trouble.

At least he thought it was Hoss. The man was clad in what appeared to be five layers of armor, from Andon's warped perspective. The brother wasn't exactly unused to this, but distinguishing the effects of the magic coursing through his system from reality was often harder than it seemed. For instance, Hoss Bravo appeared to be riding a small dragon, as two men covered head to toe with hempen rope and a grossly proportioned man with an upside down face tried to wrangle the beast with chains made of wood, near where Andon presumed the stands were, as an ocean of people writhed above, slowly receding like an inverted tide.

Shattered stone, this was a harsh one. Still, it seemed likely they needed help, as four people attempted to wrangle the beast. The portcullis Hoss and the others had used to escape was already shut again, but the guard was starting to get up. Hoping they could see reason, Andon addressed the man, offering a hand through the bars to help him to his feet. "I serve as Champion to Victor Hollister. You have no fear of my fleeing the field, but will you let me into the arena, to aid against the tiger now loose in the crowd?" He asked the man, picking up the spear. The guard looked confused for a moment before nodding, rubbing his head where it had been smashed against the portcullis, and began shouting for the gate to be opened.

As soon as it was high enough for him to roll under, Andon slid underneath the spiked tips of the metal gate, spear in hand. As the champion came to his feet, he looked again towards the dragon, and saw it pouncing upon the upside-down faced man, spouting flames. And besides them, a skeletal figure in a red shirt and pants with a rusted chain around his neck and fire for eyes, wielding a dagger made of glass, as well as a man clothed in shadows and silk, and two women in fine gowns; one with a heart burning bright enough to show through her chest, the other with a crown of curving silver needles. And last...he could not force himself to look at the last one, no matter his efforts. It mattered little, in any case.

Andon rushed for the area, bringing the captured spear around and planting it butt first in the ground as he neared the edge of the arena's wall, jumping with as much force forward and up as he could in the process. The spear bent, but did not break, and as he rose it flung him up into the edge of the wall, his hands reaching for purpose, before he finally was able to drag himself over, and jump for the back legs of the tiger.

"Hoss! Help me remove this beast back into the arena, if you can!" He shouted as he struggled to avoid getting a face full of tiger claw.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier

While this processes, the stranger just stares blankly at her before their eyes refocus and they shake their head in response.

"N-n-n-n-no. I...I am..."

They break off into a coughing fit. More sea water leaks from their lips.

"No-o-o-ot cri...crimimi...c...that."

Whoever they are, they clearly aren't used to speaking.

Senna reflexively ducked as a body landed heavily upon the canopy above them and bounced over the edge of the baulstrade and into the arena. Her wide eyes took in the tiger who had turned around to menace Harland again, and then back to the individual who lay before her.

"Evie, would you come here please? And bring your knife."

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier

Everly had nearly set the newcomer aflame but managed to stop herself as she saw he was going for the tiger and not them. Her attention turned back to Senna who was standing near the naked person.

"Evie, would you come here please? And bring your knife."

"Do you really think he needs stabbing?" Everly looked on with something like pity. Her mind had defaulted to the male pronouns as she took in the bald head.

"He doesn't really look like a threat at the moment." She seemed reluctant to stab a person while they lay prone on the ground and wretched.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier

"Ladies!" Briarcroft sighed through the exclamation, having clearly lost what little control he might have imagined he had over the situation. "Do leave him be. He's clearly drunk!"

He glanced mournfully over the railing to look at the man who'd bounced off the canopy and landed on his neck.

"Bit of sun's good for everyone, my lord!" he hissed, mocking the words of his butler barely an hour prior.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier

"Do you really think he needs stabbing?" Everly looked on with something like pity. Her mind had defaulted to the male pronouns as she took in the bald head.

"He doesn't really look like a threat at the moment." She seemed reluctant to stab a person while they lay prone on the ground and wretched.

"Ladies!" Briarcroft sighed through the exclamation, having clearly lost what little control he might have imagined he had over the situation. "Do leave him be. He's clearly drunk!"

"No no! I don't want them stabbed, gracious!" Senna looked quite shocked by the idea. She managed to compose herself and took Everly's dagger from her. She chose a floating silk panel from the skirt of her gown and cut it away from the rest of her dress, the blade sliding through the thin fabric easily. She handed the knife back to her friend and covered the nude figure with the cloth.

"I think they are ill, not drunk. Or at least very nearly drowned. And still not drunk. Probably." She looked down at the pitiful person.

"There now, I will get an attendant to call for the doctor." She looked around at their surroundings.

"That is, once an attendant is available for fetching."

[woolli264]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, common seats

"Say, you two want to get a drink when this is all over?"

"A drink would be lovely." Little Bear said. He was put off that the event was going so poorly. It would probably be cancelled or at least postponed. Oh well, there were other, more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.

Though he had just sat down Little Bear placed his bag between his legs, rolled up his sleeves and stood, roaring with the might of a ferocious beast while flexing his considerable muscles. The two men wielding broken bottles slowed their approach briefly but soon remembered the difference in numbers and continued their advance faster than before.

Little Bear watched the two men closely as they began to charge towards him, one was lowering his shoulder and the other seemed to be readying his bottle for a strike. The first collided with Little Bears stomach and was promptly grabbed by the hips and lifted, kicking and flailing his broken bottle, into the air. The man had closed his eyes in fear but could hear a great roar of exertion followed by a sudden acceleration and slight cooling as he left the violent embrace of the hypertrycotic man. He felt a thud, heard a grunt of pain and went tumbling, opening his eyes just long enough to see that he was entwined with his fellow attacker as they tumbled down the steps of the arena.

Then his head cracked against something hard and his world went dark.

Little Bear meanwhile had retrieved his axe from his bag and was ready for more. He shouted to the encircling thieves, gangsters and other opportunists, "Which of you red faced flower girls is next?"

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

The tiger turned towards Regor, growling as it smacked the guard trying to hold it off and sent him tumbling into the wall. The other guard stumbled and lost his grip on the rope, leaving Regor and the tiger in the middle of the Atrium.

"HEY! Get your own! I'm trying to get this boy in the arena where we belong!!"

"Hoss! Help me remove this beast back into the arena, if you can!"

"Hoss Bravo, I presume?" Regor shouted over the din. "If you take this beast over the railing, you'll" - he barely ducked another swipe - "You'll hurt the nobles and probably kill him and yourself! Listen to your friend and help get him down properly!" Regor continued his efforts to drag the tiger out, towards the passageway which would bring it down without risking anyone's life. The job was made all the easier now that the tiger seemed to want to follow him, at least until Hoss' friend wrapped himself around the beast's back legs.

"Argh, I'll feel this in the morning...

[DoomHat]

Sunday Morning
Salt Graves, First Tier

"Hoss Bravo, I presume?" Regor shouted over the din. "If you take this beast over the railing, you'll" - he barely ducked another swipe - "You'll hurt the nobles and probably kill him and yourself! Listen to your friend and help get him down properly!" Regor continued his efforts to drag the tiger out, towards the passageway which would bring it down without risking anyone's life. The job was made all the easier now that the tiger seemed to want to follow him, at least until Hoss' friend wrapped himself around the beast's back legs.

"You're talking nonsense mister!" yelled Hoss as he stained to grapple and unbalance the tiger's swipes, "There's a long way and a lot more people and heavy gates going down that way! The rail's right there! We're almost in the clear!"

At this point the tiger once against lost patience with its passenger. Two passengers, including the man on its legs. It turned and twisted on its back, flailing in a confused effort to crush Hoss while kicking and biting at Andon.

[Dorizzit]

Salt Graves
First Tier

Apparently finished retching, the odd person moves into a sitting position, adjusting the cloth to better cover the area around their waist out of instinct. If anyone present is actively looking, they might have the opportunity to see that the half-drowned stranger has no genitalia. Otherwise, the fact will likely go unnoticed.

"Thhhhhhhhhhank. You."

They move their jaw, experimenting with their mouth's range of motion.

"Thank you. Where..."

They look around, taking in their surroundings properly for the first time.

"...Where is this?"

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves


Ionatán
Sunday Morning
Salt Graves

As he finished pleading, the illusory world Ionatán painted about him vanished into the gullet of a magic-hungry man whom he didn't know. The sky was its normal blue. The ground sturdy and solid and ever so painfully brown. The lava now cold, salty ocean once again. His first reaction would have been sadness, annoyance when he threw the document into the now normal water, and then resignation as he slammed his hoof onto the now very wooden boat he stood on.

"Ach, be done with it then. My show's ruined."

The boatman sailed back to the edge of the Salt Graves, Ionatán walked upon plain ground, and grumpily raised his arms forward to the establishment's owner to be clapped in irons.

Fuller gaped as the entire illusory scene vanished. To the guards' credit, they maintained their poise and not a one fired off his clockbow despite the stress and plain weirdness of the situation. "Out! I want him out of my arena. I don't care where he goes, so long as it's away from here!" The Graves' owner was beside himself with fury. "Hand him over to the city guard; they can charge him for inciting a riot or something."

"Probably end up in the pit himself," he added, too quiet save for those nearby to hear. "Now I've got to refund all these bets and assess the damage!" The man's customary sneer was gone, replaced with a look of tired resignation.

Magnus remained where he stood, a rock of human flesh and muscle alone in sea of chaos. "So...I guess that's it for the day then," he said to no one in particular.

[Lleban]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

" So, what did I miss?"

Nespira drew her weapon instinctively, spinning to the voice; her tense posture relaxed, slightly, seeing the pastry-seller from before, and a hint of a smile touched her lips.

For a brief second Duggin got a good picture of the blue mercenaries physicality. She was lean, mean, and a master swordsmen to boot. Duggin concluded it was best not to think of such thing, so long as shes not pointing the sword at him.
knew
"Oh, you know. An ill-advised show of power that's caused mass panic." Taking in his bloodstained hands, she frowned. "You seem to have experienced some of it already. I'm..."

"I'm headed up. I might cause more panic, looking like I do, but there's people in those stands with children who might be in trouble. And there's others who might be looking to steal anything not nailed down, and common folk have little enough without worrying about losing it."


"Care to come with?"

Duggin laughed and adjusted his spectacles,and gestured to his bloody knife. "What can I say, vultures who prey on the innocent are indefensible. Well, I'm not innocent....but THEY Didn't know that." Briefly considering the woman's impact on the crowd, " Ya know, somehow I don't think you'll cause much more of a fuss than there already is." Duggin then unsheathed his knife and winked "In times like these two blades are better than one anyway."

[Tychris1]

"Say, you two want to get a drink when this is all over?"

"A drink would be lovely."

"Can't say I have much of a taste for it, but I appreciate the gesture." Bergen boomed as he grabbed a man by the throat and threw him back into his compatriots. Watching them stumble and collide into each other comically, Bergen chortled to himself mentally, and continued to do so as they returned and began to viciously throttle him and assault him. If there series of blows and attacks had any effect on him was impossible to tell as he merely remained standing straight lost in thought. His wandering mind began to contemplate if this is how his citizens felt towards him. Trapped, crushed in a piling advance against an immovable object that they despised. What cruel fate, inflicted upon the masses he once shepherded, and now here they lay before him in flesh made manifest. A glob of spit escaped from a disgusting woman with a jagged tattoo, splattering against Bergen's helm and reminding him of the situation he was truly in.

"Which of you red faced flower girls is next?"

Adrian yelped in surprise and pain as glass shattered across Bergen's visor. With a quick flourish of his hands the three thugs stumbled away from Bergen and an aura of otherworldly majesty manifested around the fallen king. Air rushed within his hands and thrust forth in the outline of a massive zweihander, cloying gray mist flowing from the joints in his antiquated armor, and a low moan began to fill the atmosphere. Clasping the ethereal outline of the sword handle with both hands, Bergen raised it over his head, and began to chant in ancient Grendel.

"Von meinem Recht als König, ich rufe dich, Ahnenklinge! Komm meine Soldaten, kämpf dich mit deinem gefallenen König!"

As the chant of his dead language came to an end the whipping winds condensed into a massive dark gray blade. Whatever baffled mutterings Adrian had at the scene were easily dwarfed by the moaning now raising in pitch and clarity into a war cry. Three armored spectral warriors stepped forth out of Bergen's frame (eliciting a series of goose bumps and quivering from Adrian) with blades drawn and shields raised, flanking Bergen on both sides and the third crouched before him forming a triangle of death.

"Step forth if you dare!"

[Tentreto]

The Salt Graves common seats
Sunday Morning

Having been looking at the King, Buce as treated to the strange sight of a tiger rolling around in the distance. He was too far away to hear them clearly, but whatever was happening, it would apparently be the majority of the days action.


"Now I've got to refund all these bets and assess the damage!"


Fuller's declaration was certainly not unexpected. This had so far been a tragedy of errors, and the way the day was turning out, there might be 'questions' asked in the parliament. Buce sighed. All he had to do now was get a refund, somehow.



"So...I guess that's it for the day then,"


Nearby, Buce heard a giant of a man, a few rows back let off a quiet statement, apparently to nobody. With the crowd beginning to push against the front row, Buce decided it was time to move.
Walking decisively between the crowd, carefully avoiding the ever present pickpockets. One tried to get at Buce's belt, but a swift rap of steel to his knuckles quickly dissuaded him. Reaching the man, Buce quickly sat down beside him and pulled down his hood.
"Hello there, this seat taken at all?"

"Von meinem Recht als König, ich rufe dich, Ahnenklinge! Komm meine Soldaten, kämpf dich mit deinem gefallenen König!"

Buce turned, a little way away, three spectral warriors, flickering slightly and heavily armed, were surrounding a group with their weapons plainly out, not to mention the armored figure wielding a massive sword behind them. The already fickle crowd were now being driven into a further panic by the open steel, and were running, shoving, and trampling like there was no tomorrow, which for many now there certainly wasn't.

"On second thoughts, would you like to join me in getting out of here?" Buce ventured. This day was certainly far beyond any sort of saving now, and could easily get worse.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier


"No no! I don't want them stabbed, gracious!" Senna looked quite shocked by the idea. She managed to compose herself and took Everly's dagger from her. She chose a floating silk panel from the skirt of her gown and cut it away from the rest of her dress, the blade sliding through the thin fabric easily. She handed the knife back to her friend and covered the nude figure with the cloth.

Everly gasped as Senna cut away a piece of her gown.

"Not the blue! You are so lovely in the blue!"

"...Where is this?"

Uncertain if the half-drowned soul meant the city or the arena, Everly decided to be specific.

"You are in the Salt Graves arena in the city of Tidecleft. Welcome to town!" A half-crazed laugh bubbled from her lips as she watched the madman atop the tiger fight against Regor who still struggled with the beast.

"You're talking nonsense mister!" yelled Hoss as he stained to grapple and unbalance the tiger's swipes, "There's a long way and a lot more people and heavy gates going down that way! The rail's right there! We're almost in the clear!"

At this point the tiger once against lost patience with its passenger. Two passengers, including the man on its legs. It turned and twisted on its back, flailing in a confused effort to crush Hoss while kicking and biting at Andon.

Frustration finally got the better of her and she reached her senses out to the small flame she still held and felt its chaotic nature as it fed upon the char cloth Senna had wrapped the stick in. With a flick of her mind, she wrapped the same flaming chaos around the tiger-riding idiot's hair.

She looked back to Senna and the newcomer with a small satisfied smile upon her face.

"Let's get away from the edge before that tiger tries to jump over us." She put her dagger away and stooped to take ahold of their right arm and motioned Senna to take their left.

[Aedilred]

Sunday Morning
Salt Graves, First Tier

As the box descended into chaos with people arriving from all quarters, the royal guards had done a relatively efficient job of evacuating the royal family from the immediate danger area, and had evidently decided that while trying to extricate them via the main exit, thronged with rioting peasants, was a non-starter, they could, with only minimal injury to the royal dignity, take them out towards the arena over the guard-rail. With the illusion long since dissipated and the tiger having escaped into the stands, moving towards the arena most likely seemed the safest option.

Meanwhile, aggravated, panicked and now singed to boot, it appeared the tiger had had entirely enough of the attempts of the various parties to restrain it, and just wanted to get out as quickly as possible. It took one last petulant swipe at Regor, and as he dodged out of the way, twisted and bolted, its weight and sudden acceleration pulling the ropes from the hands of all those holding them, and made a break for open space.

With one elegant bound the tiger cleared the railing...

... and landed on the king.

For those in the box, the series of feline yowls and human yells and screams that ensued left a great deal to their horrified imaginations.

The king is mauled by the tiger!

[DoomHat]

Sunday Morning
Salt Graves, Arena

The King's Guard were among the strongest and best trained fighters in all Pravia. They had all sworn their lives away in service to the king. The king's safety was intermingled with their own. Failure, for them, was death and worse.

So it was that when they saw a man with a crown of flames descend impossibly from the sky on a screaming tiger, unto their king, it was a vision of unspeakable horror. As well drilled men and women of action, that fear moved them to highs of violence not easily replicated.

The tiger was removed from his royal highness in less then a heart beat. Only one among them had the presence of mind to see to the king's wounds, the rest were lost to manic rage. With swords and halberds they dashed the beast to pieces. The fact that the rider remained intact under a weight of blows that reduced the tiger to a slurry only further aggravated The Guard.

Hoss could only lie helpless as he was beaten from all sides by strong arms. The finely crafted blades dulled, strained, and broke in the frenzy, but they could barely penetrate past the man's muscles. Worse, his skin seemed to rejuvenate itself steadily. Wounds sealed closed, scabbed and scarred in moments. The fire on the man's head was extinguished by the raw fury of blows from all sides.

Unless interrupted; Killing the man was a struggle seemingly without end, but in their grief and rage, parts of the King's Guard was engrossed with it for nearly an hour. Ultimately Hoss would be wrapped in chains and sealed alive in a coffin procured from the Salt Grave's supply.

[Jade_Tarem]

Tidecleft, Sunday Morning
Mid levels

What is going on down there?

Sable had seen some pretty incredible things, but this wasn't impressive so much as bizarre. Even Aetheric Insight wasn't helping. Apparently someone had set off an illusion of a volcano, which she was sure the locals must have loved - so much so that they'd started to riot, ironically at a blood sport. Whatever it was had also screwed up her analysis, which kept insisting that some kind of massive highly-sealed aetheric signature had crawled out of the ocean in the middle of the chaos.

Well, unlikely as it was that anything of interest had shown up down there, she still needed to check it out. It wasn't like she could get started building her identity in the city yet, anyway. Sable turned away from her original route and started to make her way to the distant arena...

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
Salt Graves, Arena

Veridian had heard the first mutterings of the riot uneasily. By the time he had peered his head out the abandoned arena gate, the spectators had erupted into a full blown panic. He spared a moment to try and locate the Guildmaster and warned him to stay put.

"You will be far safer here than up there. Don't leave until it quiets down, you hear?" He then grabbed his medical bag and ran out onto the arena floor, a small solitary figure amidst the chaos. He first turned towards the nobles box that the tiger was menacing, surely they would have need of him there. He stopped halfway across as the tiger lept from the box and landed upon some unfortunate person. He sprinted to the wounded man's side as his guards dispatched the tiger and subdued the crazed man who was riding him. It was only when he knelt that he realized he was treating the king and the man's injuries looked quite serious, but not fatal and the doctor opened his bag and stemmed the tide of blood was seeping from the various wounds the king had received.

"Your Majesty, I am Dr. Veridian Stimme. You are going to live but I need to stitch up the wounds and get your leg set and wrapped." He looked around at the less than pristine surroundings with distaste.

"I would prefer my office, but I suppose here will have to do." He set to work silently, disinfecting and treating the king's wounds as best he could under the circumstances.

I will say that the King has several deep claw wounds and a broken leg and Veridian will fix him up if that is an acceptable use of my plot ticket.

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier

"Not the blue! You are so lovely in the blue!"

"Oh thank you, dear. It was my mother's." A small, sad smile flit swiftly across her lips before her attention returned to the situation at hand.

Frustration finally got the better of her and she reached her senses out to the small flame she still held and felt its chaotic nature as it fed upon the char cloth Senna had wrapped the stick in. With a flick of her mind, she wrapped the same flaming chaos around the tiger-riding idiot's hair.

She looked back to Senna and the newcomer with a small satisfied smile upon her face.

"Let's get away from the edge before that tiger tries to jump over us." She put her dagger away and stooped to take ahold of their right arm and motioned Senna to take their left.

Senna moved to take the mysterious person's left arm while speaking in a chiding voice to Everly.

"Was that strictly necessary?" Half amused and half exasperated, she was unable to finish her thought as the tiger finally got fed up with everybody and lept towards them. Senna screamed and threw herself to the floor, inadvertently landing atop the bald person they had been trying to help as the tiger flew over them.

[TechnOkami]

Ionatán
Sunday Morning
Salt Graves

As mad as Ionatán was, he wasn't so mad as to stick around to reap the consequences of his actions. A Riot he was alright with; the commoners likely haven't had that kind of excitement in years. A tiger landing on and injuring the King of a city he had just very publically introduced himself to? Ionatán could see visions of himself tortured in numerous and creative ways all at the King's behest, perhaps with his head flayed and on a castle spike and his horns mounted to the castle wall.

Some small, youthly child part of his psyche wanted to help alleviate and tend to the situation as best as he could; sadly, that child wasn't the driver of this particular coach anymore.

Quietly, Ionatán stepped back onto the boat, and unless stopped, made his way away from the Salt Graves. Maybe he could find some dark and shadowy corner of the city to lay low in, as much as a Satyr could. Likely not though, as there'd no doubt be a price on his head.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Duggin laughed and adjusted his spectacles,and gestured to his bloody knife. "What can I say, vultures who prey on the innocent are indefensible. Well, I'm not innocent....but THEY Didn't know that." Briefly considering the woman's impact on the crowd, " Ya know, somehow I don't think you'll cause much more of a fuss than there already is." Duggin then unsheathed his knife and winked "In times like these two blades are better than one anyway."

"Excellent. Let's go have some fun."

Nespira felt a yank at her shoulder, a thuggish face looking to take her off-balance; she spun out from under the man's grip, and her sword sliced a gash in his shoulder. Not enough to kill, but he cried out in pain and grabbed at the suddenly-bleeding limb, stumbling backwards of his own accord. Hopefully, it would deter him.

If not, he'd likely be another victim.

She wasn't fond of killing, not if it wasn't necessary, but some people were just irredeemable. A scream of fear caught her ears, and she ran up the stairs, into the worst of the fighting. A woman was fending off a group of looters, child clutched close, and the tiefling's hackles went up.

"There!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a massive suit of armor, and her attention was distracted for a moment as he yelled "Von meinem Recht als König, ich rufe dich, Ahnenklinge! Komm meine Soldaten, kämpf dich mit deinem gefallenen König!"

"Step forth if you dare!"


... Were those... ghosts?

"By the gods, this is turning out to be a very strange day..." She'd deal with that in a moment - first, to save woman and child. Raising her sword and issuing a cry of her own, she waded into the group of robbers.

"Leave and you'll keep your limbs! Stay, and I'll keep them!"

[Dorizzit]

[Salt Graves]
First Tier

Uncertain if the half-drowned soul meant the city or the arena, Everly decided to be specific.

"You are in the Salt Graves arena in the city of Tidecleft. Welcome to town!" A half-crazed laugh bubbled from her lips as she watched the madman atop the tiger fight against Regor who still struggled with the beast.

They clearly didn't recognize the name.

"Hm."

She looked back to Senna and the newcomer with a small satisfied smile upon her face.

"Let's get away from the edge before that tiger tries to jump over us." She put her dagger away and stooped to take ahold of their right arm and motioned Senna to take their left.

In the brief moment that Everly had an uninterrupted chance to hold onto the stranger, she most likely noticed that they are much, much heavier than they look. Regardless, the events of the next few seconds rendered it a moot point.

Senna moved to take the mysterious person's left arm while speaking in a chiding voice to Everly.

"Was that strictly necessary?" Half amused and half exasperated, she was unable to finish her thought as the tiger finally got fed up with everybody and lept towards them. Senna screamed and threw herself to the floor, inadvertently landing atop the bald person they had been trying to help as the tiger flew over them.

As soon as Senna landed on the stranger, she felt them tense up. Immediately, the stranger's hands flew to her shoulders before they restrained themselves from responding violently. After a few moments, they pushed Senna off gently but firmly, standing up in the process. Taking a few steps, they interposed themselves between Senna and the King's Box where the tiger had landed before turning back to Senna and Everly.

"This is...not normal?"

[Lleban]

"Excellent. Let's go have some fun."

As Nespira sprinted off into the stands Duggin struggled to keep up with the more agile warrior. Nonetheless he was was able to keep his eye on her location as she sprinted ahead, even when some random shoulder blood splattered on his face.

"There!"

Due to his size and the inflexibility of the crowds Duggin was forced to take a different path to the woman in child causing him to veer not far from what appeared to be a man in a magnificent set of armor.

"Von meinem Recht als König, ich rufe dich, Ahnenklinge! Komm meine Soldaten, kämpf dich mit deinem gefallenen König!"

"Step forth if you dare!"


The ...the actual hell is going on. How many supernatural shenanigans can go on in one day.......What is this?!? Still somewhat appalled by the ghost warriors Duggin nearly failed to notice a man with thick, and more importantly, recently slashed fingers. The eponymous, coin thief seemed shouted at Duggin, preparing to charge with eyes swollen and red "HEY HALF-DWARF, you stabbed Ricky you BASTARD!!"

The angry coin thief gave it his best, he really did. Unfortunately all it amounted to was getting flipped toward the incorporeal host swearing and thrashing as he bounced off the arena seats.

Presumably uninterrupted, Duggin continued to run toward blue woman as he heard her exclaim.

"Leave and you'll keep your limbs! Stay, and I'll keep them!"[/QUOTE]

He couldn't help but chuckle at the lines delivery. However, it seemed quite effective routing all but three of the looters away. Off the three remaining one had a club, another a sling, and the third was unarmed.

Not to be out done, Duggin slashed the Achilles heals of the club man before taking the hands of the woman and child. Deciding on a strategy he asked the mercenary "Hey do you need more help, or should I escort these people out"

[PepperP.]

[Salt Graves]
First Tier

"Was that strictly necessary?" Half amused and half exasperated, she was unable to finish her thought as the tiger finally got fed up with everybody and lept towards them. Senna screamed and threw herself to the floor, inadvertently landing atop the bald person they had been trying to help as the tiger flew over them.

Everly shrugged delicately,

"Necessary? Certainly not. Cathartic? Very much so." Her smirk was short lived as the tiger jumped towards them. She let go of the odd person's arm just in time to stagger out of its way.

"Good riddance!" She spat after the tiger-riding maniac.

"This is...not normal?"

"Normal?" Her expression was vaguely bemused.

"No, this has been an entirely abnormal afternoon I would say. And quite trying." She tried futilely to get the attention of somebody in their tier.

"Are we out of the Rosé?" She could really use another drink.

[Nefarion Xid]

Salt Graves, First Tier

"Are we out of the Rosé?"

"Fresh out, I'm afraid!" Briarcroft waved the broken wine glass in Everly's direction with a cross, dumbfounded look on his face. He'd had ninety years of everything life had to offer and more violence than most men could stomach. None of it quite amounted to the ponderous absurdity of everything that had happened within the last five minutes.

"We should leave! The longer this goes on, the odds of someone doing something else stupid raise exponentially! Take the eunuch if you want, but let's go before this gets any worse!"

[PepperP.]

Salt Graves, First Tier

"Fresh out, I'm afraid!" Briarcroft waved the broken wine glass in Everly's direction with a cross, dumbfounded look on his face. He'd had ninety years of everything life had to offer and more violence than most men could stomach. None of it quite amounted to the ponderous absurdity of everything that had happened within the last five minutes.

Everly looked disconcerted by the duke's cross display of vaguely menacing glass shard waving.

"How fierce you look! Be careful with that thing, don't accidentally jab and scar me with it. I don't fancy high collars." She raised her empty hand to her breast as if to shield her decolletage from an errant blow.

"We should leave! The longer this goes on, the odds of someone doing something else stupid raise exponentially! Take the eunuch if you want, but let's go before this gets any worse!"

"Yes, you're quite right. We should leave straightaway." She pointed at the yet unnamed person.

"We are leaving. We can take you somewhere safe and quiet, if you wish to join us." She looked around for her other passenger.

"Mr. Harland, your carriage is departing."

[Rolepgeek]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

Having been kicked off of by the tiger as a means of launching itself over the rail, Andon took a moment to try and clear his head before lurching to his feet. It only worked a little; the disorientation of being whipped around by a flailing beast didn't feel so thick, but his perception was just as buggered as before. Well, maybe not. There was a noble and his entourage fending off a herd of beastmen armed with whips and trees. Andon wasn't sure which one was more likely to be the real thing, at this point.

When he looked over the side, though, and saw Hoss being mauled by amorphous anthropomorphised swords, while a short-haired woman lay bleeding on the ground and a glowing man tended to her, the brother decided that he was not in the best shape for this.

But as he shook himself, he noticed two things, both of which caught and held his attention. Two beacons of death, one near him, the other distant. Much of the chaos around him was violent, but none of it gave him quite the same feeling as these two. One still seemed much like a blank spot in his vision, upon which he could not focus, but drew his eye nonetheless. Like watching a carriage careen off the side of a cliff, or a man and his horse flip end over end. The other was much simpler; a figure dressed in bright colors, with a wide, cheerful face, and pale skin, with eyes as deep as graves.

Andon could feel pressure at the edges of his mind, as he did in his deepest meditation, when Faelkas Himself deigned to make note of Their servant. But this time, there was another pressure, cool and hollow and gentle. One pushed him forward, the other away. For a moment, Andon thought he would be crushed between the two, a casualty of deities adjusting their seats to watch, before he realized he was already leaving. Running, almost, to get away from those two as quickly as he could.

Faelkas and another entity both bid Andon to leave, lest this disaster become worse yet. Others in the Graves region who might continue to attempt violence or otherwise would feel a similar pressure, compelling them to depart, so that the situation might not become even more difficult. The Aetheric Network in Tidecleft is a fragile thing, with the number of people in such a small area, and the level of damage; widespread chaos rarely helps it stay intact.

[Dorizzit]

[Salt Graves]
First Tier

"Normal?" Her expression was vaguely bemused.

"No, this has been an entirely abnormal afternoon I would say. And quite trying." She tried futilely to get the attention of somebody in their tier.

"Hm."

They were getting a lot of mileage out of that one. Then again, this afternoon was strange and confusing to locals; for a foreigner, it was presumably far worse.

"We are leaving. We can take you somewhere safe and quiet, if you wish to join us." She looked around for her other passenger.

"I believe that to be in my best interests, thank you."

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves, First Tier Atrium

The first few words that came to Regor's mind were ones he would rather not use in such high company. He eventually settled on a heavy sigh as he picked himself up off the floor, making sure nothing was permanently damaged. I warned him, didn't I... I am really going to feel that in the morning.

"Mr. Harland, your carriage is departing."

"I will be there momentarily. Is everyone safe?" Regor snapped his fingers again, then looked around for an undamaged glass of Rosé. Tragically, what remained of the wine seemed to have ended up on the floor. He followed the others out with a last glance over his shoulder.

If anyone in the arena was paying attention, they would have noticed the rope wrapped around what remained of the tiger's neck disappear.

[Shimeran]

Today had been just packed to the brim with challenges. When Reishka first roused herself with the sun, the outlook had been so cheery. She'd secured a supply of hard spiced cider for the days event and modified the container to warm the beverage. It should give her a bit of an edge while being easily explainable. Unfortunately, when she tested it the heat wasn't building properly. By the time she'd hunted down the corroded connection and replaced it, things were already looking tight and heavy traffic along her route had not helped matters. Still, she's managed to squeeze her way in the door a few minutes before the illusionist started his number.

It had been a confusing affair for her, especially when she checked her husk's internal indicators. The cold water should have dropped her energy feed, but it seemed to be humming along normally. Fortunately, the issue resolved itself in short order. Unfortunately, rather than being inquisitive the humans seem to have gone into an outright panic.

She'd weighed her options as swiftly as she could. She was loathe to leave this soon after getting there. Besides, the humans all seemed to be making a rush on the exit and she didn't relish getting pinched in the pack. Taking her cue from the folks around her, she went with the general direction of the group while trying to drift toward the edges where she could find a quiet spot. It had worked fairly well. There had been a few attempts to grab her merchandise, but she'd managed to side step into the crowd so that it's press cut off contact with the offender.

By the time she'd made it to a relatively quiet spot, things had gotten even more insane. Somehow a tiger had escaped and made it into the stands. The whole thing had been a spectacle the like of which she hoped she'd not see again anytime soon. Oddly enough, it was shortly after this madness that she caught a whiff of opportunity. The swirling masses had deposited her near some well off looking types bemoaning the loss of their wine.

"Pardon me", she injected, "but if your looking for a drink to soothe the nerves I do happen to have some hard cider with me. With any luck, it should still be nice and warm to boot."

[Mary_Sue]

[Salt Graves]
First Tier

"We are leaving. We can take you somewhere safe and quiet, if you wish to join us." She looked around for her other passenger.

"I believe that to be in my best interests, thank you."

"Yes, of course. Follow us, please. Stay close." Things seemed to have calmed down in their area of the arena, but who knew what chaos they might find outside of it.

"Mr. Harland, your carriage is departing."

"I will be there momentarily. Is everyone safe?" Regor snapped his fingers again, then looked around for an undamaged glass of Rosé. Tragically, what remained of the wine seemed to have ended up on the floor. He followed the others out with a last glance over his shoulder.

"Miraculously. Let us not push our luck any further." Filled with a sudden urge to depart the arena as quickly as possible, Senna made sure the bald person was wrapped as modestly as they could be in her blue silk before she followed Everly towards the exit where they were accosted by a spirits merchant.

"Pardon me", she injected, "but if you're looking for a drink to soothe the nerves I do happen to have some hard cider with me. With any luck, it should still be nice and warm to boot."[/QUOTE]

Distracted, Senna barely registered the peddler.

"How much for a whole bottle?" She rummaged through her pockets and produced some coins and offered them to the woman.

[Nefarion Xid]

Salt Graves, First Tier

"You cannot be serious!" The duke had never raised his voice in Senna's presence. "We are not stopping to buy cider from strange women during a riot! There's plenty of alcohol in the castle!"

At this point, Alden was rather wide eyed and ill composed. To drive his point home he thrust his arm to the less congested vomitorium that would return them to the atrium.

"Berengueler, do urge your cousin along!"

[Mary_Sue]

Salt Graves
First Tier

"You cannot be serious!" The duke had never raised his voice in Senna's presence. "We are not stopping to buy cider from strange women during a riot! There's plenty of alcohol in the castle!"

At this point, Alden was rather wide eyed and ill composed. To drive his point home he thrust his arm to the less congested vomitorium that would return them to the atrium.

"Berengueler, do urge your cousin along!"

Senna looked stricken by the duke's outburst.

"I'm afraid I am not thinking quite right." Her chest hitched as though she was about to burst into tears, but instead she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and tossed the money at the peddler.

"Sorry." She mumbled and continued with the others into the atrium, her face drawn and pale.

[Aedilred]

Sunyer bit back an angry response. The duke was right, but he disliked his tone, and his nerves were already on edge from fighting the tiger and his mind reeling with the consequences of the king's possible death at its claws. Now, he realised, was not the time to be fleeing the scene, even as he sheathed his sword in frustration.

Warm cider did sound horrible in this weather, though, he had to say.

He could see at least one of his retainers shouldering his way through the crowd towards him as Senna was chivvied along by Briarcroft. After she was pulled away from the drinks merchant he reached the stall himself, took the bottle from the merchant's hand, and pushed after Senna to hand it to her.

He left it to his retainer to pay the merchant as he turned to head back within to where the king lay, most likely gravely injured.

[PepperP.]

Salt Graves
First Tier

"You cannot be serious!" The duke had never raised his voice in Senna's presence. "We are not stopping to buy cider from strange women during a riot! There's plenty of alcohol in the castle!"

At this point, Alden was rather wide eyed and ill composed. To drive his point home he thrust his arm to the less congested vomitorium that would return them to the atrium.

"I'm afraid I am not thinking quite right." Her chest hitched as though she was about to burst into tears, but instead she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and tossed the money at the peddler.

"Sorry." She mumbled and continued with the others into the atrium, her face drawn and pale.

Everly put an arm around Senna's shoulders protectively as Sunyer handed the shaken woman the bottle of cider and sent the duke a disapproving glance.

"There there, none of us are in our right minds. It's not your fault." Her voice was soothing as she she used her arm to guide her friend away from the ensuing madness.

[Nefarion Xid]

Salt Graves
First Tier

The duke paused in their escape to turn to the others with a sympathetic, but frazzled look. "Yes, I apologize for the tone, but, as you do live under my roof, I do feel responsible for your safety and if anything were to happen to ..."

Any heartfelt admission of his affection for the woman was cut short as some mop-haired ruffian from the tier up simply reached down and tore Alden's silver necklace away. Even the swift reprisal of a wine stem in his forearm didn't deter the thief. He was gone in a second, leaving only a few drops of blood on the duke's shirt as a reminder.

Now incensed, Alden made a few attempts to leap up and find purchase enough on the second tier railing and pull himself up. He hadn't the athleticism to manage it and instead settled on shouting his frustration in the direction he'd last seen the thief. Thankfully for the delicate sensibilities of the aristocracy, his curses were in Carpathian.

[Othniel]

The Salt Graves common seats
Sunday Morning


Nearby, Buce heard a giant of a man, a few rows back let off a quiet statement, apparently to nobody. With the crowd beginning to push against the front row, Buce decided it was time to move. Walking decisively between the crowd, carefully avoiding the ever present pickpockets. One tried to get at Buce's belt, but a swift rap of steel to his knuckles quickly dissuaded him. Reaching the man, Buce quickly sat down beside him and pulled down his hood.
"Hello there, this seat taken at all?"

"Von meinem Recht als König, ich rufe dich, Ahnenklinge! Komm meine Soldaten, kämpf dich mit deinem gefallenen König!"

Buce turned, a little way away, three spectral warriors, flickering slightly and heavily armed, were surrounding a group with their weapons plainly out, not to mention the armored figure wielding a massive sword behind them. The already fickle crowd were now being driven into a further panic by the open steel, and were running, shoving, and trampling like there was no tomorrow, which for many now there certainly wasn't.

"On second thoughts, would you like to join me in getting out of here?" Buce ventured. This day was certainly far beyond any sort of saving now, and could easily get worse.

Magnus looked the smaller fellow over and glanced at the...ghost warriors? He blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think that's probably a good idea. I could go for a drink after this, but it's a mite early. If you haven't eaten yet, The Gilded Oar makes a nice full breakfast." The larger man patted his stomach appreciatively. "It's not far."

[TheDarkDM]

Sunday Morning
The Riot

She'd lost her knife. Amidst the sea of writhing humanity and echoing sounds of panic, it was an odd thing to focus on, but it irritated her. She was normally so good about clean cuts, but the tattooed woman had lunged right into the blade. Standards among the city's ruffians were clearly lower than Molly had thought. The knife had stuck between the woman's ribs, and her tumble down the steps had taken it with her. Molly had focused on it the entire time she been dodging the tattooed man's wild, grief-stricken punches, until he also overextended himself and she brought a rabbit punch down on his neck. A little too hard, perhaps - he crumpled like a sack of turnips. Her attentions returned to the battle at large, too late to see the ghosts summoned but early enough to see the courage of the mob fracture like glass.

"Seshos' holy hells, you can summon ghosts!?"

She gave the crumpled man at her feet a half-hearted kick.

"What, were you getting bored? No one's going to fight..."

She paused, watching the vast majority of the menacing throng melt into the general chaos of the riot.

"That."

Sighing, she glanced around the arena. Her spirits were lifted by the sight of a few more pockets of violence among the commons, but what truly grabbed her attention was the melodrama playing out on the arena floor. A dead tiger, a small legion of guards beating some poor fool into past, and the king.

The king.

Turning on her heel, Molly began scrabbling towards one of the pillars that led to the support beams for the canopy.

"Well, this has been fun gents but proximity to a regicide is where I draw the line. Good luck! Not that you'll need it."

Rubbing her hands vigorously to work the blood off of them, she began ascending the vertical stone wall like a spider on a web.

[Tentreto]

The Salt Graves common seats
Sunday Morning



Magnus looked the smaller fellow over and glanced at the...ghost warriors? He blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think that's probably a good idea. I could go for a drink after this, but it's a mite early. If you haven't eaten yet, The Gilded Oar makes a nice full breakfast." The larger man patted his stomach appreciatively. "It's not far."


The Salt Graves
Common Seats
Buce glanced over the chaos, and then to the large man. "I've eaten a little, but with everything going on, I think I might want to start with another breakfast and see if that improves anything." he quipped. "The Gilded Oar's near the Docks isn't it? Anyway, I'm Buce, a herbalist of sort. " he held out a hand, not very calloused and slightly smelling of various medicines and herbs.

Buce began to push and weave his way through the crowd trying to lead the way. The main goal was to keep moving to the exit, and not be tripped, but that was far easier said than done. Many an elbow shoved him in the ribs, but Buce kept observing the movements of the crowd, and moved towards the most spacious and 'hospitable' routes.

Part way through this, shouts of "The King is Dead!" began to intermingle with the crowd. Whether this was true or not, Buce could find out later, they needed to get out.

[lt_murgen]

AHe quickly arranged for a note to be brought to Ionatan after the conclusion of the festivities, requesting his presence at the Guardhouse at his earliest convienence.

Artur was so intent on crafting the correct greeting to the stranger, that he tuned out the crowd as it became unhinged. Some part of his mind dismissed it as the roar of bloodlust as the spectacle began. Even the conversation within the first tier booth was lost on him.
It wasn't until some idiot riding a tiger burst into the viewing booth that he snapped back to the present. He shoved the waiting attendant out of the way and snatched up his walking cane.


"Protect the king!" he shouted loudly, drew his sword and leapt forward to engage the beast and the brute grappling with it.

"Guards, would you help over here? This isn't exactly a one-man job."

The nearest two guards, seemingly relieved not to have to face the tiger directly, joined him. One also began to pull, while the other held the beast at bay, preventing it from turning to attack Regor and the first guard. The tiger began to slowly slide backwards out of the Atrium.

Seeing the resourceful Regor taking control of the situation, he checked on the ladies. One seemed quite shocked, the other being her remarkably resourceful self. He chose, instead, to move towards the entryway to the box and find some additional guards to assist with the tiger.

In the passageway beyond, it was abandoned. An idiot-bearing wild tiger had encouraged anyone in the hallway to seek shelter elsewhere. He hurried one way, and then another, but the corridor was empty. Returning to the booth, Aartur spied a pair of men, one with a knife and the other a club, approaching.

”Gonna be rich folks here. Lots of sparklies.” The tall one wheezed.
”Dusty, there’s gonna be guards too.” His companion replied, tapping his club against his free palm nervously.
Ut-uh, little brudda. Kitty gonna keep them occupied for a long time.” He smiled, then pointed with his blade. ”See, just a rich grandpa.” He indicated Artur.

Artur did not speak, merely walked toward them slowly, sizing them up. The larger man, Dusty, was clearly the threat. He held his thin blade with the casual grip of a seasoned cutpurse. The smaller one, his brother, was more nervous. Artur lunged towards the brother suddenly, closing the distance. He brought the sea-brass shod base of the cane up, catching the thug squarely between the legs. He spun as Dusty shouted angrily at him and swept the knife in a wide arc. Artur caught the blade along the edge of the cane, skittering along the dark walnut wood. The force of the man’s attack was redirected along the length of the cane, turning him towards Artur. He gave Dusty a shove with his elbow and shoulder, sending him off balance.

He turned back to 'little brother' who was still coughing and heaving. He rained a series of quick horizontal sweeps of the cane at the man’s head. The poor creature had no idea how to use a club defensively, and Artur drove him back. When the man hit the wall, Artur brought his cane down, knocking the club from his hands.

Artur realized, a moment too late, that he had turned his back on the the more-dangerous Dusty. He heard the scuffle of the man’s feet and turned. The knife cut along his left side, slashing through his layers of clothing. Artur felt the bitter, white-hot lance of pain along his ribs. But the turn had saved him, turning a lethal stab into merely a deep cut. He brought his arm down, trapping the thief’s knife-hand. His other hand let the can slip down until his hand was resting upon the curved, metal, dragon-head handle of his cane. He smashed it into the man’s temple. The man staggered, and Artur shoved him backwards, into his brother, and the wall. The impact knocked them all to the ground. He managed to land a pair of solid blows to the pair, knocking them unconscious.

He paused, breathing hard. Then he struggled to his feet. He heard the sound of someone stumbling up behind him. He turned, resignedly. He didn’t have any more strength for another fight. Amazingly, some peddler had stumbled into this level, and was poking her head into the first tier box.



"Pardon me", she injected, "but if your looking for a drink to soothe the nerves I do happen to have some hard cider with me. With any luck, it should still be nice and warm to boot."
He took a moment to catch his breath.


Now incensed, Alden made a few attempts to leap up and find purchase enough on the second tier railing and pull himself up. He hadn't the athleticism to manage it and instead settled on shouting his frustration in the direction he'd last seen the thief. Thankfully for the delicate sensibilities of the aristocracy, his curses were in Carpathian.

“Your Grace!” Artur spoke, quite shocked. “Let us escort the ladies from this place. The immediate passage beyond is clear, for the moment.”

[woolli264]

Sunday Morning
The Riot

A woman rushed at Little Bear. This one had a knife. Little Bear was so focused on the fight at hand that he barely even heard the armoured man behind him chanting,
"Von meinem Recht als König, ich rufe dich, Ahnenklinge! Komm meine Soldaten, kämpf dich mit deinem gefallenen König!"
Little Bear raised his axe above his head ready to end the life of his attacker. Her eyes widened in fear and she started to slow her approach as Little Bear's axe slammed into her face. Blood sprayed and her head was split, she collapsed to the ground, instantly dead.

Little Bear looked up at the surrounding thugs and grinned for they seemed to be staring at him in fear. It was only when he took a step forward and their eyes did not follow him that he realized they were in fact looking past him and not at him. He turned to see the three ghosts surrounding the armoured man and took a step back. "By the gods," he swore, "the dead walk again"
He was brought back to the present by a rock crashing against his head, "Ow" he grumbled as he picked it up and put it into the skull of the man who threw it.
By this point the aggressors had dispersed and the mob continued to surge by as they rioted.
Little Bear and Molly noticed the kings attack at about the same time and Little Bear grimaced at the thought of being so weak that a mere animal could end your life.
"Well, this has been fun gents but proximity to a regicide is where I draw the line. Good luck! Not that you'll need it."
As she climbed away Little Bear wiped off his axe and put it away, while lamenting the drink that had been offered and was now gone.

He turned to the ghost king and said, "I'm sure you can handle yourself from here?"

[Sønderjye]

Early Sunday Morning
Aboard the Canceuax

It was still dark and Sylvia, or Lloanna as she had introduced herself to the shipcrew, were hanging over the railing of the Canceuax, generously sharing her dinner, from the evening before, with the sea. Her seasick schedule had been unusual to say the least. While most of the crew simply attributed it to her being a weird landlubber, this was only a small part of her frequent visits to the shiprailing.

She had specifically chosen the Canceuax as her vessel due to her impression of its dwarven captain Rhano. Men who were shameful about horrible things might commit those same again, and men who are shameful about nothing are worse. Rhano were in that trustworthy middleground of holding shame of reasonable things, such as stealing cookies when he was a kid, and cutting off fingers of prior crewmembers who were caught stealing from the cargo. She hadn't however had time to chat with the rest of the crew.

Her first 'tribute' to the sea gods had been offered on the fourth day, when the boatswain had discovered that she was a woman. Her second had come when Izpolat kindly informed her that the carpenter had been part of a mutiny on a previous ship and in careful detail explained the process.

This last round had come after learning that the cooper had been part of the same mutiny and had no shame about it. She send her past self a 'thank you' for cutting off most of her hair after some vomit had been trapped in during a previous 'offering'.

"That man behind you", she started tensing up as Izpolat's whispering voice appeared in her ear, "doesn't have the money to marry a woman he love", she promptly relaxed. "Hey Jacoba" she said in a friendly tone, still staring out over the star-illuminated sea. The one-eyed Estaz was one of the few crew members she liked which could have been influenced by his way of making the dry buscuit taste edible.

"Pff. I don't know how you do that", Jacoba said in his deep voice as he walked to the railing beside her. As previous itterations of that conversation she just smiled at him and thought to herself: 'Because you're the only one with a romantic sob story'.

-------------

The ship landed about the same time as the sun dawned, and for a full minute Lloanna marvelled at how the ship and everything around it seem to transform into fire and gold. She wasn't allowed to believe in gods but if she had believed she would surely have taken this as a sign from them. Her heart suddenly didn't feel so heavy.

She stayed at the boat while the sailors unloaded, unsure of where to go now, and just enjoyed that she in spite of the pirate attack had made it this far. Eventually they finished up unloading and Jacoba told her that there was a big thing happening in an arena and asked if she wanted to join him and a few other crewmembers. She gladly accepted.

Sunday Morning
The Riot

As the group came closer to the arena it was clear that they were too late. From the loud noise level from inside of the arena it was clear that the games had already begun. There were shouts and the guards looked like they were panicking, but perhaps this was normal for events like these?

Suddenly the gate burst open and a flood of people poured out. The crew dispersed to seek shelter but Lloanna's crippled leg didn't allow her to get out of the way fast enough. The mass of running bodies caught her and she was knocked over.

"That man was part in rigging the g.." Izpolat's whisper were drowned by Lloanna's scream as someone stepped on her face.

[PepperP.]

Salt Graves
First Tier, Atrium


“Your Grace!” Artur spoke, quite shocked. “Let us escort the ladies from this place. The immediate passage beyond is clear, for the moment.”

Relieved to hear the passage was clear for now, Everly steered Senna and urged the bald person to continue to follow them. They passed through into the atrium itself, where looters were busy grabbing everything that wasn't nailed down. She let go of Senna's shoulders and retrieved her dagger.

"Keep moving forward, hopefully we will look too daunting for them if we stay in a group." She held up the tiny torch Senna had given her, it was dim and guttering. Feeling no small bit guilty, with the last of the flame's energy, she set the tasseled curtains at the far, deserted end of the room aflame. If they were beset by attackers, the flames would be more help to her than the small knife she held. She sent silent apologies to the arena owner and kept pushing forwards with the others.

[TechnOkami]

:smallconfused:Ionatán
Rock Bottom
Mid Morning

Our intrepid Satyr sailed onwards in his dinghy, rowed away from the aftermath of chaos he wove together and around Tidecleft until he came to a quieter, more reserved side of the city known as Rock Bottom. Few people would find him here, or so he thought. It wasn't as shady as the Web, but it also didn't have nearly as many edges to it either, at least not ones that would as actively want to take a stab at him. The oarsman who rowed finally reached a low enough ledge, as a standing Ionatán hopped out with a dual clack of hooves against stone. He turned to the man and said simply thus:

"In regards to your payment I haven't a coin on me. Don't fret though, find a Masked One and tell them Ionatán sent you, and you'll get your coin. If you still don't receive it, come find me after I get big here in the city and I'll pay you double."

The old sailor was initially a little cross at the situation, but the promise of a potential double pay kept his temper in check enough, and grumpily sailed off to some other part of the city. Left to his own devices now, Ionatán roved and wandered this lower, poorer, yet surprisingly up and coming sect of the city. Perhaps he'd find some small bar or tavern or family with enough supplies to trade some light entertainment for a few meals and a bed, at least until Tidecleft decided to be stable once again.

[Aedilred]

She held up the tiny torch Senna had given her, it was dim and guttering. Feeling no small bit guilty, with the last of the flame's energy, she set the tasseled curtains at the far, deserted end of the room aflame. If they were beset by attackers, the flames would be more help to her than the small knife she held. She sent silent apologies to the arena owner and kept pushing forwards with the others.

The curtains went up quickly, and as the party made their way out, the flames beginning to spread to the wooden stands, discarded clothing and eventually to where the soft furnishings in the nobles' box had been scattered by Hoss and the tiger.

The Berenguel family retainer, having paid for Senna's cider, made his way back through the building with increasing concern to where Sunyer stood at the rail, looking down at the scene below and the stricken king.

"My lord, the building is aflame. We must leave now!"

Sunyer seized his arm and pointed. "See there - he is breathing: the king yet lives. Go at once and find the prince. Inform him that the king is alive but gravely wounded, and that he should return to the city at once. Take my fastest horse and as many of my men as you must to ensure his safety."

"But milord, the fire-"

"Will be much the worse if the king perishes in it. Go and carry the message; I can make my own way out. And remember, Afons, the king lives! Tell all you meet - the king lives!"

Sunyer sheathed his sword and swung over the railing to call down to the royal guard. Most of them had assembled themselves around the king, protecting him from further harm while a handful of them tried to tend to his wounds. Sunyer regretted that Senna had left - while she was no surgeon, he had no doubt that her ability to see the king well would far exceed that of the soldiers here.

"The building is afire!" he called down, then jumped down to the lower floor, raising his hands as he landed to show that he was not carrying a weapon and meant no harm.

"The fire is contained but will spread quickly. The king must be moved or he is likely to perish in the flames." He gestured to some of the surrounding seating. "If some of these benches are broken up they might serve as a stretcher of sorts to allow four men to carry the king without worsening his wounds, while the rest clear a path. And has anybody called for a doctor or priest to tend to him?"

[Shimeran]

Reishka took careful note of the lady's face as well as that of her companion. She was obviously flustered, as many of the blooded folk were prone to. There might be an opening for a sympathetic gesture later, once she'd spoken to her people. In the meanwhile, the crowd seemed to be dying down. With a sign, she shouldered her load and started making her way toward one of the less crowded entrances. The tavern seemed like a likely destination. The day had been hotter than she anticipated, but she could turn that to her favor by reversing the flow on the her specially made container and chilling the brew. Once she got outside she'd see which way the crowds were trending. There were a few places along the waterfront that sprang to mind, while having a few of her people besides where she could put out feelers.

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

"The building is afire!" he called down, then jumped down to the lower floor, raising his hands as he landed to show that he was not carrying a weapon and meant no harm.

"The fire is contained but will spread quickly. The king must be moved or he is likely to perish in the flames." He gestured to some of the surrounding seating. "If some of these benches are broken up they might serve as a stretcher of sorts to allow four men to carry the king without worsening his wounds, while the rest clear a path. And has anybody called for a doctor or priest to tend to him?"

Veridian looked up from his work as the panicked newcomer starting barking unnecessary orders. He quickly took in his fine dress and well manicured hair and recognized him as a probable well meaning aristocrat.

"Easy now fella, this is my operating table and I have the King under my care and control." As he spoke, two guards ran up carrying a stretcher between them. The doctor stood and washed the king's blood off of his hands the best he could.

"I'm Veridian Stimme, doctor in good standing with the Physician's Guild and no stranger to treating wounds at the Graves." He turned to the guards,

"Ease him onto the stretcher fellas. We'll take him out through the cells." He turned back to the well-dressed man.

"I gave King Frederick something to help him sleep, I'm sure he'd appreciate your concern if he were conscious at the moment." A wry smile crooked a corner of his mouth.

"Alright, everyone on alert. We're headed through the cells and up to the King's litter. Let's move out." He commanded the Kingsguard casually before saluting the would-be hero with two fingers at his forehead and disappearing with the King beneath the Graves.

[Nefarion Xid]

Salt Graves
First Tier, Atrium

"Why are things on fire!?" Alden gasped, a half octave higher than he'd intended. Between the flaming drapes and Artur's voice in his ear, he seemed to snap back to reality, forgetting about his pilfered necklace for now.

"You're hurt," he said, still looking a little dazed. He realized he'd touched his hand to Artur's wound, absently grasping for something solid in his confusion. He pulled back bloodied fingers.

[Mary_Sue]

Salt Graves
First Tier

The duke paused in their escape to turn to the others with a sympathetic, but frazzled look. "Yes, I apologize for the tone, but, as you do live under my roof, I do feel responsible for your safety and if anything were to happen to ..."

"There there, none of us are in our right minds. It's not your fault." Her voice was soothing as she she used her arm to guide her friend away from the ensuing madness.

She sniffled and gave them both a grateful look for their reassurance, though it was short lived as the ruffian absconded with the duke's necklace.

"Stop, thief!" But of course the miscreant did not stop, nor was their any proper authorities to appeal for help to. Well at the end of her rope, Senna stomped her foot angrily before Everly shepherded her forward to the atrium.

"Keep moving forward, hopefully we will look too daunting for them if we stay in a group." She held up the tiny torch Senna had given her, it was dim and guttering. Feeling no small bit guilty, with the last of the flame's energy, she set the tasseled curtains at the far, deserted end of the room aflame. If they were beset by attackers, the flames would be more help to her than the small knife she held. She sent silent apologies to the arena owner and kept pushing forwards with the others.

"Why are things on fire!?" Alden gasped, a half octave higher than he'd intended. Between the flaming drapes and Artur's voice in his ear, he seemed to snap back to reality, forgetting about his pilfered necklace for now.

She sent her friend an accusatory glance.

"Everly, really." She caught herself, not knowing if Everly had wanted the others to know of her "gifts".

"We really need to move faster, that is." She urged the others on towards the daylight at the entrance to the atrium.

[lt_murgen]

"Why are things on fire!?" Alden gasped, a half octave higher than he'd intended. Between the flaming drapes and Artur's voice in his ear, he seemed to snap back to reality, forgetting about his pilfered necklace for now.

"You're hurt," he said, still looking a little dazed. He realized he'd touched his hand to Artur's wound, absently grasping for something solid in his confusion. He pulled back bloodied fingers.[/QUOTE]

Artur felt the man touch his side. The brief pressure brought another burst of white-hot fire. He grimaced and exclaimed through clenched teeth,"I will live, Lord Briarcroft. The cutpurse's aim was favorably misaligned. For now, you and I must hasten the ladies out of this place."


"Everly, really." She caught herself, not knowing if Everly had wanted the others to know of her "gifts".

"We really need to move faster, that is." She urged the others on towards the daylight at the entrance to the atrium.[/QUOTE]

"Miss Clark, Miss Sinclair, Follow me. Count Berengueler has left you in our care." He looked over the pair. Miss Sinclair seemed the most level headed and calm. Even more than her friend, or the Duke. "Strike that. Miss Sinclair, please lead the way. Lord Briarcroft, second, if you please. Miss Clark, follow them. I will be endmost, to assure we are not pursued. "

[PepperP.]

Salt Graves
First Tier, Atrium

"Miss Clark, Miss Sinclair, Follow me. Count Berengueler has left you in our care." He looked over the pair. Miss Sinclair seemed the most level headed and calm. Even more than her friend, or the Duke. "Strike that. Miss Sinclair, please lead the way. Lord Briarcroft, second, if you please. Miss Clark, follow them. I will be endmost, to assure we are not pursued. "

"Don't forget Mr. Harland, and our new friend." She gestured at the bald person following along behind them. She turned then, a bit apprehensive and holding her dagger out in front of her, ready to cut her way through the looting masses if necessary. Fortunately, the fire had convinced most everyone to flee the atrium along with them and they exited the arena and joined the churning mass of people who were either fleeing or looking to make more trouble. She pushed through the crowd until they returned to where they had left James who had the horses and carriage ready to go. She turned to Artur.

"Would you like a ride, Master Nicolescu?" She took James's proffered hand and stepped into the carriage and beckoned the others to swiftly join her.

[Lleban]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves: Exterior

As Nespira nodded in approval, Duggin sprinted toward the atrium exit, woman and child in hand. While it seemed the wrath of the crowd was starting to wane, it was quickly supplanted by yells of fire and more panicked running. Leaving the Salt graves with his charges, he briefly considered going back to find the mercenary before getting a better look at the plums of black smoke rising from the stadium and hearing cries of "the KING IS Deeeaadd." Resisting getting trampled was one thing, but smoke inhalation was not at the top of Duggin's to do list right now. Duggin assured himself that Nespira can take care of herself. Before heading to The Gilded Oar near the docks Duggin decided to deposit his charges at the nearest carriage and gave them free,if not cold, pastries for their trouble. Aunt Margret would say that its too late for breakfast,but Duggin would counter Its too damn early for rioting, what insanity caused riots at a few hours from dawn.


Sunday Morning
Docks a couple blocks from the Gilded Oar

Causally looking out to sea with his emerald spectacles, and his blood stained uniform, Duggin saw something that might just make today not terrible. Deep within the fog lay a round structure drifting toward the shore covered with a magical aura.

A large hollow black Dome covered with overgrowth and barnacles is drifting toward the city. What's not obscured by plant matter is covered by unknown hieroglyphs. It will mostly likely hit the shore half a mile north of the city within 3 days time.

[Nefarion Xid]

Salt Graves, Exterior

"I believe your driver deserves a raise," Briarcroft quipped to Everly as they drew near the carriage. He remained outside while ushering the ladies in with the hand not coated in blood. It wasn't much, but he was still making an effort not to look at it.

"Go back to the castle," he ordered. "Basil was an army medic before he took a bolt to the thigh, he can tend to Master Nicolescu."

Briarcroft paused a second, leaning in towards Artur and listening to his breathing. "You'll be fine. They didn't pierce your lung." Having been run through twice in his life, he certainly knew what a punctured lung sounded like.

"Mister Harland, you'd better ride up front. Kill anyone who gets in your way. I'll pay your court fees." He glanced back towards the shrieking arena, clearly meaning to go back instead of join them in the carriage.

[PepperP.]

Salt Graves, Exterior

"I believe your driver deserves a raise," Briarcroft quipped to Everly as they drew near the carriage. He remained outside while ushering the ladies in with the hand not coated in blood. It wasn't much, but he was still making an effort not to look at it.

"A bonus at the very least." Everly agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment as it was with some relief that they began to file into the carriage.

"Mister Harland, you'd better ride up front. Kill anyone who gets in your way. I'll pay your court fees." He glanced back towards the shrieking arena, clearly meaning to go back instead of join them in the carriage.

As realization dawned on her, she leaned forward and took the duke's hand, suddenly looking frightened for the first time throughout the ordeal.

"Your Grace, no! You can't mean to go back in there! It isn't safe!" In her concerned distress, she couldn't seem to come up with an argument other than what was glaringly obvious, though that should have been enough to any sane person.

[Minescratcher]

Salt Graves, First Tier Exterior

Regor was finally beginning to snap. He'd seen no trace of assassins yet today and was expecting them at any moment, with the riot providing perfect cover and adding to the danger in its own way.

"Mister Harland, you'd better ride up front. Kill anyone who gets in your way. I'll pay your court fees."

"Well I certainly hope that won't be necessary," Regor responded, although his voice said that he expected it to be. As he stepped out of sight behind the carriage, the sound of his fingers snapping could be heard once more, and he climbed in holding a crossbow and bolts that he rested against the windowsill.

"The coverage is very generous, though, Your Grace, and I thank you - though I am inclined to agree with Miss Sinclair. You had best come back with us, that promise will be useless if you burn to death."

When Andon's head clears, he finds a note in his hand, thrust into it at some point earlier. Sable notices a shady person following her for a few minutes before attempting to approach stealthily and hand her a similar note (readable once she finishes translating Pravian).

Both notes detail how one Regor Harland was responsible for sowing the seeds of magical chaos at the Graves by hiring the illusionist. Andon's has a hastily-added addendum that Regor may also have been involved in the tiger attack on his Majesty, and concludes with a suggestion that the Order of the Silver Chain be informed.

(Character assassination!)

[Dorizzit]

[Salt Graves]
Exterior

The stranger, for their part, has been meekly following the group with little input to the situation. Lacking any kind of context or useful memories of day-to-day life, they have no real opinion of the situation beyond a vague desire to be somewhere else and find clothes.

Maybe follow that up by sleeping for a few months. The day is still young.

They enter the carriage after everyone else has had the opportunity to do so, not sparing a glance back. After settling in to a convenient corner and readjusting the scrap of cloth to better preserve what passes for their modesty, they look on impassively as Everly begins arguing with Alden.

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves


The Salt Graves
Common Seats
Buce glanced over the chaos, and then to the large man. "I've eaten a little, but with everything going on, I think I might want to start with another breakfast and see if that improves anything." he quipped. "The Gilded Oar's near the Docks isn't it? Anyway, I'm Buce, a herbalist of sort. " he held out a hand, not very calloused and slightly smelling of various medicines and herbs.

Buce began to push and weave his way through the crowd trying to lead the way. The main goal was to keep moving to the exit, and not be tripped, but that was far easier said than done. Many an elbow shoved him in the ribs, but Buce kept observing the movements of the crowd, and moved towards the most spacious and 'hospitable' routes.

Part way through this, shouts of "The King is Dead!" began to intermingle with the crowd. Whether this was true or not, Buce could find out later, they needed to get out.

"Magnus Hakonsson. I'm a sailor. Fought at the games here before. This is the strangest day I've ever had, counting the times I was shipwrecked." Magnus frowned impatiently at the crowd between him and the exit. "Everybody, MOVE!!" he bellowed. The combination of his size and the healthy set of lungs he had sent people scurrying out of the way, and a narrow path opened for the big man and his new acquaintance. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

Using Intimidation to force my way through the crowd of people and out of the Graves. Buce is welcome to follow in Magnus' wake.

[Tentreto]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves



"Magnus Hakonsson. I'm a sailor. Fought at the games here before. This is the strangest day I've ever had, counting the times I was shipwrecked." Magnus frowned impatiently at the crowd between him and the exit. "Everybody, MOVE!!" he bellowed. The combination of his size and the healthy set of lungs he had sent people scurrying out of the way, and a narrow path opened for the big man and his new acquaintance. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

Using Intimidation to force my way through the crowd of people and out of the Graves. Buce is welcome to follow in Magnus' wake.

Sunday Morning
Salt Graves Vomitorium
Buce stared for a second, then followed his companion. He was certainly more...persuasive when it came to getting through a crowd. Buce kept his eyes out and moved quickly, both of them making quick progress. Even here, the odd pickpocket tried their luck, but a knowing glare and a drawn knife dissuaded them. With any luck they'd get out before anything terrible happened.

Eventually, the crowd thinned a bit as the passage ended, with people spreading out into the street.
Buce paused for a second to quickly catch his bearings. "We've gotten past the worst of it, and no way am I going back to argue for a refund on this." he almost chuckled, despite the gravity of the situation, pulling out his bet.

[Nefarion Xid]

Salt Graves, Exterior

"Your concern is touching, Miss Sinclair," Briarcroft said, still holding her hand and giving the woman an affectionate smile. The young man really did have such kind looking eyes. Perhaps not so kind as to keep that sort of smoldering look to himself, but gentle at least.

"But, I'm not going back in. I'm going around. The man who stole my necklace was pushing his way through the crowd towards the northwest entrance. I mean to head him off and have a word with him about personal boundaries."

[Sønderjye]

Sunday Morning
The Riot,

Having sought cover behind in an alleyway nearby, Jacoba recovered enough to look around for Lloanna and after a long moment he found her in the middle of, or rather underneath, the trampling crowd.

He took a step forward but suddenly he felt something grap his arm. Turning he found Methos, another crew member, solemnly shaking his head.

"She'll die!" Jaboca yelled over the noise as he tried to pull his arm away from Methos.
Methos held tight and responded in an equally loud voice: "You'll die, you fool!"
Jacoba half-hearted tried to pull himself free from Methos strong hold a few more times but they were more token pulls than anything else. Truth be told he wasn't much for running into mass that might as well have been a horde of panicking wildebeests.

It had been less than a minute but to Lloanna it had felt like an eternity of pain. At the start she had tried getting on her feet but she could barely get a feet off the ground before she was shoved back again. She then tried squirming around to avoid the worst of stomps, but when that didn't produce any tangible results she had sought refuge in just protecting her head from the blunt of the force.

A foot forcefully planted in the side of her face had her taste blood and reminded her of the harsh reality. If this continued she would die. And somebody would probably break Azuriel.

"I don't want to die!" She yelled as her as her brain frantically sought for a solution: "I DON't WANT TO DIE!" Even if she emptied her longues yelling it felt like the punding of blood in her ears made more noise. Then a name came to mind and she made a split second decision. Was it risky? Yes. Had she been warned not to use it? Yes. But it's amazing what expecting to die can do to otherwise sound judgement.

"Anglatosh", she called out almost gently. Even if unnoticed the effect was immediate. Insects slowly started crawling out from underneat crates and stones they hadn't been before.
"Anglatosh, Anglatosh, Anglatosh." Insects started falling out of people's sleeves or hats, and the sound of tiny buzzing wings began competing with the loud noise of the mob.

Then another foot hit her now unprotected face, as a man had started shaking his arm wildly to get rid of a few fat hornets. The hit shut her up but it also made her forget her count. 'Did I say it three times?'

Anglatosh is the true name of a fey which form are composed entirely of crawling insects and who can create and manipulate disease-bearing insects. While most feys needs material rituals to be called upon, all Anglatosh needs is her name called 8 times within 5 minutes by someone with the right genetic marker. If the name is said 7 or less times the summoning isn't complete and Anglatosh stay in the fey dimension.
In Otchaka categorization Anglatosh is in the strongest and most destructive class of fey that the family have been in contact with, and they suffered great losses the first, and I should note only, time they tried to summon her. They were unable to stop Anglatosh from creating insects even if he himself were contained.
In other words Lloanna have no way of controlling the murderous fey if the summoning ritual is finished.

[Tychris1]

Sunday Morning, The Salt Graves
Bergen Valdof

Watching as they fled, Bergen glanced up at the fleeing parkour trained woman, at his erstwhile shaggy companion, and lastly at the throng of would-be thieves who now fled en masse at the sight of his ethereal guard. Not shifting his gaze he replied to Little Bear "I've no wish to partake in regicide either and am more than capable of handling some rabble. Stay safe, young one. Live your life fully and kindly, with bravery and determination. Now if you'll excuse me, I should go find my wife. She is in good hands but still a husband worries," And with that he banished his ancestral blade from his hand, the massive two handed sword dispersing into a pile of gray mist, and diffusing into the air around him "Stay safe, strange woman!" he boomed out. The chaos still raged but it was clear to the Fallen King that the general air was changing from violence to fleeing.

Not that the two were mutually exclusive.

Turning his back, he allowed his summoned warriors to cut down any thieves or bandits who thought it wise to continue looting in his general vicinity, and proceeded to work his way out of the arena. "So much blood, so much pain, just to see my wife again. One day soon, you'll laugh and sing. So swears now the Misty King." He thought to himself as he exited the Graves, his hulking frame making easy work of shoving through the crowd. He was sure that Alden would keep his wife safe, he was a good man, and most of all he was a noble man whom Bergen trusted to act righteously and honorably defending such a beautiful woman in need. His confidence in her safety however was quickly shaken at the sight of a sudden swarm of insects appearing, the air felt foul to him, and with his past experience he had no doubt as to who or what could be further adding to this mischief. "Fairies." He fumed internally to himself. Swatting aside handfuls of the meddlesome creatures, Bergen noticed a wounded woman on the ground, stomped to near an inch of her life, and surrounded in this maelstrom of fairy induced mischief and human panicking. Tossing aside a man about to add to her growing wounds, Bergen knelt down and reached out to the strange wounded woman, cradling her head with one massive hand, and rising up to tower over the masses. His spectral warriors soon followed in his wake, attacking the voraciously swarming hornets, and one of them dissipated in a puff of gray mist in their intense supernatural battle. But the King cared not for any of that, all he cared about was this one act of kindness.

"You're safe now, my child."

[Mary_Sue]

Salt Graves, Exterior

"But, I'm not going back in. I'm going around. The man who stole my necklace was pushing his way through the crowd towards the northwest entrance. I mean to head him off and have a word with him about personal boundaries."

Upon entering the carriage, Senna had reclined her head back and promptly closed her eyes. At hearing the duke's insistence on going after the necklace thief, she sat up and opened her eyes.

"Thick dark blond hair, skin tanned from the sun, he wore a red shirt and had a scar on his left cheek." Her gaze was clear though her face was still pale from upset.

"May fortune grant her favour." Her tone was resigned as if she had decided not to argue with the duke's intentions. She sighed, closed her eyes once again and leaned against Everly's shoulder.

[PepperP.]

Salt Graves,
Exterior

"Your concern is touching, Miss Sinclair,"

That was the second time today he had said that to her. She felt she should perhaps be more coy with her concern, but she could not remember why as he gazed at her with such intensity.

"But, I'm not going back in. I'm going around. The man who stole my necklace was pushing his way through the crowd towards the northwest entrance. I mean to head him off and have a word with him about personal boundaries."

She had been about to continue her protestations when Senna came forth with the details of the duke's assailant.

"Thick dark blond hair, skin tanned from the sun, he wore a red shirt and had a scar on his left cheek." Her gaze was clear though her face was still pale from upset.

Perhaps she should insist upon accompanying him? She was more than capable.

"May fortune grant her favour." Her tone was resigned as if she had decided not to argue with the duke's intentions. She sighed, closed her eyes once again and leaned against Everly's shoulder.

Senna's weary head upon her shoulder changed her mind, she was more needed elsewhere.

"I'll send James back with a horse. He will meet you right here. Be careful."She faced forward and called out to her driver.

"James, to the castle!" She cradled Senna's head upon her breast as they were carried to safety, stroking her hair soothingly. She couldn't help but glance back but saw neither the duke, nor any pursuers. Regardless, she could not help but feel as though they were being chased.

[lt_murgen]

"Would you like a ride, Master Nicolescu?" She took James's proffered hand and stepped into the carriage and beckoned the others to swiftly join her.


Salt Graves, Exterior

"Go back to the castle," he ordered. "Basil was an army medic before he took a bolt to the thigh, he can tend to Master Nicolescu."

Briarcroft paused a second, leaning in towards Artur and listening to his breathing. "You'll be fine. They didn't pierce your lung." Having been run through twice in his life, he certainly knew what a punctured lung sounded like.


Salt Graves, Exterior

"But, I'm not going back in. I'm going around. The man who stole my necklace was pushing his way through the crowd towards the northwest entrance. I mean to head him off and have a word with him about personal boundaries."

Artur was going to leave the group at this point. After all, they were safe and soon to be spirited away. But with both the Count and the Duke leaving to tend to other matters, the calculations changed.

It was not his place to chide one of the upper classes about propriety. But a proper gentlemen would have his guests as his first concern over a mere trifle. He had personally inspected the necklace at one point during his research for the man. It held no intrinsic value, merely sentimental ones.

So he took the Duke's statement as an order, boarding the carriage.





"James, to the castle!" She cradled Senna's head upon her breast as they were carried to safety, stroking her hair soothingly. She couldn't help but glance back but saw neither the duke, nor any pursuers. Regardless, she could not help but feel as though they were being chased.

"James, if you please, one stop before the castle." Artur requested. "While I am certain Basil is quite capable, I have another person who I know can set me to rights." He told the ladies. And then to James he called, "THe Elixirium, Herbs and Sundry, in the Sunfall district, fine man."

[hi-mi-tsu]

Salt Graves

Seeing Duggin escaping with the innocents, Nespira's smile grew cold.

"So then...which limbs shall I take, since you saw fit to stay about? I'll be nice and let you choose,
but only if you choose quickly!"

Nes uses Intimidation I + Swordsmanship II to be scary!

"Ain't worth it, Luke! Let's get out of here!" The would-be robbers scrambled over themselves, running from the woman approaching them, and Nespira nodded in satisfaction. Then the acrid scent of smoke hit her nose.

"Now the place is on fire?!? Could this day get any worse?" Good thing Duggin had gotten out when he had - she sincerely hoped that they'd made it safely past the crowds.

"The king is dead!"

Gods above and below, Nes, you should learn not to tempt fate... Running for the entrance, she made it out in time to see the weird armor-man lifting a girl from the street, ghostly warriors surrounding him.

"You!" She halted in front of him, panting slightly as smoke billowed out from the Graves. "What were you thinking? What are you thinking?!? Are you part of this madness?
Who summons...ghosts...I think...in the middle of a riot?!?"

[PepperP.]

Elixirium &
Castle Briarcroft


"James, if you please, one stop before the castle." Artur requested. "While I am certain Basil is quite capable, I have another person who I know can set me to rights." He told the ladies. And then to James he called, "THe Elixirium, Herbs and Sundry, in the Sunfall district, fine man."

Everly's lips pursed in annoyance at the delay, but held her tongue. She could hardly begrudge the wounded man his healing herbs. Their stop at the Elixirium was brief, at Everly's insistence though she did take the time to purchase a calming draught for Senna's nerves from Agatha.

At length they reached the duke's castle, albeit without the man himself. Everly sent faithful James back to the arena on the fastest horse to hopefully fetch His Grace safely home. She ushered in the motley group much to the befuddlement of Basil who busied himself bringing in a round of hot tea. As she settled in to anxiously await the return of James and Alden, she couldn't leave without her carriage driver after all, her attention fell upon the strange bald person they had met in the Graves. Met or was it rescued? She could not keep the events of the morning straight in her mind.

"Pardon me, I never did get your name. I am Everly Sinclair, and this is Senna Clark." She motioned to her friend and then looked again for Basil.

"Please get this person some proper garments." She was sorry her vagueness would be to the detriment of Basil's comfort, but she felt it necessary due to her lack of knowledge of this person's identity or station.

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]

The odd stranger is entirely silent on the way back, content to stare out the window of the carriage. When the group gets back, they follow meekly into the castle, taking a seat on either a chair or the floor when they have arrived at their end point.

"I am..."

They start confidently, but trail off. They lean forward, clutching their forehead in one hand and eyes fixed to the floor.

I cannot remember. I have...I had a name. I am...I am...

After a while, they shake their head and look back up.

"I do not remember. I have been through...an ordeal, recently, and it has harmed my memory. It took all of my focus to escape, and I lost much of myself in the process. I will...I believe I will recover in part with time. This is not the first time this has happened."

They blink.

It isn't? No, I suppose it wouldn't be.

They sigh lightly, looking away again as they think. After a moment, they snap back to look at Everly.

"I seem to have forgotten my manners, as well. Thank you for your assistance. It is a pleasure to meet you."

[Nefarion Xid]

Castle Briarcroft, East Parlor

Basil was half delirious as the party had returned minus one duke and plus one nearly naked stranger. He'd been stricken with a rictus grin in a pained facsimile of someone trying to pretend this was normal. The assertion that Briarcroft had insisted on going to retrieve his necklace did nothing to calm him. As soon as he'd gone from what he thought was earshot, they could hear him half babbling and half screaming his frustration down the corridor. All the party could make out was one line directed at a maid who had the misfortune to be passing by: "Yes, I think they'd bloody well like some tea, you vacuous strumpet!"

He returned quickly sat down a set of his own beige pajamas on the coffee table. The poor man's face had apparently frozen this way and he talked through his teeth.

"Oh, no trouble at all, my austere amnesiac, mon bald bon ami! Is there anything else I can get you? Fancy some biscuits? Delousing shampoo? Oh, there's some lovely salmon salad left over from lunch in the ice box."

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]
East Parlor

The stranger doesn't seem quite sure what to do with Basil.

That said, that puts Basil in excellent company. There's a very short list of things the stranger does know what to do with, and currently, the pajamas are at the top of it.

"Thank you. I require nothing else at present. Directions to an unused space would be helpful; I would prefer a location small, dark, and isolated."

The stranger wastes no time in dressing, then unties the strip of cloth from their waste and folds it. They offer it to Senna, either giving it to her or placing it down on a convenient surface if she isn't interested in taking it back.

"I do not know if your garment can be repaired, but I will do my best to compensate you either way."

[Sønderjye]

Sunday Morning
The Riot

Lloanna stays curled up with her arms protectively wrapped around her face as she is picked up, and and it is only she heard Bergen's voice that she realized that she weren't lying on the ground anymore.

"You're safe now, my child."

Izpolat whispers something but Lloanna's attention is focused on the voice. She unwraps just enough to see who is carrying her and for a moment she allows herself to muster a weak smile. She couldn't remember the last time someone had told her she was safe.

Then reality kicked in. She was being carried by a giant beast of a man who could probably crush her on a whimp.


"You!" She halted in front of him, panting slightly as smoke billowed out from the Graves. "What were you thinking? What are you thinking?!? Are you part of this madness?
Who summons...ghosts...I think...in the middle of a riot?!?"

"Ghosts?" the weakness of her own voice suprises her.

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning,
Castle Briarcroft

"I am..."

"I do not remember. I have been through...an ordeal, recently, and it has harmed my memory. It took all of my focus to escape, and I lost much of myself in the process. I will...I believe I will recover in part with time. This is not the first time this has happened."

"I seem to have forgotten my manners, as well. Thank you for your assistance. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Everly set her teacup down and looked upon the stranger with no small amount of concern.

"We had better call for the doctor." She was suddenly irritated at herself for not thinking to do that before she sat down to have a cup of tea. Perhaps she wasn't as good under pressure as she had thought. She took a deep breath to clear her head.

"Basil, please call for Dr. Stimme. He lives in the Bouquet. Marigold Gardens, I believe." Her tone was polite but held the imperious manner of a person who was used to people doing their bidding without fear of refusal. She looked back to the stranger just as they were dressing and saw to her surprise that they could not be said to be of either gender before she averted her eyes. As her curiosity grew, she idly wondered if their sexless state was congenital or imposed upon them by somebody. She regathered herself as they finished dressing.

"Thank you. I require nothing else at present. Directions to an unused space would be helpful; I would prefer a location small, dark, and isolated."

"I am sure we can find you somewhere to lie down. What should we call you in the meantime, if anything?" She felt odd not having a name for them. Names defined people, especially in the world atop the canyon walls.

"Can they use your study, dear?" She turned back to Senna, certain if she asked one more thing of Basil the poor man was apt to explode.

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning
The Waterfront

Eventually, the crowd thinned a bit as the passage ended, with people spreading out into the street. Buce paused for a second to quickly catch his bearings. "We've gotten past the worst of it, and no way am I going back to argue for a refund on this." he almost chuckled, despite the gravity of the situation, pulling out his bet.

"Yeah, I wouldn't bother either. If I know Fuller, he's going to be spitting acid for the next month with what this...whatever it was...is gonna cost him." Magnus looked back at the Graves and the steady stream of people still exiting. "Been thinking about competing again, earn some money you know." The big man chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Glad I didn't today." Magnus looked down and regarded the other man with curiosity. "You said you were an herbalist? You sell cures and whatnot? Bound to see some business in the next few days, I'd say."

[Tychris1]

Salt Graves
Running for the entrance, she made it out in time to see the weird armor-man lifting a girl from the street, ghostly warriors surrounding him.

"You!" She halted in front of him, panting slightly as smoke billowed out from the Graves. "What were you thinking? What are you thinking?!? Are you part of this madness?
Who summons...ghosts...I think...in the middle of a riot?!?"

Bergen

Staring down at the woman as she began to stir, Bergen glanced up to see the tiefling woman yelling at him, whilst Adrian continued to look nervously down at the unconscious woman he was holding who began to stir, and Bergen's two remaining ghostly vanguards approached her. Hanns and Friedrich advanced steadily, their eternally locked in rotten scowls aimed directly at Nespira, their hateful glares only breaking partially to look at one another or slice away a cluster of nearby hornets.

"How dare you address the king as such!"
"ONLY WE GET TO ADDRESS THE KING AS SUCH!"

Hanns lunged forward swinging madly at her with his ethereal longsword whilst Friedrich returned to fighting off as many of the encroaching hornets as he could.

"Maybe they're fake, like the lava and magic inside."

And then her blade parried and felt the force of his spectral ancient weapon. The hate imbued within him in conjunction with the curse granted Hanns strength to go beyond death, but it had also rotted away at his mind, and while in life he may have been a master of the Lachshtinower combat style in death he was little more than a flailing beast. Batting his all too real blade, Nespira quickly followed through with plunging her professional instrument directly through the eye socket of Hanns' deteriorating head. Dissipating into a pile of gray mist once she whipped her blade throughout the odd creatures semi-corporeal form.

"I haven't started anything. I merely wish to return home. Safely. This woman is injured."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning,
Castle Briarcroft

"Thank you. I require nothing else at present. Directions to an unused space would be helpful; I would prefer a location small, dark, and isolated."

The stranger wastes no time in dressing, then unties the strip of cloth from their waste and folds it. They offer it to Senna, either giving it to her or placing it down on a convenient surface if she isn't interested in taking it back.

"I do not know if your garment can be repaired, but I will do my best to compensate you either way."


"Can they use your study, dear?" She turned back to Senna, certain if she asked one more thing of Basil the poor man was apt to explode.

Senna took the offered piece of cloth with a gracious smile.

"Think nothing of it, I am certain my mother would have understood given the circumstances." She stood and tucked it under her arm as she motioned towards her suite of rooms.

"Please follow me, I will take you somewhere quiet where you can rest. When the doctor comes, I'll show him up to you." The strange person was a bit of a fascinating enigma for Senna. They had clearly suffered some trauma and were possibly an amnesiac, however the details of their situation remained a mystery.

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]

"Can they use your study, dear?" She turned back to Senna, certain if she asked one more thing of Basil the poor man was apt to explode.

Senna took the offered piece of cloth with a gracious smile.

"Think nothing of it, I am certain my mother would have understood given the circumstances." She stood and tucked it under her arm as she motioned towards her suite of rooms.
"Please follow me, I will take you somewhere quiet where you can rest. When the doctor comes, I'll show him up to you." The strange person was a bit of a fascinating enigma for Senna. They had clearly suffered some trauma and were possibly an amnesiac, however the details of their situation remained a mystery.

The stranger's brows crease briefly when Senna rejects their offer of redress for the cloth, but if nothing else they don't seem upset. They stand when prompted, nodding in appreciation to Everly before following Senna deeper into the castle. Once they have left the room, the stranger suddenly speaks up.

"I believe that an uninterrupted period of rest will be of greater benefit to me than a doctor. I am not presently suffering from any physical injuries."

The stranger is apparently also a hideously terrible liar. It's obvious that their health is not their primary concern and that they wish to avoid the doctor altogether.

[TheDarkDM]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

The summit of the Graves was a long, narrow ring of slanting tiles, broken at even points by tall flagpoles. Pennants of the city, the kingdom, and all manner of other backers to the arena's blood sport whipped in the morning breeze, a chorus of rippling cloth that almost drowned out the sounds of panic from below. Molly had reached the summit quickly, pulling herself up one of the rib-like supports fro the cloth canopy and running the rest of the way. Now she leaned against one of the flag poles, watching the seething mass of humanity below disperse into the streets. At that height, individuals faded away into black specks, and idly Molly reached out and pantomimed crushing them between her fingers. Then the first hints of smoke reached her nose.

Turning, she saw the fire underway in one of the noble vomitoriums, as well as the scrambled efforts of those trying to put it out. And for good reason - while the majority of the Graves may have been stone, the noble seats remained strewn with cushions and discarded curios, all of which would happily feed the fire if it reached them.

What a mess.

A better person may have felt the urge to help, but Molly was unburdened by such impulses. Indeed, if she felt anything it was the growing anger that the violence below had helped to suppress. She wasn't getting paid, that much was clear, and she wasn't sure how much the Guild would care. After all, they had handed off the betting slip. Their hands were clean. Or at least as clean as they ever were.

With a sigh, Molly turned her mind once again to escape. So far above the chaos, there was little to distract her from her target, one of the many ropes that rose from the surrounding rooftops to the peak of the Graves, hung with banners advertising local businesses, upcoming bouts, and whatever else those with money wanted those without to see. Reaching down, Molly tied her skirt together with a practiced knot, twisting it into a makeshift set of pantaloons and revealing a scandalous amount of lower leg in the process. Untying the scarf around her hair, she twisted it into a tight cord and leaned down to wipe it in the storm-slick shingles, until it was sufficiently wet for her purposes. She made her way to the anchor for one of the advertisement cables, draped her cord over it.

And flew.

Sliding down the cable at increasing speed, Molly's wild laugh was lost in the roar of wind around her. The rooftop below her grew monstrously large in moments, and for an instant she considered simply letting herself collide in a smear. She shook the thought away, instead kicking her legs forward and then back, turning her body into a human pendulum until she released her scarf with one hand and launched herself higher into the air. Her lungs drained in anticipation, and at once her flight slammed to a halt in a rolling landing that nearly took her over the opposite edge of the roof. Wincing as she breathed again, Molly looked up just in time to see the lovely creature she'd watched buying spices enter a carriage, along with another woman she swore she recognized. Then the carriage was gone, careening along the streets towards safe harbor. Mouth twisting in disappointment, Molly made it to her knees, then to her feet.

It was going to be an interesting trip home.

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft



"Basil, please call for Dr. Stimme. He lives in the Bouquet. Marigold Gardens, I believe."

Veridian had seen the King to safety and had made his own slow, exhausted way home. Early this morning, he had walked the distance to the Graves with a spring in his step, finding the exercise invigorating. His steps after the chaos and pressure of tending to Frederick were slow and he trudged the long way back and cursed himself for not asking for a horse from the Kingsguard. He arrived home to find an envoy set to whisk him away to Castle Briarcroft and nearly groaned. He wasn't really surprised though, there were bound to be scores of injured folks after a riot of that scale and he supposed that he should be thankful that it was merely one envoy that waited for him.

Fortunately, the castle was not a great distance away and he arrived without incident. He was shown into the room where most of the others were gathered and greeted the one person in the room he was familiar with.

"Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair. I understand there are folks in need of my attention?"

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft



"Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair. I understand there are folks in need of my attention?"

Everly stood and turned to address the voice which had intruded upon them as they continued wait for the return of the duke stretched out interminably.

"Oh Doctor Stimme! Thank you for coming. Yes, we have an individual in need of your expert care." She hesitated, not really knowing what was wrong with them.

"Well, they crawled up into our viewing box half-drowned and can not remember their name. They're resting in Senna's room at the moment, we shall lead you there." She gestured to the well-dressed man in their group.

[Minescratcher]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft

Regor had spent the better part of the day since returning to the castle closeted in his apartment, staring out the window once again. He was worried; this day had been nowhere near good, and the next few looked ready to be worse. When he saw the doctor's arrival, Regor went downstairs, tripping over his own feet distractedly as he hit one of the landings.

"Thank you for your prompt arrival, Doctor. Did you see his Grace on your way here?"

[Tentreto]

Sunday Morning
The Waterfront


"Yeah, I wouldn't bother either. If I know Fuller, he's going to be spitting acid for the next month with what this...whatever it was...is gonna cost him." Magnus looked back at the Graves and the steady stream of people still exiting. "Been thinking about competing again, earn some money you know." The big man chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Glad I didn't today." Magnus looked down and regarded the other man with curiosity. "You said you were an herbalist? You sell cures and whatnot? Bound to see some business in the next few days, I'd say."

"A herbalist of sorts," Buce replied. "I know a lot of remedies, but I'm far more on the ingredients side. Quite a few alchemists source from me as I'm about the only one who knows white vervain from lemon verbena."
Buce glanced around, as the crowd continued to stream past. "But yeah, my business is probably going to be better in the next few days. Nothing like a disaster for people to start worrying about their health."
Buce turned and looked over his tall companion again, now there was a little more time. He was a thickset man, who had the calm look that only the strong could really pull off. "You said you fought in the Graves? You must be a pretty good fighter to win the prize. Are you a blacksmith by any chance?"

[Aedilred]

Sunday Morning
The Salt Graves

"Alright, everyone on alert. We're headed through the cells and up to the King's litter. Let's move out." He commanded the Kingsguard casually before saluting the would-be hero with two fingers at his forehead and disappearing with the King beneath the Graves.

Sunyer was damned if he was going to let some doctor blow him off like that. He had fought a tiger - more or less - and was still risking his life for the king's wellbeing and he was going to see this through no matter what. He followed after the king's litter, eventually falling into step beside the queen. He understood it was rare for her to accompany the king to these events and it was cursed luck that this should happen on one of the few occasions that she had. Such had been the concern for the king's safety that it appeared few had taken the time to reassure her.

The cells were dank and dirty, and bore the signs of the chaos that had erupted when the tiger cages had been opened. He supposed they could have been worse, but they were still no place for the royal family, and he couldn't help but wonder if there were any condemned criminals who had escaped their cells but were still lurking in the area. His hand closed about the hilt of his sword as the thought occurred.

"Fear not, your highness," he said to the queen, who was visibly shaken and somewhat taken aback by the environment. "The royal guard are more than capable and I'm sure that the cells are quite deserted."

No sooner had he said it than a moaning attracted his attention and he leapt round to see who was there. A man lay against a wall, clearly in a bad way. Sunye moved over somewhat cautiously, and realised that it was a dwarf, rather mangled, whether from ill-treatment, the attention of the escaped tigers, or being trampled by his fellow prisoners as they escaped. He wondered for a second why he had not made his own getaway but then spotted the chain connecting the dwarf to the wall. At the point the manacle met the dwarf's ankle, the leg was clearly broken. Without medical attention he would surely die, and who would have time to see to him now, even if he could be freed from his chains? But it could take hours, even days, for him to die if left unattended.

The dwarf seemed unable to speak, but gasped and looked up at him with something like pleading in his eyes. Sunyer knelt and spoke a few words of commendation in dwarfish, then drew his sword and drove the point of it through the dwarf's heart. The prisoner sagged against him and then was still.

He stood and sheathed his sword before turning to find the queen watching him wide-eyed with something approaching horror on her face. He returned her gaze dispassionately.

"Even criminals deserve some mercy, your highness."

He once again made to follow the king's litter.

[Othniel]

Sunday Morning
The Waterfront

"You said you fought in the Graves? You must be a pretty good fighter to win the prize. Are you a blacksmith by any chance?"[/QUOTE]

"Ha!" Magnus barked a laugh. "No, I'm no blacksmith. Just a captain without a ship. But I have fought in the Graves. Lost everything I won though, and it ain't worth it. Some jerk with an axe can mess you up right good and you never walk again. Just for money. Pfah."

[lt_murgen]

"Well, they crawled up into our viewing box half-drowned and can not remember their name. They're resting in Senna's room at the moment. I would imagine Master Nicolescu to be the more pressing case." She gestured to the well-dressed man in their group.

OOC: Master Nicolescu had disembarked at Agatha's herb shop and did not go with to the castle.

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft

"Well, they crawled up into our viewing box half-drowned and can not remember their name. They're resting in Senna's room at the moment, we shall lead you there."

Veridian's brow furrowed as he learned the details of his patient.

"It sounds like an unusual case, color me intrigued." He gestured to Everly.

"Please, lead the way."

[lt_murgen]

Sunday afternoon , Agatha’s Elixirium, Herbs and Sundry. Sunfall district

Agatha saw the carriage pull up in the street and Artur disembarked. She immediately noticed his stiff posture and limping gait. Still, she sat calmly at the small table, sipping her tea. The alcove afforded an excellent view of her white fence, the small front garden, and the stairs to her shop. She arose only as the door opened and the bell rang.

“Good morning, Master Nicolescu” She greeted formally.

“And to you as well, Widow Walters.” He nodded politely. There was a pause for a moment as the pair stood quietly, a respectble distance apart.

“Satisfied?” She said wryly, but her smile couldn’t be withheld. She moved to hug him but he winced and moved away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I had a small run-in with a couple of muggers at the Graves, Aggy. Just need some bandages with your special unguent.” He tried to sound unconcerned. She could tell he was lying.

Agatha took a closer look, taking in his slashed greatcoat, odd slant to his vest. Red brown stains spread fingers op his white shirt. He clearly bled through his undershirt; Agatha never knew the man to wear less than four layers.

“Avvy, we’re too old to lie ta each other. Take off coat ‘n go sit on the bench.” She said exasperatedly, pointing to another alcove on the opposite side of door from the one she had occupied earlier. “And tell me exactly what happened.”

The man struggled out of his greatcoat. His vest was completely torn at the arm and his shirt tails were hanging out, stained bright red. A darker stain, starting at the waist spread down his leg. He eased down onto padded bench and leaned against the paneled wall. As Agatha moved about the store, he closed his eyes and began recounting the events at the Graves.

A moment later, Agatha was shaking him. “Wake up! And quit bleeding on my cushions.” Her eye were bright with fright.

Artur realized that at some point he had slumped over on his good side and passed out. He didn’t think it was that bad. Had he really lost that much blood? He looked at Agatha as she helped him to his feet. As lightly as he could manage, he quipped, “Wouldn’t do to have a bleeding man die in your store window.” It sounded more shaky and nervous than he intended, but it calmed her fears somehwat.

“Sunfall folks always wantin to buy on credit, could do with a warning” She quipped back, trying to bring some levity as the pair struggled to the back of the store. “Wouldn’t do to have your pale torso on display, though. Think of the scandal!” Even in a crisis, she could find time to knock his obsession with propriety.

That brought a genuine chuckle, cut off by a grimace. She helped him past the swinging half-doors along the wide counter, past the shelves lined with containers, and into a small back room.

Propping him against a tall table, she began unbuttoning his vest and shirt. He tried to help her, only to have his hands slapped out of the way. “Don’t spoil my fun..” she started to tease gently, but then saw scope of wound. “Lay back, now.” Steel sprang into her voice, and she would brook no argument. He gave her none, collapsing in a sprawl on the tall working table.

The room was dark, and the pair of lamps seemed to be running out of oil, slowly making the room darker. “Hey!” She flicked a long, wrinkled finger against his ear. “Open wide, chew on this.” A thin, acrid root was pressed to his lips. Distantly, some part of his mind recalled the earth smell and bitter taste from youth- Lactuca… something… a strong painkiller.

He felt her hair brush his across his face, a scent of hollyhock, basil, and lilac. Felt a gentle kiss on forehead. He hadn’t realized his eyes were closed again. “Try to be still- I have much sewing to do.”

The sedative root and exhaustion claimed him before first spike of the needle.

[hi-mi-tsu]

Outside the Graves

"I haven't started anything. I merely wish to return home. Safely. This woman is injured."

Nespira eyed the armored man with suspicion, gaze only softening slightly as it moved to the woman in his arms. She did look a fair bit worse for wear, and it wouldn't be right to keep her from getting help. But..."home" seemed a strange place to want to take a wounded woman. And where did a man who could summon spectral monsters at the tip of a hat live?

No, she wasn't content to let him just wander off. Who knows what he could do to this woman in her current state?

"Fine." Sheathing her blade, she nodded brusquely. "You can take her home, but I'm accompanying you to ensure that she gets the care she needs and that you don't harm her. And don't think of trying anything funny to slip away - I know fair well what you look like, and the Wolves would consider you a grand target for investigation."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft



"Well, they crawled up into our viewing box half-drowned and can not remember their name. They're resting in Senna's room at the moment, we shall lead you there." She gestured to the well-dressed man in their group.



"Please, lead the way."

Senna stood to accompany Everly and the good doctor to her suite of rooms where the person in question rested.

"In the spirit of full disclosure, the injured party did not wish to be seen by a doctor but I thought it best given the circumstances. I do not know the events that led to them crawling out of the sea onto our balcony, but I trust in your discretion doctor."

[Jerry]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft

Veridian followed the women to his mysterious patient, but something about the whole thing had been nagging at him. He finally pinpointed what it was exactly.

"Please excuse my forwardness, but I can't help but notice you have both referred to the patient as they? I had assumed by the description of events that I was seeing one patient here today...?"

[PepperP.]

Sunday Morning
Castle Briarcroft

"Ah..." Everly began to reply and then hesitated a moment before she continued.

"You see, upon first glance they appeared masculine, if solely due to the lack of any hair. Upon speaking with this person further, and a brief glance at their anatomy, they seem to be entirely genderless. I would not presume to know their preference either way." She finished speaking just as they arrived at Senna's rooms and she rapped softly upon the door.

"Pardon the intrusion to your rest but may we come in?"

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]

There's no immediate response, but then again, the stranger was most likely exhausted by the events of the day. It's entirely possible they slept through the knock.

[Tychris1]

Outside the Salt Graves
Bergen

Staring intensely at the Tiefling, Bergen broke his silence with a curt nod, and boomed "Acceptable. Come, Friedrich." Turning to face his lord, Friedrich bowed ruefully and floated over to Bergen. Sheathing his ancient spectral blade, Friedrich extended his hands and held the unconscious woman in his arms. Despite his new duty, Friedrich continued to stare daggers into the uppity tiefling woman, and his moaning dirge turned into a soft and low hiss.

Pushing through the crowd until they were free, Bergen once more took on the burden of carrying the injured woman, and waved Friedrich away. "Thank you, Friedrich. That will be all."

"Until this chain comes pulling again, my King..." He rasped out in his last moments of corporeality causing Bergen to visibly recoil.

"Come, this way. It's a long hike to the Briarcroft Estate."

For some reason, a feeling rumbled deep within Bergen. A feeling that refused to leave him and only grew more and more intense as time passed by. "Could it be? She did face down Hanns without flinching, and prepared to battled me in the midst of all this chaos," He began to more closely examine the exotic woman, the feeling deep within him now bubbling forth and obscuring his very vision as all he could see when looking at her was orange.

The color of Bravery.

Looking away, he clenched his armored fist and watched as it began to burn and change in hue to match the discovered trait.

"Soon.... soon."

[Mary_Sue]

Sunday,
Castle Briarcroft



There's no immediate response, but then again, the stranger was most likely exhausted by the events of the day. It's entirely possible they slept through the knock.

"Let me." After waiting for a few silent moments for the stranger to respond, Senna opened the door a crack, just enough to peer in.

"It's ok, nobody here wishes you harm." She tried to be reassuring as she opened the door wider and stepped in.

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]

In the center of the darkened room, the stranger lies curled into a small ball on the floor, evidently asleep. As the door opens wider, their eyes drift open, briefly flashing with reflected light before the room grows bright enough to negate the effect. They roll into a sitting position, eyeing Senna warily.

"You know..."

They stop in the middle of their sentence, head tilting to the side and eyes growing vacant. After a moment, they snap back into focus.

"I apologize. How can I help you?"

[Jerry]

Castle Briarcroft

The doctor stepped into the room slowly, the hand that was not holding his doctor's bag raised to show he meant no harm. Still a fair distance away, he knelt on one knee and spoke in a soft voice.

"I'm more interested in how I can help you. Now, I'm not gonna do anything you aren't wanting me to do, but I'd like to be sure you don't have any serious trauma to your brain and make sure your lungs are clear of the seawater you ingested. That's all. No questions and I ain't gonna force you to go anywhere you don't wanna go. These folks say you can't remember your name, is that right?"

Veridian is from Sanctum, but there ain't any reason he'd recognize Ancala as such. Whether Ancala recognizes Veridian as a Sanctified I will leave entirely up to you. :smallsmile:

[hi-mi-tsu]

Outside the Salt Graves, on the way to the Briarcroft Estate

My King...? Nes shook her head at the words of the ghostly figure. That was a question for another time. If he really was a king, he wasn't any king she recognized, and didn't seem to have any authority outside his strange ghostly servants. Who didn't seem to respect him very much, but were outright angry at her for not immediately bowing to him...

This man - king - whatever was quite a bundle of contradictions.

"Briarcroft, huh? You live there?" She arched an eyebrow, skeptical. "You don't really seem the type. Wait, are you the Briarcroft that came back? No one said anything about him walking around in a massive suit of armor...I thought he was supposed to be a fancy type. Unless you're like his...guard? Though if you are, you're doing a rather poor job of it."

Her lips pursed, contemplatively. "Maybe I could be his guard. Does he have a doctor on-hand? That girl's going to need help."

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]

The stranger's lips purse together in displeasure when they realize what's going on, but the expression is momentary.

"...I am not afraid of you. You need not be so cautious."

They stretch their arms and back, not getting up from the floor.

"That is correct. I do not, presently, recall my name."


Since the Sanctified aren't recognizable by sight and Ancala is still far from the top of his game, there's no reason for him to notice.

[Tychris1]

En Route to Briarcroft Castle
Bergen

"No, I am not the prodigal Briarcroft nor am I his guard, though I served him as one for a time, and now we are associates." He stated simply as he continued his long march, focusing all of his magical energy into suppressing the overwhelming energy pulsing through his gauntlet "As for whether or not he has a doctor on retainer I'm unsure of, but dozens of skilled and high profile people walk in and out of his estate everyday. Surely one of them must be medically trained or have a personal physician. Regardless, he has no personal guard now, nor has he inquired me to resume my mantle, so the position is free if potentially unneeded. But considering his predilection for drama and desire to avoid bloodshed I imagine he'll need it again at some point or another. If todays events are any sign for the future of this city, I imagine it will be quite soon."

Approaching Castle Briarcroft, Bergen stopped infront of the looming edifice, and said aloud "Here we are. Adrian, take everything in my purse and take this woman inside. See if there's a doctor on hand or anyone with medical experience. You have been an excellent actor today, young man, and I see a promising future for you," And with that Bergen's armored form unclasped and fell to the ground in a heap of metal pieces and antiquated protection leaving the rattled Adrian shivering and staring at Nespira and the unconscious woman with equal levels of bewilderment.

"Uh... uh...."
"Go. Now."
"Right! Uh, thank you... sir? Gods I have so many questions..."

Adrian picked up the leather purse, placed it on his hip, and started to walk towards the front doors of the castle. Reforming and steadily stacking his various pieces ontop of each other from the boots all the way up to the pauldrons Bergen knelt down and grasped his helmet with both hands before placing it back ontop of his breastplate.

"I am Bergen Valdof, First of his name, the Fallen, Fairy Killer, Oathknight, and King of Grendelhof. I spoke truly when I said I had no intentions of harming anyone or causing chaos. Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

[Jerry]

Castle Briarcroft



"...I am not afraid of you. You need not be so cautious."


"Glad to hear it. I'm going to start off looking at your pupils." He reached into his bag and took a small candlestick with a half melted candle in it and deftly struck it alight with his flint. He the flame up near the stranger's eyes, peering intensely as the light neared them. He put the candle down nearby and withdrew a wooden tube about ten inches long and tapered on one end. Veridian placed the larger end upon the bald person's chest.

"Take a deep breath for me please. And another." He listened to each lung in return before he returned the tube to his bag and sat back on his heels and regarded them.

"Is there anything you can tell me about your life before you washed out of the sea?" He shifted slightly.

"I don't mean to pry, but I can't help to wonder what will become of you without any kin or attachments. These folks have been very kind." He motioned to Everly and Senna.

"But you'll be needing somewhere to stay long-term. Now hear me out." He raised his empty hands.

"You can stay with me, I live nearby and there's plenty of room, and privacy. I do house calls, for the most part. All I would ask is that you let me keep an eye on your lungs for a couple of days and play some memory games with me. Nothing too onerous, I promise." He grinned.

"But it might be enough to jumpstart your memory. You'd be free to come and go as you please, of course."


I will leave what Veridian saw in Ancala's pupils to you. If they fail to constrict, then he could have a concussion but I'll leave that up to you.

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]

"Mmh."

The stranger is cooperative, if surly, with the exam. Their body...less so. None of the tests respond in the way they should. The stranger's eyes do indeed constrict, but they do so vertically, looking quite a bit like those of a reptile before the exam finishes. When the stranger breathes in, Veridian can hear muscular movement, but it sounds heavily distorted and simply wrong compared to what it should. Moreover, he can hear a sloshing noise as if a substantial quantity of water was still in the stranger's lungs, or at least that area of the body. The water, too, sounds different than it should for being in the lungs.

"No, I remember nothing. My earliest memories are of being trapped. I escaped and ended up here."

They consider Veridian's offer only briefly.

"I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept it."

For a moment, it seems like they're about to elaborate, but they think better of it and say nothing more.

[Lleban]

Sunday Afternoon
The Gilded Oar.....Brunch time

On his way to the inn Duggin ponderedWhatever that magic dot was, it'll have to wait till later. Riots really make a guy hungry.

Soon after he walked in cautiously, his bright green uniform clashing with the blood on the sleeves of his uniform, and even more against the inn's homely interior.

As he entered in the room was silent. Not a sinister silence, but a profound awkwardness so intense, even the most social of butterflies would wish to enter cocoons once more. For what seemed like an eternity, or roughly 2 minutes Duggin stood in the parlor conflicted on whether it was a good idea to proceed further. Spotting Owen Duggin decided to break the silence.Besides I've made it through at least 4 mugging attempts today whats the worst that could happen Duugin though as he half shouted "Owen do I have a story for you. Get me some lunch and I'll tell ya about the greatest Salt Graves anyone's EVER SEEN!"

Owen looked skeptical as Duggin placed himself firmly at the edge of the bar. "Duggin my boy....I thought you hated the salt graves. Don't tell me you went to steal.

Duggin chuckled "Hey hey, I'd only steal from nobles who deserve it. Any noble who has what I want deserves it. Besides I made money legitimately today, just selling , no adventuring, no theft."

Owen poor a large mug of beer and slide it to Duggin "Ya know I'm almost proud of ya, tell me what happened at the Graves."

[Jerry]

Castle Briarcroft



"I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept it."


Disappointment entered the doctor's face briefly as the stranger rebuked his invitation. His motives, while partially altruistic, also were moved by wishing to study the odd person's unique physiology more closely. Veridian was both shaken and fascinated by what he had discovered during the exam but ultimately kept his word and did not press the issue, nor did he mention the variations to the Ladies present.

"Very well. I will prescribe you a tea to help clear your lungs." He again went to his bag and began to pull out various dried herbs.

"This is eucalyptus, lungwort, elecampane and peppermint." He crushed the leaves together in a mortar as he spoke.

"I will give you enough for a week, make a tea twice a day and drink it hot." He packaged up his remedy and handed it over to the stranger along with a small card that had his name and address on it.

"Now I don't know who trapped you but if you ever need help or find yourself without a place to stay, that's where you'll find me." He arose to his feet and cast a warm smile to Everly and Senna.

"Is there anything else I can do for you ladies while I am here?"

[lt_murgen]

Artur came aware gradually. He didn’t hurt, didn’t really feel anything. Agatha must have used some powerful analgesics on his wounds. He glanced about the dimly lit room, trying to get his bearings. The room was packed with chests- big chests, small chests, chests on the tables, on the floor, stacked on top on one another. He was still lying on the table near the front of the room. The storage room of Agatha’s shop, he realized. Right where she left him. Someone, Agatha probably, had covered him with a heavy blanket. Which was a good thing, since he seemed to be naked underneath it. Obviously, he rationalized, Agatha must have sent is bloodied trousers out to wash.

Voices from the storefront beyond the partially closed door must have been what awakened him. One was clearly Agatha. He could pick her chirping cadence out of a crowd of voices. The other, a low and adenoidal man’s voice, was quite strident.

”But just look at it! It has to be worth more than my bill!” He urged, sounding all tight and squeaky. ”Leifsson’s Philter Codex. Scribed by Maxim Volkov.”

”I am well aware of the value of Leifsson’s Philter Codex. Particularly one scribed by Volkov. I don’t dispute its value.”

The mention of the title caught Artur’s interest. That was a rare book indeed. He knew only of a half dozen of the beautifully illustrated tomes in Tidecleft.

”Then you’ll take it? Settle my tab?”

” I said I don’t dispute its value, only its provenenance.”

”Province?”

”Prov-en-ence! Where you got it.” She shot back angrily.

”It is genuine! Really. See, here on the inside front cover. It was stamped as genuine by an expert.

”And you just happened to come into possession of this right after Sir and Lady Valutin’s accident.” The accusation was clear in her tone.

Artur knew exactly, now, what Agatha suspected. The Valutin’s received a beautiful crystal apothicarium and a rare book on herbal treatments as a wedding gift. Artur had verified the authenticity of the book himself. That was his stamp on the inside wooden cover. And Agatha had provided several of the ingredients to populate the various jars and flasks of the accompanying apothicarium.

”I had nothing to do with the accident. May Rydos sink me if I lie.” He swore, sounding even more nasally than ever.

”No, merely scoured the scene of a horrific tradegy for your own profit!” She snapped. ” “Ghoul. Take your tainted wares and go. Give it to Sir Wallace, if you have an ounce of scruples rattling around in your mangey head.” Something slammed, a heavy book being closed. Moments later, he heard the door bell chime, followed by a loud slamming of the exterior door.

He found himself pleased, if not surprised. That tome was worth quite a bit to most book lovers. To someone who truly understood its history, it was worth a small fortune. His authentication fee alone was likely more than Agatha made in a week. He always admired her steadfast dedication to principle.

”Oh, you are awake. Good. Try not to move. Thirty one stitches, Master Nicolsecu. Twenty from a rusty blade, and the rest from your sheer stubbornness.” She told him sternly.

He felt his side. It was bandaged thickly, with several circles of wrapping around his entire abdomen. “Thank you, Widow Walters. Your skills are as masterful as ever.” He sat up slowly, though, as if daring her to stop him. [B]“But if you could return my clothing, I will take my leave.”

“As your medic, I cannot allow you to go anywhere until you heal.” She responded primly. “But as your friend, I’ll help you up to my rooms. You can rest where I can keep an eye on you.” She finished comfortingly.

“My clothes?”

She inclined her head and smiled mischeviously.


The death of Sir and Lady Valutin was a tradgedy to some, an opportuinity to others. By time anyone official arrived on scene, the wreckage and bodies had been stripped of valuables by opportunists.
What did they see? What did they take? Who might be afraid of what they know

[Nefarion Xid]

Castle Briarcroft, Salon

"Basil."

The castle butler had been too busy screaming into a blue velvet throw pillow to notice his master's approach. Surprised by the sudden voice behind him, Basil reared back with the pillow, ready to defend himself with two pounds of cotton batting, or at least vent his frustration by clobbering an unlucky maid. When he saw it was Briarcroft, the color drained from his face, the pillow fell from his hand, and he went for an embrace.

"Your Grace! You're alive! You're ... oh no you're hurt!" Inches away from the duke's chest, Basil pulled at the bloody linen shirt to examine it in microscopic detail.

"Those bastards! Those stinking rat bastards! Animals!" The first part of his tirade was directed at the stains three inches from his face. He then pulled away to shake his fist at the east facing window. "You'll hang for this! Filthy, reeking, manky, illiterate swine!"

"I'm fine," Alden said flatly, attempting to peel his butler's fingers off of his now wrinkled shirt.

"I'll string you up myself, you delinquents!"

"I'm fine. I'm unhurt. This isn't my blood."

Basil returned his gaze to his master, then to the shirt. He hesitated, then leaned in to inspect the stains once more, giving them an experimental sniff, momentarily convinced he could smell the difference between noble and commoner blood. He gave a satisfactory nod and at least released the shirt so he could assume a more dignified stance with his hands folded at the small of his back.

"Course it isn't. I never doubted you for a moment, my lord. You're perfectly capable of defending yourself against these plebeian pugilists. Spot of tea? I've just put the kettle on."

"Where is everyone? Did you see about Master Nicolescu?"

"They've gone up to Miss Clark's study. They're rather concerned about the health of the bald one wearing my pajamas."

"What?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I shan't want them back. They've sent for a Doctor Stimme. I believe Master Nicolescu was dropped off along the way. Had some physician he preferred. Can't imagine why. I did serve fifteen years as an army ..."

"Bolt in the thigh. Yes, Basil. I'm certain one of these days you'll have the opportunity to stitch me up," the duke lied. He didn't intend to put himself in danger with verbena in his system ever again. If the trickle of dried blood and laceration at the corner of his mouth were any indication, he'd at least taken one right hook today, plebeian or otherwise. "I'll have some of that tea and a new shirt now. Bring them up to the study. That means tea for everyone."

Basil didn't have time to offer further platitudes before he duke has stripped off his shirt, draped it over the butler's shoulder, and started up the tower stairs.

Castle Briarcroft, Senna's Apartment

The duke knocked politely on the door, despite it having been left open and this being his ancestral home. Since the last time they'd seen him, he'd evidently lost a shirt and regained an amulet. He stood in the doorway, naked from the waist up spare a few burgundy splotches on his alabaster skin. Despite his unhealthy complexion, the duke had a defined, muscular physique. He must have had a dedicated exercise schedule between the hours of 2 and 4 AM.

[BladeofObliviom]

Outside the Salt Graves, Late Sunday Morning

Riots are a surprisingly common occurrence at the Salt Graves. Not at this scale, of course, but smaller-scale panics do happen, especially after upsets. One man beats the odds, and a lot of people suddenly find themselves poorer; it only takes a few opportunists to rouse the rabble, as it were. They also usually happen after the day's first event.

With this in mind, the Guard's late arrival makes a bit more sense. Not only did the riot happen at least an hour earlier than Captain Verdyn was actually prepared for, it was also significantly larger than he was prepared for. So, by the time he was able to marshal the five dozen guards he considered necessary to suppress this mess, the Salt Graves were on fire, the rioters were beginning to spill out into the streets, and someone had loosed a tiger into the stands.

All this would be bad enough if the King weren't personally attending the event, but surely the Royal Guard could handle their own job.


The Guard marched down the waterfront streets anxiously, clockbows at the ready. This wasn't the first time Constable Vane had been in charge of a patrol before, but it was the first time she was expected to command one quite this large. Still, as situations go, this was the easy sort to deal with; no hard questions, just a simple problem to deal with and a lot of flexibility with regard to how to go about it. The first rioters spotted were just opportunistic looters, most of whom ran or surrendered at the first opportunity rather than face the guards' bolts and rapiers. One particularly panicky individual rushed the front of the formation with a rock, and was quickly turned into a pincushion. Unfortunate.

The Graves themselves were a bloodbath already, though many of the remaining rioters scattered as soon as Constable Vane gave the order to arrest everyone. She knew they'd never succeed in actually arresting everyone, but the threat of it was enough to shake some people back to their senses. She ordered one group of guards to set up a firebreak, to move cushions and such away from the main blaze so that they could not catch flame, and sent the rest of the guard patrols off to arrest anyone who didn't flee.

She was almost surprised when one opportunist decided to try and rush her from the side with an improvised club. The implement of violence hit hard against her back, though she'd managed to twist out of the worst of it. It's not like she'd never felt pain before. Constable Lillian Vane was hardly some delicate armchair commander, and instead of gasping in shock or pain she simply grabbed the man by the wrist and bent his arm backward. She glanced him over as he screamed in pain: A young Pravian man with dark hair and an animalistic desperation in his eyes. Just another desperate fool.

She broke his nose with a right hook, and left him on the ground. He was still breathing, and that'd have to be enough.


She sighed. The Guard could only be so effective, but things were beginning to simmer down already. At least the strangest rumors had proven to be false; no ghostly army or horde of locusts to be seen. Still, there was a lot of blood; they'd likely be cleaning up bodies all day. She wondered how many would get a proper funeral and how many would just be tossed onto the arena floor, to be swept up by the tides.

There was more to do, of course. The firefighting efforts were ongoing, though she could only see smoke now. She'd still have to take a few men into the cells area to deal with any loose beasts and find anyone trapped below. And then she'd have to take everyone left in, and then start conducting interviews...

Lillian was already tired, and there were many more hours of work to go. But that's just how it was, some days.

Yeah, the Guard shows up to 'save the day'. Shame the day was already pretty well-ruined, but at least the situation is contained.

[Dorizzit]

[Castle Briarcroft]
Study

The stranger, who has remained more or less in one position since being awoken, tilts their head to the side as Alden enters the room. They stare, rather intently, at Alden's chest for several seconds. At the conclusion, the pull at the neck of their own shirt and look down.

"Hm."

[Mary_Sue]

Castle Briarcroft

"You're back." Senna exclaimed the obvious stupidly in her surprise. Her eyes trailed down to the duke's bare chest and she quickly looked away. She supposed the view might be quite interesting if one was into muscular male physiques. Her glance reflexively fell upon Everly as though to gauge her interest in the display before she collected her thoughts.

"I am very glad. Perhaps we should move downstairs now that Dr. Stimme is finished with his patient?" She address the stranger upon the ground.

"You are welcome to rest here as long as you need. I for one would like some tea, and perhaps lunch." Now that the crisis was over, she suddenly realised she was quite hungry.

[Nefarion Xid]

Castle Briarcroft, Senna's Apartment

"For the night," Briarcroft added haltingly. He knew well the dangers of inviting a mysterious stranger into your home. "And in the apartment across the hall. I will see about finding more suitable accommodations in the morning." He meant in the servants' quarters.

Alden considered softening his tone, then thought better of it. He was the master here. "Perhaps I can find you some work once you're on your feet. Most of the staff positions have been filled, but I trust you're capable of tending to the garden?" He looked expectantly at the amnesiac, hoping he'd at least retained the ability to identify a spade.