Here Cometh the Wolves

The question Janelle asked him wasn't one that James ever bothered to put thought into. He never considered himself anything other than what his duties required him to be. Yes, he grew up a thief, but he has pursued a decent military career instead of joining the Underground. It all should not have really mattered. The man was just trying to be polite. Then again, he should have just turned his cloak inside-out before coming into the territory.

Yeah he thought, I better just do that now. Janelle proceeded to talk while James turned the cloak inside-out to make itself visible. Leaving it worn properly when taking care of duties that required his uniform has always been a bit of a bad habit of him.

The woman proceeded to go into more detail about the situation, at the least it was more details in James’ opinion. He wasn't necessarily useful in taking down magi. Which wasn't very reassuring after the comment about the handshake.

She talked a little more as she approached a cloth covering a bulky mass. The cloth was removed, showing a very unpleasant looking corpse. There was something said about not telling anyone outside of the room about the incident, and a civil war. She then made her leave with the griffin, leaving the Captain the go-to person for information.

“Yes, I’ll take a look.” James wasn't much of an investigator when it came to corpses, but maybe he’d be able to pick something up anyways. Better safe than sorry. “Jellial, would you like to have a look over too?”

As the Princess laughed at his flowery introduction, Richelieu kept his cards close to his chest and revealed no emotions that would indicate if he was flustered or even fazed at all. He had plenty of experience in dealing with those stationed above him, and while being ridiculed was never pleasant, it was simply a part of social politics. He could only hope that Garren kept his head and didn't take personal offense to the Princess’s jabs.

The Princess had put him and Garren in a rather awkward situation, but it was clear that at least one of them should go with the Princess. While Richelieu felt uneasy leaving Garren alone with Queen Alexandria and the Queen of the Amazons, he had a gut feeling that he should follow the Princess. Richelieu considered himself to be a disciplined young man, but the seductive charms of the Princess combined with the allure of danger associated with the tall woman was too much to bear.

“My apologies, I didn't mean to offend anyone by ‘speaking above my station’.” Richelieu cooed warmly as he slowly stood up from his chair. “I seem to have mistakenly thought that my status as a diplomat was enough to warrant my, and my companion’s right, to speak at the table. I shall be off to discuss matters of agitation with the Princess and I’ll leave Garren here to continue the meeting proceedings. “

Richelieu said all of this in a calm manner that did not betray whether if his apology was a sincere one or a less than subtle jab at the previously displayed table manners. With a pleasant smile, Richelieu exited the area and followed the Princess to her personal tent. She had managed to get ahead by quite a distance in the short time that it took Richelieu to excuse himself from the table but he was able to find her with minimal difficulties. If he had stayed to question the Queen, it would have most likely been an entirely different story. When he finally reached the tent that he saw the young woman dart into, he stood outside briefly to question his previous logic of leaving the matters of the meeting to Garren.

Richelieu took a leap of faith however and decided that Garren seemed trustworthy enough to be entrusted with such matters. Now it was time for another leap of faith. After taking a deep breath, Richelieu stepped slowly yet assuredly into the tent with the Princess and closed the tent flap behind so that he was alone with her. “Now that we are alone, may we discuss what could not be spoken aloud at the table?”

Here Cometh the Wolves

Laenaia's lips twitched as Janelle verbally poked at her direction when the archmage addressed Esyllt. She had traveled across the desert before, that there was no shade she could find was something she had known and experienced. Even if she can't find a shade, she could still damn well cover herself, Although if the mission would end up with them going further inland, she had to find a mask or something similar to use to cover her face, just her hood should be enough, but she preferred the additional covering, especially with the desert's wind.

The vampire gave an inscrutable gaze to the archmage when she was addressed before the dismissal. Nevertheless, she gave Janelle a compliant nod, "I shall make note of your wish were I to interact with the proud one in the future."

She watched Janelle lifting a shroud covering an object. The object beneath turned to be a very unappetizing looking corpse with the stale stench of blood now covering her sense when it was covered by the shroud earlier. Although the sight wasn't something that would disturb her too much, the smell was another thing and she winced. The middle-aged woman paused before explaining further of what she knew about the situation and a request of trying to keep the investigation quiet. Afterwards, the archmage left, leaving her aide with them.

The rogue, James decided to take a closer look of the corpse and calling to Jellial to do the same. Laenaia looked back to the Captain, "Can I meet with the good doctor... Jazrael after this?" she asked. If the doctor had been handling all the victims, then questioning him would be the first step to take, how could she find what was missed when she didn't know what had been looked before?

Here Cometh the Wolves-Jellial, the Wind

---

Jellial was mostly ignorant of the words that passed amongst the other members of the Queen’s blades; instead he remained intrinsically focused on Janelle. Every word she mentioned revealed something new about the various companions that he was going to be spending time with: and the first secret revealed was that a vampire stood amongst them. It could easily be either Esyllt or Laenaia, yet he leaned slightly more to the latter. Perhaps it was just the fact he had felt that something was ever so slightly off from the start, and her vampirism would be a plausible explanation. It hardly mattered, but that little revelation was certainly an interesting one. Did whichever woman who was afflicted by vampirism know what he was yet? He was hardly going to hide it from her, so if she wasn’t sure yet: she would learn soon enough.

Janelle’s words to James brought an open chuckle forth from Jellial’s throat, a whimsical sound that complimented the seemingly constant smile on his face. The red-haired mage wasn’t sure what was the thought that made him chuckle more: that James’ presumptuous nature was being reprimanded or that Jellial knew just how likely it was that Janelle could flay the man with ‘just a handshake’.

Next, Janelle focused once more on the enigmatic woman Laenaia. She mentioned Fraust and the incredible ego that the creature sometimes had being inflated by some action that the woman had done. Jellial was left at a pause; the woman hadn’t done anything outwardly, which meant…

...Jellial had no idea what it meant, honestly. If she was a telepathic, like himself, it was likely that the Archmage would simply have communicated through those means. Instead, she had said it out loud. Honestly, the Illusionist was stumped, but it hardly mattered. He had already gained enough things to think about.

Then there was the fourth member of the troupe: Saul. He had been blunt, and possibly over-rude, but those qualities reminded him of his first meeting with Que. Lord knows, Que had proven to be a diamond in the rough; but it still would be foolish of Jellial to not give Saul a chance at respect; although if the stranger acted towards Janelle in any way and Jellial would take unseemly amounts of delight in ripping the man apart.

Janelle gave a slight apology to Jellial, and the red haired mage bowed his head in reverent respect. “If this were an easy investigation: we wouldn’t be here.” When she mentioned Maylene’s pack and Que’la’quin as potential leads; he looked slightly confused about the specific mention of Que.

That was answered swiftly when Janelle removed the cover from atop what was now revealed to be a corpse. Jellial didn’t recognise the man, but Janelle’s sadness was genuine at the reveal. The gore of the cadaver was brutal, and Jellial saw why she might have mentioned Que. There were a few Lizardmen who could apply such a brutal and thorough maiming; Que included.

Janelle spoke of Tuleria’s brittle political landscape and Jellial was left with a frown. The civil disruption was one of the main reasons that he was the sole representative of Tuleria’s triad. He was aware that success here might free up more Tulerian aid...It would certainly reflect well on the Tulerians if they could give the queendom more support.

Finally, Janelle took her leave from the scene; leaving him with a parting message to take care. His smile thinned from the confident one he wore in public to a tender one; reserved for but a few. ”If I got killed, who would there be to waste money on alcohol and brothels?”

With Janelle having left, Jellial was called to look at the corpse by James. The realisation that his time with his mistress would be such a brief one saddened him slightly: yet business superseded pleasure. James was trying to be proactive, at least; as was Laenaia. Both of them were attempting to find clues, and it seemed Jellial would have to do the same.

“Well…” Jellial walked alongside the corpse of the man formerly known as Erlfried: staring at a couple of the wounds as if trying to judge something. “...It seems we have about four leads right now: Jazrael, my two connections and Varro.” He leaned closer to a particularly nasty maiming. “I’ve got an idea about how we can eliminate or highlight a lead, It’s a bit of a shock the first time, so promise me you won’t stab me.” He extends this message to both the members of the Queen’s blades and to the captain and his men. He noticed a number of confused looks around the room.

Jellial sighs as he removes both his shirt and his cloak; folding them up on the floor nearby as he rubs a hand over a strange piece of oversized jewelry. The bracelet looked out of place on the man’s left wrist. Jellial clicked his neck before exhaling again; clearly contemplating the wisdom of his plan.

“Ah well.”

The words were followed by a very rapid and very violent metamorphosis. Within two seconds, the mild mannered mage was replaced with the tremendous form of a Maroon furred Werewolf. Ripped shards of cloth were seemingly the only remnant of Jellial, until the distinct bracelet could be seen wrapped around the creature’s left wrist.

”I’m still fully in control of my faculties; so don’t stab me.” The message was floating around the room inside the minds of every person in the room. It was Jellial’s voice; if not a little bit throatier. ”There is a reason I’ve just destroyed my favourite pair of trousers, so bare with me.” Jellial stretched the lanky arms of his changed Lycanthropic form: including the vicious claws that tipped each finger. Feeling suitably in control of his shifted form, Jellial stalked towards Erlfried’s body.

At first, it might look like Erlfried was doomed to become a snack as Jellial’s claws loomed over the corpse: yet the closer he got, the slower Jellial moved. He was moving his claws carefully, as a surgeon would, in an attempt to match some of the wounds on the corpse’s body with his own claws. If they roughly-matched, Maylene’s pack would be the first group to look towards. If not, they could eliminated as prime suspects.

Amazonia Imperiia; Kraith

Kraith didn't pause in his observations instead continuing going about looking like he knew what he was doing and it was best not to interrupt it, instead he was looking for anything dead, rodents, chickens, lost circus midgets on tour. And yet try as he might he couldn't locate enough materials to animate and send in as a little spy, not even the midden heap showed any signs of bones to pick through, not that Kraith was going to dive in and look too hard. For one it'd be suspicious, for two, it'd be gross. Now he headed back towards the Queen tent pondering his options. There were many. And many stupid ones too.

Just walk in.
Try and seduce the guards.
Pretend he was a clown.
Disguise himself as a beard.

Come to think of it, truly terrible plans required far too much effort to truly come up with. But Kraith came up with the simpler solution. He made his way back towards Traxilus. "Try not to get me caught. But i'm going to be unresponsive for a bit." Kraith sat back and leaned against a log laying down and shuffling his hat half over his face as if sleeping. And with that he left his body, time to hitch a ride in the servants, and see what he sees.

Sarah's Request
Eins Nimgrud

---

There was a lot she wanted to say to that bleeding drow, but a conflict right now would mean she'd be prolonging her time spent in this dank smelly place, with those filthy drows crawling all over the place. Eins would have taken the drow's advice and moved to the front of the group(and far enough to not be in reach of any daggers they pull out), but the female drow moved ahead.

Eins had noticed the odd tile on the floor a moment after the drow did, and the ominous looking holes in the wall, something she was rather grateful for, but she did wish at least one of the drows stepped on it. The ranger or bowman, whatever his profession was, seems to be blissfully unaware that he was walking in a bleeding temple in the middle of the bleeding drow territory, barely noticing the trap. It was enough to make one wonder if the Queen's Blade merely took on any sodding person that can hold a weapon and boast about his skills.

The rest of the way seemed uneventful, though her eyes darted from place to place looking around for more traps. Finally, after descending a set of stairs, they reached a T shaped corridor, with a door at the branch, and two doors at the end of both of the corridors.

Of course, now that they were deeper into the earth, wandering about in a temple full of murderous traps and maybe some hungry critters somewhere, a sodding rock just had to seal the way out.

"..what the bloody.. Oi, the entrance's blocked!" She gave the solid block of rock a good kick. "Nowhere to go but in."

After listening to the ranger person, she looked over at the door he mentioned. "Why don't we just try the door? Those dwarves could have just as easily closed it behind them after they opened it. Artifact or not, it would mean nothing if we can't bloody exit. And that way-" she pointed at the closed off section of the corridor where they came from "- was open when we came in. Doubtless one of those dwarves know how to open the way back."

That or we have the ungodly fortune to have set off a trap the dwarves avoided, she thought to herself.

With that she stepped forwards to the door, pushing aside the chisel with her feet as she did so, and pushed hard against the door, keeping in mind of its make and supposed weight.

Sarah's Request

---

A dark temple long abandoned, a quest for a powerful artifact, a rescue mission for lost dwarves, dangerous traps throughout. Kasim couldn't help the smile on his face, nor was he really aware of his own expression as he examined the foreboding surroundings. It wasn't quite as grand as he'd expected from the exterior, but whoever built it had certainly gotten the oppressive dungeon atmosphere right. He was already feeling like this would make for a grand tale when it was all said and done. Maybe one of the others in the group would fall in a bottomless pit and Kasim could grab them at the last second. There had to be a bottomless pit somewhere in this place, Kasim could tell that much just by how it looked, and that sort of quick heroic rescue was almost a required component for a good tale of a retrieving some all-powerful artifact. The jumpy one, Eins, wouldn't be a good candidate for the pit rescue, her equipment would make her heavy enough that it'd probably take two of them to pull her up, and that sort of diluting of the heroic credit just wouldn't do. Maybe saving the spider lady could turn it into some sort of tale of romance, the grateful damsel falling for her savior, but even Kasim wasn't deluded enough to find that a likely turn of events; besides, she seemed to have sharp enough eyes that the chance of her stumbling into a trap wasn't great. Naream though, that would work just fine; the distressed party needn't always be a damsel after all.

As Kasim was resolving to make sure Naream would be the one to fall for the inevitable bottomless pit trap, the rumble of the exit shutting shook him from his thoughts. Just as he couldn't help the smile, he couldn't help the chuckle that was his response to this turn of events. Of course the entrance would slide shut. No ancient temple worth its salt, much less one holding a sacred artifact, would let the merry band of adventurers run away when things got tough. Anyone who'd heard their fair share of tales around a campfire would know that much. Apparently Eins had not had the benefit of such an education in adventure, given her angered and violent reaction. One couldn't help the failings of others, so Kasim had heard somewhere, and it applied well enough here. He was about to speak up when Eins went down the left corridor and started shoving at the door. He watched, bemused, for a few moments before making his way toward her.

"They blunted a chisel trying to open one of these things. I would be shocked if they didn't try brute force before that. Feel free to keep it up though." Kasim looked all round the corridor as he spoke and walked, looking for a switch of some kind. He paid special attention to the walls just by the door as he neared them, and the door itself as well as he could with Eins shoving at it. "They must have found the proper way to open the thing, and I think if we figure it out then we can use our knowledge on the other doors in this place. They all look the same, at least." Kasim ran an absentminded hand through his hair as he thought and looked for the way to open the door, tuning out the various sounds of his companions's exertion and page turning as best he can to concentrate.

Royal Blood- Rayne Walker

After his calculated, precise speech, Rayne eased into a simple, almost effortlessly carried personality of polite nervousness while soaking up every detail of his surroundings that he could. While his fellow Blades' members introduced themselves, he paying close attention to the room itself. A man on a throne, a falcon with no revealed purpose, a notable absence of guards in the room and a silent girl standing in the shadows. There was a precision here, a method in the details, and this told Rayne all he needed to know about the Crown-Prince and what kind of game he played. The man was not only powerful; he was a strategist. Whether friend or foe to the Blades, he was a danger to Rayne Walker so long as he paid the chameleon-like pseudo-hero any attention.

Every detail ended up becoming a note of interest in Rayne's mind, the notes quickly becoming a long, detailed list of questions that needed answers. Why did the Crown-Prince keep his daughter at a distance? Why had the gargoyles not been activated by Xavier's father as he was being attacked? Why were there no human guards nearby? Could Xavier himself be responsible for these deaths? Were the murders personal or part of a larger political game? Few of these questions mattered, but one important piece of the puzzle needed to be addressed before any other. And after the shaky impressons made by his companions, Rayne was the one to pursue the solution.

Penelope was even more dangerous than her father. Her story, her current state, everything about this girl stood out to Rayne. As her father beckoned her to the table, Rayne was slipping silently from his simple mask to a more delicate, soft persona.

Knowing early in his quest for absolute power that just being a fighter wouldn't do, Rayne begun searching for truly heroic and wholly good people to lift the personalities of for his own sick use. After a few uneventful nights Soulwalking in the city guards of Renalta's capital, he set fire to the stable outside an inn and waited in the body of a nearby guard. His labor bore fruit, as the man entered the burning building and pulled out not only several patrons of the bar, but also a child. The way he comforted the kid, the kind and understanding compassion presented by the guard, was a perfect mask to wear when having to fake such silly humanity.

Benevolent Guard. "Crown Prince. I must ask for your permission to speak with your daughter."

"...If you must." Xavier responds, his look cold and foreboding.

Nodding in silent thanks, Rayne quietly leaves his chair and walks to the other end of the table, sitting next the Penelope. "Hello, Penelope. My name is Rayne." Softer words, light as air. "I work for the Queen's Blades of Renalta. Your father has asked us to help find and bring justice to those that brought tragedy to your house." Bring her in with the story. Slip in Honest Farm Boy. "When I was younger, I was the only survivor of a bandit attack, and as the only witness to such horrors, I was forced to retell the events of my terrible experience over and over again. So I understand the weight of what I must request of you, but please understand the importance of it.

"Penelope, I need you to tell me everything you remember of what happened before, during and after the assassinations, in as much detail as possible. Return to Benevolent Guard. "Take your time if you wish."

Carnival of Chaos - Cristoff Whitemarch

---

No. This was most certainly not a change for the better.

The moment Aneura knocked on the door, everything seemed to melt away and reform, and within moments the eerie, shadowy, unnaturally quiet town had transformed into an eerie, colorful, unnaturally noisy… “Carnival of Chaos”, Cristoff whispered, inaudible over the cacophony of the clowns and jugglers and firebreathers.

Tristan and the General had drawn their weapons, but Cristoff resisted the urge, knowing they could attract unwanted attention.

He looked around quickly, taking in as much detail as possible. It was obvious that there was Illusion magic at work – but what was less clear was, which was the illusion? Was the original, quiet town a disguise, or was it the circus that was imposed on their senses in order to throw them off? Cristoff’s first instinct was to run, but he quickly checked it. No; whichever was the illusion, there was an incredibly skilled Illusion mage at work. If he could so easily put them all under his spell, it was doubtful they could run away unless their enemy allowed it. The memory of the Ranger screaming about crows eating out his eyes convinced Cristoff that attempting to flee would be futile.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by a clown approaching the group. Cristoff tensed, but the clown only said, “Welcome to the Carnival of Chaos, go to the inn and speak to he who commands obedience to learn your place in his pattern."

It was at this time that Cristoff noticed the inn had remained exactly as it had been, a brooding, dark establishment that stood in stark contrast to the array of colors all around it. It was the only thing that retained its previous form, aside from the innumerable crows, which still watched their every move as they shuffled about, attempting to come to a decision.

It was clear that the only way they could escape this situation would be to do as they were told – at least, until they saw an opening. Thinking quickly, Cristoff attempted to detect a magic user or a spell being cast – for such a large illusion would take a powerful spellcaster who should, if he was not hiding his latent magical ability, be easy to detect. The idea was to determine whether the man indeed awaited them in the inn.

Once he had finished with this attempt, he cleared his throat. “It’s clear we’re left with little choice”, Cristoff said aloud to the party. “Let’s move towards the inn.” The others, he understood, had come to the same conclusion, for after exchanging a few words, they stepped in line behind him as he set foot in that direction.

Cristoff had taken the lead on purpose though; he took a route, ever so slightly longer than necessary, and passed by next to a performer who, with a look that Cristoff could only describe as murderous, was breathing fire, for the benefit of a nonexistent crowd. He brushed by him, ever so softly, as though he had simply been pushed onto him by the jostle of people; he did the same immediately afterwards to a non-performer, trying to make sure he could physically feel them and that they were not ethereal or utterly nonexistent.

Carnival of Chaos – Tristan Whitemarch

---

One moment there was a deserted town that seemed almost overwhelming in its emptiness and bleakness, and the next there was anything but emptiness. The storm of sound and colors that suddenly surrounded them could be said to contain the exact opposite atmosphere of the barren town, but was equally cruel and repressive if not more so. Tristan tensed and spun almost violently towards the clowns, slingshot pulled back and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He felt almost nauseous as he scanned the surrounding area.

There were clowns, but they were nothing like the entertainers that frequented Whitemarch estates. Hate and fear were carved on their faces; nothing about them was natural. How solid wood doors and walls became the fabric of tents Tristan could not say. Whenever Tristan tried to focus on something, there was always a slight flicker of movement at the corner of his eye, but nothing was there. The damned crows were still there though, watching like they always did. “Does everyone see…” Tristan started, but was cut off as a clown cavorted closer. Tristan tensed and readied to shoot at any sign of hostility.

"Welcome to the Carnival of Chaos, go to the inn and speak to he who commands obedience to learn your place in his pattern."

Tristan breathed in and out slowly as he tried to calm himself, and surprised himself when he almost chuckled. The worst part in horror stories isn’t when the monsters disembowel or decapitate the characters, nor when the monster is revealed; it was when every step that the characters make might be their last, and they didn’t even know it. The suspense was the worst, but now the monsters had been revealed. Granted, clowns were terrifying, but at least now Tristan had an enemy he could focus on. “Can we at least play the dart and balloon game before we go first? I want a teddy bear,” Tristan said to the clown, though he didn’t expect to get an answer.

Every instinct he had told him to run. Get as many miles away from the carnival as possible and come back with reinforcements. That meant giving up on the mission though; and Queen Alexandria’s family was still trapped in here somewhere… hopefully, Tristan thought grimly. His brother suggested that they go forward, and he agreed. Going into the inn was probably the only option they had, no matter how dangerous it was. Tristan followed the group, tailing them and always ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He said “It’s obviously a trap, but it’ll be too risky to not go. General, do you have any advice?”

Maher Adonai - First Blow

Maher smiled slightly as the fog parted before him, whatever had caused the heavy fog didn't seem to be controlling it and causing it to remain in lieu of direct action. Of course the shambling undead that the parting fog revealed wasn't particularly helpful He stamped his foot on the ground for a moment and tested the surface for how dry it was. he discovered he could basically break off flakes of hard packed and very dry dirt just by applying a little bit of weight, trying to trap the creatures in a sinkhole wasn't going to work, there simply wasn't enough water around to soak the ground to such a point and it would take much of his strength to create such an amount of water himself. He briefly considered conjuring some water and freezing it around the creatures feet, but the ice would have nothing to make a firm purchase on with the ground as brittle as it was. Checking things off in his mind he ran though several other options. Mirrored water would be unlikely to hide them from the undead, holding a sphere of water around their heads wouldn't drown them... several more options were discarded just as quickly. His water was unlikely to assist them in getting past the undead without engaging them, though he did consider a burst of water at each one to attempt to knock them off their feet and allow the others an easier time in dispatching them.

<Well I hope you're having fun, I'm about to have a water fight with some undead in a desert.> He said to his sister as he started gathering his magical energies again. He then called back over his shoulder at his comrades, "I'm going to try and knock a few of them down so we can dispatch and get past them faster, after that I suggest we make for Ms Vesper with haste, I cant imagine that second flare is a good sign." He said before lashing out with three concentrated bursts of water, it might leave two of them on their feet still but he didn't have the time or energy to waste in preparing a stronger attack and assuring it hit all five as it was he felt he was stretching it a little with three.

[Result provided by Brovo over steam in order for other mission members to react accordingly.]
Two high powered blasts of water shoot forth from Mahers hands taking two of the undead squarly in their chests and toppling them a third followed soon after though Maher felt unconsiously that he had nearly fumbled the third blast. It to however hit its mark and knocked a third undead off its feet. His magical efforts done he drew his sword and started moving towards the group of undead though he expected the others would reach them first.

Erasmus - First Blow

Erasmus watched silently as the group seemed to agree with his thoughts to rush over to Wren and he stood as a silent sentry and Thalien took the lead; red locks flowing out from the back of her head and the somewhat noticeable overkill of having both a whip and a sword attached to her hips. One must be for killing while the other seemed more at home in a Freehold Whorehouse then in a fight against the undead albeit the blades attached to the end of the whip seemed more than capable of ripping flesh from bone. Overall she seemed a somewhat unorthodox mix, she carried herself with all the graces of a noblewoman but moved with a deadly purpose; her hands seemed more than comfortable resting on the pommel of her weapons. A grey flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye as another gecko ran across once again; no, wait, it was the same gecko from before, Erasmus was sure of it. This gecko was either attracted to the lifeforms in the land or it was a scout of sorts; the lich could well be watching through its eyes albeit it may find it’s vision somewhat limited around his aura.

His gaze then settled on Alexander, he seemed to be some sort of ranged fighting; gun holsters and throwing knife sheaths dotted across his person. A sword was also strapped to his hip but he didn’t look like he was quite comfortable with how it sat there; the telltale sign of someone who wasn’t quite used to it. He felt the slight tingle of a magic user from him; a remnant of his days as an anti-mage but the magic threads were so frail; their noise little more than whispers to his senses. These feelings were more than overwhelmed by the presence of Maher; apparently he was one of two brothers serving in the Queen’s Blade yet this man held a greater command of magic and the power flowed from him in a far greater capacity. He soon demonstrated his ability with what seemed to be water magic as he dispelled the fog; a wry smile danced across Erasmus’ mouth as he saw just how far the man had decided to stand from him to test the effect of his magic. The effect was rather large; the majority of the fog around them vanished revealing yet more broken and blasted land only now there was the obvious form of five undead beings standing between them and their destination.

Another piercing whistle crashed through the air as a red flare shot through the air; as far as Erasmus knew that wasn’t a good signal and it more than likely meant Wren was facing trouble. Erasmus swore under his breath as his brain processed that fact; he refrained from the natural urge to draw his sword. As yet the meandering undead hadn’t noticed their presence yet and any noise could draw their unwanted attention. His mind processed the facts; they needed to get to Wren as fast as they could so if they wanted to shed the blood of these monsters they’d have to do it a quick. An experience of the ebb and flow of battle coursed through his veins; a courtesy from a career as a soldier fighting the paranormal as his mind analysed the options in front of him. Whilst they were outnumbered they all seemed to be experienced fighters so such a small group should pose little threat to them but the problem was time.

Even at this distance Erasmus could see the grey uniforms adorning the beings; this was a worrying sight because this meant these acts weren’t random or even the acts of a being drove mad as he’d silently hoped for. This was a development most unwelcome as it revealed this was a meticulously planned raising; there was a purpose and an ambition behind this reign of arcane terror. This ambition begged to be found, it could well prove to be the key to defeating the lich. Killing a lich is no easy task and any potential advantage or weakness to be exploited would prove very useful.

He noticed the drawn weapons and grim demeanour of his companions; they stood with bloodthirsty intent and made their thoughts rather plain to see. “Well it seems we’re best off cutting our way through them” he said to the group who seemed to be in agreement. Erasmus fought with the strap of his shield trying to unclip it from his back; sometimes it was rather unwilling to leave his back and face being smashed by a variety of objects. He eventually freed it from his back and slung it over his forearm, tightening the straps so it’d eventually sit snug on his arm; the whole procedure seemed to be a fight within himself. The shield was rather old and worn, perhaps demanding a renewal especially of the leather but it would still be able to stand up to most blows.

He looked up as the water mage mentioned casting some water spouts at the undead so he nodded his head in agreement, hefted his sword and shield and charged towards one of the two standing undead, being careful to not get too far ahead of his companions. His blood rushed to his ears as the lust of battle roared through his mind; to him it felt like the Crusades all over despite the rather meagre force that stood in front of them. His mind ran through the plan; kill the creatures and get to the girl. Whilst is was a simple plan, Erasmus had generally found the simpler the plan, the more likely it was to come off as a success. As he neared to his targeted creature, he readied his shield to bash the creature with and rolled his wrist so he could be ready to follow the shield contact with a full-blooded stroke at his foe. It was a rudimentary technique but rather effective strategy; the shield blow should knock them off balance and reduce their ability to avoid or counteract the following sword stroke.

Cease Fire

---

Draza made sure all her belongings were back where they aught when she approached the church with a confident stride and a little bit of a skip to her step. She knew somewhere in her heart that the children were going to find what she left and that all would be well. Rather, all on the outside with regards to them would be well, her steps into the church highlighted a tense situation, and before she could speak, she let others talk first, being polite as she recognized the voices of those speaking as well.

That was, however, until she heard a couple voices, and saw a couple of faces she wasn't entirely sure to be expecting. One more so than the other. She knew Taigyn from long ago, when she was still working with the Papacy, as one of, if not the, kindest among their ranks, bringing him joy when he seemingly needed it most, and the other was a co-worker of sorts, former employer more accurately if it could be truly said Draza worked for any but the good of all those she could run into. It was Alida, the closest thing to a mother of the republic.

Her smile at seeing those she remembers fondly caused her normally spry and cheeky grin to spread into an overt, palpable smile.

“Draza, is that you?” Alida inquires. Taigyn smiles and gestures to the table, “Please, join us. It has been some time, small one.” The two look at each other then Sisera. Finally, the Republic leader inquires, “Is she with you all?”

She wanted to speak up, her excitement all but bubbling over, when her voice caught, and she remained respectfully quiet as Sisera spoke.

“Yes, she is part of a band of merry misfits. You know it truly amazing. Right when everything is about to fall apart and the two hot-heads decide to go at it and kill each other. All it takes are some strangers to wander in with a drunk- oh that reminds me!"

He continued speaking, and in the speaking of her ... what would be the word, charge? Perhaps. Regardless, best she could manage to not interrupt, she walked over to be near her friends, the old ones, and giving a gaze to the others present, maybe some new ones?

“Good job, representing your Queen, what with the Drunk all but married to you!”

It was at this that Draza turned and looked at the 'drunk' in question, and remained composed despite a giggle in her throat. Now wasn't the time for laughs. Now was the time for boring serious but important political words.

When the sarcastic and cutting speaking had begun to simmer down, Draza finally gave the questioning look to Taigyn that she wanted to give him earlier, and mouthed a 'It's good to see you' to him but with a quick look she added on, 'Why are you here?' She was genuinely curious. In all her busy work she couldn't keep up with everything, no matter how hard she tried. With all her dealings with the criminal elements and the foreign dignitaries, it was more common for things to be addressed as the nation in a more impartial sense, than the person ruling it. The only people people she could keep track of were those she actually had to talk with, the merchants, the diplomats, and such.

She had nary a clue that Taigyn was as important as he had become. She could guess he's become more important due to him being here... but the scale was presently lost on her. As for those moving out of the corner of her eyes, she turned to where she thought Alvhi had been, but saw he was apparently busy, and so gave a shrug.

Taigyn's grizzled face quirks in honest surprise at the little one's question. "Well, after helping a pair of queens and her first band of odd-jobs banish the gods... Nearly dying and being saved by an archangel... and making a second trip across the blood sea, I figured it was time to settle down to simpler things, like leading the Templar." He chuckles more to himself than anyone, earning an exaggerated roll of the eyes from Davian. "We were supposed to be undergoing a treatise of peace, however we were interrupted by bickering and a surprise ogre." His one eye flickers over to Gahrul.

Draza's eyes follow Taigyn's, a bit curious if he meant Gahrul or... oh he did! Her face lights up again as she knows all is well, "Oh, that's Gahrul," she offers a wave and a smile to him, "He's really great and a good friend and smasher of meanies." She turns back towards those gathered near the table, "He's sweet, not like caramel, but like chocolate. You can trust him, he wouldn't hurt anything unless it was dangerous, to himself or others." She flashes her eyes with their lil twinkle, "Er ist im Grunde mein Schutzengel."

A look of amusement flashes over Taigyn's face, "And I thought Typhon was ugly." He turns towards the gathered group and scratches his chin in thought. "Mind helping this whole deal along? It'd be nice if the kid here and snaggletooth there would quit jumping at each others' throat every chance they get," he mutters to the fae.

Draza mimes an equal pondering before responding to Taigyn, "Only if I can give an impassioned speech."

It appears to be Alida's turn to speak up, "Anything but listening to another retelling of Spellbreaker here's misadventures." She gestures for Draza to take the 'stage.' The seconds of the rival factions both seem to loose an insulted snort before watching expectantly at what the little person would do.

With the floor granted to her, Draza did her best to appear large and speak with a voice larger still, surpassing her meager frame.

"When I first arrived in town, and left mein Schutzengel Gahrul to safeguard things here..." she pauses, and says in her best rendition of a 'boys will be boys' tone of oops, "Zugegeben, ich wahrscheinlich sollte man über seine Sanftmut erste gesagt haben..." before resuming the grandiose tone of earlier, "My instinct was to speak with the children, they're wonderful blights, and I was hoping to glean information while making their day a bit brighter," she sighed, "And I met a woman, a mother, who I feel embodies this entire bloody affair."

With a bit of a hand gesture, she swept across those at the gathering, "She was tired, frustrated, worried, and couldn't trust after it all," her hands go to herself, "And in her state of mind, even I was seen as a horrifying threat to her, and her children."

Her hands go back to the top of the table, "She wanted what was best, but there had been so many troubles in her life recently, that she didn't feel she could trust me, and from her words, she probably feels she couldn't even trust anyone at this table either."

"So what good are we, if for all our good intentions, we bicker amongst ourselves while the people suffer? We fight and refuse to trust. We are not, and should not be each other's enemy. There are too many lives, good innocent lives, at stake!" She pounded her tiny hand on the table for whatever diminutive effect it would bring.

Draza took a slow breath before continuing, "We may not have to be friends in this time, but we should not ignore good allies in the face of greater enemies. There are great evils in the world, and when good men and women sit idly by or worse, fight their brethren, that evil only becomes stronger. The Papacy, is one such evil, and you all know it. I know it. In my years I've worked for many people, the Templars, the Republic, and also the Papacy. With it's veneer walls and shimmering facade I worked there, and did what I do best," she reached into her backpack and pulled out a scrumptious looking cookie, "I baked, I did parties, I lifted spirits, I tried to make everyone smile and be happy."

She held the cookie aloft, and sighed listlessly, "But, the Papacy has a way now of ruining good intentions. With the strength of giants, they smashed!" she brought the cookie down to the table, breaking it a bit, pieces coming off of it, "The joy, they smashed!" and again she hit the cookie down, more of it breaking, "The hope, they smashed!" and once more she brought it down, it finally crumbling from her tiny hands. She breathed a few times to calm down, "They smashed all that was good, and turned it into a crumbling heap that we have before us. Two peoples, divided and bickering, like children over a broken toy, and even the Papacy's own people are being broken just so their unchecked desire for power continues to go unchallenged."

Draza began to sweep the crumbs into a bag for cleaning purposes, "We may not all agree on everything, but I certainly hope we can agree to set aside our difference, work some terms out, and fix the problem staring us all in the face, before it's too late." With all of the crumbs brushed into the bag she looked at her friends and smiled, and then to the more spurious support of the second in commands, "I know we all have our differences to be sorted, but today is not that day," she then looked at every one in kind,

"Let us talk our terms, and deal with the Papacy, and the other true evils, before good men go to war with each other. Let's show the people, the mothers, the fathers, everyone, that we can trust, we can grow, we can work together. Let them no longer have to hold fear for everything, even the small."

Throughout Draza's speech, many of the Templar and Republic find themselves nodding along. A few of the Republic even smile, their very thoughts echoed in the tiny titan. Alida and Taigyn both offered forth quick words of approval and Hans finds himself wiping away a small tea, dismissing it as dust from the ransacked church. However, small factions remained, on both sides, unmoved by her speech, a time-old hatred and rigid tradition holding fast, glaring across the room at each other. Davian, unable to take another word from the little woman's mouth slammed his fist down beside the diminutive diplomat. Draza, with the grace and and agility of her people, managed to not only move carefully away, but even managed to stay upon her feet as the table shuddered from the impact.

"ENOUGH!" the Templar second-commander boomed, "If perhaps the Papacy were cookie-men, this would be fine. We are dealing with our own people here, seasoned warriors. You propose we fight them off with smile and the sentiments of women?! That by taking these people, these farmers, housewives, urchins and children into our midst will strengthen us? It will weaken us, to have to protect them. And for what? Resources we need. We could take it if we wanted, but we would be weakening the life blood of our country." He looked up, looking at Alida and Taigyn, eyes narrowed. "We are the true fist of the gods, and we are sitting here talking peace while the deceivers are probably planning our downfall." Davian withdrew his hand, looking at all those present across the room. "I know my men follow me, but you let any into your midst who 'are for the cause'. Who is to say you don't have spies within your elite? Why would I place my men in your companies with the all too real possibility of assassination?"

Alida stiffened, her hand reaching for her weapon when Hans stood and barred her hand. "You will respect the Leader of the Rheinfeld Republic and those who have risked their lives and continue to in order to stop the reign of murderers, false mouth-of-the-gods and tyrants alike." He looked to Draza and bowed his head slightly in respect. "This small pink-skin is correct, we cannot linger on these old grudges. We need your arms, your training, you need our supplies. We both need to stop the senseless bloodshed. We came here, ready to negotiate for a treaty, and I realize the time for reparations of past grievances is not now." Davian gnashed his teeth but rested back in his chair, crossing his arms and glaring at the pixie. As he did so, Alida sighed and returned to her seat, followed by Hans. "Have you more to say, to lead us into negotiations?" the orcish man inquired, grinning and showing off his metal-filled mouth.

Draza smiled at Hans, and gave a nod, "Yes, I do, thank you." She turned to Davian, "I understand your sentiments, meine große und prestigeträchtige Herr Kommandant, but the notion of taking to fill your needs is a short sighted one. It takes time, labour, and effort to cultivate the resources you seek, those farmers and housewives do not sit on their asses as the ground gives things to them, they work for it. They till the soil and process the goods into something you can use. If you were to take, the supply would either run dry as their blood, and the blood of your men, spills, or if you were to attempt to force subjugation upon them, that would certainly take far more effort and manpower than to extend your protections a bit further north along the border. A war is not won by soldiers alone, do not disregard the importance of support."

"You already have the disproportionate share of border and trouble with the Papacy, and with the logistical aid of supplies, from craftsmen and farmers, without your number of men decreasing, you can better maintain order in the areas you have, and then some. Furthermore, there are more than simple farmers, there are young men who can be trained to bolster your numbers for defence, and more enticingly, for a mighty siege. You have so much to gain, and really, for so little."

She paused and gave a bit of a sigh, "But I do concede your point on some of the worry of a more subterfuge based threat, with assassins, in that such is indeed a present danger., but it's not a danger exclusive to the Republic. You have your ways to assure your protections, and to keep the ranks free of moles, and this will be pushing you on that. I feel that is the greatest cost we ask of you, not to let your guard down, no, but to associate with more than those immediately around and supportive of you."

"I know you do not trust those gathered her as much as would be desirable, but that's okay, trust can be built by both sides, and a cease fire can be brokered. Do not make more enemies, when you do not have to."

Davian's face twisted a little as understanding began to pass... before he nodded in concession, "You speak wisely, even if you are a sprite." He reached a hand out, and Draza watched as he seemed to reconsider that action, before she took one of his fingers in her hands, and gave him a shake and a nod, "Ich danke Ihnen für Ihre Worte." She took her hands back and he simply nodded again. "I am happy to have you here, to speak truthfully about the situation of things when I would not normally see them. Let us proceed with the conditions of the agreement."

First Blow – Alexander Lyre

Alexander shifted slightly, as the water mage, Maher, parted the mist with ease. The sudden increase in visibility was a double edged sword, as the light revealed five shambling undead in tattered uniforms. The sight of the similarly clad foes sent another shudder of disgust, and his face tightened into a stiff neutral expression. It seems whoever was the liche had taken down his fair share of groups after his ’life’ before. From a distance, he couldn’t make out any distinguishing features, but perhaps a quick look closer would yield some better results.

A second red flare was now visible, clear from the cloaking soup of the unnatural fog. He forced a quick, relaxing deep breath to ease the tension in his white knuckled hands. A swift, efficient motion sheathed both weapons, and a close observer might observed some nerves by the characteristic lack of flourishes. Instead, Alex eased back his long coat to bare the twin ivory handled pistols hanging low on his hips, out of the way of the twin swords and the hip draw rig.

"I'm going to try and knock a few of them down so we can dispatch and get past them faster, after that I suggest we make for Ms. Vesper with haste, I can’t imagine that second flare is a good sign."

Alex nodded, “Fast and hot then.” Engraved blued steel began to gleam in the new-found sun light, as confident leather clad hands drew the pair of master-crafted pistols. A snarling smile etched deeper into Alex’s taut muscles. The anti-mage unshouldered his shield and sword and began to charge. Maher let loose a trio of water blasts, knocking their targets off their feet.

“I’ll cover,” Alex growled, and lined up his first two shots. Need to go for the head. He waited just an extra moment lining up his shots on the undead still standing. The pistols roared as one. The flame and a noxious black smoke erupted from the snarling dragons etched into the pistols. Four red slices of garnet glinted in the sun, pronouncing doom from the distance. Alex never hesitated, fingers already running through an instinctive reload process, even as he stepped through the foul cloud of smoke to line up his second pair of shots.

Here Cometh the Wolves

As it appeared, their group was a mixed bunch when it came to audiences. Something of note Esyllt would have to bring up later, as it was their purpose to gather support for the Queen's Blades, not offending royalty by shaking their hands. However fortunately, the archmage responded well to her and Jellial both, although the latter was a given from the red-haired man's introduction. Jellial made her feel slightly uncomfortable, the complete opposite of his own disposition who weaved his words with roguish charm and was at ease to sneak in a wink during the audience. Not sure how to respond, Esyllt turned to the glass of water she was so kindly offered. “Most gracious of you.” She thanked Janelle, before bringing the glass to her lips and disciplining her self to sip slowly with poise. They were in the presence of the triad, after all.

After introductions were made, they quickly proceeded to research. James attempted a closer look at the victim (also did he just magic a cape into existence?) that had been brought in, while Laenaia asked for the examining doctor, and Jellial... Jellial turned into a werewolf! One with telepathic abilities like her own, no less. The man certainly knew how to steal a show.

Esyllt knew little of werewolves, or lizardmen for that matter. Jellial's transformation was violent, and as he reassured the party of his being in control, it didn't take much to deduce that werewolves were savage and violent by nature; something that matched with Erlfried's wounds. “Are lizardmen capable of such ferocity?” Esyllt asked the others, who were hopefully better learned on that subject, and then to Jellial in particular, assuming his wolf-like qualities extended to his nose; “Is there perhaps a familiar smell?”

What struck Esyllt as the most peculiar, however, was that their methods were rudimentary. Esyllt herself was no ace in murder mysteries, but surely Tuleria had people that were far more skilled as detectives than she. If the perpetrator was indeed amongst well known groups of Tuleria, why hadn't they been caught yet? This confused Esyllt. It was unfortunate the archmage had already left, but her captain still remained.

“Captain, would you be so kind as to enlighten us as to fill us in on the original investigations?” Esyllt asked the man who didn't seem to be so eager to linger around much longer. Although stately, she was far more direct in addressing him than his mistress. “It would be most helpful to conducting ours. Certainly you've learned more than the nature of wounds and pattern of victims.”

First Blow - - Thailen Vicarris

---

As the fog parted, Thailen let out a sigh of relief. For the dancing shadows and whispers of isolation took their leave with it, letting her breath easy and think straight. However, her relief was dampened as she focused on the newly revealed distance to see five undead. To find them so close, to encounter enemies so quickly, was unexpected. Had they been drawn by the flare, were they there by coincidence, or had they known before hand of the Blade's arrival? Her hand began to creep across her body towards the hilt of her sword as she began looking from side to side, searching for a potential ambush. But the fog continued to blind in every direction save forward, giving the sense of being trapped in a tunnel. Behind them the Blood Sea, ahead the undead.

Triple blasts of water magic from the mage Maher startled her out of her thoughts, just in time to see Erasmus pull out his sword and shield. Drawing her own sword, Thailen charged forward alongside him, feet kicking up dust from the dead ground. Within a few seconds, her steps fell in sync with her companion's, drawing them ever closer to the shambling dead. From behind came the twin sounds of Alexander's pistols, and Thailen could swear that she could feel the shots pass by. Relentless water, hot lead, and soon, cold steel.

The undead were close enough now to make out details. To see the tattered remnants of their uniforms, implying that they had once been soldiers. Thailen could only hope that they military training didn't carry over into death. Facial features began to come into focus, letting her imagine how they would have looked in life. Locks of blonde hair on one, sharp cheekbones on another. Grimacing, Thailen brought her sword around to her left, ready to swing it across her body in a sweeping horizontal attack. She didn't have much experience with the undead, but she assumed removing their heads was as effective as it was on any other creature.

The hunt for Diana

Nadira looked around the shop, confused as to why she was sent here. During her time with Teila this was one place she never frequented, Teila was always the one to come to the weavers shop.

“I suppose we should.. make ourselves acquainted.. we may be here for a while after all” Nadira left her companions to their own bidding while she made her way around the shop, stopping every now and then to look at some of the clothing on display.

<Well I hope you're having fun, I'm about to have a water fight with some undead in a desert.> Nadira smiled, the random patches of conversation from her brother no longer startled her, they had become more and for frequent since they both joined the Queens Blades. <undead in a desert sounds more entertaining than staring at a bunch of clothing wondering why on earth I was sent to this place, do have fun brother... and be careful>

After a few minutes of aimless wandering Nadira sighed, She really had no clue as to why she and her companions were here.. there did not seem to be anything of use in their search within the shop, at least nothing she could immediately see. She looked to the man who had ushered them inside, he was standing by the door as if on guard, perhaps that’s exactly what he was. He knew who she was however, so perhaps he could give her some insight as to why she was here.

“Hello there, as much as I appreciate the shelter from the storm, I don't suppose you know why I was sent here? Or are you simply the look out..”

Carnival of Chaos - Aneura Shivan

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Tsk tsk tsk, shouldn't have touched anything

The world fell into the color of fiery bloods and sick yellows, plastered over grainy whites that were carelessly painted upon grungy structures. It certainly was the carnival of nightmares, such that a child suffering from them could arrive here and fall into despair as if they were made true. Aneura kept her calm, already tip-toeing on the edge of breaking down into fear, beads of sweat clearly revealing such precariousness. She gripped her spear tighter and brought her shield closer to her side, eyes darting into those of the carnival's occupants, scanning for signs of malevolence. Of course, it was all around her, but a particular malevolence was what she sought. For now, it seemed they would not assail them, but given their nature and chaotic behavior, she wouldn't so easily loosen her stance.

I was waiting for you silly fools to go about touching things, an echoing voice spoke within her body, its every word like a surge of cold in just beneath her skin. Aneura glared and silenced the demon quickly. "Shut up!" she simply boomed, caring not for those around her. Already quite used to dealing with the infernal pest around others, Aneura had grown to remain just as stern as before the demon would speak to her, as if knowing she was not crazy, and trusting that those around her would simply ignore her apparent ramblings. If they asked, she would dismiss them. They didn't need to know, and she didn't want to explain.

"Welcome to the Carnival of Chaos, go to the inn and speak to he who commands obedience to learn your place in his pattern," the vile clown spoke.

“Can we at least play the dart and balloon game before we go first? I want a teddy bear,” Tristan joked. Aneura swiftly batted the flat of her spear head against his shoulder and gave an ironically chastising smile. Gazing about, she attempted to find immediate way for the inn, hoping the place to be within quick walking distance. No one knew how long they would remain unnoticed in the carnival's presence. It seemed as though one of the Whitemarch brothers had noticed before, and so she followed in line.

"Of course it's a trap," Aneura replied to Tristan, "but such was to be expected. Did we not read the letter sent to General Hanus? I can't imagine the Queen's Blades expect everything to be so easy," she grinned teasingly.

Royal Bloods; Rayvon & Ceann

---

Both Ceann and Rayvon return to their full height at the behest of Xavier. While Rayvon begins to open her magical senses, she stiffens for a moment upon feeling some residual magic –likely from the recently activated rune—Ceann scours the dark to attempt to notice any possible way for an assassin to make it in. Between the foreign architecture and engrossing shadows, the only ways she can divine are the doors and entrance they themselves came through... Both of which were covered by guards. Rayvon taps her side lightly and nods towards the princess. “Sense that?” she whispers exclusively to the elven woman.

Ceann furrows her brow, extending her own magical senses and notices a faint pull from the woman. “A mage?” Rayvon nods, unsettled a little by the implications that could mean. Both of the women would be aware of the fact that those gifted with magic, if not disciplined could be a danger with it. The Aasimar herself would be aware of general cold way Liverians could regard those with magical talent. Sure, it was not openly persecuted such as in Rheinfeld, however, it did beg a question…

The elven woman regards the princess for a moment before looking back to Rayvon, “It might prove immensely helpful to know what was the causation of death, wouldn’t it?” Rayvon nods and continues to hang back, making it clear she was the last one wanting to open up conversation with anyone of importance. With an inward sigh, Ceann steps forward and addresses the Crown-Prince. “I have a few questions, if you would not mind my doing so.”

As the wanderer sets upon that line of investigation, Rayvon settles at the table, grasping the bag of records and begins to withdraw them each, setting them out in neat piles. Everything laid out before her, she offers a gesture to those around her to help themselves, knowing it would take some time for any single person to go through all that was written, after all. That said, she takes the first off the stacks and begins to skim through it, page by page for important details, regarding the initial discovery, testimonies, and autopsy… Hopefully the initial recorders were not the sort to stuff official documents like these with needless opinion and purple prose.

Ceann clears her throat, before beginning, “First off, I would ask about the means of death. Was it a weapon? Poison? Magic? More physical means?…” She pauses before continuing, “As well, I would ask of any conflicts your kingdom might have, either foreign or internal.”

Meanwhile, with her readings, Rayvon was getting rather irritated. Whoever was in charge of recording the event were a bunch of bumbling idiots who had no idea what they were doing. Either the Witch Hunters weren’t employed to help sort this out or they were a lot less professional than she thought. All she was finding was a repetition of what Xavier had already said. Both dead, same room, Penelope was the only witness and she was apparently too traumatized to speak up. Furthermore, the guards who apparently found Penelope and the two dead royals were too incompetent to leave a real statement. With a sigh she pushes these papers away and fumbles for the next, rubbing her eyes tiredly. They really were wordsy assholes writing these things while providing no detail. It was now that Rayvon pipes up, searching the papers would take too long. “Xavier, perhaps we could talk with those who were first on the scene, aside from Penelope?”

Alhvaharyis - Cease Fire

Alhvaharyis followed Draza closely. He could sense there was something in the air, tension. He could glimpse some form of confusion within the cathedral. Determined, he took the final step that would bring him closer to achieving justice throughout the world --

-- and was promptly blocked by two guards. They looked possibly more distressed than Alvhaharyis himself.

The first of the two, who had been so prepared to block the ogre hesitates and allows his friend to take the lead this time. "Halten. What business have you here?"

Alhvaharyis blinked. He had been so focused on what he would say during the negotiations, envisioning how events could play out and the outcome of each variable that it hadn't even occured to him getting in would be an issue.

"I am with the Queen's Blades, the diplomatic party dispatched here," he said, doing his best to recover stride, "and I would be most appreciative if you gentlemen would allow me to carry out my duty."

The second guard looks to the first, "You hear that Rochard? This fellow is trying to bullshit his way into the meeting."

Rochard, his compatriot chuckles and adds on, "Who in the Nine Hells is he trying to fool, with that get-up he has on. Not the usual uniform, mind you. Must make him pretty important, Tritan."

Tritan the guard nods slowly, "Look, fellow, I don't know how many times that line has worked in the past for you, but you are not getting past us. Official meeting, no papacy bastard is getting in to ruin this or slip anyone poison."

Alvaharyis' eyebrow twitched. He took a deep breath and harkened his mentor's words. "Eviscerating annoying plebians is not a recommended course of action, Alvhaharyis. Think before acting."

Well, perhaps those hadn't been his words exactly, but it was dangerously close to what he, for a brief moment, felt like doing. Instead, he forced a half-smile.

"Herren," he said, mellifluously, "do you not think, were I a Papacy agent, I would have arrived better prepared? Do you not think, perhaps, I would not let two guards," great stress was put on the word guards, "stand in my way, were I a skilled Papacy assassin? Do you not think, perhaps, I would be in there already, waiting, poised, for the right moment to strike? Nay, I am here before you: perhaps, if you doubt my words, one of you could fetch Sisera, or the other members of the Queen's themselves. I am sure you know of them -- as I am sure, being gentlemen that know the ways of things, you realize they would not be pleased, knowing you were impeding the sacred duty of a man in which the authority of the Renaltan nobility has been invested. Herren, let us realize who the true enemies are here."

Since the emphasized word of 'guard' left Alvaharyis' lips, both of the men were on edge and thoroughly unamused. As he continues, Rochard steps forward abruptly and, too slow to react at the skilled nature of the Templar guard, Alvaharyis is captured in a hold, an armoured arm wrapped around his neck and pressing loosely. Alhavaryis would notice a chill run through him and a faint disconnection, as if something were taken from him, he recognizes it instantly for what it was... The special ability that made the Templar so effective against mages, their anti-magic defenses. "I am not sure who you are kidding, but we are the authority here. We are set to defend this door and keep any trouble makers from passing. And you... Are a fool for venturing here, to this land, to this very church, and implying that you are of a peace party while wearing those garment. Make passive threats again, and they will be the last words you utter." He releases Alvaharyis, shoving him forward, "Get your ass in there, cause any trouble, know there are more than a number of Templar who will strike you down before you can plead mercy."

Alvaharyis coughed and stood, rubbing his neck. "Gentlemen, you have my apologies. Perhaps I did not convey what I wished to say in the most appropriate of manners. These are dark times, and in dark times men speak rashly." He stepped past them carefully, into the church, then couldn't help but add "I am pleased to see the Templar order continues to uphold its standards of rigor."

Once inside the church, Alvhaharyis looked around. It truly was a god-forsaken place. Nothing like the grand cathedrals he had practically been raised in, all marble and gold and men in expensive clothes, no, this was the shadow of the dream of greatness. There were cracks along the walls, and light shafted in, dust motes dancing in the spot-light. His eyes, however, were immediately drawn to the table, where a number of very important looking men were seated. Gahrul was by Sisera, which releived him, and Draza seemed to be speaking. The reactions were favorable, as far as he could tell. He nodded to himself. Alhvharyis knew she would have been a valuable asset to the team.

With every step closer to the group, Alhvaharyis would feel the increasing stifling powers of the Templar. One on one, there did not seem to be much effect, but with so many present in such confines, it would seem they were creating an entire magical deadzone. Further inside, he would spy a staircase, not just any staircase but one so well crafted it was simply a testiment to Rheinfeld craftmanship. In fact, if he was not mistaken, he could see the holy symbols of both the Mother and Father ingraved upon the elaborate hand-carved railings. Alhvaharyis had a very perceptive eye indeed. As for those gathered, it would seem as if all were swept up in the words of the diminutive master of speech. Everything was going on swimmingly without him, apparently.

Deciding it was best not to intrude with Draza's speech -- there was nothing he could say to assist the situation regardless -- Alhvaharyis instead casually put his arm around Lotharr's shoulders and with the other gestured towards the staircase in question. There was no doubt in his mind this one was the staircase that would lead to the archers.

Of course, Lothar would know nothing of the nest of archers that the staircase would lead to or even that the staircase might lead to a balcony overlooking the area outside. Hopefully, the young Rheinfelder did not just come across as if he were looking for a private place to be alone with the Wolff heir.

Lothar looked at Alhvaharyis as he indicated toward a stairway. It was likely a suggestion that they should explore the area a little bit and maybe even patrol. However, there was one thing that struck Lothar. With his limited magical capabilities. He could sense the stifling presnece of the Templar's. However, two "auras" stood out in the church. One was Sisera, who practically radiated magic from his body. He was obviously a very capable magician. Then, the more striking aura came from the Leader of the Templar himself. Although it wasn't as impressive as the smoke mage, he himself had significant reserves of power that was more than average. This struck Lothar as odd.

Alhvaharyis tilted his head towards the staircase. "There are archers above us," he said, quietly. "Be prepared. I do not know what to expect."

Lothar whispered back "It will look suspicious if we just leave in the middle of the meeting. But, the situation seems a bit strange. The Leader of the Templars... he is emitting quite a bit of magic. Perhaps we should let the others know?"

Alhvaharyis grinned. "Renaldo is as much of a mage as I am. He is most likely shitting himself. Further, the leader, as with the other men, seem to be quite keen to listen to what Draza has to say." He patted Lotharr on the back. "Come now, I'd say this is the best moment for us to enjoy a stroll through this filth-ridden wreck of a building."

Lothar shook his head and whispered "Discretion my friend."

Nearby, one of the Republic lets out a low hiss, "Just like a priest to think even a long-standing holy place as this is beneath him because it is not pretty enough. Bite your tongue in the future."

Alhvaharyis chuckled. "My friend, I am no priest, I have seen how corrupt these so-called holy men truly are, yet even I can appreciate the grandeur of the Papacy's churches. It seems to me this place has seen better days... centuries ago."

If the Republic Chosen Guard member had hackles, they would be raised at the comment. "Listen here, it was not until a raid by the Papacy months ago that this place was so badly damaged. It was a sight before then. Wealth does not make everything great... But a snob like you would be hard-pressed to understand." His eyes seem far off as he looks around. Just from his reaction, Alhvarharyis could tell that the fellow held great pride in the place. Perhaps he was a local, or maybe he had done work here in the past on the building. It was hard to say.

"Vielleicht haben Sie Recht," Alhvaharyis mused. He clapped the man on the shoulder lightly. "Fear not: soon, I will personally see the Papacy's grandest churches burned and reduced to nothing but rubble. This place, on the other hand, will still be standing. Mayhaps a sign of great construction, yes?"

Lothar interuppted the two and said "Peace, brothers. This is not a war council. I expect nothing but friendly discourse."

"What is more friendly than contemplating the blood of your enemies running through the streets, Lothar?" Alhvaharyis' smile was wicked.

The Republic man relaxes, but gives Alhvarharyis a somber look, "They are our kin, our countrymen. Their blood is the same as ours, though we may hate to admit... Remember, not all men loyal to them are the bastards that have poisoned our lands." He shakes his head and abruptly resumes his attention to the table as Davian strikes it.

"These men disgust me." Alhvaharyis aimed his thoughts at Lothar. "I find it only weak... the Papacy has proven time and time again it is the apex of human scum, yet here they speak of pity, and mercy. I have no intention of showing them either, come the time."

Lothar thought back "The people under the rule of the Papacy is not the papacy itself. It is... dangerous to consider both as one entity."

"I lived there," he snapped. "I am fully aware. No, those who are not priests are sheep, allowing themselves to be guided by a shepherd-butcher. That, perhaps, is an even greater sin. To live your life belatedly, never questioning, passively accepting any abuse thrown your way: this cannot be called living. It is why I am here. I am here to end this perverse cycle, and if it must end in fire, in fire it shall end. They shall be the fires of liberation."

Lothar shook his head and thought "Although I do not agree with living in ignorance, there is a reason as to why people say that ignorance is bliss and people like them choose to live in that blissful ignorance. It is easy to accept, especially when you believe that you have no power to change anything."

"And tell me," Alhvaharyis replied, in bitter triumph, "is that not the greatest weakness of man? The chains we bear because we choose to bear them, brought of our own stagnation, our inability to take control of our lives and define who we are? Is that not the greatest weakness of man?" He turned aside and shook his head. "This is pointless debate. I feel uneasy here. Something in the atmosphere is tense still."

Lothar nodded and thought "The fact that the Leader of the Templars can use magic is worrying and you claim that archers are above us... this entire meeting has forced everyone to cluster in this smallish church. This just feels wrong. For now, let's go by the stairs and lean on the walls nearby, but divert our attention back to the meeting so that it appears that we're just finding a more comfortable place. Then after a little bit just go up the stairs.I don't want to draw too much attention and make the people present annoyed."

Alhvaharyis nodded, curtly. "Lead on."

Both of the pair make their way to the stairs with no problem whatsoever. In fact, it would seem almost as if no one even cared. Sisera even gives a small nod of acknowledgement. After all, their point of being here was not just simply to oversee the treaty.

Going up the stairs, they will come to a crossroads. They could clearly see the way to the balcony outside, but extending both to their right and left were paths along to different rooms and across the open area where they could see straight down to the meeting still, there would be an almost mirror setup, save for the gateway outside. They have the choice to check the rooms or simply go outside and have a look around.

"I say we check the rooms first," Alvaharyis thought.

Coming across the first room, the duo carefully attempt to open the door to peer inside. Lothar slips through into the room where a single man sits in the center of the room, hunched over and praying at a shrine. Alhvaharyis in his attempt to move closer to look stumbles and knocks a table. Barely a noise, but it was enough to stir the elder man from his position who looks back. With a croaking voice he inquired, "What do you want with an old clergyman? The Gods have long since left... No one comes here anymore but wayward youth..."

Alhvaharyis was quick to raise his hands in a deferential gesture. Keeping his voice low but respectful, he replied: "We apologize for intruding upon your prayers. I did not realize this place was still inhabited... but tell me, Priester, who do you pray to? The gods will be hard-pressed to listen."

His face scrunches up for a moment as if it truly was something he had never thought about. After a moment the old man shrugs, "It is all I know. And though the Princess... Queen now... banished our gods, they may someday return... Faith, I must have faith." He nods and turns back to his small altar.

Alhvaharyis nodded to himself. "Perhaps if the gods do return, they will dispense justice, and your prayers will be answered." To Lothar, he thought: "Let's try another room."

Lothar nodded and left a parting message "Father, there are those who still believe despite the... recent departure of the gods. Faith is what will lead those who still believe to a bright future." as he began to step back towards the door in order to begin searching another room.

Alhvaharyis frowned at the last statement, but said nothing. He found it impossible to believe in gods weak enough to be banished by a mortal, but the mysteries of faith were something for him impossible to comprehend -- and he had learned questioning them would often earn you a one way ticket to finding out. Instead, he followed Lothar.

The next two rooms they come across have doors wide open and are absent of any life. Stumbling across the third, the door is locked, but Alhvaharyis, pressing his ear to the door can hear the faint noises from two sets of voices... Which would be better left unsaid. Apparently not everyone held respect for the gods or church still. Upon the fourth door, however... Opening the door, they find themselves staring directly at three armoured men, before either Lothar or Alhvaharyis can even react, one darts to the window and lets out a whooping call. The next thing you know, a shrill high-pitched shriek courses through the air followed by a thunderous bang and the screams of someone crying "Traitor!" from the archer's nest. The enemy was within the church.

Alhvaharyis' eyes widened. Drawing from his gut, animal instinct that rose within him that moment, he channeled his magic. He focused on the confused rabbit inside him and willed the soldiers -- the papacy bastards -- to feel the same.

Feeling Alhvaharyis' sudden channeling of magic, Lothar understood from Alhvaharyis' thoughts that he was trying to make the three men feel some sort of primal fear. If Lothar were to notice the three start wavering or show any signs of major fear, then we would use his unique ability to command the three to surrender. If the three were not affected, then Lothar would rush to the man with the mace who was half hanging out the window and try to push him out so that we would fall out of the building.

It would seem Alhvaryis was finally getting some luck as all three of the papacy's men begin to react. The two mercenaries each appear low in will as they begin to go into a sheer panic, fumbling with their bows to nock and aim. One manages to only spill his own quiver and become a sobbing mess. The metal armoured whistle blower, wide-eyed with terror appears to look for an exit to escape the unknown terror. He spies a ledge outside to make his escape and wildly makes a jump to it. Just barely, he makes it outside, armour scraping against the stone and hands clawing for purchase.

Seeing his opportunity, Lothar roars " THOU PLOTTING, DECEITFUL BASTARDS! LAY DOWN THY ARMS AND SURRENDER OR ELSE MAY THE GODS HAVE MERCY WHEN THOU ART SMITTEN"