Couer Warehouse

---

Ona's captivity was shameful to her but there was little she could do to change the past. Her ability was never something she was ashamed of but she was intimidated by Dae and indebted to Lucius and had thought her ability might have helped. Now she realized that the idea was almost frightening as it seemed.

For a moment, Lucius began to laugh as an understanding filled his senses. The ace now residing amongst their company would almost certainly bode ill for those wishing their assembly harm and under both Ona's watchful eyes and Dae's devious training, the resistance at least stood a prayer's chance. On the contrary, there were wolves and dangers residing within Conqvist's possession that threatened to shatter their very existence. The risks that lay before spoke of hardships beyond comprehension and Lucius had seen first hand what those in authoritative seats could accomplish should they have wished to completely and utterly wreck their foes. As the seconds passed into minutes, Lucius' laughter slowed before silence once again engulfed the cellar grounds.

Onatha was unsure what to believe amidst Lucius' laughter. She feared that he had mocked her and vowed to avert any mention of her abilities. She owed him much for it was Lucius who had awoken and rescued her. Dae simply made her nervous and provoked a considerable reason for unease. In retrospect, it did not at all seem ludicrous to note that Ona was in a percarious spot and she understood the reality that though she was indeed conscious it was due to Lucius' hand. Deep down in her heart, she felt that perhaps she did not truly deserve to remain in her awakened state.

Ever the calculating young man, the Prince's expression hardened as his mind raced through the realizations regarding just how mortal Voltas had become. Amongst the thousands of possible disasters looming from above; the dangers associated towards Ona's own life became all too jarring as fears of her capture and enslavement flooded his mind. Furthermore, the one reality more dangerous than any Sarifen division roaming from within Valania proper revolved around Conqvist's own seer. He had never exactly encountered any individual possessing super natural abilities, however, their existence had suddenly unveiled a much more bizarre aspect to the known world. As Ona glanced towards her adjacent companion, the elderly Michel only glanced once towards the tribal seer before offering a genuine smile, however, his expression spoke of both weariness and acceptance towards the realities affecting Valania Proper.

"Ona," he quickly began, "However well Dae and I may fling bombs, daggers, javelins, and shot towards our enemies; we cannot gaurantee your safety."

His eyes stared firmly as he placed a warm hand along the girl's shivering fingers and following a moment, a determinated and honest expression spilled across his face.

"On the contray," Lucius continued, "We would never enslave you in the vile manner you claim Girrant Orkiv's wardens managed to have conducted."

Onatha looked down at the table. "I know you would not enslave me. I worry more now that I have made you uncomfortable with me..."

The Prince unholstered a loaded pistol and carefully placed the firearm along the table before sliding the weapon, butt first in Ona's direction. Shot and powder followed suit as well as a gleaming dagger stolen from their earlier encounters against the Sarifen Sipahis. Alongside and separate from the newly placed weaponry, Lucius firmly set aside a gold ring, a handful of brass coins, and provisions before neatly arranging the materials. A test of wits and courage proved the next step, however, given the circumstances, fate had inevitably dealt a cruel hand towards the inhabitants' destinies. There were no second chances and once their hands were dealt, there would be no chance for mercy or amnesty.

Ona's position remained tenable and her background fell outside the conflicts concerning Carcassonne's woes and struggles. Her abilities and worth stood far more valuable than she realized, however, Ona's own freedom proved a deciding factor and however much Lucius pried or wished, he could not force the girl into their formidable struggles. Presently, only the gods could now alter their fates.

"The pistol is loaded and given the proper handling you will find its applications final and exacting towards those wishing you harm; however, provisions and wealth are also in your reach. The choice is yours, Ona, if you wish to walk away. You are free to depart our company, however, should you find yourself in harm's way Dae, myself, and Michel may not necessarily appear to offer urgent protection. On the contrary ... should you choose to stand by to aid our cause until the bitter end, consider yourself a part of the renewed Valanian resistance ..."

Onatha glanced upwards and then around towards her companions. She looked down at the table and bit her lip.

"I-I do not want your weapon Lucius," she stammered, "I do not want to walk away. I do not know this place. I just-"

He offered her a choice; a priviledge that she had not enjoyed in a very very long time. Onatha was a little unsure how to approach it. She certainly did not wish to seem too eager lest Dae and the others think her silly.

"If you think me useful I wish to stay." The green, unbroken pools of her eyes focused upon Lucius. "I wish to help as you helped me."

"Then we are happy you joined our company; Ona, and ... however much danger you, Dae, and I may encounter, we are not Emperor Aryanpour nor Sarife's scheming patricians." Lucius' determinable gaze narrowed upon the girl's green pupil-less eyes to match her own. "Of course, you must not mention your gifts to anyone under any circumstances."

"I will not say anything." Onatha looked at her hands once more. She was uncertain if Dae accepted Lucius' beliefs but she was certainly glad that he had still valued her company. She had only begun to understand just how rare and perhaps distressing her ability truly was.

Lucius himself treaded along thin ice, however, it was upon discerning Ona's answer that relief filled his senses. His hands quickly cleared the table as he moved to retrieve and return his weapons and munitions before his attentions strayed towards the ceilings where loud steps and audible commotion filled the cellar walls. The previous evening's massacre and horrors still lingered and the realities concerning the populace only served to further worry the Prince and his resolve.

"Are you certain you wish to refrain against carrying a firearm?" he inquired, "I simply cannot coat the realities or dangers surrounding our location, Ona. The commoner streets have grown increasingly mortal and I fear they shall only grow worse given the lack of food. Yesterday evening, you were there as we escaped the dockyards and as you yourself witnessed; brother and sister Valanians alike did not refrain against any hesitations to gut each other to seize meager food scraps. These are perilous times we live in, Ona, and the common folk won't hesitate to strip each other bare lest they butcher each other to serve their own mouths."

Onatha helplessly raised her arms in protest before answering, "I do not know how to fire that Lucius. Safer for me to use a sword or dagger. Perhaps someone can teach me to use it when it is not a trouble to anyone."

Nodding, Lucius sported his arm as pain flared in a most irritable fashion. The candles flickered and danced along the cellar walls amidst a nearby pit's crackling fires. His eyes betrayed a mask of a hardened warrior beyond his youthful and slightly boyish features. Vectisian Legionaries and Voltasian Kataphraktoi could have discerned the discipline drilled into their kind, however Ona's seasoning had only just begun.

"When we've more adequate time ... perhaps Dae and I will acquire more ample instruction opportunities. The scoundrels and soldiers prowling Voltas are numerous and shall show no mercy should they feel you pose any sort of threat."

Lucius's expression turned curious as his eyes met Dae before he managed to clear the tables. The immensely dangerous burdens involving screening the Lord Sovereign's where abouts as well as his surrounding aristocrat retinue had just become a reality. There was much to set into motion as his military minded background surfaced to father proper and cohesive strategies involving information gathering and tracking. To his knowledge, he'd heard only fables and tales regarding the super natural, however, logic and intellectual pursuits had adequately dismissed such notions as superstitious nonsense told to frighten young children into obedience. The world had suddenly turned several shades stranger and in the coming weeks, fate would decide how many more oddities would unveil before his eyes.

"Presently, time is short, given we've a dinner party to attend and if you truly wish to aid our cause, would you care to accompany Dae and I as we scout D'Aubigne's estate? Your abilities would uncover possible escape routes, alleyways, and corridors surrounding D'Aubigne's manor grounds."

Dae had listened silently as the two spoke whilst her only importance stemmed in the form of occasional smirks, raised eyebrows or other typical facial expressions she naturally wore. To Lucius' disbelief, the assassin seemed surprisingly unfazed by the new knowledge of Ona's supernatural gift, despite the notion that she had never exactly encountered the supernatural. Nevertheless, Dae had reached a point within her own life where she refused to allow anything to completely shock her. Her first encounters had nearly taken her life and follow those ordeals; a blade across the neck salted in Ivalian poisons had usurped all other forms of predictions. Instead she watched, eyes calculating and darting between her companions. The girl would certainly have her uses... And of course ... if she could not see this other seer that also proved the same in that Conqvist's seer could not see her. This would certainly factor into their favor if Conqvist had no way of seeing or know the core of this new rebellion.

"Three is a good number, in case we are delayed or thwarted," Dae added, in a neutral tone. She did not often mention or cherish either of the two remaining words given that the two were largely unacceptable and punishable to her Ivalian associates. What further complicated matters involved the irritable reality that she still did not trust Ona, more saw her use to their cause for the moment and would follow what Lucius wanted to do. Escaping one mortal encounter within the last seven or so hours had already soured her mood and she was not about to willingly risk herself a second time.

"Considering our current state," she continued before turning to address the Prince, "Though the two of us have suffered much worse and still survived to fight again." She gave a delicate shrug. "I am still currently better than many even as I carry the burdens of my injuries. Though a third able bodied person will aid in the general scouting." Her gaze moved back to Ona. "And, of course, when we have time we will teach you how to use a firearm." She was curious to gauge Ona's sword and dagger skills, though prolongued training proved an under-statement. If any of these assets could aid their cause and eventually bring about the Sarifens and that puppet Conqvist's undoing, Dae was quite happy to assist.

"The three of you; I wish you good luck," the elderly Michel voice as he rose, "I am sorry I cannot offer non-financial related guidance; however, I only understand negotiations and bartering involving Ivalian clients and they are as numerous as their distant colony states. If you are to dabble amongst the nobility, your minglings will require a certain delicacy and finesse only the most able minded may accomplish. Crossing any man within the Lord Sovereign's favor will almost certainly bring assured death; of course you always seem to find a way, Lucius, and even during the dire affairs, you and Dae seem to survive even the most mortal encounters. No matter what happens, you three are always welcome here."

Onatha nodded towards Dae, a small gesture of thanks for her offer to teach her to use a firearm. In Onatha's time there was no such thing and she was still getting used to the idea that such weapons existed but she reminded herself she needed to adapt and become familiar to this time. The times had now changed and however strange or objectionable she may have initially lfelt, she had come to realise that she was forced to accept her place within this age even if she was still a stranger. Distressing as it seemed, there would be no return to the places she knew.

"I will accompany you," Ona answered, "I wish to help in anyway I can."

She felt as if she were not really apart of them but she was used to that. Even in the library she was a tool to be used, not a person. At least now Lucius treated her kindly and for that she appreciated more than he could ever know. Even Dae, despite not knowing her was cordial to her; such politeness would not go unnoticed.

Once more Onatha became stock still and stared off into a distance only she could see. Her eyes flickered in the candlelight.

“Stone. There are walls around the home. A centre dome meets you when you enter.” She inhaled slowly. “Stairs leading up, bedrooms. A grand library and dining hall are on the main floor. There are servants but not so many you could not avoid them. A kitchen, great wood stove sits there and leaves them all warm.”

Her head tilted a little as if she had quizzically discerned a notable sight. “Wine. It flows here but more importantly are the cellars below.”

She pulled her attention away from the distant view and looked to her companions. “There are a few servants entrance, a stable and small coach house on the grounds. They are a decent size with grapevines and a well tended garden. What else would you like to know? I can tell you what tapestries hang where or which windows are currently opened to the night air.”

"The Ecuyer D'Aubigne and his servants," Lucius quickly shot, "Have you sighted anything out of the ordinary?"

"All seemed in the ordinary but since I do not know what their ordinary is I will have to look again in the morning to tell you of any changes." Onatha's eyes sunk before she apologetically glanced in his direction.

The Prince's face lost any notable expression before he answered. "I'm unsure if the morning will present any other superior opportunities given that the dinner invitation is set this evening. We must act accordingly or we may lose an opportunity we cannot afford."

"Then I cannot speak as to whether or not it is out of the ordinary. It does not seem unusual for a manor of that size but I do not know what happens there normally. I am really truly sorry, Lucius."

Sighing, Lucius nodded firmly before pacing across the cellar floors. After a time, the Prince frowned before beginning again, "If you must; it may prove more sufficient to discern where it is D'Aubigne treasures his escape routes ... or better yet, where it is his servants and informants hide to gather information. There is much Dae and I don't know and though I'm certain the resistance may know their ones and twos, their trustworthy qualities are at best treacherous. It has been over six months past since the day I left Voltas and therefore completely oblivious to the happenings at court. We must carefully plot D'Aubigne's estate before we are to proceed. I am uncertain if I feel ready to lose my life through a blind entry."

"Plot it out for you is something I can do. If you have parchement and a pen I can dictate the layout or even attempt to draw it out." Onatha offered. Giving them the layout of the villa and grounds was easier than knowing if the people were acting out of the ordinary.

A wicked smiled spread across Lucius's face as he directed his gaze towards Dae and for a moment, an understanding struck a notable chord within the enclosed, dockyard cellar. Even the elderly Coeur's frail face exuded confidence as the three set about gathering whatever objects their blonde seer required to fully prepare the manor blueprints. To Lucius it had become evident that they would face an age old reality involving insurmountable odds, facing largely unfavorable circumstances. They were only a handful, however, during this age, a worthy handful trumped any ace hidden beneath the most serpeantine of aristocratic, puppet-masters ...

---

Voltas Dockyards

---

The Voltasian dockyards appeared an unsightly location that housed seedy and questionable establishments few entered without leading double lives. The filthy streets certainly wreaked of fish, salt, urine, and abominable stenches few could tolerate and to find feces and waste lining the streets was not an uncommon sight. The squalid lack of care could not have proven more wretched to illustrate the deteriorating slum conditions to line the streets. Once beautiful and historically prominent avenues had overtime become criminal hovels for thieves and beggars and the poor lining the street corners. Talks of smashing certain districts under Conqvist's mandate occasionally happened to make way for better accomodations regarding new garrison outposts, market squares, Yadin-Hamon shrines, Inquisitorial boroughs, Sarifen dominated brothels, and strategically placed Crown Watch barracks.

Every night proved as miserable as it was a struggle for survival. The prosperity and generosity felt under King Lothair became distant memories, replaced by Conqvist's authority and governance. Coin alone could not make a living as much as the right connections and favor within distant Ivalian courts. The prevalent dirt, grime, and blatant architectural disrepair amidst the finely crafted, towering marble palaces, temples, and ornate houses lining the sections beyond the commoner districts did much to illustrate the nearly two decades' disrepair.

Only the dockyards and the various military barracks scattered through Voltas remained in any sort of acceptable condition. The remaining, aristocratically owned structures had since seen constant rennovations to fill the merchants districts as well as the noble's quarters. The landmarks could not have seemed more trivial or as much a blemish to Abdullah and Ashour. One required a means to earn a living and the generous payments delivered to his pouches did much to earn his steady employment. The rest could burn for all he cared, however, if the Sovereign's gold lined his pockets, he would deliver. Gold was gold and under the Regency, who could reject the Sovereign's favor? Who else could allow talent to rot in the gutters? Clearly the Lord Sovereign's practically extended towards the bold and clever footed scoundrels.

This afternoon, the proper precautions and critical instructions had forced the two to linger across the streets and amongst the filth and trash. Weeks old droppings, bones, vomit, and various unwanted rubbish lay all along the surrounding streets as they hid in the shadows beneath a pile of hay to observe the new arrivals. Not long after they spotted the leader disappear within the room, did Abdullah issue quiet whistle.

Through the rugged man's rugged features and his accompanying retinue's heavy armaments, Abdullah knew he'd found his man. He'd since opted for stealth and patience against outright brute force and during this moment, he'd since not exposed himself nor Ashour. It was time and place to properly strike and Abdullah found no other perfect opportunity. The adrenaline coursing through his veins threatened to expose the glee that engulfed his mind and provoked his motions through his hay section.

Within short order and success in alerting Ashour's attention, Abdullah had carefully maneuvered himself through the horse stables before straddling through the necessary methods to the procure the beasts. A quick glance towards the doors had illustrated exactly what the Sovereign's instructions had dictated and not one to question orders, sunk to the shadows as a passing Garrison patrol stalked past the interior window slots.

Some details were best left unexplained and Abdullah was one to acknowledge his role as the deliverer within a wider and more sinisterly machined scheme. The intelligence had thus proven highly effective and proven how dangerous the Lord Sovereign's authority could dispense certain interests within his very grasp. Alongside Ashour, the thief hadn't believed his fate should rest outside the Sovereign's graces and that the ruler's favor was a very very decisive hand to keep regarding his fortunes and survival. There would be nothing he couldn't accomplish properly without choosing sides. Abdullah was practical and once the deed was done, he would enter the closest bath, find a nice woman to bed while drowning himself in fermented sherberts of the highest alcoholic strength. Even as he withstood the stench of the horse droppings, nearby human decay, and filth lined streets, his mind carefully counted the minutes as Conqvist's instructions had dictated.

Then ... the final moment arrived as Ashour's powdered charges detonated against the stable walls. The shrieks escaping the mounts provoked a commotion throughout the holding cells and offered the necessary distractions to scale the beasts. Without wasting another moment, Abdullah's motions quickly illustrated his role as he rapidly rolled under a miniature slit hole along the lower wall section before seizing a rope leading towards the rooftops. Moments later, a cloth canvas descended as the roof's suddenly lit to bath each of the street's surrounding windows in a brilliant, blinding brightness. Many upper floor tenants peered outwards only to find their sights blinded through the stable's, mirror laden roof. Few failed to notice two mounted thieves as they raced through the filthy streets and away from sight ...

---

Nezam Stronghold - Merchant's Quarter

---

"For that which is the people's defense, and the land ..."

This was the Nezam official statute and each warrior upheld a strict oath of loyalty, dedication, and unwavering defense in Sarife's name, answering only to the Emperor and his family. Their roots had been handed from generations and their professionalism was unrivalled throughout Carcassonne as potent, skillful, educated, and highly disciplined soldiers. Long ago, after Sarife had regained its independence, emplaced laws had ensured that Nezam traditions and reforms were both preserved and upheld to avert decline in prowess and nepotism amongst the ranks and selection institutions.

The previous night's events had inevitable evolved into a nightmare only conceived and wished from the most wretched minds. As a Boluk-bashi, Adarkhordad did his best to uphold his obligations in Sarife's defense, however, he was at a loss as to conducting his own duties in the face of the upstart Paighans. All around the barracks grounds, men of optimal age stood in constant state of readiness whilst performing a variety of deployment preparations.

Untirr Thaksin was one such fellow Boluk-bashi and his presence amongst the Nezams stood as one of the many shining examples of exemplary service in the greatest call to arms that resembled defending Sarife's imperial sovereignty. This day, Untirr stood as one of the handpicked officers that had come from a surprisingly talented generation. Together; their officer class stood on the path to the Nezamnite Corps' next officerial corps as had Adarkhordad and out of the many boys that had survived the journey from deep within Sarife's heartlands, he and Untirr had surpassed the most rigorous examinations to embark upon the journey to Orad to become one of Emperor's bodyguards. Their entry as a fellow commanders and leaders saw to the immense responsibilities involved in the Corps' continued survival.

The morning had brought a multitude of visitors, both common and aristocratic alike as news of the Sarifen Prince's grave condition spread through the city in a wildfire manner. All around the walled compound, laborers, servants, matrons, and attendants hustled through the various courtyards and open spaces to prepare the Nezam Stronghold for complete and utter readiness. The tensions that had arisen the previous evening had sparked a discord amongst the ruling aristocrats and Paighan commanders. The blatant incident at the docks had undoubtedly surfaced a distrust between the Paighans and the ancient, high born aristocracy.

Men such as himself and Untirr would serve the Empire's interests aside from the petty squabbles that arose between the various aristocratic factions and power circles. As far as Adarkhordad was concerned, the Nezam-e-Jadid had always remained a small institution and their numbers seemingly remained a shadow of the herculean strengths the various Paighans offered. The Nezam Corps' strict dedication to warring disciplines had always ensured their distinction and startling success on the field as completely competent and reliable military professionals.

While Valania Proper's upper echelons were busy establishing the directives to establish martial law along a divisional basis, Adarkhordad was tasked with ensuring the Nezam's walled stronghold and its defenses while the Nezam officers and warriors assembled for full mobilization. As the compounds and military quarters bustled with activity, Adarkhordad and his entourage remained in robed uniform as they had throughout the entire day. The field surgeons had been dispatched to offer guidance alongside the doctors as they operated feverishly through the night to save Prince Bahramesh. Upon arrival, the Prince seemed gravely ill and rushed through the hospitaller ward's doors amidst a sea of Zhayedans, doctors, matrons, corps soldiers and officers. Adarkhordad was instructed to establish a perimeter to guard the hallways and out compound passages, but had not seen the Prince.

During the night, he and the Nezamissaries held station along the various barricades erected along the many street corners whilst others stood guard near the passage leading towards the bastion's maternity wards. There, men such as Untirr and other Nezam soldiers and corps officers stood watch alongside the small Zhayedan Guard cadre. Amidst initiating a soldier head count, his eyes immediately darted towards the parting doors as orange cloaked Zhayedans burst through the passage to establish a perimter before a corps surgeon and doctor arrived through the passage, hands and apron bloody. Stiffening to attention, Adarkhordad's eyes strayed towards a higher ranking the mustached man wearing a dark turqoise overcoat, cotton shirt, stripes, and red salvar. The two knew him as none other than the Zagarji-bashi of the fifth orta.

"Adarkhordad, Untirr, be ready to array your men into a standard line positions along the hallway and outer walkways. The Prince is alive, but we must keep his rooms and routes safe and the Bozorgan's men away. Whatever happens, you are free to shoot and kill any trespassers on sight. No one enters this stronghold, do you understand me?"

Adarkhordad saluted as his eyes and attention diverted towards an stronghold balcony where the sounds of crashing cymbals were heard amidst a trumpet, drum, pipe, and zurna performed fanfare. The sixth and twenty fifth ortas were departing the stronghold for assignment around the bastion's barricades. Other reserves stood at attention and awaited their calls to action. Scattered reports through the city spoke of various clashes between various Paighans regiments whose commanders owed allegiance to various Sarifen lords and patricians. The capital garrison had largely mobilized around the gates and established various checkpoints, however, their presence remained a strange reminder towards the tensions between the local populace and the various factions within Voltas. This would be a test of arms and all claimed to fight in Emperor Anoush's interests. There would be no room for grey; only to whichever liege or lord one retained their loyalties ...

---

Château de D'Aubigne Cellar Depths - Noble's Quarter

---

Inquisitor Cauchon had witnessed over several dozen heresies unfold before his eyes and served under Saren's leadership for over two decades to understand the potency witches and sorcerers could inflict upon their victims. No matter how many denizens they stormed and infidels set to the stake, hundreds more always lurked in the shadow. He was no stranger to the strange super natural dangers that could unleash upon the countryside at any given moment as did associations with evil spirits and demonic entities of unspeakable, latent strengths.

The sight laying before him delivered a creature not found since the Inquisition's very formation. That the barely conscious figure that resembled a man proved somewhat astonishing, yet as a steadfast Inquisitionist, Cauchon held his emotions at bay. The more heavily armed Inquisitorial Wardens had firmly escorted the heretic into the well stocked wine cellar in the dead of night and away from prying eyes. Following necessary precautions, they'd firmly restrained the prisoner enough to safely depart. The heretic lay chained along a particularly secluded wall section away from the more travelled cellar routes where servants operated.

Yadin-Hamon's authority had inevitably stood firmly and those that desecrated his very existence were without redemption. As such, the condemned heretic's sins had already sealed his fate and owing to the iron mask that covered his face, its seals bound him to the Inquisition's will. The man rightly knew the consequences associated towards escape and had been thoroughly warned. Any attempts to remove the mask would quickly ensure his immediate death and self-preservations towards the demonic entities residing within his body. His identity could not be known to any prying eyes and remained one of the many particular reasons that had inevitably sealed his fate.

"You are to remain here until a time in which your services are required. The debt owed to Yadin-Hamon's blasphemy is unspeakable, however; perhaps particular actions may hold merits towards granting redemption. Attempt escape or mask removal and you will find seventeen demons vying for power within your body. Appear late and the mask's wards shall fail and your mind shall be devoured most horribly. You are a wretched creature and your atonement is lacking. You have been thoroughly warned, traitor, and should you again defile Yadin-Hamon, you will die and alone the blame shall fall to none other than your own wretchedness. The Lord Sorvereign will arrive soon if you stand properly there shall be hope for you yet or the demons will prove the least of your worries ..."

---

Château de D'Aubigne Courtyards - Noble's Quarter

---

The lavish inner reception stood paramount towards the Château de D'Aubigne. Life in the Merchants and Noble's Quarters proved a much more comforting affair and the residencies housed little to no lodgings save respectable inns, coach, and boarding houses. The Châteaus and Villas doting the Voltasian Heights proved as much a chance of extragant social dueling as they were residencies and Château de D'Aubigne proved no different.

A stark contrast had not become more evident following entry through the Gates and Valois Walls that separated the higher classes. The avenue routes through the Noble's and Merchant's Quarters passed through the winding Voltasian streets where neither beggars nor commoner rabble were to be found in this part of the capital. The recent prosperity brought through Ivalian commerce had almost certainly allowed for resident villas near the estates, where upon, Ivalian aristocrats and land owning tennants had begun to occupy manor estates and châteaus owned by ancient Valanian families.

The spacious Château de D'Aubigne proved a sight of comotion as horses driven carriages had begun to rumble through the coaching grounds to deliver their occupants. The sea of bright lanterns dotting the walkways and frothing fountains only further enhanced the mood as the day reached sunset. It was almost as if the Yadin Hamon shined upon D'Aubigne and in setting sun's midst, the golden rays illuminated the manor grounds into a soft, glittering glow.

As more guests arrived as was expected, the gathering would truly begin. One could handsomely profit through proper introductions that could either forge or end an individual's political career. Equally so, one could certainly earn powerful attention or ire through dress alone for to enter the ball was to enter a dueling ground of considerable politics, fueled only more fervently through Sarifen appearances. Various aristocrats of Sarifen and Valanian heritage as well as several hailing from Ivalis littering the manor grounds weaved and frothed through the assembled courtly circles and already gossip and whispered murmurs began to emerge of the dockyard's massacre as well as questions regarding when the Lord Sovereign would address Sarife's numerous and unruly Paighans. As commotion filled the air, several guests had outpaced their company through drink consumptions.

Chilled wines, champaigne, and rare cocktails cluttered every servant's tray whilst appetizers ranging from ordinary delicacies to the exceedingly exotic floated across the manor grounds. All the same, comedial Jesters danced and leap through the crowds performing dazzling acrobatic displays whilst richly silk dressed scholars sat indoors as they discussed and recited poetry amidst tea and hashish. Notable guests had already begun to flock through the coaching ground accompanied as attendants and retainers escorted both prominent guests and aristocrats retinue.

The sights, smells, laughter, and cheerful music coursed through the adjacent avenues surrounding the lush château's rather enclosed location. The dinner platters were purportedly said to enter through the kitchen doors where an array of finely prepared foods of notable cuisines would be served throughout the lush garden estate's courtyards and dining hall ; a dabble of Sarifen cuisines with Valanian and Ivalian. A hush fell over the convening circles as loud gallops, drums, and large trumpet calls burst through the Château courts. A modest retainer troop entered the Coaching Grounds as attendants gathered enmasse to receive the arriving carriage. Upon halting, the halberd carrying retainers drilled into strict formation to form a spacious path leading towards the Chateau's courts. Those nearest the Coaching grounds assembled along the walkways before removing their decorated hats before kneeling in secession as the Lord Sovereign himself emerged through the holes of his lavish carriage ...

Château de D'Aubigne Courtyards - Noble's Quarter

---

"This is absurd! Did you see him Ona?!" Lucius whispered, "That bastard Conqvist. He's here!"

Onatha nodded slowly. She was focused on looking, at the carriage, at the people and what she could see behind the scenes but her ears listened to Lucius. "I did. I saw him."

Her words held little emotion. Right now she did not hold quiet the same vehemence as the others but she as not entirely happy either. She was not of these people so while the hatred was not there, there was still anger and disgust. She had bore witness to what happened in the streets. One simply had to be alive to know that things were not right.

"There are many people here."

"Nobility, inbred Sarifen high borns, and Ivalian harpies," Lucius swiftly answered as a Sarifen couple suddenly blocked his sight, "Follow in my stead and do try to remain inconspicuous! We need not expose ourselves amidst this serpeant's den."

Without another word, the Prince bowed as the Lord Sovereign traversed past. His gaze remained along the Chateau grounds and in so doing, dismissed the Lord Sovereign's attention. The women, mostly prominent Ivalian aristocrats and by nature, wealthy merchants littered the Chateau, discussing the status regarding imports, whilst remarking upon familial happenings and the latest in garments and notable fabrics.

Onatha curtsied to the man as he passed, following Lucius' lead. "Nobilty has not changed over time. It is as it always was." Her tone was slightly apathetic. "Of course." She would do nothing to bring attention to herself. Her role was at Lucius' side to tell him what she saw.

"I would not know," Lucius hissed, "As far as I recall, the Sarifens do not take kindly to those not benefitting toward their standings and I would trust a Sarifen patrician as much as I'd treat snarling jackal."

"It is as it always was. Nobility looking down on those below them. Family's breeding with only those they see fit. It is all I mean." She looked at him, a nod of apology for speaking out of turn.

"On the contrary, you may find that our Ivalian visitors are not quite as ruthless, however, I find their merchantile demeanor rather mercenary and entirely unscrupulous."

Onatha blinked once. "I would think I would not do much to meet anyone so perhaps you can tell me about them sometime." She wasn't here to socialize, she was here to be quiet and relay information.

Oblivious, the Regent stalked past amidst the blaring trumpets. Following a short fanfare, the walkways exploded in festival as jesters, fire breathing performers, and juggling dancers peeled away to mix amongst the halberd carrying retainers. The sounds of flutes, incessantly light laughter, and rippling lyres carried into the mix and in a show of lively spirits, many guests rose to offer an arousing applause. Elsewhere, Conqvist's suspicious Crown Watchmen stood guard as they eyed the crowds for any notable troublemakers. There would be none this evening and amidst his welcoming applause, the Regent set about greeting various guests, both Sarifen and Ivalian alike.

Onatha looked to where the regent had gone. "He is greeting people. Servants are working in the kitchen. There are guards everywhere." She turned to face Lucius. "What do you wish to do now?" She wasn't sure if he wished to remain in the shadows in one spot or slowly circle the party. It was crowded but it would serve them better for blending and avoiding notice.

"To enjoy the gathering whilst we mask Conqvist himself," Lucius answered, smiling. Shortly afterwards, the Prince rose and had summoned a passing servant before seizing a sizzling kabob stacked in baked Ivalian fruits and well cooked fish, "You must savor this Ivalian morsel!"

Onatha looked at the food Lucius grabbed. She gingerly took one from the tray as he had. She held it in her hands waiting for it to cool. "I have never eaten like this." She looked at the food, intrigued. Her eyes shifted to Lucius, waiting for him to take a bite first.

"My my ... I must say! He's certainly become much thinner," the Prince whispered, "Last I recall, the Regent sported several chins. Strange how the months may change a man ..."

"Thinner? How does one lose weight when one eats like this?" She eyed the food, her stomach rumbling a little. She was not used to rich foods or anything so plentiful. She took a small nibble of the kabob.

"Through certain... strenuous activities," Daedhel spoke quietly, eyes glancing around. She had stuck close to Lucius and Onatha for the short time they had been there, curtseying low as Conqvist went past and keeping her eyes on the ground just in case the fury and hatred she held within herself escaped the cold mask on the outside. The rest of the time she merely spent observing.

Onatha looked at Daedhel and tilted her head as if thinking on her comment. Green pools shone as her eyes widened. "Oh." Her head turned and looked to where Conqvist walked amongst the party goers. "I see."

She placed her food back on tray as a servant passed. Her appetite had turned. She had spent too much time as a slave in the past. Her arms wrapped about herself a little.

Laughter filled the courtyards as performers and musicians delivered catchy tunes and mesmerizing dances in the form of their instruments. The panduras, rhoptron, tambourines, various lyres, and aulos all formed a synchronized melody whilst the dancers leaped and whirled into circles. Lucius could not help, but stare as several scantily dressed young girls leaped through the crowds whilst twirling and fluttering silk streamers over their heads.

Various guests peeled away to watch as more laughter and clapping engulfed the marble courtyard floors and as the dancers stepped to the beat. Amidst an arousing applause, a lone orator loudly hauntingly expelled a convicing tale of Ivalia's founding of Midia, the jewel of Ivalian civilization as well as the grace mother Athirat bestowed upon her daughters as they formed sisterhoods to expanded across the seas.

Dae glanced around, eyes skimming over the various guests that she could see and mostly ignoring the entertainment and ignoring the music that filled the air as she tried to concentrate more on the conversations between the guests around her. Who knew what interesting information she could pick up purely through listening. She frowned slightly as she followed Lucius' gaze, but did not comment. "We should do what we came here to do, rather than getting distracted."

"Dae, Ona," Lucius hissed as ravishing male performers flirtatiously whirled around his companions. Simultaneously, several curvaceously figured girls danced in his direction, provoking the Prince to sink further into the crowds to avoid their mesmerizing performances.

"This is all rather temptuous," he hissed again, "However, I am sensing something awfully wrong about this gathering. Our performers are primarily Ivalian and Valanian and I fear that the Ecuyer maybe testing our abilities. Presently, I am finding Conqvist's presence increasingly difficult to track. Let us not lose sight of his whereabouts!"

"Of course something is wrong," Dae replied in a slightly sharp tone, eyes narrowing as she ignored the dancers around them. Craning her neck slightly she struggled to even see where Conqvist had gone. While her short stature often came as an advantage for infiltration and going around without being detected, it did not help here. "You would think that he would be easier to track," she murmured. "It's not like he shuld be trying to hide himself." She shook her head slightly. "Maybe if we move somewhere quieter, with less... distractions and tall people around he will be easier to find?"

"Yet again, we find ourselves of similar minds," Lucius flatly answered, "Of course, I do recall our last encounter involving like-minded suspicions and ... I'm certain you relish the notions of keeping your firearms loaded. You remember a familiar name, spelling the words Vercelli Heights, don't you?"

"Firearms loaded, and knives within easy reach," Dae responded. Of course, that was most often the case for her. She was always prepared. "I do remember the name, of course." She glanced up at Lucius, gaze almost scrutinizing. "I'm not sure of the relevance, however." She shrugged slightly with a thoughtful frown. "I believe that the best course of action is to continue to try and blend in, however we should try move some to a place where it is easier to track Conqvist. And, of course, be prepared for something to happen. Because it undoubtedly will." After all, she had been invited to this event in the first place. That in itself was suspicious.

"Somehow, I fear you fail to realize how much you put your kind to shame, Dae," Lucius playfully answered as he tilted his glass. His eyes remained fixated upon the thinly wasted Lord Regent as his laughter boomed across the courtyards. The man's smile proved to have intoxicated his Ivalian company as they swept their richly colored tunics across the floors. Several moved to whisper into the man's ear, earning a dirty grin amidst the evening's revelries.

"My kind?" Dae raised an eyebrow, before rolling her eyes.

"To be perfectly honest, Dae, it's not of our lives I fear tonight; it's that of our foes. I pray you shall keep several alive for questioning; otherwise, our endeavors may inevitably prove fruitless ..."

Early Evening - Commoner Districts - Dockyard Inn

---

Korkud wasn't sure whether he was dreaming or not. His eyes felt open, and the environment around him was that of the place where he had been sleeping. But there were a few things wrong with it - such as the tall woman sitting by the end of his bunk. She wasn't supposed to be there. But there she was, somewhat older than last he had seen her. Her lips were somewhat poutier now, and her face was bearing slight wrinkles. ''How long has it been, Korkud? 15 years?'' The groaning and the following silence she got as an answer was seemingly unsatisfactory. ''Still the clenching? You haven't been using the medication I told you, have you?'' She placed her hand on Korkud's cheek. ''It's alright. Open your mouth.'' And Korkud did so, leaving out a wheezing gasp, followed by a bunch of dry coughs. ''If it weren't for your dreams we wouldn't be seeing each other at all, and you waste time just grinding your teeth? Silly.''

Korkud was finally able to speak properly, yet what he was able to voice was no more than a single word. ''What?'' The woman smiled. ''I'm here to wake you up. Just wanted to stop by for a chat before I did it.'' On Korkud's face was no more than a fearful smile, like a child caught by his mother. ''I want you to know, Korkud. I'm watching you. Now, time to wake up.'' The woman put a simple kiss on Korkud's lips. He was able to answer with a flat 'wait' before he got slapped in the face, and suddenly, the room was empty. He hastily got up, not unlike a cat splashed with water, and frantically looked around the room. In his head was an ache so strong he felt like bashing his head to the wooden wall. He decided to open the window, get some clean air. And suddenly, there was an explosion, followed by sounds of fearful horses.

In only a matter of seconds, Korkud had armed himself with his entire arsenal, hidden the stripped saddle underneath his bed, and rushed to the lower floor, where he found Fadl shooting towards unknown figures from a gate, with the innkeeper crouching behind him. ''Stolen?'' Fadl immediately turned towards Korkud. ''Yes, Ghazi.'' On his face was a look of sadness brewing from the fact he had failed his suzerain and friend. 'Great,' Korkud thought - 'first day in Voltas, and we've already been robbed of our horses.' He sighed. ''Ashradar?'' Fadl closed his eyes and put his head down for half a second. ''Outside, Ghazi. Short time ago he was a street away, seemed to be on lookout.''

But Korkud seemed to be not listening, checking the stables instead. Only their horses were stolen - and from the looks of it, it was quite a professional job. He took a sniff from the air, trying his best not to clench his teeth. She was watching, after all. ''Regular thieves wouldn't use gunpowder. Specific job. Probably the man who sent the courier.'' He turned to Fadl. ''Check the room, make sure your equipment isn't stolen. Hide it. Then check on Ashradar.'' Fadl nodded and rushed up the ladder once more, towards the room. As Fadl rushed off to do the tasks, Korkud turned his attention towards the innkeeper. ''Who did this?'' The bald man turned at him. ''I don't know, sir.'' Korkud nodded his head with an accepting expression. ''Any ideas?'' The man's expression was the same.

"As I said before, I know nothing of the so-'' Before the man could finish his sentence, Korkud furiously latched his hand onto the man's fat, oily neck and pulled him out of his cowering spot, and threw him over a table covered with bottles and half-empty dishes. Following a short scream, the man opened his eyes and wiped the wine and glass shards from broken bottle off his battered face, he found the wide tip of Korkud's sword facing him. The innkeeper was a smart man, and did not want to disappoint Korkud's expectations.

The innkeeper's attention snapped towards a nearby stairwell where several young boys and a woman appeared. Blood seeped down the man's face, yet the sad and desparate expression he gave his boys proved enough to provoke their gasps. The aproned woman mangaed to seize one boy yet her hands alluded the other.

"Babaaaaaa," one of the boys tearfully screamed as he rushed towards the armed man, "Stop hurting babaa!"

"Kurush, no," the innkeeper scolded, "Don't come any closer! Baba has business and debts to settle."

The boy only cried further as the woman seized his neckline before wrapping an arm around his face. Her weary expression only further enhanced the notions that family suffered under the harsh times. The floors creaked as she heaved the struggling boys towards the stairwell and in the ensuing attempt, knocked over several stools and chairs.

"This way boys," the woman fearfully whispered, "Babaa must keep the roof under our heads and earn money for us to eat so be good and leave our visitors alone to finish their business. Mamaa will take you to the kitchens so we can make Sangak for later, yes?"

Moments later, the door shut, granting Korkud and the innkeeper their peace...

---

''Children,'' Korkud quietly spat. He hated kids. If they were not badgering for food or sweets, they were always either shouting, crying, or demonstrating their horrible inefficiency at fighting or any other useful labors. But they were seeds. It was necessary to conceive and nuture children. One simply fostered a greater legacy through youthful training and fair discipline. He had a child once, he remembered. He was dead now. The woman who had given birth to the boy was dead too. The woman's father was dead, as was Darya; in fact, everyone was dead.

"Babaaaaaa," one of the innkeeper's boys had cried. He had taken a passing glance at the dark-skinned, dirty haired kid. ''Miserable.'' He did not like listening to the wailing of children. It made his ears ring. Thankfully, the innkeeper and his wife had taken them away. Any longer, and he would have taken the matter in his own hands. The ringing in Korkud's ear felt somewhat better now, and he was much more willing to listen to the innkeeper now.

"Sir," the man sighed a relieving breath before whimpering, "If you do not kill me, I would promise to deliver you to those who might know who is responsible!''

Korkud pulled the man up and pushed him to sit on a chair. ''Speak.''

"Please do not kilI me! I must look after my wife and sons! If you want to find who is responsible it is the Valanian resistance," the balded man fearfully whimpered, "I know this because they are the culprits and the reason for much of the city's madness! There is not even enough to eat and yet they still manage to roam the streets. They know where to hide and how to smuggle weapons, gunpowder, and supplies through the city!"

'Resistance?' Korkud had not heard much of them. Mostly because his intelligence was not centered around Voltas. Mistake. Now, it was a possibility that they had his horses. Big mistake. Of course, he did not expect a Valanian resistance group to find him in the middle of the Akha mountains - he did not do away with the possibility that it was all planned, by someone else. ''Tell me more.'' His jaw clenched, and as if feeling an incoming reprimand by the ghost of his lover, he opened it with some difficulty. ''Locations. Names. Valid info, and you keep the five coins meant for the horses.'' He took a few steps back. Fadl and Ashradar were here.

In his bid to rise and guide the armed leader towards the stairwell, the man clumsily stumbled before colliding through a particular table edge. Wincing, the keeper painfully seized his leg as his face dripped with sweat and blood that had inadvertantly also coated his cloak.

"You will not find a man more affluent than a certain noble living in the Noble's Quarter for he is wealthier than any Valanian I have ever heard of save perhaps the Lord Sovereign himself!"

Groaning, the keeper dabbed several cuts along his eyebrows in his bid to retrieve embedded glass shards across his forehead. His gasps and winces did nothing to alleviate the armed leader who had since appeared to grow increasingly impatient. He was not a man to anger or infuriate his tenants and given how low the times had truly become; dismissing what little business that still fluctuated through this part of Voltas proved as unwise as it was to entice his family's demise.

"You asked for information and names to aid in finding your horses so I will tell you everything I know," he uttered, "If it is information you want, the man responsible would be none other than Frederic D'Aubigne and his associates. The Valanian is an Ecuyer and will know who is responsible for he is perhaps the wealthiest Valanian alive and the most credible patron to offer the resistance their material support!"

Wincing again, the balded proprieter expressed a loud gasp as blood seeped across his neckline and in wiping his face, smeared dried scabbing over his temples. "The Valanian resistance are not known to share their information outside their own circles and there is a chance they will kill any who they suspect to infiltrate their ranks. D'Aubigne is also known to conduct his business under his watchful eyes. From what I hear, he is a very busy man and only convenes with those he trusts or wishes to conduct business. You must believe me! I do not know anything beyond what I have seen or heard and if there is anything you must know, it is that it is nearly impossible to associate in his company without a proper introduction or business partnership."

"Blood. So much blood ..." he weakly uttered as his panting grew heavier. Through repeated swallows and dimming eyes, the innkeeper continually quivered upon sight of his wounds.

''D'Aubigne.'' The man who had called him to Voltas - the man who knew he was still alive - was a particular associate of the D'Aubigne. Seigneur de Beauvais, Ecuyer de Aubigne. And now, here this bald man was, talking about a Frederic D'Aubigne. A wealthy man, a supporter of the resistance, why would he need Korkud? Was this horse thievery a way to attract more attention (unnecessary, if the man knew Korkud any)? If the man was as wealthy as he was said to be, why would he need a bunch of horses? Korkud found it odd. The men, these D'Aubigne people, they had a lot to answer for, to quench the gnawing questions inside his mind, to instill Korkud with even more tension. The resistance, the horse thieves, the invitation.. There were too many questions, and nowhere near enough answers.

He turned to Fadl and Ashradar. ''Help the man,'' he said, pointing at the innkeeper. When they neared, he stopped them. ''Afterwards, find the thieves,'' he said in a whisper, to make sure the innkeeper would not hear it. ''When you find them, you know what to do. I have to visit somewhere.''

---

Mid Evening - Commoner Districts - Dockyard Streets

---

In the chaotic streets of Voltas, Fadl was able to see a certain pattern of mayhem that was obviously indicating the path the horse thieves had followed. It was foolish of him to not use his musket instead of his pistols, but the explosion had caught him by surprise, and he had to give credit to the thieves as well - they were quick. It was possible that he had wounded one of them, but it was also possible the man had simply flinched from one of the many obstacles a man or horse could face while galloping through the miserable, thick and narrow city streets. The explosion was also bound to attract attention. The mirror trick was also good - but it was not sensible in this context. It would attract more attention compared to the eyes it would blind. And they were unaware of one last thing, one thing so crucial that skipping over it would cause very big problems. That thing they were unaware of was Fadl. But now, what was more important was Ashradar - orders were to be followed. And for Fadl, finding someone that he had known for 15 years was easier than pronouncing a long word. And indeed, not far away from where he had last seen him, he saw him. Perhaps to test himself, or perhaps to merely entertain himself, he sneaked up to the boy and put his hand on his shoulder, while trying to keep a fair distance as to not risk a fatal reflex from the boy.

''The horses got stolen. We'll be here longer than expected.''

Ashradar had merely been moving in circles around the inn, though with each passing moment, his paths became increasingly erratic. He was but one person and could barely notice all possible suspicious behaviour. Still, it allowed him to ignore the fatigue that threatened to set in and feel slightly more comfortable with the area. At the very least, if he knew the surrounding cityscape, he would almost certainly discern a means for an escape. The weapons he carried on him were all within close reach. Just in case. Though the young man was quite perceptive enough to discern and gauge his surroundings he failed to notice Fadl's presence until just after sensing a hand along his shoulder.

In a split second reaction, Ash chose to unsheath his sword over his bow after instinctively deciding upon the quicker weapon to draw. This quickly evolved into a catlike whistling pivot as the young warrior immediately lunged towards Fadl, tip first. It was upon discerning the man's identity that he apologetically lowered his sword before rightfully returning it within its sheath.

"Stolen? How?" Ash looked perplexed, before letting out a soft curse. Even as he spoke he turned to head back to the inn, quite sure that there was a reason Fadl had been sent for him and it was most likely to bring him back. "Is Ghazi Korkud annoyed?" Though that was quite likely, he felt it necessary to ask. After all it told him whether to tread carefully upon reaching the inn, or not. Of course Ash was always careful about what he said. But it was better to know, than not.

As he expected, the boy had reacted in quite a dangerous matter. Thankfully he was also trained enough to halt himself. Life was easier for Fadl when people did things he usually would have to do. He was looking at the inn while talking. 'Afraid?' And, as if answering, he asked about Ghazi Korkud. 'Afraid.' He sighed, rolled his barely seen eyes, and then licked his lower lip before speaking. ''When isn't he annoyed?'' He did not understand why people were afraid of Ghazi Korkud. He was a good man, so long as you did what you were asked. And Ashradar was not ordered to take care of the horses, the innkeeper was. And he was the one who was going to pay for it, after all. ''He's the same as always. Now let's go, before he really gets annoyed.'' Fadl nodded with his head towards the inn and then started to walk back towards the inn.

"True," Ash responded with a slight shrug, quickening his pace as they began to head back to the inn. "Yes, it would certainly be best if we got back quickly." The young man felt quite tense and though he hid it well, it was noticeable in the slight clenching of his hands and the way he looked about. It was a combination of factors really. This entire place put him on edge. And having to stay any longer? That was quite a terrible thought. "How long do you think we will be staying?" He doubted that horses were in large supply here.

Fifteen years. Ashradar was still afraid. Maybe it was owed to Fadl's talent for seeing such things, or perhaps he simply knew well Ashradar too well. ''For as long as Ghazi Korkud orders us to.'' He walked through a crowd near the inn and waited for Ashradar to come as well. The boy was following close. ''Good.'' He stopped by the inn entrance, near the gaping hole on the wall. Before Ashradar could continue, he blocked his way with one hand, and, after feeling him bump into his arm, turned back to him. ''Just a word of advice - relax.'' He entered the inn. There was some blood on the floorboards, and an overturned table. One hand went to his shaska instinctively, but relaxed after seeing Ghazi Korkud next to the innkeeper, who was trying to close a small gash on his face. He had left for a minute and already Ghazi Korkud had started working. He leaned back onto a wooden pillar. The interrogation was not over yet, it appeared to him.

---

Many blazing torches burned as brightly as a wavering red aura over crenellations doting what resembled an aging, yet well constructed stronghold deep within Voltas itself. Once a monumental fortification within Voltas' ancient history, its purpose had largely fulfilled a role that saw to the city's first interior defenses as one of several castles belonging to the ancient Valanian Kings and families of old. Even under new ownership, the defensive holdings served their purpose as the flames doting the outer ramparts continually flickered back and forth over the darkened skies to offer cascading illuminations over the properly carved, stone walls. It now stood as one of several Nezam Corps' headquarters residing within Valania proper and the ortas manning its facilities stood day and night. They remained vigilant, however, given the startlingly recent developments, the Nezamnissaries had been spread thin as more frequent patrols were ordered to man the streets.

Their business came with guarding a chamber some levels below where the flickering torches locked against iron braziers as they smothered shadows across the compound chambers. Only dim illuminations spilled throughout the chiseled stone walls and against the early evening skies, a fresh breeze brushed through the chamber's various enlarge loopholes and openings, threatening to purge flames and bathe the interior in darkness. Outside, shouting had grown louder as tensions had begun to flare between the Garrisoned Nezam Warriors and various Azad commanded Paighan outfits. Amidst remaining vigilant, the uniformed Nezamnissaries instinctually wrapped their fingers along their sword pommels whilst keeping their snaphaunce muskets shouldered if the occasion required.

The evening had marked an increased presence as the entire Nezam Garrison remained on high alert. The previous evening's encounters had been marked in turmoil and in lue of the Royal Sarifen Prince's condition, the Nezam's orders had explicitly involved shooting any unauthorized intruders on sight whilst to guarding the chamber with their life. Additional patrols and hastily erected perimeters had since been required as word set out to inform the Emperor regarding his son's conditions. No one, not even those of the highest aristocratic rank were allowed into the stronghold, save the Imperial Bahramesh Zhayedans.

The Prince's life hung on the balance, mandating the strict precautionary security detail that lined the chamber doors. To ensure maximum security, two veteran Nezam Warriors clad in armor, ceremonial attire, and weapons stood vigilantly within the chamber. Their orders strictly demanded that they protect the Prince with their life. Failure wrought treasonous condemnations that were punishable by death or worse. In retrospect, their watchful gaze, hands upon pommels, and rigid bearings spoke of experience, training, and fanatical dedication towards the Imperial Family. No sane individual would reach the Prince lest they willingly wished to die a quick and brutal death.

The hours had certainly dragged through the evening, yet the shouting matches only grew louder as various voices proclaimed themselves as members of the Sarifen aristocracy and commanders of their own regional conscripts. Frustrations amongst both parties drew more heated as the commanders demanded they gain entry amidst jeers, insults, and curses throughout the Paighan ranks. The verbal barbs had only begun to grow more colorful amidst accusations that orphans had no right to dictate authority or restricted passage over those that hailed amongst Orad's highest patrician courts.

It was following another hour's worth of insults before one of the veteran Nezams stepped towards the window to investigate a particular back and forth tirade that pitted the Bozorgan of Baktria and Valania's Nezam Sekban. The man's gaze slowly rested upon the Bozorgan, who had just had only begun to a hurl a tirade that accused the Nezams of heresy against Zendricaanism to be brought towards the Emperor himself. His attention quickly diverted towards the enormous gathering outside that formed a patchwork of Sarifen conscripts, retainers, and half a dozen, ranged siege engines confiscated and repurposed from the city's aging ramparts. The armed Paighan presence had nearly quadrupled following their arrival during the late afternoon hours.

A conflict as inevitable and it seemed their brothers would find themselves isolated. Words did not usually exchange this long without a sizable blood fued and for matters concerning the Prince, the unfolding conflicts seemed unusually ... civil. Perhaps the feud would allow the Nezams to put their skills to good use. They were hand-picked to be the chosen to serve and answer to none other than the Emperor and his family. On the other hand, the conscripts masses tilled the land, gathered in the droves, and bred like rats, but could not hold a line to save their hides. What were the nobility, but slightly better dressed commoners and undisciplined authority? Their performance during confrontations that demanded adaptive skills, wisdom, and martial evidence would decide their fates.

Before the Nezam could further survey the growing conscript forces along the Stronghold's main gateway, the wind shifted, delivering a large gust through the chamber. Within moments, the torches had flickered so strongly that the entire room bathed in darkness; diverting the two warriors' attentions away from the openings. Somehow, the man's arm hairs shot upwards and a slight tingling sensation he hadn't felt since his childhood raced through his spine. This could have meant two things; sorcery or an intruder's untimely arrival. He ascertained that the former held no merits, given that the Inquisition had insured that sorcery could not exist within the Nezam compounds.

That only left the latter, which provoked an instinctual desire to prepare his snaphaunce. His suspicions were not unfounded for no sooner had his fingers cocked the musket's hammer than the wind dissipated; allowing light to once again illuminate the enclosed chambers. His eyes blinked as the light unveiled two dark skinned intruders arched over the Prince's bedside, one of which displayed startling womanly features. Smiling, the woman rose and quickly unfastened her robe before spreading her arms to allow it to drop to her feat. Startled, the Nezamnite gaze rested upon the woman's naked form and for a moment he could not help, but stare as her entrancing beauty captivated his attention. Within moments, however, his wits quickly reformed and the warrior instinctually leveled his musket.

A loud clap filled the air, momentarily lighting the room followed swiftly by several others; unveiling the Nezam Warriors' supporting intervention. Rising, the man's eyes suddenly widened as blood frothed from his temple. Moments later, the man's eyes lolled as he lifelessly collapsed upon the chamber opening. Silently, the two remaining Nezams' eyes shot towards their companion's body and glanced towards one another and calmly drew their pistols before advancing as one towards the two intruders. Amidst their steady marching, the warriors managed to cross the distance to take position near their fallen companion before leveling their firearms. Two additional claps sounded from the distance followed swiftly by angry shouts and curses.

Moments later, shots rang out along the ramparts and street barricades as the sounds for battle commenced all throughout the Stronghold grounds. Shouts and alarms sounded as each party hastily returned fire and within minutes, shots began to pepper both the stronghold's ramparts and the surrounding streets. Cannon fire, Onager rounds, and Ballista bolts followed shortly and causing the stronghold to rumble as the shock mercilessly created a rippling effect across the stone walls.

A man carefully made his way around the bedside as he tucked away his pistol through a loose section within his own belt. Even as the blood began to seep onto the floor his eyes fell upon the woman's ravishing form. Through the darkness and the surrounding pitched, the youthful woman almost glided as her gentle steps brought her towards her companion's location. Her flowing raven black, shoulder length hair along pearly yellow skin, drew upon her lineage somewhere deep across the ocean and only added towards the lustful stare that filled the man's eyes. His expression ranged from outright admiration to mild irritation and admits strolling forward, his hands found their touch upon the lady's breasts.

“I am not complaining,” a voice uttered through the darkness, “But merde! Was that charade … necessary?”

Giggling, the woman merely stood by as her companion's hands softly trailed along her body. Shortly before he could run a finger down through her coital line, the lady seductively sauntered backwards until she came within inches of the motionless Nezam corpses. Musket shots fluttered along the loophole opening where several found their marks along the chamber's walls and outer ceilings. Her smiles and inviting bodily gestures proved enough to seduce the man into her immediately vicinity, where upon her arms gestured towards the loophole. Shortly after he stepped into the limelight, the man's dirty blonde hair slightly illuminated through the opening's sparse lighting and through what he could discern; shouts, muzzle flashes, and smoke trails had begun to pour out of the ranks that gathered from below.

Tensions had already flared throughout the early evening, however, the skirmishing proved the last nail into the coffin as Sarifen Paighans began to swarm the compound grounds in a fully fledged effort to storm the Nezam Headquarter Walls. Slowly and surely, officers ordered their men to action under blistering Nezam fire amidst the blaring horns and rumbling drums. The aristocrats would not rest until they had stormed the Stronghold in an effort to conduct what they perceived as an open act of aggression against the Empire itself. Cries and curses for justice, vengeance, and glory in their lords' names as well as for the Empire's heir and Prince rang into the night as the Paighans stormed the stronghold with unrelenting fury.

“But I did what was necessary to ensure this, oui?” the woman's answered as her hand dramatically swept towards the swarming Paighans as they stormed across the Stronghold grounds with ladders, torches, and hand cannons alike. Her smile only grew as shots, arrow, and crossbow bolts rained down from above, felling numerous Paighans in deadly and highly disciplined volleys. Cannon fire rain upon the assembling ranks like miniature mallets, however the devastation only proved to further antagonize the determined Sarifens, who began to resemble a tide of gnats against a wall.

“The Sarifens, mon Chevalier aimant, lack unison to where cannot last a mere month without warring against each other,” the woman continued before quietly moving to seize her garments, “We, on the other hand, possess all the inner workings of something greater and our information has always been sound and kept us alive thus far, has it not?”

“Indeed it has!” The Chevalier fitfully exclaimed. His gaze remained momentary fixed upon several Sarifen aristocrat carrying their respective household banners as they aggressively urged their men into action. “It does, however, remain to be seen how much the Sarifens bloody themselves before each of their factions parlay.”

“By then, it will be too late," the woman replied as she slipped her peasant gown back over her body, "For the graves prove too many for any party to seek any sort of reconciliation or redemption!”

Giggling, the woman's arm gestured towards the door and in short order, a commotion echoed across the chamber as various shouts and cries announced Prince's Imperial Zhayedans arrival. Their attempt to force entry became momentarily delayed upon discovering the door's stubborn features and as the doors banged loudly, the wooden timber planks that held together each door frame threatened to buckle inwards.

"Well! If we continually command our own fates, our powdered reserves and coin will only grow to extend across the continent. I simply love my work," the Chevalier remarked, chuckling as he and the lady quietly dove back under the chamber's bed. Moments later, the door burst open in a sea of light, heavily armed Zhayedans, and clattering footsteps …

---

"My god," Lucius choked upon enjoying a tender pull, "The Ivalians know their distillations."

His eyes strayed elsewhere as one guest heartily drained her glass only to stumble as she stalked across the courtyard grounds. The woman managed half a dozen drunken steps before toppling over and splashing across a frothing fountain. Several others repeated similar mishaps along various steps and terraces throughout the chateau grounds. Dinner hadn't even arrived and the Ivalians were already spilling their marbles as would bon vivants.

Around them were those taking advantage of the Lord's hospitality. People stumbled and laughed a little too loudly. Onatha kept her eyes on the Regent. Lucius and Dae had had a hard time seeing him earlier, she was not bound by the same restrictions of the crowd. Now she would focus more so that the pair did not have to worry so.

A moment later, a bell rang and soon servants arrived to bring sizzling food platters draped in yet more dazzling cuisines, seafoods, and well prepared meats. The largely colorful vegetables, lobster, crawfish, and trout dishes seemed to the guests attract oohs and ahhs amidst the lightly glowing sparklers placed along every plate.

"Yadin-Hamon and Athirat be damned, Ona! The Ecuyer has certainly spared no expense to prepare the evening course. Out in the commons, commoners starve to death and yet, here they dine and gorge."

Elsewhere, the crowds as the Jesters clumsily tumbled and exuded obscene faces nearby in a bid to out perform their Ivalian rivals. The competition to dazzle and earn the gathering guest's attention proved fierce and to choose frivolous, non-sensical humorous over a dazzling, musical dance in itself became a mesmerizing spectacle.

"I will focus on him if you are worried about the crowd at all. He is and has been holding a court of sorts with many of the guests vying to have his ear and his time."

"Excellent," Lucius whispered, upon seizing a sizzling platter, "Your eyes are worth more than entire resistance circles, Ona. If we cannot continually trail his movements, you must do what you can to succeed where Dae and I fail. Curiously, his waistline continually alludes my knowledge. My absence has spanned over the course of almost a year. Eventually; that is ... if we aren't discovered, we shall uncover his true motives."

Onatha nodded. "I will stay with him. He is a strange man."

"See if you cannot observe the other rooms. I fear we simply aren't acknowledging the larger picture."

She frowned for a moment, worry crossing the green pools of her eyes. "If I do I cannot watch him as well. If you are comfortable with that I will do what you ask."

"The Lord Sovereign hasn't moved so I am certain you would uncover more should you survey the Ecuyer's estate. I've already spotted rather sinister figures watching the courtyards and inner rooms."

Onatha nodded and stepped just behind Lucius and Dae. They would be able to keep watch on the man while she looked around at the rest of the estate. There was far ore activity now than when they first arrived. She would be aware of everything as she looked but she was far more vulnerable when looking beyond and having the two of them in front of her afforded her some protection.

She stared off into the distance. To any who looked the woman with the strange eyes appeared lost in thought. In truth her vision was extending past the crowd, beyond the walls of the room. She saw the servants in the kitchen preparing the platters. It was far busier in there than even out here among the guests. Cooks, sweating in the heat cooked away as others filled the platters. She watched as one young boy was smacked upside the head for nudging a table causing a sweet bun of some sort to fall to the floor.

Onatha was about to move on when she noticed something strange. She was not a cook by any means but as she watched a servant sprinkle of dust of some kind on the food her gut told her it was not right. She looked back at the meals on the fire, the roasting meats. Odd bottles appeared in the cooks hands and were dropped into the pots or drizzled on the meat.

"Do not eat anything here. Something is not right in the kitchen." Her eyes were still on the area of the kitchen but her words were directed at Lucius and Dae. "Something is being added to all the dishes as they cook and before they leave the room." She frowned. "And I know it is not for the better of the guests. Who sets heavily armed guards on a kitchen if something nefarious is not being done?"

Lucius dizzily glanced toward the sauces bubbling along his dish and almost entirely vomited before sinking towards the marble floors. Moments later, his careful sputters had finally served to eject the last of his earlier ingestions. The lobster meats had seemed almost too flavorful to have existed and had brought about a sort of drowsiness not normally acquired through most other venues. How could he have not known? His careless had overlooked the possibilities that the gathering's dishes could have been drugged; or worse ... poisoned!

She looked the guards over. "They guards bear the Ecuyer's house crest. I fear poison but do not know for sure. Do not eat anything more."

She watched a guard as he backhanded a baker, a young woman, hard enough to send her to the floor. She was not sure what the girl had done but it was clear the kitchen was doing their duties under duress. There were glances between each other and towards the guards. The young woman was crying as she tried to get up off the floor. No one moved to help her but many glanced at each other as if fearing what more might come.

Onatha waited for either Dae or Lucius to answer her so that she knew they understood.

"Same for any drinks they offer." She watched two servants in a hallway just outside the kitchen carefully spiking the cups they had on a tray. Once again nearby a guard watched them. "They are putting something in all offered food and drink."

"D'Aubigne, you impudent swine," Lucius cursed, "I cannot even fathom the intoxication the others guests shall inevitably possess."

His eyes swept across the stairway to find the Lord Sovereign turn as a lady servant artfully whispered numerous delicate words and phrases through his ears. Following careful nods, the woman disappearing through a tiny opening as yet another servant appeared to closely whisper more discreet words.

"Ona, did you see that? I'd just noticed two servants and the Lord Sovereign discussing private matters. Were you able to catch their words?"

"I saw. The first assured him that everyone was laced as planned. The second told him they were awaiting him in the cellar. The Inquisition is waiting there for him with a prisoner. A heretic she said."

Onatha kept watch on the servants who were now in the hallways. "What should we do?"

Lucius's suddenly knuckles gripped the nearby fountain rails as his vision began to blur, provoking instinctive acts of sheer desperation. He'd mostly vomitted the lobster and appetizers, however, the drinks still lingered and he found himself struggling to remain conscious and afoot. With one hand gripping the railing, the Prince desperately reached towards his waistline in an effort to retrieve his pouch. Through outright paranoia, he'd packed a pain-numbing substance, yet found himself drifting in and out of darkness. His fingers fumbled as he clumsily stumbled along the fountain edges before nearly collapsing over the fountain edge.

"Ona, Dae, I ... I can barely walk straight," the Prince breathlessly gasped. His eyes darted towards the Lord Sovereign, whom had since remained jovial amongst the other guests. "I'm ... I'm uncertain if I am able to stand. Guhhhhhhhh ..."

Onatha pulled her gaze away and moved to Lucius' side. "Lean on me. If you hold about my waist no one will know you are ill and thus vulnerable. We can move into the shadows. They will think nothing more than a couple taking time alone. Perhaps we can find you water that has not been touched."

She stood beside Lucius, her hand moving to his arm to help steady him. She put on a fake smile, as if he was a bit intoxicated and being overly friendly rather than extremely ill.

"I'm quite alright, though I thank you, Ona," he whispered, "My weariness will pass ... eventually ..." The suppressant medicine could await conservation until his reserves demanded a more appropriate occasion and without protest, the Prince found himself hobbling alongside his companions towards a manor room away from the drunken, nearly deafening courtyard. Almost immediately, the steps delivered the trio into a secluded hallway where upon an entirely different crowd gathered. The gentle hums associated towards various Ivalian harps and lyres bristled through the corridors as a haunting, male voice recited flowery poetry phrases.

Dae frowned as she silently followed Ona and Lucius, glancing around cautiously as she did so. Of course Lucius would be stupid enough to eat something without thought for what could be in it. They were right in enemy territory! Everything should be treated with caution. Her gaze moved to the Lord Sovereign before glancing back to Lucius. "Surely it would just be easier to kill him now." Though her voice was cold and reasoned, she was struggling to keep her emotions in control. The gathering reminded her of times long past. She did not like remembering.

"I would desire nothing more than to see Conqvist's head on a pike; however, to attempt such an endeavor, we risk achieving nothing short of losing our lives. I have only begun to uncovered Conqvist's ways to know that his agents and snipers cover nearly every god forsaken rat hole surrounding his every step."

Frowning, Lucius scowled as suspicion engulfed his racing mind. The spiked dishes and drinks were deplorable and clearly unveiled Conqvist's hand marks, however, the more his eyes darted towards various guests the more another apprehensive observation had begun to unravel. The finely dressed Ivalians remained arm in arm alongside their male courtesans as they fixated along their cushioned seats. Lucius brushed along a wall as a fairly young Ivalian couple slammed against each other, whilst profusely embracing each others' lips. Elsewhere, several other notable guests chatted amicably as they surveyed the surrounding marble decorations and potted plants that seemingly dotted the interior, chateau pillars and hallways.

"Dae, Ona," he quietly hissed upon tightly gripping his companions' waistlines, "I may have uncovered yet another problem. I know the guests' identity and they compose as primarily prominent Ivalian merchants and ... notable leaders amongst the Valanian resistance. I suspect Conqvist maybe plotting an assassination attempt. To whom, I cannot ascertain, however, I fear we should not have even appeared ..."

No sooner had the Prince's words tapered than the sound of cocked pistols and drawn, wrist crossbows flicker nearby ...

---

Footsteps, horse clops, and wooden wheels churning against the stone clattered loudly against the causeways and cobblestone roads leading through the Noble's quarter's residential manses. At this hour, the quarter's usual quiet dissipated as two dozen men wearing Zendricaanist priestly robes, scholar fabrics, and silken wraps made their way through the large avenue leading directly towards the Commoner districts. Their stooped hunches, hushed prayers, and clagoring religious ornamentation spelled an unusual presence for the Zendricaanist church, however, the shrouded cart appeared somewhat uncommon amongst their company.

As the assembly journeyed across the avenue, a young man dressed in scholar robes unveiled his steel gauntlets upon emerging through the cart's canvas opening. Pushtigban-salar Jahanzaib had only commanded the Imperial Aryanpur Zhayedans for a year, however, he commanded respect amongst the retainer doûlois and Sarife's more seasoned daylamis. He estimated that more Paighans and siege engines were on their way as evidenced by the shouts throughout the streets and footsteps. Darkness continually shrouded their surroundings, however, night conditioning had allowed the Zhayedans to maneuver as if it were day. This night, however, they were unseen and through the graces that their father Yadin, they'd convinced members from his church to aid them during the Prince's hour of need.

The steel plate pieces that composed their armor clattered quietly under their scholar cloaks as the cart rolled by, however, all commotion became muffled by the musket, crossbow, and hand-cannon fire raging a block away. Ever silently, the cart continually swayed gently as they slowly rolled through the empty avenue straights. Jahanzaib quickly ducked back into the cart where a mere handful of Zhayedan doûlois and a man robed in doctor's silks tended to the Prince Bahramesh's condition. Though cramped and lacking comfort or spacious accommodations, the Zhayedan doûlois sat in utmost silence around the Prince as was their duty as his loyal retainers. Cannons roared and immense musket fire rang in the distance, followed swiftly by the din of battle and amidst muzzle and hand-cannon flashes that lighted the neighboring streets, the Zhayedan officer's expression began to soured amidst examining the Prince's heaving form.

"Will he live, Doctor?"

"I am trying every remedy at my disposal, however, I have not the medicines, nor the herbs I once carried in the Stronghold. Only prayers and the grace of our father Yadin-Hamon could save him n..."

"You will have one chance and chance alone to listen to my words," the officer venomously interrupted, unsheathing a long hunting knife towards the man's jugular, "You will perform whatever is necessary for your Prince and the empire. His life is worth more than yours and thousands more. You will save his life, doctor, or you will die a very painful death."

Gasping, the physician's chin lifted as sweat began to pour down his face. His eyes darted down towards the blade's edge where even a slight gash would immediate mean his end. "Y--y-y-es Pushtigban-salar," he stammered, "I swear on my life, the Prince will live by my hands."

"I will hold you to it," Jahanzaib remarked before lowering the blade, "Now get out of my face."

The sharpened blade that held swiftly upon the man's throat quickly disappeared into the Zhayedan officer's sheath. There were few others words escaping Jahanzaib's lips as he once again poked his head through the canvas. The Nezam Stronghold's assault had proven just how volatile the city has become and given Prince Bahramesh' deteriorating condition had given his Zhayedans warranted his evacuation. The Nezam Corps' reputation as Emperor Anoush' most disciplined soldiers had been broken given how poorly their ability to both ensure the Prince's survival whilst policing the city had proven fruitless.

So much so that the most powerful Sarifen Houses and their respective Azads had branded the Nezamnites as heretics and traitors to all of Sarife. Their cries for justice rang into the night as they stormed the Nezam Garrison's walls with whatever weapons and siege engines lay at their disposal. Jahanzaib estimated more Paighans and ranged war machines were likely enroute. When Sarife's Valanian military presence had mustered, the Nezams were all, but finished. Thankfully, the Prince and their retinue would reach safety and by then, it mattered not whether the Garrison lived or died.

In short notice, clattering footsteps, shouts, and the din of battle neared as vicious musket cracks and explosions rang out. All during the same moment, the cart their escorting retinue halted as rows of uniformed Nezams frenetically dashed across an causeway intersection. Screams and shouts echoed from afar where pursuing shapes of men that resembled dismounted Sipahis, conscripted Paighans, and various Household Zhayedans formed into the distance.

A seasoned Nezam officer Boluk-bashi wearing dark turqoise overcoat, cotton shirt, stripes, and red salvar bravely stood his ground as several of his subordinates fell a hails of crossbow bolts and arrows. Without uttering a word, Jahanzaib's arm raised in an issued command that directed the Zhayedans to refuse intervention. The deadly exchanges lasted for several minutes where the disciplined, Nezam return volleys fell upon their pursuers with deadly precision.

The wounded were dragged elsewhere as a sea of pursuers burst through the intersection in disorganized rabbles in their attempt to destroy their foes and just as quickly as the avenues had filled, the streets once again emptied as other skirmishes unfolded somewhere further along another street. It was during this moment that Jahanzaibhad knew he had witnessed dark developments within the Empire's existence. Neither the high-born Azads nor the Emperor's Nezams could be trusted to preserve the Empire's unity as fanatical Sarifens slaughtered each other, his duty remained to the Prince and the Royal Family.

The minute the streets once again emptied, Jahanzaib wasted no time in silently shrouding a hood over his head before issuing a command to continue. "Do not stop for anyone, do you hear me," he hissed, "We are leaving the docks before sunrise ..."

---

Lucius's fingers drew towards his weapons, only to stumble upon a knife leveled along his jugular. His sight blurred as finely dressed ladies and male courtesans surrounded their retinue. Before their very eyes, their fortunes had seemingly reversed and though the initial gathering seemed remotely harmless, the concealed weapons retained a lethality only the dead could truly recount. Elsewhere, the lyres continually bristled below the orator's haunting voice.

"Indeed," a new female voice began, "You three appear to have enjoyed yourselves this evening, although ... I am rather disappointed! To where do your motives lay, Daedhel L'Fevre?"

"My motives?" Dae responded, one hand moving slowly to find a dagger while the other moved towards the pistol she carried. She glanced around and tried to find some way out of this. She had, of course, been through far worse situations. However in many of these she had been alone or her companion had been able to fight. Lucius' jaw dropped, however, he clearly did not appear to present a worthy state of readiness. Ona? Well Dae knew that she had no training.

There was only so much the assassin could do without getting the other two killed. "They are something I would rather keep to myself." As she spoke she moved ever so slightly, hoping she could at least get Ona behind her. One hand found her pistol, while the other loosely gripped the hilt of her dagger. Though she did not draw them, not yet, there was a certain comfort in knowing that she still had both in her possession. "I could ask the same of yourself. To where do your motives lay?"

"Do you not remember your birthright, Daedhel?" the woman quietly whispered upon craning towards the trio. Her middle aged features still exuded a radiant physique and blossoming beauty far past her youth, yet through the revealing tunic dress and draped, overhung sleeves, the woman's eyes sunk into a narrowed, motherly scolding. The ravishing, dark haired, Ivalian woman smirked as chuckles quickly rippled across the armed retinue. Following several heavy nasal commands, an order to stand down provoked the Ivalians' weapon lowering motions.

"Daedhel," the, cream tunic clad woman gently addressed as she herself lowered her pistols, "I cannot even fathom how quickly you would have lost your life. Your choice in companions are also ever more odd."

One by one, the young Ivalian ladies dipped their heads as was tradition amongst the matriarchal Ivalian customs towards older peers. Several Ivalian ladies' weapons suspiciously remained fixated upon the Prince before the authoritative woman's narrowed glare relinquished their concealed aim. The males simply bowed as their eyes never left the floor, presenting ever more indicative insight into their role within Ivalis' matriarchal ranks.

Exhaling softly, the dark haired woman leaned ever closer towards Dae's ear before whispering, "By Athirat's grace, Daedel; what are you doing here?"

"Dae," Lucius simultaenously hissed, "I lost sight of Conqvist. He simply disappeared down a staircase ..."

"Of course I remember my birthright, Sofonobisa," Dae hissed, ice blue eyes remaining narrowed. Though she recognised the woman it did not put her at ease. In fact, it served to do the opposite at first. This was someone that she had doubts that she could defeat and even as the Ivalians' weapons lowered, she readily kept her hands prepared, even as her weapons remained sheathed. She frowned at the women's words, though she knew they were true. If this had truly been an enemy she would be dead, as would her companions. She was growing lax.

"I am here," she paused as she began to reply, hesitating. Why was she here? To tell the truth, she was not quite sure. She knew why she was here in the D'Aubigne Chateau. But she did not truly know why she was here in this country, with these people. Sentiment? Hope for revenge? Something like that. "I am here to help put the rightful King on the throne." After she spoke this in hushed tones she glanced at Lucius.

"Can Ona not track him? You saw the staircase, yes? Then we can watch it until he returns... or follow him down."

"You should know better than to deny the reality that Valania's current king is the Lord Sovereign, Richter Von Conqvist and unless you have other motives, I am inclined to believe you run on a fool's errand. Valania's Lord Sovereign is undeserving of his ability to abuse and neglect his subjects, however, it is beyond our jurisdiction to question or interfere with inter-Sarifen-Valanian affairs. The trade and wealth amongst his more prominent aristocrats remain a fruitful enterprise worthy of our merchantile attentions. To perceive otherwise is against Ivalian interests and thoroughly ..."

"You forget that I am Valanian by birth," Dae replied sharply. "That gives me every right to interfere in these affairs, as my ties are as strong to this country as they are to Ivalis. Sometimes, there are things that are more important than mere enterprise. Maybe it is a fool's errand." It most certainly was. Yet somehow she found herself believing her own words. That there was something more important than money, even petty revenge. It was a strange feeling that occured. "But it is one I will run, whether it is again Ivalian interests or not."

"Ona, you mustn't lose sight of him!" Lucius quietly hissed despite his clouded vision. His fists clenched despite losing clarity in vision. The night was certainly becoming a heated affair, the likes of which he could not have anticipated. Not only had prominent Ivalians infiltrated and expressed indifference towards Valania's plight, however, their true nature exposed the ever lingering reality that after business concluded, it was the usual Ivalian custom ... back to Midia and the client colonies whilst the world burned from around.

Several notable servants strolled through the halls, carrying drinks and sizzling dishes. The muses and lyrists continually played as other notable, Ivalian and Valanian guests alike clapped whilst accepting refreshments. Lucius felt his rage boiling towards new heights as he saw one particular Valanian, an amicable man, he knew having operated and directed a resistance circle within Voltas' scholar's square, down a glass before his eyes lulled over into passive slumber. A young servant girl curtseyed before departing amidst eyeing the assembled Ivalian, Valanian circle. Before she escaped their company, Lucius could almost smell the allusiveness associated towards Conqvist's Crown Agents.

"You ... you know each other," Lucius inquired as his eyes darted across the assembled Ivalians, "Is ... this is true, Dae? Have we ... have we lead the Ivalians here? I am not even certain I can ..."

His words trailed off upon finding their companion struggling to retain her footing. "Ona? Are you alright?"

Onatha, hiding slightly behind Dae, had gone pale. She tried to see but found herself struggling. "Something...someone is..." She waivered a little on her feet but used a hand on the wall to steady herself. She could not concentrate on those that surrounded them.

"Someone else is here."

She could feel it, the presence of another seer, another looking beyond walls to survey the world. "I do not think I can find him. I am weaker here than the other. This is their place."

"Yadin-Hamon be damned, Ona, try not to over exert your ... oh dear ... Dae! Help me, please!" Lucius' eyes widened as he struggled to remain afoot whilst managing an honest attempt to attend to Ona's collapsing appearance. His eyes suddenly snapped towards the Ivalians gathered around the secluded room. The gentle lyric hums had begun to fade as did the Orator's loud recital as both musicians and audience alike began to collapse or softly exhale. Women and men screamed as they addressed their companions without success. Even the middle-woman, whom only moments ago, had unveiled her identity as Sofonobisa of Gisgo dropped to her feet, earning her retinue's panicked and despite the woman's assurances that there was no reason for alarm, it wasn't long before they too had begun to collapse.

A young Ivalian male cried for help only to find the Prince's hand over his mouth. A struggle ensued before Lucius bested the man into a body lock; however, rather than snapping his neck, moved to wrestle him into a row of towering, potted plants. Several other conscious Ivalians managed to level their weapons in the Prince's direction only to witness as he released his temporary hostage. His vision had only begun to realign and almost immediately his senses sharpened as the sleep suppressants had begun to fade.

"We should not be enemies," the Prince affirmed, "This gathering is a death trap as is clearly evident through the ..."

His words suddenly trailed off as one particular Ivalian agent kneeling beside her superior in a panicked attempt to offer refreshment.

"If you wish to see your master alive, you must not allow her to consume that drink," Lucius quickly shot.

"We do not allow men to command our fate, much less Valanians." a particular pistol carrying Ivalian answered, "By Athirat's grace, we are Ivalians."

It was upon resisting the urge to unholster and fire upon the woman that Lucius calmly exhaled before voicing, "Suit yourself! The refreshments and dishes all bear poisons and as you can see, your kind have clearly failed to realize the effect it has wrought upon their forms."

"It would be best if you did as he said," Dae spoke, glancing at Lucius before her gaze moved to the Ivalians. "It would not do for the life of such a prominent Ivalian to die due to your wish not to listen to a male, would it? If you will not take his word for it, then take mine. Any refreshments will only make her state worse." She craned her neck in an attempt to see the rest of the room.

"Lucius, I do not think that it is wise for us to stay here much longer. The situation can, and will, only worsen and I do not have any confidence in our ability to face any threat that we may meet."

Onatha felt cold as if someone had drained her blood away. She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to find the man once more. "I cannot..."

Her hands went to her head. The other woman's presence was too much. Onatha looked at Dae and Lucius. "I am sorry." Her knees were weak.

She looked at Dae. "Leaving is a good idea."

Lucius nodded before he unveiled a vial filled in a strange swirling liquid. "You there," he commanded as he directed fingers towards a suriving Ivalian lady. "Empty the goblet and serve this towards your master. It will not heal your master, however ..."

Yet again, the Prince's words tapered off as his neck crained into an almost instinctual demeanor and for a moment, he'd thought he'd heard crackling noises reminiscent of firearms. Perhaps the fireworks and jesters, he thought before carefully sliding the vial across the floors towards the weary Sofonobisa's location.

"It will at least keep her alive ..."

For a time, the lady's eyes remained fixated upon the Prince's form, however, slowly and surely, her legs bent to allow for retrieving the flask. As she moved to uncork and administer the antidote, Lucius offered his companions a worrying glance. His attention diverted back towards their blonde seer, whom had since grown increasingly pale.

"Dae, now would be a very good time to locate an escaping pathway," Lucius inquired as he unholstered his pistol. The Prince's searches brought him through the various belongings before he finally uncovered the shot and powder reserves along his concealed pouches. "Ona, can you at least walk?"

Onatha nodded, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Yes, I think so." She braced herself against the wall. Her knees were giving out.

"How insightful of you, Lucius," Dae respondedly drily, drawing her own pistol along with a dagger. This was certainly going to be interesting. "There is a servant's entrance in this place, is there not? It may be best to go through that. Lucius, you support Ona. I'm sure I can deal with any... resistance we may meet."

"Not alone," another voice weakly uttered. Lucius turned to find the middle-aged Sofonobisa rising, "Barekbaal help me please. I feel a bit weary and oh mother Athirat ..."

"Counciller Gisgo," the light haired Barekbaal gasped, "You're alive!"

"There. It is done and your master lives. Now, if you'll pardon our departure, we fear our company is unwanted. We must leave while we are still able, oui? Oui!"

"Daedhel?" Sofonobisa weakly inquired. Her eyes strayed towards the limp Ivalians, performers, and Valanians before resting upon the blue-eyed girl, "What has happened? Is this the purgatory, mother Athirat imposed upon our kind? Have our sins proved beyond forgiveness?"

Letting out a light, slightly cold laugh Dae shook her head in response to Sofonobisa. "This is not purgatory, though I think you'll find that our sins have always been beyond forgiveness."

"Then let it be known that I was and am a witch who both served and protected her people. I regret nothing nor the lives I ordered to be silenced to preserve Ivalia's peace in Queen Athirat and Mother Athirat's name. Heretics the likes of the bastard Sarifen Inquisition and the self proclaimed jackal, Emperor Anoush I deserve their suffering."

"Regret is for the weak. It is not something we can afford to feel, in our profession. We do what must be done."

As the Ivalians knelt before their master, Lucius quickly rushed to offer his ailing companion a supporting arm. "Easy now, Ona. This is not the place to abandon your life. Please don't die on us now."

Onatha leaned on Lucius. "I just need to be away from here. The other presence is overwhelming." Her breathing was shallow.

"Then we must leave now. There is no time to spare, and it is so much easier to leave when everyone is concious!" She indicated slightly with her head for Lucius to lead the way.

"Another presence? You dont ..." Lucius inquired before he finally understood, "Ah ... I see ... it is the other seer, is it not?"

Onatha nodded slowly. "This is their place, they are strong here." She wobbled on her feet and her grip on Lucius tightened. "They are making it hard for me to focus."

Wincing, Lucius's nose wrinkled as his fingers formed a nose-pinching motion. "The other seer," he muttered as his mind raced back to remember what she'd mentioned only several hours past.

"Yes, other seer." Onatha took a deep breath and tried not to fall. "I fear they were watching us."

"Is she currently here in the Chateau," Lucius inquired.

"If she is not here, she is close but this is her realm, her territory, and she is strong here." Onatha gripped her head with a free hand. "I think she is indeed here and is watching all that is going on. I think she knows I am here as I sense her, she would sense me."

"But she cannot see or know what is happening here. Not while you are present, oui?"

"I do not..." She took a deep breath and focused. "No, we are clouding each other. She cannot see what is going on around me as I cannot focus on her or those around her. She is making the rest cloudy but I do not think she can see me."

Onatha opened her eyes and looked at Lucius. The green pools were clouded with pain. "I wish I could do more."

"You've already done more than was required, Ona. Rest and do not over exert your senses. I could never forgive myself if you fell on my behalf. We must remain inconspicuous lest we trap ourselves."

"You! Yes, I am speaking to the one wearing the ridiculously colored tunic," the cream tunic wearing Sofonobisa addressed, "You saved my life and ... I am inclined to think it was no mere coincidence. Who are you and what are you and your companion doing in Daedel's company?"

"Allow me to handle this," Lucius whispered, placing a hand along Ona's neck.

"I am ..." the Prince's eyes theatrically lowered before glancing towards the emptied hallways. Following a momentary sigh, offered a respectable bow before lying, "I am Count Lucius Van Ander Le Crosse. 'Tis an honor to receive your company, Counciller Sofonobisa of Gisgo, and valiant member of the Ivalian Council of Four Hundred and Four. On your behalf, we offer the greatest of honorable tiding towards the Queen and her sisters, if only for a short-while. The times are harsh and it appears our company is not welcome here within the Château de D'Aubigne."

Onatha tried to breathe as Lucius addressed the others. Her knees buckled and she gave a slight cry as she knelt on the ground. Her hands went to her head. "She is trying to break through."

It took everything she had to keep the other woman out. She could feel the other seer weakening. She was tired, perhaps even more than Onatha was.

"Lucius she is tired...I am..." Her hands braced herself on the floor. It was cool beneath her touch. "I am trying-I-" Her conscousness wavered for a moment. It was taking all the last of energy to keep the other seer at bay. It was a battle of wills at this point and Onatha did not want to lose.

"Dae, help me move Ona, we do not have much time. The other likely seer knows Ona is present. We cannot stay here much longer."

"I am in agreement, Count Le Crosse" the Counciller inquired, "Although, I am uncertain if ... hmmm ... strange ... that is quite a fireworks display out there ..."

For a moment, Lucius's neck craned as he too found the strange sounds growing increasingly loud. It remained to be seen what the dinner gathering had in store so early into the evening. Suddenly, Lucius' hand levelled as he cocked down his pistol's large hammer.

"Those aren't fireworks, Counciller. That is musketfire ..."

A short moment later, the sounds of screams and shouts filled the halls as dishevelled guests burst through the halls. Some fell through sheer exhaustion, whilst others trampled each other through the sheer panic engulfing the Chateau interior.

"This isn't good," Barekbaal muttered as she too unholstered a concealled firearm, "Sacred Band, guard the Counciller. Find out what is happening and do not allow her to come to harm! Count Le Crosse, Daedhel, you mustn't stay here. Go!!"

"Come on," Dae spoke as she moved over to help on, supporting her from the side the Lucius was not. She could only hope that they managed to get out before bumping into anyone that might try to kill them. "Come on!" She began to move in the opposite direction of the crowd, while trying to work out what the best way out was.

---

The Château de D'Aubigne housed many notable features, ranging from its paradisial lush garden courtyards to its well scrubbed, marble and finely carved interior. For some, not especially the heavy diners, whom enjoyed fine drinks, exotic dishes and a notable change of scenery to elude the courtyard's more dazzling spectacles. Further past the state rooms, seating halls, and various dining suites, various orators recited poetry towards less conversable guests as smoke vapors brushed across the ceilings. The silence continued as various female servants guided one particular man to sit along the various vacant cushions to enjoying the hashish various of unused hookah pipes offered. The man had arrived rather later than many others and to some, this seemed entirely acceptable, even skirting towards displaying greater and more socially desirable qualities.

The room featured two entrances one leading towards the Château interior whilst the other sectioned into arched double-doors leading towards the outer courtyards. Serenity and luxury were not in short supply within this part of the Château and aside from the outer courtyards' dazzling commotions, the sounds of unusually powerful crackling could be still be heard, however, this early into the evening; it was not uncommon to find mischevious high born children wandering the Noble's Quarters carrying slings and disruptive streamers. Several particularly well-dressed, silk wrapped Ivalian ladies comfortably enjoyed their roasted bull and Lybim-Tartessian vintage whilst their young, Sarifen courtesans wrapped their arms around their master's waistlines. Every now and again, an odd crack startled the guests, provoking smiles and sniggers alike. 'Twas the improverished conditions owing to Sarife's patriarchical barbarity as the Ivalian's all expressed.

"'Tis thoroughly surprising our Tartessian wines reach Valanian shores," one indigo silk draped Ivalian proferred, "Is this not so, sisters?"

"Why yes," another curly haired Ivalian remarked, sipping her wines, "If not for the children of Zagros' citizens, no other merchants would have brought it now would they?"

"Perhaps you should ask our new arrival, yes?" yet another richly dressed Ivalian whimsically voiced, "He does bear a striking resemblance to the Sarifen smugglers that skirt our trade lanes outside Nova Carthago!"

"On the account of the Ecuyer, please enjoy yourself this evening! We have a fine selection of dishes and refreshments and if there is anything we may offer, we would be our ..." The girl paused as she momentarily eyed the man's finely embroidered attire before continuing, "pleasure to suit your needs."

''What am I doing here?''

Hours ago, Korkud was inside a humid, hollow barn that was disguised as an inn. A few days back, he was eating meat, somehow evolved into hardwood, alongside a bunch of religious fanatic tribesmen whose entire lives were spent trying to kill things and not dying the day after. He had seen a child break his neck for a piece of fish and then he had seen cannibals dragging the boy's body away. And now here he was, walking amongst pretentious, disgusting, non-sapient slimes who hadn't spent a day wiping their asses on silken sheets. Like the embroidery on his clothing, he was there and a presence - but like the long faded colors of said clothes, he was lifeless and distant.

For him, it was the only way to tolerate the travesty that these 'people' were carrying out here while those they were supposed to rule over were starving outside. In his mind was a distant story which presented similar circumstances. An abbey home to a masquerade, and suffering outside. Much to the reader's relief, the suffering outside would become incarnate and enter the abbey, and bring death to those who thought they had cheated justice. He felt like that man - he wanted to be that man - only that circumstances did not allow him to pour what's outside into this gathering. He could feel others eyeing him, talking about him as if he were like a curiosity brought from distant lands.

There was a woman in front of him, speaking to him in a soft buzz. He was not listening to her words specifically, but her tone came off as pleasant, if not suggestive. She had a nice hooked nose. Korkud wanted to bite it off. He wanted to bite it off and then chew it and then swallow it.

"On the account of the Ecuyer, please enjoy yourself this evening! We have a fine selection of dishes and refreshments and if there is anything we may offer, it would be our... pleasure to suit your needs." He looked at her face. She was pretty. They wouldn't let ugly ones in such a place anyway, not unless if they were rich or if they served a purpose, like him. He paused for a minute. Then he made his mind up.

''Yes. I'd rather if you'd leave.''

---

A raised eye brow and quizzical glance soon followed. A moment later, the woman's defeated look held through flashes of greater, more sinister judgment and parted an acknowledging nod before finger snaps waved her companions away.

"As you wish," the hosting woman quietly answered as she seductively removed both hands.

Their departure left the man utterly alone, yet his wish had been granted and as servers, their business lay elsewhere as was their nature to gravitate towards more lucrative and amicable clientele. A short pivot later, their busy hips swayed into a show of flashy glamour, spreading their bobbing and weaving their thigh reaching drapes. Drowsily, the Ivalians took little to no notice as they sipped their vintages, bent upon discussing family matters, the blooming floral nurseries sprouting along the Kartalian coastline, and news regarding relatives residing within Ivalis' distant client colonies.

Some lamented upon the failures to acquire a new watermelon seed strain that only grew within Sarife's interior heartlands and news of the Ivalian Navy's increasing presence following elevated reports of repeated and determined sea incursions from fast moving armored hordes of the far north and east. New precautionary measures had put a strain upon the maritime trade lanes, elevating the cost of tariffs, weapons, and munitions as Ivalian client colonies sought to reinforce their defenses.

Yet again, the more middle aged Ivalians took little notice of the man, preferring their meals, hashish, or drinks whilst hearing the scholars orate. The small number of younger Ivalian girls seemed remarkably more attentive as evidenced through their periodical glances and giggles. The distant cracks had since grown louder alongside the outer courtyards' commotion, provoking several to depart towards the Chateau interior for greater peace.

---

---

“...finally … another brother Sarifen!" a young male servant robed in dark blue greeted as his eyes rested upon the lone man, "Az molaghat-e shomâ khosh vaghtam, sir. The Ivalians are so numerous, it is unfortunate that their own love for wealth is as dreadful as their worship for their false matron goddess Athirat. Thank Yadin-Hamon our fellow Sarifens do not sucuumb to such heresy!"

The servant rose and kneeled as his lady master's expression turned glaringly unpleasant. "Milady Heurassein, what are your bearings? Weren't you discussing the state of your arms exports? To my understanding, the Ivalians are in great need of the Heurassein Arms Company's munitions shipments and have constituted an expanding market, yes?”

"My boy, everyone is in great need of powder," Adrianna replied. "Do you know why I carry a pistol? Because with it, no knife wielding bandit would dare approach me. No one dares attack someone more dangerous than themselves. The same is true of nations. It's a constant struggle to see who controls the most arms. And that's where I come in." In all honesty half the things that came out of her mouth was nonsense, drabble to appease those expecting something from her. In truth though, she found the Ivalians quite interesting and saw potential allies in them; which is why she had begun dealing arms to them at reduced cost. A society with authority given to women was quite frankly, brilliant. One of the reasons she refused to marry was so she didn't have to give up her position in her father's business. That and she had no desire to become some decoration for a man, like some of the girls here putting on fake smiles and laughs.

The seductresses, obnoxious as they were, knew how to carry out a request, and they were quick in leaving Korkud on his own. For a moment, Korkud was free to think, and with the distant cracks in mind, (he guessed gunshots, as he couldn't see any trace of fireworks) wanted to find the man who had invited him here as soon as possible, and it seemed that the only way to find said man was to follow the crowd, much to his chagrin. It seemed to him that the banquet was far from over, however, so he took a minute to appreciate the distant music. Despite his love of music, he had never been able to produce any - he had never been taught how to play an instrument. And it was too late now.

And as if time had decided that it had granted enough peace of mind to Korkud, a young lad appeared out of nowhere, talking about Ivalians and just how bad they were. He was yet another annoyance that Korkud wanted to get away from, but then he started talking about heresy, which ticked something off in Korkud's head. He clenched his teeth so that he wouldn't punch the fellow's gut. Fortunately for both him and Korkud, his master appeared soon with a displeased expression on her face, which led the lad to change the conversation topic immediately to something Korkud liked much more - gunpowder. He had heard of the Heurassein Company's name - although he had never done any business with them, caravans in Sarife occasionally carried barrels marked with said company's seals.

''You are Lady Heurassein? Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Bahram Isfendiyar - in the same business as you, actually.'' He offered his hand to the woman, with a crude imitation of a smile on his face.

"Please, you make me sound like my mother. You may address me by name, Adrianna." The man in front of her clearly didn't fit in, lacking the eloquant civility of these pompous highsociety types. "I would hope we're not in the same business, I wouldn't want to put you out of it," she said in half jest. But just half. "I'm afraid I've never heard your name before. So tell me, what exactly is your business?"

''Well then, Adrianna, I was wrong in my choice of words. I am not in the gunpowder business - I design arms, and production only occurs if I can get my hands on resources. But I can't say I have much of that back in Sarife. I'm finding it hard to find any customers that I can trust. Business is stale.'' For a moment, he stopped maintaining eye contact and raised his brow. ''We may have business to do in the future. I sense that we have suitable assets for each other.'' For a split second he regretted putting it that way, considering how it could be misunderstood, but carried on anyway. ''Where is the host of this banquet?''

"I fear I know next to nothing of our host. Truth be told, I only came for food and drink. I usually have little interest in these events, which serve to feed the ego of whichever society had laid it on." In her fatigue in the lateness of the night, Adrianna may have let some of her true thoughts slip. Despite appearances, she couldn't be more different than these high-society types. They didn't know life outside of their decadent homes, nor did they appreciate the warmth that came from a fire on a cold winter's night. They hadn't endured the cold streets with an empty belly. But appearances were everything to these people, so she put on a mask when it served her interests.

"So you manufacture arms, you say?" she asked Bahram. "Indeed, I may very soon find myself in search of the services of one such as yourself. But moreso than cost or quality, what I value in a business partner is discretion. You must understand that in my business privacy if of great concern. So, Sir Isfendiyar, how well can you keep secrets?"

''Damn it.'' He had hoped that the woman had some knowledge on the host's location, but all Korkud had received was a short-lived rant on the guests. Korkud guessed that she'd slipped up, considering how it was cut short. It had served to spark some sympathy for the woman inside him, however. He repeatedly nodded his head as the woman continued talking. He found it interesting that the woman could give up a secret to a man she had just met. He didn't expect her to actually do it, however. ''If I said yes, would you believe me?'' He asked the woman, eyes fixed onto hers.

"I'm not in the business of games. Save the rhetoric for the jesters" she said, slightly annoyed by his lack of brevity. From his response she started to get the idea that he was the tricky sort. The type of person with his own agenda up his sleeve. Not unlike most, but smarter. She still was weary to trust, but wasn't insterested in making an enemy either. "Hmm, it seems my glass has emptied. Excuse me while I refresh my drink."

"Milady! Allow me to fill your glass! Your rank is above equal and is undeserving of such commoner labors," the servant as he respectfully assured before darting away in an attempt to intercept a departing refreshment carrier. The orator voices continually recited the classics upon their pedestals whilst hashish vapors briefly swirled towards the decorated ceilings. The nearby courtyards had since become an extroardinary festive gathering; the likes of which seemed rather typical amongst most aristocratic gatherers. The more notable Ivalian ladies had not seemed to offer remote attention towards the Sarifen duo, however, given their uncharacteristically dreamy eyes, one could not ascertain as to how they could have overlooked an intrinsic opportunity to safeguard their wealth and trade partnerships.

Korkud's face took on a visage of annoyance for a moment, and he sighed under his breath. ''Games? Rhetoric?'' He was quite baffled. Who would believe someone who'd say that he could be trusted? Or rather, would anybody admit that they're not a man to be trusted? He wished to respond, but the woman quickly found an excuse to take a break from the conversation. ''Women.'' If only all of them were like Darya. ''Darya..'' He mentally slapped himself. ''No time for grieving.'' For a second, he wanted to walk away and seek out the host, but decided to stay. ''He called me. He'll find me. Business is more important. Can't find business easy.''

"Milady," the servant puffed, offering a large glass filled in the swirling rare vintage only the priviledged could afford, "Your drink. The infidel almost escaped me, however, I caught him ... before he could return to the outer courtyard."

At this point Adrianna had perhaps enjoyed a little too much wine. She didn't even look at the servant boy as she took the glass. "Ahh yes, thank you. I think I'll find myself some company that is less... humorless. Should you decide, Sir Isfendiyar, that you desire my business, then do stay in touch," she said before walking, with the slightest unbalance, to a group of finely dressed ladies. Drunken men tend to talk, and women tended to hear things. A little gossip between girls could lead to juicy secrets.

The room and outer courtyard suddenly came alive and ignited in festivities as the sounds of instruments, laughter, and shuffles neared. Sparks flew into the air and the sounds of whistles and crackles erupted into dazzling spectacles that featured sparkling streamers, fire breathing, and juggling stilt walkers. Many guests clapped amidst the vigorous dancing and lively instrumental performances that had only enhanced the enlightening spectacles that surrounded a large group of guests remained locked in arm.

The claps grew louder with every passing moment and the feet shuffles rumbled across the floor alongside furious lyre performances. The Ivalian arm circle dances were popular favorites amongst the guests amongst the many festivities unfolding across the estate. The spectacles were aplenty and the furious lyre choruses buzzed through the lavish, hashish filled state rooms. Shouts and more sparkles shifted into air, as the dancing circle opened to allow newcomers into the lively gathering.

Yet again, many others stumbled through the lush estate gardens to unveil their uncouth drinking habits. The debauchery had already claimed several guests, who had either collapsed from exhaustion or excessive drinking. Elsewhere, the young dancing men and girls twirled through the gardens and past the drunken guests, lively performers, and laughing guests to pull smiling guests towards the dancing circle. This coupled together alongside periodical bangs to announce the spectacle's displays whilst re-igniting the sparkling streamers that continually flared over the guests' heads.

Amidst the several guests tottered forward and began to tumble over amongst the dancing circle, earning laughter and jovial scorn amongst various bystanders and jesters. Members of various embarrassed parties simply tottered over on their sides as roaring laughter and whistling cheers erupted across the crowds. One particularly debauched man shouted frantically and stumbled upon a sparkling streamer before careening and collapsing into a crumpled heap into a pair of juggling stilt walking jesters.

A scream suddenly erupted from the crowd as a pool of red began to simmer from the man lay motionless. More screams erupted as several additional guests soaked in blood tottered across the courtyards. Some cried for help whilst others simply gasped for breath and collapsed, never to rise again. The furious lyres began to fade as footsteps and battle cries shuffled across the courtyards. The bangs that had become such a dazzling spectacle amongst the banquet grew louder, however, instead of harmless sparks, explosions tore through the estate, ripping apart an unfortunate pair of Ivalian guests.

Shocked, the guests and performers ceased all activities whilst some screamed and dove for cover as sporadic musket balls, arrows, and javelins rained upon the estate grounds. Further towards the hashish filled state room, the dancing circle immediately broke apart as stunned guests looked on with complete and utter confusion. Others frantically rushed towards the Château interior whilst several household retainers and servants unsheathed their concealed weapons in a ring of steel. The lush groves, and ornately carved statues suddenly burst with activity as soldiers wearing dark turquoise overcoat and red salvar entered the estate grounds.

The Nezam-e-Jadid had arrived, yet they strangely ignored the guests and quickly assembled to form skirmishing lines facing towards the adjacent street. Moments later, the streets swarmed with large groups of armed Paighan men-at-arms carrying an assortment of ranged weaponry. Several Azad aristocrats clad in ornamented armors shouted orders towards their banner-men to signal a charge, only to fall as the Nezamnisarries raked their lines with several crippling musket, archer, and crossbow salvos.

As the Sarifens returned sporadic fire and retreated, one Nezam warrior wearing officer stripes barked orders and rushed towards the Hashish state room to join alongside his subordinates. The soldiers calmly maintained positions, rotated ranks, and maintained continuous, disciplined vollies of rippling fire, whilst cutting down more fleeing Paighans. Smoke had begun to engulf the outer courtyards and many guests, the Ivalians included screamed in a panicked frenzy before fleeing towards the interior Château grounds as deafening battle cries announced yet another Paighan assault.

Shortly after another murderous musket volley, the officer barked orders yet again, provoking the Nezam orta squadrons to peel away towards the Château interior as the streets once again swarmed with hundreds of armed and angry Paighan conscripts. Amidst the retreat, a large volley opened across the courts and into the retreating Nezam line. Several Nezam Warriors fell only to be dragged away by their companions; however, in the din of battle, an empty hand cannon and munition pouches clattered to the ground near a particular guest's feet.

The Lord Sovereign enjoyed a notable pull towards his cup before settling across the stairwell. The guards flanking his location arrayed through various positions along the cellar grounds before levelling their halberds. He did not normally visit the lower levels of the lower gentry, however, the notable subject confined to the wine stockades proved an exception. The casks spanned across various vintages including those hailing from Zagros and Lybim-Tartessos along the Ivalian coastlines.

Aside from their exotic collections, D'Aubigne did earn a handsome living through his banks and financial branchings across Carcassonne. The Aubignes earned as many friends as they did enemies and certainly knew how to live through their ability to collect revenues across multiple continents. In effect, their expanding fortunes established their place as a powerful family even if their titles only slightly placed their locations above petty commoners. That they were persuaded to house the prisoner only proved their ability to further his objectives throughout Valania Proper.

"Where is he, Inquisitor," Conqvist inquired upon draining his golden goblet, "Where is the prisoner?"

"He is none other than the chained man sitting not ten meters away. We exercised notable precautions to ensure he does not escape. The bastard is, by all stated evidenced, a true heretic as it is known through our sources."

"At last we meet!" The Lord Sovereign seized a moment to refill his emptied goblet before savoring the Lybim-Tartessian vintage, "Your name is ... Uriel, correct? I am certain you've been informed of your being brought here?"

The iron-masked figure turned his head slowly to follow the noble walking amidst the room, fine cloths and shiny gems and trinkets in tow. This one, this one was high. Very high. And, as he began to approach him, it became clear in how he walked towards him, directly, purposefully, with such an air of pride and arrogance, of claiming, stating how he belonged to him with how he stepped and grinned smugly at him, it was clear why he was here. He was here for him.

Then he spoke, drinking deep and emptying his cup. And he asked, and the intelligent, pompous bastard dirtied his holy name with his tongue and breath.

"Yes," he replied, his voice muffled and far less than strong for the malnutrition and torture. "Uriel Delacroix. And, yes, I have been. Your demon-twisters made quite sure to tell me." His voice, even weak, held such... contempt. Loathing. Yet, to be fair, respect. Not fear, a sincere tone of respect for one who had conquered him so well.

---

The Lord Sovereign smirked as he drained his goblet and through smacked lips. The vintage was exceedingly good and during this evening, one could not have enjoyed savoring the grapes found along the Tartessian coastline. The Ivalians always knew where to grow the best fruits and to turn sods of dirt into suitable farmlands. That their gold and seeds also lined his vaults also proved their worth, if only for awhile. The hedonistic society was certainly an abomination as was their religious devotion towards the damnable Ahmenmnian faith. Their colonial possessions were only merely convenience by chance and through the prisoner's efforts, the Valanian coasts would see that Ivalian ventures were duplicated ... in Valania fashion. Such was the manner, of business.

"Mmm, I think not," Conqvist whimsically answered, "Inquisitor Cauchon, what have you told our dear Uriel?"

"Enough to be certain that the prisoner understands how far he has fallen below Yadin-Hamon's grace," the Inquisitor flatly answered, unveiling a knife. "His body has already accepted the possessions in associations towards various demonic entities. He must be purged and b..."

"Inquisitor Cauchon, there shall be none of that," Conqvist inquired, refilling his cup, "I am certain that as soon as we've ... ohhhhh ... removed his mask, he shall know soon enough ..."

Behind the mask, Uriel smirked. By the divine, his man was as arrogant as he was, if far more vile. At least he had the wit to keep it, though. Both in admiration and disgust he silently mused to himself how both similar and different they really were. The Inquisitor likely sensed it, though nowhere near consciously enough to recognize his dispositions. It was part of why he so particularly disliked him, that his "demon prisoner" was, in some regard, on equal with his lord.

Still... even when he pondered the notion of meeting Conqvuist one day as a child, he had never imagined it quite like this. For all his secret, tiny glances into witchcraft, he had been aware that the self-righteous might smite him for it. He had never expected them to punish him with the same act, though.

Then the King spoke again and his words twisted in Uriel's gut like a knife. Remove it? Why? While some part of him immediately hoped for some tiny relief, this was the same man who had given him the satchel, tormented and insulted him so well. The bastard who ruled over this nation as corrupt and far more intelligently than near any other in centuries. Was it relief, mercy, or perhaps just practicality? Or some new torture? Uriel stared from behind the mask, his gold-brown eyes sharp like some demon's, alert and nervous.

"You are of course, fortunate, Uriel, and I'm uncertain if you truly realize how much Emperor Aryanpur and all of Sarife wants you dead. We've ensured that his assassins and agents have not discovered your presence here and ... should you ... serve our interests ... aha well ... we shall allow for unquestionable amenities involving your survival. The Sarifen Inquisition would have you burned alive, however, a chance for redemption to atone for your crimes is ... understandably a possibility."

Uriel stared at the man, his eyes wide, the slightly green-tinted golden-brown, fierce like the "eye" that marked him boring into the king like a monster, a demon, a devil, piercing into the mortal's soul-yet in apprehension, unease. How could he not know how badly they wanted him dead? He was born with at least one daemon, and a nightmarish one at that, bound to him. He was talented at more than one taboo form of magic. What more could there be to him that they would possibly hate or fear more than that...?

It was much worse. Permanent Servitude. Servitude to Serve this man's interests. What interests would this man have for him to complete? He could not operate openly, lest risking him besmearching his name; he could not operate in secret with anyone of real position, he was too recognizeable, and he was no real assassin.

"What... could you possibly want me to do for you?"

"Inquisitor Cauchon, "You have my permission to release his mask. I feel it is time."" Conqvist addressed, "The mask if you please ..."

The Inquisitor nodded, however, before traversing an inch, found the Sovereign's empty goblet flicker his way. His sighs grew increasingly relaxed following every breath amidst a most amicable gaze. The cellar's stockhold walls and cask conditions yielded aged and furnished ancient vintages no longer in fermentation. He could not have chosen a more suitable location to further his own biddings outside Sarife's ironfisted gaze.

"...and another round if you please," Conqvist handily remarked, belching, "The Tartessian vintage has grown on me ..."

Within minutes, the Cauchon and his Inquisitors had successfully released the straps along the man's head contraption, followed swiftly by motions that involved wriggling away the mask's frontal piece. As the metal cast pried away, the man's dirtied face shone into the light, unveiling his glinting, green-tinted, and golden brown irises. Immediately, upon removal, the man's arms began to shudder and soon his entire body began to shudder in a most violent convulsion.

"You cannot escape the demons, Uriel," Conqvist teased as he patted a hand along the prisoner's neck, "Your physical manifestations present a suitable host towards many and they are bound to your body as your tendons wrap across your bones. Separation shall mean certain death, however, you don't truly desire such a heretical fate now do you? Do you?!"

The Lord Sovereign's face sadistically twisted and churned into a most satisfying smile even as the shackled prisoner's convulsions grew ever more severe. Across the walls, the shadows flickered uncharacteristically as they morphed into abominous forms, featuring unspeakable ripples and jagged embers. The crackling shadows pulsated and splintered and reached across the walls, almost as if they carried wills of their own and desires to escape. Upon accepting a filled goblet, Conqvist managed another generous pull and comfortably sighed as the smile widened across his finely mustached face. Under his watch, he'd successfully bartered his own terms towards levying adequate time and if time presented itself in kind; the liberties torture yielded would certainly grow aplenty ...

Uriel gasped and writhed, twitching like a dying spider as he failed to control himself, reel his flesh and the maelstrom of spirits latched onto him like leeches with jagged, scrapped blades for teeth and pulled at him like puppet strings. Slowly, he pulled his face up to glare at Conqvist-the only face he could made in that agony, other than sheer terror or despairing agony, either of which would render him unable to answer. His mouth and eyes twitched at random intervals sporadically as he heavily pushed out words in a rough, strained voice. "What... manifestations? What... fate...? What do you want from me?!"

Sighing, the Lord Sovereign lowered as the prisoner's spasms grew ever more furious. "What do I want?" he laughed, blaring his whitened teeth, "From you?! Hahahahahahaha! I am disappointed, Uriel. You carry latent abilities that could offer great services in Valania's name and yet your bodily manifestations encourage your inability to grasp the potential your latent elemental powers may unleash!"

"Lord Sovereign," a robed servant bearing Crown Watch marked gauntlets inquired, kneeling in absolute obedience. His eyes did not leave the ground as he spoke, "Our informants are reporting developments near the Nezam Stronghold and have witnessed the Paighan Conscript Battalions and the Sarifen Aristocrats escalate their conflicts against the Nezam. In a matter of hours, the Prince will find himself utterly alone and without any friends. A beleugered and half-strengthed Nezam orta has also taken refuge within the Chateau and are engaged against encroaching Paighan Battalions.

Elsewhere, the professionals of interest. Thus far, the assassin has not consumed any food or drink and remains in the company of two seemingly insignificant nobles, to whom we presumable are her companions. Three of your agents also spotted the mounted swivel cannon leader's arrival and he has repeatedly inquired towards uncovering the Ecuyer's whereaouts. The Lady Hurrassein of the Hurrassein Powder Company was also last seen in his company. We urgently ... admonish your departure."

"Thank you Chevalier. Inform the Crown Watch I shall make my leave on the hour. Prepare the men and await my arrival ..."

---

Onatha leaned against the two who were supporting her. She was straining to keep the other seer from seeing her and her companions. The more she worked at it though the weaker she grew. Blistering claps echoed into the distance and through the commotion, the numerous guests, jesters, performers, and dancers staggering or rushing through the hallways proved too numerous to count. Some carried large, hollowed wounds whilst others dripped in blood. Yet again, several heavily armed retainers, some of whom bore the flowery emblems hailing towards various houses shouted as they unveiled an assortment of ranged and close quarters weaponry.

Lucius' arm wrapped around Ona's waist, however, upon lowering to supporting her weight, a large group of uniformed soldiers burst through multiple rooms, firing outwards as bullets and arrows began to shatter against the walls, pottery, and statues scattering the interior. In alarm, Lucius' pistol leveled towards the various soldiers wearing distinguished shoulder patches only to witness as they waved a frightened crowd of Valanian and Sarifen guests. In a strange realization, he found himself staring towards the soldiers' dark turqoise overcoats, notable stripes, and red salvar. These were Nezamnite Warriors of the Sarifen Nezam Corps and in the company of Valanians and Sarifens ... they were fighting together ...

In a split-second flash, Lucius hurled his weary blonde companion to the ground and ducked as over a dozen musket rounds poured through the open hallways. A short glance over revealed a squadron of fire arm infantry rushing into the opening chamber and in the ensuing fire, numerous Nezam Warriors peeled away to formed ranks before opening a barrage over the trio's head. The shots met with dead accuracy, felling many within the approaching squadron ranks, provoking the surviving fighters to return fire. Numerous robed guests screamed and fell as shots and arrows met their mark.

"Ona! Dae!" Lucius screamed as projectiles whistled, "Keep your heads down, damnit!"

Onatha hit the floor relatively hard. She closed her eyes and covered her ears. She felt sick to her stomach and tired. Battling with the other seer was leaving her weak. She couldn't let her win though. Further away, there was chaos and Ona tried to make herself as flat as possible.

As pots, vases, and delicate housewhere shattered all around, Lucius rolled into a flat bellied, forked position along the floor before carefully levelling and aiming his pistol. Moments after squeezing the trigger, a fighter along the opposite hallway screamed as a musketball pierced his heart before slumping over into a pillar. In short order, the Prince reached for his powder reserves as more shots rang out, this time from along the stairs. Glancing upwards, he watched as various tunic wearing Ivalians offered blistering cover fire whilst several surviving Valanians and Sarifen guests upturned pots, chairs, tables, and whatever furniture they could find.

"See that you regroup what remains of first, second, and fourth squadrons and spread the word to seal the entrances, board the windows, and take cover," a uniformed Nezam shouted. The young officer's notable spoons denoted considerable rank along his shoulder epaulettes and remained composed amidst the rounds whistling past his location. "They are wish to hasten their deaths to join the heretical demons right outside the doorstep!"

The officer calmly took aim and kneeled as a dozen Nezam warrior stifly hurled his rifle over his head. The detachment took aim and following the officer's barks, fired in unison. The devastating barrage tore into the assembling ranks, inciting numerous casualties. "Boluk-bashi! The others have enough to last awhile, but we cannot shoot forever!"

"Sir!" Another rifle wielding Nezam shouted, "The men are holding, but the Paighans are closing on all sides! We are counting at least five companies with more arriving by the minutes!"

"Then let it be known how we die, Corbaci. Let Yadin-Hamon know that we died as brothers even as our brethren betrayed our Corps to further their own masters' p..."

Startled, the Nezam officer dropped the pistol and drew his sword only to find himself staring towards an glaring, crossbow carrying man. Several comrades shouted and levelled their firearms, only to click to find their weapons empty. In their vain attempts, the Prince's eyes widened as a horrifying discovery and realization played before his eyes. Nearby, several escaping guests including a well-dressed, Valanian man managed several steps only to fall to a well aimed crossbow bolts in the back. Two Ivalian ladies screamed as they were cut down by disciplined soldiers whilst numerous victims fell to spear and sword thrusts. His arms and shoulders flared in a burning sense and through several curses, drew himself to action.

"Mon frère!" Lucius screamed! "Get down!"

---

The city streets had long since emptied after reports of widespread armed conflict errupted between the Emperor's fabled Nezamnissaries and the combined Paighan-Sipahi regiments lead by numerous aristocratic Azads. An order to restore peace and quickly martially the reserves from the Auxiliaries and the City Garrison, where men took to the walls to establish a symbolic display of law and order under the Lord Sovereign's autonomy whilst the entire Crown Watch largely remained stationed around the Royal Palace given how volatile one section of the noble's quarter had become. Various light flashes and thundering booms echoed across the cityscape as heavily assembled Household Azads engaged isolated Nezam ortas into fixed exchanges of crossbow, archer, and ranged skirmishes. The increased patrols established heavily reinforced checkpoints to ensure that the peace was not disturbed. Elsewhere, the dimly illuminated, starlit skies served as a stark back drop toward the various lights that doted the expansive open seas where numerous Sarifen warships inched closer to Voltas' wharf fronts.

Whilst most of the near poverty stricken commoners had fled the streets, two men stalked the shadows as they moved through dirtied alleyways to fulfill motives of questionable purposes. Half a dozen heavily manned and hastily assembled checkpoints had been erected hours ago, blocking the path the two had trailed begun to trail and ultimately serving to hinder their progress and broaden the gap between themselves and their objectives. As if matters couldn't worsen, it seemed that the Emperor's Sipahis and various Household Zhayedans patrolled the streets, leaving no room for error or discovery.

The alternative seemed to involve swallowing arrows or javelins from fast moving mounted Sarifens or scimitars to the neck and in so far as they had witnessed, the Sipahis were performing an admirable enough job in terrorizing the local populace in their efforts to further isolate and destroy the Nezam ortas moving across the city. Before either decision became a reality, the two moved quickly through a large opening that brought them within view of a grizzly sight. In the distance, flames shot into the skies while bright flashes and sounds of distant battle cries marked the beginning of what would likely be the end for the Voltisian Nezamnissary Stronghold. It was without surprise that when arrived near the first checkpoint barring their way through the recognizable horse hoof tracks, that they spotted bows, arbalests, and mounted archers ...

---

Château de D'Aubigne Second Floor - Noble's Quarter

---

“Oi. Oi. Oi, Balthasar!”

Three exhausted men lay in chains as they wearily kneeled upon the carpeted floors. The darkness that engulfed the sparse room's confines only served to remind them of just how precarious certain factors grew to threaten their survival and the sores from combat did nothing to ease their suffering. As sweat poured down their faces, the confined enclosure's heat had grown increasingly unbearable; where even strained hunches only aggravated their attempts to relieve the burning sensations resulting from grueling confinement.

Their predicament could only be described through a series of ambitious, albeit botched endeavors that immediately thrust their entire resistance circle into a mortal Sarifen ambush. Through costly errors and incompetence alike, the ensuing aftermath had completely and utterly reduced their insurrectionist unit to nothing. The two remaining survivors were escorted to a safe location for confinement until they could be interrogated for valuable information concerning the resistance.

“Mon frère!” the a dark haired, man hoarsely exclaimed, “You must keep your eyes open. They will kill us if we drift off like that!”

The man twisted in an attempt to grant his companion room to breathe and move. Their arms remained bound behind their backs and shackled to the wall as did their legs and feet. The sweat pouring down their faces only worked against them as thirst was quickly becoming an enemy to their survival. How they had remained alive for this long without execution was beyond them, however, as the hours rolled by, the reality that they would die a slow and agonizing death had quickly grown evident.

“It's no use. We will not leaving this place alive. Save your energy, confrère,” the man shackled furthest away murmured. His balded head stood drenched in sweat and the finely women fabrics and tailored breeches appeared to have been ruined. His swallows and shallow breaths only hastened following several coughs and sniffles. “We are finished and you only delay the inevitable. Have dignity in knowing that we were not alone before our deaths.”

Snarling, the dark haired man burst forwards and lunged towards the balded man only to jolt backwards as the chains completely impeded his movement. Bellowing, the mercenarii floundered back towards his former position before fiercely throwing a foot upon the walls to express his disdain. “Unless you 'av a way out of this imprisonment. Why don't you drown yourself in piss? Fark off you, you high born dog!”

Following momentary silence, balded man glared through the darkness before his head once again lowered. His labored breaths only further illustrated his frustration and irritation yet even through shallow breaths, his demeanor proved remarkably stoic. The dark haired man merely scowled and looked away as he rocked upon his knees to vent his anger.

“I have earned more than my share of disappointing investments that may have yielded fruit and still managed to defeat hardships that would have threatened my fortunes.”

Chortling, the balded man glared and shook his head before continuing, “You should take care in who you speak to, seigneur. The D'Aubigne branches stretch across Carcassonne and we have brought order and structure towards otherwise chaotic financial matters. Our accomplishments to the continent are much greater than you could ever realize, but whether you understand what I've mentioned remains to be seen.”

“Oh? And you call dying here in this fark hole an accomplishment?” the mercenarii sneered, “Why don't you go back to your courts where you can rape young girls and leave survival to real men, oui?”

“The only court you will find here, mind you, is one dominated entirely through the puppet Lord Sovereign's touch and his Sarifen masters. Judging by your appearance and ...” the balded man paused as boot shuffles and metallic rings from drawn weapons filtered through the hallway door, “On second thought, nevermind your attire. What brought you and your brother-in-arm here, seigneur?”

“And what does it matter to you, hm? A snivelling, aristocrat like yourself need not concern himself to lowly men as ourselves, oui? Ohhh ... but wait! You do not know, do you? Once upon a time, King Lothair and the Delacroix family once entrusted our skills and services. The people once had need of men of like us when we still brought honor to Valania and its Kingdom! Whether you understand what I've mentioned remains to be seen!”

“Ahhh ...” the balded man answered, nodding in understanding, “You and your brother-in-arm are and were a men of the most trusted Delacroix swords,” the balded man murmured, nodding. “I can now see where you acquired your slip of the tongue and understandably it was not difficult for you to have angered the wrong men. Live or die, we will all eventually share the same fate. I do not see a reason to be rude. Now, may I ask again you what has brought you and your brother-in-arm here, seigneur?”

No sooner had the man finished speaking before sounds resembling several draw string groans and metallic rings rang out from the doorway beyond. Several strings of shouts and curses followed as muffled, yet nearly deafening bangs erupted from the distance. This followed swiftly as the walls rattled from shock amidst a flurry in blasting commotions. The dark haired man swiftly straightened as screams and bellows came from below.

“Did you hear that? I think I heard musket fire from b...”

In mid-sentence, the doorway suddenly burst open, spilling light across the room as armed men wearing bowled helmets, flowing crimson capes bearing the Lord Sovereign's insignia, and Almain riveted half armor assembled across the doorway. The ranks parted enough to allow a particularly commanding man wearing officerial pauldrons to step forwards. His expression carried a certain cold-blooded stare as his eyes drilled upon the trio shackled along the walls.

"For financing and bearing arms against the Lord Sovereign and the Sarifen State under Yadim-Hamon for whom, his righteous majesty, Emperor Anoush Aryanpour rule; we of the Crown Watch henceforth find you despicable traitors and heretics to all that is holy!"

"On what charges?!" the balded man inquired! "Bring the exact accusations for which we have committed heresy and treason against a fallen realm! Present your declaration that bears no legitimate claims towards enforcing common law!"

"You are all, henceforth, sentenced to death. Given the nature of your most dastardly crimes, you are not afforded the right for last words."

"You 'eard the man," the dark haired man shouted, "You have no right to bear these accus..."

"Arbalétriers," he barked, drawing his sword, "Form ranks and make ready!"

Without hesitation, the ranks reformed as crossbowmen assembled and kneeled, before the officer raised his sword.

"Préparer!"

The sounds of battle grew ever louder as detonations and cracks bellowed from below, yet even through the commotions, the men maintained ranks as their crossbows leveled. The dark-haired man cursed and spat upon the officer just before his sword arm swung forward. Time seemed to slow as his gaze fell to the floor where the following moments would deliver his fate.

Many loud bangs erupted from an unknown direction before several large lead spheres burst across the room and through the assembled ranks. In macabre fashion, the chained canon-balls whistled through the Crown Watchmen provoking screams and shouts as many were torch limb from limb. No sooner had chaos arrived when the floors collapse, sending the entire party crashing down towards the ground floors. As dust and debris spread out across the floor, the sounds of battle came alive as musket fire, screams from various parties, and cannonade fire filled the air ...

---

Following formalities, Conqvist turned back towards the tormented prisoner, whom had since begun to witness as blood dribbled down his nose. An itch provoked the Lord Sovereign to biefly scratch his nose until a soothing sensation overpowered his senses before he smiled and recalled, "Ahh! I almost forgot you were there! Where were we?"

"You... you saith.." Uriel shakily spits, spewing the mucus mixed with blood off his lips as much as possible. "... you said... w-whargh... what... "elemental powers"...?" Uriel blinked hard, squinting as he visibly struggles to clear his head, to think. The pain for his sleep-deprived and dehydration-induced headache alone left him unclear, difficult to think; the demons wracking his soul and perhaps even flesh inside of him scattered what vague thoughts he could collect amidst a breeze of crackling embers, jagged rock and volcanic glass like breezes from Hell. His hair was plastered to his face, tiny bits of dirt and grit running down in sheening beads of sweat from his forehead. His fingers especially twitched, as though conflicted between a desire to strangle Conqvist yet bound by shackles, to writhe in pain and lose some small manner of agony for expressing it, and to collapse, unmoving, to give into crushed, broken despair.

His gaze fell to the floor, then slowly brought his hazy, glaring gaze back up."I never... even graduated as an apprentice magi of any one type before I was banished or my teacher left me... I don't... understa-anrgh... and..." Uriel shook-yet this time, he looked more as though he were cold, shivering. Alone, isolated, conflicting with the seething spite that had oft been in his gaze. As the young half-breed spoke again, his voice cracked, and for his voice one could hear him daming himself as much as those around him as his eyes watered. His tone spoke of abandonment, confusion, resentment, pride. Being lost. "... no one, none of you... ever cared about me before," he said, failing to keep his voice from slightly moaning, pleading. "... why now... what... am I...?"

"You ask the wrong questions and seek pointless answers. The true matters concern how can you repay your debts. You realize that my mercy ensured your survival, Uriel and yet you truly cannot fathom how much you may channel your latent potential. Chevalier, bring in the armorer. I feel a discussion is long overdue."

“Yes, Lord Souverain,” the Chevalier announced.

Smirking, the Conqvist poured himself another glass just as the sounds of battle echo from above. Once they'd conducted themselves, there was time enough for the demonstrations and adequate rewards. He almost pitied departing on such short notice, given the Ecuyer's rather extensive wine collection, however; matters of business and state took precedence over rare drink selections.

A short time later, a young girl wearing a bright dress and flanked by the Chevalier and an Inquisitor entered the room as the cellar walls rattled and peppered dust and wooden grains upon the armored dwellers. The shrouded darkness and flickering torchlights only dimly illuminated their enclosed surroundings whilst veiling the inhabitants faces.

“This lady was commissioned to forge the armor you now wear and … took great pains to fit your specifications. To waste your talents would be an insult to her honor as well as mine.”

Smirking, the Lord Sovereign stepped towards an opening along the cellar walls. Footsteps clattered into cellar grounds, where upon, an arriving group of men and women wearing servant attire, orator attire, and performer dress. Conqvist's eyes and ears throughout Valania proper had done their work as disguised performers and servants alike and the time to retire could not have proven more evident. Their paths crossed alongside various armed Crown Watchmen, whom unveiled cloth covered sections along the cellar to unveil armor and weapons stands. Within minutes, the new arrivals had donned armor and weapons, shed their clothing and belongings, before tossing the disguised articles into a neat pile near a particular wine cask. One particular Crown Watchman twisted a valve along the cask to release wines upon the clothing. Another struck flint upon the pile and within moments had set the clothing pile a blaze.

"Fortunately," the Lord Sovereign mused, "Divinity must come before honor, does it not, oui Mademoiselle Khavad?"

Biting her lip nervously, Corisande looked at the scene that played out before her. Even though she had not known what to expect upon being brought down here, this was far from anything that she had imagined. She flinched slightly at every sound that came from the combat above. Though fighting was something she was no longer a stranger to, very few people were in this part of the city and it was something she would forever be terrified of.

Her hazel eyes glanced between the various people in the room, resting on the chained man for a few moments. It was obvious that he was some kind of prisoner. Clearly he was no ordinary one, and she did not entirely understand why he wore armor that she had made. The man speaking was some form of nobleman. Of course she did not know who exactly - she had very little knowledge of those affairs. He must be important, for no petty nobleman would have so many people who she assumed were either guards or informants. Those who had changed clothing were most likely the latter.

Automatically she moved slightly in a direction that was away from the burning clothing. She did not particularly want to be near something so dangerous. She turned to face Conqvist. Her expression was one of both confusion and curiosity, both more evident than the fear she felt for many reasons. "In most cases yes, my Lord," she responded quietly.

"Indeed, and a woman such as yourself bears gifts so worthy that they would bring a condemned man bearing your work to redemption. It should note that in these times, there is no room for error. The strife happening above our heads is evidence enough, but the heresy that this man, Uriel Delacroix, bears is such that demonic entities would threaten to shake the very doorstep towards our beloved Valania proper!"

The cellar walls suddenly shook again, peppering the assembly with saw dust and dirt. The Crown Watch Shocktroops stood at attention without flinching, however, shuffling boots announced the robed Chevalier return. His soured face spoke more volumes than words and through harsh whispers into the Lord Sovereign's ear, a firm nod and sigh brought the regent to forwards.

“Mademoiselle Khavad," he addressed, "Your services have undoubtedly elevated Valania's safe-keeping and have warranted merits that are worthy of service under the Valanian realm. I've found the title Mother Maker most appropriate. Should your assistance continue to impress, there will be greater opportunities to serve and earn ...” the man paused in dramatic effect as a smile crept to his face before reserving the time to carefully choose his words and utter, “...adequate rewards.”

“As for you, Miseur Uriel. If you desire a chance for redemption, there is a manner in which you may prove your innocence to the realm and once again serve in Yadin-Hamon's favor. This cannot be done without channelling the thirteen demonic entities now lingering within your body. You must find a way to command the gifts Yadin-Hamon has granted to serve Valania and expunge the foes that would dare threaten his holy father's graces."

"The Mademoiselle's craft has ensured that the demonic entities are temporarily restrained from gaining control and consuming your body, however, should you attempt an escape, not only will you will find your armor lacking the Inquisition's fortuitous blessings, but the demonic pains you earlier endured consuming your heretical existence. Naturally, your demise and betrayal towards our holy father's benevolence would prove most disappointing, however, should your resourcefulness deliver you to my palace, perhaps we will discuss terms to further his holy father's blessings.”

“We are short on time, Mademoiselle Khavad,” he calmly ordered as he ushered the girl towards the cavernous opening. A simple hand gesture was all that proved necessary to direct the Crown Watch into tight formation that would surround the pair. The gesture came just before the cellar walls rocked again as faint screams and cries for help echoed from above. Simultaneously, flames began to lick against the rum barrels before quickly bursting into a flaming inferno that almost completely engulfed the only underground path leading out of the Chateau.

“Our esteemed Chevaliers and Crown Watchmen shall escort us to the surface and from there where we may discuss terms as is required to ensure your services are maximized to the most … promising direction.”

As the flames began to engulf the entire cellar, the Lord Sovereign took one last moment to refill his cup under a nearby wine cask before succinctly draining the cup, “Mmmm … another interesting vintage, D'Aubigne reserves. Pity! A shame we cannot share another drink, but stately matters call for stately measures.”

As smoke completely occupied the cellar and thinned the air, a glinting object hurled straight over the flames before clanging a short distance from the prisoner's shackled feet. “If you cannot conquer pathetic chains and a blazing hearth, Yadin Hamon's infernous creations will ensure your demise whilst demonstrating that it was his decision all along to exact punishment against your treacherous heresy. Adieu, Miseur Uriel!”

---

Uriel watched helplessly as they left while a new frustration plagued his limbs and mind. The armor they had just put on him was there explicitly to detain and force down the demons-yet he expected him to use their magic to free himself?! He clenched hsi jaw and leaned his face down as far as the chains allowed-a few meager inches and far, far from reaching the key. As it dangled there in front of him, the helpless futility finally boiled over as his anger erupted into a scream of rage-then was cut short by a spasm in his wrist with a flash of energy.

Whirling his head to stare up at it, the youth's mind began to race while a feverish, painful heat took over his hand Weighing, analyzing, calculating, his thoughts dashed over themselves as he frantically considered-then the sound of fracturing wood and the roar of fire struck louder. There was not time to calculate; thus, Uriel exhaled softly as he closed his eyes and began to reach inward.

The bastard-royal's hand began to twitch and spasm-ar more violently now, like when he was taken by the demons' claws and fangs and every few moments, a flicker of pain washed over his face before relaxing into it again. And slowly, faint as a whisper among the infernal din, he felt something rise, something deeper than the pain as heat washed over his hand. Burning, beyond searing, liquid fire that seeped deep inside and began to seek release, contained within him as the pressure continued to rise-and with it, the screaming pain. Even so, he willed it further, drove it deeper and higher, summoned more of it and more of it and more of it as he felt himself near ready to explode...

Uriel opened his eyes after the sound came, the eruption of plasma and force echoing through the fiery halls. The shackle had been blown apart-some pieces wrent and broken, some half-melted slag-and his spasming, curling hand was free. Immediately he twisted down to stretch his hand to the key, to somehow grasp it for his uncooperative fingers and lift it back up to ram it into the other metal binding.

Several minutes later, another lone figure with glints of armor under a cloak that did not match it-seemingly a discarded garment of another taken up from the floor-fled the burning cellar, clutching a twitching hand as he gradually forced it down with a whispered promise off of his lips.

"I will play your game-for now. However, only so long as I need you. Then, I am going to make you pay. I am going to win."

---

Through sheer instinctual reflexes, the officer ducked as a shot rang out over his head from Lucius' direction. A moment later, a lifeless and bloodied body flew upon the officer, provoking his rage as he savagely hurled the heavy corpse upon the bloodied floors. The uniformed men formed ranks and prepared to assemble another firing line only to hear deafening roars elevate from nearby. The sounds that resembled shattered ceramics, groaning wood, and expansive whistles followed suit as large spherical objects burst through the walls and into the main lobbies and occupied hallways. Panic and hysteria filled the halls as various members of the guests and performers alike were ripped limb from limb.

Panting, Lucius gaped as he watched the walls rattle with savage fervor and through the shouts and disarray, found his eyes stray towards a shudder along a particular segment of the ceiling. Moments later, the beams completely collapsed, bringing the timbers crashing down upon the floor. Dust and debris showered upon the collective parties as they scrambled for dear life and through the corner of his eyes, the Prince once again gaped as the Nezam Warriors calmly held position to form a static firing line.

Their steel eyed expressions and unwavering discipline became a sight of awe as their firearms came ablaze in rippling salvos towards the sea of intruders advancing towards their location. Even as cannon balls whistled from above, the Nezam Warriors held formation as they raked the intruders with volley after volley of deadly, musket fire.

His attention suddenly diverted further along the murderous hallway where the collapsed ceiling remains began to clear. Three, dust covered figures emerged from the debris and amidst the murderous fire pouring across the hallways, one dark haired man groaned as he dragged his companion forward before slowly flopping upon the carpeted floors. Another bald headed man emerged, ashen faced and bloodied, yet remarkably unharmed. Coughing, the balded man rushed towards the other two, only to trip upon a lifeless body and roll past their locations. The Prince's eyes widened in shock as he found himself staring upon two remarkably familiar faces he had not gazed upon since the Kingdom's final hours.

The ceiling suddenly shuddered again as the dark haired man fumbled across the body strew hallway under immense musket balls, crossbow, and hand cannon fire. The fanatical intruders that swarmed across the hallways and over their companions' bodies, carried assorted banners hailing across various Sarifen noble houses. Their determined assaults across the hallways were met with relentlessly precise Nezam volleys and yet even as they fell into the droves, their unyielding onslaught continued at their household Azads' urging.

"So this is my final service to Lothair, the Kingdom, and the Delacroix family? So be it," the dark haired man grunted following repeated attempts to rise! His face became pale as his breaths grew more and more labored. His eyes suddenly darted towards a nearby deafening commotion and through pained motions, found himself staring upon a swarm of battle-frenzied Paighans charging towards his location. Wincing, the man glanced down to find several crossbow bolts riddling across his chest and legs. He managed to crawl several backward paces before the Chateau shook again. A moment later, the ceiling collapsed yet again, bringing heavy debris crashing upon his location. Shortly before the hallway littered in dust, wooden beams, and marble; the man somehow managed to push his companion away.

"Go Balthasar!" he loudly exclaimed as Paighan conscripts neared, "I will tell King Lothair, Athirat, and Yadin-Hamon of your deeds, however, one of us must live, now please just go you imbecile!!"

Through gritted teeth, Lucius crawled forwards and offered his companion a reassuring pat before hissing, “Ona, stay here! I believe I recognize those men and they need our assistance. Should I fall, you must not come after me and do as Dae tells you. She will know what must be done and will remain as your only friend here in Voltas.”

Ona struggled to look at Lucius. The other seer's pressing mental strength held less vigor, but Ona felt as if perhaps there was a small chance the woman might break first. She just had to be strong. Her eyes focused on Lucius for the briefest moment, green orbs turned to stare into his eyes.

"Be careful," he heard her remark.

Frowning at Lucius' words Dae nonetheless moved slightly closer to Ona, pistol drawn as she crouched beside the other woman. Staying alert her eyes moved from Lucius to their surroundings. She was ready to fight any that came near.

A weak smile escaped the Prince's lip before he quickly dove into a rolled crouch whilst unveiling his pistol. Crossbow bolts and musket rounds flew over head where several lucky shots managed to fell and wound a handful of Nezam Warriors. He managed to crawl several paces until he heard loud screams bellow from behind. Without thinking, the Prince fell flat and rolled upon his backside before unveiling his other pistol.

He spun just in time to find a large porcelain carrying Valanian leap over and sprint past the trio with a pack of Valanians and a sparking rope trailing in his wake. As his Valanian companions dove for cover, the man burst across the hallway entrance, earning pause within the Nezams whilst redirecting the Paighan levies to redirect their fire upon him. Relentless arrow and musket fire continually raked the man, provoking screams of pain and agony, yet his legs impossibly continued onwards towards the charging Paighans in a catatonic, frenzied rage.

The explosion that resulted, shrouded the Paighan lines with such tremendous force that the entire Château rattled in most violent vigor. Further down the hallway, the Paighan advance completed halted as body parts, blood, and debris scouring their lines left the survivors reeling with shock and disbelief towards the deaths of so many of comrades. The Valanians spared no pleasantries in fulfilling their intended goal to wreck the Sarifens; inspiring the men and women to assemble and offer blistering pistol fire upon the Paighans whilst several members pulled and pried the trio away from the rubble. Their efforts delivered a malicious blow upon the Paighans, forcing a hasty retreat.

Sometime later, the Valanians retreated back towards the staircase as the reformed Nezam lines advanced to offer their own deadly volleys upon the fleeing Paighan rabble. One particular man trailing some ways behind his Valanian companions halted short of the staircase before his gaze fell upon Ona. A peculiar expression engulfed his face and following a short gape, a smile reached his lips.

The man's pupilless eyes took upon the kindest, most sincere gaze before a strange dialect escaped his lips, "And to think that I was one of the last Al Mayrin left in this beautiful, yet tragic continent."

The words hit Ona's ears and she turned, finding energy she did not know she had left in her to find the source. She found the man her own pupilless eyes finding his. "Could it be?"

She felt the other seer push against her mental barriers and Ona had to focus once more. She took a deep breath in and braced herself. She had lost track of Lucius but there was not time to try and find him in the chaos. There was too much she needed to do already.

Dae eyed the other man suspiciously, disliking this strange language with which Ona and him conversed. However she made no moves to kill him as he did not seem to have the intent to attack them.

The Château walls rattled once again as cannon balls smashed through the walls and through the interior rooms. His eyes suddenly glanced towards the staircase where groans, sobs, and wails from the surviving guests instigated a furious expression that quickly transcended to sadness. A moment later, his hand gently fell upon the seer's forehead where a sigh escaped his lips.

"There aren't many of us left and I wonder if my Valanian brethren were right to have chosen me over their own to lead one of their many men."

As the world shook around her and in her mind the barriers were pushed against Ona forgot about it all as the man's hand went to her forehead. She wished she had the strength, wished she had the time to speak to him more. It was not to be.

The man suddenly gasped upon witnessing the Château rattle yet again and before he could rise any further, a large wall section smashed away into a downward spiral upon their location. Cries of warning escaped the surviving guests as wood, marble, stone, and glass collapsed upon Ona and the Mayrin man's location, however, the man managed to thrust the girl away before sharpened debris buried upon him.

Ona fell to the ground, shoved away as the wall collapsed. Her mind gave for a moment as fear and anguish set in.

"No!" She turned, crawling to the spot where the man had once stood, where they had both once stood before the wall fell. How could this be? How was he here? Why? And now, to be gone?

Ona tried to pry up the debris with her hands in an attempt to find him when pain ripped through her body. The other seer was breaking through. Ona's hands went to her head and she curled up in a ball, a scream on her lips that was drowned out by the noise around her.

"No!"

All her energy was put back into keeping the other out. Every last ounce of herself was thrust forward to keep the seer out. She felt the woman waiver on the other side. If they would break she could be free. The world was crumbling around her as she lay on the ground but it had no effect on her.

She felt a loss for a man she did not know. In her mind, she remained locked in a battle of mental wills that continually forced her into a fight for her life.

"Ona!" Lucius screamed, "Are you alr..."

In mid-sentence, his words became drowned out as his attention diverted yet again. The Chateau suddenly shuddered again as the interior walls splintered apart in a sea of debris. Another explosion rocked the hallways as loud battlecries echoed from down the riddled hallway ruins. Orders flew down the Nezam lines and in short order, they quickly reformed to meet yet another determined thrust by another swarm of screaming Paighan conscripts.

Dae turned slightly at Ona's scream, glancing over the seer who seemed to be locked in a mental battle of sorts. She barely understood what was going on there. However, she would do what she could to keep Ona alive. If only that idiot Lucius had not ran off to save whoever those people were! What they needed to do right now was get out of here.

The battle cries grew louder as Paighans swarmed into the Nezam lines with incredible ferocity. In their wake stood men much more properly clad in heavily plated armor coated in ornate decorations. Alongside the plated shock, colorful banners flew into the ceiling, announcing the arrival of various Household Zhayedans and their Azads aristocrats. Without thinking, Lucius leaped into a crouched roll as his eyes strayed towards the bodies of several fallen Paighans and retainers littering the floor. His hands found a bloodied snaplock musket and without thinking further, hurled the weapon towards Dae's direction.

"Oy Dae," he shouted, "Catch!"

Raising an eyebrow slightly, Dae quickly put away the pistol she had drawn in time to catch the musket thrown at her. Inspecting the weapon she gave a slight nod in Lucius' direction. Well, their chances of survival had just increased somewhat. A good gun was always useful. Moving position she raised the musket, prepared to shoot any the came near ...

"PHILIPPE!"

The torn cry echoed across the hallway, past the bodies, past the rubble, to the arrow ridden body of a man sprawled across the hall. From where he laid behind the ruins of a staircase, Balthazar watched as his comrade-in-arms fell and died from the multitude of bloody wounds in him from the crossbow and musket fire, just before a section of ceiling fell from above and buried his corpse.

Just prior to this, he had been in shackles. A prisoner, claimed by Sarife for merely following the wrong ruler. In his search for the young Prince Lucius, he had stumbled onto pockets of resistance fighters and followers within the walled city, united under a circle of leaders, a secretive cadre of former followers and servants of the old King. All had gone on to be members of high society in some shape or form, but had kept their allegiances to the old Kingdom secret. Being one of the old royal guard, elite soldiers especially close to the king and extremely dangerous, he had been instantly taken into the fold, given tasks to carry out often during the secrecy of night. Infiltration, assassination, disruption of supplies, that sort of thing. After he'd returned to Valania his life for the past few months had been this, and he'd taken to his new job with a passion, all the while still searching for the Prince he knew was alive but was always two steps too far ahead of him.

Then, he and one other, an old friend named Philippe were given a very special assignment: at the Château de D'Aubigne, they were to pose as servants, for there was a meeting to take place there. A party. Much royalty would be present, including those detriment to their efforts to restore old rule to the throne of Valania. Their mission: to seek and obtain documents hidden within the chateau's rooms, specifically the many studies and libraries, detailing port logs at the Valanian Port. Shipping manifestos, cargo lists, anything to do with the port. They were to look out specifically for shipments of armaments. Prior spies in the dockworkers guild had uncovered suspiciously large arms shipments to and from Valania, but to whom the Resistance was not sure. That was what they were tasked to find out. The orders came from Valanian royalty, or at least someone high enough up the ladder to make finding their identity through regular means impossible. Thus, their mission. Their progress and news was spread back to the Resistance leaders by way of dead drops and secret, back alley meetings late at night.

However, several weeks into their assignment, grave concerns: dead drops began to go unvisited. Meetings went by with no one showing up. All was quiet. It was only upon investigation that the duo realized that the resistance was being hunted, dismantled piece by piece. Balthazar and Phillipe both realized that they were no longer safe with the rest of their comrades, and instead focused on the task at hand.

Sadly their luck was to run out, as they were caught not long after the resistance began falling. Captured and imprisoned, it was only now that they finally were free.

But to no avail. Phillipe was dead. The resistance movement falling. Even now, amidst the chaos, Balthazar caught faces, glimpses of his leaders, once secretive, now falling one by one to the Sarifen soldiers. Hunkered down behind a pile of rubble, he turned his back to the conflict, which brought his gaze to someone he thought he'd never meet.

As he laid his eyes upon the familiar faced young man, Balthazar briefly harkened back to a time when that young man was merely a young boy. Fond, happy memories of a peaceful time.

A musket ball cracking through the wood near him brought him back to reality.

Balthazar got up quickly and ducked down low, trying his best to avoid getting killed as he made his way towards Prince Lucius. Upon reaching the Prince where he and his companions were hiding, he dropped to a knee, his face lowered to the floor in reverence to the former Dauphin de Valania.

"My liege, where have you been all this time? Doubtless you do not remember any of your father's Royal Guardsmen, but I was of them regardless. I have searched for you for years, but to no avail. Why are you here?"

Through blinks of sheer disbelief, Lucius found himself gazing upon a familiar face he had believed long dead and for several moments words were beyond any sort of rational elaboration. Before he could speak further, the sounds of screaming warriors soon met his ears and all too soon, the assembled group found themselves embroiled in the thick of conflict. Shouting, the Prince leveled his pistol and fired at near point blank range, felling a pock marked conscript wearing armor and a battle axe.

The man quickly fell only to be replaced by several other screaming Paighans. Moments later, the middle hallway erupted as the Nezam line erupted in massive musket volley of near perfect unison. As the Paighans fell into the doves, the Nezam Warriors advanced, whilst drawing their swords upon the silent Zhayedans and their Azad commanders.

Lucius wasted no time in drawing the Royal Delacroix retainer away and towards cover before hissing, "Balthasar?! Qu'est-ce que dans les diables ..."

The Prince paused momentarily as the Zhayedan's crashed into the advancing Nezam line in eerie silence, follow swiftly by rumbles along the crumbling Chateau's walls. Through gritted teeth, he unveiled a fully loaded pistol and slid the weapon along the grounds towards the man before unholstering yet another.

"Balthasar," he hissed, "Is it really you?"

"Y-yes, my liege, it is I."

Balthazar looked up slowly to look the Prince in the eyes for the first time in years.

"It has been many years since I last saw you, my liege. Oh...how you've grown."

He grabbed the pistol and hefted in his hand, mind still racing with thoughts. Settling on a course of action, he set his face in a grim expression and looked around.

"Alas, my liege, it is not safe here. We have to leave else we meet our ends in this hellish place."

"Had you suggested such a luxury an hour ago, I might have considered," scowling, the Prince ducked as a Chateau ceiling splintered away amidst whistling sound of a cannon ball tearing through the second story sections, "However, given that it is a little late for that, I fear our choices are rather limited!"

"Then we fight our way out of here, my liege!"

As he said this, the Nezam line broke briefly, letting past a Sarifen soldier that ran straight at them. Flipping the pistol around in his hand so he was holding the barrel, he ducked and used the hook of the gun's grip to trip the charging soldier. Then as the man fell flat on his face, Balthazar stamped down hard on the back of his neck with his heel, breaking it and killing the man instantly. He knelt and picked up the dead man's weapon, a curved scmitar with a deadly sharp blade, and nodded to himself.

"This will have to do..."

The pistol he stuffed into his belt as he went back to the Prince.

"My liege, the Chateau is due to cave in on itself soon from all this cannon fire. It is absolutely important that you and your companions are escorted to safety."

As the Nezam line shifted backward from a fresh Sarifen counterattack, Balthazar shook his head in exasperation.

"Would I have Phillipe here, or any other number of my comrades in the resistance, I would've led an escape most daring. Sadly I am the only man here who is not busy fighting our dear Sarifen friends so I will have to make do."

He stood slightly and looked around. All about him, debris and dust rained from the ceiling as soldiers dashed about both above them and on their same level, while cannonballs screamed and tore through wood and marble, stone and glass. Ahead of him the line of soldiers staggered under a fresh offensive, shaken but not stirred as they regrouped and fired another volley of musket balls into the fray. But they were not to hold; the very hallway in which they were fighting in was starting to less resemble a hall and more a pile of rubble. The very foundations shook with the power of the cannon fire. Every extra second they spent within was another step towards their utter destruction.

Right now, his only option was to lead the Prince and his entourage down towards the other end of the hall, where the fighting was less fierce. He turned back to Prince Lucius and pointed the way.

"There, down the other end of the hallway. We must escape this area, at the very least, to better find a way out of this madness!"

Balthazar knelt and picked up the shield the dead soldier had, before standing back up to his full height.

"My liege, you shall follow me. I will clear a path for you and your companions to traverse unharmed."

Following the rather unpleasant exchange with the businesswoman, Korkud had spent most of his time sitting down on an admittedly very comfortable and large couch by a small pool, trying to focus on the rippling sounds of the ornate well feeding water into the pool. The marble structure was pleasant on the eyes – more curvaceous and detailed than the ones he was familiar with, but these lacked the simple aesthetic of Sarifen carving. Nonetheless, it was enjoyable to lay eyes on the marble cherubim. It had been a long time since he had been able to just sit down and… enjoy.

As he waited for D’Aubigne to arrive, he could hear shots in the distance. What had startled him at first was revealed to be a simple form of entertainment when he turned his head to see, with mere fireworks flying around the courtyard. ‘What a waste of good material,’ he thought to himself as he watched the nobility dance around as the streamers flew above them. It seemed no different than your average party of debauchery. He’d been a part of these, as a child. Although they were nowhere as extravagant as this – back then, it was just wine, opium macun, and music. Perhaps it was the Ivalian customs that made the differences.

‘‘I see that you aren’t very satisfied with the party,’’ said a young, fair haired Ivalian nobleman as he sat down by Korkud, alongside with his similarly fair haired female partner. Korkud wasn’t entirely sure whether that was his sister, or lover, or both. Indeed, they looked quite alike. ‘’Not used to this sort of thing,’’ Korkud blurted out as he turned his head back at the pool. ‘’I assume you don’t see this sort of party back in Sarife,’’ the young lady next to the man said. ‘’Yes, you don’t,’’ Korkud quietly said.

‘’Fine work of art, is it not?’’ The young man said somewhat enthusiastically, perhaps in an attempt to continue the conversation, while pointing at the well with the back of his hand. ‘’I myself like simpler, more geometric pieces, but it would be wrong to dismiss this beauty just because of a mere matter of taste.’’ Korkud finally turned his head towards the duo, and smiled – ‘’I agree. Sometimes, less can be more.’’ The nobleman seemed happy about the fact that Korkud shared his opinion, although was now somewhat taken aback by Korkud’s scarred face, now that it had come into open view. ‘’I assume you’re a martial sort,’’ the young man said, leaning back against the couch. The lady, on the other hand, seemed much more enthusiastic – ‘’I’m sure you have plenty of stories to tell!’’ She said excitedly. ‘’I can’t say I do,’’ Korkud lied, but the girl went through anyway. ‘’Please, a man with such a face! Please, do tell!’’ The nobleman was also cheering for Korkud to tell his stories, perhaps thanks to the lady.

‘’Alright, alright,’’ Korkud said, which made them somewhat quiet and expectant for a story of chivalry. ‘’I was the head of cavalry once. We made the foolish mistake of charging against a line of cannons and muskets. I survived, most of my men were not so lucky. The barrage tore straight through them.’’ The lady was somewhat unsettled by the images the story brought her, while the young man was intrigued. ‘’Is that where you got your scar, sir?’’ Korkud stopped. ‘’No, that was my brother.’’ The young man stopped. ‘’Oh, I didn’t know. Was it a training accident?’’ Korkud grinned for a second. ‘’You could say that.’’

The young lady turned back at the fireworks commotion. ‘’These things are getting quite louder, no? They’re scaring the people!’’ Korkud stopped. The sound was indeed much louder, and one much familiar. ‘’I believe we should head inside,’’ Korkud said as he looked around and saw a guest fall. ‘Not good. Not good.’ The young man looked like he wanted to obey his advice, whereas the young lady was oblivious to the situation. The screaming increased, and some of the guests were covered with blood – at this point, the nobleman started pulling the lady’s arm, who seemed to be in shock, or denial of what’s happening. ‘’This is an odd joke, isn’t it, Michel?’’ The young man was getting angry. ‘’For Athirat’s sake, Marie, we have to-‘’

Korkud opened his eyes lying flat on the ground, looking up at the ceiling, unable to hear anything but an overwhelming tinnitus. He could feel something warm on his face, and between his clenched teeth. ‘Am I dead?’ He moved his arm slightly, trying to get a grip on the ground. ‘Not yet.’ His hand seemed to slip off the ground, and it was only when he turned his head to face his hand did he see that it was covered with blood. ‘No.’ He managed to get up on a knee, and somewhat disoriented, finally stood up, trying to find something to lean on, dizzied from whatever had just happened. The tinnitus was slowly fading, making way for sounds of battle instead. He managed to lean himself against a pillar and pulled out one of his pistols, looking around. At that moment, he realized that the blood on him was the young nobleman’s. Whatever remained of him was splattered on the floor, and partially on the young girl, who seemed to have pieces of marble and couch stuck on her body as well, with her arm torn off from the elbow. The man’s hand was still wrapped around the girl’s remaining arm.

Korkud raised his pistol and started looking around from behind his makeshift cover, seeing a large group of Nezamis firing from inside the courtyard at targets he could not yet make out. As the smoke of their salvo cleared, he saw that the courtyard was turned into a shallow grave, with bodies of fallen soldiers on the grass, and probably beyond. As the well-drilled Nezamis retreated, Korkud decided to do so as well, grabbing the noble lady by her shoulder and trying to pull her to safety. As they slowly moved back, Korkud heard another discharge, and saw the contents of the young lady’s ample bosom gush out from her chest. Letting her go, Korkud turned and fired his pistol in the general direction of the shot.

Taking cover behind an overturned table, Korkud looked around and saw soldiers approaching from all directions, with some slowed down Nezamis, attempting to pull their comrades to safety, trying to hold them off. Korkud holstered his pistol and his hand went to draw another, but he stopped when he saw a hand mortar, with a bandolier wrapped around its stock, lying on the ground. He grabbed the hand mortar's stock and pulled it to himself, checking the powder pan. Seeing it empty, Korkud immediately unloaded the contents of a wooden powder charge, ripped from the bandolier, into the muzzle of the hand cannon. He poured a small amount of fine powder inside the powder pan, and after arming the cannon with a large ball from the pouch with the help of a ramrod, he cocked back the hammer of the snaphaunce and got out of cover, firing into the crowd of Paighans trying to catch a wounded Nezami moving to retreat. With a thump, the ball lodged itself in the thigh of a Paighan, and exploded a second later, ripping apart a bunch of the group. Grinning, he gestured the Nezami to quickly fall back, and drew out his sword the moment after. Slinging the still smoking hand cannon over his shoulder, Korkud got up from cover, pulled another pistol from his large holster, and shot at a Paighan holding a crossbow.

‘’Come! Let me introduce you to the Sirr-i Akbar!’’ Korkud roared as he lodged his sword into the throat of a Paighan trying to rush him. Pulling back the sword through the edge of the man’s neck, Korkud holstered his pistol and moved a step back as more Paighans appeared. ‘’Come, face the Sahib-Qiran!’’ Korkud shouted as he stepped forward to lodge his sword into the eye of a Paighan, pulling it out with a single move, and then swinging the sword in the general direction of the rest to keep them back, cutting through an unwary Paighan's face and forcing the rest to cease their movement to guard against the blow. With that momentary distraction, Korkud immediately hightailed out of the courtyard into the state room with the Nezamis.

Torches, banners, and slow moving steel walls appeared over the Château outer perimeter as hundreds of men arrived to join their retreating comrades. Moments later, the outskirts soon lighted with sporadic muzzle flashes and followed swiftly by whistling, miniature projectiles and flaming arrows. In the near distance, a slow moving aura filled the air as torches began to light the Château grounds, bearing the notions that the entire area had been surrounded on all fronts.

A lone Nezam officer commanding the rear guard furiously bellowed an order to unleash another devastating volley against newly arriving conscripts. The disciplined salvo tore through arriving Paighan conscripts in such deadly fashion that it exacted enough of a crippling blow to force another retreat back towards the outskirts. Without hestitating, the officer wasted no time in barking orders towards his remaining Nezam subordinates, whilst, performing an almost clockwork motion to reload his musket.

His expression turned grave as the sound of thundering hooves, metallic clanks, footsteps, and loud shouts loomed over the horizon. The ranks had already reformed into a cohesive double line where most of the Nezams had reloaded their firearms, whilst the wounded were brought to the rear for attention. Within moments of reaching the noble's location, distant, thundering roars echoed from the surrounding vicinity followed swiftly by resonant whistling, loud crashes, and splintering groans as lead objects began to tear into the Château grounds with remarkable precision and strength.

“Though I know not your name, noble sir, your fighting skills have twice saved myself and my men,” the officer announced whilst ducking to avoid splintering glass and wood shards, “For that I would commend your services to reach the Emperor's ear, however, given that treachery has brought us out of his favor, that may now prove impossible."

Battle cries suddenly errupted followed by the sound of firearm cracks, provoking the officer to draw his pistol again and turn towards the commotions. In a short time period, a large cadre of heavily plated soldiers bearing various flourished aristocratic insignia burst through the Château's main entrance and charged in unison alongside their complementary conscripted subordinates. Many fell to rippling musket vollies, however, the heavily armored aristocrats remained untouched as they rushed in unison through the entrance.

"Sir," a subordinate voiced, "If we assemble, we may be able to smash their rear to save our brothers and the strength of the entire orta."

The officer cocked the pistol hammer before waving in the remaining warriors to assemble in his stead. His eyes darted back towards the finely dressed, mortar carrying nobleman and voiced, "This madness where brother Sarifens butcher each other is only the beginning and I fear this is a taste of what awaits the Empire. Should you wish to live a while longer you will follow my men and stay behind our lines from within the Château. We cannot continue to defend out in the open and hope to live."

---

As their leader lead them across the courtyard, the disciplined Nezams gathered in silence. Shortly before reaching the entrance, the officer's eyes strayed towards a stray wine bottle laying near a dismembered corpse. The man quickly retrieved the bottle and set to work emptying its exquisite contents along the garden grounds as the veteran Nezams filed directly into a line without flinching and as ordered, maintained their positions alongside the finely dressed, albeit heavily armed aristocrat of a man. Those that could not stand, but still able to fire their muskets were positioned along locations where they could offer sporadic small-arms whilst the remaining combat capable Nezams. In the distance, men screamed as they lined the outskirts, but maintained their distance as siege weapons periodically battered the Château with debatable accuracy.

Several Paighans spotted the assembled Nezam line and began pointing towards their location. Within moments, a large ballista along the outskirts slowly pointed towards their location as the operating handlers began to load and fire upon their location. Simultaneously, archers and crossbowmen began to assemble into a formidable location to discharge upon the Nezam lines whilst ultimately provoking the Nezam officer's hasty steps. Shortly after completely stuffing the wine bottle with as many munition balls and powders as possibe, the officer immediatey jammed a tightened cloth wad through the bottle opening before offering a nod towards the mortar carrying aristocrat. Several barked orders later, the remaining Nezams levelled their muskets whilst several unveiled, prepared, and ignited small shapened munitionary balls for hurling...

---

---

Lucius opened his mouth to speak and only managed to blink before screams rang out from behind and ultimately forcing a decision to immediately drop to the floor. His eyes darted as he scrambled to discern the commotion before ultimately resting upon a small assembly of fellow Valanian fighters armed with an assortment of firearms and blades. The men and women unloaded a devastating volley upon approaching Sarifen shield wall before retreating back towards the staircase and a quick glance towards the wounded, dead, and dying was all the Prince required to assess the unfolding situation. The gunpowder smoke clouds had begun to cloud the vicinity while the screams and cries for help filled the air.

Once again, Lucius glanced towards Ona, Dae, and the survivors gathered along the stairwell and across the expansive, grand staircase room before diverting his eyes towards the hallway where thick fighting had exploded into absolute chaos. Pools of blood slickened against the walls and marble grounds as stray bodies littered the floors. His heart began to sink as a sudden and dishearteningly explicable realization struck his senses. They were completely and utterly trapped and there seemed no way out from this nearly inescapable. Following a moment of silence, the Prince's gaze rested upon the seasoned retainer before placing a hand along the man's shoulder.

“Balthazar,” he firmly answered, “Your resolve is unquestioned, however, if you aren't already aware, we are completely surrounded. Escaping into hordes of angry Sarifen men at arms or hails of Sarifen arrow and shot is not how I envision ending our evening!”

It was upon that moment that a violent creaking sound errupted from above and before the Prince could speak any further, his eyes darted above as the roof and wooden beams collapsed upon the staircase, crushing most Ivalian, Sarifens, and Valanian survivors residing upon the debris strewn stairways. His eyes widened as more beams and planks collapsed into crumbling heap and in a instinctual, split second decision wrapped his arms around the seasoned, Delacroix royal guardian and heaved the man backwards just as the sharpened debris came crashing upon their location. The manuever just barely managed to rip the two to safety, but not before the Prince suffered the worst of the brunt of the debris as wooden planks, marble, stone, and glass poured over his body.

Groaning, Lucius raised an arm and grew increasingly slow to rise before glancing towards the massive wall of debris that had caved in towards the staircase where the others awaited. It did not take long before he realized that they were trapped and completely separated from the others and through coughs and sputters, the Prince just managed to duck again as the Château shook again, spraying dust, marble, and wooden splinters over their heads. Some paces ahead, the Nezam Warriors held, however, their lines had begun to buckle as the sheer weight of the Paighan soldiers smashed against them with such unrelenting ferocity that small gaps had begun to form. The trailing Zhayedan and Azads drove a wedge through the new opened holes to exploit the exposed flanks situated near several isolated Nezams where casualties slowly began to mount.

“If we are to clear a path, we will do so with every card in our sleeve,” he cried through gritted teeth, “Follow my lead, give no quarter, and if we must fight alongside the Nezams, so be it!”

Steel glinted as he immediately drew his sword and retrieved a stray buckler from ground before preparing to rush into the thicket to intercept the oncoming shock troopers. Lucius dove into a crouched roll to parry a swing before dispatching the Paighan through the throat. Before blood even hit the ground, the Prince had already sent the doomed conscript crashing towards a pack of retainers before bashing another conscript in the face. The blow sent the man careening backwards, freeing a wounded Nezam a critical window to dispatch his foes and plug a gaping hole within his comrades' buckling line.

A horn sounded and suddenly the conscripts retreated behind a solid shield wall formed by heavily armored retainers and their household Azad commanders. The shield wall quickly advanced in unison before smashing into the Nezam line with such ferocity that many Nezams lost their footing. Heavy casualties began to mount as the outnumbered Nezams, armed with only their curved swords, large bucklers, and emptied snaphaunce rifled muskets fought tooth and nail against a well disciplined tide of steel and deadly butchery that only granted momentary survival against mortal odds.

Lucius struggled immensely against the wall of shields and lethal retainers that began to cut down the weary Nezams and any that stood in their way. There would be nothing that stood between the shield walls and the surviving banquet guests and as Nezam warriors began to fall, the inevitable reality that they would all be massacred within Voltas had begun to set into stone. His lungs burned and his arms ached. More fallen comrades, more dishonor brought against innocents, and repeated injustices committed against bystanders that impeded various ruthless and power mongers.

Frowning, Lucius rose and returned to his fighting stance only Vectisian Legionaries exhibited amidst the steady and controlled advance of the heavily armored Azads with shields locked and a ferocious chant that filled the air. Fighting grew thick as more Nezams were knocked to their feet, however even as they fell, the Nezams stood forth and fought to the death without giving an inch of ground. Without heavy, steel-plated armor, munitions, shields, or numbers, even the best training and iron willed resolve could only momentarily stem the tide before the pushing power of several dozen disciplined Azads and their steel-wrapped, Zhayedan retainers brought about the inevitable.

The Prince gathered his wits, stepped into an opening within the Nezam lines, and repositioned, shield first even as his body ached and screamed for respite from almost every conceivable way, shape, and form. He would not fall and allow the Sarifens to take him alive even as exhaustion and pain ached across Lucius' entire body. There was little he could do as he attempted to hold his own alongside the Nezamnis given his back neared the wall and without knowing how Dae or the others fared, he knew that his fate lay in a narrowing display of strength of arms. Through sweeping squints, his eyes strayed to a man he had long thought dead and in the din of battle, he watched as Balthazar advanced into the thick of battle. Men he had sworn to murder whenever the opportunities presented themselves fought alongside him to stem the advancing Sarifen shock troops.

To this end, the instincts he had gained through years of running from Emperor Bahramesh's Sipahis and surviving Vectis' brutal Legionary training resurfaced to bring an understanding that most professional soldiers and fighting men implemented during extremely volatile, life-or-death engagements. The struggle would not end until either he or his enemies fell and all around, the Nezamni line slowly began to wither under the impenetrable, Sarifen shield wall. The plate armored Azads and their veteran Zhayedans were relentless as they claimed more and more Nezams to their furious assault.

Lucius' attempts to stem the opening pockets along his flanks only delayed the inevitable as he furiously lunged into his collapsing perimeter to pierce numerous exposed Zhayedan shield carriers that advanced past his flanks. His sword thrusts and stiff striking techniques happened more times than he could count and before he could even blink, he too fell as something struck his face. In a flash, stars exploded across his vision as several grim-faced, shield carrying Azads closed in all sides. Gasping, his throat burned and his head spun, yet his sword drove skywards and into the chin of an oncoming Zhayedan before more shields crashed against his body ...

---

...except they did not. Mostly.

Balthazar stood his ground as a heavy shield slammed into his raised hands, pushing his feet backwards against the debris from the cannon fire. With gritted teeth, he pushed back against this lone soldier, even as the others fought around him. The soldier tried to fight against the push, but his unwavering strength did not yield, making the man fall off balance as Balthazar stepped forward. With sword in hand and his other free, he grabbed one side of the offender's shield and yanked it aside, stepping forward as he shoved his blade into the soft spot of his armor.

The soldier grunted and screamed as the once-knight twisted the heavy blade within his gut and withdrew the sword, his free hand grabbing onto the shield as the now lifeless soldier slumped to the ground. He yanked it from the dead man's arm and stood firm, even as the Azads readied for another push. The soldiers poured in from the sides, forcing Balthazar back to protect the Prince. With shield raised he blocked an oncoming blow and sliced the neck of the one responsible, and with another stroke he parried a swing and bashed a soldier's face with his shield. Weary but determined to keep the Prince alive, he stood his ground, shield up and sword raised and ready.

"Balthazar," Lucius wheezed, through heavily labored gasps. Utterly fatigued and out of breath, the Valanian royal heir stumbled and desperately clambered to his feet to support the grizzled Delacroix retainer in battle, "Seems my ancestors have sent you to watch over me ... if only for a moment ... and I intend to make good on their generosity!"

"Sentiments shared, my lord, sentiments shared. I'm sure your father is watching over you even as we fight."

Balthazar lent a hand to the Prince, lifting him up bodily so they stood side by side. There was a fire in the young man that was yet unquenched, one of bravery and fortitude even in the darkest of hours. Thus was the heart and soul of the Delacroix family. It inspired those around them, as he had witnessed when King Lothair was on the throne.Balthazar stopped a downward chop with his shield and impaled the offender on the tip of his scmitar, before withdrawing the blade as the corpse fell aside. He gave an aside glance to Lucius as he readied his sword again. He was determined to keep this man alive, now that he'd finally found him.

"Come, my liege. Let us power through these rabble and get you to safety!" Curses erupted to their left as a Nezamnissary warrior brutally dispatched an advancing shield carrying Zhayedan, gutted another in the heart, and slammed yet another household retainer to the ground before his face caved into a swift blow to a spiked hammer and dozens of sword stabs. Stepping forward, the Prince moved to extend his flank only to find the hammer carrying soldier swing in a powerful display of force that nearly smashed the Prince upon the wall had his sword not whistled down into a wide cleaving arc upon the Sarifen's bicept. As blood gushed out and slicked across the floors, another Zhayedan took his place to patch the line.

Through a magnanimous roar, the Prince doggedly dodged a Zhayedan's forward thrust and parried before lunching forwards into a counter thrust to pierce the assaulting Azad's neck. Through a heavy grunt, the Prince winced as his ribs ached and his lungs burned for air. Even as blood trails gushed out of the aristocrat's throat, Lucius wasted no time in readjusting his shield, stepping forward to plug the gap whilst anchoring alongside his determined companion's side.

This compounded further into a two pronged maneuver where his hands seized an incoming Zhayedan's long beard before reeling the soldier forward into Balthazar's awaiting blade. Severe casualties began to mount amongst the thinning Nezamnissary and soon the two found themselves surrounded and backs against the walls with no other direction for retreat. Thrust after counter-thrust occurred in the savage struggle of arms in a display that would put most soldiers to shame.

As one, Prince and Retainer fought side by side against a slow moving tide of moving, glinting steel while the walls sprayed saw dust and debris over their heads. They were in this until the end when the pushing power, fresh soldiers, and wall of steel overwhelmed their position. It was only a matter of time before they would all fall to the sword as did all who opposed Sarifen authority. Shouting, Lucius barely managed to reposition his shield in time to block the soldier's fresh push. His will remained unquestioned, however his muscles could no longer muster the energy to confront the Sarifen battalion's immense pushing power.The end was near and in a moment that very well could have been his last, offered his companion a weary, respectful nod.

"I'm sorry, Balthazar, however, I'm afraid we've met our end!" the Prince cried as he moved desparately to stave off multiple Zhayedans' sword swings, "Remember me when we reach to the Halls above. Vive la Valaniaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!"

---

‘’Surrounded-‘’

Thanks to the situation he was in, Korkud was practically running on the spare air in his lungs now, too concentrated -or overwhelmed- to breathe – occasionally, he’d give out a monotone cough, and refill his lungs as his mouth retracted to clench his teeth once more. His mind was completely aware of his odd manner of breathing, but was too busy with formulating ways of escape to actually lend hand to fix it. Breathing fine wasn’t going to do anything against an army that had the entire place surrounded. Korkud had been in worse situations, and thus he was not hopeless – but that didn’t mean that he was confident, given he hadn’t left those situations without harm. Getting blinded was definitely not something he wanted to experience again.

First things first, he thought – they had to clear the foes inside the Château and then make sure none would be able to enter. Then they would have to deal with artillery trying to bring the structure down on them, but that wasn’t as immediate a danger as the armored men inside. The officer was working on something, and he knew that the Nezamis were formidable and efficient in their methods. But nonetheless, time was running out. Time was running out, and when it finally did, all his life’s work would be in vain. All the suffering, the deaths… He wasn’t going to die knowing that. His responsibility was far too important to let go of him in death.

The officer reappeared moments later with a bottle of wine, with a wad of cloth stuffed into it. Korkud half nodded to show his appreciation for the man’s makeshift explosive – there was no time to thank him. They were surrounded on all sides. Korkud’s eyes were all over the architecture. He wanted to buy time, to stop any more enemies from coming in. ‘’Need to tear down that gate,’’ he muttered. And at that moment, Korkud was enlightened with the lighting of a candle. Their salvation was, literally, in his hands. If he could blow up the powder charges, the hand mortar would be able to cave down the entrance.

Korkud abruptly held the hand mortar upside down, almost bashing the Nezami Officer in the face during the process, and unstrapped the bandolier wrapped around its stock. ‘’Load this,’’ he muttered as he handed over the hand mortar to the Nezami Officer alongside one powder charge. Perhaps thanks to his nobleman origins, or perhaps thanks to the high standards he had built up over the years, Korkud was expecting his demands to be fulfilled without any delay – thankfully, the Nezami Officer was trained not to disappoint, and reflexively grabbed and began loading the mortar as he watched Korkud spin the bandolier as if it were a rock sling and release it after a second, hitting an ornamental pillar holding a marble piece of architecture over the gate. ‘’Fire!’’ Korkud roared as the Officer tried to rotate the mortar back in position. A second later, he had managed to finish ramming the ball down the barrel, and shot the grenade at the bandolier of powder and explosive balls that lay next to the marble pillar. The shot was accurate, and landed itself right in the middle of the bandolier, and after a moment of delay, the fuse ran out and gave way to an ear-deafening explosion as both the charge and the bandolier ignited violently.

Smoke and debris peppered the entrance through an exceedingly deafening bang and in a flash, the once finely ornamented opening leading into the ancient Château D'Aubigne collapsed into a rubbled heap. The Nezam officer offered a brief bow of thanks towards the finely robed aristocrat and wasted little time in bellowing, strict deliberate orders over the din of battle. All along the newly assembled line, the few ball carrying Nezams lit their munitions balls, including the officer himself and following a tense pause, hurled their charges into their destinations. This followed swiftly by loud bangs that erupted into almost synchronous detonations and completely caught the compact Azad shock troopers off guard.

A moment afterwards, fate granted the Azads little time to react as the remaining detachment leveled their muskets volleyed into the Azads with deadly precision. Confused, startled, and ultimately caught reeling, the Azad shield wall began to buckle as Sarifen retainers and Azads alike turned to react. Disciplined and hard-bitten, the Nezam detachment shouted in unison as it was given the order to level their bayonets and charge. Bellowing, the Nezam officer ducked as wounded, firearm carrying Nezamnis offered sporadic musket over his head and into the reeling Azads. A second later, the man quickly wasted no time as he unveiled another pistol and fired into a hapless Sarifen retainer's back before charging alongside his men...

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All at once, explosions and crippling small-arms viciously tore through the fully strengthed Sarifen battalion amidst a sea of several dozen, screaming Nezamni voices. The seemingly impenetrable wall of Sarifen steel shattered as limbs and innards ripped apart and scattered the many armored Sarifens like rag dolls. The various remaining Zhayedans' cohesion began to fragment in confusion, panic, and disorder as an aristocratic gentleman and various wounded Nezam warriors began to methodically pick off the surviving Azad officers with near-impossible accuracy.

Independently, potency proved questionable, but together, the fatalities sung a chorus in the form of well-placed grenadier volleys and alarmingly precise marksmanship that completely dismantled the formidable Sarifen formations. Too late did the over-zealous Azads fully grasp their glaring, tactical failures before they found themselves a victim of their own successes; in mere minutes, victory became defeat as their attempts to form another rear facing, shield wall ultimately proved futile against the wave of Nezamnis crashing against their rear ranks.

All the same, another large deafening commotion resonated from further down the hallway in what resembled several, nearly deafening chimes. The source soon became evident as a large gaping hole smashed through the caved in debris to unveil a large, albeit ruined harpsichord. Emerging through the gap, Dae and various other surviving banquet guests of differing allegiances seemed to have spared no liberties in exploiting the keyboarded instrument as a battering ram; after which the motley gathering wasted no time in ferociously rushing across the hallway to launch a determined, counter-attack.

In a moment it was all over as both Nezams and Banquet Survivors enclosed upon the over-confident Azad-Zhayedan ranks and cut them down them to a mere man. Battered, bloodied, and outnumbered, the Nezams suffered immense casualties, many of whom fought to the death. In hindsight, however, the crippling blows inflicted upon the now decimated Sarifen battalions, Paighan elements, and their Azad shock-troopers overwhelmingly exceeded their own as was evidenced through the macabre heaps of mangled, defiled, and utterly broken bodies littering across the entire hallway's length. Amongst the many hundreds of fallen Azads' aristocratic numbers, many included the Houses of Baktria and its client vassals.

As Lucius wearily moved to reload his firearms, the walls suddenly shook again as dust and debris showered over their heads. A fresh barrage had begun anew, however, the intensity had seemingly devolved into something that seemed much less maddening or ferocious. One reality stood true and it was that they were still surrounded on all directions, and with no end in sight ...

Years ago, Korkud had first hand experienced the defeat that would be inevitably caused by trying to defeat gunpowder with steel. And now, here he was, nearly two decades later, and this time, he was on the winning side. He was on the side that had the tactical advantage and the firepower. For a moment, he thought that he should pity the retainers that were about to get torn to shreds. But they did not need any, he believed, and with a subconscious smirk watched as the explosions and musket balls ripped through steel, flesh, organ and bone. ‘’Spare none!’’ Korkud roared as he cautiously followed the Nezamis who entered the fray after the barrage. The few men who were still upright were nonetheless disoriented and wounded, and the Nezamis took advantage of this by simply pushing over those who were too weak to stay on their feet and stabbing them in the neck, as if they were dealing out mercy kills. Korkud himself used his sword as a misericorde for an Azad who had lost his leg.

As expected, the one-sided melee ended very quickly, and soon Korkud and the Nezamis found themselves amongst a ruin of massacred noble warriors. ‘’As for a statement,’’ Korkud thought to himself as he walked amongst the corpses of Azad, Zhayedan and Nezami alike, looking for the Azad leader. Eventually, he came across a corpse bearing a helmet more gilded than the others, and immediately used the edge of his sword to saw it off. Hoping that the head would be found and recognized, he threw it out of the window with questionable accuracy, and spat after its trail.

Huffing, and feeling his frustration calm down somewhat, Korkud looked around the chamber to reassess the situation. It seemed that there were no other hostiles in the immediate vicinity, though his eyes couldn’t help but stumble upon figures that weren’t there before, including a heavily armored man who thankfully did not look hostile, and a broken instrument that resembled a Valanian spinet. Upon seeing the man and the instrument, Korkud got more confused than anything else, but then he remembered that the building they were in was, after all, supposed to be hosting a colorful banquet. ‘’Don’t slip up,’’ his mind echoed as he turned and hailed the Nezamis to get deeper into the building.

‘’Gather up the men, officer,’’ he spoke loudly, albeit exhausted. ‘’These walls won’t stay up for long.’’ Tired, Korkud rested his back on one of the walls as he watched the Nezamis group. He raised his eyes up to the banquet survivors. Before he could speak, the walls shook once more, albeit much calmer than before. Dust from the rumbled walls settled on Korkud’s hair and shoulders as he spoke. ‘’Don’t suppose you know a way out?’’ He mused, weariness apparent in his voice. He sighed as he further leaned on the wall, at which point he felt something… heat.

Immediately pushing himself off the wall, he started sniffing the air like some sort of madman pretending to be a predator. His large nose huffed in and out as his eyes reopened wide and his expression turned from one of tiredness to one of alerted frustration. For a moment, he pulled himself up from one of the windows to properly see what was going on, and at that moment his face was hailed by the heat of flames, forcing Korkud to drop himself from the window. His face had gone moist from the heat.

‘’Officer! Lead the men inside immediately!’’