The wet season was on The Old City. The moist air filled the streets, curling into a thick mist shrouding the normally busy city into a strange silence. It was a night for thieves and assassins to creep about the cobbled streets and row slowly in the crisscrossing canals. The sounds of the numerous stray cats caterwauling in the wet night occasionally broke the steady rhythm of the Sapphire Sea. If the streets of the common places in Venara were quiet the well appointed squares and streets of the Palace District were the held breath of a dead man. Only the quiet shuffle of guards in breastplates and pistols sounded around the walled grounds of the many manor homes in the center of The Old City.

A single figure crouched on the ledge of one of the large towers of the Palace District. A long cloak of black feathers flowed around their shoulders, hanging heavily in the humid air. A gloved hand reached down to the crossed pistol belt at their hips and pulled up a silver crow mask and fixed it over their face. Topped with a wide brimmed hat, the silhouette cut a sinister image atop the spire of Talso. Eyes hidden behind the shadows of the mask and the night searched the manor of the remaining Delorano family. They had held their wake today and entombed the remains of old Leon Delorano. He was placed in the family crypt under the manor itself. The old stone catacombs were a twisting mess of soggy graves and walled off basements in the city that seemed to be sinking. The Crow could see the flickering light of lamps lit in the main dining hall on the third floor of large building. The warm light seeming to defy the circling darkness and mists of the night. The Crow dropped a small copper coin to the ground and reached out to it with their Mark. the coin was pushed down into the roof top and the rebounding force shot The Crow up into the misty air at an angle, arching toward the roof of the Delorano manor.

Servants rushed around the manor, unsure of what exactly they were supposed to be doing. They had prepared the dinner and set everything in place. None of them could shake the feeling of impending dread. The man who had led them for most their entire lives was now dead. Leon had been a well loved and gentle master. He had not always been the most kind man, but, he had always been fair and often enough treated those who served well like extended members of his own family. He had taken in strays from all over the Old City and the world as a whole. Many of servants chattered about the state his body was recovered in, stabbed an uncountable number of times and then tossed from the rookery of the plantation house. The foreign doctor that Leon had employed had done his best to clean the man up, but, there was only so much one could do. The servants chattered and did their best to stay out of sight and out of mind to the gathered family and Household in the main dining chamber. A wake was supposed to be a time of joy and celebration of life. The mood was far less than jovial though. Many of the important members of the House were solemn and brooding. Leon had done much in his life and now it seemed like the whole world was working to burn them to ashes. The Houses trade had been disrupted and any ships sent out were raided by Houses holding a Writ of Vendetta or by pirates, now running unchecked because of the chaos in Venara.

The dining room was ornate, covered with fine rugs and hung with portraits of the many family members and Patriarchs of the Delorano family. Central, sitting on a small stand with a few candles framing it, was the portrait of Leon. The portrait was done a few years ago, back before all the chaos had consumed the nobles of Venara. He was with his wife and smiling in the oil painting. Peaceful, happy, now gone. The massive double doors that led to the balcony sat just behind the portrait of Leon, the dining table opposite the doors. The table was a fine oak from the main land. Expensive, covered in a noble feast of spices, fish, fruit, bread, and wine. Hardly any of it was touched. The members of the Household were all in the room. Some sat, some stood, some paced. All in silence. The last will and testament sitting on the center of the table. It had been read and re-read by nearly all of them, even read aloud a few times. It had so little to say about their situation, so little aside from the old Patriarch's thoughts.

Tension filled the room. The sharks circled, their father and leader was dead. The House passed on to Nalia, still a young woman. The only thing looming seemed to be the oppressive misty night air threatening to consume all of them. The silence hung heavy in the dining room. Eyes of servants and guards flicked from one member of the House to the other, all of them on edge. They hoped whom ever broke this silence would not do so with ill intent. It was enough that so many others wanted them all dead, they could not survive internal strife.

The foreign doctor, Otto Engel, sat at the family table, adorned in his normal dark and heavy clothing despite what the environment was like. He could not care less of what he wore at the moment, only caring that his close friend was now dead at the hand of some murderer who wandered the streets. The man only wished the most violent misfortune to befall whoever was behind this death, wanting vengeance for what had befallen Leon. Otto had seen the body, barely recognized with all the blood that poured out of the poor fallen one. With a sigh, he looked around the room, stroking his beard lightly as he attempted to formulate words to say to the very people of whom he shared the same house. It took but a moment for him to formulate the appropriate response for the situation.

“I am saddened that I could not do more for my dear friend. While I might not outwardly show emotion, I must assure that I grief in private over the death of Leon,” Otto stated with a grim tone overcoming his accented voice. He shifted within seat, looking away from the fellow members of his family. While what he said may not have been uplifting, it was honest as dishonesty was not a virtue that a great man, such as himself, should show. However, he realized that his eyes had become wet and he did his best not to allow the others to see by wiping the wetness to the best of his ability. Otto gripped the top of his cane, keeping it standing as the man leaned his head within his hand on top the armrest of his chair. “I wish I could have more,’ he repeated, lightly this time.

Emotion of the situation could not be shown, that would have unmanning of him yet he still restrained himself from breaking down in tears as memories overcame him. He let out another sigh, finding that it was best to not speak currently, in fear of being judged should he let out any unmanning emotions. Otto gazed at the picture of his past friend and the man’s wife, a twinge of guilt shown in his eyes as he still remembered with the mother of House Delorano had died and he had been powerless to save her as well. The doctor remained, staring at the portrait of the two for a while longer before forcing himself to look down.

Pieter:

I'd just returned from a meeting with a sculptor friend- we had talked about commissioning a statue of Leon for his posterity. In reality, I had been trying to find out if the sculptor had heard stirrings in the Venaran underworld from her more seedy clients. Alas, I had either been too vague in my probing or he had been too unwilling to share, so I had to return with nothing but some paltry gossip and a slight high from the cheap Jocasta nuts I had chewed at the damp studio.

I strode through the hallway of the house. Despite the valiant efforts put out by the burnished sconces, shadows lingered through the richly furbished mansion, an unsettling silence held throughout, instead of a peaceful quiet, this was a fearful cessation of noise.

I pause before entering the dining hall, adjusting the somber colored cravat I wore. I glance at the ashen faced guard standing before the door, his grasp on the polished musket slack, his eyes focused on a midpoint in the air.

Studying the guard closer, I notice he is unshaved and his fingers are tinged orange- a sign that he had been peeling and chewing Jocasta nuts earlier. I had been doing the same thing, of course, but Leon had despised the practice, and had never tolerated servants taking it, calling it a 'dirty dockhand habit.'

And then I remember when Lucien, during his sailor obsession, got his hands on an entire bag of Jocasta nuts, and how we had chewed our way through the entire bag, and we stayed up all night in a haze of excitement, and how Leon laughed the next morning when Lucien and I were vomiting in the hedges after Leon had forced us to go run around the garden.

My mouth starts to twitch into a smile at the memory, as I decide to see if I can find the limerick I had written about it at the time and show it to Leon, but then I remember that I can't show it to him, and I'll never get the chance to, and it takes all of my control to not sit down in the hall and curl up into a little ball.

How is Lucien going to make it through this? How is Nalia? How am I?

Taking a deep breath, I focus my eyes again on the guard, who's still fixed on nothing.

"Stefano."

He jerks, clutching his musket and dropping into a crouch, ready to shoot me.

I flinch back, and when he realizes who it is, he lowers his musket, smiling sheepishly- front teeth visibly stained.

"Sorry, Pieter. I, uhh.. I don't know what came over me."

Composing myself from the earlier fright, I reply,

"Really? Because I could make a guess. Your hands are stained like a cage fighter. You disrespect the House. I understand using a little to perk you up throughout the day, but Talos' fucking tits man, you've had enough to kill a horse."

I reach into my cloak pocket, withdrawing a bundled pair of tan riding gloves. Tossing them at Stefano, I say,

"Here. Put these on. Don't smile and try to keep your head out of the clouds. I'll expect the gloves back, they were a gift. Be glad that I caught you instead of Meldyr. He would have had your balls for breakfast. Sisters blast it, man. You have to keep it together. We have to keep it together. And that means you can't chew half a bag of Jocasta nuts before showing up on duty. We're the House fucking Delorano. You should be ashamed. What would have the old Master said?"

I brush past the cowed guard as he fumbles with the gloves, hunched over as his face warms in embarrassment.

Pushing open the doors to the dining hall, I enter.

I see Otto staring at the painting of our late Lord and Lady Delorano. My throat catches again, I had recommended the artist to Leon. That was the last painting she finished- she had died early in the plague.

Coughing slightly to clear my throat, I walk to the table, waving off an overeager servant, pouring myself a flute of a nice sparkling rosé. Taking a sip, I hesitate.

"Any idea of what we should do next?" I say, forcing a lightness into my voice.

The pain of a death, particularly the death of a near relation hits deeply, and poisonously. So it was for Fiona who felt the stabs of knives in the deep trenches of her stomach, her throat, her eyes and her skin. The tears that streaked her face dripped like acid down her cheeks, pooling in a stain on the fabric of her black satin gown. Her dear brother, her only brother was now gone. The head of her house, the one who welcomed herself and her son home after the tragic death of her husband which occurred around the same time of the death of his wife. The two had grown far closer over the last several years then they had been throughout the earlier years of their lives. This death, this loss, this tragedy pulled her into an almost paralysing pain, a pain hidden from the world as she lay still in her chambers receiving no guests, no servants and no cooks, the curtains pulled in leaving the room dark but for the small lines of sun peaking in below the long tapestries.

On the morning of the wake, her son Lorenzo forced himself into her room, said nothing only laid his head on her shoulder which instilled the life back in her. He nodded, leaving the room and Fiona on her own to collect herself. The fabric was drawn back from the large windows illuminating the illustrious room of the fair lady. The hand carved, highly decorated four poster bed frame with satin and silk sheets, blankets and fresh down pillows. Hand woven rugs splayed out on the floor, their color's vibrant and beautiful as Fiona was. With a deep, long and relieved sigh, Fiona began preparing for the day ahead.

In the large full length mirror, Fiona tied her long hair back into an elegant up-do, accompanied with silver adornments that lay with the waves of her hair. Her dress was changed into a similar gown also a black satin but mixed with silver embellishments that accented her figure and stature. She cleaned her face and decorated with colors and fragrances, accentuating her beauty and enhancing her light blue eyes. She now looked like a regal, like a royal where the only hints of her deep depression betrayed her in the slowly receding puffs around her eyes.

Fiona, in all her grace, exited her chambers and made her way towards the hall where the wake would be held, the sound of her shoes clicking lightly with her gentle steps down the halls decorated with portraits and statues, her own nearer to the entrance of the hall. The large doors were open as she approached them, as the room was still bustling with movement as servants rushed in and out, here and there trying to be ready in time for the gathering. Fiona nodded kindly to each as they rushed by her, each one quickly dipping into a courtesy or bow before rushing off again.

As she entered the room her caught herself looking for just a moment too long at the painting of the once happy couple before seeing Pieter and Otto. Her water filled eyes, though not shedding a tear, met theirs before she nodded graciously in at each of them and took her seat at the far end of the hall next to the place Leon typically sat where she had so comfortably sat many a time before enjoying conversation with her beloved brother. This was her place and she would not change that now.

---

Lucien stared at an old portrait. The ornate gold-lacquered frame seemed unfit for such a dark image, and in the flickering light of the candles and braziers, the boys expression seemed much darker.

This one was of a boy no more than 10 or 12, unruly hair and a dark brooding expression. Leon Delorano stood beside him, handsome face and heavy hand resting on the boys shoulder. Rings of ruby, gold and silver crowded the Lords hand, set in stark contrast to the boys dark tunic. In the background was a seascape with white-foaming waves and a dozen masts raised in the distance. The sails were furled, the wind non-existent. The sun was a purple crescent swallowed by the sea. Lucien remembered the portrait had been staged right here in this very room-the background was either painted first or added later, Lucien did not care or know, But mother insisted all her children be 'immortalized' in painting. Lucien could not remember the painters name, but how he had hated it when he told him to stand still, quit fidgeting!. Lucien remember how his father had wordlessly placed a hand on his shoulder as if to hold him in place.

Lucien looked away from the painting and turned to face his family. A lavish dinner upon an ornate table-nothing less would be expected at his fathers wake. The food sat mostly untouched, stomachs either too ill to eat or mouths shut in sullen silence. Lucien approached and hovered at his fathers chair. Lucien nodded mechanically as his aunt Fiona entered the chambers and seated herself beside her fathers chair. Still Lucien stood, arm rested on his fathers chair, staring at the open ledger of his last will and testament.

Quiet conversations occasionally pierced the silence. Besides the shuffling feet of the servants, and the odd clank of glasses, the room was still and tense. Most talked in hushed tones among themselves. Deflated, Lucien took a seat beside the empty patriarchs chair, and searched his mind for something to talk about. He wondered where Nalia might be. He thought of the messenger he had beaten to a bloody pulp after delivering the horrible news of his fathers murder. Four simple words had shattered his world in an instant. Lucien had made the messenger pay, that was for sure.

Words... The hushed conversations were unnerving to Lucien. He felt a stranger here, in his own home. He had not seen his family or friends for four years while he was studying at the University and he had become detached somehow. Yet the old memories were slowly trickling through the thick fog of disbelief and mostly rage that clouded his mind.

Passing the strange healer Otto in the halls without a word.

Pieter at the docks, watching for the guards that might catch him sneaking aboard the sailing ship the Maid.

Nalia in fathers study learning the family secrets.

Lorenzo sneaking off with the kitchen girl to do gods knows what.

Fiona, his aunt whispering in fathers ear at supper....and his mother.

Dying.

Pale and thin from the plague that took her in an instant. Or was it poison? His memories lied. Otto, at her bedside. Father pacing the halls. The memories fell like a flood, and Lucien discarded them for rage.

"Any idea what we should do next?" said Pieter, sipping his wine.

Lucien shook himself from his revelry. He stared at the dead painters son. He smiled.
He drew his rapier and threw it on the table with a loud clang, scattering grapes and nuts and spilling a pitcher of wine. A thick scarlet stain spread across the table cloth.

"We can start with this!" shouted Lucien, pointing to his unsheathed dueling blade. His eyes were wide and furious.

---

Hand resting on his sword hilt, Meldyr strode through the halls of the manor. He stood tall, feet moving in practiced unison while the heavy steps of his military-grade boots announced his arrival to any who were near. If one were to stop and look at him casually, they'd think he was handsome (albeit unkempt) if not for the very grave and daring gaze he would give any who attempted to draw his attention. It was not long until he made it to the feast, the guards standing at the ready outside the halls.

"Men," he said curtly, giving them a nod. He wasn't one to be overly malicious to those under his command. He'd been an underpaid soldier himself for more years than he was comfortable with. But he was still firm, and he'd allow no slack, particularly not now. He hesitated and gave the soldiers a look, but whatever clue that might have given away the substance abuse Pieter had seen earlier was lost on him when he heard a crash in the room beyond.

Without another word he stepped into the room, hand no longer resting on his sword hilt, but gripping it. That is, until he saw it was merely Lucien making a scene. He glanced to and fro around the room, as if he was trying to gauge an enemy's strength in a subtle manner, and not in a room full of supposed friends.

"Lord Lucien," he said, his strong voice cutting through the silence that had followed the tossed blade, eyes intent upon the younger Delorano. "Perhaps we should wait for Nalia before we...discuss matters."

---

Nalia had refrained from going into the Hall for as long as she could, mostly because she did not want to face those that were within it. Some had indeed been loyal to her father, others she felt had only made it appear that they were and some were after her chair, which was normal. Actually, it was the main reason she and her Aunt seemed to not get along very well as she didn't seem to think it appropriate for a woman to be the Head of House. Standing from the chair in her Father's... no, no it was her's now, she had to think of it as her's otherwise everything just wouldn't seem real to her... standing from the chair in her study, Nalia let out a shuddering breath and rand her fingers over her shirt and trousers. She needed to stay strong, there was no crying during this time, no tears, she could easily wait for the time when she would be alone on her ship once more. It was safe there, no one knew when she cried or when she was at her weakest, no one but her first mate and best friend.

Letting out one last breath, she opened the door to the study and stepped out, closing and locking the door behind her before she set out to where everyone was waiting for her. As she arrived, she witnessed her brother thrusting his rapier into the table, pulling an annoyed noise out of the older woman as she shook her head. "Lucien you will take that blade out of our table and sit down," she said, her commanding tone filling the room, "Now is not the time to be acting a fool!" With a long and confident stride, Nalia went to the seat her father used to occupy with every dinner and sat down, her legs crossed at the knee. She needed to be strong, there would be no tears from this woman, not now... but she could not say that they would never come. For now, they were buried deep inside, not even christening her eyes with a watery sheen like her Aunt. "You would do father a disgrace if you even think to fight someone now, you need to learn to control your violent impulses before they get you killed next."

Settling herself in for the long haul, she looked around the table at who was present, not as many as she would like but no less than she had expected considering the turn of events. "As you well know, to the displeasure of some, the death of my Loving Father has left me as the Head of House," she said, her words were slow, carefully chosen and her strange blue eyes scanned the room before her, "I know this means that the trips in which I used to partake will be farther apart and not nearly as long as I will have estate matters to attend to. When I am not here however, my cousin will be standing in for me as he seems to be the most level headed one out of my younger relatives." Her eyes flicked to Lucien, "I would have passed this on to my brother if I wasn't afraid he would simply run to our enemies door and challenge them to a duel. Lorenzo... you will take the vacant seat on my other side next to your mother from now on."

The words she spoke dropped heavily from her lips, it had been a tough choice, but one she had had to make none-the-less. She hoped her dear brother would understand, and if not she would simply have to put him in his place until he did. This was not a title she had wanted, she did not like that she was putting her Aunt one step closer to the chair she felt should already be her sons seeing as Lucien was ill fit due to his temper and Nalia, well simply put, Nalia was a woman who refused to act as one should in the courtly manners. "Now, let us refrain from fighting and let us eat in my father's memory, these next few days will be rot with mourning, but let us remember him as he was, and not as he is now. His Will can wait just a little while longer..."

---

---

Lucien look at his sister with a twisted expression on his face.

"Lorenzo... you will take the vacant seat on my other side next to your mother from now on.."

The words were unexpected and stung Lucien more than he thought they would. He snatched his rapier from the table and slammed it into the sheathe.

Inhaling sharply he stared at the faces in the room in turn. Lucien grinned suddenly, the dark scowl gone from his face. He turned his palms upward towards Nalia in a sign of acquiescence.

"Apologies, dear sister," he said not all too sweetly. "My anger got the better of me, I confess. I-dishonor our dear father at his wake. We should honor the flame of his memory while still it burns." Taking a seat beside Pieter he snapped his fingers at the nearest servant.

"You there-let's clean this mess up and bring out some more wine for the table. Pieter's cup seems to have a hole in the bottom," he said clapping his old friend on the back. Lucien paused suddenly, as if he had heard a whisper in the corridor. He turned to face Lorenzo with a mocking expression. He gestured to the seat beside Fiona.

"I believe that is yours cousin?"

---

It was the morning of the wake and Lorenzo sat at on the edge of his bed, woken from a dream. The sun had not yet risen but they sky shown an eerie blue, the tell tale sign of the sun following close behind the night. Lorenzo rubbed his eyes then glanced over to his bed where a female whose name he did not remember lay. He glanced closely at her, recognizing her as one of the barmaids from a pub on the far end he frequented every so often. Her hair was red and naturally curled, her face covered in freckles and her skin light. He tapped her on the shoulder, giving her a moment to respond before placing his whole palm on her shoulder and nudging her lightly again. She grumbled a moment then opened her eyes slowly revealing their brown hue.

The young woman rose her head and opened her mouth taking in a breath as if she was just about to say something when Lorenzo placed his hand on her lips, preventing her. "I think you should leave before the house wakes up. The servants should still be in the basement levels of the house." He picked up her red frock and laid it on the edge of the bed before getting up himself and entering his dressing room. Behind the door a muffled sob could be heard as the girl dressed herself then exited the room, no doubt making her way from the building.

Lorenzo sighed and began to dress himself in black, taking his time as he was still unsure how to feel about the situation as a whole. His mind as plagued with thoughts of grief and thoughts of greed, each battling one another for their spot at the forefront of his mind. The sun had risen by the time he left the dressing room, his room lit up in the morning amber light and a quick glance out the window showed the bustling of the servants quickly scurrying here and there, walking in and out of the great house.

A knock on the door grabbed his attention to where he swivelled around, seeing one of the younger female servants entering the room with a breakfast tray. It wasn't the under butler who usually attended to his personal needs. He was sure, in fact, that this was his mothers lady's maid. "I beg your pardon Sir but, Lady Fiona has yet to leave her chambers or accept food." Lorenzo, hearing the earnestness in the young girls voice, stepped up close to her, almost too close, and gently put a hand on the side of her arm, near her shoulder, looking her deep in the eyes and said in a low, calm and soothing voice. "Please, allow me to take this burden from you. Do you have a key to her chamber? Would you be the good, kind and nurturing woman I know you to be and stand by her chamber for my departure so you can help her prepare?" His eyes flickered with warmth for a moment as he touched his warm hand to hers, letting it linger there for a moment longer then it needed to before separating her fingers and removing the key from her palm.

Fiona's chambers were not far from his own and the sound of his shoes clicking against the floor were heard, but only just, as he approached the door. He took in a breath and entered the room, gently closing the door behind him so as to not disrupt his mother too much. There she lay, broken and in tears in the same position she'd been in after the news was received of Leon. He lay his head on her shoulder, placing his hands gently on her arms, speaking a thousand words and no words in a language that can only be understood between a mother and a son. She seemed to truly respond to his presence as he thought she might.

He left quickly, winking at the ladies maid as he walking by her then continuing to his own chamber where an almost impatient under butler was waiting. "I see you've already gotten dressed Sir." He said in a professional voice just masking his irritation at Lorenzos early morning self-dressings. Lorenzo nodded at him in response.

Lorenzo was used to this routine in the mornings. Him being dressed on his own on the mornings he had "guests" and his butler irritated that he couldn't perform his duties properly. Lorenzo lifted his arms as his butler named, Alfred Hobson, reached around him and fastened his sword in place. The weight of it on Lorenzo’s hip was familiar and comfortable, it neither hinders his walk or slowed him down.

At this point, Lorenzo sat to eat from the breakfast tray that had been waiting for him and began entertaining in idle conversation with Alfred as he often did. Alfred was at first uncomfortable with Lorenzos forwardness in his approach to conversation but over the years they had gotten to know one another through these conversations making their interactions easier for both of them.

Lorenzo, having finished his meal and conversation made his way to the hall, entering with the sound the clang of Lucien's sword smashing against the table, sending food flying. The was an ever so brief pause before Meldyr rushed into the room trying to defuse the situation. Lorenzo nodded at his mother with an affectionate and small smile before heading towards Pieter and Otto. He shook hands with each of them, patting their shoulder once with the shake. He had known them for many years and respected them as brothers, friends and companions, even Otto in his age and stature.

Nalia made her announcement which came as a great shock to Lorenzo if only to an extent before he made his way around the room to take his seat next to his mother whose eyes which were once glistening now had a sheen of triumph that he alone would be able to recognize. As has sat down he felt his mothers hand pat his back and squeeze his shoulder.

Anathagos Vain

He stood at the tower window, smoking a thin dark cigarra as he watched the last light of day bleed from the horizon. Below him lay the Delorano mansion and gardens, busier than usual on a damp and unpleasant evening, and teeming with guardsmen- for whatever they were worth.

Anathagos Vain knew of five house guards in the pay of rival families, and was sure there were plenty of others on the take. He hadn't moved against them yet- it doesn't do to show your opponents how much you know of their operations after suffering a loss- and besides, he was making sure the information they were taking back to their masters was the information he wanted them to take- a good deal of it false.

Exhaling a cloud of bluish, spicy-smelling smoke, Vain opened his mind momentarily, allowing the Mark some freedom, and let the buzzing waves of confusion and anxiety that filled the Delorano household wash over him, mingling with his own suspicion and unease.

He felt it there still, just as he had for the last several weeks. An alien presence. Someone Marked by the Umbra, nearby, prowling.

Vain's pale eyes wandered the twilit city, flitting from shadow to shadow.

He saw it.

A flash of two great wings, black against the bruised-purple of the sky, swooping from a spire in the palace district down onto the mansion below Vain's window, where the family of the dead were gathering.

"Ulsid, Gabor," said Vain, and two Umbrakin in assassin's leathers seemed to materialize from the shadows of the room behind him, "I must go down to pay my respects, but the manor has an unwanted visitor. Search the roof. I will want to question whomever you find."

For the love of the Sisters, what the hell has happened to Lucien? He's always had a temper, but this ... This is new. Oh, where is the boy I had gone to look at boats with, dreaming of adventure?

Feeling the clap of Lucien's hand on his back, Pieter turned slightly to his old friend, reaching out and clasping his shoulder for a moment, squeezing before letting go, concern lighting Pieter's gaze.

At that moment, a sweating servant with a patchy comb-over began to refill Pieter's drinking cup. Watching the wine pour out, Pieter lightly held his hand out when the glass was nearly half full, saying softly,

"Very good, Eduardo. This is excellent for now. Thank you."

Taking a small sip of the wine, Pieter reached over to a bowl brimming with bread buns. Taking one that had cheese melted over it, Pieter took a bite of it. He thought it a good idea to eat, it would encourage others to become more at ease. More like a family sharing a meal than a group of Pirate Captains sizing each other up. Hell, Pieter knew a few pirates who would gladly hang from the gibbet just to get at this meal. These cheese buns were good.

"Lucien, try these cheese buns, they're just like when we were kids."

Washing down some of the cheese bun with a small sip of rosé, Pieter narrowed his eyes slightly as he watched the heavy wooden chair scrape against the stone, before Lorenzo sat down.

What is Nalia trying to do here? If she's trying to win succor with Fiona, this might not be the path I would take. (Then again, I would go down some very dark paths to win Fiona's succor.) Giving too much favor to Lorenzo and Fiona and she might end up letting Fiona take over. Or maybe this is an early concession? Either way, I'm going to have to talk to Nalia privately sooner rather than later. Lucien too for that matter. Oh, Leon! If only you could see us now. I'd write you that sycophantic ode I always threatened you with when you were annoyed at me.

Well, if the Head of the House orders to eat, Pieter's the last one to dare disobey that order.

---

Since her mother’s death, the act of having family dinners had always been a point of contention between Juniper and her father. She was quite fine with eating in her room, alone, unbothered, where she wouldn’t have to make small talk with her aunt and cousin as they pretended to give a single shit about how her day had been, and she wouldn’t have to lie and say that it had been fine—it was unbecoming of a lady to complain, or so her tutor had said, but apparently dishonesty was considered an attractive trait. She didn’t have to worry about where she was to put her elbows, or which fork she was to use, or how high she had to count before she could take another bite. Yet father would not allow her to skip out on their tradition, and so she would shake the silverware as she stomped into the dining room and slouched into her seat, muttering ungrateful words under her breath before eating a few bites of her meal and quietly excusing herself when her father was distracted by another. The only exception to this rule came when it was only Juniper and Leon attending dinner; then it was just shouting matches, slamming doors, and going to bed hungry. Now, never again.

Juniper had entered the dining room in silence with her head hung low, her arms wrapped around her body as if she was afraid she would fall into pieces if not for them holding her together. She had sunken into her usual chair, the one that was far enough from the head that one would have to raise their voice to address her, and worked on making herself as small as possible in it until she disappeared entirely. Eventually she found a way to make herself little more than a black dress with white, gawky arms and a mess of brown hair and red eyes resting her chin on her knees. No sound came from her corner except the occasional muted sniffle or the scrap of a fork on a plate as she moved food around, none of it ever coming even close to going into her mouth.

I don’t want to be here.

How long would it take before one of them felt obliged to come over to her, squeeze her on the shoulder, and lie through their fucking teeth while saying that everything would be alright? Would she be able to even try to force a smile, or a nod, or even make a noise of some acknowledgment that didn’t come out in the form of an ear-shattering shriek accompanied by the orchestra of her plate crashing against the wall? Would she be able to stop herself from diving a fork into their flesh and, if she did, would they then leave her alone? I want to go. Nobody would blame her for just leaving, nobody would dare to even try. Yet if she got up she would draw attention to herself, and right now she wanted to be nothing more than invisible, forgotten, nonexistent.

I should just go.

A sword clattered on the table and she jumped, her chair rocking precociously backwards before it found all four of its feet again. Juniper watched as the red wine pooled out from the pitcher, the liquid seeping into and creeping across the tablecloth as it darkened into a deep red like that of dried blood. Her eyes went wide and she felt her breath catch in her throat as her body went rigid, her knuckles white on her knees as her heart hammered against her chest. She had seen him, her father, lying on that table, carved up like their meal, his body contorted into an impossible position, his face frozen in a look of horror, his blood pooling around him, staining the tablecloth, staining Mother’s favorite tablecloth. The sound of Mel’s voice as it broke the silence as broke the phantasm, and Juniper’s eyes fell to the floor lest she caught someone staring at her.

From the floor she followed Nalia’s feet as they approached the head of the table, her body bristling as her older sister sat in her father’s chair. Juniper didn’t care what the will said, she didn’t care that Nalia was the new head of their house, that was father’s chair, not her chair, just like how her aunt’s chair was not her aunt’s but her mother’s. They should remain vacant; there was no filling them. The tension from her fright did not soften as Nalia began to speak, already falling so easily into the role that had been left for her. She had always been so good at commanding the respect and attention of others, and it was only natural that she should be the next head of house.

Still, that doesn’t mean that she had to sit in his fucking chair, not the same fucking day they had f—Juniper took a deep breath. She had to trust that her sister knew what she was doing. Nalia was smart, she wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize their house—are you fucking kidding me, Lorenzo? Does that mean he’d lead us if Nalia dies?

Juniper could understand her sister not picking her, no way would she be able to deal with the responsibility needed, but it should’ve been Lucien. Juniper stared in horror, her jaw slack, as her own brother kowtowed to their sister’s colossal mistake. If not Lucien than certainly Pieter would’ve been a better option. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t really their blood, he was more family than Lorenzo. Their cousin might share their surname, but he was a Gatterro bastard through and through. He even wore their crest on that damn armor of which he was so damn proud. Plus, he was a creep; how much of their estate would he throw away in an attempt to lure in another woman into his bed? She watched with daggers in her eyes as her aunt squeezed her son’s shoulder. No, no, no, this isn’t what Father would’ve done. This is wrong, wrong, wrong.

I’m gone.

The young woman came up fast and her hands came down faster, the plates on the table rattling as she hit it with a sharp bang. Her chair had lost its balance in her upswing, and it hit the floor with a heavy, loud thud. She looked down the table, new tears forming in her bloodshot eyes as she fixed Nalia with a challenging staredown. Her sister had asked that they try and enjoy their meal in relative peace but, well, Juniper never really was good at any family dinners.

She was prepared to give her stupid sister a piece of her mind, ready to unleash a verbal assault on all of them for being okay with all of this shit, and she was certain that her sister could tell by the look on Juniper’s face that a storm was about to come in. Yet then Juniper saw the stares of the rest of the house looking back at her, some seemingly surprised to see that she had even been in the room. Her head dropped quickly, and with it so too did the winds of fury die down as her cheeks went as red as the puffs around her eyes. So she had been pretty much invisible. Well, isn’t that just typical?

“May I go?” she said, her voice hoarse and shaky, refusing to look at anyone in the room, her arms once again wrapping around her body like a suit of armor. “Obviously I’m not needed here, so…can I go?”

---

It might have been a comical point in a melodrama, for the Guard Captain to walk in and defuse the situation. Only, of course, for the new and beautiful Head of the House to saunter in and claim the glory of berating Lucien. However in truth, Meldyr respected Nalia and was silently appreciative of her taking the reins. Meldyr was here to keep the peace and protect, but he would rather fight the enemies of the Delorano and not the Delorano themselves. He gave Nalia a small bow as she passed him by, his face more at ease than before.

Just as he was about to take his position, he saw the flirtatious Lorenzo striding in and shaking hands. He shook Lorenzo's hand as well, happy he was here. It was one less thing to handle, at least. He'd rather not go about the House looking for missing family members. Not at such a critical time.

He would not sit with them, for it was simply not his duty to lounge about. It was then he realized there was a distinct lack of protection for the family he was sworn to protect, and Meldyr snapped his fingers thrice. Two men hustled into the room not moments later, swords and pistols at their sides. He turned to them and held up two fingers, and then twirled his hand. They nodded, and set off to take positions parallel to the dinner table, standing at the ready. As they did so, Meldyr strode around the table. His cloak swaying lightly, and one hand on his sword, he almost walked with the air of a tragic hero.

He gave nods to every family member that looked his way as he passed by. He even had a slightly reassuring look to Fiona, for he could see the tears glimmer in her dark eyes. He held no love for her son other than an appreciation of his dueling skills, but he understood what it felt like to lose your home.

He halted just to the back left of Nalia, standing at ease in body, though his gaze was ever wary. Within seconds, he let out a breath, and realized that this was where he needed to be from now on. Lord Delorano was truly dead, and this was the way of things now. He'd served under the command of many people less worthy than Nalia, he knew. He would get used to it quickly, and in fact he already felt himself getting accustomed to it. Perhaps he was just hungry. He even gave a chuckle.

Not everyone could adjust however, it seemed. First Lucien, and now Juniper was openly full of contempt.

"My lady, I could have a few of my men escort the Lady Juniper to her chambers..." he voiced to Nalia.

---

If anyone could crack the harsh facade that Lucien had constructed for himself since learning of his father's death it was Pieter. The troubadors smile yearned for others to join it, and Lucien could not help but smirk slightly as he remembered stealing basket-loads of those very same buns from the kitchen as a boy. Pieter and he had ruined many a dinner gorging themselves on the savory treats.

"Lucien, try these cheese buns, they're just like when we were kids."

"Well they are, Pieter,"said Lucien half-heartedly. His anger was subsiding and the shock of the past few days events was fading, replaced by a dismal certainty that nothing would ever be the same in House Delorano. "I would speak to you in private when we have the chance, Pieter," whispered Lucien to his friend. He was about to attempt a lame joke-something about buns-when Lucien noticed the extra guards enter the room and take up position on either wall of the dining hall. Captain Meldyr was strolling along the table, heavy hand on the pommel of his sword.

The casual manner in which the guard captain had spoken to Lucien earlier left a bitter taste in his mouth; and it was on Meldyrs watch that his father had been killed after all. As Meldyr took a position beside his sister, Lucien could not help but feel that the guard captains loyalty would be unwavering to Nalia-something about the way he looked at her unnerved the young lord.

And then their was Luciens sister, unnoticed until now , such was the fury that had engulfed Lucien. Sweet Juniper, Junebug, their mother had called her. Puffy eyed and looking like a wilted flower. A soft spot in Luciens heart opened at the sight of his forlorn sister. The girl was clearly shaken. She must have been up all night in tears, he thought. But their was suddenly a look of contempt on Junipers face and Lucien followed her gaze to Aunt Fiona and Lorenzo. The girl flailed, emotion spilling out and her heavy wooden chair upended, filling the room with a deafening crack. Lucien shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not helped by his rapier digging into his side. He shifted his blade awkwardly to rest on his lap instead.

Juniper had always been an awkward girl, Lucien remembered, but spirited. Some of the choice words his little sister seemed to conjur from the mouths of sailors had been supplied by Lucien whether by slip of the tongue or her inquiring mind. And it was Lucien who had first shown the girl how to fire a pistol with proper accuracy. The force of it had shot her arms into the air, but the clay pot they had swiped from Anathagos' chambers had been obliterated. "A natural, dear sister!" Lucien had shouted.


"My lady, I could have a few of my men escort the Lady Juniper to her chambers...", said Meldyr.

"I would take her," said Lucien, surprising even himself. "With your leave of course, M'lady?" Lucien asked Nalia, perhaps a bit too sweetly. Whether or not Nalia consented was irrelevant, at least Juniper would know she still had an ally in her brother.

Otto had merely watched the conversations between the house members, not finding it in his best interests nor his place to speak in such a conversation, he was merely a doctor. The foreigner exchanged a sigh as he closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the past when he had first met Leon. Those were indeed the good times, a smile creeping to his voice as those thoughts dared to come to him.

”Those were the good days, the most fortunate day of my life as I dared exit the galleon in which had taken me to a strange a foreign place. ‘Twas a place of majesty and a land for hope in the eyes of the younger, if not more cheerful and unmanly, me. I barely understood the native tongue, it differing from mine to such a large extent, but I managed. And yet, it was then, as I left the ship and docks behind me, when I had met Leon Delorano, a most magnificent man and a most kind man. We made talk as I left the docks, I told him in how I was searching for a new occupation in these lands and I remember that I complimented him on his extravagant wares. We conversed for hours, Leon touring me through the city and showing me much of his family estate. It was as if two parts of a puzzle simply clicked together and formed a picture in complete unison. As luck permitted, it was that very same day that as one of Leon’s friends had fallen sick and I rushed to help the fool who had merely contracted a small bout of food poisoning. After such a treatment, Leon hired me and thusly I joined his family, quite happily as well. I remember being more intune with the family then, this family in which I am forever grateful for. Forever, shall I be grateful for my friend Leon.”

Though, the words of Lucien and the Guard Captain to Juniper snapped him back to reality, reminding him that he lived in the present and not the past. Otto’s smile seemed to disappear within an instant at the notion that someone have to leave this meeting which was in remembrance for someone so grand, offended. “No,” Otto spoke up towards them, “I do not believe that anyone is unimportant here as this is Wake is in remembrance for Leon, as we all should know. It would be disrespectful to his very being should we not all attend.” With a sigh of disapproval he continued, “And look at us. None of us are celebrating, there is no joy here. Where is the merry we are supposed to be making? Why have we simply been moping when Leon is in a better place?”

---

Nalia watched those who spoke, annoyed with her siblings reactions to what was going on as it made no sense for Lucien to be upset about his place. He was on her right hand side, that was the position of Honor, not the left. Letting out a slow breath, she wrapped her knuckle on the table twice before her eerily blue eyes went straight to her sister Juniper. She loved the child with all her heart and had threatened her far share of people who had tried to get too close to the young woman. "No, there will be no leaving the table," she replied calmly, her eyes shooting to Otto before she turned her head to look at her Captain of the Guard, "I appreciate your off Meldyr, but it will not be needed as it seems there are a few things I will have to clear up before anyone can at least pretend to find comfort in knowing the man no longer has to look over his shoulder."

"Juniper, Father is the one who wanted Lorenzo as my stand it," she told the young woman, "I would have rather taught you to do so and had you as my stand in than my cousin seeing as that puts our Aunt far too close to the seat for my comfort. However, it would be wrong not to respect his wishes now that he has passed." With this said she pulled a letter from her pocket and chucked it to the younger woman with a slightly annoyed look on her face. It was in their father's writing and it outlined exactly what she had just shared with the hall. As far as Otto was concerned though, she was rather annoyed by the fact that he had told them no when it was not his place to do so.

"Now, enough with the drama, I am tired of the useless bickering and the childish antics from those who are supposed to be honoring the deceased. The last thing we need is infighting, no, now is a time for strengthening our bonds and being there for one another. Juniper, move to your place next to our brother please, this is where you should have been since the very beginning and I am sorry that I did not say so sooner. You are a daughter of Leon and Gloria Delorano, it is time you be as proud as one my dear sister." She motioned for her youngest sibling to take the second chair, it was time for her to stop acting like a young child. In these days, a 15 year old girl was usually already married off, something Leon and Nalia refused to allow so instead, she will learn all the things Nalia did if it pleased her to do so.

---

---

Ulsid and Gabor did as they were bidden. The two of them had worked together for many years. They had an almost telepathic link after so much wet work done. They moved from the spymaster's room and quietly moved from the halls to the empty servant's room they used as their storage area. Inside were a bundle of rifles and many assorted melee weapons. They both selected a rifle and a long fighting knife. They hoped it would not come to close combat. A well placed shot from a distance to the target's leg or shoulder would be best. Taking people alive was not normally their specialty, but, they had done it before and would do it again. The two Umbrakin checked their weapons and nodded to each other, a silent signal of readiness.

Creeping on the roof tops of the manor was not particularly difficult. The roofs were mostly a gradual slope with heavy stone tiles, no need to plan for snow here in the Old City. The two moved at either side of the roof, trying to flank the strange silhouette. That stood on the part of the roof that overlooked the balcony to the main dining hall. The mists tonight made it difficult to get a good sight picture on the black and gray clad figure. They crept forward, each taking cover behind the stacks of brick and iron that served as the manor's many smoke stacks.

As they sighted in on the figure they both froze. This close they were able to recognize the garb. The cloak covered in dark feathers, the peaked cap, the silver mast. Not only could they recognize them but they were looking right at them. Turning its head from one of them to the other. "The Crow." Ulsid whispered before muttering a quick prayer to Talos. Not that a prayer to the one who had left them would save them from this creature from the Umbra itself.

"Dare to shoot a legend?" The Crow asked, voice hissing through the silver mask it wore. The men did not fire, answer enough it seemed. The Crow walked forward, cloak billowing slightly behind them. They raised one of their gloved hands, a small stack of two coins sitting in their palm. "One for the crossing, one for the Umbra." they rasped.

Gabor's eyes flew wide, knowledge suddenly dawning on him. "Kill-" his words were cut off by a pair of glittering coins flying from the hand of The Crow.

The copper coins were pushed by the power of the Mark. They streaked out through the mist and found their marks. One struck the assassin in the head, snapping his head backward and sending him tumbling down the sloped roof. The other assassin was caught in the stomach and let out a terrible 'oof' sound as the coin struck him. His weight was more than The Crow and they rebounded from the roof, the shot that was fired from the assassin struck in the gut missing them completely. The Crow flew backward, letting their push on the coins fall off as they cleared the edge of the roof. Their momentum followed through, a slow arching fall downward toward the balcony of the room where the family was gathered. The Crow landed deftly on the stone railing of the balcony, their knees tucking to absorb the impact. They sat, crouched on the rail for a moment, cloak hanging around them like boneless wings.

Guards immediately sprang into action. Men started shouting at the sound of the musket shot and rushed around trying to find the source of the shot. It sounded like it had come from above them. Many of the guards rushed into the mansion itself. The flooded forward and tried to make their way to the roof or to the dining room where the family sat.

"Sorry brothers." The Crow whispered, their words not finding the ears of anyone but the apology still sent out to the two men they had hurt. One of them had fallen from the roof. The place he would stop was two floors down on the balcony of Fiona Delorano if The Crow had seen properly. Of course they had, they had watched them so much. The Crow took a deep breath through their mask and stepped off the rail of the balcony. The guards had heard the shot of the musket, they would be ready for an intruder. Best to get this over with as quickly as possible.

The brass knobs of the balcony doors turned and then the doors were pushed open. The cool night air rushed in suddenly, causing the candles on the alter for Leon to gutter, three went out. A figure clad in a cloak made of black feathers stepped into the room. Their hands were up, raised in a posture of peace. The figure wore a thick and long buff coat under the cloak, obscuring their body type quite well. The coat was colored in blacks and grays, perfect for skulking about in the dark. A belt rested on the waist of the coat, two pistols tucked into it as well as a long scabbard that held a pair of long fighting knives. The main feature of the person was the long silver crow mast they wore over their face, eyes just dark circles of shadow behind it. Their hair was tucked into a wide brimmed peaked cap over a hood that seemed to be attached to the mask. The figure walked with hands raised into the room, not really looking at anyone. They stepped over to the side of the portrait of Leon and looked over at it. "He was gone too soon." The Crow's voice was a strange tone, somewhere between a deep voiced woman and a effeminate man, with a raspy tone like one got from smoking far too much. The voice was made almost inhuman by the echoing it did in the beak of the metal mask.

The Crow lowered its hands, making sure to keep them in front of themselves and away from their weapons. "I was following the group that attacked him in the plantation. He was a friend to me, I did not want to see him killed, yet, there was little I could do when the time came. I can not fight an entire squad of Marked assassins." The voice seemed to crack slightly, as if holding back a profound sadness. "I came to pay my respects. I also came because I did manage to capture one of the assassins that was charged with killing any of the birds that left rookery. I am the reason why that will made it to you. I did make the man talk before he expired."

Otto listened to Nalia speak to Juniper, a snicker coming to his face as he heard her speak the way she did. He may have helped with delivering her, but she had always been independent which was not a quality that women should strive for. Nor should a woman be in charge of a house in his most personal opinion, but he would hold his tongue out of respect for Leon’s interests despite Otto’s warnings in the past. The old man felt his eyes narrow in the process, forcing himself to look away and brood for the time being.

Then a most terrifying sound shook him to the very core of his being, the sound of a musket filled the air and grabbed the attention of the doctor. Almost immediately, the man stood from his seat and looked around with wide eyes, grabbing his cane by its neck as he prepared for some form of fight. “What was that?” he asked, a worried voice coming over him, looking about in a paranoid manner. “Meldyr, investigate this,” Otto commanded, knowing the Guard Captain should now be doing his job.

The man looked over a Nalia for a moment before his gaze shifted over to Lucien, wanting affirmation of what to do from him rather than the lad’s sister. “Lucien, what do you believe we should do right now,” he asked, concerned about the entirety of the family being in one room if there may be an assailant close by. Whether or not it was an intruder being shot or some form of assault on the house, Otto was not ready to take the chance of the latter option. The doctor kept his eyes moving between the entrances of the room, fearing that someone would murder them all where they stood. Of course, fear did not show itself on the face of the doctor as that would be unmanning, though it was still obvious with how he was looking around.

---

Meldyr gave a nod to the Lady Nalia, stepping back and at the ready should she need anything further. His posture was alert, but somewhat relaxed as well. He smelled the aroma of the food and it tempted him to grab a bite, but he decided against it. If his men could not, then he wouldn't indulge. Her words seemed to cut through her family's protests like his own orders would silence his soldiers. He guessed her time as a Mercenary truly did help just as his did.

It was then that the gunshot was heard, and for a moment he feared a Delorano had been shot. Luckily, the merest second later he saw that was not so. Otto cried for Meldyr to investigate, but the Captain was already moving, not having time to tell Otto that just because the Lord Delorano was dead didn't mean anyone could order Meldyr around. Later, he would suppose it was only natural the good doctor panicked and rightly so called for the Guard, but still.

As the Balcony door opened and a darkly clad figure stepped into the room, Meldyr had vaulted atop the table fluidly. As he stepped down on the side of the Balcony, his pistol and sword were drawn so suddenly it was if they had appeared from thin air. The sword was at his side, poised. His Pistol was pointed straight between the stranger's eyes.

It was as Meldyr had his sights on the figure when two contingents of guards hustled in. Many had halberds and swords, and a few had muskets at the ready. They halted, a bit confused at to what was occurring. Meldyr's orders brought them to attention, however. "Javick, take your men and investigate the balcony." Meldyr commanded, his dark eyes never leaving the stranger. "Olaf, get your men to surround the perimeter of the Family. And get three men from each of you to make sure the guests are safe. Now."

As the men began to arrange themselves and move about their tasks, Meldyr still stared at the cloaked figure, a threat evident in his gaze. "Move on inch, and I will kill you," he promised the man. "Who are you? Speak!"