There was nothing so infuriating in this world as mud. It stank to high heaven on the rare occasions the sun was out, ruining an otherwise beautiful day. It clung to the fine velvet of a lovingly cobbled pair of shoes, seeping through the lining and soaking one's toes. It splattered along coat tails, hems of jackets and pretty dresses. But worst of all, it was an unrelenting traveling partner. Regardless of if you planned an epic and glorious trip across the country side or a small jaunt down the street, the mud insisted on keeping you company.

It was the on the latter of such trips that Colyn Sansonett, thrice cursed the mud he wade through while answering a summons from the Viscountess. Mayhap in a truly refined city such as Elbrook, the mud would finally desist in plaguing him. The self-proclaimed advisor had heard tell that the streets there were entirely paved with cobbled stone! That unfortunately was not the case here in Claybourne. The city was aptly named after the earthly mineral that mixed with the salty air from the coast to leave a constant sour tang in everyone's nose. Nearly seven months here and it still disturbed Colyn's sensibilities. The next town he hopped off to would be far, FAR away from the coast.

"No, no, no… We're going to do better this time." Colyn chided himself softly, as his thumb and forefinger worked anxiously to curl he edges of his well twirled mustache. There would be no need to skip town this time. This was it. He'd finally landed the perfect role. An advisor to nobility! Here he'd be able to leave a mark on the world! He'd be properly appreciated for his clever ideas and thoughtful soliloquies! His tireless toiling had finally paid off. Now he was getting early morning invitations to the Viscount's chambers. The sun had finally deigned to shine down upon his luck starved life.

He was a noble's advisor, the words repeated in his head again and again as he neared the guarded side door to the Viscount's villa. He certainly looked the part. Dashing dark black hair combed over and completed with a slight curl at the tips. Distinguished mustache curled to give his strong jawline and steel blue eyes maximum sophistication. Behind him trailed the flapping dark black cloak with a counter crimson red underside. His fine attire "acquired" with his employer's blessing from a local tailor. It was a well cut doublet of deep forest green and expensive silver trimmings. His black slacks were pristine and well kept save for the damnable mud near his heels. It was a look stolen directly from Ordo Virtutum, a play he learned during his time with a traveling troupe. In it the Devil would come knocking, looking every bit the well dressed suitor stealing off with the daughters of farmers and wives of happy men.

Ducking his head through the entrance, Colyn made his way through the halls that were slowly becoming familiar. The hard mahogany estate was richly furnished. Carpets of deep reds inscribed with fine embroidery. Plenty of candles to light servants' passages through the halls. Every so often a painting would hang upon the wall, each said to be representing some prior inhabitant of the creaking manor estate. The Grimald family could trace their lineage back over ten generations. A fact Colyn was quite familiar with after he'd spent many a night with cramped hands scribing proof of said lineage. They were old stock who had been about since the founding of the kingdom, yet they had never managed to push their realm of influence past what their clay mines and fisheries could buy them.

The young advisor had finally been able to break down the enigmatic Lady Grimald just the other night. She had plans to see the family finally take that next step. And now it seems she would seek his guidance on how to go about it. With a gentle rapt of the door that barred the servant's entrance to the Grimald's private room, the dark haired conman prepared to put on the performance of his life. This would be it. Here would be the moment he'd point back to when he told his children's children why they were so well off and everyone knew their name.

"Enter." Her voice was soft but stung through the air like a whip. Viscountess Anora Grimald was the epitome of a noble matron. Her once raven hair was all the more distinguished with stark streaks of silver. She bore a strong posture linked to a healthy and firm frame that wrapped in the most fashionable silks. Sharp well maintained eyebrows. In fact her entire face was a collection of sharp features that were highlighted by crisp artistry that brought out her crimson lips and high cheeks.

She didn't immediately look up from whatever it was she was reading in her little nook. There was a small unadorned desk, a comfy looking bench, and several shelves brimming with bottles of various liquids and books. Perhaps tomes would be a more apt descriptor for the works upon the shelves. The phantom of a cramp coursed through Colyn's right hand every time he saw the massive bindings of parchment.

Not having her immediate attention upon greeting the Viscountess was not something Colyn was unaccustomed to. It had become something of a ritual for him to make his own grand entrance before she would acknowledge his presence. Thus, it was that as Colyn entered the room, he stepped into a low obsequious bow, arm trailed out to the side, flaring the cape of his cloak. "My Lady Grimald. I have traveled the weary road to answer your beck and call. How might I be of service." Though his eyes remained firmly on the floor, not a hair so much as twitched as he gave a seemingly sincere and straight faced introduction.

"Mmm, yes. The weary road between here and the Imp. I'm certain your aching feet must be dying for a rest. Perhaps I should fetch another to do my bidding." The matron graced him with a sidelong glance over her reading, brow arched to a devastating point.

"Parish the thought Viscountess. I would sooner eat my shoe than not rise up to any need you have of me!" His voice aghast with just enough dignity to not come across as overtly rude as he rose back up from the bow. With his hand over his heart he looked every bit the stage trouper he had once been.

"Bah. Enough of your dramatics Colyn." The Viscountess spat the words out then proceeded to wave them away as one might a bothersome insect. "I have need of your vapid jawing to acquire rabble I need set to task."

"Your Ladyship need only grace me with the details of what you require of this rabble and I shall procure them with glee." His grin was just as oily as his upturned mustache. It may not be advising her on how to acquire the town of Sharlsbark, but recruiter was one step up from scribe. And if his years on the mud caked roads had taught him anything, it was that any distance could be traversed one step at a time.



The crack of wood smacking wood rang clearly through the din of the training yard. Where most of her fellow guardsmen would tire out and complain of their arms aching after sparing against training dummies for an hour, Alisoun found it an oddly soothing exercise. The reverberation behind wood striking wood wasn't half so unpleasant as the feel of a hammer striking iron. That used to leave her elbow feeling like rubber. Seven years since she routinely worked in a smithy and still she could never forget that ache.

Her willingness to battle the wooden dummies and re-accomplish sword drills again and again had earned her a mostly private corner of the training grounds. Mostly private. "Alisoun! Just the guard lady I was looking for."

It was with a weary sigh that Alisoun let her arm drop. The wooden training sword stuck tip first into the mud. With a brush of her hand she wiped at the sweat from her forehead and removed a few stray brown hairs from her vivid blue eyes. Not for the first time, she thought of cutting her hair shorter than wear it hung just past her shoulder line. It was only because her brother so adamantly protested every time she brought the subject up that she refrained from having it done. He still had hopes Alisoun would settle down someday.

With a sniff she turned to finally regard the man who had come calling. He stood some twelve paces back, deciding to use a pallet that kept the water barrels from sinking into the mud as a makeshift stage. She already had her best flat, unimpressed guard expression on her face for him. It was best to not give Colyn anything more, lest he were to break into song and dance over what he perceived as a smile. "What do you want Colyn?"

"The world and all her riches. Alas…" The man swooned with a hand up to his forehead. "She has deemed me undeserving of her favor. So I must make do in finding co-conspirators to aid me in wooing her."

Colyn had been entertaining when he first came to city. His odd remarks bringing a chuckle to the dreary everyday life of a simple militiaman. His tales and ramblings grew stale however when you were nursing a three day long hangover and had been standing guard over a door in the rain for six hours. And every low ranking guardsmen got to enjoy that beloved shift at least twice a week. "Co-conspiriting costs a hefty bag and I charge twice that for any wooing."

"Ah never fear my fiscally minded friend. I shall guarantee to make it worth your time and then some." His finger waggled in cadence with his words.

"I want more than guarantees Colyn." Her tone was harsh. The well practiced expression she wore on guard duty slipping as her brow furrowed. The guardsman moved without any conscious thought given to the act. A single menacing step drawing her closer to the well dressed man, the way her jaw set. Nearly imperceptible way her fists tightened as she regarded him. Years spent in the guard had ingrained the body language of intimidation as second nature. The only difference between being a guard and common thuggery from what the Sergeant said was steady pay.

"How does two weeks worth of pay, for an hour of not doing your job strike your fancy?" Alisoun had to disagree with the Sergeant. [/FONT]

There it was. The sudden inevitable chaos that came with every job. It was too much to hope that this job of all the jobs she had ever taken would be the one to go off without a hitch. Even with how gullible the princess had been. Once more that devilish grin swept over Emilly's lips as she gave up the slow crawl they had taken, the horn signaling the start of a sprint.

The half-elf was prepared for the guards in their path. A measly two wasn't going to stop her getting out of here with her prize. The pack of truly dangerous enemies lay behind her, and were moving far too slowly to play apart in what was to come. She was ready for it all except for the sudden rising heat that seemed to emanate from the girl in her arms.

The change of hair color was almost more disturbing. Magic? Nobody ever told me she was magic! It was almost enough of a distraction to cause her to slip up her next step. She didn't know what was going to be coming from the princess yet, but she knew what the guards were capable of and they were one of the very last obstacles in her way.

With a hard shove she dove through the hedgeline, pushing Nydre with all her might at the guard on her left hoping to catch him off guard with the unexpected move, counting on his unwillingness to hurt the princess to effectively neutralize him for a brief moment. Continuing that flow of action once shoved away, coat and all, Emilly brought her hidden knife up and across her body, effectively burying it into the skull of the guard on her right. The blade slipping through the man's eye right up to the hilt.

As the remaining guard caught the princess Em continued to run forward right into the princess's back sending the three of them tumbling to the ground. On the way down, the assassin reached down into her boot drawing another knife, the contact of the ground threatening to jar the weapon from her grip. She rolled with all the furious violence of an animal fighting for its life, beating the armorbound man in terms of reflexes. She scrambled up to her knees shoving her blade up under his chin guard, bursting the blood vessels within and releasing a torrent of hot sticky liquid over her hand and down his chest where the princess had been thrown.

Just as quickly as she had dashed into action the half-elf scrambled to her feet, the wicked grin upon her lips meeting with an expression of confusion and worry as the princess seamed anything but a normal maiden at this point. Still she didn't have time to hesitate. If she didn't finish this job she was a dead woman. There was no running from the situation now that she was in the thick of it. So as always, she barrelled on ahead with the plan, damned be the consequences. Reaching down for the mute woman's wrist Emilly jerked and pulled trying to get the woman up on her feet and running again. "Time to go princess!"

"Tsk tsk. It's too late to claim ignorance now." The taller man chided, closing the distance between himself and the woman with only a few steps. In a matter of moments Baran had a hold of her wrist, fingers wrapping tightly around the joint. With a yank he forced her arm out, extending it between them. His opposite hand gruffly pulling up her sleeve as she attempted to retreat. Baran's eyes focused on the now exposed bruise with suspicion. The details of it were so vivid it didn't seem like an illusion. At least if it were, it would have been a particularly well crafted one. With his thumb he pressed down into the joint, eyes flicking from bruised flesh to the woman's face. The needle kept threateningly off to the side in his remaining fingers.

"If you're not a spy what other possible reason would the Council have in sending you, a self proclaimed non-mage, who bares the mark of being recently tested? Hrm? Why did they send you here?" The Arch Mage's voice dropped into a gruff baritone. His furrowed brow sharply lining with accusation as his bright gaze darkened upon her face. His change from light hearted banter to near snarling expression occurring in the breadth of a heartbeat. Baran's own ignorance on the matter sent the tried and tested man into the default aggression that had seen him through a decade of being enemies with one of the most powerful men in the world. He kept himself close to the freckled covered and pale faced young woman, forcing his daunting presence upon her, gladly walking Alice up against a wall should she continue to retreat.