Rascade(The Capital Of The City): The King's Private Quarters.

Fredricus, the King of Escudo sat pensively in his room, thinking about the old days long before he was stabbed in the back by a supposedly trusty neighbour and had his treasure stolen from him. Time truly waited for no man, kings and paupers alike. He remembered when he was still a young prince. His father paved the way for the two countries to coexist peacefully, work together and flourish together. He witnessed the treaty of peace signed by both kings, thinking it would be eternally sealed in the name of mutual prosperity.

Continuing his writing, Fredricus was unsure what to write this time. Assortments of letters were strewn about on his table, many of them were unfinished drafts that follows a similar pattern; they began with an articulately written diplomatic message, yet somehow the endings were either indescribable scribbles or a series of angry curses unbefitting of a king. If one could make head and tails of it, the gist of his letter would be "Why are you doing this?" Indeed, why?

The obscurity of motivation continued to eat at his mind still. What started this conflict? Why did it have to be this way? He was just a boy, he knew nothing and did nothing. Denon's state wasn't actually much different either. He felt his sanity slowly trickle out of his grasp, once again considering the possibility of mobilizing his entire army to Meche and having King Denon's head on the pike along with the rest of their royal family. Yeah, why not. After all, they were the ones who started it. He offered his hand and not only they spat on it but also chopped it off and fed it to the dogs.

He sighed, banishing the musing before returning his attention to one of the precious few knights he still trusted. The orc had patiently waited as the silence stretched, but neither of them can afford much time brooding. There were plans to be made.

"Where were we, dame Matilda?"

"The personnel for this upcoming mission, your majesty." Recanted the knight without any delay."This plot wouldn't even reach halfway as far without someone in the court aiding it. Thus we looked far and wide for the few outside elements that are competent, can swear to secrecy, and above all deniable." Highly stringent criteria, but miraculous things can be achieved with practically unlimited funding and authority from the king. A list was curated in absolute secrecy before the personnel was discreetly invited to the castle.

"Thank you, dame Matilda. I'm sure you're aware that this cannot be traced back to me no matter what." Though if they somehow found his son, then to hell with political repercussion. But such thoughts cannot be spoken, not even to one's most trusted subordinate. "Just between you and me, if you will; do not, at any cost, be captured by these scum." The weakest link was obviously the one person necessary to keep contact between the investigators and the king himself. Not like Matilda was weak by any means, but precautions.

He glanced at the pile of dossiers, not feeling the motivation to give them an in-depth review. It had been vetted by his subordinates. It will be faster to meet these specialists and judge them in person than to pore over paperwork again and again. Besides, they're already in the next room. Thus...

"I suppose it's time. Summon them, would you kindly?"

Matilda heeds the order, and a moment later a chamberlain stepped in followed by a rather motley band of people. Fredricus's gaze fell on them one by one, for a moment having second thoughts about this entire thing. An elf with some suspiciously colourful recommendations. The vicious scion of Rosenving. A literal man-bear caught at a suspiciously specific timing. The prince's ever-reliable tutor. The foreigner that he took in a few years back. And finally, a travelling physician cloaked in enough urban legend to make a storybook. A few he knew, but most he never even heard of.

Oh well. Cant know everyone in the kingdom. And if they bring results, he cared not about their past or side hustles.

The king took to his feet, his sceptre tapping the ground alongside his steps. Most of them knelt. Some were slower, some with less deference than protocol demanded, but not all of them. If Fredricus had some annoyance at this, he didn't show it. While he's not exactly hale he's not old either, but a week of worry and anxiety had aged him by decades. He smiled still, barely keeping the image of a wise and just king, yet even his lifetime in politics couldn't quite hide the pain in his heart.

"You may rise. Chamberlain, leave us." Said the king wearily, stopping a few paces away from the newcomers. "I'm sure you have some inkling on this summon. So I'll just get on with it, ladies and gentlemen. My son, the prince, was kidnapped recently. I want you to find him. I don't care whatever it takes. And find who's behind the assassins too, if you will. I have no doubt they are related." He paused to turn to Matilda, which took the cue to step forward to his side. "This is dame Matilda, and she will be joining you as liaison and supervisor. You will speak not a word of this investigation to anyone not present in this room. After this is over, your reward shan't be lacking." For a moment Fredricus's voice cracked, for a moment the king vanished and in his place stood a father mired in grief. "Please. Find him. Alive. Let him be alive, gods above."

He took a deep breath, and the vulnerable father disappeared like a fading mirage. Fredricus cannot afford much more of it, not now. There'll be time for it in the future. For now, his son needs to be found, assassins to viciously interrogate, traitors to root out, and perhaps an invasion of Meche to consider. Every second mattered. His gaze fell on the merry band once more, not quite trusting them yet but what choice did he have?

"If you have any questions, voice them now."

"Brigands", they say. Yeah, right. The chaff, sure. But the core of the formation? If those ain't trained soldiers she'd eat her hat. The arms and whatnot looked like they're grabbed off the forgotten corner of some armoury and any identifying crest or color painted over, but that wouldn't change the method of which these fine folks wield them.

Duck. Swing low. Crunches and horrified scream. Stomp on the neck and move on. Halt, lean back. Let the polehammer swing past. Advance again, downward swing and crush the head. Risk a glance. The town militia still held line. Good enough. Continue, reach the center. Pikemen behind shields, classic. Tap into her blood, parry and shatter the pike. Swing again, catch the shield by the edge and rip it out of the arm. Wielder's off-balance, smash him in the shoulder and down he goes. Gap wouldn't stay for long, but the shieldwall's open. Plunge straight in. Deep breath. Howl.

And that's the end of it. Like a rabid fox in a henhouse, Yvonne tore her way through the formation until what remained finally broke and flee. She's not chasing that remnant, curse them and their longer legs. Bit of a shame about the per-head payment, but whatever. That's just a nice bonus.

Taking a deep breath, the Rosenving scion took a moment evaluating the battle as her mind slowly unswitch from the battle trance. A few nicks on the hauberk, some bruises, but not as bad as it could've been. The seemingly patchwork adornment of faded fabric had gained notoriety alongside her name, these past few years, and the effect was getting more and more pronounced over time. These people recognized what it signify, and half of them wavered just from Yvonne getting closer. Ironic how every soldier was drilled at how rout was the greatest killer in a battlefield, yet it still happen anyway. The logical part of the mind didn't always won against the more animalistic tendencies.

All in all, light losses on her person. Right arm, shoulder, and down to the hip will be sore for a day or two, but that's a price she's used to pay. For now though - tallying, and return to get paid...

"Miss Yvonne Rosenving?"

Yvonne paused, her mentality flipping back into battle. The militias and other mercenaries were combing through the field like carrion eaters, so she didn't paid much attention as long as they didn't get too close. This one stopped well outside a weapon's reach, which was fine and dandy, but the usage of her old family name wasn't. She didn't go by that, and anyone that do recognize it were usually on their payroll to bring her back. She heard that the fools finally burned through their remaining wealth and faded into obscurity a few years back, but it wouldn't do to be complacent. This was still Kindeance territory, however fringe, one that she's not even gonna bother stepping into four years ago. Too easy for the Rosenving to mobilize a sizeable force should they wanted to.

She eyed the newcomer, first noticing the pristine uniform. Not someone who participated in the battle, then. Her grip on the mace tighten a fraction before she noticed the crest on his pauldron, one that wasn't quite possible to forget. The royal family's crest. Huh, lad looked young so likely a squire but what's the royal knights had to do with her?

"Yeah, tis' I. What's a fancypants like you doing so far out from the capital?"

There's the slowly-escalating skirmishes, and she knew for a fact that both sides were mustering troops at the border. But even then the king's knights wouldn't be anywhere near that, unless the royal family themselves was present. Had the little prince grew up enough for this? Maybe the twerp grew some backbone in the eight years since Yvonne last seen him. Cant think of other reason for the knighthood to specifically comes looking for her.

"Squire Anderson at your service, ma'am. I bear a missive, for your eyes only." The lad was keeping himself under control well enough as he passed an envelope emblazoned with the royal seal, though he's clearly uncomfortable from how his eyes darted at the various corpses and the bloodstain on Yvonne's mace. She didn't comment, warily taking the envelope before glancing through the content.

It managed to be unnecessarily lengthy while at the same time didn't convey much information at all. By the royal family's authority her expertise was wanted in the capital, keep her movement discreet, dispose of the message after she's done reading, and that's just sum up the important bits from an entire page of words. What a waste of ink. The job wasn't even mentioned, even though her skillset boiled down to thorough deliverance of extreme violence Yvonne would like to know what she'd be up against at least.

Still, she grinned as she passed the missive back where the young squire fiddled around with his fingers before the whole thing caught aflame. Not even the Rosenving at their peak could get away with impersonating the royal seal, so it should be safe enough. Imagine a contract for the royal family - risk will be high, no illusion on that, but the rewards should be a good match to it. Besides, they're generous enough to pay for her trip. A small gesture, but let's make the most out of it yeah?

"Very well then, Andy. Can I call you Andy? I'll collect today's payment and then we shall be on our merry ways."

*****

Good thing there's no one to bet with, because Yvonne would've put her money on the prince being the reason of the summon and thus lose out quite decisively. She eyed the room, the king looked quite a bit older while that was- hey, if it wasn't Mattie. A real knight now, huh? Good for her.

The mercenary knelt, and rose before the king finished his sentence. Being impertinent wouldn't do, normally, but the whole situation was weird enough and there's things to gleam out of people simply by behaving out of expectations. The fact that old Freddy tolerate her antic without even a word? Why, that's interesting.

...ah, so that's why. The twerp of a prince went and got himself nabbed. That's no good at all, nope. And from the time frame, should've been quite some time. Sure hope the trail hadn't gone cold by now.

"I'll just state it now. Your majesty." The title was added a beat too late, as if she had initially forgotten to do so. "I kill things. Ain't much for finding things. Hope the rest of this merry band can offset that part." She eyed the crew, not even recognizing any of them. Probably a good thing? Since anyone Yvonne personally recognizes likely would be just another killer for hire. Cant have their role overlaps now, yeah?

(over a month earlier)

It was getting to be midsummer in the hamlet village of Mystville. (A tiny logging community, nestled deep into the foothills of a more remote part of Meche, adjacent to one of the remaining primordial forests of the continent.)

Cedar had only just come into town, and sauntered to the magic shop, as was his custom on such a visit. His real objective was with the logging guild steward, but he always made time to visit his friends in town. Flo and her brother ran the combination library and magic shop, and were some of the few people in the town that were friendly to 'somebody like him.' Flo was a half-arachne, while her brother was fully human. The shared life of a fellow demi-human was a thing he had bonded with the pair over, though Flo was much older than he was. His dad had told him it was impolite to ever ask a woman's age, so he never did. She was the bookish type, that spent all her days casting webs in the corners of the library, sorting books, and reading from her collection, waiting for patrons to pay a visit. Though sadly, few did.

Flo's brother, Vanquis, however-- He was something else. In a variety of ways.

He was fully human, and a clever sorcerer, but absent minded, prone to fits of fancy, and tended to skip steps in his projects that he regarded as unnecessary, (Despite often being quite required). He was a typically jovial sort, always happy to have him, or his father come for a visit.

As it had been recounted to him, in the year before he was born, there had been a terrible calamity that had struck the town, as an itinerant magician going by the name of Axios had ventured deep into the forest, and had stolen the embryonic shell through which the local incorporeal forest spirit that resided in the primordial woodlands surrounding the town was incubating to reincarnate itself, as it did every so many centuries. The magician had taken to the fanciful notion that it could steal the forest spirit's powers through a terrible ritual, and attain demi-god status in the process. His father, himself a wandering soul, had simply found his way to their doorstep after being cast out of multiple forest homes over the 40-long year sojourn he had undergone, when he had abandoned his prior life-- or so he had said. At the time, his father was little more than a wandering homeless man, who's rough life experiences had granted him some token measure of connection with the natural world. A thing he had considered hard-won, and precious. After arriving in town, he learned more about the calamity that was going on, in as much as the villagers themselves knew at the time-- and joined in on the local operation to get to the bottom of it, and correct it if possible. Over the course of that year, his dad met his mom, fell in love, slowly learned the art of nature magic, and gently and carefully pried parts of the forest away from the by then entirely deranged and aged forest spirit, as it clawed and bent its forest and inhabitants into twisted and brutal minions, in its desperation to track down its infantile vessel, and reclaim it-- and subsequently-- onto himself. He was not interested in gaining power for himself, he was only interested in ending the unbearable suffering of the forest and its creatures, as the entity at the heart of the wood went steadily and completely mad.

A long story short-- His father eventually learned the horrible truth, then confronted the wizard Axios, culminating in a terrible battle that left wounds on the earth, destroyed part of the edge of town, but succeeded in reclaiming the lost 'seed', before venturing once more into the deepest parts of the wood, confronting the by then nearly completely demented forest spirit. Upon the return of the seed, the spirit promptly died, and in the process, was immediately reborn-- The process of which, his father had helped oversee, after striking an accord with the spirit. The damage to the woods was severe; the animals sick and dying. Even with the successful rebirth, the forest would go into sharp decline, as the infantile scion would not be mature enough to fully oversee the healing and regeneration of the wood. Being already heavily connected with much of it by that time, and having shown a genuine, sincere devotion to that purpose, his father had been bound on the spot. He could no longer properly leave the forest from that day onward. He spent his days spreading seeds, carrying water, tending to the sick and dying beasts of the wood, and pouring the fullness of his craft into healing the wounds that had been carved into the soil by the calamity.

Then, as a surprise to his dad and mom-- He had been borne to them that winter, along with his twin brother, Oak.

Needless to say, when his father "One-eyed Jack", (as he called himself) brought the two of them to the town for the first time, about 2 years later, it had been a scandal. The villagers were not at all pleased to hear that their 'very strong suspicions' about him, and his "relationship" with "That bear of his" had indeed been correct, and not only correct, but "Had borne fruit."

About the only people in town that had any appreciation for this development, were the siblings that ran the magic shop, and the blacksmith in town, who was friends with them. His dad had taken the two of them to see the former, for "Magical aptitude testing"-- which he and "Mama" (His bear life-companion) had underwent the year before, before Jack had embarked down the path that had landed him squarely where he is today.

That was 8 years ago now.

The short end of it-- was that he had been born gifted with a profound affinity for nature magic, while his (technically, by a matter of moments) older brother Oak, had gotten the short end of that stick-- no magical potential at all. Sadly, to the dismay of his father, Oak slowly became sullen, angry, and withdrawn, and essentially ran away from home, first taking refuge with the magic store siblings, then getting essentially adopted by the blacksmith. He works there to this day, working iron into axes, and saws for the sawmill, and plows, rings, fittings, and other essentials for the farmers.

Today however, his intended visit to see his friends and brother in town, took an unexpected turn. Vanquis had apparently gotten another of his fool-headed notions, and had attempted to convert a small bird-bath outside the shop into a lunar scrying pool. He said it was to try and keep abreast of the latest news and happenings, since the village was so remote as to sometimes not even show up on county maps-- and so other than the usual buyers of the wood harvested, there was very little traffic to and from the place, making them effectively cut off. AND-- like pretty much ALL of his little diversionary experiments-- he had neglected a step... Or twelve...

While the pool had in fact "Functioned within reasonable expectations", it of course, exploded-- also "Within reasonable expectations", according to Flo. The issue, is what Vanquis had SEEN in the pool, prior to that explosion.

Despite the isolation of the town, it depended quite heavily on trade with the much more urban and prosperous kingdom of Kinderance, which was the major buyer of its wood products. Wood from mystville was highly prized for its natural resonances with magical phenomena, in addition to its unique beauty and durable qualities, stemming from its deeply magical nature-- what was seen-- an attempt at assassinating the king of Kinderance, by agents that appeared to be agents of Meche-- fortold of a new calamity for the town, as it would be completely unable to endure a war between the two kingdoms it served-- which would be unavoidable, if the plan succeeded.

Being a small town, and only just a few years after a calamity that had killed many of its citizens and livestock, the town was only just NOW starting to get back on its feet again. Everyone was tied up with the essential tasks of harvesting crops, meeting wood cut quotas, and otherwise ensuring the recovery of the village-- not a single man was free to pass on the dire prediction-- and, to put it mildly-- Vanquis' "Reputation", put the "legitimacy" of his prophetic vision at more than just a bit of a disadvantage.

Such was the state of affairs, when Cedar paid his visit.

Due to his being seen as an "Obstruction" to the town's restoration (since he spent his days helping his dad with restoring the forest, and tending to woodland critters-- NOT to assisting the town, like his brother Oak), when he suggested that he could go, and warn the king of Kinderance, or at the very least, do what he could to prevent the war, if possible-- it was settled far more quickly than he would have liked--and was handed a small sack of gold coins, and ushered onto the road before he really had time to have what had happened sink in-- He didn't even really have time to visit with his father about it. (though the magic shop owners asserted they would tell him, when he next came to visit.)

-------------

A week and a half ago

Cedar had finally arrived in the capital of Kinderance, after a very long and mostly uneventful walk up the road. When he arrived, he had wasted no time in trying to determine the status of the king's life, by enlisting the aid of local birds and other wildlife to spy on the castle-- When he had arrived, news of the assassination of the king had been on everyone's lips, and at first, the castle did not dispute the implications. Fearful that he had arrived too late, he had taken matters into his own hands to try and learn whatever he could to apprehend the villains responsible, and to plead before the royal court to not go to war with Meche-- and had enlisted the help of numerous wild birds and small animals--squirrels, rabbits, and the like-- into watching the castle, the city gates, and other prominent areas of interest, whereupon he learned that the king had survived.

What he did not expect, was that the king himself had his own resources, including local practitioners of the natural magical arts, who had likewise, enlisted similar aid-- and they ratted him out, innocently.

One night, as he slept outside the city gates draped over a log, like he was apt to do in the summer, he was ambushed, rendered unconscious, and drug to the city's dungeons for questioning, where he was interrogated, prevented from seeing sunlight, interviewed by the local druid leaders (who were not at all polite), and in some instances-- even beaten. The treatment lasted for days, until one day, without notice or explanation, he was interviewed by a strange orc woman, who had offered him a deal.

Join in a service to Kinderance, or rot in his cell for the rest of his life.

He chose service-- Was given his clothes back, hastily washed with buckets of water doused on him, then released into the orc woman's custody. She said very little, and even admonished him for trying to ask, as she led him toward the castle...

-------------

Present

Cedar was very confused. Apparently, a lot had happened in the week he had been rotting in the city's dungeons. Nowhere in the dire warning that Vanquis had recounted, was there an abduction-- just the assassination. He grunted to himself in irritation-- Vanquis's contraptions never did work quite right-- just like him to only get PART of the message.

At the opening given by the king to ask questions, Cedar took the opportunity.

"Your highness--" he gruffed, in a slow, deep baritone voice that betrayed his heritage (and a very 'rural hick' accent), "I dunno know who is responsible fer yer son's abduction. I don' know if'n yer guards let ya know er not, af'er they beat it outta me, that I came here to warn ya, or in any way, prevent a war between yer lands, an' the kingdom of Meche. The village of Mystville, strongly wants peace between our lands. Any transgres'ion I may have made, I did so to 'at end. I deeply regrets 'at I arrived too late."

"And that is why you were selected." Said the king curtly. "His highness has been fully briefed about you."

He nodded, then looked down solemnly.

"I'll do what I can-- jus..please, do what ya can too.. Don' go ta war..."

Henri has to cut this off, before another narcissist boasts of their skill or muddies the king's mind with more sorrow. Fredricus, this is not time for you to be distracted.

"Your Highness." Quickly, before he could even begin responding to this bear again. "Do we have any leads?" He asks, his glance switching from Fred to Matilda who he assumed would be presenting such information.

Just get this over with. The longer we dally, the longer the Young Master suffers.

Jazdia was the one who did not kneel.

The king tolerated her antics although a glint of annoyance could be observed in his eyes. But the same couldn't be said to one of the king's bodyguards who invited her to have this audience. Jazdia could feel the glare of the orc knight bore through her skull, and maybe, just maybe it was only a matter of finding the right moment for her to summon other guards and have the elf executed.

It was only when the King demanded them to be at ease Jazdia would follow that will to the letter, instinctively taking the time to review her behavior. The situation was already intense, and Jazdia pondered if the act of withholding her prideful ideals was really worth it.

So, it would be in her best interest to let the others speak first. Though, she would have preferred to have the chamberlain bring them something to sit to... And some refreshments, come to think of it, weren't they all the guests here?

One of the guests was a burly man with an imposing figure. Dressed like a druid, walked like a druid, and smelled like a druid. A Druid for those who fancy integral classification of magic application and keen enough to spot the difference. For the average people though, not sure if he was a very hairy man or a bipedal bear.

"I'll do what I can-- jus..please, do what ya can too.. Don' go ta war..."

The man said solemnly. Now there was an interesting interchange. Don't go to war... such an honest plea, just what the common folk needed, but seldom wanted thanks to that pesky thing called politics.

-snip-

-snip-

---

Solomon waited patiently within the common room with the others awaiting their audience with the king of Kindeance. Solomon scarcely visited the royal capital. Though it was not short of the needy, and had plenty of information for him to peruse, it being the home of the authority that ruled over all of Kindeance was unappealing to the ancient doctor. He had no ill intent towards the court, but thought they might thrive in the political world, their knowledge of what lay between its borders lacked. Then there were he people who lived there. Save for the royal family itself the citizens would never know the struggles the kingdom was facing. Especially with Meche. They were both closest, and farthest away from the struggles of the outer lands, and they wound's know either. Solomon closed his eyes in thought. Solomon’s reason for being here, in the heart of the kingdom, probably had something to do with the escalating conflict with the neighboring nation.

Solomon hadn’t made a habit of announcing his location, so it was a bit of a surprise when the king’s messengers showed to the cabin he was staying at the remote village of a mere thirty people. Not only did they find him, they named him. Much effort was made to make the encounter confidential. If it were not for the kings seal on the letter, nothing about the messengers would have revealed they were sent from the royal court. Solomon knew it wasn’t his medicinal practice the king was seeking. No, this was something more grave. To seek the aide of necromancy, who could the court have lost to have gone through the endeavor of locating Solomon? This is the question that intrigued Solomon enough to entertain the thought of lending his aide. The letter was vague with only a penned request for his presence. Solomon obliged, and he told the messengers as such. Secrecy was of the upmost importance, and Solomon was one of the few he knew remaining that could keep a secret even beyond the grave.

Solomon looked up through his hood as it cast a shadow over his face though sunlight filtered in between the curtains. He was not alone. The king had sent for many others to partake in this mission of the unknown. His gaze slowly moved from person to person. They were what he’d expect of the king. There were obvious those skilled with martial prowess, and those with arcane arts. The only one to catch his attention was that of the bear. The king looked to have cast a wide net for different proficiencies, if he thought that even the magic of a druid would be of benefit.

When the chamberlain entered the room, directing the occupants out to finally meet with the king, Solomon was the last to leave, and likewise the last to enter the King’s chambers. He stayed near the back, able to hear the king and see his anguish just fine from where he was. Lifting his head from his bow, Solomon could see the smile was not genuine. Whatever the situation was must have been grave indeed. Though the bear all but confirmed that it at least involved Meche, his home.

The prince was missing, taken from under the protective watch of castle guard and fortifications. Whatever air of nobility the king had remaining faded with the final plea to find his son. A plea that was matched only by that of the bear. The emotion of their voices were lost by the curtness of the others. To them, it was time. The longer they waited, longer the opportunity those who absconded with the prince could dispose of him. Solomon wasn’t as worried about the time. If the goal of the assassins was to insight war, they would not have bothered taking the prince. He was alive, for now. In case of the worst, at least Solomon could be of use. However, it was assassins who infiltrated the stone walls of the castle, and the king still breathed. A bargaining chip to exchange his life for his son’s? In either case, the motivations of this group lied in mystery.

“Young man,” Solomon stepped forward, no longer standing behind the rest of the group. His voice was raspy, a clear sign of his age. Yet, his words were still clear, lacking the shakiness one would expect. He faced Henri as he spoke. “I am sure the time is precious, yet as we are to work together, it might be wise to not step on the words of your comrade. The king is unlikely to hide information from us in this matter. We should be receiving that information once we get underway.” Solomon then turned to face the king, “For the sake of secrecy, beyond your guard, I expect we are to receive no support from the kingdom. Likewise, I trust we will have liberty to investigate how we see fit without much limitation. If that is correct, I have no other concerns or questions at this point.”

Young man, huh... Henri places his right hand in its pocket, looks away and exhales, all likely in irritation as this pale hooded man lectures him and all about things they already know. At the least, this has so far stopped His Highness from having to decide on war right now.

As he looks away, his eyes meet with the pretty elf's, who seems intent on saying nothing throughout this whole thing, yet may have already expressed far too much by not kneeling. He tries to force a smile towards her. His gaze then drifts towards Matilda again, hoping that these two don't affect this 'team' with any such animosity down the line. Matilda already doesn't approve of Henri talking informally to Fredricus at times, to begin with.

What a strange skull-like helmet. Combined with that black suit of armor, wouldn't people mistake her for an evil knight? Between her, the man-bear, and the young warrior insistent on wearing oriental clothing, is this team not about to stand out too much? Investigating with inconspicuity has to be out of the question at this point.

The pale hooded man's words end, and Henri averts his accidentally prolonged gaze from Matilda, and back to His Highness. He cannot wait to get out of this awkward limbo.

[NPC Post]

"Your expertise is well noted, Lady Rosenving. You only need to stick to it, as the rest of your team stick to theirs." It was likely a bit more curt than necessary, but Fredricus was not in the mood to entertain the mercenary's bravado. There's dozens of men and women like her if one were to discount the noble blood in her veins, a highborn origin that weren't visible in the slightest with how she was behaving.

And next was... the bear. To think that among these motley group he'd feel the greatest connection to the one least human among them.

The king sighed, deep and weary. There was a plea as earnest as his own, coming from someone cuting an entirely different life. War, huh? His eyes swiveled to the pile of paper on the desk, bringing back the thought of simply blowing the horn and march his army all the way to the royal castle of Meche. It would be so... easy.

"War is a last resort. Even now the court is divided over it, with no clear conclusion in sight." Thank all the gods for that silver lining, because if the nobility were instead inclined to it then Fredricus wasn't sure if he can keep himself from stamping approval then and there. "But opinions may change should the prince's disappearance become public. I am keeping it under wrap for now, but it cannot last forever."

The stake was closely implied. Find the prince, and perhaps a modicum of diplomatic relationship can still be salvaged yet.

Then his attention switched to the imperial tutor, the man almost as motivated as Fredricus himself. Good man. If only there's more like him in this kingdom. "The royal forest is locked down and under watch to preserve the scene. Some preliminary investigation have been done, though to little result. On the other side, some of the assassins were slain in the attempt and we have the bodies preserved for more thorough examination. Dame Matilda will provide the details, Ser Henri."

And next, the traveling doctor. As far as Fredricus knew there's more tales surrounding this one man than everyone else in this room, hopefully it was a good decision bringing him on board."Subtler support will be made available through Dame Matilda." Messages, checkpoint passes, latest information, discreet access to the sites of crime, things like that. "Anything noticeable will require further authorization, but is not completely impossible." Not every problem can be solved with a surgical knife. Sometimes, one will have to take a sledgehammer to it. As for knowing when and where? Fredricus believed that his judgment hadn't deteriorated far enough to fail to make the distinction.

"I believe I have said everything I need to say. If there's nothing else, you may be dismissed."

At the king's behest, the group left the chamber to begin their investigation. Fredricus returned to his seat and finally felt a certain amount of weight had been removed from his chest. Looking at the pile of the unsent letter, he was glad he didn't have put any mind to it for this time being.

However, there came another headache from a certain elf who remained in the chamber despite the clear dismissal. She was the one who didn't bow. A transgression punishable with fifteen lashes for anyone failed to observe the importance of paying respect to a king. But instead of apologizing, the elf took her time fooling around with his favorite bookshelf and lacquerwares, blatantly breaking every court etiquette like nobody's business.

"So many years in the Council and you still have not mastered the basics of etiquette."

The elf glanced at him briefly. "You know what they say, can't teach an old cat a new trick."

Fredricus found that analogy makes very little sense it felt like an insult to his intelligence. However, the king, with the ease of long practice, kept his emotions in check. "Rare be the days when Jazdia Crystalspark would heed to the king's summon. I remember that wasn't one of your tricks either."

Jazdia closed a book with a blue cover that told the tale of classic Kindeance folklore and shelved it back. "You know I am not turning down an invitation. Also, even rarer be the days when a king would require assistance from a humble restaurateur."

Fredricus couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh, probably the first time after some people tried to have his neck. "I have heard about your retirement. But a humble restaurateur? Are you sure you are not being delusional, Milady?"

There is a brief pause, and Ferdinant remembered a very silly anecdote that said the fall of Tretagor began when two amethyst glowed in its royal great hall. At this moment, it didn't sound very silly at all.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened lately, Fredricus, King of Kindeance."

The elf moved forward, looking back at Fredricus who didn't feel intimidated at all. No, not this time, he was tired, wounded, and wronged and he thought the only way to make himself feel better was a blatant show of power.

"You are one to talk! And really we should thank the Mecheans for sapping the cheerfulness of my court." He glared back, then added. "Also, I will see you behave in a way that is considered proper in a royal court, Milady."

Jazdia was no pushover either, and he knew she never was.

"Or what? Throwing me out? No thanks, I can leave myself."

They had been in this battle of staring for a full minute already, and even this time, Fredricus opted to be a bigger man. Wrangling this elf was as useful as shouting at the rock. As well as chaining and hauling her to the dungeon. So instead of risking his palace having another hole, he receded.
"How was the Council, Milady?"

"I thought you know that I have retired." Jazdia answered, still belligerent tone.

"Yes, I know, but you are still one of their important associates--"

"Let's make it easier for both of us by omitting the tediousness of Royal Protocol, Your Highness. I know you are not... inviting me to reminisce about the old days, so why did you bring it up now?"

Ah, the old days. Fredricus still remember those days like it was a few weeks ago. When Kindeance began its rapid economic growth 30 years ago, it was all thanks to the big nations on the western part of the continent waging war on each other. It didn't matter who was the victor, his only concern of that time was a threat from another bigshot Tretagor who took the advantage of this momentum by conquering the Westernant's vassals and absorbing their standing army into their own. It was just a matter of time until another war would come to his doorstep.

Fredricus knew for the sake of his kingdom's survivability, he couldn't afford a war, big or small. So he contacted the newly formed League of Nations, pleading to join, adding another reason why they should pacify the Beast of the North, and they did just that. With systematic warfare orchestrated by the Council, Tretagor was brought down to its knees, torn by a civil war after its people, inspired by a lust for revolution, court-martialed their king and had him executed.

Fredricus always saw himself as a rational man. With the downfall of his potential enemies, and after seeing the extent of what this Council could do, The King wanted nothing of it anymore, so he withdrew the application and remained neutral. Obviously they were not very happy with his pragmatic decision.

Now, the former leader of the so-called peacekeepers was standing in front of him, sporting a similar expression as she did in their last meeting when attending the Helvetian royal banquet ten years ago. Honestly, Fredricus couldn't really answer why were they having this banter. Was this still the part of enlisting a pawn to do his bidding or just two old acquaintances talking about the old days?

He decided to find out.

"I have been thinking. Would bringing back the old days help me find the prince?" The King reached for the bottle of wine but could find another stemware. "And flush out the traitors and slaughter the usurper?"

The elf's nose wrinkled. "No. Certainly not. And I don't drink. Thank you!"

"What about... the repercussions," The king emptied his glass in one gulp. The liquor was so invigorating he stopped caring about mincing his word. "...should we invade Meche?"

"Ah, so that's why you brought this up." Jazdia stared out the window, but her face was not as alert as Fredricus had predicted. "You don't have to fear them. Kindeance and its neighbors are beyond their jurisdiction. However, you will have yours and your kingdom on everyone's little black book if you dared to wage war unprovoked."

Jazdia shook her head, gesturing that Fredricus should have known better. "For a country that depends on trade and export that would be suicide for your own economy."

"People will forget, it doesn't matter where the goods came from as long as people find it satisfactory both in quality and pricing."

The elf nonchalantly continued her tour in his chamber and found a set of porcelain wares with a half-emptied teapot. Without asking for Fredricus's permission, she poured a cup of already-cold tea for herself and reheat the container with her fire magic.

"The world is changing, Fred," she approached the king again. "And everyone is out there flaunting their morality in every aspect of their lives. Isn't that your approach when this conflict started? Nobody would want to trade with colonizers, invaders, or slavers. King or not. And if you think your kingdom is the only trading port in this region people would just change their course, or better yet, someone else would start a new one. You are not an idiot. You know this from the get-go."

Fredricus smiled as he leaned against his chair. "And yet, you are still putting an effort to entertain us with that lengthy forewarning. Are you sure you are retired, Milady?"

Jazdia's silence answered his question.

"I am sure you have heard me saying the chance for Meche to do the right thing is still open, but to guarantee its safety..." Fredricus shook his head. "I am afraid you have visited the wrong person, Milady. I am King and a Father. If you want to stop this war, do your part and help me instead of preaching about its consequences."

After another long pause, Jazdia shrugged as if trying to retake the dominance from him. "Why should I help you? I am here to deliver a formal complaint."

But Fredricus knew this time he was indomitable.

"For the unprofessionalism my soldier displayed when searching your new restaurant? I am really sorry, but the impending war forced us to be less bureaucratic with our procedure. You, however, can help to normalize the situation so it can be... profitable again."

Jazdia sipped her stale tea and looked the other way. Fredricus apparently had had enough of this old acquaintance playing hard to get.

"Miss Jazdia." He said, straightening his posture and putting more emphasis on his words his voice starting to sound coarse and breathy. "The very flesh and blood of mine they are currently holding in their custody is my only son. Find him, for he will inherit the crown one day when this body has given up. I don't know what the future holds, but you will outlive me, and when that day comes, I assure you he will be your valuable ally."

In his last attempt, he smiled. "Consider this as a long-term investment."

Fredricus didn't care anymore if his words would get through to her. The not-supposedly-old King let out a heavy sigh, leaning against his chair as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the elf was nowhere to be seen, and at the edge of his table was a teacup, half emptied but still steaming hot.

After being dismissed by His Highness and heading into the reception room, Henri leaned and whispered to Matilda as she reached the door. "Please introduce me to them in my stead, I have things to obtain first." He then proceeded to walk in a different direction than the rest.

From this action, it would not be wrong to guess that Henri doesn't exactly approve of this team, possibly going so far as to believing that he could do this task on his own. Yet, he also knew that he wasn't exactly outward with his abilities, and wasn't even considered for this task until he personally asked for it.

It might be too early to have notions of splitting away from them just yet.

---

In front of the door of the Royal Mage's office. He knocks. "It's Henri. I need spells." Quite the curt request.

"I'll fetch up my prepared things from smith shop. Where are we gather to departure, Dame Matilda?" The black haired man with a demon mask and oriental attire finally speak with a calm tone of voice.

[NPC Post]

The door to the office creaked outward, opening without any visible mechanism to reveal an... office. It had no window, with a mahogany bookshelf much larger than the door itself occupying every inch of the far wall. The desk of the Royal Mage was L-shaped that hugged the wall before abruptly turning to slice through the room, filled with various parchment with partially finished arcane scribbles and whatnot. It stood mere three feet from the door, and considering the arrangement of chairs already occupying space it left not much room for "guests" to stand at. Instead there's plenty of gap between the desk and the bookshelf where a haggard middle-aged woman in dark dress sat. Her own chair was obviously custom made, puffy and soft with leather cover and adjustable back and footrest. The entire edifice was tilted nearly ninety degree backward, where the groaning mage slowly straightened up as she took stock at the tutor.

"Ser Henri, please take a seat. How may I assist you today?"

Well-oiled clank subtly echoed as the sinfully comfortable chair straightened, allowing a full view of dark eyebags underneath bloodshot eyes. Days of running around performing various augury hadn't been kind to Duchess Antigone Steinwall, though her commitment to the crown outweighted back pain and sleep deprivation. Still, there's only so much a single woman could do.

The elven woman closed the door behind her with a fair amount of respect she could muster, deciding it would be in everyone's best interest to not anger the poor Fredricus even more by slamming the door. The chamberlain, however, looked very surprised when he saw her, showing a mix of confusion and fear as he scurried back to the King's chamber and make audible door noises in his entry. A series of angry yellings could be faintly heard afterward.

Still leaning against the wooden railing, Jazdia observed the main hall below and focused her attention on the group. She saw a very pale man leaving the premises after exchanging words with the King's trusted Knight. Not a very... fleshy fella. Prosthetic? Animated doll? Golem?

Before she managed to investigate further, the man had already headed to the east wing, far beyond the range of her vision.

Investigate. She repeated the word under he breath. Looking at the records she swiped from Fredricus's desk and matching them with the personas below, Jazdia would soon find few of those documents were lamentable at best even an intern in the Delta Two could do better. Some track records were lacking, and the details about family, origin, and analysis, many were left blank. No one, for instance, bothered to type out the detail that two of the invitees were a decaying old man devoid of any living energy... and the other was a half-stone man. They, however, had a very thorough report about the druid, who apparently was not just a bipedal bear but also an offshoot offspring of an unholy union between an intelligent bear and a druid. They detained him a few weeks earlier and had him released just recently.

The report somehow made Jazdia recall one of the bizarre accounts her apprentice Linea testified when she returned from a rescue mission in a remote misty village 10 years ago.

Two other hirelings apparently had a certain connection with the royal court. The small woman was a scion of a failed clan, who might or might not have retained its status had this child didn't dwell too much in the art of severing heads and limbs and mindless carnage. The other guy, wearing oriental-styled armor, was an ex-royal knight, but for whatever reason took early retirement to join the Adventurers' Guild. He claimed to be a close friend of the king, but according to the report, did not present when the king was attacked, nor when a certain group ambushed and kidnapped the Prince. The reason for his absence was unknown.

See, this was one of the glaring mistakes she mentioned earlier. This whole report lacked any presumptions of motive. A good intelligence service realized that it was their job to find the worst in every human being, to find a potential threat and a way to subdue it regardless of the accuracy of the allegation. There were too many unknowns in this report Jazdia partially believed it was filled by the invitees themselves.

Jazdia normalized the color of her eyes and took a series of very regulated breaths as she walked down the stairs to regroup with everyone, not sure if any of them saw her on the balcony, but she greeted them regardless.

"Greetings!"

Henri's eyebrow raised as he saw Antigone's face. It's like she hasn't slept for a week. "Antigone... I mean Duche-- Egh, I'm not used to formalities. I'm sorry."

Henri enters and takes the seat, cautious to not hit anything in this narrow space for he wouldn't be able to feel something break until it's too late. "I would like to borrow a book with as many spells in it as possible... so as to not be a burden to the rest." If it's her, then she most likely knows this mission of theirs even if kept in utmost secrecy.

"I'd ask whether you augured our success but you look like you've already done far too much auguring. If only I'm in a position to order you to take a rest..."

The taverns of Rascade we’re buzzing with people and the ale was flowing like never before. There was tension in the air and rumors on the street. People spoke of soldiers being stationed at the border with Meche and gossip on the street was that something had gone down at the royal palace. Some whispered that there soon will be war again while others spoke of an assasination attempt on the king. Nobody knows for sure but on the tables of the taverns theories run wild.

The wildest theory Kaito had heard was that some royal brat was kidnapped. There wasn’t much to go on really as it wasn’t even clear what brat from what royal house was snatched. One could assume that it was the king’s son but the source was some bandits that mostly operated in the border regions. Not to mention that the leader of the group was known to tell bullshit stories all the time. The only thing that the Kitsune found intriguing about this whole affair was the fact that those bandits were quickly apprehended before their story could spread.

It was a busy day in The Black Swan tavern and Inn, one of the finest establishments in the city of Rascade and a popular place for the upper class to gather. A place for merchants and lords alike to enjoy some of the finest food and drinks you could find in the capital. And yet this classy place was one of Kaito’s most favorite hunting grounds

The fox had gathered a fine group of wealthy men around the table for a friendly game of cards. All fine lads of reputable status but questionable morality. There was Lord Baltimore Dawney who starved his peasants half to death in order to squeeze more coin out of his estate. Next to him sat mister Ridgeway, a slave trader and last but not least was there was mister Conway, a wealthy landowner who runs a number of plantations and relies on mister Ridgeway to supply him with the laborers.

As Kaito shuffled the cards the men all bragged about their fortunes. Boasted about their lavish lifestyles and joked about the plebs they trample under their pompous feet. It was clear that these men made their fortunes over the backs of others with a disregard for the lives of fellow men.

“Damn, I lost again” shouted Kaito with faked frustration as he threw his cards on the table. For a moment he looked around the table at his companions. Lord Baltimore Dawney certainly was having a good time, he had won already three times. Mister Ridgeway had won two times and so did mister Conway. They were all in the winning mood, the mood Kaito wanted them to have.

“You want to quit? You’re on a losing streak for a while now” Asked lord Baltimore. Kaito sipped from his wine and smirked. “Of Course not, the day is still young and fortunes can always change. What do you gentlemen say that we make the game a bit more interesting, minimum bet 5 gold coins?” Said Kaito as he emptied a bag of gold coins on the table and slowly placed the coins at the center of the table.

Ofcourse, this was all part of the setup. First you let your win a couple of times. Just feed the belief they can win. Then you raise the stakes by increasing the minimum amount to bet while showing a big pile of cash they supposedly can win. No greedy bastard can resist such temptation.

For a moment the three men at the other side of the table were silent but none could avert their eyes from what was on the table. Mister Ridgeway was the first to place his coins at the center of the table and the other two soon followed. The game was on.

As Kaito shuffled the cards, he was carefully controlling who gained what cards through the use of his illusion magic, always making sure that he knew exactly who had what hand and controlling the outcome of each round. This time the kitsune made sure to give all participants strong hands and his victims quickly raised their bets. The number of gold coins at the center of the table piled up quickly. One more card to play and Kaito would be a significant amount of coin richer. What could possibly go wrong with a setup like this?

Cedar was well and truly flummoxed. Not just confused, or bewildered, but outright flummoxed.

He had just gone from what had been the worst possible treatment in his life, to being scurried via cramped back allies and byways into the single most auspicious 'human home' he had seen since his dad had taken him past the ruins of 'that damned #%@&ing tower'. His dad had not really wanted to say anything about it, except that it was a monument to the hubris of 'civilized' races, was a 'gaudy death trap', and 'no-one sensible would get caught dead in it.'

Unlike that tower though, which had practically glowed from top (it stretched up higher than seemed possible, and the actual top could not even be seen) to bottom with arcane magics, this place was just fancy wood and plaster set inside ornate but common stone masonry.

Lots of stone masonry. More than he ever had seen in a single dwelling before, and the shere size of it? There couldn't be a rational explanation for a single man to need a house like this.

It was a confusing and jarring mix of long hallways, high and low ceilings, doors that must have taken whole trees to fashion, and others that did everything imaginable to try and blend into the walls. Hallway, after hallway, after hallway, after hallway, and more stairs than he wanted to see in his life ever again. He literally had no idea how to even get back out again, yet all the people he was with seemed just fine with it.

No wonder dad cursed like he did about 'rich #%$&ers'.

At least he had some idea of where all the wood the loggers insisted they needed likely ended up. He silently agreed with his dad, this was just shamelessly and brutally wasteful, for not readily discernable reason.

Anything that wasn't made of a dozen hills worth of quarried and shaped stone, at least a square mile of forest's timber, or enough plaster to coat every surface in mystville 3 times over, was swaddled in the most brightly colored fabrics, garish of paints, or gaudy of metal foils. He recalled that his dad had compared that tightly and magically sealed tower's interior to a 'castle' like this when he had asked about it. 'Gaudier than a #%&$ing castle! Glowing jewels and gold encrusted like SH*T in an outhouse on every %#&$ing surface!' An' the stairs! Don' get me started on them %#&$ing stairs!'

He remembered asking what a castle was, and was told 'a big assed house for people with more money than they has sense, built ta keep people out, and ta make emselves look more fancy 'an theys needs ta. Noplace for nobody decent, 'ats fer sure.'

Looking at the insides of this one, he could not help but agree. WHY WOULD somebody actually NEED a house like this? The king, he had been told, was 'like a mayor, only for an entire nation of people,' and could command thousands of people with weapons and magics to march on small settlements like mystville, burn them to the ground, and kill everyone there with ease, if they felt it wss needed. That's what the villagers had described as 'war' to him. it was shortly thereafter that he had agreed it was for the best that such a thing not come about, now nor anytime soon, and had impressed upon him how important it was to prevent.

And it was why he was here, now. In this house that nobody sensible could possibly want to live in.

His thoughts momentarily reflected memories of his own place; a simple one-roomed wooden structure, where the floor gave way to a nice, big cozy hole stuffed full of cottonwood fluff, and in the rest of the room, just a single wooden bench, a wide flat table, a fireplace, some shelves, and some hooks to hang things on. It was far more sensible to a single person's needs than this place, that's for sure.

He really felt very, very out of place, and that he simply did not belong.

Being too big for any of the furnishings only magnified this feeling. He very much wanted to sit down to digest these thoughts, and to reflect on the mission this 'king' fellow had given him, but he could tell just by looking that not a single one of them was anywhere near strong enough nor wide enough for his ass. The comedic and tragic death of a chair would certainly be the only plausible result from such an attempt.

Somehow, that only made the 'lack of usefulness' of the place more poignant.

He was interrupted from these thoughts and observations by the oddly tall and quiet woman who had done NONE of the things miss Matilda had strongly impressed upon him were 'required honors and protocols when meeting the soveriegn', (such as calling him 'your highness', or 'your majesty' (despite being neither tall, nor majestic..), kneeling when in his presence, and other silliness, and had remained oddly quiet the entire meeting), who was now standing up tall, boldly asserting a loudish 'Greetings', and blasting him with some kind of magic that made him feel more naked than he did in just his fur-- somehow.

He couldn't tell if the glow in her eyes was blue or purple, but there was a definite glow.

He timidly leaned on his staff in leu of finding a chair, looked at the woman (who had pointed ears and smelled... different...), and then gruffed back

"Is there .. something I can help you with, Miss? You seem to be.... looking... for something."

For someone this big... and druidic, the fellow named Cedar was surprisingly courteous. Not everyone might be able, or willing to see past his ragged appearance and gruffness of his voice, but Jazdia tried to be not very judgmental. She of course was still taking into account how unpredictable and sensitive these types of forest watchers were. She had worked with the druids on a few occasions in the past. Excellent tracker, but very fussy, moody, and their behavior can be a total hindrance when you were on a total pursuit.

'No, I am not looking for something..." the elf gave everyone, especially the female orc next to the druid a heartfelt smile. "Except of course our Madame Matilda!"

Jazdia waved at her. Hoping that cordial gesture would make the orc paladin ease up for a bit. After what happened with her master and his son, that would certainly put anyone on edge. Not that Jazdia blamed her, especially not after what she did in Fredricus's chamber. She was, however, almost tempted to explain that she was also roped into this motley band of investigators, and had to make do with whatever they had now.

But that can wait. Really...

[NPC Post]

"Well you best get used to it, yes? Cant have the imperial tutor skimping on basic manners." Not like that would help much at the moment, considering the student he's supposed to be tutoring was missing. Antigone shrugged, not really having the energy to talk too much about it.

"Is this related to what his highness is planning- no, dont answer that." She had some idea, after having to perform auguries related to a certain man-bear the druids were hyperventilating about, but the duchess wasn't part of whatever plan cooked so it must be relying on secrecy. Far from her to accidentally spill the beans, but no harm in taking precautions. "I have sufficient rest, Ser Henri. Now, on to this spellbook - I am unaware that you are qualified as a magus."