---

The name for what he evidently was meant nothing to him, but Ceolfric appreciated it all the same. It was much less of a mouthful than the grandiose speech he usually gave when asked - and presumably far less incriminating under the laws of this land. Not that it would apparently matter to the Bounty House, if they kept with the oh-so-enlightened Verazian sensibilities of their secretary. Ceolfric was ready to tune out the rest of the conversation when his attention was drawn toward the stairs by a sudden clapping. Some overconfident runt of a woman insulted her way across the room, only catching Ceolfric's eyes for long enough to size her up before he turned his gaze back to Aleka in disinterest. He couldn't say he disagreed with her dismissal of Cerric's flamboyancy, but the men of civilized lands must be soft indeed if a woman like that could get away with speaking so boldly in what Ceolfric could only assume was a regular occurance, judging by the elf's reaction.

Cerric's warning went in one ear and out the other; Freckles and Lilann seemed to have crossed her just by existing, and he'd looked upon far mightier warriors than a child-sized telekinetic without fear. If she intended to strangle him with his own clothes, he had no qualms about bludgeoning her to death in the nude, quite frankly. The elf's second statement was far more interesting. Lord Mystralath was the proprietor of the House, as far as Ceolfric was aware, which meant he was only man whose opinion mattered. A whole batch of Aetherborn at once would likely draw his eye, and none of the others had experience that sounded particularly useful to the profession. They'd serve to make the bandit look better, if nothing else.

Not the worst introduction he could hope for, all things considered. He only had to hope his lordship's temperament was more agreeable than the Lady Silventria. Or, gods forbid, she spoke the way she did because he was in a dalliance with the little gremlin.

But that was a matter for later, and the teenager daudling around Aleka's desk didn't interest him in the slightest. The two Tainted, however, did. For a couple of supposed demonspawn, they were a far cry from their progenitors - far too little malice in their tone when they discussed Aeowyn. The fearsome Ceolfric Demonkin felt no kinship with them at all; he'd parted someone's tongue from their mouth for lesser insults. Granted, the stakes in a spat between two Aetherborn were a bit higher than one between mere men. At least Lilann had a pair of metaphorical testicles, which he'd have assumed she took from Kyreth were he not far too tall to have been a eunuch. Nevertheless, Ceolfric hovered closer to where they were seated and loomed over them with a hand resting casually on his hip, pinky barely brushing Goredrinker's crossguard.

"She seems a bit too self-important to waste her time on an entertainer of drunkards and a fence-mender anyway, Aetherborn or not." He glanced to Kyreth pointedly upon his mention of Aetherborn, trying to gauge whether he was truly ignorant or just a bad liar. "I think you're in the clear, if you're not feeling particularly retributive."

---

@Mcmolly@Obscene Symphony

“Considering we have met but just this day, my interest solely stems from the well-being of my and my Lord’s pockets.” Cerric laughed with a shrug and a wave of his hand. “Though I would be lying if I didn’t find your connections interesting, Ms. Aurelios, but everyone has their reasons for seeking out work in unconventional places. However, my Lord has an intense fascination with the aetheric and I would be remiss in my duties if I did not bring to his attention five aetherborn who found themselves on our doorstep. Don’t worry- our individual interests take second seat to the interest of the Bounty House so we will refrain from prying too deeply into your personal matters if they do not present an insurmountable conflict.”

Aleka’s quill paused as he stared at Cerric following his explanation. “And what connections may she have, Cerric?”

“We can discuss that later but there is nothing sinister at play, if that is your concern. If at all, she’s clearly the most reputable of them all.” Cerric explained quickly. Aleka seemed mollified for the moment and continued to write.

“Eila Aurelios, Physical Animas, skilled in athletic manipulation with additional proficiencies.” Aleka blotted the ink as he waved her away and gestured Ermes over. “Come here. Once we’re done, I will discuss the finer details of employment with the Bounty House with everyone.”

Ermes looked towards Aleka as he gestured him over. He let out a small exhale as his arms uncrossed and made their way into the pockets of his jacket. He walked over towards the half elven man until he stood before his desk. He lifted one arm to move some of the Shadowy masses out of his eyeline so that he could see him better. "Names Ermes De Luca. I'm a genesian type aetherborn that specializes in creations. I'm handy with a sword but prefer to use stealth over all else. Until now I've used my skills in work as a delivery person back in Wilree. Before that I helped with fishing back in my village." He wasn't quite sure what else to share, not wanting to give too much unnecessary information away.

Aleka offered Ermes a slow blink and a long moment before he finally committed quill to paper. “Ermes de Luca, Creation Genasian, fisher turned delivery boy, some skill with a blade, and an unhealthy amount of paranoia.” Aleka noted as he dried the ink and handed off the book to Vivian, who accepted it with another brief curtsey and swept quickly upstairs. Aleka carefully arraigned everything neatly on his desk before standing.

“If I may have your attention everyone, it is time we discuss the Bounty House, how it operates, the steps to be formally accepted, and what expectations will be placed upon you when you enter into our employ. Please feel free to take a seat as the length of our conversation is determined by your ability to grasp the subject matter.” Aleka explained as he made his way across the room to the fire place. “First and foremost, let us discuss the purpose of the Bounty House. This organization is meant to create a marketplace for employers and laborers to more easily find prosperous relationships in an era where a significant number of the active workforce has been relocated to Dranir. Employers or contract holders list job requests for a small fee with us and we, in turn, offer these jobs to those who we believe are mostly likely to successfully complete the job to the client’s satisfaction.”

“The Bounty House doesn’t turn down a job listing so long as they can pay the fee. As such, job requests vary wildly in their description. The Bounty House, for the sake of ease, assigns these to two categories: Contract or Mercenary. Contract jobs are those that are either recurring seasonally, permanently, or for some reason will last for longer than a phase of a single moon. Apprenticeships, farmhands, and other physical laboring jobs usually fall into this category. These don’t necessarily pay well but they are consistent and usually include some degree of housing and education built into the contract as they are more lenient in accepting those who aren’t well versed in the trade. More importantly, these are the safer options for job requests.” Aleka glanced around the room, settling on Kyreth as he spoke before moving on.

“Mercenary jobs are short term, goal oriented jobs that end once an objective is completed. Caravan guards, deliveries, bandit hunting, and other such goal driven jobs fall into this category. These jobs are usually more dangerous than contract jobs and they only pay once the job is complete. Of course, this means a greater pay off at the end but it means supplies, travel, and lodging are typically on your own coin.” Aleka explained in his flat, monotone voice, barely moving an inch as he spoke. “It is important for you to understand that the success of this Bounty House rests on the success of those in its employ, of you all gathered here. As such, what is available for you is heavily curated by myself and the other administration of the House and I will have no issue denying you access to any job that I believe that you will fail at. The more successful you are in your jobs, the more we will trust you to handle, the greater the rewards you will reap.”

“Gods above, Aleka! You’re boring me to tears! Put some enthusiasm into this. It sounds like you’re reciting straight from a book.” Cerric interrupted, shooing Aleka away from his spot and taking his place. “Apologies everyone but I was about to fall asleep and I’m one of the administration! Where were we… Right!” Cerric continued with a snap of his fingers. “I have no doubt that a number of you are interested in mercenary jobs. We don’t find fresh inspiration digging up the dirt, don’t expand our aetheric finesse sweating in front of a forge, or other mundane activities. Heroes are forged at the ends of blades, infamy and fame fought for, won, and lost over the corpses of our enemies, and it is the pounding of the blood and the sweat in your eyes that carry tales, build renown, and rake in gold. It is adversity that builds strength, character, skill, and fortune but you have to live to see that happen.”

“Those interested in Contract jobs, we get to have a nice conversation about what you’re looking for, where your interest and skills may best suit you for success, and other such easy topics right from the comfort of my own office, full of tea and biscuits, and sweets.” Cerric sighed happily before a sharp smirk wormed its way across his face. “Those interested in fame and fortune get to go through a little test. We’ll accompany you on a safer job, watch how you handle it, and evaluate whether or not you should even be permitted to accept those jobs, let alone more dangerous, better paying ones. We’ll pay you of course; we don’t expect you to work for free after all, but your performance determines your future so be sure to be on your best behavior.” Cerric paused briefly, water rolling between his fingers as he twirled a conjured orb absently.

“Before Cerric continues, I’d like to take this moment to open the floor to questions.” Aleka interrupted as Cerric opened his mouth to speak again. He gave Aleka a disgruntled look but shut his mouth rather than protesting. “Once you’ve satisfied your curiosity, we’ll discuss what you are interested in, some of the finer details of each request type, and your pending acceptance into the House.”

Lilann’s uncommon confidence shone again as she answered his hushed question with a perfectly audible response, decrying the Silventria woman as a bigot for all the room to hear. She even cracked a joke, as if they were lounging in a Dregs speakeasy in the company of their own kind and not surrounded by strangers of dubious intent in a place they most certainly didn’t belong. Well, he didn’t; more and more, though, Lilann seemed like she really did.

Despite his lingering unease, though, Kyreth had to agree with the sentiment. How many Tainted could say they landed a chance like this? He’d wager his few coppers the number could be counted on one hand, if at all - at least for the ones he grew up with. Apprenticeships, training… not only would they never be offered the chance to begin with, but they’d quickly be laughed out of the Dregs if they ever dared to accept. Back home, making an honest living was a fool’s errand; why slave away for someone who hates you when you can strip them of their ill-gotten gains and knock them down a few pegs in the process? It wouldn’t make them any fonder of the Tainted, fine, but it wasn’t like the Tainted of Buscon were in the business of making friends.

“Only on account of you,” Kyreth shyly replied, doing his best to hide his sharp teeth behind his burgeoning grin. But before he could thank Lilann and reflect on his incredible luck to stumble upon the only other Tainted in the world who would think working for a bricklayer or a thatcher was laudable, he was cut off by the reappearance of Ceolfric, looming over them with his hand dangerously close to his blade.

"She seems a bit too self-important to waste her time on an entertainer of drunkards and a fence-mender anyway, Aetherborn or not," he said, his withering gaze hinting at some double meaning that Kyreth couldn’t quite decipher. "I think you're in the clear, if you're not feeling particularly retributive."

“Oh, no, I’m... good,” Kyreth replied, averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. Why was he looking at him like that? He thought the brigand had lost interest in them after their little hostage walk up here. Likely he just didn’t like Tainted, but he could have gotten the point across much clearer with an insult than his weirdly veiled words of comfort.

Fortunately, Kyreth was saved from any followup by Aleka’s announcement, launching into a full explanation of how the Bounty House operated.

Kyreth listened carefully, catching Aleka’s look as the half-elf explained the details of contract work. For a mercy, it seemed they were on the same page; safe, regular employment was all Kyreth could ask for, and the possibility of training or even room and board on top of it all would be a sweet deal for anyone, let alone a Tainted. That was, of course, dependent on any contractor’s willingness to take on a Tainted, but he dared to hope the Bounty House’s reputation for tolerance would at least help to temper their clients’ expectations.

For another mercy, it sounded like the mercenary work the House also offered would probably take Ceolfric far away from him and Lilann; after all, he doubted a hardened “former” brigand was looking to apply his highwayman experience to a new career in wagon building. Kyreth could only thank his (apparently multiplying) lucky stars that he wouldn’t have to take any part in the “test” Cerric described, or any of the other grand adventures he seemed so excited about, for that matter.

When the time came for questions, he didn’t have any for Aleka or Cerric. After, though, he’d have some for Lilann; her quick thinking got them into the House without much issue, but it also got them stuck together, it would seem. Not that Kyreth would complain - even if he minded, which he didn’t, he wasn’t about to spurn her kindness - but he was curious what sort of work Lilann was interested in, or what a background of storytelling equipped her for. Someone so worldly must be capable of more than spinning tales, and he hoped his corresponding lack of… well, anything, wouldn’t hold her back.

---

Kyreth's timid response elicited little more than an eye roll from the brigand. His powers must've been pitiful indeed if he was content to settle for the status of a stepped-on peasant when there was so much world left to conquer. Every word of Aleka's explanation of contract work hammered the point home - it was for cowards, the infirm, and those without aspirations. Thankfully, Aleka and Cerric both spoke his language for the remainder of their little double comedy act. Winning fame and infamy along the edge of a blade was exactly what he was here for, even if there was an inane test involved.

The only unfortunate caveat was that he'd likely be thrown in with these other fools for the sake of convenience on the part of his evaluators. Unless either of the two women pulled something out of their proverbial hats to impress him, the exercise would likely be an exercise of how much of their slack Ceolfric could pick up. The teenager certainly wasn't going to be useful for anything beyond maybe pickpocketing.

Cerric's earlier concern for Eila's connections didn't go unnoticed, though the girl's question evaporated whatever fleeting interest Ceolfric had in them, along with any chance of her being useful in their test. Clearly it couldn't be too interesting if she was scared of getting her hands a little dirty as a mercenary. She was a pretty face to act as bait at best.

"If the fair lady should find a contract objectionable to her delicate sensibilities, I'd be happy to take it off her hands," Ceolfric offered dryly. They knew what he was, and old habits die hard; there was no reason to beat around the bush. If someone wanted a debtor's legs broken, so be it. "Provided, of course, the House doesn't deem it too offensive to the institution's reputation to even consider honoring the contract." Ceolfric wasn't certain what their vetting criteria was for accepting requests, but if it got past Aleka and the client was confident enough to leave a paper trail right back to himself, Ceolfric wasn't the type to second guess the job.

Besides, coin flows all the faster when the client has to pay for discretion on top of the job itself. They'd be fools not to entertain at least some requests that toed the line of disrepute.

---

Cerric fiddled with his rings as he considered the question. “That is less clear cut than you wish it to be. As simply as possible, you may report any illegal requests you stumble across and technically, I should encourage you to do so but you’ll have to weigh your ethics against your coin purse. A job unfinished is a job unpaid; though, I suppose discussing how contracts are paid out may make the weight of this discussion easier to consider.”

“When a job is sent in for the House to list, there is a fair degree of negotiating involved. The listing fee is based on how skilled an individual needs to be to handle the situation at hand and takes into account what we know about current events in the area. Once we’ve settled on our listing fee, we negotiate pay. This takes into account the general wealth of the individual or group listing the job, travel time, the kind of needed supplies, the level of risk involved, and the list goes on. Afterwards, they pay the House and they determine what token is necessarily as proof of completion. This can range from something as archaic as the head of a bandit leader you hunted down to a letter with a specific seal on it. Upon returning with the token, we release the funds to you!” Cerric explained delightly. “Of course, the obvious flaw in this system is us trusting you not to produce a counterfeit but we believe you’ll do right by us as long as we do right by you. Of course, I have no qualms retrieving my coin off your waterlogged corpse should you prove otherwise.”

“We have no way to monitor you at a distance. The decisions you make cannot be controlled by us with any accuracy. It may take us months to hear the truth of your exploits. We expect you to complete your jobs with minimal issues. If you become a liability, we remove you from the House. ” Aleka once again spoke before Cerric could continue. “No token, no payment. Do what you will with that information. This all applies to mercenary jobs, of course. Payment for contract jobs falls on the shoulders of the employer. No tokens are necessary as you will not report back to us until the contract is complete, if you do not find permanent employment with the contract issuer.”

The doors to the Bounty House creaked open again, accompanied by the heavy footfalls and jangling of plate mail. Standing just under 6 feet, an older human woman with streaks of silver in her blond hair, heavy crows feet at her eyes, and deep set laughter lines strode in through the door, helmet tucked under one arm and a simple sack slung across the other shoulder. A blade hung at her side, the scabbard simple and well scuffed, with the symbol of Zunbil emblazoned on the pommel.

“Good morning everyone. It’s nice to see so many new faces. I hope we can get along.” The woman greeted them, before turning her attention to Aeka. “I’ll just take a second then. I’ll leave the token on your desk once I climb out of this armor. Normal arraignment for the funds, please.” The woman continued past the group and up the stairs with a curious glance at the boy whose hair writhed and the blue haired girl but otherwise disappeared upstairs as quietly as someone encased in metal could. The faint sound of a door closing could be heard and then the downstairs was quiet once more.

“Marta was one of the first to join the House. You may find some guidance from her, Mr. Luca, should you want some practical instruction from a fellow creation genisian. I’d even recommend her to you, Ms. Storyborn. She may not have the exact guidance you are looking for but I believe you may find her wealth of experience helpful.” Aleka offered in lieu of a proper explanation. “Back to the matter at hand, however, I believe it is time those interested in mercenary work follow me back to my desk where we can determine your future at the House. Anyone interested in contract work, please follow Cerric to his office.”

“Though you do not seem the type to care for one, I will offer you a mentor as well, Mr. Ceolfric. The alchemist in town, Agitha Hawthorne, is also a mental animas aetherborn. I would seek her out once we are done here if you are interested in further developing your skills. There are a number of interesting tales about her that I’m sure Ms. Storyborn could regale you with should you care to hear. Now if you will follow me-” Aleka paused as Vivian returned from upstairs and stopped one step above the floor. She did not offer a curtsy but instead stared over the gathering before her attention landed on Kyreth.

“Kyreth Bertasson, your presence is requested in Lord Mystralath’s study immediately. If you would please follow me, we do not want to keep the Lord waiting.”

Although the questions posed about mercenary work had no bearing on him, Kyreth still listened with interest as Cerric and Aleka explained the House’s handling of contracts, savoury or otherwise. It was surprising to hear how their operation was run with so little oversight; Kyreth was well accustomed to the honour system, but he was under the impression that that arrangement only really worked in a tight-knit community where your employer knew where you slept in case he ever had to come collecting. He’d have thought things would be more… formal, he supposed, in the civilized world, but apparently the logistical difficulties of managing a fleet of adventurers was a dilemma that spanned the classes. All the better he’d be keeping away from it; he didn’t need that halfling lady or anyone else accusing him of falsifying a token and running him out of town. Again.

The creaking of the large Bounty House doors interrupted the explanation, revealing a woman in well-used armour lugging a sack. One of their “tokens” no doubt, but she was gone before Kyreth had the chance to speculate what might be inside. Probably for the best. Apparently she was a respected member of the House, so it really could have been anything.

Kyreth wondered absently if the House provided the room she went to or if she rented it from them as another woman descended the stairs. It was the same woman who took Aleka’s registry book, all prim and proper like before, and she addressed the room to— wait, was she asking for him?

Eyebrows flying up, Kyreth actually looked behind him at first, just to make sure there wasn’t anyone she had somehow mistaken him for. But no, that was his name, alongside the fake surname he’d literally just adopted, so it seemed there was no mistake. But… really? What would a Lord want with him? And why was he even here and not off in a castle somewhere ruling from afar like nobles were supposed to?

Kyreth stood on reflex, feeling even more awkwardly tall and out of place than when he came as he noticed several eyes in the room turn in his direction. Dread crept up his throat like bile; this was about Straithmoor, wasn’t it? A fake name couldn’t hide him forever, it couldn’t even hide him for a day – his crimes followed him all the way to Soft Haven and now the Bounty House Lord himself was going to detain him and see that justice was done. Dammit! How did he ever think this was a good idea?!

Before he even had the chance to follow (or run – he hadn’t yet decided), someone stepped in his path, effectively trapping him. It was the highborn woman – Eila? – and she clutched her breast as she looked up at him, eyes brimming with… concern?

"Forgive the rudeness," she said, unwrapping her cloak from her shoulders and holding it out to him. "Why don't you use this? It isn't every day one can meet with an esteemed figure, after all!"

Kyreth blinked at the woman, utterly speechless at the inexplicable act of kindness unfolding before him. The second of the day, in fact. What the hell was a well-to-do Elven woman doing handing an expensive cloak to a complete stranger, and a Tainted at that? What was more, while her tone was gentle enough, the way she did it really felt less like an offer and more like a demand. Her spot in his path, the way she smiled, the way she looked at him as she held out the cloak – it all made very clear that the gesture really wasn’t optional.

“Oh— um, thank you,” Kyreth said hesitantly, his tone coming out somewhere between a statement and a question. He couldn’t very well refuse, but something in the back of his mind was wary. It felt like a trick; like the second the cloak left her hands, she’d run to the guards and call him a thief. But she was so sincere – so… naive, even – that he couldn’t help but take the cloak anyway.

As soon as the heavy fabric hit his hands, he looked like it was the first time he’d ever seen a cloak before. Thick, wooly, and expertly dyed in deep, rich green, its quality was clearly in a league of its own. Hells, the clasp alone could probably buy a few nights’ stay in a nice hotel, assuming any ever let him cross the threshold. It made his own cloak, ratty old square of canvas that it was, look and feel like garbage – or, more aptly, even more like garbage than it already was. And this woman handed it over like it was little more than a handkerchief. Was she crazy?

Accepting the cloak seemed to satisfy her, and she even went so far as to smile and pat him on the shoulder like a well-meaning relative. Kyreth returned her smile as best he could in his abject confusion before quickly and quietly taking his leave, tossing Lilann a telling glance on the way. He dreaded what he’d find in Lord Mystralath’s study, but at least it couldn’t be any weirder than what was going on in the lobby.

He waited until Vivian led him around a corner before changing into the new cloak, not wanting to show his horns in front of so many people. Not that hiding them did much good, since they all already knew what he was, but that didn’t make much difference to him. He’d been hiding them so long it felt borderline indecent to reveal them now. With a fancy new cloak to hide in, he could pretend to be an upstanding citizen for a little longer, before the local authorities dragged him out in shackles.

He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it as he changed, absently wishing he’d have had the chance to bathe before being lent something so immaculate to wear. Even just touching it felt wrong, the contrast between his rough hands and the soft fabric all the more striking when he noticed a bit of dirt on them from his night in the graveyard. Eila had a point there, at least – he certainly couldn’t go see a Lord looking like he’d spent the night literally sleeping with the dead.

He struggled a little with the clasp, nervous to break it, before finally replacing the hood and addressing Vivian. “Sorry to bother you,” he apologized instinctively, “but… did the Lord say why he wanted to see me?”

He was a little scared to hear the answer, but at least this way he could maybe scope out an escape route before he was locked inside.

Ermes quirked up an eyebrow in a slight shock and disbelief as Aleka called him paranoid. He'd no idea where the half eleven man had gotten that idea, nor was he particularly fond of the accusation. But he figured if he wanted to stay here and earn a living he shouldn't start off by immediately contradicting the very man assigned to mark his name amongst their ranks. As the secretary began to explain the expectations and operations of the Bounty House, Ermes saw fit to move his way over towards one of the sofas, opting to sit atop the arm of the couch as he listened in to what they had to say.

When Cerric interrupted Aleka's long and rather dull speech, Ermes tried his best not to roll his eyes. Sure he had a point in that the droning voice of the man almost made Ermes's eyes close, but Cerrics quick dismissal for contracted work was a bit astonishing. He claimed one couldn't expand their aetheric finesse sitting in front of a forge, and while that may be true for someone like Ermes, perhaps someone with an affinity to fire could use it as a way to naturally and safely build up how much they can use their magic. That and having real world skills like how to forge, maintain, and sharpen a blade could come in very handy down the road on a long and arduous journey.

Once the floor opened up to questions, Ei wasted no time in raising her hand and speaking up in turn. Ermes turned to watch her as she asked something that made a knot form in the pit of his stomach. He'd never fully considered his previous (or current) employment to be particularly "less-than- ideal with a veil of virtuism" but others like her might. What's more he wondered on who's morality did the idea fall to? What her high society mind may seem as ill-gotten could easily be the norm around that town in which the Bounty was formed.

Ceolfric quipped up rather quickly, pulling Ermes's attention even further away from the Bounty employees as he swiveled on the armrest of the sofa so that his body now faced him. It seemed at least someone within this group was willing to look past the shadows and embrace them. Perhaps he wouldn't have to play it as clean, though Ceolfric did raise the good point on if the House would even honor such a contract. Cerric of course was quick to answer them both, reminding Ermes that there were laws to abide by within these lands and that doing so could affect their pay in the end. That made the decision all the more easier.

As he sat there and thought more upon how this might all work, the doors to the Bounty House creaked open as a strikingly familiar face walked in. Ermes slid down from the armrest and stood in complete shock, his jaw going slightly agape as he watched her waltz in and past him. It'd been two years since he last saw her, since last he'd even thought about what had happened. So engrossed in work and making sure he had at the bare minimum food to eat that now it all flooded back. In his eyes she walked with a beacon of light, bringing hope with every step. But just as quickly as she arrived, she was gone.

When Aleka had mentioned her mentoring him…well he felt like a kid again. He'd always admired her and how she fought. Learning from her would be an excellent bonus to the rest of all this. He noticed the glance she had given him as well as Lilann. He'd need to find time to speak to the bard, and as fate would have it her little puppy dog was called away by the Lord himself. Ermes had no idea how the tainted had managed to royally fuck up already but he also didn't make it his business to care at the moment. Once Kyreth was gone he quickly made his way over to Lilann. "Why did Lady M glance at you? Do you know her?"

---

Don't cause problems for the House (read: make sure all witnesses are effectively silenced) and remember to bring back a head. Seemed simple enough. One of his colleagues-to-be - yet another aetherborn, the tingle in the back of his skull supplied before Aleka confirmed it - helpfully demonstrated the procedure for turning in a contract almost on cue. If Ceolfric didn't know any better, he'd say it was planned, but not even Cerric seemed up to that level of pointless theatrics.

Aleka's offer earned a scrutinizing glare from the bandit. If he were to seek mentorship, he always assumed it would only be found at the end of a gnarled, discordant string of fate ripped from hated Azaiza's loom; some entity borne to this plane on the designs of a dusty grimoire who intended to barter knowledge for souls, not a local apothecary. His was the power of kings and concubines alike, true, but what could a common shopkeeper possibly have to show him? Cerric said it best, aetheric prowess was forged at the end of a blade. Ceolfric managed to rip his eyes away from Aleka long enough to raise a scarred brow at the bard. Hopefully these alleged stories inspired more awe than a description of her occupation, though he wasn't exactly holding his breath. Maybe the woman could provide a useful trick or two to make the tedious parts of his job more tolerable. The House doubtlessly frowned upon wanton slaughter in pursuit of a contract and he lacked the manpower this far south to simply hold an entire town hostage for the sake of finding one man anyway.

Things were simpler when the laws of men didn't apply to him.

The return of the servant who'd carried the books away reclaimed Ceolfric's attention, if only out of sheer curiosity. It wasn't surprising that his lordship hadn't deigned to greet them despite being in attendance, street rabble that they were, but for Freckles of all people to catch his eye was unexpected. Was it simply the novelty of being the odd man out? The only (alleged) mundane mortal among a pack of aether-blessed demigods? By Ceolfric's measure, that should've only made him less worthy of attention. Did Mystaleth spot some incongruency in his story? If he'd lie about the glowing dots on his face, surely he could lie about something else, but to be caught so easily by a complete stranger was as pathetic as it was unlikely. Then again, it wasn't a stretch to assume his senses were even sharper than Ceolfric's and he simply noted the disparity between five aetherborn entering and only four being recorded.

He looked again to Lilann to see if the fate that had befallen her brother - no, he supposed to couldn't be related, given their differing stories of origin - had unduly stolen her attention away from whatever tavern tales this serpent oil saleswoman must've inspired for Aleka to mention it. Instead, it seemed the teenager was vying for her attention now. Lady M? As in Mystraleth? Did he miss something? Was Vivian the lord's wife? He didn't see anything strange about her conduct, in any case. Tainted drew glances quite a bit, as far as Ceolfric was aware.

"More importantly," Ceolfric tacked on to Ermes' inquiry, "Do you know the story on this Agitha character? Preferrably without the ridiculous embellishments thrown on by whomever told you the tale." Maybe he'd be pleasantly surprised and learn this woman had cultivated a merchant empire through mass mind control of the local Red Fern producers or founded her alchemy business on potions brewed from the blood of dragons she'd slain in single combat.

---

@McMolly

---

As this was by all accounts the most important information she’d hear for who-knew how long, Lilann listened with intent as Aleka and Cerric continued their song and dance. They were an interesting pair, as stark against one another as night and day. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if that was intentional. Not that they had rehearsed these lines, or that they wore masks of a sort, but rather, had the good lord Mystralath placed them here on purpose? Like foils, in a play.

The longer she listened, the more characters she saw enter and exit from the wings, the stronger the sense she felt that this place was a stage all its own.

And just when things began to wind down, there came a hook. The stately woman returned, and called Kyreth to the lord’s study. Lilann decided then that she’d have to reevaluate exactly how much she liked surprises. Her fingers twitched. Were she tall enough to keep her sword at her hip, she might have thumbed the pommel raw.

‘Don’t like this,’ she wanted to say to him. ‘Makes my teeth itch. Don’t go.’

But she knew that wasn’t an option, not really. He couldn’t come this far and refuse a summons from the lord, not as he was. Though apparently, the elven woman seemed to think he wasn’t fit to accept it as he was, either. Lilann eyed her as she shed her cloak and offered it out. More itching, more twitching—why did this place set her off so much? She normally wasn’t this jumpy.

It was Finnagund, she told herself. Being here, it was meddling with her.

Nevertheless, Kyreth seemed happy. Whether the woman had meant it as a slight, or her intentions were inexplicably genuine, Lilann supposed it didn’t matter. She gave him a wink, smiled reassuringly.

“I’ve told stories about lords who didn’t dress this sharply,” she said. “Go wow the pants off our boss, hm?”

She held her smile until he was gone, then let it fight with the worry. It didn’t last long, the shadowy boy, Ermes, scuttled over to her right away. Despite being a fair few inches taller than she was, he somehow managed to lurk, like a peasant child searching for scraps in the shadows of a dinner party he’d not been invited to.

He asked after Lady M, and she figured he meant the soldierly woman, Marta. Lilann had spotted the glance she’d gotten; had her attentions not been divided, she might have shot her back a smile just to see what would happen.

Did she know her? Nothing came to mind, and Lilann was good with faces—better with names. It could have been that…well, she tried thinking back further than she normally would. Before the cart, and the cold. To grassy roads. To char. Finnagund—

But her mind swiped at her, hissed like a cornered cat, and she retreated. No, you couldn’t turn a book any further back than its cover.

“Look at me,” she said flatly. “I’m blue, and I wear a hat big enough to shade a giant’s eyes. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I’m a tad hard to ignore.”

It wasn’t a particularly good answer, but it was the only one she had for him. She didn’t know Marta. She didn’t know anyone in Finnagund. Lilann Storyborn was a stranger here, and that was that.

She turned her attention to Ceolfric, eager to think about anything else. Agatha Hawthorne, a name she did recognize. Yes, Aleka had been right to suggest she knew stories, all sorts of them. None of her own weaving, of course—it was startling less fun to meddle with legends she hadn’t helped grow herself—but it never hurt to listen and admire.

“Without the embellishments?” she chuckled, good spirits returned. “Do you want to hear stories of battle? Torrid love affairs? I could tell you she wrestled a bear, once, or that she’s bedded every lord and lady in Othard. I could tell you she’s brought entire armies to a standstill all on her own, or that, in heretical rituals, she’s summoned fierce demons and made them kneel to do her bidding. All of these things I’ve heard, and all of them, I promise, are embellished, as everything is. Perhaps there are seeds of truth sown in there—I’m afraid you’d have to ask her to find out how many.”

---

Vivian had watched the cloak exchange impassively, the faintest downward tick at the corner of her mouth revealing what she thought of the situation, but otherwise dutifully guided him upstairs where the lord of the house waited.

Once the pair disappeared upstairs, Aleka continued back to his desk and pulled out another heavy book. A shiny, purple cloth bookmark kept a page and Aleka turned to the page, his finger gliding down the page as he reviewed the contents. “For those of you pursuing mercenary work, there is a job listing that would prove an excellent opportunity to evaluate your skills. Cerric, the Buckman escort is tomorrow. At the price Mr. Buckman paid, I was going to send Ms. Krystal but I was unaware of Ms. Silventras’s plans for her. Are you available to evaluate?”

Cerric rubbed his chin. “A ten day round trip? I don’t like it but I suppose I’ll have to. Which means…” He clapped his hands together and beamed at the group. “You all get the pleasure of getting to know me, and I you, even more intimately. Nothing like traveling through the dirt and dark to bring strangers closer together!” Aleka ignored that comment and continued to address everyone.

“Very well. Dorn Buckman owns the wealthiest Red Fern farm in the greater Soft Haven area and takes great pride in personally delivering his product. How health has been declining lately and while he is being treated, he is on bed rest for the foreseeable future. His daughter will be going in his stead and just past 16 summers, he is concerned. A number of aggressive animal attacks have been reported over the past few weeks and although the Duke’s men have yet to find anything concrete, people are still being injured in broad daylight.” Aleka explained. “The job is simply to escort their wagons through the woods until they can join the large caravan coming from further east on the way to Wilree. His daughter, Esvelee Buckman, will be setting out tomorrow at first light from Soft Haven’s north gate. We need to keep her and the three additional employees safe until they reach the caravan with their product intact.”

“And if you are all as excellent as I think you are, you’ll earn a lovely 3 silver right off the bat. Mr. Buckman’s concern translated into a pretty piece for our coffers and we passed those profits right onto our mercenaries.” Cerric chimed it. “Of course, if I have to do all the work and save the job single handedly, then you make nothing and we run you out of town!”

Aleka stared at Cerric for several long moments, breaking the silence with a sigh. “We will not run you out of town but you will not be employed, Cerric is correct on that much. Once the job is completed and you return, we will discuss your performance and your status with the Guild. It is five days to the main road and five days back so please prepare for a ten day journey. If you have any additional questions, I am available for the rest of the day as well.”

---

Vivian led Kyreth up the stairs, not acknowledging his question. The stairs split the house in half, the left side of the second floor a series of eight doors and the right side a large open area with tables and chairs scattered about in front of a long bar that held a number of glasses and bottles behind it. A few people were scattered about and a dwarven man in the same colors as Vivian went about the tables, delivering drinks and pastries. Even from the staircase, the windows offered a pleasant view of the gardens below, the waters, and forest beyond.

The third floor was far more subdued, a few pieces of art depicting strange symbols and unusual looking people hung on the walls. The left only had two doors, one at each end of the hall, and the right had three doors. Each door had a name carved into them: Aeowyn Silventria, Cerric Liadon, and Lord Malcer Mystralath. Vivian paused at the top of the stairs and finally turned to look at Kyreth. “Upon entering my Lord’s chamber, you will keep your mouth shut, your hands firmly in your pockets, and your eyes fixed on your feet unless ordered otherwise. The fact that the Lord is calling a Tainted to his private office is surprising enough; we don’t need your kind’s sticky fingers making a mess of things. And understand if the Lord suggests that you offered even the tiniest hint of disrespect, I will have you dragged down to the lake and tossed in so Mr. Liadon’s pet can have its way with you.” Vivian threatened coldly, clearly displeased with this, but knocked on the door anyway in a specific fashion and opened the office for Kyreth to enter.

Lord Mystralath’s office was adorned with dark reds and purples, gold accents catching in the light. A long red rug with black and gold wove throughout paved a path to the desk on the other end, flanked by three bookshelves on each side. Although a window overlooked the property, curtains were drawn and instead the room was illuminated by a number of globes mounted on the walls. Like the ones of the bridge, there didn’t seem to be any way to light the wicks inside them and yet fire burned in them, smokeless. A heavy safe took up the space left of the desk and on the other was a drink cart, adorned with a number of crystal and glass bottles and cups. Comparatively, the desk itself was modest, just large enough to work on with a reasonable amount of storage space. Aleka’s book sat open.

More importantly, Lord Mystralath sat behind the desk watching the door intently. Clothes of vibrant blue and green covered him from head to toe, various pieces of silver jewelry set with sapphires pinning it all in place. A feather protruded from his left temple and his hands were encased in soft leather gloves. His face was covered in a white porcelain mask with the mouth twisted up in a soft smile. With every miniscule movement, cloth whispered and metal clinked in the otherwise silent chamber.

Ermes stared at Lillan, scrutinizing every bit of her as she declared for him to look at her. Sure she stood out, but was that truly enough to call the attention of her? His eyes finally fell off her as they rolled in annoyance. She continued onward answering Ceolfrics' question with an even more embellished answer. It was as if this tainted lived for the drama and attention, a far cry different from her lanky counterpart that seemed to cling to the shadows harder than Ermes did himself. Surely there were some grains of truth hidden within what she was saying, but which was fact and what was fiction was difficult to discern.

"Guess you probably don't know her. Shame. Now that's someone with stories worth telling about, no embellishments needed." He replied dryly before turning his attention back to the dynamic duo and roller-coaster of emotionless to vibrant and overdramatic. The job in question seemed simple enough. Escort mission to keep the caravan and its employees safe from wild animals or harm until they reached their destination. If anything Ermes would swear they kept this mission on retainer specifically for new hires into the guild. Hell there may not even be any danger, simply paid actors to put on a show to test their individual skills.

"Seems simple enough and straight forward. Will we still need a token of proof or is Mr. Liadons presence there enough proof of the jobs completion?"

---

This woman was toying with him. She said nothing there - nothing of substance, anyway. Ceolfric didn't know what he expected, asking a common jester who, by her own admission, flits about on the fringes of tales of heroism and virtue. She made her living peddling sensationalized crap; the line between fact and fiction was a useless construct to be discarded in favor of theatrics to her. It would've been tolerable had Lilann been a poet caught up in the delusions of her own verse, but she fully recognized that everything crossing her lips was a ridiculous falsehood and yet still had the audacity to taunt him with them. Some fearmongering minstrel up in Dranir had surely concocted similar tales about him at some point, and under normal circumstances he'd certainly revel in the spreading of his own legend, but a lie was a lie no matter how entertaining. Such stories were meant to cow lesser men and frighten children out of straying too far into the woods, not convey information.

"So you have no idea," Ceolfric surmised mirthlessly, "Start with that next time." His fingers twitched at his side, eager to pry her mind open and confirm exactly what she did and didn't know about this storied apothecary underneath the veneer of exaggerated narrative, but a quick flick of his eyes back to Cerric dissuaded him. Not here. Not yet.

The elf's explanation further soured the idea; he'd apparently be stuck with all of them for nearly a fortnight, so it behooved him to refrain from any acts against the group until he was at least gainfully employed. No reason to ruin his relationship with the House over rumors of a woman he could go talk to personally at any point in time. Drawing the ire of other aetherborn over petty slights seemed a foolish course of action anyway; their capacity for retribution was a far greater threat than a normal man's.

Ceolfric leaned against a nearby couch as Aleka continued the briefing, attentive enough to not appear visually disinterested but otherwise unengaged. Babysit some merchant's daughter, kill a few unruly beasts, maybe dissuade a few of his former colleagues from trying to collect a toll from them. The company sounded like the most grueling challenge of the trip. Of course, this also served as an evaluation, so he'd have to find some way to be proactive on the journey. If the roads proved uneventful, they'd barely appear more impressive than common caravan guards.

---

@McMolly

Silence was the worst answer Vivian could have given; it left Kyreth alone with his thoughts to conjure up the most terrible of fates awaiting him as they made their way up to the Lord’s office. Scanning the corridors and rooms as they walked, the grandeur of the House was lost to Kyreth, reduced to a two-dimensional map of doors, windows, and pathways in between. The cozy tavern space was a series of obstacles to be thrown in the path of pursuers; the windows looking over the gardens a passable but unappealing egress point. The walls of the corridor on the third floor pressed in on him like the shoulders of guards, stifling his path in the likely event that he needed to quickly escape. It wasn’t the worst situation Kyreth had ever been in, but unless there were some windows in Lord Mystralath’s study that he could leap out of when the local authorities came for him, he feared he wasn’t going to have a lot of options.

Vivian stopped; Kyreth, caught up in his inspection of the place, nearly bumped into her. The look on the older woman’s face could have curdled milk, and Kyreth was briefly impressed she could hide her disdain so well downstairs. That was a good skill. Her words, of course, made her opinion on the matter very clear. Funnily enough, it was practically a comfort to hear Vivian hissing threats at him - if nothing else, distrust and disdain were much more familiar territory for a Tainted than the strange and foreboding generosity he’d been shown in the Bounty House so far. At least when he was being threatened, he knew where he stood.

Still, he took Vivian’s “advice” to heart: hands in your pockets, eyes on the floor, keep your mouth shut. That worked great for him; he had no idea what to say to a Lord anyway. Well, until the point where he’d inevitably have to throw himself on his knees and beg for mercy, but that was usually pretty straightforward. The mention of Cerric’s “pet” did put a shiver up Kyreth’s spine, though. Could that have been the source of the lights in the water? It might have been a relief that those apparitions weren’t actually the warnings of dead sailors, but it wasn’t much comfort when the alternative was a beast stalking the lake. Dammit, that meant swimming was out of the question. The bridge would be his only way out if things went sideways.

Too soon, Vivian opened the door and motioned for Kyreth to enter. Sticking his hands under his new cloak and into his pockets as ordered, he dutifully stepped inside, sparing only a glance backward as the door closed behind him before jamming his eyes firmly to the floor. On the way down, though, he caught enough of a glimpse of the room to be impressed; furnished in rich colours and softly lit, every surface covered in some sort of esoteric trinket or bauble glinting in the firelight. Everything looked extravagantly expensive; the rest of the House was well-appointed enough to stun him on its own, but this room trumped it all.

The one thing he didn’t see at first glance, however, was the Lord himself. Kyreth mused that he might be coming in after him until he heard the faintest clink of metal from across the room, rising and falling with the rhythm of breath. He risked the quickest glance up and almost jumped when he realized that the man himself was behind the desk, his extravagant costume blending into the room itself. Unnerved, Kyreth’s heart took up his throat for a moment, but he bit down hard, staying resolutely silent as instructed while he willed his pulse to slow.

Lord Mystralath regarded the frightened thing in front of him silently. Aleka’s note suggested ill intent in the boy’s omission but he certainly doubted the terrified child in front of him was interested in crossing anyone, let alone a noble whose services he required. “Welcome to my House, Kyreth Bertasson. I hope the journey from home proved pleasant.” The Lord spoke softly, as if speaking to a spooked animal and kept his tone even and light. He gestured to the drinks next to him. “Would you care for a drink? I have a pleasing selection that should satisfy the need to wet the tongue while you regale me with the tale of your and your traveling compainion’s journey. Soft Haven is a long way from Buscon after all; nearly far enough to start anew, if that be your interest.”

To Kyreth’s surprise, the voice that rose from the masked figure behind the desk wasn’t the ghostly whine of a phantom haunting a statue, but a normal man. More than that, a rather kind normal man, whose gentle delivery and double-edged question had a way of putting him at ease and on edge in equal measure. Which, he supposed, just put him back where he started.

Still, the Lord got one thing wrong. He came here from Straithmoor, not straight from Buscon; maybe it meant nothing, but it did give Kyreth some hope that word of his… involvement in Straithmoor hadn’t gotten all the way to Soft Haven yet.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” he refused the offer politely, if a little tightly, casting his eyes somewhere on the carpet. He gripped the contents of his pockets. With his luck, a guard - or that woman - would burst in the door the second he laid a finger on that nice, expensive glassware. “Oh, uh-- my… lord?” he added quickly, the thought of Vivian bringing her threat about disrespect back into sharp relief.

Best to move on. Not that the prospect of regaling his journey was much more attractive.

“I’m sure a lot of your workers come looking for a fresh start…” he stated noncommittally, focusing on a rug tassel that was flipped upwards. One advantage of having Tainted eyes was that it was a bit more difficult to tell what one was looking at, and he needed a moment to think. Whatever lie he was going to have to spin to get out of this needed to be solid; he’d hate to get Lilann in trouble along with him.

“True. This enterprise offers a high degree of animosity for a reasonable pay. I can appreciate its appeal.” Lord Mystralath agreed easily, ignoring the brief stumble in favor of Kyreth’s noncommittal response. “I have no interest in prying into your background, unless you present yourself as a hardened criminal with a penchant for the disturbing. I may have a few thoughts on the matter then but if Cerric hasn’t escorted you off the property and Aleka only has a single misgiving, I trust you are a credible person.” The Lord tapped a large blank spot in the book in front of him.

“My apologies, I did not intend to cause concern, only offer an opportunity to relax before we addressed my concerns but for that, I’ll need you to stop admiring my office and raise your head. I’ll be more than glad to offer you a look around if our conversation reaches a mutually beneficial agreement.” The Lord nodded his approval as Kyreth compiled before reaching a gloved hand out, palm up. A murmured word and a rush of aether in the room followed before four candle sized flames appeared above his palm, dancing in a lazy circle like will-o-wisps. Lord Mystralath hummed, satisfied with what he saw.

“Tell me, Kyreth. Do you know what an aetherborn is? There are a hundred hundred stories of their potential, of their abilities great and terrible, of their ambition, greed, and selflessness in equal measure. Aetherborn are romanticized and villainized in equal measure. They are often living legends, even if they’ve done nothing with their power.” The Lord closed his palm, the flames vanishing, as he spoke. “But the truth of the matter is that aetherborn serve a purpose in the grand cosmos far more important than any sage of our era can possibly comprehend. Even I, who has dedicated my life to delving into the ancients’ understanding of aetherborn, barely have seen a fraction of our potential and purpose. We are burdened with a gift worthy of gods with all the flaws of mortality, which makes us dangerous to others and ourselves when we do not have control and understanding of ourselves.”

“Considering this, do you see why I am concerned about you, Kyreth?” Lord Mystralath asked, leaning forward and propping his chin on steepled hands.

Kyreth’s heart jumped a little when the Lord asked him to raise his eyes, but he complied, unwilling to give the man any more reason to dislike him than his presence already invited. But he couldn’t ignore the shiver crawling up his spine when his eyes met the Lord’s porcelain gaze.

He was even more discomforted, though, when little flames materialized in the Lord’s palm. Kyreth’s eyes were drawn to the fire in uncomfortably familiar fashion, watching unblinking as the little flames danced. Was Mystralath playing dumb? Did he know Kyreth’s history, and this was his way of teasing him? Kyreth backed up a step, eyes locked on the fire. Open flames were… risky. He didn’t appreciate how they made a giddy energy rise in his chest - or they way they got so easily out of control.

For a mercy, the flames were soon snuffed out, and Kyreth could breathe again. But by the time he came out of his trance, the Lord had launched into a speech about the aetherborn, of all things. A demonstration, then, but why? Kyreth knew passing little about aetherborn - certainly not enough to draw any real meaning from the Lord’s flowery words. If it was aetherborn Mystralath was worried about, why did call up the only person in the lobby who wasn’t one? No - there was something else going on.

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Kyreth answered suspiciously, resisting the urge to turn away. Mystralath’s voice was soft and even, but this line of questioning felt dangerous. He was suddenly very conscious of the lamps on the walls, their formerly soft glow getting sharper as the flames within started to grow. That buzzing feeling he’d been enduring all morning was back with a vengeance, skin tingling with something bordering disturbingly between fear and excitement.

“Okay, okay,” Kyreth finally blurted out, pulling his hands out defensively. He resolved to take the loss - this charade clearly wasn’t working, and it needed to come to an end. His fingers twitched. “Listen, uh, my Lord-- If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. Okay? No problem. You’ll never know I was here. Just don’t kick Lilann out - she has nothing to do with this, I promise.”

Lord Mystralath only shook his head, letting out an amused huff. “That is one way to answer my question. I don’t imagine you’d dare wrestle my own flames from me otherwise.” A dismissive gesture at the lamps and the command to settle had them dimming to their original gentleness once more. “And it is quite the opposite, Kyreth. I would much prefer you remain here, though that decision will be up to you once you understand the implications of such an action. Regardless, your traveling companion will be treated as her own person. The Bounty House will not penalize her for your mistakes.”

“You are an aetherborn, Kyreth Bertasson, and your ignorance is dangerous. Have you ever looked in a mirror, or a window, or even a still pool of water and caught your reflection? Perhaps Buscon’s aetheric density wasn’t strong enough to eclipse the light of day but I can assure you, normal mortals do not have glowing spots on their face. All aetherborn have an abnormality that marks them as one and you are no different. Cerric boasts an additional digit on each hand and foot, Aeowyn’s eyes glow with amethyst light,” He flipped pages, going through each of the people he entered with. “Ceolfric’s tongue is strangely colored, Elia’s eyes change color, Ermes’ has shadows for hair, your companion seems to glow to some degree, and your freckles shine in relation to aetheric density. You are one, there is no denying it.” Lord Mystralath made a note in Kyreth’s page, dried the ink, and shut the book with a heavy thud. He pushed it to the side as he leaned forward once more.

“From your unintended demonstration, we share an affinity. We command the greatest gift, and the greatest curse, of the mortal races. Fire, when controlled and guided, brings warmth, light, and the power of creation to our fingertips. We forge weapons, armor, technologies that have improved the races and permitted us to prosper beyond the common animals. But should those flames be left unchecked, forest fall, cities burn, and mortals die in ashen graves.” Mystralath paused, considering Kyreth carefully before he continued. “Aetherborn who command elemental power are known as Primordial aetherborn. Ours is instinctive and reactive, our emotional state intrinsically tied to our ability. Fear, sorrow, joy… all in uncontrolled excess can find our abilities slipping from our fragile control without the proper training. I’m sure you’ve experienced that: fires roaring to life in unexpected places, candles and fireplaces surging or waning without warning. Even here, your concern fed the flames in this room. Had it gone unchecked, you and I may not be alive to have this conversation right now. Do you understand now, Kyreth?”

The Lord’s words hit Kyreth like a sack of nails; his brow furrowed, hands pawing at the thick fabric of his cloak to find the iron crescent of Selene on his chest. There was no way what Mystralath said was true. It couldn't be! Aetherborn didn't pop up in the Dregs, they kept to their grand schools and ivory towers - they got whisked away as soon as anyone even suspected them, didn't they? And besides, wasn't being aetherborn supposed to be some gift from Aziaza? She hated his kind, no way she'd grace one of them with the power and prestige the aetherborn were blessed with. They wouldn't want it anyway!

Or at least, that's what he thought before today, if he ever spared the aetherborn any thought at all. But proof otherwise was right downstairs; some little street urchin, a brigand, even Lilann - by some cosmic coincidence, they were all aetherborn. The first he'd ever seen in the flesh, for that matter. With the possible exception of himself, if Mystralath was telling the truth.

Kyreth turned sharply, searching for something reflective. He found a jar on a shelf and peered at his reflection; sure enough, his face looked like it was pockmarked with stars, his freckles and eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. Shocked, he pulled his hood down, turning his head to see the reflection of his horns. The freckles on them glowed, too. He touched them gingerly, expecting a swarm of fireflies but finding only skin. Obviously he knew he had freckles - they were the butt of many jokes back home - but they never looked like… like that! Come on, the Tainted were known for their strange features. No two looked the same, they came in every colour and every shape. He wasn't any different!

But Kyreth found it more and more difficult to deny as the Lord kept talking. Fire that fed on emotion, strange and unexpected bursts of flame… would that explain his outbursts, then? The fire at Straithmoor raged in his mind, and others before it: the time as a child that his clothes caught fire and he had to jump into the harbour, singing an outsider who kicked him from his path, a bully’s hair lighting up in the middle of a scuffle… All his life, he thought his little “accidents” were a curse, a mark of his kind’s unholy union with the dragons all those centuries ago. Was it really him being aetherborn all along?

Kyreth backed away from the shelf, pulling his hood back up over his horns. Lord Mystralath’s words rang too true to deny it. He was aetherborn; the violent, unpredictable power he had that made flames spring to life was magic all along. A “primordial aetherborn.” But that didn't change much when he thought about it. In a way, he'd been right all along - this wasn't a gift from Aziaza, it was a curse. A curse that got him into trouble. That got people hurt. Mystralath said as much; he had destruction and death at his fingertips, always threatening to break loose. This was the Lady’s way of punishing him - all he wanted to do was live quietly and honestly, so she gave him the power to burn down his whole life at any moment. What a sick trick, to give a Tainted a power activated by fear.

“I see,” Kyreth finally murmured, his tail twisting with discomfort around his waist. It ached, sore from being wound up for so long, and he realized as he tried to relax it that it was holding a death grip on his abdomen this entire time. He looked back up at Mystralath. “But… why bring me up here just to tell me that? Are you worried I'm… dangerous?”

"I needed to determine the genuinity of your obliviousness. I'm glad to find you were honestly unaware of your condition; otherwise, we would be having a far less pleasant experience." Lord Mystralath sighed still. "Yet, the fact remains you are dangerous. Untrained, your ability to separate your natural reactions to danger and your aetheric control threaten every person, every home, every life you cross. That includes your own."

"I am aware your kind suffers a great deal of social prejudice and while I harbor no ill will towards the Tainted myself, I cannot say the same for everyone in my employ. Any situation you become targeted in runs the risk of an outbreak and the longer this outbreak takes, the worse it will be. As a noble of Finnagund, you are now a threat I am obligated to handle. So the question becomes how do I handle you?" Lord Mystralath drummed his fingers on the desk as he spoke. “I have two solutions that come to me immediately but what are your thoughts, Kyreth? This is your future we’re discussing, after all.”

Kyreth nodded grimly, clutching his crescent under his cloak. Really, it was just a confirmation of something he knew all along. He was dangerous. Whether or not he wanted to be, he was born with something malevolent inside him, and no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, it would always be there. Lurking under the surface. Waiting for him to slip up, let his temper loose. Just like last time.

Worse still for the moment, he was a threat that the Lord was obligated to “handle.” Those words reminded Kyreth of how dangerous this situation was, and his pulse quickened. What were his thoughts? What did that matter!? “Ill will” or not, no Lord was taking his orders from a Tainted. The sound of his name in that refined of an accent was scary enough already, but that sounded like an excellent way to dig his own grave.

But it was better than nothing. “Alright, you've made yourself very clear,” Kyreth pleaded, inching toward the door. “I know what's going on now, I don't want any trouble; I can get out of Finnagund where I won't be your problem anymore. I can go back to--” he was about to say Relfin, but since that path would take him back through Straithmoor, that wasn't an option. “--Somewhere, I don't know, but I assure you you'll never have to worry about me again.”

“I don’t care much for that solution. See, I prefer solutions that reduce the risks significantly and that one leaves too many variables unaccounted for. What happens if someone assails you on your travels and the Snakeburrow woods burn for your inexperience? What if you find a resting place near fields and a nightmare brings a lapse of control? What happens if your self loathing turns this power in on yourself?” He asked seriously. “Letting you quit this place means blood will be on my hands, be it yours or another’s. So in my eyes, I can only see two feasible, safe, and responsible approaches.” He held up a finger.

“The first is you attempt to escape and before you cross the threshold, jump out a window, or attempt to knock me unconscious, I reduce you to a pile of ash from the inside out. It will be agonizing for only a few short moments but you are no longer a threat to yourself or anyone around you with only my poor rugs as collateral damage.” Mystralath shrugged as he explained. “I doubt any would mourn you and those who came asking questions would understand why such drastic measures had to be taken, if they did not praise me outright for acting with such conviction and mercy. I assure you, I would take no pleasure in this but I would feel neither guilt nor remorse as Vivian swept your remains out of my office.”

He held up the second finger. “The second option falls in line with your original interests. Aleka marked you as interested in a contract job and it is within my power to offer you one as my apprentice. You’d receive a monthly stipend, lodging, food, clothing, an education, and training in all things ranging from statesmanship to aetheric manipulation and I’d have someone to alleviate my workload. This seems a much more pleasant arrangement than the first, no?”

Kyreth openly grimaced, showing off a rarely-seen mouthful of pointed teeth. He didn’t bother to hide his terror anymore, not that he ever succeeded in the first place. But by Moon’s Light, had Mystralath spent some time in Buscon when he was younger? It had the delicate refinement of nobility, but the substance of that threat could have come straight from the aftermath of a bar fight in the Dregs.

The offer, however, was even more staggering. He was awed enough at the prospect of an apprenticeship when the trade was going to be thatcher or coffin builder, and now this! He ran a hand under his hood, fingers twisting through his damp mass of uneven hair as he let his weight fall against the wall at his back.

“You’ve made your point,” Kyreth replied, very much in a daze. He stared somewhere in the middle distance for a moment, trying and failing to scrape a coherent thought together. All he could muster through the fuzz of his brain were far-off, unbelievable words like “statesmanship” and “aetherial manipulation” - nothing at all that made any sense offering to the likes of him.

“Is this a trick..?” he murmured to himself, brow furrowing as he let his hand fall. He fully expected a guard to burst through the door any moment, laughing at the Lord’s marvelous performance as he clapped Kyreth in irons, never to be seen again. But moments passed, and no guard came; the room was still, but for the flicker of the lights and the soft clinking of the Lord’s fine costume.

“But… why?” came his answer at long last, falling out of him on a breath almost as if by accident. His eyes finally came back into focus, examining the Lord’s porcelain mask for any hint of his motives. He found none. “Why me? You’ll be ruined.”

"Ruined? Absurd! You either think far too highly of yourself or far too lowly of me. Taking a Tainted apprentice is likely one of the tamest things I've done in my life." Mystralath laughed. "Tis true I am considered an eccentric even in my own family but the Mystralaths are not overly concerned with race nor creed nor background. Those gifted with aetheric ability are charged with the duty of advancing our knowledge through study, experimentation, and practice. Those bereft of such talent are given the solemn duty of allowing us privacy and protection so that we may do so without interruption or scrutiny. My family is an experienced hand at navigating the unusual and dangerous. Publicly, you'll be written off as little more than an object of study, an experiment, a fleeting whimsy at worst. All the while, you'll receive the full benefits of our resources and knowledge safely away from the public eye until you prove yourself ready to carry the Mystralath legacy. But we'll cross that bridge if we reach it."

Mystralath paused as he continued to drum on the table, considering before he answered the question. “Taking you as an apprentice solves a problem. My family has been bothering me to take a formal apprenticeship since the beginning of the year. I have supported and guided a number of students and family members but I never found the spark of curiosity in them that I hold myself. Certainly they were interested in growing their skills, ambitious, driven, but there was always a wall holding them back they could never quite scale. Promising but never strong enough to escape their families, social expectations, material pleasures, the list goes on. They lacked dedication, their cushioned lives blinding them to possibilities.” His tone, even and light before, grew more excitable, more passionate, darker. “You, however, aren’t cut from the same cloth. You present an entirely new experience for me to mold and shape and grow, ideally succeeding where others have fallen short of even my most basic expectations. Plus, accepting you as a pupil satisfies my family and they’ll finally stop sending me passive aggressive notes and setting up meetings with every charlatan in Finnagund.”

“And how could I pass up an opportunity to mentor someone who shares my own affinity, dropped into my lap like a gift from Lady Azaiza herself. I feel like I’d be denying fate not to offer you the opportunity.”

As Mystralath spoke, Kyreth pulled his hood down, all sense of propriety gone in the face of his incomprehensible circumstances. The room felt like it was spinning, the glinting of firelight on the room’s accouterments like stars in a vast, dark cosmos. His tail, sore and exhausted from clinging to his ribs all day, slithered out from under his shirt and fell limp, its tip resting on the floor like a lifeless length of rope. In the back of his mind, Kyreth noticed that the freckles at the end of his tail were also glowing.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Lord spoke so casually, as if something as life changing as an apprenticeship under a Lord of Othard was little more than a common chore. Or perhaps, a pet project. But for all Mystralath’s new, foreboding enthusiasm, he still sounded more like someone who’d finally found an exciting book to read than a man proposing to turn a Tainted boy’s life around beyond his wildest imaginings.

While the words “object of study” and “experiment” didn’t sit especially well with Kyreth, he was smarter than to look a gift horse in the mouth - especially when said horse was his only way out of a fiery death. He dared not even begin to let himself think this could possibly work out, but went along with it anyway. If he was to be a noble’s passing curiosity, he only hoped the Lord wouldn’t lose interest in him too quickly.

But for all his misgivings, Mystralath’s mention of fate stuck in his mind. His Crescent of Selene felt heavy on his chest. Was this in Her plan, too? Is that why she brought him here? Maybe he should be more open to the possibility - after all, Selene could only help those who deigned to take Her proffered hand. Hadn’t he spent all morning telling himself to leave his old doubts behind and trust in Her guidance? His old ways had kept him alive up to this point, but they also kept him and so many others chained to their suspicious, guarded way of life, treating any opportunity like a trap only to trap themselves in dishonesty and sin. It was terrifying to let his guard down, but maybe it was the only way he could ever move forward. For all Selene had done for him, he owed it to Her to follow the path She laid out for him.

“I see,” Kyreth finally answered. He was conflicted, but he pushed through it. “So then… what do I need to do?”

“Normally, I’d have a contract prepared and ready for review but as this is impromptu, we’ll need some time before this becomes official. In the meantime, we need to see about your supplies. Do you have more than what you are carrying?” The Lord pulled out parchment and wrote in small, tight letters as he spoke. He looked up when he heard no response, nodding as Kyreth shook his head. “Very well, then that is where we start. Although the quality isn’t quite what I prefer, Six Spools in Soft Haven can make you something sensible for travel until we can go to Wilree and find you something more suitable. A couple of tunics, breeches, a winter cloak since you already have a summer one, and I haven’t had the opportunity to inspect the quality of any Soft Haven cobblers but beggars can’t be choosers on such short notice, I suppose.”

“As for lodging, you may stay here unless you have other accommodations. Once you’ve returned from the errands you’ll be running today, I’ll have Vivian show you your room. I’m quite fascinated by the normal “adventure’s” lifestyle so please don’t mind the others that may come and go. We rent the rooms out to some of the other mercenaries in the House. They’re an energetic group but entertaining nonetheless.” He put the letter aside for a moment. “On the subject of your education however, have you had any? Do you know your letters and numbers at the very least?”

Kyreth’s eyebrows floated up as Lord Mystralath rattled off a shopping list. By the Lord’s prior fervor on the topic of molding him into some model aetherborn, Kyreth expected the first step to be some kind of blood ritual, not a new wardrobe. Then it was on to lodging, and the mental image of Vivian welcoming him into anything other than a casket might have been funny if it wasn’t going to be true. Kyreth couldn’t even imagine the cost of everything Mystralath was writing down, but even his conservative estimate rose to dizzying heights only a few items in. How many shopkeeps would even let him cross the threshold?

The Lord asked about his education, and all he had to offer was a meek shake of the head. “I can count coins and read signs, but… not much beyond that,” he offered, hands finding his pockets once again. He could hold all his worldly possessions in the palms of his hands - suddenly, that felt so small.

“A private tutor as well, then.” Mystralath muttered to himself at the response. He picked up his quill again and wrote anew on another sheet. “But that will be a longer process. For now, there are some errands I was going to send one of the servants on but this will serve as a gentle introduction to the town for you. I’ll send with you a letter to the Six Spools vouching for your identity, have them begin working on suitable clothes for you, and you can fetch the items I commissioned in town upon your return.” He folded the set aside letter neatly, melting wax and sealing it with a signet ring on his hand.

“I am expecting a dagger from Red Mane forge, three vials of goldenseal salve and 10 ounces of of powdered boswellia from the Hawthorne Apothecary, and a bottle of Sapphire Ambrosia from the White Lion. All of it is paid in full, you simply need to offer them this as proof,” Lord Mystralath pulled off his signet ring and offered it to Kyreth, “And they should release the product. Can you remember all this or do you need a list?”

It was a little embarrassing, but at least his lack of education didn’t seem like a deal breaker. But errands? That was something Kyreth could do, even if the laundry list this time was significantly more exotic than he was used to.

“Oh, um…” Kyreth rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Red Manes were cut with daggers, Hawthorne cures gold seal with salve and powdered bones well, and the White Lion drinks Sapphire Ambrosia… He nodded. “I think I’ve got it.”

The list would be okay, but then the Lord offered his signet ring, and that reeked of problem; he was suddenly reminded of Vivians comment about his supposed “sticky fingers.” He looked between the ring and the Lord’s mask suspiciously, caution written all over his face. “What if they think I stole it?”

"None in the House will accuse you of that. As for the good people of Soft Haven, well…"

Mystralath shrugged. "You will need to overcome more than false accusations and persecution as a Tainted Aetherborn. I've given you all the resources to succeed with little trouble in this endeavor. It's your task to solve the issue. As this is your first challenge as my apprentice, I will offer you a bit of advice. My commissions are your saving grace. Complete them in the proper order and while I would not suggest you'll be warmly received, you'll elicit far less suspicion. I trust you can handle that much.”

Kyreth considered the Lord’s words. At least he was under no illusions about the nature of the task he assigned, but he still seemed a little more confident than he probably should be. But hey, this was his town; maybe he knew something Kyreth didn’t.

“...Understood.” Though he maintained his misgivings, Kyreth finally approached and accepted the letter and ring, the latter feeling like a priceless jewel in his hands in a way he absolutely did not like. He tucked them safely away in his shirt pocket, sewn extra deep for this very purpose. He could feel both items press against his chest; more difficult to steal that way.

He trailed his hand over the imprint of his Crescent, offering a quick, silent prayer that the letter and ring would stay where he put them. Satisfied, he looked to Mystralath expectantly. “Is… that all?”

"For now. We will touch on appropriate terms of address later and I will have your first aetheric exercises prepared upon your return. I will need some time to develop a curriculum but that is not for you to worry about immediately. Unless you have any further productive questions, return this to Aleka and complete the tasks I have set for you." Mystralath pushed the heavy book to the side of his desk for Kyreth to grab.

Kyreth nodded. He had about a million questions, mostly about whether that maid actually knocked him unconscious when she came to fetch him and if this was all just a concussion-fueled fever dream, but he doubted those qualified as “productive.” He supposed he’d find out soon enough if this was all a big elaborate trick if an army of guards were waiting outside the door for the Tainted who stole the Lord’s signet ring, so in the meantime, the best option he had to him was to assume this was real and hope he didn’t come to in a dungeon somewhere missing a few fingers and an eye.

Or maybe he was already dead and this was Aziaza’s way of tormenting him, showing him this incredible opportunity only to leave him wondering when the illusion would be shattered. Well, it was working, but there wasn’t much he could do about that, either.

Mind made up, Kyreth took Aleka’s book, surprised by the weight of it, and hugged it to his chest, securing it like it was worth its weight in gold. To him, it was. “Um…” he murmured awkwardly, pulling his hood back over his head as he tried to think of some intelligent way to express his gratitude. When he came up with nothing, he settled for “Thank you,” and took his leave in a hurry, closing the door firmly behind him before he finally let himself collapse against it.

---

Lilann tried to suck in her smile when she saw how unamused Ceolfric was with her answer, but a small smirk escaped her anyway. If he’d expected honesty from her after having introduced himself sword-first, he was bold. If it was straightforwardness he’d wanted, he was a fool—she was hardly straightforward with the people she liked. Either way, the exchange helped ease what lingering worry she had for Kyreth.

Her attention turned then to Aleka, who laid out the details of what would be their trial contract. An escort, delivering a supply of Red Fern along with the cropmaster’s daughter. Simple, true, but if she’d learned nothing else from her journeys in Dranir, it was that simple things could quite easily take a turn for the exciting. Good for the taverns, but when it came to an evaluation? Well, even then, she supposed she’d rather have the excitement. Her mind raced with possibilities at the mention of animal attacks; one or two isolated incidents were within the realm of coincidence, but weeks of consistent trouble? And all in the open day?

The bardic side of her felt the strings of fate at play, detestable as they were. Her sword seemed at once heavier, and distinctly important.

Of course the real danger—and reward—was an extended trip in the company of her fellow hopefuls. The moody hedgeman, the moodier boy, and the suspiciously kind woman. Oh, and her brother-in-hue, Cerric. A saving grace of sorts, he was interesting, but the idea of spending days and nights with him prickled at the back of her neck. He had that look to him, that peculiar demeanor that she’d seen in the strong and the cruel—you could never be certain if he was smiling because he was happy, or because he was about to do something utterly horrific.

She decided the risk was worth it.

“Don’t worry. Mr. Liadon will vouch for you.” Cerric laughed, ruffling his hand through Ermes’ hair. He paused, blinked at his hand in Ermes’ hair, and then doubled down, ruffling with both hands. “It’s so soft! Honestly, I was expecting my hand to just pass through but it’s just so soft!”

“Yes, Mr. Liadon will be enough to vouch for you.” Aleka continued, unbothered by Cerric’s display of child-like wonder at Ermes’ abnormality. “If you have concerns about Mr. Liadon’s honestly, then I will maintain the token already negotiated. Either way, I am confident that if you fail, you’ll likely flee as one of the area’s most influential people will have a nasty grudge against you.” As he spoke, Aleka continued to write in the new tome, adding names beneath the job record as well as the promised earnings so that upon completion.

“While you are in town, I would also recommend you consider what you would like to happen to your belongings should you be accepted and die. Standard policy states that if we recover your belongings, they are property of the House unless otherwise stated so please submit letters of intent or a will and we will follow them in the event of your death.” Aleka continued, still scribbling in his book. “We will not contact anyone unless that is noted as well. If you need assistance writing, please do not hesitate to ask after your acceptance.”