@Estylwen@Izurich

A chill ran down Eirwen's spine at the sight of that ghost blade. He would be pressed, soon, to make a choice, and he could play one role or another; which would afford him more days to live? Should he refuse, given all he'd heard and witnessed, he would not put it past this king to merely clean up the mess that was himself here and now.

Eirwen had his goals, true, but he also wanted to live.

"Do you accept?"

His gaze slid towards Melisande as she nominated the human duke to receive the blade. Either way the wind turns, he is likely the ideal choice. A wise move. He had no grand ideas of wielding it himself, to be certain. Not only because he did not fancy playing a hero, but also because it would be a danger to himself and his apprentice should this thing be brought back to court where it might be found and questioned. Though the Duke, too, seemed hesitant. For now, Eirwen would behave as normal, standing silent until the attentions of those above forced him to speak.

Truthfully, he did not intend to make his final choice today, as much as they might press him. He would say what was needed to remain amongst the living and proceed from there. The real choice could be made later, and he was not one to be rushed.



Eirwen was quiet, mind racing despite the blankness of his face. A gracious comment to the queen, another to Lord Urimyar - until that one burning question stopped his thoughts and, as it seemed for a moment, his heart. He opened his mouth, to speak, to weave a tale, yet Melisande beat him to it. How strange, when lately she had seemed eager to place the responsibility of such things on himself.

And then she sold him out.

Had the the capability to feel at that moment, he was sure he would have experienced a great storm of emotion. Wrath, shock, fear. As it was, all he felt was a mild disappointment, everything else choked down by the seed as always. Likewise, the expression he directed at Melisande was one of the same - less like someone who had just been betrayed and more as if she'd just made a mistake on some unimportant assigned homework.

"Lady Tearmoon. I must admit I am gravely disappointed today. After the trust her Majesty and I have placed on you, an attempt to sow distrust amongst her court? And after I have invested so much already into your education." His voice was smooth, calm, confident. Then, to the tall one beside them, he continued. "The tale is true to an extent. We did, indeed, proceed to this ghostly court, in my intention to investigate. I had assumed my apprentice, in her wisdom, indeed understood my intent. Perhaps Tearmoon, beyond this young one, deserves more scrutiny. 'Tis often the elders that puppeteer the young." He tsked his tongue, shaking his head. Up until this point, he had intended to protect this apprentice of his; alas, now she had forced him into either accepting his own fall or weaving her own. "Regardless, though I'd hope my years of demonstrated loyalty would afford me some measure of trust, I am more than prepared to face the queen should she have questions regarding this incident."

Duchess of Caelin

---

Athroyeaux Castle Throne Room\\

Mirie did not like going to Athroyeaux, or Ravenfell entirely, for that matter. Not since the king had taken himself and his entire kingdom off the mortal coil entirely. The Duchess was far from the model of a selfless leader that only existed to serve her people, but what that man had done to his people in the name of security felt like the greater sin compared to the Queen’s usurpation of Arrowfell.

Just moving through the city, its eerie, joyless, and utterly lifeless disposition seemed to suck the life out of herself and her escorts. This had once been a thriving city full of life—it was such a stark contrast to the lively mercantile atmosphere of the Grand Banks that it was enough to unsettle her. It was also no secret among her peers that she had deeply distrusted the King of Ravelfell ever since he had his people shuffled off the mortal coil, however immortal they technically were. In this, even the Queen knew. She did not like dealing with him, but she couldn’t neglect the summons given that Ravenfell still remained a power and a counterweight in the great game.

Nonetheless, the only reason she ultimately accepted was the fact that she could leave whenever she pleased, if he saw fit to arrange a betrayal in his court.

It wasn’t a surprise that the Duchess was acceptably late, then, arriving in the throne room with two armed maids as her escorts—her household knights. She noted those present—Rhinecliff was expected, as was Altina, but she was mildly surprised to see the Tearmoon Coven represented here, in addition to the Queen’s own advisor, Eirwen Blackthorne. That he was here was troubling in its implications, but their presence was less important than the immediate conversation between Rhinecliff and the king, and the sword offered to him.

If only it would be so easy.

The Ghost King was right, no doubt. The Queen herself had told her as much, but Mirie suspected that the offered sword was a poisoned chalice, too—not just for her goals of delaying a war, but for whatever the king would want of those assembled here. Spectral as he was, he was still a king, and there were precious few sovereigns that did not want for more.

To offer that sword for the Queen as is… She held on to that thought.

Laurent brought up an interesting point— Both she and the Ghost King could theoretically spirit her away. Mirie could try, but knew she would likely fail without extensive planning—and thusly, she doubted the king truly had the means either. Not when she could teleport herself, along with a small army with her. In a vacuum, it would work. They were not in a vacuum. Regardless, it was a move too bold for her, even given what was at stake.

“Well met, Duke Rhinecliff,” she greeted, Laurent’s sudden question conveniently allowing her to postpone greeting the spectral king. However, it wasn’t particularly a question she preferred to answer, even rhetorically.

“Caelin is known for its miraculous feats of logistics,” she acknowledged, “But interfering with the Wizard-Queen might be a step too far.” Laurent would get the meaning—for the two that were more aligned to the Queen, it was also a good deflection.

“What His Majesty speaks is true. What the Queen will find in my waters will change the balance of power. However, I find myself in full agreement with Duchess Altina. You cannot hope to open a mutual dialogue with us without some basis of trust.”

Did the King know that the Wizard-Queen meant to deal directly with him? Mirie had considered revealing that aspect of her conversation with her here, but she held her tongue to see how the Ghost King would react. Her wariness moved her to prod further. His motivations still felt strange.

“Your Majesty, is it merely the Queen that you desire? Or something yet more?"

@The Otter

---

The whistle of a knife cut through their ‘conversation’, causing the hooded man and Anabel's eyes to be drawn to the dagger stuck in the floorboards.

Anabel immediately twisted in the man's grasp, turning to glare at Callum. “Are you crazy? You could have hit me!”

"That's no way to treat a lady or a child, is it?"

The hooded man regarded Callum with a silent stare, before he chuckled, and clenched down on Anabel's arm harder, causing her to yelp in pain.

“Is that so, little man?” The man said in a deep, relaxed voice behind his mask.

"We were just about to have a lovely dinner together. Can I interest you in not being a nuisance, and leaving us be?"

The man stared a moment more, before he shrugged. “Sorry, boy. I'm not leaving until I get what I need.”

Two guards entered the tavern, clearly marked as a noble’s entourage. Anabel's guards. Their hands flew to their swords, unsheathing them as they yelled. “Unhand her, or else!”

The masked man merely stared somewhat amused at this, before he waved his hand. Two wisps shot out, striking their targets, and the guards slumped where they stood, dazed and unseeing.

Not sparing the intrusion another thought, the man glanced down at his captive Baroness. “Well, my lady, shall we get going?”

With a confident “humph!” The man slung Anabel over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She uselessly beat his back with her little fists.

“Put me down!”

He shrugged her once, impacting her diaphragm and winding her, causing her to groan quietly, and become silent. Satisfied, the man returned his focus to Callum.

“Being a hero doesn't suit you, boy. Trust me. Why don't you step aside, and you can forget you ever met this little girl, or that you ever laid eyes on me.”

There was a threat laced in his tone, and as he spoke, Callum would notice something bone-chilling begin to take shape. Shades, demons, began to morph in the man's shadow, stretching out with bony, phantom hands towards Callum. Just the sight was shocking enough, however, it was what they whispered in Callum's ears that truly drove the fear home.

“You will never amount to anything. A noble without recognition, forgotten in the history books.”

“It's your fault they died. You're cursed. Everyone that gets close to you perishes.”

As the phantoms spoke, the man's aura seemed to fill the entire room with fear and dread. Even Anabel had grown quiet.

Grinning behind his mask, the man stepped forward, aiming to move past Callum.

---

@Izurich, @LunarParadox, @ERode, @Irradiant, @Click This

---

"If she truly wishes to resort to such lengths to consolidate her power, then I... no, it's the duty of all to stop her hubris, even if one supports her to the very end, she knows not what she's about to do. I do not believe for a moment that such a behemoth would answer to anyone but itself."

The Ghost King nodded, please with their answer. Before his head tilted, and he spoke a bit in response.

“Alas, what my,” he glanced to Valor for a brief moment. “Associates have discovered is that not only is it possible, but it's an undeniable fact that if Evelyn gets her hands on this leviathan, she will be able to control it to such a fine degree, not even all our armies combines stand a chance.

“That's the power of a particular Seed she's unearthed, from my sources.”

“Your Majesty, this is certainly an artifact without compare, but if you possessed such power, I must ask: why have you not simply claimed the Wizard-Queen for yourself, before this critical juncture was reached? The Clandestine have moved across Hathforth without duress, and the duchies are, at best, neutral towards our sovereign. There would have been no great demand to have her returned, if you had spirited her away.”

“Rhinecliff has brought up a prudent observation, King of Ravenfell. Trust should be the foundation for all forms of cooperation.And what precedes trust is transparency.”

“What His Majesty speaks is true. What the Queen will find in my waters will change the balance of power. However, I find myself in full agreement with Duchess Altina. You cannot hope to open a mutual dialogue with us without some basis of trust. Your Majesty, is it merely the Queen that you desire? Or something yet more?”

The Ghost King rested his hand on his fist as he sat on his dark throne, gauntlet glinting in the white magelights as he regarded the duke.

“You're a wise man, Duke of Rhinecliff. As are you, Duchess Bastille, and you, Duchess Agustria. I will endeavor to be as transparent with you as possible, in this moment…

“You're right, the Clandestine are undetected in Arrowfell. They could easily spirit her away, if I were to command it.”

His voice reverberated in the stillness of the stone throne room, echoing into the quiet before he spoke again, steel in his disembodied tone.

“It's only been recently that I've discovered the Wizard Queen as the one I have lost. The one who betrayed me and my kingdom. However, I do have… other plans, that have kept me rather occupied.

“If I were to take the Queen myself, I would not send the Clandestine. Nay, I would bring my armies. Those take time to gather, of course. And I would not… Be leaving empty-handed.”

The Ghost King leaned back in his seat, looking at the ‘Tearmoon’, Lord Blackthorne, Duchess Bastille, Duke Rhinecliff and Duchess Augustria. His tone was calm, as if he were merely stating facts.

“This is why I've extended my invitation to you. I plan to expand my domain, and liberate it from the tyranny of the Wizard Queen. Help me, and you will survive the changing of the crown, and find yourself in a favorable position. You will retain your titles, your lands. You will only swear fealty to me, and welcome in the age of a new dawn. Everything the Wizard Queen has taken from you, I will return. Every suffering you have felt, I will lift it. I will return peace to Arrowfell.”

---

---

@Irradiant

---

“Good day, Your Highness, I prostrate myself before your radiance.”

The Wizard Queen watched the small battalion with shimmering eyes, a light smile on her face. Her eyes darted down the glance at the sword when she detected the slightest use of magic, and her eyes half-lidded coolly.

”Be at ease, Sir Hayworth, and company.”

“Unfortunately, Her Grace could not make it this occasion. I hope it is not an insult to Your Highness to have me take her place on her behalf. Her Grace has bequeathed to me her most prized possession, a sign of her dedication to your safety.”

The Wizard Queen spied upon the fanciful diamond-like Seed in Sir Hayworth. It was evidence that the duchess had indeed placed Sir Hayworth in her stead while she attended other business.

The Wizard Queen's head tilted, curiosity passing through her as she considered what the duchess could be busy with.

”To bequeath you her Seed is quite the display of trust, Sir Hayworth. I trust you're working on her behalf.”

“People often say that there will inevitably come a time when the student surpasses the master. But I’m afraid that time has not yet come for our poor Duchess. Rest assured, Your Highness, I will keep you safe.”

”I have seen Duchess Bastille's skills in action, she is no small feat. As you are the one to have trained her, I can only feel gratitude that you are with me, good sir.” She said, her soft smile slightly extending.

The Wizard Queen gestured to the helmsman beside her, “I will have Jeoffrey, my helmsman, escourt your men to their quarters. Meanwhile, I would ask that you remain at my side while we navigate the waters to Athius.

“We are not expecting any resistance on the way, but once I've acquired what I need in Athius, I am curious if the fates might try something…

“There's also the nature of the… asset I'm requiring. Luke breaking a horse, it may need a few lashes before it heels. I would ask for your assistance in this matter as well, Sir Hayworth.”

The Wizard Queen gestured to the staircase leading below deck as the sailors around them busied with preparing the ship.

“There is a buffet below you and your men are welcome to, and spend your time how you like before we depart in the evening. There is the matter of Duke Willowsteel’s execution I must attend to, and then we will set sail.”

---

---

For anyone who meant to make combat part of their occupation, fear was a common feeling. Even to the level of terror—a fully trained knight bearing down on their young squire, even in a mere training bout, was often shock enough to make the squire rethink whether or not they actually intended to be a knight themselves. Armed with little more than a desire to be more than the family banker, Callum had already faced down that fear, the fear of having to choose his own path without his father's express approval, and more besides.

The mightmares that the masked man before him sought to call upon might attempt to prey upon the anxiety he had on seeing the duke's entire household exterminated, but that particular anxiety had been ameliorated twice over within the day. However, to attempt something so irrational as to plant the thought in his mind that it had been his fault, somehow...

The man's chuckle was met with a scornful laugh of Callum's own, a single step to the left taken to block his path once again.

"Is that your way of looking at the world?" he asked quietly, the mocking grin that had settled on his face after his own laughter not dropping. "How immature. You may get along well with her friend I met earlier today—tall, dark hair, riding on a wolf. Maybe you should ask him your questions?" In any other circumstance, even after the poor impression that Raiden had made, the young noble may have felt some shame at selling the man out so quickly...but Raiden Asher at least seemed like the sort that could travel and fight more effectively than the baroness, and would have more of a chance at evading this pursuer.

He glanced to the winded baroness on the taller man's shoulders, before meeting his eyes once more. One thing he'd been taught by his prior master was that few things were as effective against fear as scorn, and he had plenty of that to spare for this man. "Either way," he continued, not giving the man a moment to respond—continuing on over him even if he tried to give some reply, "I'm afraid that wasn't a request."

Punctuating the statement, his ringed finger twitched slightly; the dagger in the floor, ignored as the masked man attempted to make his exit, yanked itself out of the board it had stuck in—reversed its pitch and flew point first for the small of the masked man's back, well below where Anabel hung, heedless of the fact that there was a man's body between it and the hand of its master.

---

---

---

---

“Are you alright? What's your name?” Asteria asked, offering the flowers back to the girl.

Both her guard and Mene disliked seeing Asteria crouched doing ‘commoner tasks’, Mene putting a hand on his hip and rolling his eyes, while her guard coughed in his hand

Nyx smiles brightly at Astoria. “Oh, thank you, my lady. This humble girl is named Arwen.” She curtsies nervously again as she takes the flowers, her eyes shifting to the guard for a moment as he says they should be going.

“Sorry.”

Before she turned, and the group began making their way again to the pier.

She hurries along, padding softly behind them. She has her excuse ready - she sells the flowers to well wishers seeing ships off or to seamen to bring home to their loves. Either way, Nyx knows she needs to find a way to get Astoria away from her guard.

“Would you like some flowers to talk with you?” The bright orange marigolds in her arms are luckily still in near perfect condition. “They would look so lovely in your hair, my lady.” She holds out a stem with several blossoms. “I could even braid them in for you! As thanks for helping.”

As much as she wants to look at their guard to judge if he finds her actions suspicious, Nyx doesn’t. It’ll only make her seem that much more dubious. Hopefully she just comes off aa overly eager to make friends.

@The Otter

---

"How immature. You may get along well with her friend I met earlier today—tall, dark hair, riding on a wolf. Maybe you should ask him your questions?"

Spirit's eyes narrowed behind his mask, before he let out a short chuckle. ”That little Sparrow? Please, animal whisperers aren't my taste.”

His gaze held Callum's as the boy stepped directly in his path, and looked at the boy curiously. Before he could feel the smile creeping across his hidden face again. ”You really do fancy yourself a hero, don't you, boy?”

He hefted Anabel on his shoulder, and she gave an uncomfortable grunt, before his eyes returned smugly to Callum's. ”Well, if you really think you can sto-”

Before he contorted sharply to the side, ears pricking at the sound of a knife removing itself from the floorboard. The dagger narrowly missed him as it flew on its trajectory. He stared for a moment, before a smug ’Hah!’ left him.

He raised a hand, and little translucent wisps left his fingertips, soaring through the air on curved trajectories. Some aimed for Callum's arms, some his chest, some his ankles. If any were to impact Callum, he would instantly feel Slow magic grind his movement to a near-halt.

”Then let's dance, little hero.” Spirit growled as he took a menacing step forward.

By this time, the patrons in the tavern had hidden themselves under tables and behind the bar, watching on with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

---

@Donut Look Now

---

“Would you like some flowers to talk with you? They would look so lovely in your hair, my lady. I could even braid them in for you! As thanks for helping.”

Asteria, as she watched Arwen hold out the flower to her, couldn't help herself. She really couldn't. All the grooming of a noble, and she still had the childish urges graced upon her. And in that moment, she very much desired for flowers to be woven into her hair. She was sure Her Majesty would love it.

Mene, already seeing the infatuation taking over Asteria's eyes, rolled his own before holding her by the shoulder. “Sister, I can see your mind is made up. Deven will stay with you; I'll go on ahead and meet you at the ship. Alright?”

Asteria held her brother's hand for a moment, beaming at him. He wasn't angry with her, to which she was grateful for. “You are so gracious, my brother. I shan't make you wait long, I promise.”

So Mene moved on, his small boyish stature disappearing in the bustle of the pier as he headed to the Battle-Blood Minstrel. Deven, dutiful as ever, stayed close to Asteria's side, keeping a watchful eye on Arwen as he too, entertained the smile on Asteria's little face.

Asteria herself nodded smoothly to Arwen. ”Your flowers are very pretty, Arwen. I would love them in my hair. You think it would look pretty?” She said, smiling, blissfully innocent.

@Estylwen @LunarParadox @ERode @Click This @Irradiant

The Duke and Duchesses deliberated on the Ghost-King's offer, side with him and he shall bring Arrowfell into an enlightened age, free from the tyrant monarch's oppression and into an era of peace and prosperity. Heh... And yet, Kronos could see that regardless of DuFairre's true intentions, these humans didn't seem too keen on following through.

Doubt, apprehension, suspicion.

These sentiments grew more and more palpable with each word spoken by the three nobles. They - Rhinecliff included - didn't believe the spectre sitting on the throne was as magnanimous as he claimed to be; they had no faith that he'd be a better ruler than the Wizard Queen, perhaps... even worse. After all, for all of her faults, Evelyn didn't consign each and every single being - people, animals, and plants all - in her lands into undeath.

Kronos itself was practically forced to live as a Lilim, transformed against its will away from its perfect Shadeborne existence. In this, it could understand the humans' reluctance.

Huh, is this what the mortals call 'empathy'?

Interesting...

The shadows cast upon by the Simulacrum's physical presence contorted and morphed, a wide, ear-splitting grin gaped from its face as an otherworldly cackle echoed throughout the dreary halls. The spine-chilling laughter of a true Shadeborne, supplanting the false reign of these pale imitations...

...and yet, even as Kronos reintroduced the primal emotion of fear back into these ghosts, Duke Rhinecliff, Duchess Agustria, and Duchess Bastille would have this odd twist in their gut, conveying to them that somehow, someway...

Tonight, the Shade was on their side.

Mortals truly are... interesting.

The Dremora could no longer suppress itself as a similar - but more human-like - smirk curled on its Lilim facade. From outside observers, they could discern nothing but Melisande behaving... slightly 'out of character', but in truth, Kronos was working her-... their magic, combining the Dremora's mastery over causality and the Lilim's fey-touched arcane blood, it performed a minute gesture with its right index finger, silently casting a most romantic spell, one that reflected the undying bond between the Spectre King and his subjects.

Thus, even as the Titan-slaying sword sailed through the air at the King of Ravenfell, Kronos, through the power of the Shade and Feywilds both, tied the strings of fates between Lamont DuFairre and Valor Teardrop together, intertwining them in the Fate Bond.

For them, the Shade-Lord of Space-Time had naught but a single parting word.

Die...

---

---

---

---

Asteria herself nodded smoothly to Arwen. ”Your flowers are very pretty, Arwen. I would love them in my hair. You think it would look pretty?” She said, smiling, blissfully innocent.

Nyx feels a small pang in her heart, painfully aware of how innocent this child is despite the deeds the Wizard Queen no doubtably forced her to do. Who else but that vile woman would use orphans to do her dirty work? Outwardly, Nyx just smiles widely and nods enthusiastically. “Oh, the yellow and orange will really stand out with your beautiful, snowy hair!” She hops from foot to foot in an excited matter, portraying an excited little girl who’s found herself a new friend.

“Do you have any spare ribbon, m’lady? To tie off the braids?” Nyx asks as she leads Asteria and Deven to a nearby inn. “If not, I have some here. I know it ain’t up to your standards, m’lady, but I know the innkeeper here – I’m sure she’d let us borrow one of her rooms!” She lets herself really start thinking like a child, just her and her friend spending the afternoon together making flower crowns and plucking petals to see if their crush likes them back. Nyx really wishes she could provide that for this child.

‘Arwen’ leads them into the inn, the wall between the little lobby and the dining hall doing little to block the noise of rowdy patrons. A plump redhead comes through the door, yelling for the customers to keep the racket down over her shoulder. When she turns and lays her eyes on ‘Arwen’, she puts on a big grin. “Little Arwen, is that you? I can’t believe me eyes, look at ya! You’ve grown into a fine young lady!” Her eyes move past a bashful Nyx and land on Asteria and Deven. “And who’s this? Did’ya get yourself a lil friend?”

“Aye, Miss Rose! She’s gonna let me braid my flowers into her hair!” ‘Arwen’ says proudly with a big grin herself.

@Izurich, @LunarParadox, @ERode, @Irradiant, @Click This

---

Valor watched with narrowed eyes under her mask, hand reflexively swiping out a shining sword to block and deter Duchess Bastille's attack. She felt magical weaving, and immediately bore her teeth in the direction of the ‘Fey’. Alas, she was uncertain of the exact nature the cast was.

Her eyes shifted to Duchess Agustria's intervention, but wasn't too concerned. She was only one of the many pawns at the King's disposal, after all.

The triumphant, defiant moment of Duke Rhinecliff, the moment that sparked rebellion in near all the honored guests, was shattered by a single, poignant event.

The ghostly sword was stopped short, caught in a red sigil, hovering, slightly vibrating in the air. The vibrations grew more violent, before the circled points in the sigil rotated like a clock, and the sword disappeared.

Off the distant coast of Arthroyeaux, a ghostly sword pierced the sea. Water exploded in tumultuous amounts, rising as high as a hundred meters into the air as the sword made impact. It rose like a monsoon, or a tidal wave, before collapsing back into the sea. The sword itself glimmered as it disappeared into the depths…

Back in the dark castle, ghostly gauntlets were raised as hidden passageway opened into the throne room. Royal mages, hands glowing with magic, flooded the room from the two sides, effectively boxing Duke Rhinecliff, Duchess Augstria, Duchess Bastille, Lord Blackthorne, and ‘Lady Tearmoon’ in from three sides. Their numbers rose in the mid twenties, hooded, empty gazes locked on the now intruders.

The Ghost King stared impassively from his throne, gazing at Duke Rhinecliff through the remaining red sigil.

“I must say, I'm… disappointed. Out of all the guests I had chosen, you five held the most promise. Alas… you've made your bed now. I understand your choice, but it's not me that will come to regret it in the near future. It will be you.”

He gestured with a hand, and the mages surrounding the group began casting once more. The same red sigil appeared super-sized under their feet, sending tingling sensations up their limbs, freezing their feet temporarily to the floor.

“The next we meet, it will be on the battlefield, when I take your precious Province by storm, and by force.”

And the red points began circling clockwise, rotating under their feet. And in another instance, the group was teleported into a world of sky, sea, and light. Tumbling and turning through the air, until they all fell straight into the cold, salty water. In the near distance, the pier of Hathforth could be seen.

Dismissed suddenly from the presence of the Ghost King, it was unclear to say who was more confused: the group, or the Hathforth coast guard rushing to their boat to come out and rescue them from the water.

---

@Donut Look Now

---

“Aye, Miss Rose! She’s gonna let me braid my flowers into her hair!”

Asteria was thoroughly enjoying herself, thanking the benevolent All-force that she had the fate of meeting this kind flower girl. Yes, Asteria could always ask her handmaidens to put flowers in her hair. But it wasn't the same as having a friend her age putting them in over a picnic.

Deven gave the innkeeper a suspicious look, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “How do you know little Arwen here, ma'am?”

Asteria pouted a bit, “These seem like good people, Deven. Please, you can relax.”

Deven stared down at little Asteria and her big eyes for a long moment, before sighed and stepped back, “Very well, my Lady. You know I'm just trying to ensure your safety.”

Asteria smiled, “I know.”

She then turned to Arwen, enthusiastically patting her arm. “I’ll ask for them to bring some sweets to our room, then we can enjoy even more!”

Her gaze turned to the innkeeper, politeness masking her near impatient excitement. “Miss Rose, could we please have some tea and cakes sent to our room? I'll cover the costs.”

@Estylwen @LunarParadox @ERode @Click This @Irradiant

Oh, so the Ghost King wasn't truly defenseless after all? Granted, while he was full of hubris, he was no fool, of course he'd employ some sort of self-defense measures, especially when addressing strangers of unknown allegiances. Still, even as the red sigil spawned and worked its magic, Kronos made full use of Melisande's talents and its own mastery over the domain of space-time to analyze as much of the runes as it could, it might prove useful, know one's enemy as much as one could.

Seemingly heedless to the arrival of the spectral mages, "Heh... ehehehe.... hahahahahahahaha...!" Melisande's shadow continued cackling as if it was witnessing the most amusing show in the world. In fact, it was a mixture of humor and annoyance that made it so... rousing. Those words coming from the so-called 'Ghost King', empty claims and boasts, finally revealing his despicable nature after his facade of diplomacy utterly failed against them. Oh, so he wished to play the ominous shadowy figure, did he? Well... two can play that game.

The Lilim's shadow ebbed and flowed on its own as it loomed its head near Lamont's ghostly ears, then it whispered, its words piercing straight into his undead soul, "Mark my words, Petty King of False-Shades," Kronos chuckled lowly, "The next time we meet, I shall show you what it means to face against a true shadeborne, when I take your rotten souls, drag you and your people - kicking and screaming - into the Shade... oh, your wails of agony shall be symphony to us..."

If Lamont took its words to heart, then good, let him marinate in fear, but if he dismissed them, then even better, Kronos would prefer if its prey could fight back, it'd make their fall all the sweeter.

With one final chuckle, the Simulacrum vanished from the throne room along with the others, but it was nowhere to be found at their supposed destination, it had truly evaporated into thin air...
..........
......
...

"Ah, Kronos, you've returned. How was the summon?"

"Indeed I have, heheheh... and I can't believe I'd ever say this, but, Feyling, you mortals can be interesting after all..."

... ... ...

"So I see... then we may have a mutual enemy. Hmmm... do you think that the reason Her Majesty had been so strict is to prepare Arrowfell for the inevitable conflict with Ravenfell? Perhaps, she had always known."

"Ah, perhaps, little Feyling, perhaps indeed... and you may not believe me when I say this, but... that spectre... that thing vexes me more than even your mother or the Wizard-Queen, hehehe... I will tear his soul apart. This, I promise you."

"While I'd normally say your resentment is excessive, it'd be a lie, as from what you've told me of this Lamont, he's indeed long due for consequences."

"You're wise, Melisande, hehe..."

"So, what will you do next?"

"Heh... you shall see."



"Mother, a package has arrived for you," A peppy voice came from the dark-haired Lilim entering the Matriarch's abode, "Nitta said it's for your eyes only." The girl mentioned, her onyx eyes briefly scanning over the wrapped box in her hands.

"Oh, curious," The Coven's Matriarch, Jezebel Tearmoon, curled a small amused smile as she faced the younger Lilim, one of her daughters, "Please give it to me, Fidel."

"Of course, Mother." Fidelicia obediently approached and politely offered the object to the older woman.

"Thank you, dear." She took the package away, having already analyzed it for magical trappings the moment she laid eyes on it earlier, it was safe.

"You're welcome!" Though she'd like to stay and indulge in her curiosity of the contents, great-aunt Suzanna had a task for her and besides, Nitta did say the package was for her mother's eyes only, and last time she checked, she was Jezebel's daughter and not Jezebel herself, "I'll see you around!"

"Of course, dear, try to be back home before dinner." The Matriarch chuckled as her second eldest daughter left the house, flying away with her wind magic, meanwhile, Jezebel turned her indigo eyes back at the 'secret delivery' then used a simple telekinetic spell to unwrap it.

What laid inside the box was a batch of fine perfumes and skin oils, crafted by the famous artisan Henrietta Elkenisle, sent to her under the behest of House Rhinecliff of Odonfield, indeed, proven by the envelope included within, enclosed with a seal bearing the noble house's crest. The missive floated in the air, manipulated by Jezebel's arcane limbs, then opened, revealing a letter - handwritten - authored by none other than Duke Laurent himself.

"..." The more Jezebel read the words contained within, the wider her smile grew, and she was positively smirking by the time the letter floated back down onto her study's table, "Well played, Rhinecliff... well played indeed..."

---

The dagger flipped over once as the masked man sprung out of its path, landing surely within Callum’s waiting grip. He hadn’t really held any expectation that the surprise attack would work out, so much as he was open to the idea of getting exceptionally lucky—

—A proposition that seemed more and more unlikely as time went by.

He didn’t waste any time, quickly moving as soon as he caught his weapon. The air shimmered around his left hand, seeming to harden into a translucent shield the size of a dinner plate. The greater part of the masked man’s spell passed him by as he made a wide step out of the way, the motes that came close enough to worry over quickly slapped harmlessly aside with the shield, made to defend as well against spells as it could against any blade.

”Aye, let’s,” he agreed, holding both dagger and shield forward as though he had a small sword in his hand. Behind, he heard the sound of the door as the innkeeper rushed out, likely to grab the actual city guard. Hopefully they might come in numbers enough to provide more backup than Anabel’s own had done.

But there was no time to wait for help! Callum lunged forwards, the tip of his dagger aimed to slice inward at the man’s free arm and armpit.

“You really are persistent, aren't you…” The masked man growled under his breath as he stepped back, out of range of the daggers' short width.

His eyes had caught the innkeeper fleeing, and he clicked his tongue. Annoying. There would be the city guard to deal with soon. He didn't have time to play games with this young noble, unfortunately.

His fingers raised, and an assault of electrical sparks filled the air around Callum. Thick enough to make edging through them impossible. If touched, these sparks would cause Daze, stunning Callum with a powerful shock.

At the same time, the masked man sidestepped with his captive Anabel, vaulted a table, and dove for the door. Time was of the essence, after all.

Callum grit his teeth as the air around him filled with dancing sparks, built around him almost like a cage. The man had evaded his attacks multiple times over—first with a lucky dodge, the second by managing to throw himself back enough to make space such that a fast cut couldn’t even catch him after the thrust failed. He’d come back into a guard position...

...Just to find that he’d been put in time out.

Unable—unwilling—to step through his new cage and risk whatever fate awaited him for testing the magic, he transferred the dagger to his left hand, gripping it alongside the ephemeral shield that hovered just beyond his knuckles. He spun on the ball of his foot as the man passed him by and hopped over a table. He didn’t need to be free to hinder this man, he just had to shift his focus...

Not the spear, not the spear...

The green gem on his ring glowed, and through the tavern’s open door back to the inn, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass was unmistakable from behind the desk where the innkeeper met his visitors and kept their primary weapons secure. A sword flew into view of the doorway, throwing its scabbard backwards with a single spin, dropped slightly as it did so, following the smallest gesture of Callum’s hand—and the kidnapper would find the end of it cleanly positioned to slice into his diving head as it spun.

The sword spun, almost in slow motion, as it soared towards the masked man.

Before there was a sickening crunch as the sword sank into the man's head.

He froze there for a long moment. But there was no tell-tale sign of collapsing, no sinking to his knees and toppling over. No. Instead, the man slowly moved his hand, gripped the sword, and pulled it out.

The man scoffed, tossing the sword at Callum's feet. “Boy, you still have so much to learn.”

Despite the slice through his mask, he seemed in perfect health. No blood, no sign of injury. It was strange.

Thunderous footsteps approached the tavern, and the door burst open. Guards of a higher level, wearing arcane robes and hands held at the ready, stormed the room, semi-circling around the masked man and the captured Anabel.

“Halt! Let go of the girl, and surrender!” One of the guards shouted.

The masked man simply laughed, looking over his shoulder at them. He hefted Anabel once, like a shrug, before levelling his masked eyes at Callum.

“Seems our little dance has been cut short. Perhaps I'll see you again, little man.”

In a swift, fluid movement, he hurtled Anabel at the guards. In the next instance, he had a small tube in his hand with a latch. He snapped it taut, and it exploded in a flash of light. And, as the light faded, so too had the masked man disappeared.

The sword lifted again into the air after being tossed to the ground; regardless of whatever magic let the man survive a sword burying itself halfway through his skull without damage, it wouldn’t stop Callum from making the effort to cut him apart entirely if it was necessary. With the more adept guards stepping in, however, it seemed the effort wouldn’t be necessary. Anabel was thrown forwards, caught by a pair of the robed guards, and the would-be kidnapper—

—Blinded them all for a moment and disappeared without even the sound of footsteps to mark where he’d gone.

The glowing motes surrounding the red-haired squire disappeared alongside their maker, fading away and letting him step forward to take his sword in hand rather than leave it floating in the air. While he might have preferred that they could capture the man, the fact that he’d not been able to abscond with his target was enough of a win to count for salvaging Callum’s, thus far, terrible day.

”Tsk. Foreigners.”

Unfortunately for Callum, his scabbard was back near the innkeeper’s desk where it had been thrown back, past the threshold that the guards now stood in, closer to the outermost door they’d burst in through. Somehow, he doubted they’d let him get past with the sword still drawn, not while Anabel was still recovering her breath from being so bodily hefted and thrown around. ”Bruised, my lady?” he asked mildly, ignoring the guards for a moment and focusing back on Anabel herself. ”You should be alright otherwise, I hope; I know you were surprised, but I was being careful not to put you in any more risk than the situation already held.”

Anabel pulled herself up with the help of the guards, a hand over her abdomen where all her weight had been hung from. She quietly gritted her teeth, refusing to cry, squeezing her eyes.

Before her breath settled, and she opened her eyes a bit.

“I… need to get back to Her Majesty. She needs to know…”

Her eyes turned up to Callum. “Will you come with me?”

The guards, however, were far more wary. They eyed Callum with distrust, suspicion. “Drop the sword, young man.”

Anabel turned to look at them, wincing slightly. “This man saved my life. He's with me. With House Furino.”

The guards hesitated. One stepped forward. “You'll take responsibility of him, Lady Furino?”

Anabel stood a little straighter, trying to appear taller despite her small stature, and nodded her head. “Yes.”

The guards stared for a moment, looked at each other, before nodding, and withdrawing their swords and magic. One glanced at Callum. “You best be thanking your lucky stars, young man.”

Callum had been about to answer Anabel’s request before the guards spoke up instead, issuing commands and then veiled threats after they were ordered to stand down. Given the effort that he had just put in to try and delay the kidnapper long enough that he couldn’t just abscond with the little lady, he was more than a little insulted by it all. He walked through the guards over to where his scabbard had been tossed, carefully sliding the sword back in, before facing the one that had just addressed him.

”I rather think you’re the ones who should be thankful for how lucky you were, no?” he replied coldly. If he wanted to be charitable, he might assume that the one who had spoken up was a junior member, fairly fresh to the field...but that didn’t mean that such injudiciousness should go unaddressed. ”I can’t imagine any of your prospects would have been very bright had he managed to make off with her like he intended. Why don’t you be a good boy and see to those other two, instead of embarrassing yourself trying to threaten me?”

He pointed at the first two guards that had run in, Anabel’s personal entourage, who were still lying senseless on the floor, before turning back to the little Lady Furino. ”When do you intend to leave? I haven’t even unpacked any of my things, so I can be ready as soon as I carry them down and grab my horse.”

The guard that had addressed Callum had turned a shade of red, turning abruptly and grumbling under his breath. The semi-circle dispersed, guards moving to attend to the collapsed men, while others went to find the innkeeper.

Anabel glanced an eye to her men, her face a careful mask to hide the horror that was sinking in. She had almost been taken, after all.

“Within the hour. If we ride hard, we can take a ship to the Grand Bank from Hathforth before Her Majesty leaves for Athius.”

Lady Furino turned her little self to Callum, looking up at him. “Thank you. I… don't know what would have happened to me had he taken me away. Her Majesty will want to see you, of course. She will likely reward you.”

Callum gave a noncommittal shrug. ”A mess like that isn’t something that anybody should just stand by and watch,” he replied—loudly enough that no few of the tavern’s remaining patrons, who’d been present before the fight began, could hear. ”That accent wasn’t anything from Arrowfell. It’s one thing if we’re all at each other’s throats, but letting outsiders try and play their games with us is a step too far.”

He was, perhaps, a bit annoyed that Raiden had left town so early, and not been around to get browbeaten into helping with the fight against the would-be kidnapper. He doubted that the man would help entirely willingly—he didn’t seem the sort—but such lofty ideals as mutual respect and honourable conduct were the bread and butter of members of Callum’s chosen profession, and sweeping others up into such high expectations was a matter of course. On top of that, the man did at least look like he knew how to fight.

He looked around the tavern once more; the robed guards were all attending to their own business, the chastised one pointedly avoiding his gaze, but none of them let Anabel venture out of their line of sight. Compared to before, she likely couldn’t be any safer. ”Well. I’ll be up to gather my things, then. Get a drink, would you? They should have some sort of small ale here suitable for ladies of your stature.”

Those parting words, with an accompanying pat on Lady Furino’s shoulder, were delivered with an entirely straight face that he managed to hold until he made it up to the room where he’d expected to stay the night. He unwound the belt from around the scabbard of his sword, putting it back on around his waist, before hefting the pack that held his few sets of extra clothing and travelling gear. The only things left were his horse and spear, both together in the stable below.

He drew out Raiden’s little missive again, looking down at it with a furrowed brow and a sigh.

”Really. Athius? What, has the queen figured out how to turn us all into fish now?” He shook his head. Despite being from a town that was so focused on fishing and maritime trade...

”I hate boats.”

---

“You shouldn’t be too disappointed, Lamont.”

Crimson reflected off Duke Rhinecliff’s spectacles as he looked up towards the throne.

“I hope you understand though, that with this rejection, it’ll be up to you to handle Evelyn’s pet leviathan.”

And with that, space rent and twisted, clockwise sigils translocating them to a place of sky and sea.

…

“Magic Shield, Barricade.”

Before he could even get his bearings, Laurent had cast his spell, his feet landing upon the arcane barrier he had transfixed around him. The paralysis that the Ghost King’s mages had placed upon them all had made it easy to gauge the necessary distances to create platforms for the others, but as he squinted away the light-blindness and looked around, it appeared that Melisande and Duchess Agustria were already gone, leaving only the Court Mage and Duchess Bastille, as well as their respective entourages, suspended over the waters off Hathforth’s coast.

He had half-expected to have been transported over a ravine or a volcano, really, but perhaps Lamont preferred to draw things out. A greater shame, too, that he had lost the ghost-blade in trying to make a point, and didn’t even get to witness whether it truly lived up to its name as a Leviathan-Bane.

This is why you’re ill-suited for heroic gestures, Laurent.

But a ruler couldn’t be in the shadows forever, no? And regardless, though he had lost, he had also gained.

“Advisor Blackthorne, would this suffice in proving my loyalty to the current order? Though I suppose, as any fast-climbing official would, loyalty matters less compared to self-interest.” The Duke smiled, a flash of youthful mischief over his features, like sharing a secret between two friends. “We should have tea some time, while I’m in Hathforth for Willowsteel’s punishment.”

More arcane shields lined up, a spiraling staircase to bring both himself and Duchess Bastille as they met above the cresting waves of the ocean. In the distance, it no doubt made for a most curious scene for Hathforth’s coast guard to come across.

“Your new friends, I do believe, will be apt for ridding our Province of Lamont’s hands, but more work, undoubtedly, will have to be done. So, Duchess Bastille, while the Queen is out on vacation, what are your thoughts on some…poaching?”

It was about time they started looking into exactly what monsters dwelt within the Glasic Fields, that had only sprung into existence two years prior.

---

To be the head butler of a ducal household, one needed to, at a bare minimum, know how to fulfill every one of their master’s orders to an extent beyond that master’s expectations.

As such, it had been a long time since Auguste Koscielny truly felt like he was a head butler.

Tall and always well-groomed, he had been promoted into the position after the previous head-butler was forcibly retired by Duke Rhinecliff, and though he possessed some sense of the man the Duke was while working as a regular servant of the household, it was still a terrible thing to experience once the responsibilities truly fell upon him. About the only thing that distinguished Auguste from the other servants was the fact that he handled the payroll and did some minor rescheduling when there was a particular function or one of the household staff took leave. The feasts were, by Duke Rhinecliff’s own request, meant to be simple and elegant. The celebrations were muted affairs, for livelier occasions could be enjoyed within Odonfield itself.

Really, was he a head butler, or was he just an accountant? All the prestige of being the head butler of House Rhinecliff, and yet if he were to suddenly lose his job, what would he even be able to say? That he organized the kinds of events and social functions that even a Baron could afford?

Maybe that was an exaggeration, but the point remained, that Auguste Koscielny never had a chance to really prove that he was as capable a head butler as the legendary Jasper Whistlelock, who had seen House Rhinecliff through the last throes of the Duchal Wars, the Reign of King Ludwig, and the Wizard-Queen’s Coup!

He did want that chance, truly.

…

Though he sure as fuck didn’t want to prove his capability by being kidnapped!

---

---

---

---

“Oh, thank you miss!” Nyx says, linking their arms together. “Is the usual room available?” Rose smiled at the girls, looking the very definition of a doting mother or aunt, before she nodded.

“I’ve met Arwen a few times, walkin’ about the plaza and the pier with her flowers - didn’t realize the poor girl was an orphan ‘til I found her diggin’ through me garbage one night.” ‘Arwen’ blushed, looking down in embarrassment. Truthfully, Nyx had met this woman before she began working for Rhinecliff, the dwarven lady and herself becoming good friends. Now, she served as a great source of intel for Nyx, her bustling inn and tavern a popular place in the plaza.

Rose motioned for ‘Arwen’ to take the young lady up the stairs and to the room already set aside for this. “I’ll ‘ave your tea and snacks sent up soon.” She assured them, her doting smile still on her face.

Asteria happily gives her new friend's arm a squeeze, and they stayed linked at the arms all the way up the stairs. When they reached the door, Asteria crossed into the small, cheerful room with a smile on her face, naught a suspecting bone in her.

Deven made to follow, but Asteria put up a hand. “Deven, I know you mean well, but… I'd like a bit of privacy, if it's alright?”

“I'm tasked with keeping you safe, my lady. I thought we were past this.”

“Yes, well, I never get to do stuff like this. Come on, just for a half hour. You can watch the door, and make sure no one gets in, right?”

“Besides! No boys allowed.” Nyx added.

Deven kept his grumbling to a minimum, staring for a long moment, before making that fateful choice, and stepping back. Asteria nodded, and softly shut the door.

She then turned to Arwen, and beamed. “We're ready to begin! I'm so excited. Where would you like me to sit?”

Nyx gestured to a wooden chair beside a small round table, placing her flowers down on it. She was determined to let this girl have a normal day - or as normal as she could before putting her to sleep. Once Asteria sat down, Nyx began to brush through the pale hair and twisted it into two small braids on each side of her head, tying the strands off with ribbon. It’s in the same design that Nyx’s hair was styled in.

This, of course, was done on purpose as it would save Nyx a lot of time when it came to taking on the orphan’s appearance. “You have such lovely hair, m’lady! It’s so soft as well.” It was still hard for Nyx to properly wrap her head around why the Wizard Queen needed literal children to do her bidding. They should have had the chance to grow up normally, to just have the freedom of being a child.

“What do you like to do for fun, Lady Asteria?” Nyx asked nonchalantly.

Asteria sat there, a content smile on her face as Arwen gently braided her hair. Her answer was swift, and bubbly.

“Feeding the pigeons, of course.”

Her eyes cast over the small room as she recounted in her mind.

“In my estate, there's a tree in the courtyard. A special tree, large, by a small pond. The birds love to come and drink from the water. And…”

A small hesitation, before Asteria's voice grew soft.

“Well, my mother would sit with me and we'd feed the pigeons together. So it always makes me happy, when I see a pigeon or get the chance to feed it.”

She laughed a little. “Though, with how busy I am for Her Majesty, I don't often find the time to feed them. I often think about it, though.”

Nyx paused in her work, mid braid as she listened to this young girl’s wish to just feed the birds. “Oh, m’lady, I didn’t realize you worked for Her Majesty!” She responded in a hushed voice. “But surely she won’t mind if you take a breather every once in awhile…”

She walked in front of Asteria as if to check if the two sides were even, but kept her expression pensive. “D’ya come by the plaza and pier often, m’lady?” Nyx knew that what she was about to suggest, the Duke wouldn’t approve of, but… She couldn’t help herself at that moment. In her head, she came up with a plan to just tell Rhinecliff that she was building a relationship they could use, but she planned to manipulate the girl as little as possible. She’d find a way.

Asteria shook her head. “No, today is special. I have special business in the pier and plaza.”

“You can always send a letter to Miss Rose when you’re going to be back and we can go feed the pigeons together!” Nyx looked down at her feet, letting her ears and cheeks turn a dark red as if she was embarrassed. “That is… If ya want to hang out with a commoner like meself.” She tucked her hands behind her back and scuffed her feet just as Rose arrived outside the door with tea and snacks for the girls.

Asteria reached out and grabbed Arwen's hand, a reassuring smile on her face. “Of course I want to stay in your company, you've been very kind to me. Alas…”

Her face crumpled a bit. “Her Majesty is expecting me soon. I'm a bit, well, tied up today. And then I'm traveling far away…”

Still, her face held a bit of optimism. “When I return, I would love to feed the pigeons with you. That would… be very meaningful for me.”

Before her eyes lit up at the knock at the door, “Oh, is that our refreshments?”

“Must be!” Arwen said with glee, giving Asteria’s hand a squeeze before she made her way to open the door. “I think that’d be nice, m’lady. You just let Miss Rose here know when to expect ya and I’ll be there!”

Miss Rose nodded as she entered the room, seemingly overhearing the conversation. She made her way over to the table and gently pushed the flowers to the side as she placed down the tea, cups, small plates, and cakes. “Will you be needing anything else, m’ladies?” Arwen shook her head, beaming at being called a lady, but looked to Asteria in case she needed anything.

Asteria politely shook her head, but pulled out her coin purse and dropped a coin in Miss Rose's hand that would cover the sweets, plus a tip.

“Thank you.” Asteria told the innkeeper with a smile.

Soon she had a tea cup wrapped in her little fingers, beaming to herself as they enjoyed the room to themselves once more. Arwen was nearly done with her hair before Asteria spoke again.

“It's not often I get to make new friends, Arwen. I do hope I get to see you again.” She said sweetly, a soft look to her face.

Nyx’s expression softened immediately, nearly about to just let the child go just to ease her own guilt, but instead she smiled sweetly. “I hope I see you again too! I feel vorfreude for it.” Nyx stopped Asteria from falling out of her chair as she went limp, swiftly plucking the teacup from her fingers. “Hopefully you’ll be able to feed pigeons with your mother as you sleep…”

Picking her up in her arms, Nyx carried Asteria to the small bed in the room. Later, she would tuck her under the blankets and make sure that her face was obscured so that Deven would think it was Arwen taking a nap. She started to strip her clothes and Asteria’s in order to switch outfits as Nyx’s body started to shift into her form.

The process had always felt strange to Nyx - before the WIzard Queen had killed her lover, she’d never used the shapeshifting she had except as a parlor trick. This particular shift was no different and her gaze watched her arm as the skin changed from a warm chocolate hue to a pale porcelain tone. Though still strange, she found herself getting used to this constant shifting needed for her role and it worried her.

Nyx had first left her home to seek out the best of life in people and culture. Playing games of spy and espionage was never something she intended to do. She pulled on Asteria’s clothes, careful not to mess with the hair as she got dressed and pulled the covers over Asteria and Arwen’s clothing. Rose would come in once Nyx and Deven had left and dress the child, as well as letting Rhinecliff’s people know to come pick up the small girl.

Finished changing, Nyx stole a glance at the looking glass in the room and nodded, content with the results. She poured most of the tea and snacks out the window so it appeared that the two had eaten the refreshments provided before she opened the door.

“Deven, I apologize - I lost track of time. We should be heading off now.” She said in the soft voice of Asteria. “Let us go find my brother before he sends a search party.” She flashed a gentle smile to show she was joking before she led the way downstairs and back to the world waiting outside Rose Inn.

---

_{In collaboration with @Estylwen}

---

Off the coast of Arthroyeaux, amidst a cloudy sky and disturbed sea, a lone fisherman's ship was seen over the water. Fishermen could be seen with their nets. But, more importantly, coming up from the lower deck, was none other than Valor Teardrop, standing with a hand on her hip, looking out at the waves.

They were right over the coordinates. Now, it was only a matter of snatching up what was lost. The air, however, felt tense…

The inexplicable tension in the air then heralded itself through an archway-shaped portal spawning on the same deck that the Clandestine agent found herself on, and stepping forward from said portal was none other than She Who Hosts the Shade, Scion of the Tearmoon Coven and Royal Apprentice of the Hathforth Court, Melisande Tearmoon... or at least, an entity that wore her face and voice. It heeded not the various reactions of the fish-harvesting mortals, how could it when it could reunite with its 'old friend' from the castle gardens?

"So... here it lies..." Kronos chuckled, gazing toward the sea before ever so slightly turning its indigo gaze at Valor, "You seem surprised, pawn of the false-shade king." At this point, the Dremora had dropped any pretense that it was the Lilim it masqueraded as, its voice carrying otherworldly whispers through the very air, "Did you really think your mages could manipulate the fabric of space-time in my presence and expect it to go unnoticed?" It sneered, half-amused, half-insulted.

It'd have preferred to devour the Ghost King himself, but for now, one of his pawns would do, a little... entree to the main course. "You see, I'd never have thought I'd sympathize with any mortals, and yet... your king had proven me wrong. Your kind is so vile that I felt pity for those humans you summoned. I've made it my duty to consume every last one of your “people”... starting with you, so come, you unliving mockery of the shadekin; fight and resist, it shall make my meal all that sweeter..."

Valor Teardrop turned and faced ‘Mèlisande’, staring for a moment before scoffing. “So you really are a Shade.”

She gestured with her hands, shrugging. “You can try all you like, King DuFairre's magic is true, and his intent pure. The Ghosts of Ravenfell have little to fear from the likes of you.”

"Indeed, in the shadows, a truekin, which your 'people' mock with your very existence," The Dremora curled an uncharacteristic grin across Melisande's face as it too tilted its head, albeit to such an angle that very much suggested it was no Lilim, "Good, I prefer prey that has confidence." It chuckled lowly as the simulacrum's shadow seemed to part its jaws and lick its lips.

Valor was silent, before she placed a single gauntleted finger on the chin of her mask. “Though, if you really noticed the Royal Symphony's teleportation magic, this is perplexing… You've come alone, haven't you?”

"Of course I had. Why would I share my meal?"

The Dremora lied as easily as it manipulated space-time.

"Kronos, Mother and I are ready to act upon your command."

"Wonderful, Feylings, just as we schemed."

"Be cautious, she might not be alone herself."

"I am aware. If you see one cockroach, there'll always be more lurking nearby..."

Valor clasped her hands together in front of her, “Very well, then. Still no intent to heed His Majesty's words? You know what's coming. A storm that will destroy everything, and a new Arrowfell will sprout from the ashes.”

Her head tilted. “Surely a Shade such as yourself has some amount of self-preservation…”

"Ehehehe... hahahahahaha!!" The Simulacrum's shadow cackled, though its voice was carried through the air all the same, its source mattered not, both its 'body' and the shadow cast by said vessel were of one and the same entity, "You seem to misunderstand... Arrowfell disgusts me, all those mortals and their petty squabbles," It paused, simply to let its words hang in the air, "However, it's not about that at all, what I want is the utter extermination of your kind, I care not what your ambitions are, only your demise..."

Valor listened intently, silently. Before a huff left her chest, short, dismissive. Still, she didn't move to draw her sword. She seemed relaxed, as if she was untouchable.

If the undead wouldn't make her move, then... fine by Kronos, even as they spoke, Melisande and her vexatious Feyling of a mother were working on narrowing the location of the sword and as for the Dremora, it could wait, after all, it had all the time in the world.

Indeed, it was easy to detect with magic that the sword rested at the bottom of the ocean here, gently wedged between two coral beds. Fish unknowingly swam around it, some gazing at the strange, ghostly gleam it gave off.

However, the moment Mèlisande and her mother would begin to seek it with their magic, a gold cage, or shield, encased the sword.

Meanwhile, on the other side.

"Melly dear, tell Kronos that a rather intrusive party is competing for possession of the artifact."

"Kronos, we've located the sword, but someone got to it before us and blocked our access.

On the boat's deck, Valor stood there, casually swaying her weight on one leg, her hand raised and glowing a faint golden hue. She tutted at the Shade.

“Lying like a bad child. Someone ought to teach you some manners.”

A minute shift of Kronos' indigo pupils as it reflected the the dim golden hue, "Ah, I may have identified our culprit..."

"Ehehehe... indeed, so come, punish me."

Her free fingers snapped, and there was a rush of air. In an instance, a lithe man in a billowing cape and white mask appeared in front of the Shade. A slender lance was gripped in his hand, thrown with rapid force, aiming so the tip would pierce Kronos, right in the heart.

Simultaneously, Valor manipulated her golden fingers, and the sword with its gilded cage slowly began to raise.

As both sides expected from each other, neither of them were alone. Thus, the Dremora was quite pleased when another of her ilk finally showed himself. By the end of the day, it might have enough to share with other Shades... no, nevermind, it'd have all of them for itself.

"Feylings, now, they took the bait."

Within the following short seconds, a cascade of events all unfolded at once.

First, Kronos didn't even bother to move the Simulacrum out of harm's way, instead using the chance to silently cast Fate Bond upon Valor and Faith, intertwining their strings of fate and causality together.

Second, a Dimension Door tore through space-time behind Valor, connecting the two locations, revealing a pair of nearly-identical Lilim in a mystical forest by a verdant glade. One of them was keeping the portal open, while the other...

"O' stellar comets, swarm them!"

Third, Jezebel snapped her wand toward Valor as numerous magical bullets burst forth from it, all homing in on the female undead with power and precision one would come to expect from the Lilim Matriarch.

There was a haughty huff as Valor half turned to view the portal, the rush of comets. Instantly, a gold construct, translucent, erected itself in a dome over Valor. Comets impacted the magical barrier, ricocheting off. Fishermen panicked, scurrying below deck to avoid any stray magic.

Valor, however, kept her position, her stance calm and relaxed despite the minor cracks inflecting on the surface. As the Matriarch's attack ended, her dome morphed into pinpoints of gold, like hovering rain. Each elongated into a needle, and shot forward, a shower of needles arcing forward to pierce the Lilims.

"Ah, the little corpse has her tricks~" Jezebel remarked with a chortle, so indeed, there were good reasons why Kronos itself relented to allow Melisande to ask for her assistance, these pawns of the Ghost-King weren't pushovers, "I shall handle her thorns, my dears." The Matriarch declared as she flicked her wand, casting her Magic Missiles once more as swarms of star-shaped projectiles rushed forward, clashing and neutralizing Valor's golden needles.

Meanwhile, the masked Clandestine made disgruntled noise, noticing the weaving of magic the Shade had wrought upon them. Nevertheless, he struck forward with his lance, the Shade unmoving. The lance appeared struck through the Shade's head, before the weapon impacted, a shockwave ripping the Shade's body apart, along with the rail of the boat.

"Ha ha ha ha ha haaa...." Slow, mocking laughter haunted the open sea even as Faith's lance struck the Simulacrum true, shattering it as the construct dispersed into tiny motes of mana residue...

The Clandestine stared for a moment, before he hovered on the spot, plucking up his lance again and turning to the Dimensional Door.

...only for Melisande's Seed to glow as Kronos reappeared right in front of the lancer, between him and the Dimension Door. Its shadow curling a mad grin, whispering right into Faith's unliving soul, "Sit, boy..." as it hexed the Clandestine agent with a chronomantic malady, the aptly-named 'Slow' spell gripping his limbs and - due to the Fate Bond - Valor's as well.

"Feyling, I've bonded their fate-strings and cursed them with time-lethargy."

"Duly noted, Kronos."

Meanwhile, the real Melisande was not about to let Kronos' efforts go in vain as she reached her right hand forward... then closed it into a fist. At virtually the same time, the fabric of space-time around Faith trembled and throbbed before violently imploding, courtesy of the silent-cast Vacuum spell.

Before the spell could hit its mark, however, a red sigil appeared under the feet of both the masked Clandestine and Valor. In an instant, space warped, and the two members vanished…

The cage around the sword disappeared, and it began sinking once more into the waters.

"And thus they scurried off like the fleas they are..."

"Do you know where they went, Kronos?"

"You offend me, Feyling, one does not manipulate the fabric of reality before The Dremora of Space-Time and expect it to not notice."

"That is fair. Would you go after them?"

"Good question. As much as I'd like to, they are mere pawns, and we have a more pressing matter to attend to. However, rest assured, upon my immortal soul, I swear that Ravenfell will be truly lifeless sooner than later."

"While you two are having your lovely little telepathic chat, look what I've discovered~" The Matriarch chimed in as she made a flourish with her wand, then a second later, something rose out of the watery surface...

Titanslayer, The One Sword to Rule Them All.

The mythical blade proceeded to slowly descend, finally landing in Kronos' hands.

"Ah... yesss..." Kronos hissed, splitting an ear-to-ear grin as the Simulacrum's hands gripped it tight. Shadowy tendrils licked the air around the Dremora before they coalesced upon the ghostly blade, enveloping it, infusing it with a part of the Shade's own essence.

"With this, you are 'Titanslayer' no longer, I christen thee... 'Shadesbane', slayer of my own kind and leviathans alike."

The very air of the open sea rumbled as if Ravenfell itself was quaking under the realization that their sovereign had just made a powerful enemy, it wasn't enough that he had to declare war against the dukedoms and houses of Arrowfell, but gained the ire of the Shade as well. Perhaps, indeed, twas' time the Ghost-King learned that agelessness did not equal true immortality.

For now, the pair of Lilim mother and daughter watched in silence through the portal...

...as the sky turned black.

Auguste found himself tied to a chair in a dark room, barely able to make anything out past his immediate surroundings. Which were suddenly occupied with a masked figure, clad in a hood and dark leathers. The person seemed to stare balefully down at the bound butler, their voice distorted by the mask as they spoke.

”Auguste Koscielny. I won’t beat around the bush. You manage Duke Rhinecliff’s estate. Therefore, you have something I’m very interested in, that I won’t hesitate to inflict a great deal of pain in acquiring. Give me what I want, and you’ll find yourself spared of all that suffering. Do we have an understanding, or do you intend to be difficult?”

The young head-butler startled, but his body was too tightly bound to do much more than fling his head back, his eyes filled with a sense of dread, alarm, and…Well, the last time he was in a situation like this, he had paid for it. Voice-distorting mask aside. Still, despite his foppish nature and his general lack of experience, Auguste was almost about to loudly declare that he would never betray the Duke, before biting his tongue.

Pain drove initial reactions away. Helped calm himself as well. He took in a deep breath, remembered the manual, and then nodded. He wasn’t going to be difficult. Didn’t want pain, after all. But there was another flash of hesitation flickering through his eyes as well.

Was he just going to do all this just so his death was painless? In which case…

“O-only if you swear upon the All-Force not to kill me after this! So I can’t give you my life…or my heart!”

”I swear that I won’t physically harm you or traumatize you mentally in any way so long as you cooperate fully and tell me the truth. Satisfied?” It was an easy oath to make, considering Safina’s Seed. Auguste wouldn’t remember a thing about any of this after he was done.

”Once we’re finished here, you’re going to wake up safe back in your bed on the morrow. So,” The masked figure leaned in.

”Your master’s vault. Where is it?”

“I don-”

Auguste caught himself before he damned himself, his brows furrowing in thought.

“Duke Rhinecliff has never given us any idea as to where his vault was,” he said instead, his words slowing down as he carefully thought it over. “When it comes to public projects in Odonfield, he’d send letters to banks or merchants’ guilds about it.”

So the dukedom’s spending money, at least, wasn’t to be found in the estate.

“But, there’s a couple of areas in the estate that never require cleaning or maintenance, so if you’re planning on stealing ‘treasure’, they might be there? Usually he likes to keep his study to himself, and there’s a section of the library room that’s off-limits to anyone but his Grace.”

Whatever the case was, it appeared that the head butler was either incredibly fearful for his life, incredibly disloyal, or had been instructed to not consider loyalty a merit to begin with.

This was ridiculous. Rhinecliff had to have money somewhere. Banks and merchants? Was he financing his public ventures on credit??

The masked figure leaned in very closely. ”You’re making this easy. Suspiciously easy. I need you to think very carefully for a moment. What safeguards do you know of within the estate?”

Auguste tried to lean back, but his head was already pressed against the back of the chair.

“I mean, I’m not lying! And there’s nothing crazy for safeguards too, at least I don’t think? You know, normal amount of guards, some security magic, but nothing that’s like he’s hiding a whole army in the estate?” Except when the army comes in for an occasion. “And His Grace carries the only key to those private places, but, y’know?”

If he had his arms free, he’d probably make some empty gesticulation. “There’s no traps or anything I know of. I heard from the older servants that the estate had gone through renovations after the war, but back then, I wasn’t even working.”

After a moment, the masked figure relented, stepping back and pulling out a brooch with a black pearl embedded in its center.

”You’ve been very helpful.” Safina said as the Empty Gaze began to work its magics. ”Fret not, I’m keeping to my word. You won’t remember a word of this conversation once you wake, though all the evidence will point to a rather embarrassing night in for you.” After a few moments more, the Seed finished its work, and Safina proceeded to knock Auguste out with a chop to the back of the neck.

”Oi, you lot. Get in here.” Safina called out to the rest of her team, the various assassins starting to filter in. ”Right, I want you and you,” She pointed towards two local Concord members from the Odonfield cell. ”Get this one home. Plant some evidence and make it look like he didn’t show up to work after a night of getting good and soused. The rest of you,” She looked to her assassins, removing the mask from her face.

”We move on the estate tonight. The study and the library.”