If there was one skill where Amerigo's mastery was self-evident, moreso than even the blade, it was the subtle art of speaking with a sharp yet unbothered tone when cutting into a conversation that was trying to speed past. In a way they were similar, demanding poise, precision, timing, command— but few pushed the metaphor quite so far into reality as the Brother strolling out from the ashen cloud.
To wit:
The length of his blade sank between the faces of the two tiny abhumans, coming to a controlled stop a few inches above Raguelie's arms, regardless of how vigorously she attempted to throttle Erfir— as pointed and inarguable a barrier as any man could muster. In the hands of a lesser, begging for an accident— but Amerigo did not allow those. To him, this was little different from getting his bare arm between them, corded muscle where he'd instead gone and put the flat of the coral. He spoke in similarly even, pedestrian tone, his clipped Arrowfellian falling back behind the curtain of he and Aubri's lilting vowels and melodic Republican cadence. Like discussing the weather, albeit with a blade in one's hand.
"You show good, strong spirit," a hint of an acknowledging nod Raguelie's way began his chiding. "But remember how that eyesore found us to begin with, claro? The wind carries voices. Theirs and ours both." He glanced to the castle, eyes narrowing before barreling on, heedless of any protests from those barely scraping the four-foot mark.
"Now then, allow me to make something clear. Signore Aubri and myself are not pirates. I am in fact paid to cut pirates down. We are here on business. Our business." A glance to his employer, before his eyes were cast back down onto the two children he was looming over. "The interests of the Most Serene Republic are represented through him— and its' protection through me. We are not quite so partisan in the conflicts of a faraway place as you may believe. Though, in saying that,"
As smoothly as it had passed between the two, Amerigo's blade rose, and returned to its sheathe with a brief flourish, sliding Bone against leather until the swept hilt seemed to click into place. The barrier between them now removed, his point seemed more or less made. For a moment, at least.
Then, with both hands now freed, each settled atop the scalps of either side of the little proxy war in the courtyard, blonde and coal locks both getting worked over by the foreigner and his cheesy grin.
"I do represent my own interests as well, and chief among them is ensuring I won't be made into a liar. I promised you both your lives— let us four at least not 'liberate' one another. The blaze has surely taken enough already from the city and the people, before what other demons may yet prowl. This Countess Vernon being our next best option after the Queen, to hear you say it— she must have the guards available to keep you safe until this blows over, no? A Brother's duty is to deliver his charges to safe harbor."
He returned his gaze to Aubri even as he continued to mess with the two runts, his tone dropping ever so slightly closer to serious. "And in a storm like this, any safe port may work, so long as we arrive with a favor in hand, no? We are here to make an impression. I doubt either option could find much fault in learning the first thing we did here was save innocent lives."
He would follow his charge's lead with little fuss, at the end of the day— but a Brother of the Bones' word held certain weight, as Aubri well knew. Amerigo, flighty and lax as he had so often been on the voyage, still had his points of pride. To one of them, he had tied at least the assurance that these two would draw breath by tomorrow. Whatever happened on either side of that, he had no qualms ceding.
"I have seen good friendships begin with far less."
@Estylwen Gervese gave a polite bow upon their approach and Anton cast a glance to Sylrael that essentially said, 'See? Very polite.'
Sylrael's lip curled, still unconvinced, but joined Anton and Melodia in heading inside.
The interior was every bit as modest as its exterior, but was nevertheless very homely. A fire crackled in the fireplace where two different pots bubbled and brewed respectively. The aroma of tea and scent of meat stew hung pleasantly in the air.
'It smells absolutely delicious in here, Miss Evoek,' Anton complimented. Ryllae finished tapping a spoon and turned to Anton, a hint of surprise crossing her crystal eyes. In response, Gervese rumbled and introduced Sylrael and Melodia as Anton's guests. Satisfied, Ryllae gave a low curtsy.
”Welcome to my home, Lord Agravaine and his guests. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Anton looked to the table and beckoned to his comrades. As Sylrael and Melodia took their seats on either side of Anton, he set down his helmet nearby and unclasped parts of his armour to make movement a little more bearable. He winced sheepishly at the clatter. 'My humble apologies,' he offered in apology for the noise, 'In our line of work, it always paid to be prepared for anything-- even lunch.'
After taking his seat, Ryllae dished out and served bowls of stew. She then served tea for each guest, before placing a board of bread, butter and cheeses in the center of the table. She then took her own seat, wiping her hands on her apron. Her smile was soft as she beckoned for everyone to enjoy. Anton nodded graciously, and began by buttering some bread and sitting it on the side of his bowl. Sylrael still had his doubts, having half-expected his friend to have some caution. But Melodia began eating as well, clearly a little famished, and so Sylrael decided to trust his captain's judgement.
”I'm afraid I don't have the pleasure of knowing much about you, Sylrael, Melodia. Why don't you tell me about yourselves?”
Since Melodia had started eating, Sylrael paused to answer. 'Well, I'm Anton's Lieutenant within the Braves of Marceilles,' he began.
'He's making that up,' Anton interrupted, 'there are no ranks in the Braves, so he's no more a lieutenant than I am a captain.'
'Listen, the lovely little lady asked me, so I get to tell my tale,' Sylrael retorted, 'What is it you always say? "Don't let facts get in the way of a good story".'
'Implying it's a good story...' Melodia muttered between spoonfuls.
Anton merely scoffed and continued eating as Sylrael went on.
'I happened across Anton when he was set on a noble goal: to break the chains of slaves,' Sylrael explained, 'Unfortunately, he had no knowledge whatsoever of fighting in swampy or forested terrain that was so plentiful, so he needed the aid of one pragmatic and heedful wood elf. Enter: me.'
'I like to think I've learned since then,' Anton added, as he sipped his tea. It was still quite hot so it was but a tiny sip.
'Maybe, but back then you were every bit the prat on a horse who could only conceive of battle on an open plain or in the streets.' Sylrael replied, inspecting his fingernails for effect. 'Unfortunately for both of us, our first collaboration has entwined our fates ever since.'
Anton chuckled and kept eating. Then Sylrael turned to Melodia as he picked up a piece of bread with a cheese slice. 'I know how I ended up here,' he then took a chomp out of the bread, 'But how did you meet Anton exactly?' he asked with a half full-mouth, clearly not too versed in table manners. Melodia looked at Anton, who smirked knowingly.
'He paid me handsomely to incinerate an entire baggage train in less than five minutes,' Melodia replied, matter-of-factly, 'I did it in three.'
Sylrael stopped chewing upon hearing this. He then looked at Anton, who's smile had stretched ear-to-ear. 'Did she really do that?' A hint of begrudging respect mixed with fear inhabited his voice, while Melodia resumed innocently eating.
'You've seen her use fire, have you not?' Sylrael pursed his lips, so Anton went on. 'I like to surround myself with talented friends. You can fell eight men with your bow in six seconds, and Melodia can turn an entire shipment of supplies to ash.'
Sylrael turned back to his meal, idly spooning stew with his cheesy bread. 'If you say so...'
Anton then turned to Ryllae. 'Thank you so much for having us break bread with you both,' he said sincerely 'However, I have been wondering: what exactly compels the Order of the Looking Glass to join me in my goal?'
Ryllae sat, watching with her long-lashed eyes, her ball-jointed hands folded in her lap, straight-backed and polite as she listened with intrigue. Gervese too, listened in between spoonfuls of stew that disappeared into the shadow of his face.
'Thank you so much for having us break bread with you both. However, I have been wondering: what exactly compels the Order of the Looking Glass to join me in my goal?'
Ryllae's butterflies fluttered in response to such a poignant question, before she leaned forward, one forearm resting on the table.
”This past year has been difficult. We have tried to liberate smaller villages from the rule of the Wizard Queen, but she is clever. Anyone we instate is soon removed or bribed, and the village falls back under her rule once more.
“I've realized there's only so much we can do as two people. And, when we came across your correspondence, I saw an opportunity that I would be a fool to pass up. A noble of Ravenfell may be the key we need in turning the tide against the Wizard Queen, and finally setting things right…”
Ryllae offered a patient smile, ”You can ask me as many questions as you like. I would be inconsolable if your meal grew cold, though. I'll answer while we eat, and while we take a trip down to my cellar…”
That was when she passed her meal to Gervese, giving up the illusion that she actually ate. Whether it was to make her guests feel more at ease, or any other reason, it was unsure. Gervese didn't complain, dutifully finishing off a second bowl of stew and tea.
Soon, everyone had finished with lunch. Ryllae rose to remove the dishes and leftover bread, butter and cheese. Placing them on the counter, her hands wiped on her apron, turning back to face them. ”Shall we head to the cellar, good gentlemen and misses?”
Shutting the front door behind the group, Ryllae guided the group to the back of the cottage-like home. There was a a small double-door cellar entrance that Ryllae and Gervese opened, one door each.
Stepping down the dusty staircase revealed barrels of wine, cheese, and other canned goods. And, at the back of the small cellar, half hidden behind a barrel, was something that glowed. Ryllae nodded to Gervese, who gently shoved the barrel to the side.
There revealed was a jagged block of crystal with a glowing tunnel within it, just big enough for a person to enter if they crouched.
”A fairy gate.” Ryllae said, a hint of mischievousness in her soft tone as she glanced at Anton. ”Have you ever seen anything like this, my Lord?”
@Estylwen Anton watched as Ryllae's butterflies fluttered before she leaned in and rested one forearm on the table.
”This past year has been difficult. We have tried to liberate smaller villages from the rule of the Wizard Queen, but she is clever. Anyone we instate is soon removed or bribed, and the village falls back under her rule once more.
I've realized there's only so much we can do as two people. And, when we came across your correspondence, I saw an opportunity that I would be a fool to pass up. A noble of Ravenfell may be the key we need in turning the tide against the Wizard Queen, and finally setting things right…”
As Ryllae spoke, memories of Evelyn in her previous life standing snidely in the shadow of DuRant came to the fore. She might not have been Ravenfellan, but she played the great games of court better than any other-- perhaps even better than DuRant. After all, he was dead and she was not.
When Ryllae mentioned him being 'a noble of Ravenfell', Anton scoffed at the thought. 'That at best qualifies me to be an ignorant foreigner in this land,' Anton replied remorsefully. 'I am the last living man from a kingdom of ghosts, which makes me very capable of dying. Forgive me if I doubt what you expect of me.'
His brow then furrowed. 'How exactly did you know I was from Ravenfell?' he asked, 'I avoided mentioning it in my letter to His Grace.'
”You can ask me as many questions as you like. I would be inconsolable if your meal grew cold, though. I'll answer while we eat, and while we take a trip down to my cellar…”
Anton acquiesced and continued eating. He then saw Ryllae pass her meal to Gervese, which made some sense. Anton still couldn't fathom Gervese feeding himself, though. It was almost comical, in some way.
When they were finished with lunch, Ryllae motioned that they head down to the cellar. After strapping his armour back in place, Anton followed Ryllae and Gervese, while Sylrael and Melodia remained close to his sides. Around the back of the cottage, Ryllae and Gervese opened one door each of a double door leading downward.
As they walked amongst the cellar's expected storage, Ryllae nodded to Gervese who moved aside a barrel and before them stood a jagged block of crystal with a glowing tunnel within it, just big enough for a person to enter if they crouched.
'What is this...?' Anton asked as he approached.
”A fairy gate. Have you ever seen anything like this, my Lord?”
Anton shook his head, feeling somewhat wary.
Sylrael, on the other hand, drew his bow and arrow. 'Once,' he uttered, uncharacteristically serious, 'Not something I'd keep beneath my house.'
'How exactly did you know I was from Ravenfell? I avoided mentioning it in my letter to His Grace.'
Ryllae nodded gracefully. ”This isn't the entirety of the Order of the Looking Glass. We have people in each hold, and watching the border. You could say we pride ourselves on our… Political knowledge.”
Standing in front of the fairy gate, the air grew suddenly tense.
'Not something I'd keep beneath my house.'
Ryllae gave an easing gesture towards Sylrael. ”It's entirely safe, I assure you.”
She then turned to Gervese. ”Keep watch on the cellar, please.”
Gervese glanced down and nodded, standing a little straighter in his position beside the gate.
Ryllae nodded back, before whispering to one of her butterflies. It fluttered from her hair, taking its perch atop the gate. Satisfied, Ryllae turned to Anton and his companions.
”The Seeds are through this gate. I will go and retrieve them. You are welcome to remain here, My Lord. However, I assure you, it's quite the view.”
With that said, Ryllae gently stooped and stepped into the fairy gate. There was a shimmering flash of light, and she disappeared. Now, if Anton were to follow, he would enter into a field on the other side. The skies overhead were shades of purple, with rolling clouds of lavender that swirled. The fields themselves rolled with a slight wind, illuminating white, even the meadow poppies, even the stalks of grass. The colors of white over purple immediately gave this place an otherworldly charm.
Poking up from the grass and glade were little yellow eyes and little wispy figures. Small shades. Though, they did nothing more than stare.
Ryllae moved at a steady pace to a small thicket, moving past glowing white trees to a small clearing where Feathered Nightmares roosted. The large birds stirred slightly at her approach, but besides that held their peace, staring curiously. She slipped past the birds, edging deeper into the crowd, until she came face to face with a blue-tailed Feathered Nightmare, larger than the rest.
”Valokein. (Welcome.)” The bird rumbled, its voice, like air hissing against metal, spoke.
”Zu'u lost bo fah nii. (I have come for it.)” Ryllae said in response.
The Feathered Nightmare nodded, before stepping back. in its nest where it had been roosting, there was a lack of eggs. Instead, there was small, wooden chest. Ryllae stared for a moment, before reaching down, picking up the chest. She procured a key from the folds of her cotton dress, opening the chest. Her face lit up with the luminescent colors of the Seeds glimmering within. She seemed to count them for a moment, before she looked up at the bird.
”Nox hi. (Thank you.)” She said.
The bird gave a low nod of its head. The Seeds had been acquired.
Though the air felt thick and strained with unease, Ryllae played the calm in the storm and bade Sylrael to relax. She then turned to Gervese, telling him to keep watch on the cellar, and he obeyed. She was quiet for a moment, then a butterfly flew from her form and perched on the gate.
”The Seeds are through this gate. I will go and retrieve them. You are welcome to remain here, My Lord. However, I assure you, it's quite the view.”
With that said, Ryllae gently stooped and stepped into the fairy gate. There was a shimmering flash of light, and she disappeared.
After a moment, Anton stepped forward to follow but halted when Sylrael gently tugged on his arm. '... Be wary, captain,' he whispered.
Anton stared at Sylrael's expression, marred with worry, before patting Syl's grasp and offering his leader's smile. 'Keep Gervese company until we return.'
Syl's anxiety was only somewhat abated, but it was enough to let his friend go. Anton stepped forward and mimicked Ryllae moments earlier, stooping as low as she had, and stepping through. The light that shimmered was much brighter up close, and Anton winced-- blinded for a few seconds.
He could feel a breeze that faintly licked between the seams in his armour. Anton opened his eyes slowly at first, then his eyes widened as he found himself in an otherworld of lavender. A seemingly endless field of grass and poppies that danced in the wind and shimmered white. Glimmering petals gracefully floated into the air. Anton stepped forward, seeing Ryllae moving at a steady pace a little ahead of him, but noticed little shadows and yellow eyes watching from the grass. They did nothing, otherwise, so Anton ignored them to catch up to Ryllae.
They approached a small thicket of glowing white trees, where great birds of this otherworld roosted. They stirred ever-so-slightly as they approached, perhaps bristled even at the clanking of Anton's armour, but otherwise stood by. Anton continued to follow Ryllae quietly as she made her way into their midst, until she stopped before the largest of these birds whose tail was coloured blue.
”Valokein.” The bird rumbled, its voice- like air hissing against metal- spoke.
”Zu'u lost bo fah nii.” Ryllae said in response.
Anton could only watch as the two conversed, looking like old friends who've not seen one another in a long while. The great bird then inclined its head, and stood back. Where it had been roosting was a nest with a small wooden chest. Ryllae took a moment before picking up the chest, and with a key retrieved from her dress she unlocked it. As she lifted the lid of the chest, Ryllae's face was illuminated by the prismatic array of Seeds glimmering within. Anton's own Seed seemed to grow warm beneath his chestplate. After a moment, Ryllae looked back up to the bird.
”Nox hi.” She said.
The bird gave a low nod of its head. Anton continued to remain quiet, following Ryllae's lead through this strange otherworld that he was entirely a stranger in.
As soon as they were outside of the thicket, Anton took the moment to ask his newest questions. 'Ryllae: what is this place, and who were they?'
Aubri had barely begun gathering the two children into a jog before he heard that familiar sound. The quiet ring of the negating bone blade against the fabric of magic. It was faint- some said it was non-existent, a popular sailor's tale and nothing more. But real or imagined, he heard it. The ringing of the quietest note as dream met lucidity. And all at once, where there had been a hundred faces, a hundred voices, a hundred streams of spitting acid- there was ash.
Aubri slowed himself, ever mindful of the pointed edge of the sword in his hand and the place of the two children. Wouldn't that be something- Amerigo saves the day and I accidentally chop off someone's finger.
While Amerigo interspersed himself between the arguing children, Aubri struggled to sheath his blade. The damned curved steel was something he never could get used to. But as he tried once, twice, three times to get the thing sorted, it gave him time to think.
The queen is not here.
And these children know the queen is not here.
The children know there is some kind of rebellion afoot- which is more than we knew while aboard the ship.
Opportunity for reconnoitering outside the looting and the depths of the fire had presented itself. Best take the ship that was at port rather than waiting for another in whatever condition it might be in.
"I think taking shelter inside is wise and prudent. But we should be prepared to move at a moment's notice," Aubri said, giving Amerigo a knowing look. "One never knows which way the winds blow and where they may take the flames. Please, show us to this Lady Vernon."
"Oh, good, you did manage to keep out of the way of all...that..."
If he was relieved at seeing that Anabel hadn't gotten hurt during the fight, any recognition of that relief went away as his tone shifted into a dubious rise at seeing her reaction. Seeing the girl worried almost to tears, after how she'd dealt with nearly getting kidnapped or speaking face to face with the queen, was about as far from his expectation as could be possible. "Yes, well, you know how it is. The queen asks, we have to follow. I'm sure you would've been more excited by everything down there."
Leaning the now-sheathed sword against his legs on the deck, he finally pulled off the necklace that had been placed on his neck, the pearls and mother-of-pearl shells gleaming in the sunlight. "Would you like this?" he asked, holding it towards the short girl. Easier just to push on ahead than to keep wondering why she was getting so worked up when she'd barely known him for more than a week. "It's not really my sort of thing, anyways—I'm more interested in what I just heard Vulluin saying. Raiden couldn't manage to run this time, eh?"
Anabel perked up at the offering of a necklace. She hastily dried her eyes, trying to remember her decorum as a noble, as she took the offered necklace. Placing it around her neck, she played with the pearls, clearly in love with it.
”Thank you. I suppose I'll forgive you for disappearing and risking your life for Her Majesty.” She said with a nod.
Vulluin had moved away from the Queen, who had returned to her quarters. His elvish ears pricked, and he laid his eyes on Callum, staring for a moment.
”Well, Her Majesty appears to trust you. Why don't you see if you can get anything out of the Sparrow, while we make our way home?” He said, gesturing to the Swiftsure.
Sure enough, just across the waters, Raiden was getting hoisted out of the water, a number of swords leveled at him. He didn't resist as his hands were bound, and the ships were brought closer together, laying down a gang plank. He was escorted down to the brig on the Battle-Blood Minstrel. And, with a double-check to ensure Jikoryss was secured tight in the water, all ships began to make their way home.
***
Down in the brig, Raiden sat in the floor of a locked cage, hands still bound in front of him. His head was leaned against the wall, and the way he sat was relaxed, almost casual, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Softly, he whistled under his breath. Anyone who knew the tune knew it was a song that those who were imprisoned unjustly sang before their execution.
Ryllae glanced over as they walked back through the white meadow and grasses. Her lips pursed into a small smile.
”Dremora's Shade. The Otherworld. Where shades of all types and designs live and reside.
“The birds you saw are called Feathered Nightmares. They like to stick in groups, and have a close connection with certain humans. Most would consider them a curse - they eat human years, after all.”
Her footsteps slowed to a stop. They were in the center of the field now. Tiny shades peeped out from the grasses, eyeing them. She paid them no mind, though, as she turned to Anton. With that small smile on her face, she presented the box and its key to him, bowing her head respectfully.
”Your Seeds, my Lord. You'll be able to do your transaction with Duke Rhinecliff and his representative effectively now.”
She held that position, waiting for him to take the Seeds.
Raguelie's went wide like saucers when Amerigo brought down the sword. Erfir too, shared the same shocked expression, though his was not as apparent. He, after all, didn't have his arms in the way of a blade.
"But remember how that eyesore found us to begin with, claro? The wind carries voices. Theirs and ours both."
The fear of the All-force put into Raguelie, she promptly, and very carefully, let go of Erfir. The last thing she wanted was one of those monsters find thing them again. She could put her fury to the side, for now. Amerigo was very convincing, after all. Her hands dropped, and she stepped back, eyeing his blade.
"Now then, allow me to make something clear. Signore Aubri and myself are not pirates. I am in fact paid to cut pirates down…
The interests of the Most Serene Republic are represented through him— and its' protection through me.”
The news had two different effects on the children. Erfir allowed his disappointment to cross his face, ”Wait, you're not actually pirates…?” It seemed he had hyped himself quite a bit over that possibility.
Raguelie, on the other hand, mouthed the Signore bit. She was trying to get a feel for the hierarchy system in this Most Serene Republic, before an embarrassed blush crossed her face, and her eyes snapped wide.
Quickly, she gave a low bow, forcing her hand on Erfir's head to do the same. ”Please forgive us,” She said frantically. ”We didn't realize you were nobles from afar, on business, no less. I fear we have given you a terrible impression of Hathforth.”
"I think taking shelter inside is wise and prudent. But we should be prepared to move at a moment's notice. One never knows which way the winds blow and where they may take the flames. Please, show us to this Lady Vernon."
Raguelie straightened, nodding hastily. ”Of course, I'll take you.”
—
Raguelie, with Erfir in tow, led the group to the castle. They passed by raging fires, and the hazardous smoke caused Raguelie to cough up a storm. Hiding behind an abandoned carriage to avoid a second confrontation with a Shade on the loose, the group eventually made it across the open drawbridge and to the inner courtyard of the castle.
The castle itself was towering and majestic, untouched by the fire, red tiling on its roofs and window glinting in the firelight.
”Not much further, come on!” Raguelie said, excitement in her voice as she went at a half-running pace to the massive front double doors.
”Hey, wait up!” Erfir called back, huffing as he stumbled after her. He still held the coin purse of Amerigo's tightly in his little fist, careful not to drop it.
The group entered the front doors past the guards, who seemed entirely unmoved. Perhaps they recognized Raguelie. Regardless, the group was allowed passage in, and the throne room was bustling with refugees. From nobles to peasants, they stood or sat somewhere in the throne room (except for the throne itself, of course). Some cowered in fear, others comforted friends and family.
Raguelie pushed past them, marching right into a left-side passageway that led to what appeared to be a war room. There was a massive map of the province on one table. However, the one that had gathered the heads of state was a secondary table deeper in that had a detailed map of Hathforth stretched across it.
Raguellie walked past the adults, standing on her tiptoes to try and see past them,until she found the one she was looking for. A woman dressed in armor and a cape, her ashy dark hair flowing in tresses as she poured over the map. Almost every voice at the table was speaking to her, and it looked like she was absorbing all the words as well as study the map.
A pat-pat on her thigh caused the woman to look down. Raguelie was there, offering a curtsy before smiling wide, ”Lady Courtesy, I have brought guests from the MSR!”
The Countess stared for a moment, glanced at Amerigo and Aubri, before whispering a short word to one of the knights poured over the map beside her. He nodded and took over the heated debate, while Elysabeth stepped aside.
She reached down and embraced Raguelie, ”Blessing of the All-Force, it's good to see you.” Raguelie giggled in response.
Before Elysabeth stood again, and gave a polite bow of her head, ”Representatives of the MSR, on behalf of Her Majesty I welcome you. As you can see, we are currently under attack. However, I assure you, I'll be finding who's responsible and enacting justice.”
Raguelie patted the Countess’ thigh again, and Elysabeth stooped as the angelite whispered in her ear. Elysabeth frowned momentarily, before her eyes darted to Amerigo.
Then Raguelie stepped back and Elysabeth have the two representatives her attention. ”What business is it that brings you here today?”
As Elyzabeth asked, Raguelie rolled her eyes, ”Erfir, stop hiding.”
Erfir peeked out behind Amerigo, clearly uncomfortable with being in the den of dragons.
"Dremora's Shade. The Otherworld. Where shades of all types and designs live and reside."
'Dremora's Shade?' Anton looked around them, 'It's a little less shady than I imagined.'
“The birds you saw are called Feathered Nightmares. They like to stick in groups, and have a close connection with certain humans. Most would consider them a curse - they eat human years, after all.”
Anton perked up at that last point she made on them, his eyes a little wider. 'Well,' Anton began afterward, relaxing a little, 'All things considered, they were rather cordial.' It hadn't been the first time Anton had wandered into a situation of the supernatural so ignorantly and emerged unscathed, though he wish it weren't such an occurrence.
He continued to follow Ryllae, glancing about the Shade with a newfound curiosity. He had heard tales, of course, but the only people who spoke of the Shade were god-fearing men of the All-Force. And very oft, they told their tales very VERY loudly. Something something demons. Something something root of all evil.
But perhaps it was good to have one such perspective in mind. Anton watched as glimmering petals skittered past his eye line, and his inherent expectations of the Shade washed away. It was beautiful, in truth. But then Anton wondered if this was but one aspect of the Shade.
Ryllae's footsteps slowed to a stop. They were in the center of the glimmering field now, just near the portal of the Fairy Gate. Tiny shades peeped out from the grasses, eyeing them. Ryllae paid them no mind, though, and so Anton paid them no mind either. Ryllae turned to him, and with that small smile on her face, she presented the box and its key to Anton, bowing her head respectfully.
”Your Seeds, my Lord. You'll be able to do your transaction with Duke Rhinecliff and his representative effectively now.”
Anton bowed his head respectfully in turn, as he lifted the burden of the key and chest from Ryllae. 'My sincere thanks, Miss Evoek,' Anton thanked, 'for this, and the experience. It has been quite illuminating.' He cast a look to the lavender horizon one more time, eyes passing over the white thicket in the distance.
He then wondered something- a flicker of vain hope- but kept it to himself.
Anton turned back to Ryllae, beckoning for her to lead on once more as they went back through the Fairy Gate.
The Smiling Monkey, Odenfield, Later that Evening
Anton sat, cross-legged, in his room quietly. Syl and Melodia had taken to their own rooms on either side of his. The chest was tucked safely away, and the key in his pocket. Anton had then stripped himself of his armour and changed back into his plainclothes, before taking the moments of respite he had to collect himself and compose what he was going to say.
Only one candle was lit in the darkness of his room, sitting on the dresser in front of him. Anton needed only to focus on the flicker of the candlelight and tune out the faint din of the tavern bellow. He took a deep breath, and watched as the flame curled and danced in the slight draft sighing beneath the crack of his closed door. As he focused, he cast his mind through the fire like it were a window.
It took him back to Marceilles, his anchor. From it, two days ride to the west was the Rosen City of Kings: Athroyeaux. Up the steps and into the White Palace, he could see in its vast and empty hall the Throne of Ravenfell at the end. The red-and-gold of the throne was draped with black-and-white, the colours of House DuFairre. In its nestle, King Lamont sat. Not in his shaded ruin, but in the glory of his prime when they were younger.
For the purposes of this spell, it mattered not. All that mattered was that it was the same person. And Anton always imagined it like this- it brought him small comfort.
Lamont, I have found new allies. Rhinecliff is my next point of call.
Anton held onto the vision for a few moments longer, but knew better than to expect a response. Lamont and the White Palace melted away into oblivion. Left in it's place was the Ghost King and his forlorn court, just before it all faded away.
Anton was back in his room once more. The candle had been snuffed by the draft, leaving him in darkness save for the light creeping beneath his closed door. His hand clutched the White Flower as his heart sagged with sorrow, and he could not tell which of the two was heaviest. He resigned himself and retired to his rest for the night.
It was said that the only thing worse than a city burning was a city being sacked. In both cases, whichever way the wind blew one could taste ash and smell gods knew what burning in the wind. Even though the castle the two children led Aubri and Amerigo to was tucked away from the inferno, the air and bricks of the citadel would doubtless be stained by the blaze for weeks.
The slow trickle of folk into the safety of the castle gates didn't go unnoticed by Aubri, either. Smallfolk and nobility alike were being allowed inside by the guards. Most highborn in foreign ports would open their doors only for the most powerful to take shelter within safe walls, banking favors for later in exchange for safety today. What did it say that the Queen was letting in everyone?
A lapse in security that the guards cannot hope to contain without a riot? Confidence in her power? True care for her subjects? Or does she have so few allies in the nobility she's hoping to rouse the smallfolk to her banner? Curious.
It reminded Aubri of one of the voyages aboard a family vessel. A day's sail from home port, their holds heavy with cargo, the sea took a turn for the worse- one of the few times his oldest brother had given consideration to abandoning ship. Another ship came up from the waves of the storm, foundering in the wake of a titan's wave. Pater had refused to cast lines and pick up the survivors, urging them to leave the drowning men behind. Later he argued it was too great a danger to cast anchor and try to save lives with the ship as heavily laden as it was. Aubri knew the calculating look in his father's eyes though. The man was worried more for a lost fortune if the vessel went down than more lost lives.
In the midst of his thoughts, Aubri looked up to see that he'd instinctually been following the children through the courtyard and halls. Aubri didn't take time to log the condition of the great hall and throne room. Its decorations, its armaments, the position of its guard posts and pages. If Amerigo did not, there would be time to assess those things later. Aubri was more focused on the action around them. Servants were bringing water up from a well somewhere to the people huddled within. Groups were still clustered together- petty and major nobles in one corner of the throne room, smallfolk and their children elsewhere.
He did note the empty throne though. Some things, by their absence, spoke volumes.
The Queen is away while her city burns and fiends from Dremora's Shade stalk its streets.
Within the war room, there was the same disorganized chaos, but with differing purpose. Outside, the focus was on recovery and recuperation. Here, the coming of frequent messengers relaying news that was minutes, even hours old. Knights in armor preparing to defend the keep, while one figure seemed to hold finals say over all action.
A woman. Tall, armored, well muscled, with hair the color of ash and dusk. And the one to whom the children were leading the two. Aubri began to remember his courtly tutor, a mental memory of the crack of a small whip hitting him between the shoulderblades and an wizened old woman cackling 'Stand straighter like the mizzenmast, or will you billow like a sail in the presence of your betters?'
He straightened. Took a moment to digest what was said to them by the armored woman. Gave himself several moments to think as though he was a dumb foreigner slowly parsing and translating her speech. 'Let them think you a fool at first. A fool hears more unguarded words than a wise man.'
Aubri's father paid a fortune for that crone's tutelage. Her one glass eye always seemed to find fault, and her motherly smile could cut as quick as any knife with the words it spoke. Maybe her advice and courtly tutelage was the best in the Republic, but here? It remained to be seen.
"Countessa, I greet you as Signore Aubri Silverblade, duly appointed envoy of the Most Serene Republic's Assembly of Notables. And this is my right hand, Brother of the Sea Amerigo Spadoni." Aubri left other descriptors of Amerigo - heroic, bravado prone, adventurous, deadly - out of the introduction, but shared a knowing grin with him nonetheless.
If Aubri knew his cohort half as well as he thought, Amerigo would likely be chomping at the bit to unsheath his sword and test himself against more fiends after their long journey at sea.
"We come seeking an audience with the fabled Wizard Queen regarding a matter of some import. A ship of the Republic has gone missing, the Golden Gale, last seen at port in Odonfield some weeks ago. We seek leave in discovering the ship's whereabouts."
Amerigo bowed his own head graciously upon his introduction by Aubri, in answer to the Countess— though not without catching that surreptitious glance sent his way with a wink and a sly smile. In truth, he had only a few inklings of what the little Angelite had told her in that moment, not even anything he could honestly call a guess— but if her eye was on him now, for whatever reason, he saw no reason not to play it up for his audience.
"Charmed, Contessa Vernon. A shame we meet at such a trying hour."
The worst result he could imagine would still at least be funny, to say little of the best before it showed its face to him. He could always see when he was making an impression, whether he necessarily meant to or otherwise— and it was always found in those second appraisals, rather than the first. On that note, he took his own of the woman before him, beautiful and clearly the authority here— yet barely any older he or Aubri. It seemed they all shared responsibility some would consider beyond their meager years... some would.
Sharp eyes set between her bedraggled dark waves stood out to him the most— in spite of the crisis she had been tasked with managing for hours now, she still found no lag within her will to start measuring, reading, and remembering with her gaze. He found it polite to make no attempt at hiding that keen eye— and afforded her similar courtesy.
It was a different thing from the stress of the moment taking her instincts to the forefront, and sizing up any potential new threat like a wounded dog. He suspected the armor, stature, cape and title all earned at least in part off the backs of men and women that would not have been able to make that distinction quite so readily. She would be one to watch, regardless of how this went.
On the matter of watching... he placed his free hand behind himself (his sword arm at a leisurely rest upon his pommel, perhaps churlishly if you spared a moment to worry about it) and nudged the changeling further out from behind him, nodding his head to Raguelie.
"In more immediate terms, we believed it best we ferry these two from those demons in the streets to people who might better be able to keep them safe, at least until this dreadful incursion subsides. I was rather insistent that I would see the both of them live another day, you see— and I'm afraid my employer and I had to drive the point home in the face of disagreeing voices."
Aubri, of course, was dead on the money regarding Amerigo's basic inclinations. He was a fighting man, an enthusiast in in his craft, a damned pain in the ass to convince to walk away from something like the second shade they'd run into out in the streets. Were he by his lonesome, he could easily see himself offering his services as a sword-for-hire just to rid the world of the abominations Dremora's Shade spewed out as well as get into an enjoyable fight.
But he wasn't. And he'd wait at least a little while longer to entrench the two of them, before he let his every whim have its day in the sun.
Patience and poise separated good swords from great ones.
"Given the circumstance we find ourselves having sailed into, we do appreciate the hospitality. And this moment we've stolen away from your duties, in the absence of Her Majesty."
Callum raised an eyebrow at how quickly Anabel's mood shifted. "I'm overjoyed to know I'm not in trouble for listening to our boss," he replied drily. He nearly reached out to pat her head, before feeling eyes on his back. Just as he turned to see who might have been staring at him he was addressed by the culprit, with the offer of yet more work to content himself with. He looked across the waves, the great green form of the dragon being taken in tow by some of Duchess Agustria's boats.
Thought for a moment about it, and shook his head. "I'm sure he's looking forward to the chance to talk with me again," he replied wryly. "Not that's done well for him. Let him sit on the ride back. Send a message over, make sure they've got him bound well—he's fast and he's got a few tricks to make sure you can't see the knives in his hands. I'll stop by and see him when we're back on dry land if I get the chance."
Given the trouble Raiden had given him, it was tempting to consider just what he could do to the man without any guards watching. Too tempting; but regardless, it was clear that the Sparrow had decided to make them enemies down in the Minstrel's hold, and hadn't spared much consideration at all for Callum or Anabel's continued presence when he decided to join in attacking the ship they were on. Callum didn't have much further consideration or pity to spare the man, certainly not after how the rest of his day had just gone.
He had one thing on his mind.
"For now, I need to find something to eat. That was a lot of work down there, making sure I wasn't swallowed!"
He glanced down at Anabel almost immediately after saying that, jaw slamming shut. Was she distracted enough with the necklace to have not noticed that? He hoped so. Evidently she had worried enough even without knowing of that small wrinkle in the plan. Nor did he know why she worried so much in the first place. How did she and the guards say it? 'He's with House Furino, I'll take responsibility for him?' How literally did she intend that...
”Signore Aubri, Brother Amerigo, although I do wish I could greet you on a more auspicious occasion, in the presence of Her Majesty, no less, my hands a bit tied at the moment.”
She shifted her weight, hands direct behind her back. ”About thirty percent of Hathforth has been consumed by fire. Some of the gangs in the city have taken this as an opportunity to raid and pilfer. More refugees come to the castle, but there is only so much we can do in terms of housing.
On top of all that, I've received word that the perpetrators behind this… Attack, have kidnapped the Princess.”
She leveled a serene yet serious gaze at Aubri. ”You will find the province of Arrowfell to be a willing host, and a supplier of all manner of resources to ensure you find your ship. However, there is something we, something that I would ask of you first.”
Her gaze became more earnest. ”My forces are thin as it is. Please, help us recover the Princess. Then, we help you in anything you need.”
She leaned over to the table, plucking up a rolled piece of parchment, quickly marking it with a quill. Then, she passed it to Signore Aubri. If he were to look at it, he would find an annotated map of Arrowfell, with the city of Nordor marked.
”We have reason to believe she is being held in Nordor, a place that lacks and dislikes magic.”
She gave them a nod, ”The children will stay with us. I will provide horses for your journey. You will want to leave as soon as possible.
“And know that if you are successful, not only will you be considered a friend of the court, but a friend of the people.”
Some Days before the Battle Upon Althius
A Cottage Somewhere In the Island Splitting the Fey River
It was, in some ways, unreasonable to keep a child asleep for days upon end.
It was, perhaps, even something that could not be achieved without magic.
Asteria had woken upon two days ago, in a cozy cottage in the wilds. Her clothes had been changed, and two taciturn attendants saw to her basic needs. Her Seed, as well as any other ornaments she may have worn in Hathforth, were removed, placed in a locked box. The key hung visibly from the older woman’s belt. There it remained.
Perhaps it was a kidnapping. Perhaps it was safeguarding. Her keepers made no demands of her and treated her well enough. If she requested to go outside, she was allowed to within reason. If she wanted to eat something that wasn’t in the pantry though, tough luck. Neither of them would leave her unaccompanied, and it seemed as if there was no way to contact the outside world, to reach out to her brother or her Queen.
At night, the fire crackled in the pit, bright enough to illuminate the pages of the books if she cared to read. During the day, curious wildlife stepped in and out of view of the windows, as if the humans inside were exhibitions to be gawked at.
For two days, there was a mysterious kind of peace.
On the third day, there was a knock on the door.
It was a strange thing for Asteria, being kept like this. Waking up as confused as she was, with two attendants that offered nothing for answers. All she remembered was getting her hair brushed by Arwen, and then…
Darkness.
Something had happened. Something that she only had time to put together. She must have been drugged, yes. That must have been it. And the only likely suspect was Arwen. Or the Innkeeper. Maybe it was in the sweets. Or the tea.
Asteria's desperation to see her brother and report to her Queen culminated on the second night, where she attempted to sneak out. However, she had scarcely crossed the threshold of the dirt path from the door before she felt a hand on her shoulder. The attendant silently, and firmly, guided her back inside. That marked the end of Asteria's attempted escapes.
So it was curious when, on the third day, she heard a knock. Looking up from her book, Asteria glanced at her attendants. Neither made a move for the door. So… was it for her, then?
Asteria sweated a bit, setting her book to the side and drawing to her full, unassuming height of four and a half feet, before she turned the handle and opened the door.
“...Hello?”
“Good day, Asteria.”
Dressed in rugged, more muted attire than he usually did, Duke Rhinecliff stepped into the room, the sun against his back making him more shadow than man. He glanced towards the key-bearing attendant and nodded once, before the woman stepped off to the side to unlock the box containing the Viscountess’s jewelry. It was placed upon a table by the window, where the Duke sat down, motioning Asteria to join him.
He gave her a moment or two to pick at her unsealed belongings. The attendants began to boil a pot of tea, a bitter, floral aroma infusing itself into the atmosphere.
“I’m sure you have questions. Go ahead.”
Asteria had, of course, gracefully curtsied in his presence. But she couldn't help the unsettling atmosphere his presence marked. She followed him to the table, waiting a moment for him to settle before she too, sat.
Her ring bearing a Seed glimmered in her fingers. But, for whatever reason, she didn't feel inclined to wear it. Couldn't. It had been kept from her all this time. The Duke making a move to give it back to her, was he going for a move of good faith? Or a power play?
The demonstration proved one thing, however. Arwen was his. And he was the orchestrator behind this… very soft kidnapping.
So, shyly, Asteria's hand left the ring and her other jewelry on the table, hands folding in her lap. Her eyes gazed at the wood, almost unable to meet the Duke's strong gaze.
Before she looked up. Her voice surprisingly strong. Calm. Accepting.
“Is this punishment for betraying your trust this previous week, Your Grace?”
“No. More an unintended consequence.”
Ah. Asteria nodded to herself. That resolved some of her issues.
A pause, before Asteria's brows furrowed. ”Why… am I still alive? Why am I not dead yet?”
Asteria was certain, after being discovered as the Queen's pawn for a nefarious plot, she would be dead at the Duke's hand. He had pardoned them at the time, but… perhaps all was not as it seemed. He had called for her sedation, and had kidnapped her. But for whatever reason, he hadn't killed her, yet, though he had all the opportunity and motive to do so.
“From a personal standpoint, Asteria, I don’t particularly enjoy ordering the deaths of children. It’s short-sighted to put an end to the future in order to keep in place the present, and I had no enmity towards your parents.”
Asteria's gaze softened a bit, being reminded of her parents. She slowly nodded again. ”I see.”
So he had never intended to kill her…
An attendant approached, pouring a cup of tea for the ducal lord and then, at his glance, a cup for the young viscountess as well. He lifted the dainty cup up against the light that poured in through the window, watching it render the steam visible, before taking a small sip.
“Another broke into the estate after you, by the way. Would you happen to know who they were?”
At that, Asteria's heart skipped a beat. It was the scene at the Duke’s inner courtyard all over again. Immediately, her cheeks flushed, and she sank a bit in her seat, staring at the tea poured for her.
Telling the Duke meant betraying the Queen outright, with intent and malice against the Crown. To be found out would be treason of the highest order, and she would be killed in a spectacular way at the plaza.
Her gaze locked onto the Duke's, analyzing him. By all intents and purposes, she should be grateful to him. He had her drugged, yes, but he had taken care of her after that. And she remembered how he smiled at her when she had visited his estate with her brother.
So she made a choice. A pawn that was spent and discovered only had one move left to play, after all.
Her gaze dropped to her tea, before she gently cradled it in her hands. ”If I tell you, Your Grace…”
She shyly looked up at him. ”Will you protect us, my brother and I… from the Wizard Queen?”
There was no deception in the gaze he returned. “I was going to do it regardless. Though I suppose you couldn’t have known all that has happened, and all that will soon happen.”
A small, grateful smile graced Asteria's lips. She recounted all that she knew of the plan that the Wizard Queen had told her. She recounted what she was taught at the Orphan's Matron.
”Typically, orphans will do preliminary tasks asked by the Wizard Queen, with an organization called the Concord completing the tasks. It was the same case with uh, what happened at your estate. The Concord would have been sent in to, uhm, remove your treasury.
“I never learned of any names, but there were a few faces I came to know. She always wore a mask, but she had the most striking purple eyes, and these long, pointed ears… She was very prominent, and was involved in almost every request of the Queen’s. I'm sorry I don't know her name, but she would have been involved.”
Despite knowledge of her misdeeds and outsized punishments, Duke Rhinecliff still found it difficult to believe that the Wizard Queen would turn to execute those whom she had brought up and cared for. It took a particularly cold individual to see adopted children as but pawns on the board, a coldness that he had associated more with misers and bastards who ran mills and mines, but on the other hand, perhaps Evelyn was the far-seeing sort. She had, after all, named a mermaid a princess, and only recently made her plans known to plunge into Althius to seek a monstrosity.
How much of this was kindness? How much of this calculation?
“And the Concord…does it handle assassinations as well?” Duchess Bastille never got back to him about her investigations regarding that new ‘noble’ who had popped up so soon after the complete extermination and subsequent non-investigation of House Corrin. “Were they involved in the massacre at House Corrin? Or does the Queen have a third arm for that purpose?”
Asteria's head tilted, thinking very hard. ”Well… People would disappear when the Concord was involved. I think that means they would end up, well, dead. There were rumours of a few jobs like that. Infrequent, but they were there…”
Before she softly shook her head. ”But the Concord was not involved with what happened at House Corrin. Princess Keove, she frequents us quite a bit. I heard she said she was sent on a mission to ask the best and most malleable, for such a task. Apparently they were… miners?” Asteria said, a sheepish wince crossing her face. ”That might just be hearsay, though. My apologies, Your Grace.”
Leave it to a half-fish to be cold-blooded enough to become the Queen’s broker in death-deals within the span of two years. And leave it to the Queen to look into sellswords to do the dirty work once more. Duke Rhinecliff took a small sip of tea, then leaned back against the chair, folding his hands over his lap.
“It is no issue at all, Viscountess. Having the name of these clandestine organizations alone is more than I could have expected. Now, allow me to catch you up to what you have missed…”
He took a breath. One to collect his thoughts, and then another for dramatic impact.
And then, with no uncertainty at all, the Duke of Odonfield spoke of everything that has happened, and everything that is to come. The brewing rebellion in Nordor, after the news of Sev Willowsteel’s rescue and escape at the hands of the remnants of Duke Corrin’s personal guard and a gallant dragon-rider. The movements of the undead legions within Ravenfell, the intentions of the Necro-Lord in subsuming the entirety of Arrowfell in his quest to exact vengeance upon the Wizard-Queen. And the Wizard-Queen herself, seeking to raise a leviathan from the depths in order to further consolidate her iron-clad rule over the Arrowfell, gambling the majority of the province’s military power on this gamble.
As well, Mene’s own situation, bound upon the same ship that Her Majesty rode upon, bound to the maelstrom of conflicts and bloodshed within but a week’s time.
“Now, knowing all this, I would like to ask: do you think you can convince your brother to leave with you?”
Asteria's mind spun with the information the Duke gave her. So much had changed. So much was happening. Most of it… for the worse.
She allowed herself a long sip of her tea, collecting her thoughts, before she answered the Duke. Her brother, though he loved her, had always been closer to the Queen. He seemed to lack the uncle-like appreciation she held for Duke Rhinecliff. Knowing Mene, he was adamant he only needed to prove himself a little more to open the floodgates of the Queen's admiration.
Asteria set down her tea, pausing before she spoke. ”I have to try. He'll listen to me, he always has…”
“People change.” A pause. “Family changes too.”
Duke Rhinecliff knew well what the Wizard-Queen had done, after all. The carrot-and-stick was common because it was effective, used by tyrants and slavers alike. Extinguishing the entire Furino lineage, leaving only a traumatized child to raise as one saw fit. Awarding soul-scarring acts of betrayal with accolades and promotions, normalizing a mindset that prioritized loyalty to a single, all-encompassing force. There were worshippers of the All-Force who were less zealous than that, but it made sense.
A vaguely benevolent force could not compare to the weight of gold, and the threat of death.
“Try, but prepare for an escape if need be. I don’t want to put your brother in a position where he must hand over his sister.” Laurent stroked his chin. “Though if you’d like, I could arrange for his abduction instead, so long as you share with me what his Seed could be?”
Asteria quickly nodded, before hesitating briefly. A slight swallowing of the lump in her throat. She was really divulging all her secrets, wasn't she.
”It's a Luck Seed. Not like those wish-whashy charms. Potent. Whatever he desires, if it's possible, it'll likely happen.”
Aster stared at her cooling tea for a moment before she looked at the Duke again.
”You'll… be careful with him, right, Your Grace …?”
“Of course. I got you here without issue, after all.”
It was late evening, dusk's light slowly fading from the sky. Potentate Brinyar Heavy-handed sat staring into a bright campfire, his two escorts tending to the horses.
This was where they were meant to meet up, on the cliffside overlooking the Glasic Fields. Even now, it only took a turn of his head to spy the sea of luminescent pearls that spread out down below - the mark of Seeds growing, soon to be plucked. Lit up against the darkening sky was Fort Keove, a fortification of wood and stone that sat at one end of the Fields. Torches sparkled like fireflies around the edges of the Fields, marking knights making their rounds.
First impressions made the Fields appear heavily guarded. But how they would tackle this mission was up to his esteemed donor, and their special guest.
The log cracked, sending sparks up to dance in the air.
They'd be here soon. Then, they would march on the Fields.
A light thrumming of feet followed Duchess Bastille as she ascended the cliffside on which she would convene with the Potentate and Duke Rhinecliff. Trailing behind the golden-garbed duchess was a motley crew of Agrovian foot soldiers, all of whom she had personally handpicked. More of them were stationed at the cliff's base, primed to receive further orders.
The duchess' cape swayed slightly in the wind, but the great pieces of armor that were fitted around her were stiff as rocks. Heavy as they might have been, however, she seemed to be able to move about unencumbered: a result of her levitation magic at work. Her footsteps came to a halt once the campfire's light hit her eyes.
"Ah, Sir Brinyar Heavy-handed," she greeted, bearing a sense of familiarity in her tone. "So you are the first among us to arrive."
The area surrounding the campfire shimmered and rippled momentarily - the only indication that she had walked through a cloaking spell meant to hide their fire from the guards down below. Brinyar stood, giving a small bow to the duchess.
“Duchess Bastille, it's been some time…”
She gazed outwards, taking in the view of the Seeds below. "Beautiful, is it not?" The moon's glow, coupled with the Seeds' reflective nature, made for quite the spectacle, to say nothing of the vibrant colors bouncing off from them. It was, indeed, beautiful.
Brinyar once again resumed his seated position in front of the fire. She sat next to the Potentate, running her hands against the warmth of his campfire all the while. "Violetta Aliz heads the defenses of Fortress Keove, does she not?"
"A former knight of the previous king," the duchess posited, recounting her intel on the woman. "Perhaps she can be reasoned with."
She let out a chuckle. "Monsters? They can be vanquished with little thought." A contemplative pause. “But humans, or others of a similar ilk..."
Another light-hearted chuckle. "Well, let's just say that one's perspective on morality can… complicate matters."
Brinyar stared solemnly at the fire, watching the flames slowly chew through wood. ”Yes… The holy scriptures, however, give rights to man in the case of an infringement of basic rights. The Wizard Queen conducts her reign of terror with these Seeds. To free ourselves, and rebel against her unjust rule, it would be fair, encouraged, even, to cut the snake's head off, so to speak.
“I… tried to warn her. But she's beyond listening. These Fields are a danger to the Province, specifically the monsters. The Seeds and their corrupted use are a danger, specifically strong Seeds being used to control the people.”
Brinyar’s gaze turned to the duchess. “If we can push back, even a little, it will be the first victory for the people in a long time…”
A new voice spoke up.
“And such a victory will form the foundation for further gains.”
It was the smoldering ember of his cigar that gave away his presence as he stepped out from the shadows into the firelight. Little has changed of his own appearance, no armaments and armor breaking up his silhouette. A cloak embroidered with blueberry brambles, and a walking stick with a brass-gold tip. His spectacles gleamed in the warm light, and his mustache turned upwards in greeting.
Brinyar stood once more and gave a polite bow. “Your Grace…”
Duke Rhinecliff continued. “We will uncover the nature of the monsters within the Glasic Fields, have first-hand experience with just what the Seeds are in their natural state, and be able too, perhaps, to confirm whether they are a gift of the All-Force or the temptation of the Shade.”
Duke Rhinecliff himself had brought no troops for this expedition. Instead, only a flame-haired mage had accompanied him, mud-caked sandals on her feet and a crimson shawl over her shoulders. If it was through specialized tools that the Royal Gardeners did their work, then Henrietta would be able to do the work of a legion of them. If it was through magic however?
Well, she was still curious as to what had happened to the Fields since they were sealed. And a craftswoman’s curiosity was a hard thing to divert.
Brinyar's gaze fell on Duke Rhinecliff's accompanying mage, and gave a nod. “If you're with His Grace, I have no reason to doubt you.”
Before he pulled a folded parchment from the folds of his uniform, opened it, and presented it to both Duchess Bastille and Duke Rhinecliff. Upon the weathered parchment were inky machinations and diagrams of the Glasic Fields and its Fort Keove.
Brinyar pointed to a ring around the fields. ”This is the path that's constantly patrolled by the Queen's guards. Getting past them without being seen would be… difficult.”
He then pointed to a square shape on the side. ”This is the fort. There are fewer men standing guard at its watch towers, so we may have a chance at slipping through undetected by scaling the back wall and taking the fort by surprise.”
His focused gaze glanced at both nobles. ”What do you say, Your Graces?”
Altina debated the options in her head. To sneak through to the fort was certainly not a bad plan. Though, it would mean that they would have to cut down on their numbers in order to move with the utmost stealth. If there was one thing that the battlefield and all its scars had taught her, it was that one must always be prepared for the worst. And the worst — in this case — was getting caught, and the consequences that entailed. Perhaps there was yet another avenue of entry that the Potentate was overlooking.
The duchess silently mulled over the possibilities. "Brinyar," she began tentatively. "What if we forgo the sneaking and... present ourselves as helpers?" Another thought stewed in her mind. "Helpers of the queen, even."
"That is to say, we can infiltrate their ranks while under the guise of aiding them with their little… monster problem."
She knew the idea sounded silly without an explanation, so she provided one.
"This should also afford us a chance to gauge their loyalties towards the queen."
"As for what comes next..." Her expression turned serious. "That is a bridge we can cross later."
She cast a discerning glance at Duke Rhinecliff and his entourage, before turning again to face the Potentate. "Two birds, one stone," she concluded confidently. "Or am I being naive?"
Duke Rhinecliff placed his hand upon his chin, eyes contemplative.
“Two ducal lords and a potentate make for an odd combination to send as helpers of the Queen,” he said. “Do you have any finer details for this plan, Duchess?”
If they presented themselves as they were, the fortress would have been informed of the aristocracy’s arrival beforehand. If they presented themselves as mere ‘helpers’, their identities would still have to stand up to scrutiny before they could enter perhaps the most lucrative plot of land in Arrowfell.
But Altina had wanted to be in charge, so he would let her lead.
They could deal with the freefall afterwards.
Brinyar had to nod his head along with Duke Rhinecliff. His eyes centered on Duchess Bastille. ”Alas, folk of our caliber would be thought to be above simple monster-hunting work, even if the monsters are… unique.
“Though… it's possible I could play the angle of purifying the monsters, escourted by two nobles of the highest order. But without a letter from the Queen, they likely won't believe we would be working on Her behalf.
“...Perhaps there's something in your plan that may make this work. Something we're missing. I believe more details on your plan would be impertinent, Your Grace.”
"Hm..." Altina pondered Duke Rhinecliff's assessment. The Odonfield ruler was certainly not off the mark, and her plan did lack the proper foresight. Truly, if the Queen had sent helpers to the Fields, it would not be someone of their station. She crossed her arms, a finger tapping anxiously on her left. "Allow me a moment to think."
Her mind wandered to one of Agrovia's staunchest allies, Woodhurst.
The township of Woodhurst had been recently experiencing an uptick in monster attacks. In one of these incidents, a sighting of an unknown monster was reported. Though she never saw it in person, Altina surmised that it must have originated from the Fields one way or another.
Had some of the monsters slipped through the cracks, unbeknownst to the Queen's knights at Fortress Keove? If so, perhaps that could give her an excuse to come knocking at their gates…
Under the pretense of airing out grievances, she could cause a scene, and attract attention.
Then, Duke Rhinecliff and the Potentate could make their move.
"Have either of you caught wind of a... particular development in Woodhurst?" Finally, Altina spoke. "A monster of mysterious origin was spotted wreaking havoc in the town." Her lips pursed into a devilish smile. "It is a shame that the Queen's forces are incapable of protecting the masses from the damned beasts."
"Given their incompetence, shall I... waltz in there and demand that I do it myself?"
She met eyes with the duke, returning to some semblance of seriousness, and then the Potentate. "I believe that your plan, Brinyar, offers more chances of success than mine."
"Thus, let me act as your smokescreen." She let out a mischievous laugh. "I'm quite adept at putting on a show, you know," she boasted playfully. She flicked a teasing gaze at the duke. "Wise old Rhinecliff knows as well, seeing as he bore witness to my antics at the Hearthfire Gala."
"So what say the both of you, gentlemen?"
Brinyar nodded, folding up his map and tucking it away in a breast pocket. ”I believe it is a fair plan, Your Grace. I'm ready on Your Graces’ mark.”
“Ah,” Laurent replied, a touch of bemused wistfulness in his voice. “And what I’d do to bear witness to such antics once more. Go ahead then, Duchess Bastille.”
Altina clapped her hands together, a sure sign she was happy with the duke's and the Potentiate's approval. "Music to my ears!" A wide grin spread across her face. "Well then, we must not tarry any longer."
Altina soon trekked down the cliffside, with her armed guard in tow, and it wasn't long until the sight of Fortress Keove entered her vision. But first came the watch towers, from which she could spot some of the queen's soldiers quickly descending. They must have seen her already, as they moved with a sense of urgency. It was warranted urgency, of course, considering the strategic importance of the Fields to Hathforth, to say nothing of her unwelcome presence. Their torches flickered back and forth as they came to meet her. She could make out their narrowed eyes, practically staring daggers at her. Though, their gazes relaxed slightly once they finally recognized who she was.
Out of reflex, Altina threw daggers of her own, her eyes boring holes into the men, as if to intimidate them. Truthfully, she did not intend to stare at them so. However, her pride did not allow her to concede, and therefore, she returned their gaze back at them. A petty reaction it was, one born from Altina's oft-misguided impulses.
"I would like a word with your superior." A straightforward, if not terse, request. She spat it out the moment she stood face-to-face with them. "It seems Fortress Keove is not lacking for incompetence. I am here to fix that." The duchess did not mince words.
The guard leading the troop that met Duchess Bastille gave a curt bow. The others behind him followed suit, though never taking their eyes off her.
”Your Grace, Duchess Bastille, we were not expecting you. You understand one needs express permission from the Wizard Queen to be here, yes?” The lead guard said, words hanging in the air. Regardless, though, he did turn to whisper to one of his men, who quickly turned around and jogged back to the fort.
”I'll need to see some proof of Her Majesty's good graces, regardless of the business you may have here.” The lead guard said, turning back to her.
The duchess was none too happy with the reception, and it shone in her expression, which twisted into the most displeased frown. "In truth, sirs, it is not me who has business here, but the domain of Woodhurst."
A sharp inhale. "Lumberyards, destroyed. Home, lost in the wreckage. Lives, taken by an unknown assailant."
Altina plunged her greatsword into soil. "Where was the Queen's guard in their time of need?"
She looked the watchman in the eyes once more. "How was their fealty to the Crown repaid?"
She walked closer, her gait as cool as a breeze in winter. "With negligence. With utter dereliction of duty." Yet, fire erupted from her mouth.
"Do not mistake me for an uninformed woman. I know of the mysterious monsters that have been emerging from the fields."
A narrowed gaze, now made even narrower. "And I know that some of them have escaped your purview."
She retrieved her blade from the ground, now slinging it over her shoulders. "So, allow me to do it. To dispose of them."
A mischievous chuckle. "Do not worry. I will not try anything."
"You may even watch me - in all of my splendor - as I vanquish them, if you so wish."
The lead guard's face blanched at the news. Nevertheless, he held his position firmly.
”I'm afraid I cannot allow you to interfere with the-”
His voice faded as he heard the pad of two sets of footsteps behind him. One belonged to the runner, the other to General Aliz, her armor clicking softly and her dark hair smooth.
”Duchess Bastille. I have half a mind to arrest and imprison you on grounds of suspicious activity at these Fields.”
Her tone was cold, and her eyes like flints of ice.
“Explain yourself.”
"If it isn't General Aliz. Nice of you to join us." A somewhat friendly greeting fluttered from Altina's lips. Though, from them also dripped venom.
The duchess took note of the general's stance and let out a dismissive laugh. "Oh my. Such hostility..." She remarked, seemingly feigning fear. But her face was as blank as can be.
A carefree wave of the hand. "Worry not. I'm aware of my place in the pecking order. I do not seek to undermine the authority of the Queen over the Fields."
Reducing her voice to a whisper, she added, "Unlike the senile Duke Rhinecliff, or that dolt Duke Willowsteel, I am wholly appreciative of Agrovia's current prosperity in Arrowfell, no doubt in part thanks to the Queen's rulership."
Altina had technically told the truth. However, she had also framed things in such a way to distance herself from any rumors of rebellion, putting down her fellow dukes to lift herself up. Her objective? Why, to beget trust, of course. Between herself and the general.
"That said..." Her friendly facade had now disappeared, and a different mask would take its place. "What I am not appreciative of is incompetence and inaction. You've heard tell of the monsters that have utterly ravaged Woodhurst, yes?" There was little hint of anger in her eyes, but one could still surely observe the dying embers flickering within. "Your men are to blame for the incidents." With a pointed finger, she stepped closer to the general. "And as their superior, you bear most of that blame, Miss Aliz."
"So, I once again present to you my proposition. Allow me to deal with the monsters."
She backed off. "If you still believe me suspicious, you may place me under arrest."
"Though, you — nay, not only you, but the Queen herself — would risk losing allies."
The duchess chuckled devilishly. "In such precarious times as now, the more allies, the better, no?" The general was surely abreast of the matters that occurred at the execution grounds. Now more than ever, it was obvious that the Queen was losing her grip over Arrowfell. To imprison someone who purports to be a friend to the Queen would only speed up that process.
"The decision is in your hands, General Aliz."
“Well, look at her go.”
It was enough that she had drawn out the leader of the guards there. The weight of a duchess’s grievances alone should be enough to pull the commander of the fort over, and in that moment, the chain of command would be disrupted. And as for matters of the cliffside? Duke Rhinecliff extinguished his cigar, sliding it into a leather pocket. While Duchess Bastille drew the attention of those present to the front of the fort, it was the task of the second group to maneuver around and get to the back of the fort, whether in preparation for assault or for assistance. And in this case, that meant navigating the cliffside at night, with thick cloaks toss over steel armor and in constant awareness of the sightlines of the watchtower.
If they did manage to get to the cliffside safely though, they were practically safe. The blindspot of a fortress upon a cliff, after all, was that they were naturally preoccupied with only the side that an army could most easily march up towards.
“After you, Potentate.”
Brinyar gave the Duke a nod before heading along in the darkness, the warmth of the fire receding rapidly. He could see them from here still, the small figure of the Duchess holding her own against a bunch of upset guards, and the general.
Thank the All-force. He sighed with relief.
Soon, the two had made it to the cliffside overlooking the back of the fort. More guards had been drawn to the front, leaving gap in their sight along the back momentarily.
”How are we getting down, Your Grace?” Brinyar asked, hand itching at his sword.
“There’s a reason why I asked for only your finest, Potentate.”
Whispered incantations were drawn away by the wind, before glass-like barriers emerged, forming precarious platforms they could leap down from one at a time. Shield magic, when applied with a modicum of creativity, certainly offered more possibilities than a simple fireball would.
“I’d say to take your time,” Duke Rhinecliff said, “But I’m getting on with my years, so if you could hasten the pace, it would do well for my reserves.”
Brinyar gave the platforms a look, before nodding to the Duke, and leapt down to the first one. His feet were spread wide, anticipating the sink of the platform as it adjusted to his weight.
No worse than leaping onto a boat. He thought in passing, before leaping to the next platform, and the one after that.
With attention drawn to the front of the fort, the back was entirely exposed, and Brinyar landed on his two feet along the guard walk of the roof, pressing his back into the wall. A breath, before he dashed around the corner, drawing his pommel across the back of a guard's head. They crumpled like a sack of potatoes, and he took a moment to bind the guard's hands.
He didn't know if they were going to be lucky in being non-lethal with all the guards, but he'd at least take the opportunity when it presented itself.
Brinyar retreated back to the roof access door, giving an eye to the Duke, his sword glowing a brilliant gold. They'd enter the inner-side of the fort together.
Their invasion was swift and undisturbed, Duke Rhinecliff maintaining fine control of the Silence and Seal Room spells to enable the Potentate’s men to do their own work on the martial front. His companion, the flame-haired witch, ducked her head into a couple of rooms and came back with animated armors: worthless for actual battle, but great for deceptively bolstering their numbers for the purpose of cowing guards into submission.
It was smooth, outside of the few instances where they came across magical traps that needed to be worked around. Soon enough, the combined forces of Rhinecliff and the Church had taken over enough space within the fortress to be able to do away with subterfuge altogether, as they made it over to where the Royal Gardeners kept their own equipment.
“Duchess Altina appears to be playing the role of a very reasonable guest,” Laurent spoke. It had been some time since they’ve heard anything from the Lady of Agrovia. “Shall we examine the tools of the trade while we wait?”
Meanwhile, the General raised her head at the front of the gate. It was quiet. Her head turned to the fort. Studied it for a moment. There was no movement. Her guards weren't doing their patrols.
In a fine, smooth schling of metal, she drew her sword, leveling it at the Duchess.
”Duchess Bastille… Explain to me why you've been standing here wasting my time while someone has taken over my fort?”
An offended expression played on Altina's face. "Oh?" Seeing the general's blade drawn, she too drew her own blade, a trio of them in fact, spinning in a vicious circle around her.
Her expression was all an act, of course. However, since there was little evidence to associate the duchess with the "insurgents" that the general had spoken of, she had thought it wise to maintain her innocence.
The duchess clicked her teeth in annoyance. Another feigned act. "You mean to accuse me of conspiring against the Queen?" Her voice rose ever so slightly as she spoke. "I can assure you that I have no ill intent."
She took one of the floating blades into her hand and pointed it at the general. "But I do not take provocations lightly, Miss Aliz. If you wish to waste more time by crossing steel with me, you may do so at your own… peril."
The duchess' bloodlust shone briefly from the beast-like glint in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by an anger befitting a noble throwing a fit. Steady yourself, Altina. She'd almost forgotten the reason why she was here. The allure of being able to test her mettle against the Queen's finest general almost proved too great a temptation.
Alas, before the General could take Duchess Bastille on her offer, Duke Rhinecliff and the Potentate appeared at the door. Three against one, the General didn't want to take her chances.
So, she, with the remaining guards, left the fort with what dignity they had. That left the three victors to take whatever spoils they desired from the fields. Indeed, the Seeds grew on trees like ripening fruit, glistening and glowing. However, dark creatures were always around the Seeds. Duke Rhinecliff took a few for research.
And Duchess Bastille?
She set the Glasic Fields on fire.
By the time the army returned, the fort and the Fields were untempered fires burning high in the night sky.
Blue is the army's collective magic. Green is the bolstered shield by the city guard.
As the fire ravaged and decimated Upper Bristol, the cries of the people could be heard. Outraged, in shock, crying as they watched what little they had burn to ash.
Before a war horn bellowed, and the Outer Bristol City Gate opened. A thousand soldiers, clad in armor, capes and hoisting the colours of Fort Chrysanthemum stood mounted at the precipice.
Captains were quick to issue commands, and the most proficient mages discounted, collected at the gate. A sample of the fire was collected, analyzed for its magical and chemical properties, before it was added to the center of their magical framework. Slowly, surely, a ball of void with slowly golden edges formed. It surged up high over the wall, and began functioning as a powerful black hole. As per its magical instructions, all the fire was tagged in its system as the only element it would absorb. And absorb it did, hungrily, backed by the energy of a hundred mages. The mages stayed below the orb, venturing forward in the smoking ruins of the city, fire absorbed away.
They would slowly make their way down to North Pearl, and if they were lucky, they would quench out this nonsensical fire for good. Their pace was slow at a walk, but it was steady.
Meanwhile, the rest of the soldiers entered the city, assisting in healing surviving residents, preparing temporary shelters, and assisting the city guard. Namely, several of the soldiers helped to extend and bolster the white shield protecting Belleborne.
Arwyn's focus was wholly focused on smothering the flames, but they rebelled strongly against her Feathered Rain. Strange.
It meant there was something, or someone actively feeding these flames. But before she could elaborate further on that thought, disaster struck.
It struck from behind, hard and fast. The piercing of an arrow. Arwyn acted on instinct, activating her Seed. Time froze around her, and the arrow stopped its incessant piercing. Thank the All-force; the arrow felt like it had stopped maybe half an inch from her heart.
Instantly, red-hot feathers covered her body as she reached for the frozen arrow. Tears pricking her eyes, she pulled. Gritted teeth stemmed the scream bursting from her chest as she yanked the arrow out, blood coating the stone around her. Quickly, Feathered Healing took effect, replenishing lost blood and closing the wound.
And then, time resumed to normal.
Immediately, Arwyn's head whipped around, and she spied a lonely figure on a parapet. Instinctively, her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back in hot contempt. She raised a hand, and feathery flames collected in the air above her. A magnificent Feathered Nightmare formed, its shrieks piercing the air before it flapped its long wings, taking off and aimed straight for the long figure. Its ember-like talons outstretched, hoping to scoop the man right off the parapet.
The archer let out a low whistle. Mage against martial, and you could even things out with some strategy, some cunning. But Seeds, able to enact miracles without incantation or sigil?
That made things fall elsewhere. Would the poison even be enough, or did it get burned away in the resulting spell?
Mattered little; a great demonic bird was diving down towards him now, and he dove down to greet it. Ducking beneath the talons, the cloaked figure reached out with a gloved hand and grabbed the tail feathers that whipped by. The leather sizzled from the heat, the unnatural phenomenon felt in his palm, but he yanked at it regardless, tearing out a clump of feather on passing. Birds, normal birds at least, needed tail feathers for stability and braking in flight. Did Dremoran birds need the same?
Well, Arwyn didn’t have tail feathers, so she at least didn’t need to obey the laws of aerodynamics.
Arrows were snagged out from his quiver, held between his fingers as he nocked his longbow once more. He took sight, aimed, and fired a volley towards the winged knight, testing her ability to evade out in the open.
As he watched, the scene unfolded before as he wished. The Feathered Nightmare, with a lack of flight feathers, tumbled and crashed. And, Arwyn, crying out, failed to evade, and was struck by the arrows.
The silence was deafening. Until, there was a shimmering within the cloaked figure's sight. Then, a sudden shattering of his vision as the illusion was willfully broken. The reality he had missed precious seconds of was, well, quite the opposite of what the illusion had him assuming.
Behind him, the Feathered Nightmare hovered in the air, glowing gold from its healing magic. From its outstretched wings, bolts of feathered flames arced around the cloaked figure, attempting to make contact with curled trajectories. If successful, they would ignite into cursed fire, eating up flesh and mana, and be unable to be put out by conventional means.
Meanwhile, Arwyn was alight with her own pair of feathered wings, sailing inches from the cloaked figure’s face. Her sword was alight with fire, aiming to slash him in half.
This would be the end.
It didn’t need to be said. They were all too experienced to need verbal confirmation. The various shadowy assassins of the Concord changed tacks as soon as the first demon was visually confirmed. Poison coatings on their weapons were burned away and replaced with spellfire, lightning, and frost enchantments. Ambush positions shifted to not rely upon one strike felling any intruders.
”Jenkins,” Safina inclined her masked head in the direction of one of her subordinates. ”Head for the surface. Follow after Countess Vernon. Inform her we have a demonic infestation. Failing that, inform any royal guardsman you see.” The assassin in question bowed his head and disappeared in a burst of magic, rapidly making his way through a secret tunnel.
Meanwhile, Safina and the remainder of the Concord turned their attention back towards the entrance the first demon had emerged from, ready and waiting for more to appear. Despite their preparation, there was nonetheless an air of apprehension among these seasoned killers. Demons were always a volatile unknown, even among those that had faced them before.
They didn’t have to wait long.
It took a substantial amount of mana to summon and collar a denizen of Dremora’s Shade, but when it came to simply conjoining the planes and conjuring an out-of-control monster? It was something that even apprentices could do, so long as they didn’t mind dying in the process. You could sacrifice lifespan, you could construct a Seed, you could fuse your soul, but in the end, all those methods were solely focused on control.
It was ironic, perhaps, that the second demon to arrive was a Feathered Nightmare, a giant bird cloaked in cursed flames. Its deep, carmine feathers scattered as it slammed through corridors too small for its expansive frame, and it let out a sharp shriek as it haphazardly flew towards the assassins.
Arrows and crossbow bolts feathered the Nightmare as it entered the killbox, taking it in the head and both eyes as it crashed to the ground, bolts of magic following up immediately afterward to finish it off.
”This is getting us nowhere.” Safina murmured under her breath before pointing at two of the assassins with her. ”Both of you, with me. We’ll circle around using the tunnels and scout out further ahead. I want to confirm if there’s still a summoner alive. The rest of you, keep holding.”
The passageway leading to Hathforth’s vault was littered with secret tunnels inside the walls, holding convenient peepholes every now and then to keep an eye on potential intruders. It was through these that Safina and two of her men rushed through, keeping an eye on the demonic incursion within the halls.
When the attackers, the ‘Clandestine’, took what they needed, namely some of the few Seeds in the vault, and the kidnapping of the Princess, they withdrew. The fire stopped spreading, allowing the city guard and the army to deal with the aftermath. However, that wasn't the last blow dealt to them, as the treasury in Fort Chrysanthemum was stolen from.
Soon, though, the fires died down, arrests were made on the pilfers, the portals were sealed, and Shades vanquished, and a sense of normalicy somewhat returned to Hathforth.
The Wizard Queen had returned to Hathforth a few days earlier than the ships, leaving Vulluin, Captain Thorne, Duchess Agustria and Callum to watch the dragon, traitorous Sparrow, and trailing Ingens.
Now, she stood in her private study, accompanied only by Lady Safina, who had previously informed her of what had happened below within the castle's tunnels. The Wizard Queen's face was turned to the window, where rain pelted down on a stormy day.
Indeed, it was a dark day.
”I will be staying in Hathforth for some time, Lady Safina. I wish to oversee the reconstruction of the homes and markets lost in the blaze.”
She turned to gaze at the elf, her illuminated eyes hard. ”We can rule out this attack was the Clandestine. It's not possible for them to be in two places at the same time. The only other likely culprit would be Duke Rhinecliff's little ‘rebellion’, or those emissaries from the MSR. I find it unlikely the Most Serene Republic would incite war flippantly. So, suspicion lies with the good Duke. Though, without proof, we would be made the villain to go after him.”
She turned fully to the elf, hands clasped behind her back. ”That's why I'm giving you a special mission. I want you and I to travel to Odenfield and infiltrate Duke Rhinecliff's court. Any meetings, any events he holds, we will be there, playing as some lesser nobles of his. Preferably advisors.
I will be puppeting Countessa Vernon, she will be unconscious for the duration of this mission. That way, if she is captured, she can answer truthfully that she is unaware. You have the advantage of your Seed, so I am less worried about you.” She said, the slightest smile on her face.
”We will be using long-instant Glamour that should last as long as our mission. That way we can assume the missing nobles. And rest assured, the kidnaping of the nobles we will be replacing will be complete by the time we arrive.”
She made a slight grimace. ”I am trusting those emissaries to return my daughter to me safe and sound. Alas, I can only run myself so thin. They will focus on that, we will focus on this.”
Middas, 2nd Frostfall, 1402, Five Days After the Battle of Hathforth and Athius
The two ‘nobles’, Lady Safina and Countessa Vernon, were disguised and resting in a carriage, moving through the city of Odenfield. Just hours before, the nobles they were replacing had been removed, allowing them to now seamlessly take up their roles in society.
As it just so happened, there was an event going on in Odenfield. They would be attending, and attempting to garner all the information they could. And if they could influence a few nobles, maybe even the Duke himself, with some well-placed words, all the better.
It was another bright, sunny day in Odenfield. The coolness of Frostfall was only barely touching the wind, allowing for lighter clothes to still be worn while traveling.
Ryllae and Gervese were approaching the plantation in question, packed with nothing but provisions for a light lunch of the opportunity presented itself. Ryllae's dress was a little classier this day, with a silk white dress adorning her person.
Ryllae knew the emissary of the Duke had no reason to doubt Anton, but with the state of the nation at the moment, a little caution was always a good idea.
The fields of green tobacco plants stirred in the wind around them as Ryllae and Gervese came to a stop on the side of the dirt road.
Azalea didn't remember much after shutting the door to her quarters in the castle. Explosions, voices, double-vision. Then, before she knew it, she woke up in a strange place.
At first, it appeared like any normal townhouse. One bedroom and a study on the top floor. A kitchen with a pantry and a hearth, sitting area, and lavatory with a hole physically drilled in the ground. However, there were no windows. The shutters were sealed with magic. The front door too, was sealed shut, no matter how much she yanked and pulled on it. The place was absent of knives and sharp objects. The pantry held basic necessities, like water barrels, cheese, and hard loaves. But no meat, and no spies, nothing fancy. Essentially, it was prison food. The townhouse itself was plain and drab, without decoration. The bed held a hay mattress and a fur. The sitting area was little more than stools and a shelf of books.
No matter how hard she screamed, no one came. No matter how hard she banged on the door, enough to make her knuckles bleed, no one came. She was effectively and surely trapped.
Nordor, Golden Grape Fields on the Outskirts of the City
As the two seamen rode their horses in to Nordor, they would be hit with a plethora of senses. The air was scented with wine. And, as far as their eyes could see, grape vines on stakes curled upward for miles. The grapes of golden hue almost appeared like little nuggets of gold framed in vibrant green leaves.
As Aubri and Amerigo would draw closer, they would spy a man toiling in one of the nation near the road, digging at the ground with a hoe. Perhaps removing weeds. Regardless, he heard the sound of footsteps, turned, and leaned on his hoe, relaxed grin on his face.
”My, my. If I had to guess, you two are a long way from home. Foreign nobles? Not terribly use to horseback?
“...Most Serene, if I had to reckon, hm?” He said, giving them a wink. ”What brings you to Nordor?”
Hathforth, Elysia Quarters, Prison Below the Barracks
Raiden sat with his back against the stone of his cell, arms pinned to the wall on either side of him. He was stripped of his leather armour, reduced to his tunic and trousers. And he hung there, limply, eyes staring blanking at the shut iron door in front of him.
They hadn't started torturing him yet. He wondered what they were waiting for. He wondered a lot of things, honestly. Where his dragon was. If his wolf was okay. What day it was. When this was going to end. When he was going to die.
Yeah, the man had a lot on his mind.
To distract from his thoughts that wanted to spiral, he began to whistle again. The same song he'd always been whistling. Waiting. For what? Anything, really.
It had been a few days since their meeting in town. With grace, the day of the meeting with the Duke's emissary had good weather. The meeting place in the outskirts wasn't too far, but Anton had donned armour and helmet and brought Bristelle II out of the stables. Though she normally wore horse barding with the heraldic wolf and royal blue of Marceilles, their sojourn in Arrowfell called for Bristelle to wear half-plate with plain blue trappings. The saddlebags she bore as well carried light provisions and the chest of Seeds they were bringing.
Sylrael and Melodia accompanied Anton on foot, needing no horse as they preferred lighter armour. Sylrael had strapped his leather armour-pads over his outfit and strung his bow, while Melodia had simply opted for a warm dull-red cloak.
'Do you think His Grace received your letter, captain?' Sylrael suddenly wondered aloud. Anton snickered in his helmet. 'A little late to be worrying about that,' he replied, 'Even if he hasn't, look on the bright side: it's a nice day, Bristelle II gets some fresh air, and we'll have a box of Seeds that I honestly won't know what to do with.' Melodia chuckled and then shared her thought. 'Share it with the boys and we'll storm Hathforth on our own.' 'You're insane, Melodia,' Sylrael commented snarkily, but after a pause he then turned to Anton, '... Do you think that would actually work?' Anton laughed. 'Most unlikely, but I think it would be monumentally funny and a cruel irony if we succeeded.'
Imagine: the queen who used mercenaries to usurp the throne, overthrown by a rag-tag band of some other mercenaries. Anton wore a stupid grin thinking about it.
A little while later, they approached the plantation where the meeting was to take place. Anton found strange comfort in seeing the living doll and her darkly companion standing by the road in the tobacco fields. It was almost picturesque in a way, with the tobacco leaves whispering in the light breeze.
'Miss Evoek,' Anton called through his helmet as they neared, 'It wounds my pride somewhat that you are both more punctual than I!'
She didn't need magic to disguise herself. A different application of makeup, lenses to change the color of her eyes, and a combination of silver hair dye with her hair tied up in a tight ponytail served to differentiate Safina Haliel from Elora Elarel, elven ranger-lieutenant and baron's daughter. The long-term glamour only served to reinforce the illusion she was selling, changing her facial structure to no longer resemble her true form and giving visual truth to her analog changes, but having a backup in case of the worst happening was never a bad idea.
Clad in leathers and stringing a bow in her lap, """Elora""" looked to her traveling companion, the Countessa Vernon. Or rather, Evelyn. This sort of job took her back. All the way to when the current Queen was but a court advisor in now-foreign lands.
"You haven't been out in the field in some time, Countessa." Elora said, her voice raised to a higher lilt than her usual tone. "Have you missed it at all, cooped up in Hathforth as you were?" A double-layered question, of course. It applied to both the Queen and her puppeted servant.
