[IC] ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

[Estylwen]

--College of Hathforth- Headmaster's Office--

_{In collaboration with @Izurich}

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Perhaps a stroke of deja vu would loom upon the old headmaster as an ashen-haired indigo-eyed lady entered his office, or perhaps not, as this particular woman wore the trappings of a lecturer instead of a student. She was the hen to Melisande's egg, the headmaster's old friend and fellow scholar of the arcane, she was Jezebel, Matriarch of the Tearmoon Coven.

Still, Melisande being the apple that didn't fall far from the tree combined with the elven-like eternal youthfulness of the Lilim people meant the Matriarch looked almost exactly alike her eldest daughter, aside from an inch or two of extra height and slightly more defined feminine curves, the mother and daughter were superficially more like sisters than parent and child.

Yet, to say their similarities extended to their mind would be a grave error, for behind the Lilim's Nymph-esque charming visage lied a furnace of ambition that'd rival the Wizard Queen herself.

"Caveus, my friend, how do you do? Well, I hope." Jezebel giggled as she took a seat across the headmaster's desk, "The boys and girls are wonderful as always, fine scholars in the making, unpolished gems, just like these Seeds..." She leaned back then elegantly crossed her legs while her palms clasped together over her lap, "Speaking of students, I heard Her Majesty's Court Mage elected my daughter for apprenticeship."

Caveus smiled as Jezebel entered his office. With a wave of his hand, he set a teapot atop a fire seed, surrounded by stone.

“My dear friend, you really ought to visit me more often.” He chortled, another wave of the hand causing a bit of lavender, spices and water to float into the teapot.

As the teapot began to warm, he leaned forward in his seat across from Jezebel, nodding his head, enthused.

”Yes, yes, I was hoping to tell you the news in person. Your daughter has excelled so well that she's been selected to serve in the Wizard Queen's court, as a royal apprentice to Lord Blackthorne. However, you needn't worry, she won't be abandoning her studies here.”"Perhaps I should..." Considering things were finally in motion. A storm is brewing and they were all in that eerie calm before its true arrival. "Excellent, I know it's unwise to boast, but I had always known my dear Melly is nothing short of a prodigy, fufu~"

The middle-aged - if there's such a notion for the ageless - woman weaved a simple telekinetic spell to manipulate the teapot, pouring the two of them a cup each, "People like her..." Jezebel made a measured pause with a cordial smile, "Are much more suited to handle the Seeds and Glasic Fields than the incumbent Royal Gardeners, don't you agree, Headmaster?"

Caveus blew on his teacup before taking a sip. Floral, with a hint of cinnamon. Just a delight to the senses.

Jezebel's nod to the Glasic Fields made the old man stare a bit before setting down his teacup, and leaning forward.

”I would agree with you; someone well-versed in magic ought to be taking care of the Fields… Have you sought an audience with her Majesty to speak on it?”

The Coven Mistress took a moment to enjoy the tea, holding the cup with her mundane, physical right hand. After a sip and a pleasured hum, she gently settled it back down.

”Indeed, it just so happens that my congregation has no shortage of talented magi, as you've no doubt seen yourself during your visits.” She leaned forward ever so slightly, ”Why... I believe my daughter already has. Now, as a parent, I do not believe it's erroneous to want to support your child's endeavors...”

She let her words hang in the air, letting them stew a bit, then continued, ”And I also believe the ineptitude of those so-called “Royal Gardeners” needs to be exposed to the world, most especially to their misguided employer. It's such a waste of resources, time, and manpower to let the Glasic Fields be handled by the incompetent, wouldn't you think so, Caveus?”

Caveus chortled a little to himself, amusement in his eyes. ”Now, now, my dear Miss Tearmoon, we both know the Lilim would be more suited to tend to the Fields.”

His face grew serious. ”But you understand the risks at even approaching the Fields, yes? Monsters of an unknown source, unclassable by the Royal Gardeners and their protectors, having taken many lives already…”

”Precisely my point, due to the risks, the task should fall in the hands of those who regularly brush with the wilderness. I assure you, headmaster, that the Feywilds have their feral side as well.” In fact, plenty of fey creatures - especially those without sapience - were commonly classified as monsters by the ‘civilized folks’, ”Those cityborn gardeners are ill-suited for such a task. For everyone’s sake, including theirs, they should retire and let someone more qualified take their place,” She curled a smirk, ”I wonder if there’s a way to... adjust this undesirable status quo, preferably sooner than later.”

Caveus was quiet for a moment, taking another sip of his tea, before he spoke.

”I can see no one better suited to ease it to the Queen than Lord Blackthorne himself. He has already invested so much in the young girl. Perhaps you would like to meet him? He is the master of your young daughter as she serves the Queen. We can set an appointment with him together.”

”Hmmm... you speak wisdom, old friend.” Jezebel murmured as she fiddled with her cup, ”All four of us, how quaint,” Five, actually, fufu~ ”Yes, it shall do, let’s arrange a meeting.”

[The Otter]

Callum Prosser

---

"Dead? All of them? Horse cock. His Grace just accepted my father's request that they take me on a few days ago, and you're telling me every last one of them is dead? That's ridiculous."

"Don't know what to tell you, kid—not one person inside the estate survived the night. Whole place was on edge after..." At the inquisitive eyes of the red-haired young man standing before him, the guard trailed off rather than finish his sentence. Certain comings and goings likely weren't the sort of thing to be mentioned at will. "Well, either way, I'm just glad I wasn't on duty to watch the gate. Rather an unpleasant morning than a few new holes in my skin."

The young man grit his teeth at the response he was getting. Blocked as soon as he arrived, despite the response from Duke Nathan—with the man's seal, no less!—proving that he was meant to be there. Guardsman of the sort always seemed to enjoy these petty games, until the point someone offered a bribe to them, or could utter a threat they'd actually accept...I knew I should've taken the opportunity to just get portaled over here, but no, smart as I am, I decided I'd rather travel the mundane way, take in the sights a bit, enjoy the travel up and around the lake. Stupid.

He clenched his fist, the sword sheathed at his belt twitching sympathetically to the movement before he brought his temper back under control. "I'm afraid, goodman, that I don't have time to play around," he forced out through gritted teeth. Unspoken, of course, was that getting back home would prove a difficulty. A day's travel for a single man and his horse, lengthened to two by a leisurely pace. He'd only set out with as much feed as he needed for the one-way trip, both for himself and his horse. He couldn't well return by boat across the lake with the animal, and to get enough food for it to head back home the opposite direction without chancing foraging would leave him skint and having to hope that he could forage or hunt instead.

But he'd have to chance it if he did have to leave, because taking the way he came, returning home at a faster pace with nothing to show for it...that was a shame he refused to bear.

Refused to believe he might have to bear.

"As the son of The Right Honourable Seumas Prosser, Viscount Dinbevin, here at his request and on the invitation of His Grace, Nathan Corrin, Duke of Vaili and head of this estate, I must insist that I—the Callum Prosser written here in His Grace's own hand—be granted the entry that I am due!"

The guard looked at him tiredly, and sighed—leaning unprofessionally against his halberd, Callum noted with an utterly uncharitable and growing ire—letting his head hang for a moment. Throwing around titles was a dirty trick, both of them there knew it...Callum was embarrassed enough he'd had to resort to it, likely as embarrassed as the guard was having to listen to it, let alone knowing that at that point there was no real recourse to keep denying him entry. What the young man hadn't expected, though, was the sympathetic, exhausted smile he got, rather than the guard falling to the same ill temper as himself.

Somehow, that look made the worry start to gnaw in his gut where nothing else had managed yet.

"Here, sir, I'll take a moment to show you since it's such official business," he said; clearly, he was growing exasperated with the entire situation, it showed in his tone, but his patience had yet to run out, giving the younger yet more pause before he gave a small nod, following along at the guard's beckon.

He still wasn't granted entry to the estate, but looking through a clear window into the chapel showed, clear as the sky above them, that nothing he'd been told had been a lie after all. The duke and his wife lay in state in the center of the chapel, their corpses flanked by those of Sir Roland and Lady Gwyneth. He blinked once, momentarily uncomprehending...before backing away from the window, giving mumbled apology for his rudeness to the guard.

Who waved it off as though it hadn't bothered him at all. "Find your lordship something to eat, aye?" he suggested to the dejected-looking redhead, gesturing off towards the city center. "But hanging around here isn't likely to do you any good, unless you're hoping for more investigative type of folks to come and start asking you about it all."

With that, he was escorted back to the gate of the estate, where he led his horse quietly back into the city...bought a meat pie from a baker, cracking open the hard crust and scooping the filling out with a spoon. "The hell am I to do now?" he asked, pointlessly, to nobody in particular—his horse, maybe, as that was the only living thing that seemed to be listening to him there in the center of Tarin.

[Donut Look Now]

---

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Nyx Heir the Wanderer

_{Skills: Shift
In Collaboration with @ERode}

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---

“I see that Claudia has outdone herself again.”

How else could one explain the arrangement of fresh flowers and the changed drapes, the four extra shelves full of books and the plush, cobalt-patterned cushions adorning the seats? It wasn’t much more ostentatious compared to what normally occupied the bedchambers of the noble suites in Hathforth Castle, but it was undoubtedly to the taste of the Duke that occupied it. Laurent had no talent for horticulture, but he appreciated the flowers all the same. Laurent didn’t even have much time to read, but the smell of ink and parchment was a nostalgic one. And of course, Laurent had no particular musical skill, but he certainly appreciated the talents of those who dedicated themselves to such a human craft.

So he waited for Lady Olivia Rhys to finish her song, applauding gently once the last pluck of the lute’s strings disappeared into the walls of the chamber. There was something eternal about the art produced by the long-lived races, substituting passion and pathos with the weight of experience and history instead. The human bards sang in manners that shook heart and soul; the fey minstrels sang in manners that seared the mind and blood.

But, alas, he could not afford to wait long, after all. Duke Rhinecliff had unfortunately missed the most exciting parts of the day!

“Well now,” the well-dressed man spoke, reclining upon his cobalt-patterned seat, “Please proceed with your report, Olivia. Was this opportunity fruitful?”

‘Olivia’ performed a curtsy before she put her lute down, tucked safely out of anyone’s way. “I fear I might not have been entirely… prepared for this opportunity, Your Grace.” Despite how alarming the whole of the gala had been in the end, there was much left to be desired from the spymaster’s perspective. Alas, there was only so much one could do while playing a character that demanded such a presence such as the Duke.

“I can tell you that Her Royal Majesty continues to wish for the Rhinecliff estate to settle its account with the crown.” Nyx began to pace, needing to get out some of the nervous energy of the day somehow. “In fact, Lady Haliel deigned to call our gift to the Queen an ‘empty gesture’. She seemed rather intent to find out where the last year of tax revenue in Odonfield has ‘disappeared’ to.”

Nyx paused in her pacing to look at Laurent, eyeing his relaxed stature. “I may have run away from her. My apologies, Your Grace.” She waited to see if the Duke had anything to add before she went on with both her report and her pacing.

“Unfortunately, the Duke of Nordor overindulged in spirits and picked a fight with most of the royal court.” Nyx went on to explain how Duchess Bastille had stepped in, that Lady Haliel had suggested a boon for the victor, and the inevitable fall of Duke Willowsteel. “He faces execution in a week’s time.”

“Funny. On one hand, she seeks to tax me and on the other hand, she seeks to rob me. Ah, but I do wish I was there to see the expression on Lady Haliel’s face when you walked away.” There was no comment left for Duke Willowsteel; he had heard already from Duchess Agustria and made his own decision, after all. It was a kind thing, that Arthur had died during the golden years of the province.

“Remind me, Olivia. What do you recall of the Skybound siblings?”

Nyx plopped down in one of the other seats, finally ridding herself of any pretence that she was just a loyal servant as she let herself slouch. Although she would feel more comfortable in her own skin, she would rather conserve that energy in the case of an emergency. “The orphan twins the Queen favours?” She could picture them in her mind, but outside of her knowledge for the deeds the two carried out on behalf of the Wizard Queen, she knew little else. “Dare I ask what you have in mind for me this time?”

The Duke removed his glove, allowing his signet ring to cast its unnatural light in the room. A projection of a memory etched itself upon the opposing wall, the image of the twins as they were just hours ago.

“I had the honour of hosting them back home today. Their loyalty to the Wizard-Queen is self-effacing, while she treats them as one would pawns.” Of course, it wasn’t as if he was all that different in that regard. Perhaps he was colder still, considering what he had implanted in their minds. “Right now, they ought to be returning back to Hathforth, to report the failure of their mission to uncover my treasury. Take your pick and replace them. At the very least, I would like to know if the Wizard-Queen will send another one of her own to claim her ‘taxes’.”

Laurent stroked his moustache briefly.

“Mene is more loyal than Asteria. Considering how much more dangerous the situation would be, if you judge another direct encounter with Evelyn too dangerous, it would be acceptable if you simply spoke to one of the twins as the other.” Though that would entail its own risks. “What say you, Olivia?”

Nyx pretended to think about it as she looked at the projection and listened to the Duke’s explanation. She let loose a heavy sigh before nodding her head. “I must confess, a child will be much easier to play than you were, Your Grace.” She shifted in her seat as she considered the next steps that would be needed.

“Are you asking me to kill the twin that I am to replace? You know my skills in a fight leave much to be desired.” It was why she made a better spy and the main reason she never tried to kill Evelyn herself.

“You think I’m a child-murderer?” Duke Rhinecliff gasped, exaggerating his surprise. “But no, Olivia, I’ve had one of my attendants do their…work on the children. If they hear a specific phrase, they’ll fall into a deep sleep. Store either one of both of them away somewhere secure, and play your role from there. As for the patch of memory that they would be missing, just make sure to tell the Skybound what happened while they’re still asleep, and that’ll work out.”

Nyx rolled her eyes at the Duke’s fake outrage but a small smile curved her lips. “I suppose I must be off again then?” She stood from her comfortable seat and stretched, letting out some of the tension in her shoulders and neck.

“There’ll be a day or two yet before the twins return.” He waved her to sit again. “Until that time comes, feel free to enjoy the banquet food in my stead and relax a little.” A wink. “Consider it a small attempt at rehabilitating my image.”

Nyx could have kissed him for letting her have some reprieve before she would be thrown into the thick of it again. However instead, the changeling fell back into the seat with a happy sigh. “Consider your image already redeemed, Your Grace.” She says with a cheeky tone - if this was her reward for facing against the Queen in his place, she would enjoy it as much as one could.

“Ah, right, one more thing. How are your Sev impressions?”

[LunarParadox]

Court Mage and Advisor Eirwen Blackthorne
Hathforth Castle, Castle Gardens, Hearthfire Gala

@Estylwen@Izurich

"Enlightened."

He said the word slowly, savoring it, how it felt on his tongue. This was...intriguing. It would be amiss of him to not investigate further, at the very least, but this would require delicacy. Such would be the case even if he had been approached on his own, but he had to keep mind of his apprentice as well. "Very well..."

Once their visitor had turned away, he spoke once more. "Given my position, I've a responsibility to investigate this. Be aware that it may be a perilous situation. However, I shall not prevent you from following or not as you see fit." He would meet with this King of Ravenfell, but he would make no promises. Not yet. As for Melisande, he would attempt to keep her safe, but he was not one to make decisions for his students. If she wished to come along, it was not his place to put a stop to it.

Athroyeaux Castle, Throne Room

Since that conversation, Eirwen had thought deeply about the proposition and yet reached no solid conclusion. He knew, eventually, that he would have to make a choice, but it tore at his heart like a beast; who, in the end, should truly deserve his loyalties, his devotion?

He didn't know, and he hated it.

But for now, he would listen, think, play a role as he always did, and so when he stepped into that darkened throne room. The attendants, eerie as they were, he ignored completely, his impassive gaze fixated wholly on the one who sat on the throne. His head inclined, a polite bow that would be expected of him - he had manners, after all, even if this were not his ruler. "My Lord. I come at the behest of your gracious invitation."

Hathforth Castle, Workshop

Eirwen, alongside his apprentice, devoted himself wholly to the Queen's assignment. He barely ate nor slept, only enough so that he wouldn't faint in the midst of his work, despite the cajoling of his servants to be a little easier on himself. At one point he did drift off at his desk, but awoke not long after with a start, hoping his apprentice hadn't managed to witness that little slip up. He felt a twinge of embarrassment before the seed washed it away.

Hathforth Castle, Harbor

Now dressed in his regal, official attire, Eirwen held the Queen's completed treasure with all the extreme delicacy and care it required. The multicolored seed was hidden within the iron box he wielded, the metal engraved with runic incantations and protections - some overkill, perhaps, but he could not afford any mishaps.

"My Queen. I am delighted to present you the rewards of our long efforts." His face and tone showed none of the delight he claimed to feel, but the Queen was surely used to that by now. It was simply the way he was, ever since the day he'd picked up that seed.

[Estylwen]

Tarin, Garden Plaza

@The Otter

---

"The hell am I to do now?"

Callum

“Whatever you want, really.”

A young man clad in black leather, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head, riding on the top of a huge wolf, walked past the lad.

He propped himself on an elbow, looking down at the young man and his meat pie. “You could turn around and go home. That's the easy thing to do. That's what I would do.”

With a low chuckle, he slid down his grey wolf, giving it a pat and speaking in a low tone before the wolf laid down on its belly, tail curling around it, waiting.

The man, running a hand through his dark locks, appeared to revel in his own handsomeness for a moment before he continued to speak, his tone dropping a note.

“But I think we both know you're… Not that type of person. No, you're dreaming of something more. That's why you're out here in the first place, ain't it?”

He approached Callum, gloved hand dripping to dip a pinky into Callum's meat pie. He licked the filling off his finger, a satisfied smile growing on his face.

“Mm, tasty. Names's Raiden, by the way.”

Raiden took a seat beside Callum, hands steepling in front of him.

“House Corrin is a tragedy I fear will become all too common. I also have a feeling I know who's behind it.”

He gave a short sigh, his head dropping a bit, luscious locks curling over his dark eyes.

“Getting proof, however, is a tricky thing. But in my searching, I've come across something else. Something that may be more… pressing. Something in Athius. Something big.”

Raiden's wolf lifted his head, growling a bit as light footsteps approached the bench.

“Oh, what nonsense is this. A Sparrow feathering the new prospect with fantasies?” A young girl with light brown hair, dressed in a frilly and detailed pink dress, a hand held over her mouth in a distaining gesture, looked over the two of them.

“Lady Furino…” Raiden leveled the same distained look. “Why am I not surprised?”

Anabel scoffed lightly, and instead addressed Callum. “Whatever drivel he's trying to sell you, you should know that it will only end in hardship, pain, and dead ends. That's how rebellions and conspiracies end up when they’re against the Queen.”

Raiden leaned back in the bench, gesturing wide and easy.

“Come now, Lady Furino, I'm an honest man. I'd never lead our young lord astray as such.” He said, giving Callum a playful wink.

Anabel gave him a flat stare, letting a beat pass before speaking in a disbeliving tone. “Yeah? The same honest man I saw hussying up the bar maid at the tavern down the street?”

Raiden’s gaze immediately soured, to Anabel's triumph. She continued,

“You think you're all honour and virtue, but you're scummier than the men who follow the red light in the dead of night.”

Raiden fumed, but was silent, encouraging Anabel to turn to Callum with a prideful smile.

“I have a proposition for you, Lord Prosser. Her Majesty is looking for folks willing to test their mettle, to protect her on her voyage. She would reward you handsomely, maybe even with a title, and a place among her guard.”

Raiden's eyes widened in alarm, and he leaned forward in his seat, grabbing Callum by the shoulder.

“Don't listen to her, listen to me. Dealing with royalty just isn't worth the trouble. Why don't you stuck with me, and we can talk a little more…”

Anabel’s face soured, and she stamped a little foot, staring at him in an accusatory manner.

“You vile man, you dare to sully this boy with your wicked ways?”

Raiden lifted his hands in mock surrender. “No, no, it's not like that-”

“Quiet, you scoundrel!” Turning to Callum, Anabel continued. “I'm talking about Her Majesty. A one-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you. You wouldn't have to struggle anymore about your place in the world!”

---

Earlier That Week…

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The Grand Bank, Duchess Agustria's Estate

_{In collaboration with @Click This}

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A few days after the Hearthfire Gala, the Wizard Queen decided to make her appointment with the Duchess of Caelin.

All was going according to plan. Her Court Mage and his new apprentice were working on her top secret project. By the time it was ready, her boats to Athius would be stocked and filled with her chosen crew.

Now it was a matter of organizing her little ‘tour’ with the good duchess. It wasn't a military operation she was setting up for, so she didn't imagine Duchess Agustria would have much to worry about.

Formalities were formalities, however. And, just outside Duchess Augstria's estate, a portal morphed into existence. Out walked ten royal guardsmen, a few servants, and the Wizard Queen herself, dressed in elegant flowing robes for the occasion.

As the portal faded, one of her guardsmen walked up to the estate door, and knocked. “Her Majesty the Queen wishes to speak with the Duchess of Caelin.”

The Wizard Queen’s portal opened up to a grand estate against the Caelin Coast. It wasn’t strictly a fortified castle –the island and the fortified port of Grand Bank functioned well enough as one– and she and her entourage were greeted with a picturesque large garden, with marble fountains spouting water in elaborate patterns, fed by an impressive system of pipes. Her manor house was also built in a similar style of intricately carved white marble, with large, open windows. The trading and banking wealth of Caelin was truly on display here.

The guardsmen of the duchy were caught slightly off-guard as the men standing guard at the gates turned back and looked at the surprise arrival of the queen, but it only took a few moments for the door to open and reveal a white-uniformed and headdressed maid. She had an arming sword at the side, so she was one of Mirie’s personal guards. Upon seeing that their unexpected guests were indeed the Wizard Queen and her guards, she gave her a graceful bow. This was highly irregular to her, but with as esteemed as a guest that could be possible, she put on her best business smile and welcomed the queen.

“Your Majesty, please, come in. My lady will be around shortly. May I show you and your party to the drawing room?”

The Wizard Queen seemed to be enjoying the sights. Visiting Duchess Agustria's estate was always one of the province's true delights. The view was impressive and expansive, as always.

The Wizard Queen nodded to the maid addressing them, noting her sword with a head tilt. “Please. But first, a gift for the House.”

She gestured to her servants, and they stepped forward. One carried a case of Gold-touch Wine, the second carried a fair-sized oil painting of the Fey River pouring out of the Torna Mountains. The last carried a small leather jewelery box, opened to reveal a pearl necklace, the light causing the pearls to shimmer with pastel colours.

“These are gifts for Her Grace, Duchess Agustria,” said one of the servants in a soft voice to the maid. “We hope they please her.”

The maid inclined her head in turn, accepting the three gifts. “I’m sure the Duchess will find these quality gifts quite pleasing indeed,” she smiled. By this time, the minor commotion had attracted other members of the household staff, but they were disciplined and did not crowd the queen. Another servant approached, taking the gifts to be set aside in the drawing room while the maid showed the Queen to the room in question.

Being the room to receive guests, it was the best decorated space in the estate, fit even for a queen. Paintings from famous artists hung on the walls, together with furniture from both classic local masters and from abroad. The moment the Wizard Queen was seated, the servants already began to prepare refreshments for their guests.

The Duchess of Caelin entered after a few minutes. She too wore an elegant dress, black as usual, although compared to her similar gala dress, it had a more modest neckline and a different embroidery. “Your Majesty, welcome again to Caelin,” she greeted. Speaking with some amusement, she continued “I would ask if your journey was pleasant, but I’ve been informed that yours has been rather brief.”

“Yes, well,” The Wizard Queen gestured to the gem in the center of her crown. “Travels tend to be a bit faster with the help of a seed.”

The guards and servants had taken their positions along the walls behind the Wizard Queen, standing at attention and not making a sound. Available and ready, if needed.

The Wizard Queen smoothed out her dress where she sat, smiling lightly at the Merchant Duchess.

“We have much to discuss, my dear duchess. Please, sit with me, and let's talk. Like old times.”

She waited for Duchess Agustria to sit, if she would, before continuing.

“As I mentioned at the gala, I have business with Athius. We will be within your territory, and I wanted to organize to what suits you and your merchant ships the best.”

She leaned a little forward in her seat, hands gently folded in front of her. “We plan to be there for no longer than a week. My company will span about ten naval ships, not including the merchant ships you wish to lend us. I could also use a navigator on the crown ship to lead us safely.”

Mirie took a seat opposite of the queen, making an amused smile at her quip. Internally, she frowned slightly– it was an obvious powerplay, a reminder of the gulf that existed between the queen and the duchies, and that the queen, in theory, could come and go as she pleased. It was certainly something she had to account for if Caelin was ultimately drawn into the civil war on the opposite side.

“Indeed,” she replied, sharpening her mind as the Wizard Queen cut right to the chase. While the queen’s servants stood on standby, Mirie’s was still making themselves useful as they set up a tea service on the table between them, with an imported bergamot blend, and a collection of small pastries plated on a tiered serving tray to accompany the hot drink.

The upcoming Athius expedition hadn’t left Mirie’s mind since the Queen had mentioned it in the gala. Duke Grimhand’s conspiratorial words couldn’t help but to rise unbidden from her memory as well, no matter how ridiculous it was. Nonetheless, she knew that there was something more to Athius, and was the reason that she had maneuvered for some oversight to begin with. The fact that the Queen intended her fleet to loiter above for as long as a week lent credence that there was either a great secret or treasure there– potentially something that might change the balance of power in Arrowfell.

The capacity for the Grand Bank to easily resupply even a fleet of 13 was a given, so it wasn’t even acknowledged. She nodded. “I can lend you a skilled navigator, that will not be a problem.” She already had a list of people loyal and skilled enough for the role. “As for vessels, I can spare three ocean-built ships,” she continued, after a moment’s consideration. These large ships were naval-built, to a higher standard of quality, even if they didn’t usually carry soldiers or more than the typical number of weapons found on normal merchant vessels. They offered great flexibility, though, and Mirie intended to load them up with a few experts of her own to observe.

She paused then, canting her head slightly. “Athius is host to all manner of myth and legend. I must confess, as a scholar of history myself, I’m intrigued. Have your own scholars discovered a breakthrough to warrant such a large expedition?”

The Wizard Queen smiled, pleased with the duchess’ reply. She took a sip of the bergamot tea offered, raising the china to her lips. Fresh, with a citrus zing. Very enjoyable. She allowed herself a satisfied gaze as she set the tea down.

Placing her hands on her lap, the Wizard Queen held herself in a completely regal position as she addressed Duchess Agustria's scholarly question. Her voice was calm, with much pause.

“You know of my adoptive daughter, Princess Azalea? It's true she’s from Athius. And she's shared an insight or two from her homeland.”

The Wizard Queen raised a hand, as if painting a picture. “Treasures of the deep ripe for the taking, gold of long lost civilizations strewn about ocean floors. Fish imbued with magic to make its meat the most succulent.”

Then she paused, the light smile still on her face. “My daughter told me of one other element native to Athius. One that has caused the inhabitants under the water to darent venture to the surface. A beast so terrifying, to see it would cause a man to die of fear…”

The Wizard Queen took another sip of her tea. “There is plenty to be discovered in Athius, and I hope my expedition unravels some of the mysteries of the deep that will benefit Arrowfell as a whole…”

Mirie brought her cup of tea to her lips. She sipped calmly, but her mind raced at what the Queen revealed. Duke Grimhand’s rumors had been fully substantiated– and more, if the Queen’s words were true, and given the context, the duchess did not doubt it. This was no simple investigative expedition. The question was, what did she gain from revealing it to her personally, and most importantly, what did it mean for the balance of power in Arrowfell if she was successful? She suspected the queen was going to offer some reward in exchange for closer cooperation. No doubt if Mirie could leverage the found riches and fish for herself, she could propel Caelin to greater prosperity, and further her own agenda in Arrowfell… but at the same time, it could be a poisoned chalice.

“I see. That is… interesting,” she finally replied. She pushed aside the geopolitical considerations of the existence of a potential underwater civilization within territory she claimed for a moment, and focused on the most concerning issue. “This is looking like more than a simple exploratory mission. Your other revelations are most intriguing, but will this creature be a threat to the fleet, or the province itself?”

The Wizard Queen smiled, picking up one of the cream puffs off the platter, a Caelin delicacy, from what she had heard. She watched her servant take a bite from the platter as well. Seeing no adverse effects with him, she also partook.

Delicious.

A sip of tea, as the Wizard Queen delicately, fondly, held onto the duchess’ curiosity.

”I will be present, my observant friend. No harm will come to your fleets. They will be tasked with bringing us to Athius. I will expect nothing more of them once we reach that point.

“And in the right hands, what I hope to recover will be a boon to the province. A protection against those ghosts at the Ravenfell border.”

Her face darkened. “A protection from anyone who would disturb the peace of this great nation.”

A knowing smile behind her teacup. ”Of course, as thanks to your efforts, when we are done, I will give you a part of the seed that enables one to move underwater, so you may begin trade relations with the dwellers my daughter has told me live there. It would be quite the opportunity for you, a once-in-a-lifetime, if I'm not mistaken.”

Duchess Agustria leaned in slightly at the Wizard Queen’s words, but soon followed up by taking a puff pastry of her own, chewing on it as she briefly considered the further information she had revealed. The gift of a seed of that caliber was truly a temptation. It was not the prospect of additional trade, but the allure of another opening up another channel in the web of connections. But at the same time, it felt like success for the Queen would irrevocably change the balance of power, and as much as she valued profit, what was best for Caelin was the status quo. And with a duke already on the chopping block, and another mysteriously dead, these were dangerous waters indeed. Nonetheless, Caelin would benefit either way.

“A very generous offer. I am sure my ships will perform admirably as escorts,” she nodded, before making a concerned face at the mention of their ghostly neighbors. “Curiosity dictates me to ask: what manner of protection do you hope to find? I am all too aware of the shades across the border. Their recently spectral nature is… disconcerting.”

Mirie commiserated with the Queen there. While she didn’t outright view the king of Ravenfell as hostile like she clearly did, she was very wary of him. Who wouldn’t be, of a man that consigned his entire kingdom to undeath?

”Disconcerting, indeed…” The Wizard Queen nodded. She took another sip of her tea, before offering a proportion with a light smile.

”Why don't you come with us on our voyage, Duchess Agustria? So you can see for yourself the protection I refer to?”

That was not the answer that Mirie wanted, but she smiled back. Attending would not be an issue, however. “Not doing any favors for my curiosity, I see,” she replied after a few moments, with a chuckle. “I’ll have to spare a few more ships, but I suppose I can.”

“Wonderful, I will send a raven to let you know of our departure to the Grand Bank.” The Wizard Queen said, before she finished her tea.

“Now, I do understand you're a busy noble, Duchess Agustria. Was there anything else you wished to speak on?”

Mirie took one last sip, and shook her head. “Nothing that would warrant keeping you from your own undoubtedly busy itinerary, Your Majesty. I shall see you again in just under a week’s time, then.”

[The Otter]

Callum Prosser

---

@Estylwen

---

Not my pie, come on!

Callum looked blankly on at the talking man as he licked his finger clean of the gravy he'd so brazenly helped himself to. His expression was intentionally so; being so suddenly accosted, his horse shying back from the wolf almost instantly, and with the roguish man almost immediately talking about the late duke and his family...Something about it all added up to an assumption that he'd been watched and followed, at least as soon as he'd arrived at the estate. Perhaps even earlier.

Regardless, this 'Raiden' didn't talk like an aristocrat. Not entirely like a peasant either. Some high ranking servant, maybe—and if one to the Corrin family, then there was a decent chance that he'd been expecting Callum the entire time. Friendly or not had yet to be determined.

But why not meet me just outside the estate, then? Worried more than the guards?

I can't believe he just dipped that glove right into my pie. I have no idea where that thing's been, and he just stick it straight into the middle without a thought.

What's with the whole pretty-boy act, anyways? Going to flutter your eyelashes at me next?

Down three copper pieces for the pie—too generous but the baker was nice—so I've got nine left. Easy if I run straight back home, but if I take the long way, I'm going to have to visit a money changer for any of the better coins, and I know I'll lose out on that deal...

Wait, did that gravy drip on my trousers? I hope it's just some dirt, or a drip from my water. I'll lose my mind if that's a stain from this pie...

Whether there was anybody present that might want to pry inside his head or not, he wasn't going to take any chances after being so suddenly confronted. Even without working his bit of magic the constant flow of thoughts would make it hard to pick up on anything useful—let them come as they would, he was more than practiced enough to actually keep his focus on what was important even while letting his mind wander so.

He glanced over as the wolf growled, his horse shying back further yet, as another person joined what was turning out to be a more eventful lunch than he'd planned. Clearly the pair knew each other—their mutual disdain was palpable enough he could about pluck it out of the air and wear it like a scarf—and the girl didn't shy away from bandying insults about with abandon. Clearly someone of the gentry from the outset, and Raiden's own recognition cemented the assumption.

Lady Furino. He knew of that one, even though he'd never met her; one of the youngest enfeoffed nobles in the province, bar some few titular lords, children of knights who held their own manors who perished in the new queen's ascension. The sole member of her family who had abandoned pride in favour of life, his eldest brother had said at one point. Likely, they had met, and even if they hadn't, the Dinbevin Viscountcy wasn't exactly an unknown factor in local politics, even if the reputation was rarely a great one.

"You both seem to have me at a disadvantage," he said coolly, after the pair had finished their own sparring and Baroness Furino turned to address him directly once again. "But, my lady, if you know who I am, then I'm sure you know better than to call me lord." Had he been his eldest brother, they would have been of the same rank—the eldest son of a viscount stood shoulder to shoulder with a baron, after all. But Callum was the fifth child, a squire whose education in that realm was incomplete, foiled twice over by sudden death.

She was being even more generous calling him lord than he'd been with the baker.

The danger sense that had been prickling the back of his neck the second Raiden arrived was only growing stronger with every passing moment in the company of these two obvious enemies, with himself the least prepared for any such politics as he was now forced to engage with under their gazes. One, another noble, close to the royal court, and obviously experienced at this whole game...groomed by the queen herself, if he had to guess. The other, a commoner, yet one known to a member of the royal court, willing to stand toe to toe against her. Less composed for an instant, but she followed suit.

Nobility always had to be careful with each other. Commoners, too; they were oftentimes even more important to court than your peers. Dangerous in numbers at all times. But here, these two...exceptionally dangerous, and both alone. Not for the first time he began to wish he'd accepted his eldest brother's offer to accompany him to Tarin and see him off. 'For safety,' he'd said; it was known that there was little love lost between Duke Nathan's family and the queen, second only to the dukes of Odonfield and Nordor, the latter of whom had recently been taken prisoner, as he'd heard said in the city square.

"...But, maybe, you mistake me for Allan? My father's heir and I are of a height, while our other brothers seemed to have inherited more of our grandfather's size. He's only recently started growing out his beard, without it we do look remarkably alike." Yet another reason that their father had hoped he would take the path of merchant and advisor for his eldest brother—unlike the rest, he could always operate as a stand-in and leave most people none the wiser. He gave the girl a smile, shrugging off Raiden's hand on his shoulder.

Leaning too obviously to one or the other would be worse than if he messed up a negotiation with any adept traders. Those would lead to a metaphorical knife in the coinpurse, perhaps a literal one if they were affiliated with any of the criminals that always followed the flow of money. Choosing either of these two too quickly...he doubted he'd survive the week. "I'd hate to cut this friendly reunion short by agreeing to anything too soon, something I'm sure you both understand. I need some time to get my wits about me, anyways—finding out the fate of those who were to bear my charge was quite a shock. Maybe we can all discuss it further through the day...or, perhaps, over dinner, once I satisfy my need of lodging?"

[Click This]

Collab with @ERode

---

Smiling, Duke Rhinecliff watched the children leave, escorted by one of his maids. He slipped a timepiece out from the folds of his cloak, observed the present time, then clicked the ornate piece shut again, sliding it back into his inner pockets.

“Well, Mirie,” he spoke, his tone sliding into a more casual manner now that there were only equals present, “Would you believe me if I told you that I was mostly clueless during all this?”

Glancing at his pocket watch for a moment, Duchess Agustria shook her head, with a light snort. “I would believe it. Masterfully played, nonetheless. I had to put the pieces together myself.” She glanced at the wine still on the table, and then sighed.

“I see the Queen is becoming far bolder. Does this change any of your plans?”

“She has always been bold; it changes little.”

The Glasic Fields still must be obtained, and the duchies must form a united ground. The influence of exterior forces wishing to take advantage of the chaos must be managed, while measures must be taken to counter the overwhelming power that the Seeds presented. Far too many pieces to be put into place. He reciprocated the Duchess’s sigh with his own, then managed a smile once more.

“Still, your thoughts on my double? I do hope he hasn’t done anything so dramatic as fling himself towards the Queen at first sight?”

Mirie chuckled lightly. “And that would not have been the most dramatic moment of the gala. No, ‘he’ has acquitted himself well. Beyond my expectations, in fact, but there will still be questions…”
Tapping the wine glass she brought from the gala, she changed the topic. “Much has happened in the past few hours. The Court Mage has a new apprentice, Duke Willowsteel has had too much to drink and is to be executed, and the Queen intends to travel to Athius for reasons I’ve yet to discern. Still intending to swap, Laurent?”

“That stupid boy…”

He allowed himself but a moment to furrow his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose. Odonfield and Nordor had warred against each other before. The late Arthur Willowsteel had been a brilliant lord and leader, even when all he held was human strength and common steel versus the spellwork of scholars and sorcerers. His only son, degraded in times of peace, seemed only fit to make trouble.

“With news such as that, I’ve no recourse but to make the swap, it appears. As for Athius, however…” The Duke contemplated that nugget of knowledge briefly. “The build up of an invading force, and the pretext to send them elsewhere. Considering the proximity of those wicked waves to the Grand Bank, could that not be a ploy to claim the sister port as the Queen’s own?”

His eyes met Mirie’s.

“If all it takes is a drunken episode to justify the execution of a duke, what more does Evelyn need to claim the head of a duchess?”

She frowned, contemplating the scenario Laurent raised. However, the pieces didn’t fit. Caelin was infamous for holding out against King Ludwig, after all– and she could do it far better than her father ever could.

“It’s unlikely. The forces she would need to muster to challenge both my fleet and the fortifications of the Grand Bank would require preparation months in advance. It would not be discrete, and frankly, she would have little reason to take a swing at little old me rather than you,” she said in jest, although the facts remained. “No, she has other designs, but Sev’s fate is just as pressing. He deserves better, but the words he spoke were treason. I fear my hands may be tied.”

“So long as you exercise due caution when she demands you let her ships dock at your ports, Mirie, I suppose a landbound duke has no grounds to give advice to a seabound one.” He gestured towards a servant, who stepped in to present a case of cigars. Taking one, the duke motioned for Mirie to take the other. “Sev’s words were only treasonous because he failed. If not, Evelyn would be hanging herself for what she’s done, no?”

Military might mattered in the end, no matter how much soft power one could project. An arcane sigil was drawn into the air, before a candleflame floated above his index finger, igniting the cigar.

“What value do you think Nordor has, in the coming conflict?”

Mirie inclined her head, and accepted an offered cigar. It wasn’t her usual choice of vice, but Laurant did have nice cigars. “Where it matters? An entire duchy’s worth of manpower. Nordor offers little in the way of location. It is annoying to get to, its resources are lacking, and its economy is simple and agricultural, with little else besides wine and crops. All things you are aware of, no doubt.”

Broken away from the Queen’s taxes, though, she knew that even a relative backwater like Nordor could still put a decent offering into a warchest, if it was needed. And, without a doubt, the levies from Nordor could make or break the difference in a coming civil war.

“Being out of the way is its own benefit,” Laurent nodded. Battles could be won with magic, but wars were still reliant on people…so long as there wasn’t a Seed that invalidated that particular fact. Supplies were necessary then, as well as a fallback point if necessary. “It would have been good if Sev had kept his claws sheathed, but I suppose that would be too much to ask.”

A map of Arrowfell twisted and stretched in his mind, mental calculations of distances, of how quickly the word could get out, how many pieces he could move at once. To rouse and collar rebellious forces within Nordor, to have dialogue with the Tearmoon coven, to time everything in a way that would maximize the benefits…

“I don’t suppose you’d know of the Queen’s timeline for her voyage to Althius?”

The Duchess considered the Queen’s words at the gala. “In a few weeks. I’ll keep you apprised… the more I think of it, whatever she’s going to do will be of greater import than I originally thought.”

And that was already with the pieces moving on the mainland. Mirie’s influence was especially limited in the hinterlands like Nordor, but Caelin’s reputation for neutrality, feigned or not, depended on things like this. “Do you intend to make a move on Nordor, or mount a rescue?”

“That’d depend on Sev himself.”

Though he had his preferences, there was no point in being forceful at this stage.

“I reckon that there’s plenty of other things that can be done in the Queen’s absence, after all.”

That was enough of an answer for Mirie. “No doubt.” She pulled out her own pocket watch from within her pocket, briefly checking the time.

“Shall we?”

[Estylwen]

Tarin, Garden Plaza

@The Otter

---

"But, my lady, if you know who I am, then I'm sure you know better than to call me lord."

Callum

Anabel smiled sweetly. ”Oh Lord Prosser, were you sleeping during your classes? The children of nobility are all called lords or ladies as a way of being polite.”

Raiden looked to the side, smirking. ”And I imagine you were the teacher's favorite, my lady?”

Anabel fumed, stamping her foot again at Raiden. It was almost comical, seeing the small, round and puffy stature of Lady Furino, like a Caelin cream puff, making a fuss at Raiden. Raiden, in contract, was this dark, lithe and tall figure, at least twice the height of little Furino.

"...But, maybe, you mistake me for Allan? My father's heir and I are of a height, while our other brothers seemed to have inherited more of our grandfather's size. He's only recently started growing out his beard, without it we do look remarkably alike."

Callum

Raiden shook his head at that as he sat beside the young noble. ”Now why would I want your brother? No, you had the good fortune of coming to Tarin at the behest of the late duke himself. The All-force smiles on you, young Prosser. Your fate and mine are intertwined!”

Anabel leveled a flat look at Raiden. “That's just a fancy way of saying you've been stalking him this whole time, haven't you?”

Raiden twisted his lip at the young girl. “You want to air out the dirty linens? Fine, my lady. I might have been ensuring the safety of our young lord, but you, why are you here?”

A cheeky grin spread over his face. “You were stalking me, weren't you?”

Anabel's face grew hot, and she crossed her arms over herself, as if in an attempt to hide her secrets from the group. “N-no! Why would I do that?”

Her lips pursed together before she said to the side quietly. “Okay, maybe I was.” Then she spoke with more force. “But when I saw who you were tailing, I had to intervene! You, Mister Raiden Asher of the Sparrows, are not a man to be trusted! Especially not with a young, impressionable boy!”

Raiden gave a low chuckle. “Forgive me but, aren't you a young, impressionable girl then by that regard, my lady?”

Anabel fumed. “This isn't about me, stop deflecting!”

"I'd hate to cut this friendly reunion short by agreeing to anything too soon, something I'm sure you both understand. I need some time to get my wits about me, anyways—finding out the fate of those who were to bear my charge was quite a shock. Maybe we can all discuss it further through the day...or, perhaps, over dinner, once I satisfy my need of lodging?"

Callum

Both looked at Callum for a long, long moment, before exchanging a glance between the two of them.

Anabel was the first to speak up, coughing lightly into her fist, undeterred. “It just so happens that I know a fine establishment just down the way from this garden plaza. You would only need to say my name at the counter, and they would bill the lodgings to my estate.”

She held up a hand to quell any rebuttal from Callum, smiling sweetly. “Oh, I insist! You're a guest here, aren't you? It would be impolite to force you to pay. Besides, we will be discussing this more over dinner, yes?”

Raiden gave her a look. “Ain't nothing to talk about, my lady. Not with you.”

Anabel only smiled. “I'd dare to disagree, Sparrow.”

Anabel pointed east down the path, to a building with a hanging sign that read ‘Eagle Inn - Vacancies’. “There, Eagle Inn, you can't miss it. It has a tavern and warm rooms, and a place to bed and feed your horse.”

She began walking away, “Remember, give my name at the counter, and you won't be billed. I'll see you in the evening.”

Raiden sighed, watching her go, before he gave a look to Kai, his wolf. “Kai and I have some business in the city, so we will meet you at Eagle’s tavern tonight.”

He glanced back at Callum, standing. “Well, I’ll leave you to your meat pie, little lord. It is quite tasty.”

A small chuckle as he mounted Kai, and giving Callum’s horse a wide berth, made their way into the city in the opposite direction.

If Callum were to make his way to Eagle Inn, it would be noticeably nicer than most inns. Fresh wood floors, whole oak beams, and the smell of boiled milk and ale through the door to the tavern on the right. Straight ahead would be a counter with an attendant standing behind it, idly looking over parchments. To the left was a stairwell that would lead to the rooms.

[Donut Look Now]

---

---

Nyx Heir the Wanderer

Hathforth, Plaza Facing the Pier

_{Skills: Shift}

---

---

The viscounts and their single guard made way for the pier, eyes on the magnificent Battle-Blood Minstrel.

@Estylwen

Nyx takes a deep breath, glancing at her reflection in one of the window panes nearby. She had taken the form of one of the many children that live around the Duke of Rhinecliff, choosing one that looked close in age to the orphan twins. She holds on tightly to her arm full of flowers before she dashes awkwardly and quickly towards the pier, her sights set on the viscounts.

Careful to appear clumsy and uncoordinated, Nyx lets herself trip and fall face flat in their path, the flowers scattering all around, some being carried off by the wind. She looks up with a face full of despair. “Oh no! My flowers!”

With little regard to the nobles next to her, she tries to gather up the flowers in haste as more get away from her. When she finally straightens, she has very little remaining of the wildflowers she had collected. “Mum’s gonna kill me…”

It’s only then that Nyx ‘realizes’ she’s not alone and looks from the viscounts to their guard and back to the twins. “Oh! P-pardon me, my lord and lady.” She conducts a shaky curtsy and bob of her head, trembling with fright.

[Irradiant]

Duke Laurent Rhinecliff & Duchess Altina Freya Bastille

At an undisclosed location in the township of Dinbevin, date unknown

---

Collaborator: @ERode

“How long has it been, since we’ve shared a carriage?”

Blue smoke escaped the lips of Duke Rhinecliff. To call it a carriage was accurate, but it was certainly a modest thing compared to the ornate, gold-gilded things that usually carried nobility so prestigious as the duchal lords of two of Arrowfell’s city-states. Odonfield and Agrovia. One, a bastion of the mind, both in fostering and in altering. The other, a bastion of the body, in the strengthening of flesh and the armament of people.

They have never shared a carriage before. At least, not this generation.

He looked at the lady sitting opposite beside him, the carriage occasionally bumping as the wheels struck a rock or traversed a dip in the road. Duchess Altina Bastille was lethal in any range, but here, in particular? Both seated, neither with their guards at hand? He was not so arrogant as to presume that he held any advantages if it came to blows.

But it won’t.

“It is a shame, what happened to Duke Willowsteel.”

The embers burned.

“But I hope you’d agree, Duchess Bastille, that it is an insult, what happened to House Corrin.”

A look of curiosity befell Altina at Duke Rhinecliff's mention of Nordorian duke. Not much time had elapsed since the man was sentenced to death, and here she sat, seemingly without a care in the world despite being partly to blame for his impending doom. She let Duke Rhinecliff's comments linger before airing out her opinions.

"You are certainly free to think that way," she would state matter-of-factly. "But I prefer to reserve the phrase for those who truly deserve it."

Her hand tensed momentarily, as if remembering her duel with Duke Willowsteel. "A gifted swordsman he is, yet a novice in all other respects of rulership. Your pity is better spent elsewhere." The words themselves may have been severe, but Altina did not punctuate them with her usual mocking demeanor. Perhaps deep down, she felt otherwise. Regardless, she would not sit on this feeling. Not with more pressing matters at hand.

"Ah, yes, an insult indeed," she would respond, echoing Duke Rhinecliff's sentiment. "Imagine... An entire ducal family, all mysteriously killed, just like that," she added with a snap of a finger. "And not a second too long after good ol' Sev Willowsteel's verdict. How coincidental." Her lips practically dripped with sarcasm. "Was it brigands? Thieves seeking the fortunes of a Duke? Mayhaps... A heist gone wrong?" She was beginning to tire of the act.

"I will dispense with any pretense here. I believe the fault lies with the tyrant."

After all, the Corrins too opposed the Wizard Queen, and they were not quiet about it. Their sudden assassination was akin to firing off the first shot: an instigation of conflict, and one Altina would answer with her own loaded barrel.

"But what say you, wise Duke Rhinecliff? Do you believe there's more to this than meets the eye? Or is it exactly what it purports?"

“I spoke of shame, not pity,” the Duke replied, tapping the smouldering ash into a clay tray. “Though I do believe that the loss of Corrin was a coincidence. Orders travel slowly, after all. And promises are hard to rein in.”

He paused, then drew out a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his suit, handing it over to the woman before him. It was a map of Hathforth’s territories, one of the outermost regions marked in ink.

“The Wizard-Queen’s preference for mercenaries is certainly well-documented. In this case, considering how few true conflicts there have been over the last two years, it’s curious for one such band, one such leader of a band, to be gifted a fiefdom within her sphere of influence.” Laurent chuckled lightly. “I’m no warlord myself, but have you heard of the Hands of Iron?”

The chuckle transitioned into a smile.

“A mercenary company capable of overthrowing a duchal household would certainly be a powerful one, no? Especially when Knight Roland Corrin, a Royal Knight, stands against them.”

Altina unfurled the parchment now in her hands as she listened to the duke's insights. "The Hands of Iron..." She shook her head. "I'm afraid not; I cannot say I have heard of them."

A pensive expression would color her face. To already be privy to such intelligence... The duke's connections must run deep, she mused. Experience was a powerful thing, and Duke Rhinecliff possessed much of it, having been the long-standing leader of Odonfield. Perhaps the duke had been through this particular song and dance before, thus allowing him to make informed inferences. It wouldn't have surprised Altina if such a thing was true. The duke had been at the helm of his duchy even before she was born. From those years of leadership and servitude, Altina could only imagine the wealth of knowledge he would have amassed. Knowledge that would ultimately sharpen his intuition. The duke was cunning, if nothing else — a quality that the duchess found both admirable and fearsome.

She stared at the parchment again, scanning its contents. "Do you mean to suggest an agreement had taken place? Between the Wizard Queen and this mercenary group?"

A slight narrowing of the eyes. "That bodes ill, if true."

The duke was right: this mercenary group would have to be powerful indeed to topple the Corrin household. But with the Hathforth monarch's resources and backing, one could very well call the scales even.

A mischievous smile. "Though, I've half a mind to think you've prepared something precisely for this scenario."

“There’s certainly space to make moves while the Queen’s off on her adventure, but please,” Duke Rhinecliff laughed. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m a wizard. It would be arrogant and exhausting to have preparations for every possible scenario.”

The carriage slowed, though the paper windows obscured yet where they were.

“Though I suppose I am lucky on occasion. If I shared my fortune, Duchess Bastille, would you be willing to look into this for me?”

Altina would fold her hands on her lap. "Oh?" Her eyes would widen a bit after hearing the duke's proposition. A fruit of the brightest sheen was being dangled in front of her, and who was she to refuse it?

Her hands now cupped the sides of her face. "Consider it done. I will hold you to your word, Duke Rhinecliff."

“You don’t need to trust my word.”

The carriage rolled to a stop. He extinguished his cigar, a line of ash against the crystal.

“There was a survivor. I’ll let you have them, Duchess Bastille.”

[Irradiant]

Duchess Altina Freya Bastille, The "Valkyrie"

At an undisclosed location in the township of Dinbevin, date unknown

---

IV: Smoldering Embers

@ERode

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Altina couldn’t help but wonder where the duke had taken her. Curiously, they were in a corner of Arrowfell that the duchess was unfamiliar with: the town of Dinbevin. Altina occasionally exchanged pleasantries with its viscount during the Wizard Queen’s many galas, but her interactions with the man were largely superficial.

The duchess cast a careful eye on her surroundings. Never mind being in uncharted territory, even this sector of Dinbevin seemed to be particularly isolated from the rest of society. Surely the duke did not intend to do her harm here? Better yet, dispose of her here even! It would make for the perfect place, after all. She briefly giggled at the thought, realizing its frivolity, before inevitably letting it fade into aether.

In front of Altina stood a modest cabin. From the tell-tale signs of rust on its eaves to the noticeable splinters on its wood, it was no doubt starting to show its age. Nevertheless, it still seemed serviceable enough for habitation. Altina was all too accustomed to fancy manses and pristine furnishings. Perhaps being stripped of such luxuries would offer a refreshing change of pace.

The door would swing open, the creaking of its hinge sounding like crickets in summer. As for the survivor the duke mentioned, she would soon make herself known.

“Ah, if it isn’t the three-faced Duchess of Agrovia,” the black-haired woman spat as Altina entered her visual periphery. “To what do I owe this displeasure?” Her contempt for Altina was evident from the way she spoke. Respect? Courtesy? Her words utterly lacked them.

Altina stared blankly before allowing a glimpse of a smirk to overtake her expression. “Islara Yelren, friend to the late Roland Corrin.” A sympathetic look, bordering on pity, would form on her face. “I am so very sorry for what has happened.” She glanced at the woman’s arm, which was haphazardly bandaged, dried blood still on the fabric. The wound must have still been relatively fresh. She continued, “The misfortune that has befallen the Corrin family is not a something would wish upon anyone.”

“Spare me your feigned condolence, snake.” Again, words as cold as steel. “I know you and your ilk well. You are not here to commiserate.” Islara rose from her chair, inching closer to Altina. “So, what do you want?” She gripped the dagger sheathed upon her knee. “If you attempt to so much as deceive me, Duchess, you can consider your life forfeit.” The blade would be lifted from its casing, momentarily brandished, before being retracted with a vigorous shing.

“Oh? Such nerve! And from an injured woman, no less. I commend your confidence.” Altina was unmoved, her smirk growing ever larger. A mocking smirk it was. But Altina knew the toll grief could take on one’s mind. She would not abuse the woman with her antics any longer.

“You are right, Miss Islara.” Finally, a straightforward answer from the Agrovian duchess. “I have little interest in consoling you.” The lilt in her voice would vanish, replaced by a fitting gravitas. “I seek to pose a question…” She leaned closer. “... And a proposition.”

She paced around the room, her stride one of leisure. “Firstly, Miss Islara, if you might indulge me… What happened that fateful day?”

The black-haired assassin fell silent.

Unbeknownst to the duchess, a lie detection magic was at work. And from it, Islara could detect no falsehoods. So, she would answer the duchess’ question truthfully. “They were cowards, the lot of them.” The clenching of teeth. “They came under the guise of peace-making on the Queen’s behalf. Yet, when it came time to show their true colors…” A swelling of emotions. “They would strike at us while our backs were turned!” Her cold exterior had now melted. Altina could sense her anger, which burned through her fair skin. It was visceral. Primal. The Corrins must have been cherished companions.

“I will have the Wizard Queen’s head.” An oath, sworn. “She will be put down before more lives are lost.”

And in the face of such resolve, Altina would break out in laughter.

“You?! A cripple?! Have the Wizard Queen’s head?!” She hissed in between heaves of air. “Even Miss Britesong has not told a joke with as much hilarity as that!”

She would mock the woman further, “Do you yearn to be reunited with your beloved that badly? If so, well, go on then! Storm the Hathforth demesne! Orchestrate your bloody requiem! But it would not be the Wizard Queen who would be losing her head.”

“Insolent bitch! How dare you!” Equipped with her dagger, Islara rushed forward.

…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Altina would catch the blade’s edge, wrapping her palm around it. “Sev Willowsteel, a well-meaning man. Respectable, if not brash. You’ve heard what is to become of him, yes?” She would pull Islara closer, still gripping the blade. “The Corrins. Nobles beloved by the common folk. With hearts of gold, they simply sought the betterment of their realm. Their only blunder? They opposed a tyrant with virtue and honor.” A whisper. “You know very well what their fates were. Good people, mercilessly slain by evil.”

Crack.

The blade would shatter in her hand. Releasing the assassin from her grasp, “Do not mindlessly throw your life away, Islara.” The pieces of the dagger were now as bread crumbs on the floor.

Altina would speak again. “A revolution is on the horizon, my friend! And I wish for you to be alive to see it.”

At last, the proposition would escape her lips. “Ally with me. With Duke Rhinecliff. Alone, you will die a pointless death. But with cooperation from entire cities, you may yet have the Wizard Queen’s head.” A vicious grin. “I will grant you the boon of personally severing it clean from her body.”

Islara could not muster so much as an objection. And not for a lack of trying. Speechless she was of the fact that the duchess would willingly bring harm to herself. Especially considering she could have just as easily dodged the blade. Injured and still obviously on the mend, Islara was in no condition to fight. Either way, the bizarreness of it all would confirm one thing to her: the duchess was more than just a bitch. She was crazy.

Still, her offer to join forces would not fall on deaf ears.

As Islara's head began to clear, she could see the merits of an alliance with the Duchess. Having ties with the Agrovian duchess would also mean having ties with the city of Rockhold. Not only that, the Duke of Odonfield himself would be the one to rally up their banners. A deadly blend of military might and strategic expertise, they would be a force to be reckoned with. More importantly, they would give Islara the greatest chance at her revenge.

"Do you speak the truth, Duchess?" Her tone was as lifeless as her face.

"Of course."

...

Her magic would confirm that the duchess was not lying.

Thus, Islara would bow, "Then consider the Sparrows yours to command."

A narrowed gaze. "Though, if you renege on our promise, Duchess… I would have your head instead."

Altina would nod. "Naturally. Why, I will have it served on a platter of the finest gold, if it pleases you!" Her characteristic playfulness was beginning to return.

"Good." The shaking of hands.

With vows exchanged and promises made, there was no need to linger in the dingy cabin any further. Altina would soon bid the black-haired woman farewell, the terms of their alliance still firmly in her mind.

While wiping the blood off her hand with a handkerchief, she would lock eyes with Duke Rhinecliff, who waited silently outside. "There is a new pawn on your board, good Duke. You may thank me later."

[The Otter]

Callum Prosser

---

@Estylwen

---

As Raiden started speaking again, Callum had a thought for a moment to point out that he hadn't been speaking to the man when he continued along. Whoever he was, doubtless he didn't have the chance to actually know Callum's eldest brother, unlike Lady Furino. The Baroness Furino, who was...

"...Exceedingly polite, perhaps," he murmured to himself as the pair fell right back into their back-and-forth sniping at each other. If they were friends, it would be comical...but he was too smart not to notice that the only thing keeping them from each other's throats was, ultimately, decorum. Nobles and their servants killing each other in the streets was never good for appearances, after all, no matter how much it may simplify certain things.

Fortunately for Callum, they managed to maintain that sense of decorum long enough to part...though not without Raiden leaving one more comment about the pie. He glanced over towards the inn that Anabel had directed him towards with a new sinking feeling in his stomach. If he chose not to take up that offer, it would be viewed as an obvious sign of disfavour. At which point he would be reliant on whatever protection mister Asher could provide, which seemed dubious at best.

Taking it, instead, would put him right in the Furino's home court, and could easily be construed as favouring her side. Something he already did, if only because Raiden's self-introduction hadn't exactly fostered feelings of warmth in Callum's heart...but such an outward appearance might spur the man on to more direct measures. Of course, there was little doubt that the inn would be watched over by Anabel's guards, so there was some guarantee of more immediate safety there.

And at the same time, a guarantee that he couldn't just cut and run. Both had their eyes on him, both knew that there was some connection he had with the late Duke Nathan, and both sought to use it—him—in some manner. One for the queen, one clearly against the queen. He sat there a moment longer, looking down at his pie...utterly disinterested in eating it further after some man riding a giant wolf so casually stuck his glove down inside it.

"Well. It can't be helped, can it?" he muttered to himself after a moment, straightening his back and standing up. He spotted a dog nearby, waiting dilligently by the home of its master, and tossed the remnants of the pie over to it. The cur shamelessly began to devour the discarded pastry with gusto. "But, really. The Sparrows? What sort of fool reads a second-rate story and decides to name their organization something like that..."

Leading his horse, he walked on down the street. As adequately as he'd managed to walk himself into their little trap, there was nothing to do now but await whatever came of it.

---

Later that evening, Callum left the room that had been provided to him, walking down to the tavern. Sure enough, it all had matched with what Anabel had told him to expect; the rushes covering the tavern floor were themselves clean and fresh. Undoubtedly changed daily, if not more often should any patrons get messy or sick. His eyes scanned the room quickly, looking for wherever his pursuers had placed themselves...He'd come down intentionally on the later side of dinner, both to claw back some semblance of agency in the proceedings by making them wait for a moment, and to avoid getting surprised by Raiden Asher deciding to soil his food a second time.

[Psyker Landshark]

Grandmaster Safina

"Sound off. Is everyone here?" Safina planted her hands down on the table in what passed for a war room within the Concord's Odonfield cell hideout. Nigh on a dozen hardened veterans of thievery, assassination, and espionage of varying races voiced assent back.

"Good. Try not to make any trouble for the Odonfield cell while we're here, we're occupying enough of their space as it is. Now, on to business. Our illustrious employer wants the target's vault emptied. Kaput. Of course, she didn't specify what to do with that lucre after. Pull this off, you'll all be getting no small share of the loot. Incentive. And motivation to not screw this up. We clear?"

A round of nods across the table, with more than a few eyes glinting in mixes of avarice and caution born of experience.

"Right. We'll need a few things. First, a man on the inside. Can't risk more than one, it'd be too obvious. We'll need our best social adept on the job to blend in, get us a lay of the land. Rhinecliff is out of town, distracted with our client's other ventures. This gives us a brief window to get the job done. Those little pets She keeps ran afoul of him, probably."

Roles were given, plans were made, and tasks were set. Just another job. One more difficult, complex, and daunting than most the Concord undertook, but it'd be a cold day in hell before Safina said her people couldn't do this.

[ERode]

---

//Athroyeaux Castle
_@Estylwen

It was a city of ghosts, but before then, it was simply a city.

Certainly spoke of the ruler’s tastes then, to have such dark and dreary décor from the very walls of the city up to the castle’s own throne room. The Capital City of Arthroyeaux proved to be a joyless place, more of an elaborate crypt rather than a city, but it matched too the dreariness that fell upon Ravenfell as a whole. One could charitably claim that it lived up to its name…and one could say too, that Ravenfell had once simply been a kingdom light any other. A regular place, with regular people. People he had known, once.

His shoes clicked against the cold stone floor of the throne room, the dark light of the surrounding torches casting deep shadows upon his face. The Duke of Rhinecliff stood before the throne, unaccompanied by any except for two armed escorts from his territories. He bowed to the seated King, paying respect to royalty he had not sworn fealty to, then raised his head once more.

“King Lamont DuFairre, I have come to answer your summons, and have brought gifts too.” One of his knights stepped forth, presenting a beautifully illustrated tome of philosophy, penned by a scholar of Odonfield origin. “Though you and yours may have lost the cravings of the body, knowledge is a spring from which one can never draw enough.”

A sliver of a smile slipped into his features.

“Unfortunately, my changeling companion’s time is far more precious than my own, and as such, I ask for your forgiveness in her absence. As I’m certain you’ll have heard, the province of Arrowfell will soon be missing two of its Dukes, at the hands of one familiar to you. Though I would delight in extended conversation with you, please allow me to dispense with pleasantries temporarily.”

The smile remained, but his gaze was hard. Ageless and undying as the King of Ravenfell was, it had cost his nation its future, consigning them to stagnation and rot.

“What do you require in exchange for your assistance?”

[Estylwen]

Athroyeaux Castle, Throne Room

@Izurich, @LunarParadox, @ERode

---

"Your Majesty King Lamont DuFairre of Ravenfell, I am Melisande of the Tearmoon Coven, here as invited by your subject."

’Mèlisande’

The Ghost King merely watched as the lights sputtered out. In the semi-darkness, there was a chuckle.

“Ah, the Tearmoon coven. Mages with otherworldly charms that sway the mortal man's heart.”

The hooded visage lifted slightly off his gauntlet, a note of seriousness entering his deep tone.

“But we know a bit better, don't we?”

The Ghost King let his statement hang a bit in the air, before, without looking, he beckoned behind him with two fingers. From the shadows, none other than Valor stepped forward, bowing deeply as she stood by her lord.

Straightening, there was an almost purr in her voice as Valor spoke again. “I'm pleased you heeded my salutations, Lady Tearmoon.”

The King made a gesture to his attendants, and one stepped forward, hand glowing as they cast magelight to hover about the room, illuminating the darkness and bathing it in eerie, pale white.

"My Lord. I come at the behest of your gracious invitation."

Eirwen

The Ghost King nodded as Lord Blackthorne approached the throne. ”The Court Mage of the one they call the Wizard Queen, no less. I've heard rumors of your talents, especially with the Seeds.”

That was when Duke Rhinecliff and his escorts approached, and the Ghost King lifted his hooded visage, gauntlet lowering to his lap.

“King Lamont DuFairre, I have come to answer your summons, and have brought gifts too.”

Duke Rhinecliff

One of the Ghost King's attendants, clothed in a fine robe and gloves, accepted the tome graciously. They then presented it to the King, who looked it over.

“A fine book, I imagine. I have space in my library for a piece such as this. I'll have my attendants see to its placement right away.”

Before he gave a small wave of his hand. The attendant bowed, before retreating, leaving out one of the side doors.

The Ghost King returned his empty gaze to Duke Rhinecliff as they spoke.

“Unfortunately, my changeling companion’s time is far more precious than my own, and as such, I ask for your forgiveness in her absence. As I’m certain you’ll have heard, the province of Arrowfell will soon be missing two of its Dukes, at the hands of one familiar to you.”

Duke Rhinecliff

The Ghost King paused as his head tilted, hung up momentarily. The changeling wouldn't be making it.

A minor set-back.

“Granted. And I am aware of this… turn of events. Men come and go, on her little stage of a chess board. But she'll find it's possible to be bitten by her chess pieces…”

“What do you require in exchange for your assistance?”

Duke Rhinecliff

If the King could smile, he would. He leaned a little forward in his seat. “I want her. The one you call the Wizard Queen. Give her to me, and I'll assist you in overthrowing her.”

He looked at the group gathered in front of him. The ‘feyling’, the master of the arcane, and the head of the rebellion. These were the pieces he would use to further his own goals, and wipe that smirk off her face for the final time.

“I have intel that could greatly help you. She means to become the one force to be reckoned with. If she acquires what she wants, then not even the entire Houses of Arrowfell united will be able to stop her.”

A hard edge crept into his voice. “She must be stopped. You must go to Athius and destroy whatever it is she's trying to unearth, make it so she can't use it.”

He nodded to one of his attendants, who took a step forward and unsheathed a translucent, ghostly blade.

The Ghost King nodded to the blade. “This blade has the ability to put down leviathan-class monsters, which is what you'll be up against. And you must be wary, for once she knows you mean to betray her, she will kill you.”

The blade was held out to the group, and the King asked,

“Do you accept?”

---

Hathforth, Plaza Facing the Pier

@Donut Look Now

---

“Oh! P-pardon me, my lord and lady.”

Flower Girl

The sudden movement had startled Asteria, and she gripped tight to her brother’s arm. When it was just a girl scattering her flowers, both nobles heaved a sigh. They had been collectively on edge, especially after knowing they'd be facing the Wizard Queen in the flesh this time. They were waiting for the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.

So, it was no surprise they were willing to be tardy, looking down at the girl. Asteria left her brother’s hand to help the girl with picking up the remaining flowers, ignoring the girl's frantic frustration.

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

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

“My Lady, we should be going.” The guard said.

Asteria glanced back, before offering an apologetic glance to the girl.

“Sorry.”

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

---

Hathforth, Pier, The Battle-Blood Minstrel

@LunarParadox, @Izurich

---

The Wizard Queen stood expectantly as the portal opened. “Ah, my faithful mages. What news do you bring? Good, I hope.”

"My Queen. I am delighted to present you the rewards of our long efforts."

Eirwen

Her eyes swept over Mèlisande, before settling on Eirwen, and the box he carried. Her attendant stepped forward and accepted the box from the Court Mage, before passing it to the Queen with a bow.

The Wizard Queen eyed the two mages knowingly, before carefully opening the lid. The light reflecting off the pearl of a gem within cast hues over her face, and her eyes sparkled at the sight.

“Yes… Yes this will do nicely.”

She closed the box and gestured with her hand, and the attendant took it downstairs. Before her gaze returned to her mages.

“I'm very proud of your work, Lord Blackthorne, Lady Tearmoon. You’ve only proven how well of a team you make; I was wise to place you, Lady Tearmoon, in the care of my Court Mage.”

Her eyes glanced up, taking in the sailors loading supplies on her large ship. “There is much to prepare for before we depart this evening. I'll have Lord Urimyar show you to the main deck and your rooms so you can get the lay of the ship. And, of course, I would ask you be present at the execution later this evening, before we leave…”

Her eyes returned to her mages, watching their faces, before turning expectantly to the staircase to the lower deck. As if on cue, the tall Lord Urimyar with his pointed ear gracefully ascended the steps, careful with his elegant robes. He stopped to bow in front of the Queen, before turning to Lord Blackthone and Lady Tearmoon.

“Court Mage Blackthorne, Court Apprentice Tearmoon, it's an honour to see you again. Shall we be off?”

Vulluin would escort the two down to the lower deck, a lavish-looking place that was clearly re-decorated by the Wizard Queen. The wood floors were adorned with carpets, and art hung on the walls. The kitchen nearby had placed a few tables and chairs spread out along the small-windowed walls, and a large buffet table available to any hungry guest. The trio could spot Captain Roderic sitting with a few of his men, enjoying a hearty breakfast of eggs, sweetened bread, and cheese.

Noises could be heard in the lower deck as sailors filed in supplies from the pier. However, the noises were somewhat drowned out by the lute playing near the banquet table.

While the two took in the sights, Vulluin spoke.

“Her Majesty has employed the Aethera's jewelers to craft your seed into wearable pieces. I imagine they should be done by the time we depart.”

He gestured to the ballroom, “Quite magnificent, isn't it? You're welcome to help yourself to the food, or I can show you to your rooms.”

He stopped, before side-eying them.

“Or… you can tell me what you were doing across the border.”

---

Tarin, Eagle Inn

@The Otter

---

As Callum cross the receptionist desk to reach the doorway to the tavern, the old man at the desk waved him down.

“A fellow had this couriered to you, your eyes only. Wouldn't say much more about it…” He said before passing a folded bit of parchment to Callum.

Within the note, written in hastily scrawled cursive, Raiden had wrote,

“Urgent business needs attending. Won't have time for dinner.

See you in Athius.”

And the note ended there, without further explanation. Regardless, as Callum neared the tarven and its bar, a commotion of noise would soon draw his attention.

Baroness was standing toe to toe against a dark, shadowy figure, mask obscuring his features. Anabel stood in the center of the tavern room, all the patron eyes on the duo, concerned for the girl, but afraid to interfere less incur the wrath of the man standing before the wee girl.

The man stood over her, arms crossed as he glared down at her.

“Don't make me repeat myself, Baroness. Tell me the exact date she's planning to reach Athius. I know you know.”

Anabel somehow stood her ground, staring up at the masked man, her little fists clenched.

“You won't get a word from me. I would never betray Her Majesty. I don't care who you are, you won't get anything out of me. Now leave me alone!”

The masked man merely chuckled, looking around at the room full of patrons pointedly avoiding his gaze, before he stared down at the girl again. He stooped down a bit, leaning into her face, speaking low.

“I know ways of making you talk, Miss. Why don't we take a little walk?”
And he grabbed her wrist in an iron grip, about to drag her from the room.

Anabel struggled in his grip, panick evident in her eyes. “Unhand me, you fiend!”

[Izurich]

--Athroyeaux Castle - Throne Room--

@Estylwen @LunarParadox @ERode

Oh, he knew, they both knew, excellent.

For a brief moment in time, "Melisande's" shadow seemed to curl a jaw-splitting grin, stretching from ear to ear; umbramancy, a trick of the mind, or perhaps something else entirely? Twas' of no importance, certainly not as much as the vindictive joy Kronos had upon the prospect of finally meeting an ally of its own, one who could properly understand its existence. Perhaps, these Faux-Shadeborns weren't so worthless after all.

"I'm here merely to accompany my liege Lord Blackthorne, Your Majesty, Lady Teardrop." Falsehood, deception, Kronos couldn't care less about the Half-Elven Court Mage, all it wanted was to return home, and preferably without Melisande perishing and dragging Evelyn with it along the way. This... spectral monarch could be the key to its salvation. Rejoice, Ghost King, not many mortals - even former ones - could claim to be owed favors from the Dremora of Time.

Then, Kronos figuratively left the spotlight, allowing the Court Mage and the Duke of Odonfield to make their own introductions.

For the benefit of both itself and its Lilim host, Kronos keenly observed through the simulacrum's eyes and ears, committing what was transpiring before it. The False Queen's plans, it already knew, but the Ghost King's response to her hubris? This one was new.

How peculiar, a weapon capable of slaying those thalassic titans, so they meant to slay the monster after it's awakened instead of interrupting the summoning process in the first place, perhaps by slaying Evelyn herself? Interesting... however, if one considered that Lamont wanted her alive, then it'd answer everything.

The sovereign of wraiths forward his proposal, who shall be the worthy bearer of this blade? A rhetorical inquiry as far as Kronos was considered, it wasn't a question as much as a nomination.

The Duke of Odonfield shall wield the Titanslayer and fell the Beast of the Deep.

"If she truly wishes to resort to such lengths to consolidate her power, then I... no, it's the duty of all to stop her hubris, even if one supports her to the very end, she knows not what she's about to do. I do not believe for a moment that such a behemoth would answer to anyone but itself." Platitudes, redundant statements, but such was the way of the court, "So, Your Lordship, please, for all of our sakes." The Lilim Simulacrum nodded solemnly at the only Human among them.

Retconned

--Hathforth Pier - The Battle-Blood Minstrel--

@Estylwen @LunarParadox

Immediately after Eirwen passed through the Dimension Door, Melisande followed him and dispelled the portal behind her. Then, she too bowed before the Wizard Queen.

"Few things are more precious than your praise, Your Majesty." The Lilim closed her eyes with a grateful smile. For all of her flaws, the Wizard Queen was one of the finest wielders of the arcane and for one's magical talents to be acknowledged by her was nothing to scoff at. Just for this moment, Melisande allowed the euphoria of accomplishment to wash over her, tactfully of course.

Upon the Sovereign of Arrowfell's request, Melisande straightened herself then gracefully nodded, "By your word, Your Majesty." The execution of the drunkard duke? Hmmm... unfortunate, but no one in their right mind would be able to deny that he brought the whole thing upon himself.

"The honor is mutual, Lord Urimyar, please, lead the way." The Court Apprentice followed along the queen's advisor, heading into the belly of the wooden beast, and the kingdom certainly spared no expenses at emulating the splendors of the royal castle within the vessel's decks. Security too it seemed, as the famous Captain Roderic of the Iron Hand could be witnessed frolicking with his band.

"..." In silence, Melisande took in the sights, but shifted her attention to Vuluin once he began speaking, "I see, please give our thanks to Her Majesty." But then with a single sentence, he revealed his true intentions...

...and at that very moment, Melisande found faculty over her own body abruptly robbed from her as she became a passenger in her-self.

Kronos, what are you-...?

Be still and let me save our lives.

Unbeknownst to any observers, the Lilim standing before them was no longer Melisande, but they would be none the wiser.

"Ah, that, twas' our efforts to identify Her Majesty's enemies, Milord," Kronos - as Melisande - answered calmly, "Not too long ago, we were approached by a servant of the so-called Ghost King, Lamont DuFairre, she called herself Valor Teardrop." It paused, letting its words sink in, "She wished to conspire with us, Milord, the servant invited us to speak with her liege himself at his court in Athroyeaux Castle, far north from here. We decided to humor this invitation, see what schemes he had in store for Her Majesty."

"I sent my Simulacrum to Ravenfell, but Master here was courageous enough to attend by himself, risking life and limb, bravery that I do not possess." Kronos nodded at Eirwen before continuing, "Duke Laurent Rhinecliff was present too, Milord, summoned by the Ghost King, and this wraith... he planned terrible, terrible things." Kronos puppeteered Melisande's brows to frown, convincingly emulating an expression of concern, "He wished to abduct Her Majesty, no doubt to nefarious ends, and to accomplish this, he bequeathed a ghostly artifact to Duke Rhinecliff, then invited all three of us to conspire with him."

Truth? Deception? Both, after all, the most convincing lies were ones based on truth. Speaking of such half-truths...

"Shocked by this invitation to commit high treason, I wholeheartedly refused, the notion of biting the hand that had given me so much was inconceivable..." Kronos then sighed, heavily, "However, with a heavy heart, I have to tell you that Duke Rhinecliff held no such loyalty, he acquiesced to cooperate, but we all expected that, it's an open secret that he had no love for Her Majesty, indeed, his betrayal wasn't what unsettled us the most, instead..." Kronos' indigo gaze then shifted toward Eirwen, barely-restrained revulsion on its Lilim visage.

"That Lord Blackthorne too acceded to the scheme."

KRONOS!!!

Hush. Despise me all you want, feyling, but I will not let the False Queen and her ilk triumph, and be honest, you never truly cared for the Half-Elf.

[Click This]

Collab with @Irradiant

---

Altina began to write.

Dear Duchess Agustria,

A worried conscience is what prompts this letter that I am sending to you. I will cut to the chase: I cannot help but be filled with gnawing dread at the news that the Wizard Queen intends to pursue Athius. Those waters are largely unexplored, for good reason — and yet, at this juncture, Evelyn Koeve shows an uncharacteristic willingness to poke at its depths. One can only hazard a guess as to why, but all the same, I am not foolish enough to simply wave it away.

I am sure you see the cracks. They are starting to show. More than that, I reckon the illusion of calm will soon rupture, if it has not already. The people have wizened up, the nobles peeling the scales from their eyes. They are aware of what has been taken from them in broad daylight. The parties, the galas, the merry-making: these follies will soothe their ache no longer.

You are a learned woman, Duchess — more learned than I in matters of finance. I assume you are not blind to what has been happening. The Wizard Queen has set her machinations in place since her coronation. The taxation, her growing military, the takeover of the Glasic Fields: all moves to eat away at the integrity of Arrowfell, and by extension, its very cities. The Wizard Queen gets to stuff her stomach, while the rest of us slowly languish.

With word of Duke Rhinecliff’s rebellion having already reached her ears, she is no doubt set on snuffing it out. Should the duke fall, so do our hopes of freeing ourselves from the manacles of despotism. I cannot allow that. And so, I plan to aid Duke Rhinecliff in his cause.

…Which is also why I seek an audience with you, Duchess. I know of your friendship with Duke Rhinecliff. Moreover, the Duke of Rockhold has informed me of a secret meeting between you and the Wizard Queen. I wish to know the details of your discussion with her.

Her thoughts now completely laid out on paper, she contemplated briefly to crumple the parchment up, to start over, to resort to her usual tactics. But she would remind herself this: I must be transparent with people I will soon call allies. Thus, she would choose not to dilute the sincerity behind her words.

Delivered by her finest eagle, which was enchanted by wind magic, the letter would arrive at the Caelin’s duchess’ doorstep within the day.

—

Duchess Agustria briefly recalled the letter as she settled into her seat across from her fellow duchess. She had burned the document after reading, naturally. Things were moving very fast now, and normally, risking a meeting like this was too risky for her to entertain. But with the knowledge that she was furnished with by the Queen herself, and her pending arrival in the Grand Banks, keeping Altina in the loop instead of just Laurent was an acceptable risk. Sitting next to her was her ever present lady in waiting, Countess Minuette, who, as was often as of late, Mirie’s main facilitator for discrete travel through the crystal that she carried.

After the initial and typical pleasantries, the duchess got down to business. Given the timeline, there was not much time to spare, after all. “So, how may Caelin help Agrovia?”

Altina straightened herself in her seat, her tea cup dropping to the edge of the table between her and Duchess Agustria. The mere presence of the monarch was a shock to her, what with the last minute nature of her summons. Duke Dadreak's words proved correct after all: the Caelin duchess would indeed show her favor.

"Nay, ruler of the Grand Bank," Altina answered, wagging a finger in whimsical protest. "We will be scratching each other's backs. I will benefit, and so will you."

Noticing the urgency in the duchess' voice, she accented her own with a similar timbre. "The sea of Athius. I fear something lurks there that could endanger us all, in one way or another."

Her eyes would begin to travel to nowhere in particular, a sure sign she was deep in thought. "The stars have aligned, divining an inferno that can no longer be put out." The meandering lenses would eventually meet Duchess Agustria's. "That is to say, Duke Rhinecliff's rebellion."

Clearing her throat, "I will make my allegiances known here, so as to dispel any doubt: I stand by the duke."

She had made the fact obvious enough in her letter, but she also felt a need to express it in person. "The Wizard Queen must already know it, despite my posturing."

Her folded hands would land on the table, poised to once again grab at her tea. "And now she intends to gather us in one place, stranded from the safety of land. Like lambs to slaughter, no?" A slight tip of the head. "Which is why I must ask, Duchess, for your sake and mine: what does she seek to gain from Athius?"

Mirie’s reply was careful and measured. “Perhaps. The state of affairs will come to a head,” she confirmed. It was also her preference to draw out the prelude for as long as she could, but considering what had happened to the Corrin family, even she couldn’t stand idle. It was no secret that her agenda tended to favor a status quo, for many reasons that also remained private, but by merely being here, it was obvious it was time for her to make a move– as with the others, the Queen being successful here would be problematic for her.

It had also been obvious to the duchess that her counterpart had thrown in her lot with Rhinecliff, even before the letter, but she refrained from voicing it. “The Queen has been bold, but I’m not so sure her goal is to do that,” she continued, referring to her gathering of the high nobility on the high seas. “She will be there herself, as will the best of my fleet.”

She sighed. “Somehow, I’m not surprised that meeting did not remain secret. The Queen did not apprise me of the specific details. However, she made it clear that she has the means to properly reach Athius, and what she finds there would likely change the balance of power in the province –perhaps even further abroad. Did you receive a letter from our… neighbor?”

A soft chuckle, and then a sigh. "Well, you know what they say, Duchess. Even the walls themselves have ears."

Though the Caelin monarch’s answer left much to be desired, what with its ambiguity, Altina couldn't help but feel a sense of relief momentarily wash over her. Perhaps the recent events had turned her paranoid, causing her to jump to nonsensical conclusions.

…

She shook her head, her lips wrinkling into a smile.

The Wizard Queen will unveil her trump card, and I shall be there to witness it. A moment of introspection.

Was this to be an act of intimidation, flaunting a mighty weapon in front of her foes?

Regardless, even discounting any hidden schemes, Altina believed she could only stand to gain from them. Information is vital, she would reiterate to herself. And in the hands of wise men, it is a sword that rivals all others. The words lingered in her mind. A sword that the queen will find lodged in her chest, if she is not cautious.

After taking a well-needed sip of her tea, Altina would speak again, addressing the Caelin monarch’s inquiry. "You mean the spectral King of Ravenfell," she clarified. "Why yes, I did indeed receive correspondence from him." Her face would inch ever closer towards the woman, her hands framing the roguish look upon it. "You wish to hear him out as well?" She asked coyly, knowing what lay between the duchess' veil. Opportunities. One must pursue them with calculated relentlessness. She was of a similar sort, after all.

She recited the king's missive in her head, remembering his turns of phrase. "Quite the flatterer, that one."

"He seems to be keenly abreast of all matters in Arrowfell. Do you figure he shares a history with the Wizard Queen?"

“Yes,” Mirie answered simply. “I also received a similar letter,” she continued, shrugging at her counterpart’s following observations.

There were a lot of things to consider with the King of Ravenfell, and frankly, she didn’t have a high opinion of him. She hardly trusted him, for one, although she trusted his instinct for survival.
“Of course he does. I can’t guess as to what it was at this juncture, but I’m not surprised. More importantly, what the Queen did mention is this weapon she intends to retrieve–” she gestured in the air at that, “--Seems to meant to deal with him, too. Frankly, I don’t trust him either, but I would be remiss to not see what he has to say. If the Queen can take an entire king out of play, then I am truly concerned.”

Altina expressed her agreement with a nod. "We are of the same mind, Duchess Agustria."

Rising to her feet, "I shan't keep you any longer, Duchess. Time is precious, and the hour draws near."

She extended a hand. "I must thank you again, for entertaining this silly request of mine." A serious gaze. “Odonfield's flame will not fade; Arrowfell will weather the coming storm."

“Indeed,” the Duchess responded, returning the handshake. “I suspect we will be meeting again quite soon.”

[The Otter]

Callum Prosser

---

@Estylwen

---

Callum was almost instantly accosted by the innkeeper, passing some sort of note across the countertop. "Ah. My thanks," he said with a gracious nod, taking the folded parchment in hand. He drew his dagger from his belt, breaking the hastily-made seal keeping it shut. After reading who the note was from, he wasn't surprised at how basic and messy the seal was; likely the man had had nothing more than a candle to seal it with. "Curious..." he muttered to himself after reading the note. Athius? And Raiden had so carelessly scrawled it on a note, trusting the innkeeper not to read it?

Or truly so hastily? Maybe Athius is where that thing Anabel mentio—

He paused at the sound of some sort of argument coming out of the tavern, the same place that he'd just been thinking about mentioned right at the edge of his hearing. Followed immediately by the baroness's voice in response...seconds later rising higher in alarm than he would've thought possible an hour before. He pushed open the door to the tavern proper, just in time to see some man staring the baroness down, hand clamped tight around her dainty arm.

Not my recruiter, man, come on!

He stood still for a moment, note still in one hand, dagger in the other. He hadn't yet picked a side in whatever this confrontation was between the baroness and Raiden, and now could be his chance to be rid of both; even if his name and face were known to them, he could still make good on an escape, get out of the hairy situation. But he had to watch how it played out first, to know how best to make his escape...

Anabel cast her gaze around the room, desperate for help—her panicked eyes met his, desperate for aid against this man who was more than twice her size and had to be at least thrice her age.

The bronze-hilted dagger that he'd opened the letter with flew end over end, passing between the man's legs to lodge in the wooden floor a couple feet further back. A calculated, low throw; without knowing exactly what was going on or where he stood with everything, he didn't want to aim anywhere lethal. No doubt the man would've been able to evade it anyways, should it prove so obvious, but at least he'd gained some attention and sent a message.

"That's no way to treat a lady or a child, is it?" he asked conversationally, nonchalantly flicking a lock of his reddish hair out of his face, the ring containing the greater part of his Seed turned so that the gem faced inward, out of view. Internally, he was certain he could hear the sound of something screaming—probably some part of himself, horrified at how thoroughly he'd just ruined his own chance to get away—but his focus was entirely on the baroness and the vagrant that had laid hands on her.

Hopefully, by this point, the innkeeper had heard the commotion, or someone outside had heard Anabel's rising voice. Surely she wouldn't be so foolish as to go without guards...if she was, then she was putting quite a bit of faith in Callum. "We were just about to have a lovely dinner together. Can I interest you in not being a nuisance, and leaving us be?"

Whether he intended to follow the baroness or the pie-molesting rogue, one thing was certain: He'd sealed his fate to theirs now, one way or the other.

[ERode]

---

//Athroyeaux Castle
_{@Estylwen@Izurich@LunarParadox@Click This}

Troublesome.

Taking someone alive was always a troublesome thing. The only time a powerful mage was truly vulnerable, after all, was when they were pinned down with their mouth sealed. And while Evelyn herself had not done much to garner true loyalty, she nevertheless had those close to her, or at least connections enough to rouse a force loyal to coin.

That did not even account for the innumerable amount of times that hubris, a desire for humiliating and degrading one’s enemy, ended up in tragedy for the captor. Even Sev had been able to accomplish much with nothing more than a shard of glass. If fair Nyx’s retelling of Evelyn’s past ‘achievements’ were to be believed, the Wizard-Queen could accomplish far more, even by her lonesome.

And then there was Melisande, so eager to push for it. It was funny; did she hate him so much?

The Duke of Odonfield stroked his moustache in contemplation, his eyes narrowing upon something that only he could see. The Glasic Fields, and now Althius. The mermaid princess, who came to shore. Ravenfell, and the shadow-binding of an entire province’s populace. An artifact of immense power, far-outstripping what even the Church of the All-Father possessed, presented as both tool and prize. And everything in action, thrusting himself towards the spotlight, accelerating the destabilizing of Arrowfell, pushing for all-out war once more.

“Allow me to be pedantic for a moment, Melisande. A ‘behemoth’ specifically points towards a monster of the land. It would not do to misuse it as a mere synonym for a ‘very large creature’.” He winked at her in that moment, a spot of levity, before turning his attention back to the King of Ravenfell. “Your Majesty, this is certainly an artifact without compare, but if you possessed such power, I must ask: why have you not simply claimed the Wizard-Queen for yourself, before this critical juncture was reached? The Clandestine have moved across Hathforth without duress, and the duchies are, at best, neutral towards our sovereign. There would have been no great demand to have her returned, if you had spirited her away.”

Laurent did not lift a hand towards that ghostly blade. Instead, he raised his head to meet the void-gaze of the one who ruled the crypt. Behind him, he could hear familiar footsteps.

“Duchess Agustria. You, certainly, possess a gift for the logistics of distance. Would it be possible for you to redirect the Wizard-Queen to His Majesty’s throne without her even nearing Althius?”

---

//Odonfield
_{@Psyker Landshark}

It wasn’t all too difficult to position someone as an inside man for the job. Some background research and a forged letter was enough for one of the maids to go on leave, opening up a position for a Concord face to come on in. The pay was surprisingly good, for the labor that was done, and though there were plenty of keys that the head butler possessed, it appeared that most of the rooms of the grand estate were locked up and not in use. Setting aside the Skybound twins’s absurd luck, it appeared to Safina through the reports that trickled in, that security around the Rhinecliff Estate was simply…lacking to begin with. There were plenty of library rooms present, meticulously managed by a sharp-eyed woman, and social groups from higher-end universities came in even during the Duke’s absence to speak of all sorts of high-brow topics, often with plenty of libations.

It was strange though, that despite House Rhinecliff possessing two wedded men older than the current Duke himself, neither of their families seemed to be living within the family estate, or even within Odonfield itself.

And, on the other end of things, despite the relative freedom that their inside maid had, there remained no clue as to where the treasury was. A new maid in the household could hardly be expected to simply ask for its location, after all, leaving only deduction and investigation at hand. Yet, with a Seed in play, those of the Orphan’s Matron had been sent in to search for the Rhinecliff treasury, but Mene’s journey had been cut short before he had reached it. On the other hand, if it worked as intended, with luck and probability aligning themselves in his favor, would he have not evaded the Duchess of the Grand Bank ? Strange matters, certainly, but to search the entirety of Odonfield for the treasury of a Duke was a taller order to ask than to simply search an estate.

It was best not to entertain such thoughts, no?

It was best to focus on what was most probable, that a city-state with such wealth on display as Odonfield would no doubt possess great reserves somewhere within the cliff upon which their House resides.

[Psyker Landshark]

Grandmaster Safina

At the very least, Duke Rhinefield was an eccentric bastard. With damned near anyone else in this nation's aristocracy, they would have at least found this damn vault by now. Safina glowered to herself as she pored over the various notes and maps the Concord had recorded ever since this job began.

"Everything alright, boss?" A short, squat orc leaned against the entrance to the meeting room, pipe in hand.

"Just wondering why I put up with this nonsense, Ognar." Safina grumbled, taking a swig of tea from the now-cold cup on the table. "It's like that smug bastard doesn't even use this estate of his."

"He's got no children, compared to his brothers, doesn't he? Makes sense. What's a bachelor going to do with all this space? Anyways, we escalating?"

"Honestly, I think we have to. Lynette's trying her damndest, but there's not much more she can do without blowing her cover. Rhinecliff won't be gone forever, and we still don't know how the little brats failed." She looked up at her old subordinate and compatriot, eyes glinting with resolve.

"Get the others. We're nabbing the head butler tonight. I'll question him before making him forget the whole damn thing with my Seed. I'll have the Odonfield cell spread out, gather information on Rhinefield's brothers. It's not impossible that they know something, and I'd rather hedge our bets."

"Aye, boss." Ognar gave a lazy, two-fingered salute before moving out to find his fellows. "Ain't ever a dull moment, working for Her, huh?"

"Funny. I thought we were hoping for a lifetime of dull moments by now."

@ERode