[IC] ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

[ERode]

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//Church of the All-Force, Hathforth
_@Estylwen

Confession

The Church of the All-Force in Odonfield may be a more artistically-inspired building, but the Church of the All-Force in Hathforth was nevertheless the more historically-significant building. It was here, after all, that King Ludwig had consolidated his power whilst acknowledging the need for that power to be used to the benefit of the people. It was here too, that he had shook hands with the former leader of the Church, an act that gave the masses the idea that royalty and religion were equal, allied forces of change within the province of Arrowfell.

That old leader of the Church disappeared when the regime changed. There stood only Potentate Brinyar Heavy-Handed now, kneeling in moonlight, his halo glinting like a blade as his hands were cupped in offering, supplication.

Duke Rhinecliff waited until he was done. The nightly prayers of the faithful ought not to be disturbed, after all. He cupped his hands as well, as if to capture a fragment of that alabaster shine for himself, as if a mortal could grasp upon second-hand divinity and craft a miracle of it. But the duke’s lips only parted to address the man before him.

“Potentate Heavy-Handed.”

A slow exhale, before Brinyar stood, and turned to his visitor. A hand came to rest on his chest, and he bowed slightly, his halo glinting in the light.

“Your Grace. You honor me with your presence.”

Brinyar smiled, straightening. The moonlight shone between them in the calm, empty church as they stood underneath the stained glass and raised podium.

“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Alas, I've been unable to make any headway with Her Majesty. Stubborn as she is, especially with her new-found power.”

Before Brinyar sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I'll refrain from regaling you. What can the Church help you with tonight, Your Grace? Confession services, perhaps?”

“It’s natural for those who obtained power through violence to fear the same. As for confessions…yes, such matters should be kept private before the fact.”

Without waiting, Duke Rhinecliff strode towards an isolated booth, his fingers tracing sigils over the exterior to cast a simple privacy spell as he stepped in. Moments later, he heard Brinyar enter, the door closing, before all sounds from the outside disappeared. They were in an isolated space now, safeguarded from the eavesdropping of all except the All-Force.

“Potentate, what are your thoughts on the sovereign in the North, King DuFairre?”

Brinyar sat forward in his seat, staring at the duke's silhouette through the booth's screen.

“A man, as unfeeling as he is disconnected from the teachings of the All-Force. To transform your people into ghosts numb to simple expressions such as love or joy, it's a crime of undue proportions.”

Brinyar sighed, hand cupping his strong jawline.

“He's always had shadows in Arrowfell, but as to his end goal, or what he hopes to glean from us, it has remained a mystery to me.

“Why do you ask, Your Grace? …Has something happened?”

“His end goal may yet lie further in shadow, but for what’s most pressing…” The duke’s silhouette shifted, a thumb grazing his moustache in thought. “Her Majesty and King DuFairre have a history with one another. One that will see Arrowfell trampled beneath. You are not blind to the changes around Hathforth, yes?”

Duke Rhinecliff paused, giving the Potentate a moment to gather his thoughts.

“The Wizard Queen seeks to make a leviathan a weapon, to crush Ravenfell. King DuFairre has reached out in turn, offering a leviathan-culling sword in exchange for the nobles of Arrowfell sitting by as he marches his undying army southwards to take this province for himself. Due to the manner of my refusal of his offer, that sword is now lost, but there is still need for it.” The barrier between the two men glowed for a moment, before the image of that ghostly blade emerged upon the screen. “Odonfield’s records do not contain anything of this artifact, but the Church of the All-Force predates my House. Brinyar, have you heard of such a weapon? I can only imagine that a sword capable of slaying a leviathan is mythological, rather than historical, in nature.”

Brinyar gave a careful look to the projected sword, his eyes narrowing slightly. “...I'll admit, I never thought I'd hear mention of this blade again.”

A pause, before Brinyar spoke again.

“There was a time Her Majesty came to me seeking as to the nature of this sword. It wasn't always a leviathan-slaying sword, curiously enough.”

Brinyar glanced at the duke's silhouette, his voice dropping a note. “It was a king-slayer sword.”

He leaned back a little in his seat, eyes glancing up to the roof of the booth. “As I was told, the sword was used to kill the previous False King of Ravenfell, King DuRant. After the deed was done, light descended, and imbued the sword with pure white light.”

A hand ran through his silver hair, air escaping through his nose. “Her Majesty wanted to know how to destroy a sword imbued with the touch of the All-force. I told her a sword like that should be revered and placed in one of our churches for safekeeping. Of course… Her Majesty disagreed.”

A pause, before Brinyar’s eyes were drawn once again to Duke Rhinecliff's silhouette. “Attempts to find the sword proved ineffective, from what I was told. Her Majesty eventually gave up. But… how this sword turned from a king-slayer into a leviathan-slayer… I am unsure what King DuFairre did to it, but he is a rightful king. Perhaps the Benevolence imparted knowledge to him that I am not privy to…”

“It proved…ineffective?”

The Duke’s tone was questioning in that moment. How could that be, after all? It was common knowledge that the current King of Ravenfell had raised the banner of revolt and disposed of the previous despot. If she had known all this, then she too would have known that the sword used belonged to the undying King.

“Still, I thank you for such information, Potentate. I had hoped that such weapon would have been crafted by mortal hands, that it could be replicated by one with sufficient talent, but if it is a holy relic, then I shall not pursue that matter further.” It simply meant that more attention would be paid upon the initial plan. He wouldn’t have to draft an extra letter after all. “Regardless of its holy nature, however, it appeared that King DuFairre had no issues with getting his court mages to teleport it away. I reckon that the Wizard Queen would have simply used that same method to handle this king-slaying sword.”

Curious indeed, that a spell once considered the pinnacle of magic was now so commonplace. A pity, even, that the genius of Melisande was due only to the age in which she achieved her dimension-folding magic. If she had been born twenty years earlier…

“Moving on from that matter, Brinyar, what are your thoughts on Duke Willowsteel’s pending fate? Drunkenness makes fools of us all, without doubt, and his protests against the Queen’s policies have been vocal over the last year or so, but Nordor has nevertheless paid its due.”

A laugh.

“Unlike myself.”

Brinyar gave a sympathetic nod. “The situation with Duke Willowsteel is a sad story. A man so desperate for revolt he'd hang himself to see it happen.

“On one hand, he's right to feel and act the way he does. On the other, the Wizard Queen has to maintain her image. Tolerating an outburst… Well, if she allowed this to slip, it would mean allowing a revolt one step closer to manifesting.”

Brinyar shook his head, his halo glinting slightly. “Ultimately, he will be put to death as an example, and for trying to spark a revolution. But, it won't end there. More will rise in his place, I'm afraid.”

“Such an even-handed response,” Laurent remarked, leaning back against the wall of the booth. “Beloved as he is, I suppose one would imagine Nordor itself to rise up in retaliation.”

And in turn, that would give the Wizard-Queen reason to deploy the weapon she sought within Althius. Not to fight back the corpse-horde of Ravenfell, but to cow the people of Arrowfell into perpetual submission, for as long as she held the creature’s reins. The path to Nordor, of course, laid Odonfield, and she no doubt would exercise her privilege there too. He sighed.

Those twenty years were kind, but none yet possessed the capability to even give a peaceful life to single generation of humankind. All that power and possibility, yet wholly impotent.

“The monopoly upon the Glasic Fields will be broken. Potentate Heavy-Handed, I know of your own concerns of the region. Will you be willing to join my allies’ ventures into that garden, if only to elucidate the Church’s inquiries?”

Brinyar was quiet for a moment, before he leaned forward in his seat. “...I imagine you've weighed out the options, Your Grace. You know I'm not one for politics… but if you feel it's time, maybe not to overthrow Her Majesty, but to at least make her think of her dukes and duchesses… Then I, along with the Church, will follow you faithfully in this endeavour. There are many troubling rumours springing from the Fields, after all.”

“Thank you, Potentate. I pray that balance, at least, may be struck between the forces within Arrowfell, and between Arrowfell and the neighbouring provinces.”

The Duke held his hands up in supplication.

“May a single generation, at least, be born and die without worry of war.”

”Ameen.”

[Estylwen]

Hathforth Castle Dungeon -> Plaza at the Pier

_{In collaboration with @ERode}

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To the Gallows

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In the darkness, he could hear the clicking over of a key, the squeaky iron as his jail door swung open. But this time, it wasn't the gloved hand of Duke Rhinecliff offering reprieve. No, it wasn't reprieve at all.

The guards unchained Duke Sev Willowsteel from the wall, and he fell limply to the ground, numb. His whip lashes cracked open with the sudden movement as he was hauled to his feet. Iron, absent of the typical enchanted hand covers geared to nullify mages, shackled around his wrists, connected with chain to his ankles.

“Come on. Her Majesty is waiting for you.” Said one of the guards, pushing Sev down the long, torch-lit hallway and up a narrow flight of stairs.

The outside door cracked open, and sunlight came rushing in. Sev's eyes pounded painfully, and he flinched in the light. The evening sun was warm overhead, yet did little to heat the dead-cold chill in his gut.

He was escorted, two guards in front, two guards in the back, and a flag bearer hoisting the Hathforth's colours leading them to the plaza near the pier. Sev wasn't looking at onlookers. How could he, when he was counting his remaining breaths?

Staring at the raised platform, a rectangular piece of polished stone that spanned the majority of the plaza, was the Wizard Queen and her entourage, under make-shift canopies. There was a seat for herself, while others stood, watching carefully. Some faces included Duke Grimhand, watching with a pained face.

The plaza opened up to Sev, and he was marched to the center of the raised platform, caked chopping block cleared and ready. However, today, Her Majesty had other plans for this particular execution…

Duke Rhinecliff himself was present, of course. His own entourage was smaller than to be expected of a noble of his stature, but he was an eccentric, practically an ascetic compared to the excesses of his peers. A dark cloak was draped over his shoulders, the patterns of blueberry brambles sewn upon it as a cigar smoldered between his fingers. It was a lovely day, though it ought not to be. The Wizard-Queen had done well to finish the sham trial and set up the execution so quickly; the people of Nordor wouldn’t even have time to plan something before news of her judgment and execution was known.

No space for rebellion, when the Queen’s own had kept an eye on Sev’s companions, ensuring that their hands were tied.

He lifted up his cigar to his lips, inhaling the sweet smoke once more, then exhaling it as a singular sigh. Lightless eyes laid behind the spectacles, as the Duke gazed upon the late Arthur’s progeny. What still remained in this man, now that death came with an inevitable cadence?

Sev now stood at the center of the raised platform, in front of the chopping block, facing the royalty and nobles who'd come to witness his execution. His eyes briefly glanced to Duke Rhinecliff. All the man would see was a smoldering fire burning behind those eyes. It would seem Sev wasn't entirely resigned to his fate.

The Wizard Queen watched silently, before she nodded to Vulluin, who stood faithfully beside her. Vulluin took a step forward, and addressed Duke Willowsteel.

“Sev Willowsteel, Duke of Norder. You are hereby sentenced to death for your act of treason and defaming the Crown. You will be ignited, and left to burn until you are nothing but bones.”

Vulluin glanced at the Wizard Queen for a moment, before turning to Duke Rhinecliff. “If you would, Your Grace.”

Sev had kept a stoney face, except for when Lord Urimyar called upon Duke Rhinecliff. Now? Hints of betrayal, and bitter understanding seeped into his face. Sev, however, kept silent. It wasn't his place to speak, unless he was given permission.

Positioned at the edges of the platform, drums began to thrum a steady beat, reverberating the air.

[Click This]

Mirie Agustria of the Grand Bank,

Duchess of Caelin

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Execution Grounds\\

The confluence of events over the past few days was becoming troublesome for Mirie. Between the Athius affair, the fallout with Ravenfell and subsequent failed gambit, as well as simple domestic affairs on Caelin –most importantly, the arrival of the Queen at the Grand Banks-- the issue of the downfall of a fellow ruling duke had almost become forgotten in the entire mess. Almost.

The emergency return to Caelin Castle via her seed after being ejected from the ghost king’s court meant that she had been robbed of conferring with Laurent and Altina after their little act of rebellion. There had been no time to discuss the matter of Duke Willowsteel.

It was a perfectly pleasant day, with a beautiful sky and a pleasant warmth from the sun overhead. Mirie thought it hardly suited an unjust execution as she sat there with her entourage among the other ruling dukes. It was clear that what the Queen had intended was as much of a punishment as it was an example for the other nobles.

Fall in line or meet the same fate—the message was clear.

Unlike Rhinecliff, Mirie’s party was commensurate to her status as a duchess, with more than the simple two knights that she had brought to the meeting with the Ravenfell king. As usual, she had her handmaiden Minuette by her side, alongside her guard of knights, dressed in the armored maid-like battledresses that were emblematic of her household.

In the absence of any coordination, Mirie decided she was still going to let the chips fall as they may. While she didn’t want to see a fellow duke executed, and in such an undignified way, in terms of realpolitik, both a rescue and an unmitigated execution were both detrimental to her goals. Both acts were inherently destabilizing, inching the province further into the waiting hands of a future civil war.

With a sigh, she remained, looking forward and crossing her legs as the drums began to beat.

For a moment, her eyes too met the condemned duke’s eyes and saw the fire that remained in them.

Perhaps this execution was not all that it seemed after all.

[ERode]

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//Plaza at the Pier, Hathforth
_{@Estylwen@Click This}

"Of course."

Duke Rhinecliff rose from his seat. Death by immolation, but no pyre was built. Did Evelyn believe him to be some sort of Wizard-Duke? It was a grim affair, but he allowed himself a moment of levity, at least in his mind. A consignment to the flames was preferable to the axe or the noose. It was, in a way, a recommended death, in terms of what was to follow. And who else but a 'family friend' to perform the last rites before a living cremation? He took another draw of his cigar, tapping some ash off into the tray. A glance towards Duchess Agustria, another towards Sir Hayworth, and he was off.

With steady, certain steps, he ascended the platform, until he was on the same level as Sev, looking down at the man. Fresh injuries were upon him, staining the rags he was dressed up in. If the Wizard-Queen knew any better, she would've have made him drunk, showed him off as the disgrace he was that night, rather than give him opportunity to regain his dignity. Dark eyes glanced at the mundane shackles. Laurent would have been impressed if Sev had hidden his magical tutelage this entire time, only seeking to reveal it now, but something like that was only a good story. The most important thing...

"Good, you still have your tongue."

...was confirmed as he grasped the man's face and pried his mouth open.

"As one who bears duchal blood, Sev, you are granted privileges that others shall not. Though your people are not here, speak now, and die knowing that your words shall be carried to them, that this moment will be how you will be eulogized. You are, after all, already destined for death. What reasons remain for you to watch your words?"

The tip of the cigar glowed, turning ash-white.

The timer was set.

[Estylwen]

Plaza at the Pier, Execution Platform

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“Though your people are not here, speak now, and die knowing that your words shall be carried to them, that this moment will be how you will be eulogized. You are, after all, already destined for death. What reasons remain for you to watch your words?"

Duke Rhinecliff

Sev didn't fight it when Duke Rhinecliff had pried his mouth open. But he definitely leveled a flat gaze.

A eulogy, eh?

His eyes closed momentarily, imagining the vineyards of Nordor, the laughter of children in the street, life bursting from the very air. The carefree nature of the younger generation was carefully tended to by grizzled adults with a strong distrust to their neighbors in Aethera, Tarin, and Dibevin. And an even stronger distrust to the Crown in Hathforth.

The distrust wasn't uncalled for. Aethera especially loved to flaunt their magical prowess at Nordor whenever they had the chance. A long time ago Aethera was bold enough to bully the farmers of Nordor before Nordor retaliated with the Nordor Coalition, filled with men who had battle tactics and skils with the sword that rivaled the empty-headedness and dependency on magic of the Aetherians.

It was always Nordor, alone, having to stick up for itself in this province. It made the people jaded, but proud of their own strength. Their honest strength.

And here he was, having pushed it too far in the presence of the tyranny that aimed to slowly bleed Nordor dry. But, if Sev had to do it all over again, he wouldn't have changed a word he said on the night of the gala.

It was all the truth.

His eyes opened, and he regarded his ‘old friend’ with a mixture of gratitude and steel-heartedness, before he addressed the crowd. Addressed the Queen.

“The people of Nordor have always been known for their strong will, their determination, in the face of imminent defeat. Their refusal to die quietly.”

His fists clenched, causing the shackles on his wrists to clink. Sev's eyes narrowed at the Wizard Queen.

“I want my people to know that as one falls, a thousand Sev Willowsteels will rise. You can't kill a revolution, you can't silence a movement by killing the leader.”

His chin jutted out defiantly, staring right at the Queen. “Those present here know exactly what they're doing. It won't work. The people's cries will reach the All-force, and we will be here. Today, tomorrow. Ready to watch your reign end.”

And he drily spat on the ground in the direction of the Wizard Queen's feet. The Queen herself gave no reaction, staring with a bored expression.

Sev's eyes closed, he breathed in, and stared back at Duke Rhinecliff, his voice soft.

“Just do it quickly.”

[Donut Look Now]

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Nyx Heir the Wanderer

Plaza at the Pier, Execution Platform

_{Skills: Shifting}

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Nyx watches from the crowd, squished between bodies of others who came to see the Duke of Nordor meet his grisly end. His eulogy made a hush fall over the people there and she can feel the palpable tension among the commoners and nobility listening; these people are tired of the Wizard Queen’s reign as well.

It was truly a blessing to have Laurent’s phrase that could make the Skybound siblings sleep, for without it she would not be able to watch this event unfold. Once the twins had returned to their quarters, Nyx made quick work of putting Mene to sleep before finding a random soldier nearby. As was common, there was drinking involved with those off-duty and it had been easy to slip some sleeping drug into a mug without much notice.

One passed out soldier later, Nyx had made quick work of taking Asteria’s clothing off and placing it nicely in a storage closet before shifting into the body of the man she had drugged and stealing his clothes before stuffing him into the closet as well. She had arrived at the execution platform just as Duke Sev started his speech.

Now, there are some brave souls who cry out against the Wizard Queen, easily lost in the swarm of people. This is exactly the opportunity that Nyx has been hoping for. “Justice for the duke!” She yells in the deep voice of a man, the bass of it reverberating in her chest. Similar shouts scatter throughout the crowd. Nyx moves through the throng to a new position, making small changes here and there to her appearance. She doesn’t want to exert all her energy and end up being unable to shift back into Asteria, after all.

“End the Wizard Queen’s tyranny!” This seems to spur the people forward, the onlookers pushing closer to the stage’s edge. Nyx briefly wonders if the Duke of Rhinecliff would recognize her but quickly dismisses the thought as she repeats the same process a few more times. Once the crowd is successfully riled up with screaming and shouting, she slips away towards the back of the audience.

With one final glance over her shoulder, she watches as the people of the kingdom come close to a riot. She’s glad she had managed to pass around some rotten fruit and vegetables, knowing that a few of her spies had done the same. “I hope she gets hammered with some mushy tomatoes.” Nyx mumbles to herself before making her way back to the ship.

[Irradiant]

Duchess Altina Freya Bastille, Islara Yelren, & Raiden Asher

The catacombs of Agrovia, date unknown

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Collaborator: @Estylwen

The duchess wore a pensive look. “Hm… You bring up a salient point, Miss Islara.”

She clicked her teeth. “I must admit, I am at a loss.”

Sprawled across a wooden table was a map of Arrowfell, inked on a dirty parchment. And beneath it, crinkled slightly, was a map of Hathforth. The day of the Nordorian duke’s execution was drawing ever closer, and yet, a cloud of uncertainty still hung above the duchess’ head.

She’d yet to come up with a plan.

Annoyance would paint her face a fiery crimson. “The risks are much too great. I…” She paused, hesitation causing her voice to quiver. “The Sparrows will be stamped out if the battle persists.”

Islara scanned the duchess’ expression curiously.

So this histrionic woman isn’t so heartless after all.

She scoffed in amusement, a wry smile strumming upon her lips like a guitar, before she offered up her own thoughts.

“You are right, Duchess.”

The spymaster rose from her chair and approached, taking the map of Hathforth and unfurling it. She held it up to the torchlight. “But we need not let it persist.”

“What we need is to sow confusion. To throw the enemy into disarray.”

She cast a lifeless glance at the man leaning against the wall, his pet wolf licking at his feet. “Then, rescuing that hapless duke becomes a matter of subtlety, and not might.”

The gears were turning in her head. But Islara needed time to let her ideas sublimate.

The process was much like steeping tea leaves and then straining them, to rid them of impurities.

Islara would begin to pace around aimlessly, the pitter-patter of her steps echoing from the walls of the… “room” they were in, if one could call it that. This “room” was akin to a jail cell, though it was obviously regularly maintained.

Islara had heard of Agrovia’s underground passageways before, from other informants, but she’d actually never stepped foot in any of them. She didn't possess any knowledge on their layout either.

A history book she’d read helped her to understand why exactly the people of Agrovia had built them. But word on the wind was that they’d fallen into disuse long ago. Perhaps the duchess had them renovated in secret…

Tsk. She would have a stern talk-to with Joachim, a “friend” of hers from the underworld, later. That bastard sold me outdated intel.

Her footsteps would pause abruptly in front of the man with the wolf. “Raiden, you know Hathforth like the back of your hand, right?”

Islara pursed her lips, contemplating her next move. “If we were… able to pry the Duke of Nordor from their clutches somehow, what route can we take out of the city?”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “And preferably one that lets us get away without incident, yes?” She knew the man was fond of his games.

Islara would briefly recall a mission she’d gone on with the man, a memory that she would have preferred to perish in the recesses of her mind.

He’d made them crawl through a sewer slowly filling up with rot, trash, and debris. It proved to be the most efficient way to evade their pursuers at the time, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it had been the only way. Raiden had known her for a while, even back then. And what he knew about her was that she was a stickler for cleanliness.

Islara handed him the map of Hathforth, her eyes drilling holes into him as she waited for an answer.

Raiden glanced at Islara, eyes dropping to the map before cooly plucking it up in his gloved hands. He pretended to examine it, that cool demeanor never leaving them. They were thinking so hard about this. It was almost funny.

Alas, they didn't know what he knew.

“Your Grace,” He dipped his head to the duchess, before addressing both her and Islara. “If I may, we can forget about running from the fight. Or running to it.”

He smirked, giving his wolf Kai a pat before pushing off the wall, taking a step into the room. “There's a little surprise I brought with me from Tarin, one that had resided in the forested lake behind the Corrin Estate since I acquired it.”

“What would you say we could accomplish with, say… a dragon?”

His smirk widened as he laid the map on the table, pointing to Hathforth's waterfront. “It's a simple matter of flying south via the coast to their execution grounds. Then, we cause some chaos, pick up the duke, and sail on outta there. Easy as meat pie.”

The duchess met Raiden's smirk with a smirk of her own. Her previously tense expression would relax in an instant. “Well, that simplifies our escape then.”

Still, there was a question that lingered in her mind. “Pray tell, Raiden, how did you force such a beast to heel? Dragons are mighty creatures, and most of them are far from being docile.”

Raiden smiled. “You know I have a way with my words, Your Grace. The real story lies in how I acquired said dragon. You see, there was this lovely bar maiden—”

Islara cut in. “Perfect. So that matter is settled.” She gave Raiden a weak punch on the arm. “Good going there. For once.” The praise came out grumbled but sincere. Raiden gave a low chuckle.

She took back the map of Hathforth. “As for any moves on the ground,” she flashed a black, circular capsule, and flicked it skillfully between her fingers. Raiden would immediately recognize this strange contraption as a smoke bomb.

“Let me worry about that.” She caught Raiden's gaze, her voice steady and confident. “I’ll make sure you can fly away safely.”

Raiden stared for a moment, before he smirked. ”Right, boss.”

[Irradiant]

Islara Yelren & The Sparrows

The plaza of Hathforth, on the day of Duke Willowsteel's execution

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VIII: A Fuse Lit

Islara could hear the clamoring of the crowd, even while submerged in the shadows. Though the evening light could not reach her, their voices did. She would listen closely.

"Oh, Duke Willowsteel..." An old woman with graying hair muttered. There was a familiar sadness to her voice, which quivered with every word that escaped her lips. She was practically teetering into a sob.

"His Grace is a good man. He deserves a second chance, like the rest of us." There went the tears. Her pleas would be lost to the wind. Like the constant ebb and flow of time, the execution would go on, and the duke would number yet another victim of the Queen.

Just as Roland was. Just like the Corrins were.

Islara gritted her teeth. I've cried my share. Now, I must act.

She would dispel her magic, appearing behind the woman with an understanding smile. She held the woman by the shoulders, her expression fraught with concern. "Are you alright, ma'am?" She put on an accent. "What seems to be the problem?"

The old woman cleared her eyes. She looked up to meet Islara's gaze, her eyes glinting with surprise. "Oh, hello there, young Miss. I... did not mean to alarm you." An apologetic bow.

"It's a shame what is going to happen to Duke Willowsteel," Islara would remark with a hint of remorse.

A sniffle. "Why, yes, it is." The woman stopped her sobbing. "If you must know, I used to serve the late Duke Arthur Willowsteel, you see." A wistful smile crossed her face. "And I also served His Grace too, when he was young. Little Sev, so full of vigor..." She trailed off with a laugh. "I still remember when he would play in the vineyards of the Nordor estate. A rascal, he was..."

A grim pause.

And with that, her smile was gone, fleeting as a firework in one of the Queen's gala. "But those days have passed."

"To think it would come to this..."

Islara pondered her own memories of the Corrins. Of happier times. Out of everyone, she could make out Roland's face clearly. His expression as he told her of his plans for the Sparrows... She could still visualize it. They lay listlessly on the wet grass of the Tarin manse. It was after a hard day's work, and they were passing the time in casual conversation.

Islara did not normally go around rolling in fauna — dirty as it was. But for Roland, she made an exception. She would turn to him, resting her head on her arm.

"So, Mr. Dreamer, think you can handle Raiden and his pet wolf in a fight?" She blurted out something random.

Roland scoffed. "Ha! I would bet my sister's ashes on it!"

Islara rolled her eyes. Roland always had a way of making light of even heavy topics, something Islara wasn't accustomed to, at first. As they grew closer, however, she began to develop some endearment for these quirks of his. This was a... natural progression to their relationship, one could say.

Still, she didn't believe him. "Right." A sarcastic response.

Of all the memories she'd made with the man, Islara couldn't figure out why this particular memory came to her suddenly. Perhaps it was because of the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

More likely, it was because the mundane, day-to-day memories made her feel his loss even more.

"Dry your tears, ma'am." She offered words of consolation to the woman. "Everything will work out."

But before the woman would be able to respond, Islara would disappear without a trace.

—

The drums would boom a deathly rhythm, steady as a heartbeat.

The people would whisper amongst themselves, fear as a faint wisp of air upon their lips.

The Duke of Nordor would deliver his final words, as permitted by Duke Rhinecliff.

And then his end would come.

If only that were how it played out...

As Duke Willowsteel exhaled his last rites, a smoke would rise from the stands, black as obsidian. It swept through the swathes of onlookers like a fog, and it did not take long before it swallowed them whole. From within the blanket of darkness, one could hear the unmistakable melody of chaos, a chorus of panic no doubt produced by the people caught up in it.

Islara would climb out of Duke Rhinecliff's shadow.

Wasting no time, she rushed to Duke Willowsteel's side. Snap. With an impressive display of daggerwork, she cut off his restraints. "If you wish to escape, stay close to me," she whispered in the man's ears.

Then, from her hands, she would detonate another smoke bomb, releasing a plume of red that clashed against black. Now Raiden would know where to land.

[Estylwen]

Plaza at the Pier, Execution Platform

---

“End the Wizard Queen’s tyranny!”

”Angry Crowd”

The Wizard Queen didn't bother moving as the crowd raged. Instead, her eyes flickered to Vulluin, who was quick to give out orders.

“Call for the guards at the barracks! Solidify a barrier around the Queen and her entourage. Block the stairwell; Don't let anyone approach the platform!”

Immediately, guards began shoving unruly citizens back, blocking off access to those under the canopy or those on the execution platform. From the west, guards began funneling in from the street, doubling up the lines. None had drawn their sword. At least, not yet.

Tomatoes began to fly. Lobed by angry faces, it was a sight Vulluin was loathed to see. In irritation, his hand struck out, causing a spray of ice to arc in the air, catching a tomato and halting it's momentum. As the frozen tomato fell, Vulluin glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Wizard Queen.

“Permission to teach the rabble some respect?”

“Granted.” The Wizard Queen said effortlessly.

So Vulluin took a step forward, narrowed his eyes, staring at the crowd. Faces of anger, grief, desperation looked back at him, screaming for justice.

Contempt was written in his face as his earrings shimmered, and the magic within them was cast. In an instant, the crowd grew quiet, staring with shocked eyes. Before each began to react to the unexplainable horror that clawed up from the depths of their very souls. Some stood there, numb. Some fell to their knees, hyperventilating and crying. Others stumbled on numb feet, running for their lives. Tomatoes and other rotten vegetables were dropped as the crowd broke up and scattered.

The riot was snuffed out as quickly as it had started.

But before Vulluin and the guards could assess the situation further, smoke wafted in, overtaking the entire execution platform. A red plume was soon seen reaching up into the sky.

Duke Willowsteel stared in shock at his potential rescuer, before he bit out, “You shouldn't be here. You know what they'll do to you if they catch you?!”

They’d torture her endlessly before letting her slowly die in front of the people.

But before Sev could get another hoarse word out, a great, rumbling roar reverberated the smoky darkness. Flashes of green scales could be seen as Raiden dove in on the back of a magnificent dragon, hand outstretched to Islara.

“Get him up here, we gotta go!” Raiden cried out.

Alas, their cover wouldn't last. The wind took on a bitter chill as snowflakes began whipping through the air. The wind churned, sharp and cold, blowing away the smoke. It revealed a shocking scene on the execution platform.

A bright green dragon, thirty feet in length, was circled about a Sparrow intruder and a somewhat freed Duke Willowsteel. And riding atop the dragon was another Sparrow. The guards immediately turned face, and the schling of swords drawn from their sheaths broke the air.

The Wizard Queen stood from her chair. “Guards, apprehend them!”

The guards began to rush the execution platform, giving space to Duke Rhinecliff as they attempted to ground Raiden and pin Islara and Sev. One guard cast a spider web net wide and high, hoping to cover all four of them in a sticky, strong net.

[Irradiant]

Islara Yelren & The Sparrows

The plaza of Hathforth, on the day of Duke Willowsteel's execution

---

IX: Budding Flowers Over Graves

The stirred pot was now starting to boil over.

Stone-faced, Islara observed the display of ice magic from the Queen’s advisor. The biting blizzard would soon rid them of their only advantage. With her plan essentially foiled, one can only imagine the anxiety that gnawed on the woman. But she felt no such thing.

She turned to Duke Willowsteel, her free hand urgently ushering him up the dragon. “You must depart. Now.”

A steely gaze landed on Raiden. Islara would give him a solemn but firm nod. “Go. I’ll buy you time.”

She’d made her peace long ago, before this mission. She swirled a pellet on her tongue, tucking it underneath.

The duke’s life was important, far more important than hers. No doubt would word of his rescue quickly reach the Nordor demesne. Perhaps such news, of knowing that their ruler yet lives, would finally embolden the people of Nordor to rebel.

She brandished her dagger, the lingering smoke cloaking it in a temporary haze. It’s too early to dwell on defeat. Just one emotion streaked across her face. We haven’t lost yet.

But if she were to fall here, it would be on her own terms. She would make sure of it.

The smoke had now completely dissipated, revealing her figure, along with Raiden’s and the dragon’s. The Queen’s guards were closing in, their hastened steps grinding against the concrete of the execution grounds. One of the knights had even attempted to ensnare them in a trap.

Clever. However, the net would burn away, engulfed by a mystical flame, before it could touch them.

“Looks like we made it in time!” A familiar voice called out to her from the stands. It was a young man with brown hair. He wore a breastplate with the insignia of the Sparrows.

A blue flame hovered on his palm, gathering in size and intensity. He would toss it in the direction of the guards, and it would burst in a deadly conflagration, leaving a desiccated crater in its wake.

Contrasting the skinny young pyromancer was the muscular man emerging from the aftermath of the firestorm. He clutched a broadsword with his right hand, the tip of the blade trailing along dirt, creating lines and other patterns.

There were those among the Queen’s guards who survived the blast, and they would surround the man in a tight formation. But the giant would shake them off with nothing but a flick of his weapon.

“Damn it! Don’t underestimate us, interloper!” A lone knight would start to engage him head-on, blade overhead, preparing for a downswing.

He too would fail, bisected from the torso by his foe’s broadsword. His blood and entrails were splayed out on the ground unceremoniously. A squish could be heard as his killer continued his pace, the metal on the man’s feet pressing against intestines and other organs.

The other knights around him froze in place. So, the man quietly passed them by. After all, if they moved, twitched, even slightly, the fate that awaited them was staring them right in the face.

Meanwhile, on the raised platform where the execution would have occurred, Islara armed herself with another dagger, forming a pair.

She leveled her previous one at Duke Rhinecliff. “So, the ruler of Odonfield now licks the feet of this… ‘queen’ too? How shameful.” Scathing criticism spilled from her lips like a waterfall off a cliff’s edge.

Piercing eyes would shift towards Advisor Urimyar. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten, elf. The suffering you’ve inflicted… On me, on us… I will inflict it upon you tenfold.”

Those were the final words that Islara exchanged.

In the next passing moments, she would lunge forward with superhuman speed, intending a beheading. And she would have succeeded too, if not for another blade putting a stop to hers.

Sir Hayworth stood in front of Advisor Urimyar, his steel locking Islara in a standoff. He pushed ferociously against the would-be assassin, sparks flying amidst the struggle. “Apologies for my tardiness, Sir Vulluin.”

Islara scoffed. “Ha! Agrovia as well? Have the territories of Arrowfell grown soft?” An obvious taunt.

But Sir Hayworth would ignore it. Something more pressing was on his mind. How... is she matching my strength? Sir Hayworth was by no means holding back. And yet, no matter how hard he pushed, Islara, too, would push harder. The assassin had forced a stalemate: a stalemate that would not have been possible, if not for…

Prying eyes would spot a ring on the woman’s hand.

A Seed.

She was being empowered by a Seed.

So that's how it is. Sir Hayworth would change tactics.

“Guh—!” In a blink of an eye, Islara was sent flying backwards. Sir Hayworth had expelled a stream of mana from his sword, surging forth unexpectedly like a wave. Unable to resist its flow, Islara found herself ultimately swept away by it.

“Sir Vulluin,” Sir Hayworth began ominously, addressing the elven man behind him. “She is dangerous. We must not let her reach the Queen.”

Islara would soon rise to her feet, held up by her companions, who now stood side by side with her. Sir Hayworth looked them up and down, a grave expression wrinkling his face. “Not her, nor the pyromancer, or that warrior.”

Islara let a brief smile tug at her lips. Now all the attention would be on her. On them.

[ERode]

---

//Plaza at the Pier, Hathforth
_{@Estylwen@Click This@Irradiant@Donut Look Now}

Duke Rhinecliff let Sev speak his piece.

He had his own thoughts on the last words that a Duke ought to leave his people. Certainly, he didn’t think it was all that great a thing, to push his people towards revolution when they had no defense against this new form of warfare. The development of magic outpaced the development of steel and tools thus far; the presence and monopolization of Seeds only further forced that divide. What battle tactics had been used once mattered less with the titanic arcane potential of these particular artifacts.

Did the man wish to see his people collared for his words?

Down below the stage, the people stirred. Sev did have the countenance of a hero, after all. Young and unmarried, a stalwart supporter of Nordor’s commonfolk, yet without that class-defining intellectualism that other duchal lords possessed. He was the sort that would be able to truly drink and feast with others. Laurent’s dark eyes gazed over the brewing discontent, could see already the elven advisor make his move. Blue gems glowed within the dangling earrings, and fear seized the populace, forcing them to kneel, to run, to hide.

He disagreed, perhaps, with Nyx’s decision, but it was useful information, nonetheless. A Seed to foment mass hysteria. Yet more proof of the decreasing value of mundane troops. Could it work against the undead though? Or had the King of the North already claimed dominion over the minds of his own people?

Thoughts to be considered at another time, for the riot had only been a prelude.

A shadow extended out from his own, the form of an assassin that brought forth smoke and danger. A dragon, of all things, descended from the skies, a creature of legend that had been tamed to serve the purposes of the Sparrows. Sev, freed in the chaos of the moment, as Islara turned with vehemence upon them all. Duke Rhinecliff stared at the former Royal Knight, his mien unreadable but for the slightest hint of bemusement.

Licking her feet? Seriously?

“Such open rebellion will not reflect well upon the people of Tarin.”

He dropped back, creating distance, while Sir Hayworth clashed with Islara. It would no longer be flame, but it would be enough.

“Magic Arrows, Seven Lights.”

Daylight coalesced into bolts of pure energy as the Duke extended his index finger towards his target. He had his own role to play, after all.

It wasn’t fire like the Wizard-Queen desired, but it was quick, as Sev requested.

Seven arcane arrows flew, fanning out around all combatants before converging upon the only one present who had been slated for death.

[Click This]

Mirie Agustria of the Grand Bank,

Duchess of Caelin

---

Execution Grounds\\

And indeed, the execution was not what it had seemed at all. In fact, what happened had far exceeded her expectations, and Mirie had to be impressed. Duke Willowsteel was allowed his last words—a speech, and the crowd responded in kind. It was interesting, how it started. The murmurs and yells among the crowd started sporadically at first, and then drew closer and closer to a riot.

Were those rotten tomatoes? They were.

Still seated, the duchess of Caelin threw up a shield of wind around the stands. It would not do if her other the other important guests would be marred by an unfortunate fruit, and it served to add additional protection to the Queen, as well. Returning her attention to the crowd, she watched the chaos placidly at first. She was convinced there were plants in crowd—and a prelude to something else.

The arrival of Islara and then a dragon of all things was on cue, as unexpected of a manner of a rescue as it was. It seemed the last vestiges of Roland Corrin were still hanging on—here to enact some manner of revenge for the dead duke.

This was also quickly beginning to become out of hand as she watched the butchery of the Queen’s knights. Taking in the scene, as her eyes flicked towards the Queen, then Vulluin, she made a quick decision. She leaned over to Minuette at her side, whispering. “Do not interfere when it comes to Duke Willowsteel. However,” she commanded, before raising her voice to be properly heard, “See to it the Queen is protected.”

For a brief moment, Minuette gave her lady a questioning look, before inclining her head a fraction as she rose, drawing her sword.
Mirie’s attention was drawn back towards the crowd—Vulluin’s magic had dispersed much of the initial rioting, but the appearance of the Duke’s would be rescuers was beginning to reinvigorate those committed to his cause. She remained in her seat, not to intervene personally, but she kept up her shield for the benefit of those still in the stands.

Minuette had taken two of the duchess’s lifeguard, and appearing next to Sir Hayworth, arrived in time to even the odds. In contrast to Mirie’s knights, with their maidish accoutrements that made them stand out as Mirie’s, she was dressed as a proper countess for this outing, but was still not a woman to be underestimated herself. “It would appear you would have things in hand,” she greeted, complementing her counterpart’s guesswork as she took a guarding position.

“But when it comes to the safety of her majesty, it is better to be safe than sorry, no?”

[Estylwen]

Plaza at the Pier, Execution Platform

@Irradiant, @Click This, @ERode

---

“Look out!”

Guards dove out of the way as a bright flame was launched towards them, narrowly escaping the blast radius. The attack had been successful, however, as not all were able to escape the blast in time, charred corpses on the platform.

“She is dangerous. We must not let her reach the Queen. Not her, nor the pyromancer, or that warrior.”

Sir Hayworth

There was the lightest sense of appreciation decorating Vulluin's gaze as he side-eyed the warrior. His voice rose over the chaos, directed to the guards.

“Protect Her Majesty, arrest the intruders, and secure the duke!”

The remaining guards acted quickly, coming down from the other side of the raised platform to form a protective line in front of the Wizard Queen and the rest of the nobles. Others stalked around the charred corpses, eyes on the Sparrow, his dragon, and Duke Willowsteel.

Duke Willowsteel watched with silence as the lit arrows soared towards him. His eyes flicked to Duke Rhinecliff, before they shut.

Surely, this was the end.

Well, not if Raiden had anything to say about it.

Raiden saw the arrows shot by Duke Rhinecliff arcing towards Duke Willowsteel, and acted fast. A low whistle under his breath, and the green dragon twisted around the duke, forming a protective barrier. The arrows hit the dragon's scales, the scales glowing white slightly with each impact, before bouncing off harmlessly.

Unwinding slightly, the dragon's head reached down as low as possible. With a grunt, Raiden leaned down and grabbed Sev's arm, practically dragging the man onto the dragon. With one last curt whistle, Raiden made eye contact with Duke Rhinecliff, then the Wizard Queen, gave a mock salute, and the dragon took off into the sky.

Guards hollered, throwing all manner of spells, fireballs, and electrical attack at the receding figure. Alas, simple twirls in the sky, and the dragon managed to dodge most, before it was naught but a speck against the evening sky.

Now?

The collective rage of the Queen's guards was now wholly focused on Islara and her two Sparrows. Vulluin as well, as his face settled into a delicate scowl.

As Duchess Agustria's personal hand approached the side of Sir Hayworth's side, Vulluin eyed her. Someone capable of evening the odds more. Good. It would be more likely they'd be able to apprehend and questions these meddlers.

”Take them alive if you can. If not, at least one to suffer being tied to a post will do.” Vulluin said, raising his hands towards the three Sparrows.

Immediately, the sky overhead clouded, and shards of ice, sharp like glass, began raining down on Islara and her companions. The guards, obediently, backed up so as to stay out of range, closing their ranks around the Wizard Queen. Vulluin, at the same time, activated his Seed, hoping to imbue them with enough fear to sow discord among their ranks.

Meanwhile, one of the guards slunk around to the side of the Wizard Queen, bowing before whispering in her ear. In the next instant, her eyes narrowed as her gaze locked on Duke Rhinecliff.

[Irradiant]

Crispin Alcott & The Sparrows

The plaza of Hathforth, on the day of Duke Willowsteel's execution

---

X: Swan Song

His heart raced inexplicably.

Crispin could feel a sinking dread starting to tear into him, with claws as sharp as a Dremora’s. Instinctively, his eyes lingered on the piece of jewelry that hung from a particular elf’s ears. It lit up with a mysterious glow, as if some mechanism within it had roared to life. He knew it was the advisor’s Seed, a nefarious Seed that can impose on one’s emotions.

Worse, it was also the very Seed that helped to take the lives of the Corrins.

Though he’d already been briefed on its effects by Islara, still, the Seed was no less potent. His fingers trembled out of reflex. His mind, clouded by thoughts of fallen allies. Yet, even under the influence of the Seed’s power, there remained a sliver of his will. And it would remind him of all that he’d lost.

His father and mother.

His brothers and sisters.

His home.

“You won’t get the best of us, craven!” Crispin yelled with a crack.

In the next moment, the air around him would begin to sizzle.

As the daggers of ice whirred, intending to rain destruction, an invisible blaze would consume them, reducing them to mist. With each shard, the mist would grow thicker and thicker, until a backdrop of pure white would swallow everything whole.

"Don't let them escape!" Sir Hayworth didn’t miss a beat. A violent energy swirled on the edge of his sword as he raised it, and he gathered the haze in a makeshift cyclone.

But once he could finally see, neither Crispin nor Islara could be found. The three Sparrows had vanished.

[Estylwen]

Plaza at the Pier, Execution Platform

---

Vulluin's eyes narrowed, clicking his tongue in exasperation. His head turned to the guards. “Search the streets, don't let them escape!”

But he knew, and as he glanced up at the Wizard Queen, he could feel her icy eyes boring into him. He had inadvertently allowed them to escape.

Vulluin bowed his head.

The wind stirred across the execution platform. Today, not a single drop of blood would be spilled.

---

Arthroyeaux, Throne Room of the Ghost King's Castle

---

A robed ghost flung the doors open and ran into the throne room, flinging himself to the Ghost King's feet.

“Your Majesty,” He said, breathlessly. “It's gone. The sword. The Clandestine failed in its retrieval.”

King DuFairre's hooded visage hid his reaction as he rested a ghostly chin on a gauntleted hand. “And who, pray tell, has it now?”

A moment's hesitation. “...That Tearmoon, in service to that farce of a queen.”

The Ghost King stared for a moment. “Unfortunate. But regardless, we must move forward. Gather the Clandestine. There is much to discuss…”

---

The Battle-Blood Minstrel, At Sea

_{In collaboration with @Izurich}

---

It was a few days into their voyage aboard the Battle-Blood Minstrel. The skies were cloudy, threatening rain on this particular morning.

The mood matched Wizard Queen Evelyn as she stood on the deck, waited on none but Vulluin. She was dressed in a long black dress with pink ruffle accents, decorated with glittering embroidery and beadwork. Her crown felt especially heavy that day as she held up a letter, messenger raven perched upon her shoulder.

Reading its contents only made her expression darker, before her eyes narrowed in severity, and she spoke to Vulluin, still facing away.

“Bring Lord Blackthorne and Lady Tearmoon in front of me, my quarters.”

Vulluin bowed. “It will be done, Your Majesty.”

Soon, Lord Blackthorne and Lady Tearmoon were brought before the Wizard Queen in her study behind the ship's wheel. Beyond the scattering of parchment on her desk, the Queen sat there regally, stroking the messenger raven as it sat on her desk.

She gave them a moment to adjust in her presence, and bow, before she spoke.

“Lord Blackthorne,” She started, her tone cold, staring right at the half-elf. “You've been faithful to me these past two years, but that faithfulness, as I suspected, was stained.”

She held up the incriminating parchment. “I had your personal quarters overturned while we were away on this voyage due to your… shall we say, ‘visit’ across the border. And my men found a ledger detailing all the transactions between you and your spy network, something you withheld. And a diary stipulating some of the secrets you bought, and, more importantly, the secrets you sold. Being right beside the Queen, and you betray her by selling off some of the most intimate details of my Court…

“I'm disappointed, Lord Blackthorne. Disappointed, but not surprised.”

The Queen stared at the half-elf for a long moment before she raised her voice a little. “Guards!”

Immediately, the door opened, revealing two well-built soldiers dressed in armour, eyes on the Queen, before falling to her guests.

The Wizard Queen gestured to Lord Blackthorne, “Put him in the barracks.”

Lord Blackthorne didn't resist as the guards pulled him away, only getting out a “You're making a mistake, Your Majesty.” Before he was escorted away.

The door shut, and there was pin-drop silence, before the Wizard Queen turned her illuminated eyes to Lady Tearmoon.

“...I find myself in need of a Court Mage. Lady Tearmoon, I believe in your skills. I am promoting you to the position in my Court. You will carry out the duties that Lord Blackthrone did, and serve me faithfully.

“Do you, Lady Tearmoon, accept?”

Ah, It appears the hens have come home to roost...

This was one of those times where Melisande had little to say against Kronos' quip, but not due to a lack of agreement, instead, the opposite; assuming even half of the evidence was true, then her mentor had committed high treason for conspiracy against the reigning monarch. Though he might have his reasons, it was well within said monarch's rights to enforce the laws set within her domain. Indeed, as any sovereign worth their title should.

Intrigue and subterfuge were inseparable aspects of high society, the game they all played within the court, and Court Mage Blackthorne had just lost...

This outcome too, was within the Tearmoon Matriarch's calculations. Perhaps Mother had always known, perhaps she merely suspected it, but the fact remained that the shrewd Lilim had provided her eldest daughter with what she needed to do in such situations.

With an outwardly impassive yet practiced expression, the ash-haired Fey turned her gaze from the retreating Court Mage and toward the reigning monarch of Arrowfell, "I'd be exceptionally honored to receive such a privilege and all the responsibilities it'd entail, Your Majesty." Melisande responded with a graceful bow, then straightened, "However, it'd be ungrateful of me to accept without consideration of my elders and sisters back home." Thus, banking on the likely possibility that Evelyn had already known of her kin's peerless natural talent at all things arcane, she continued, "I humbly request that you grant the Tearmoon Coven exclusive rights to manage the Glasic Fields, Your Majesty, and I am yours."

A slight narrow of the eyes as the Wizard Queen stared at Mèlisande.

”...And how do I know you won't pilfer the cream of the crop behind my back, as the new caretakers of the Fields?”

Heh… apt coming from one who has enemies in every corner.

"The same way you couldn’t be perfectly assured that your former advisor wouldn’t engage in tomfoolery until it happened." Melisande replied matter-of-factly, "But that’s why we have laws and regulations, so there’ll be consequences. However, the fact remains that one can’t truly control what others would do, only how one reacts, as you did with Lord Blackthorne."

The Wizard Queen stared carefully, before she steepled her fingers together on the desk, slight amusement in her face. ”A very honest response, Lady Tearmoon. Very well. Then I will have you be part of the solution. You will execute Lord Blackthorne, as I would have you executed if you follow in his footsteps. Consider it… a test of loyalty.”

And there it is, heh, I was wondering when she'd stop beating around the bush. Was this within your expectations, Feyling?

Her reputation already precedes her, what happened to Duke Willowsteel simply serves as yet another proof.

"As any sovereign worth their title should, Your Majesty." Melisande maintained her measured calmness; though to be honest, even if Jezebel had informed her that a few paths might be bloodier than others in the plot to get her invited into the Wizard Queen's inner circle, and despite her already suspecting the Court Mage having his own unsanctioned network of spies, it'd be a lie to say she didn't feel at least some amount of regret.

After all, Blackthorne's foundation was the one that noticed her talent and arranged the scholarship with the academy, not to mention the days they spent together as master and apprentice, however brief. Perhaps, the silver lining was this outcome happening sooner than later, before she could become too attached to the dark-haired half-elf.

At that, the Wizard Queen stood, and Vulluin moved to open the door.

“Follow, Lady Tearmoon.” She said, before exiting the royal quarters.

The group traveled across the deck, sailors and guards bowing immediately upon seeing the Wizard Queen. Their eyes gazed sideways at Lady Tearmoon, curious, but maintaining their silence.

Vulluin led them down the stairs to the barracks, tucked away in the hull of the Battle-Blood Minstrel. He spoke in a low voice to the head guard, and the entire vicinity cleared. It was only the three of them, and Lord Blackthorne, standing in the furthest cell. He had been given enchanted irons with hand covers, nullifying his magic. And as he saw the expression in the Wizard Queen's face, his own face darkened.

Vulluin spoke on behalf of the Wizard Queen, opening the door to Lord Blackthorne's cell. “Lord Blackthorne, due to your treason and crimes against the Crown, you will be executed without trial.”

And Vulluin stepped back, allowing Lady Tearmoon access to the cell, and in turn, Lord Blackthorne, who was staring impassively, his seed stilling his quaking heart.

The young chronomancer turned her attention from the Wizard Queen and her Advisor toward the - now former - Court Mage. For a moment after the verdict was given, Melisande paused.

Are you sure you're willing to be the executioner? Who knows, maybe you do not wish to have blood on your hands~

I already tried to murder two people merely a night ago, Kronos.

Ah, but those... things aren't people, dear Feyling.

... .... ... no, I have to be one who does this. It's a test to prove my loyalty.

Heh, would she know the difference?

How can you know she wouldn't?

You make a fair point, Feyling, hehehe...

There was no need to prolong this, the verdict was given, for his transgressions against the crown, Eirwen Blackthorne would die this day; twas' only a matter of who would bring down the axe upon his treasonous neck. For her mission, for her coven, it shall be her, but the least she could do for the condemned was to make it painless.

Thus, reaching her right hand out, Melisande's opened palm closed into a fist as she silently cast the Void spell upon Eirwen's head...

In an instant, the innards of Lord Blackthorne’s brain were violently assaulted upon. A trickle of blood fell from his nose as he stumbled forward and collapsed, lights having already left his eyes.

Lord Blackthorne was no more.

The Wizard Queen stared with cool impassiveness, before she glanced to Vulluin, who ordered some guards to take care of the body. Then, a passing glance to Lady Tearmoon, and the Wizard Queen withdrew, returning to her chambers on the top deck.

---

They were spending a few days at the Grand Bank to resupply and make merry. The Grand Bank was known for its merriment, after all. As the guards and sailors were busy getting drunk at the local taverns along the coast, the Wizard Queen and her personal escorts rested at a waterfront hotel. She had the rooftop suite all to herself.

Busy with paperwork, it came as a surprise when her newly appointed Court Mage was let in by Vulluin, who closed the door behind him as he left the two in privacy.

“...What's on your mind, Court Mage Tearmoon?” She asked, quill hovering in her hand.

As the door was closed behind her, former Court Apprentice, now Court Mage Melisande of the Tearmoon Coven, calmly approached Hathforth's reigning monarch, striding through the hotel suite reserved by the Wizard Queen. She took a moment to observe the view from the penthouse's window before finally taking the seat across Evelyn's. Now that they were Queen and Court Mage, Melisande adapted her conduct, behaving more casually around the sovereign, yet still maintaining a modicum of decorum as expected from royal courtiers.

"Well, it's not exactly about what's on my mind, Your Majesty," The Lilim paused, letting her words hang in the air for a moment, "Thus, we believe it's better for it to join us itself."

Without further ado, Melisande's Seed shone a dim blue glow as an apparition spawned beside her, as if rising from Melisande's own shadow. Before long, a perfectly identical twin of the Court Mage stood before the Wizard Queen, a placid expression on her face...

…before “she” curled a wide, demented grin.

Instantly the air felt just a tad bit heavier, as if the shadows themselves closed in upon them.

"We meet at last, Half-Elvenling-..."

"Kronos, manners." Melisande, the real one, calmly yet firmly chided her 'twin'.

"Hmm? Surely it's unnecessary between friends. After all, she's no stranger to consorting with the denizens of the Shade."

So her suspicions had been true. The Wizard Queen regarded the Shade with a keen interest. Her ties with Dremora's Shade were deep and etched on the soul, so it was no surprise that she granted Kronos a slight leeway in his manners. The Shade weren't subjects in Arrowfell, after all.

Kronos chuckled, "However, let us not tarry. I shall address the matter at hand." The Dremora focused its gaze at the Wizard Queen, its brows frowning in primal hatred, yet not directed at the latter, at least not yet, "We have a mutual enemy, Queen, those detestable mockeries of my kin dwelling in Ravenfell."

"We've learned that King DuFairre and his subjects are preparing an invasion to conquer Arrowfell and turn it into a realm of wraiths as he once did to his own homeland." Melisande added, perfectly knowing that Kronos cared little for such "trivialities", but Evelyn might.

The Wizard Queen nodded at that, before allowing Kronos to continue.

"Though I care little for mortal affairs, those... things are such revolting abominations that I feel pity for you people, having to suffer their existence, therefore... it's in our best interest for them to... stop existing, much preferably sooner than later." The simulacrum chuckled lowly, then hissed through its teeth, "Ssso, are we in agreement so far, Queen of Arrowfell?"

A pause, before the Wizard Queen nodded. ”We are. I have been making preparations for months in an effort to protect Arrowfell from their undead claws… What are you proposing, Kronos of the Shade? Surely you came to me with a plan on wiping out the north?”

Good, she already knew, that'd make things less of a chore. "What I propose is to not simply cease at merely protection, the blight must be pulled out from its roots or they'll haunt you and your subjects forevermore..." The Simulacrum trailed off into a slight pause and at the same time, the shadow its physical vessel cast began shifting unnaturally, its umbral lips hovering by Evelyn's right ear, "Use the leviathan you intend to call forth from the depths, march your armies together with it to exorcise Ravenfell from every single spectral filth plaguing those lands. Leave. None. Un-Live."

The Wizard Queen held her position, listening as the shadow spoke in her ear. Before set her quill aside, and laced her fingers on her deck.

“The annihilation of an entire people… Even I thought you weren't so cold, Shadeling.”

A pause, before the Queen tilted her head, “I will let you in on my plans, as you are now as close as my Right Hand. The King used a complex spell delivered by his Royal Symphony, a battalion of high-level mages, to transform everyone into ghosts.”

“I believe it's possible to reverse the spell, and return them to their human forms. But to do that, I would have to cross into their territory, which is heavily guarded with anti-magic defenses.”

Her hands drew apart to circle a finger on the desk. “The leviathan can cross these defenses easily, and the army can secure the city while I convince that farce of a king to bring everyone back to life.”

When Evelyn revealed her side of the ploy, an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief left Melisande's lips; whatever was the nature of the relationship between the Lilim Court Mage and the Dremora of Space-Time, they apparently had different views regarding Ravenfell's undead populace. If there was a way to oust the misguided king from his throne and save his people from the deathly fate forced upon them, then...

"Then you underestimate the lengths of my revulsion for those putrescent creatures, Half-Elf Queen, hehehe..." Kronos grinned once more, as if amused, "I never took you for an idealist, but mark my words, if this... noble scheme of yours fail, then be ready to do what is necessary to ensure the safety of your people." After all, if Lamont had his way, then it'd endanger its host as well, and there was no way in all of the Dremora's Shade that it'd let the false king took Jezebel and Evelyn before it could, "Or I will..." And with that, the Simulacrum vanished into tiny motes of mana.

“Noted.” The Wizard Queen said easily, watching the mana slowly disperse.

"As you can see, Your Majesty, Kronos has no love lost for Ravenfell. Lamont must've made an incredibly poor first impression to it, in a way, I'm... impressed." Melisande murmured before clearing her throat, "But yes, personally, I believe only Lamont and his co-conspirators, such as that Royal Symphony, deserve something as severe as capital punishment, but his people, they're innocent." The Lilim nodded, frowning with determination, "If there's a way we can save them and punish only the guilty, then let's do it."

The Wizard Queen gave a nod. “Of course. And, as my Court Mage, I would have you at my side that day when we take Ravenfell for our own.”

A pause, before she leaned back in her seat slightly. “I am still arranging your Coven to take control of the Fields. By the time we return to Hathforth, I am hopeful I will have prepared the fields enough to invite them in. Beyond this, and the Shade's desire for the slaughter of the north, is there anything else you would ask of me, Court Mage Tearmoon?”

"That I will," The Lilim nodded, curling a confident smile, out of all the things she wanted to prove Kronos wrong about, this was definitely one of them, "As for the Fields, I'll deliver the news to the Matriarch once you deem it's proper." Melisande paused, digging into her mind if there was anything else she'd like to address right now, there was the recovered sword - now christened 'Shadesbane' - but Kronos had claimed it and Mother did advise them to keep its retrieval a secret on a need-to-know basis, a little ace up their sleeve when and if it's needed, therefore...

"That'd be all for now, Your Majesty," The Court Mage stood up, but then remembered something, a little trivial thing, but since she was still there, "If you're willing, Your Majesty, simply refer to me using my first name. It may be relevant sooner than later as we... have a lot of 'Tearmoons', all Lilim members of the coven share the same surname, haha. Regardless, I shall return to my quarters." With that, the adolescent chronomancer left the chamber.

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One Week Later…
Morning, Fredas, 28th Hearthfire, 1402

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Battle-Blood Minstrel, At Sea

_{In collaboration with @The Otter}

---

It was an easy enough matter to meet the Battle-blood Minstrel at the Grand Bank. Despite the aches and pains of riding hard for a few days, they'd made it.

Her Majesty the Wizard Queen had, graciously, given Lady Furino and Callum time to rest before meeting officially. And now, on the day of the end of their voyage, when the Wizard Queen would need her people near, Callum and Lady Furino were called into her chambers, located behind the ship's wheel.

The Wizard Queen was seated behind a desk, poured over maps of Athius and strange diagrams of swirling masses. Vulluin had opened the door, and gave a nod to the two young ones, stepping aside. ”Her Majesty's been expecting you.”

The Wizard Queen, dressed in elegant emerald silks, looked up from her research. Her gaze softened a little upon seeing Anabel, before she glanced at Callum.

“I understand I have you to thank for saving Lady Furino. You have my eternal gratitude.”

A pause. “I trust Lady Furino told you what I seek?”

The red-haired young man resisted the urge to tug at his collar. Given the hard riding they’d had to do, by the time he and Anabel had arrived, his clothes had been a mess, even the ones he’d had stored away. With no time to have them properly cleaned and dried, but knowing that he was due to be presented before the queen, the courtiers, servants, and tailors that always attended her and her guests had quickly found more presentable clothes for him to wear.

The tailoring really was excellent, but while high collars were the prevailing fashion, he was used to wearing them somewhat more open. The courtier that took the lead on getting him dressed had disagreed very strongly with such a concept.

That small discomfort paled in comparison to the nervousness that beset him about the entire rest of the situation, however. He stood face to face with the Wizard Queen herself, and he hadn’t even been given a moment to bow before being addressed. His eldest brother had seen their monarch before, attending some of her events in their father’s stead, but even Allan had never stood quite so close to her, or been spoken to so directly.

Callum dipped his head in a small bow, a modicum of the respect that he likely should show, but between the circumstances and the immediate address he had been thrown entirely off base. Just as intended, no doubt, although to voice such a thought would be dangerously impertinent.

Somehow, he doubted she’d just laugh it off if he did.

”Yes, Your Majesty. Something about...those who wished to test themselves, who would protect you on your voyage. More than that, I couldn’t say—we didn’t exactly want to risk taking too much time or anybody listening in who shouldn’t know anything more than the basics, given just what had tried to make off with her before I came down the stairs.”

The Wizard Queen listened intently, before she spun a piece of parchment towards the young noble. It was an ink painting of some type of snake.

“Prosser, what I seek is not something that can be put into mere words. I am after a treasure, a treasure that will bite the hand that feeds.

“Beyond that, I am expecting a betrayal to take shape once I reach my treasure.

“I need to know you will vanquish those who would oppose the Crown, and all her desires.”

Vanquish.

That was a loaded word. One that, to most, conjured up images of death; a victorious knight, his monstrous foe lying slain before him. An assassin standing over their target’s corpse. An army, having claimed their rival’s capital, with the leader on the chopping block before them. Or a woman, claiming a crown for herself off the body of the king that used to wear it.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with his own family’s opinions on their new ruler. Swapping allegiances between the families of Rhinecliff, Corrin, and Willowsteel for generations, for once all three of their prospective superiors seemed to stand in agreement on their distaste for the queen. And for it all—one was condemned, another was murdered, leaving only one remaining with whatever games he was playing, careful not to be so obvious as either of the others.

Could he agree to kill for this strange, foreign queen, who had so quickly alienated the three families he’d been taught to look to and follow his entire life? The house of Prosser had long been known for following the path of expediency, but there were still limits to what they were willing to do. They’d rather play diplomat and merchant than spy and saboteur, and had never once reached the point of taking up arms against any of the families they swore themselves to. Despite the reputation for bouncing back and forth, their honour had survived mostly intact, better far than many other families had through the years.

Serving this queen could be the most expedient path towards not just what he sought, but securing a better place for his family overall. If he was granted a fief in his own right, if he could even be bold enough to secure the dukedom of Vaili or Nordor, then his family wouldn’t have to play the game they always had. Certainly, it would be his branch that maintained the higher title; not unheard of, that a cadet branch should succeed to a higher position than the parent line, but bonds of kinship secured stronger alliances than treaties and oaths.

Yet, the doing itself may unmake him. Beyond the physical danger alone—if it should come to it, he’d be agreeing to stand against his own brothers and parents, if they should follow any of their old alliances. If Duke Rhinecliff were to move from tax evasion into a more outright show of rebellion, he may have to meet any one of them on the field of battle if he agreed to such an open-ended request. Betrayal, she said. Any number of the dukes and duchesses might be intending such, given the manner in which she’d become queen.

No, no. You’re overthinking this.

Vanquish—to defeat, or subdue. Death may be what was commonly expected, but a vanquished foe need not be one that was killed. Forcing a surrender counted. Out-trading a rival merchant counted. If need be Callum would defend himself to the last, and he could agree to keep Queen Evelyn from getting harmed...even if she was leaving things rather open to interpretation, insisting on the Crown. ”Hmm.”

Somehow, they’d known to expect him in Tarin, arriving at the Corrins’ residence. He’d never once been to the capital, unlike his eldest brother, yet Anabel certainly seemed to have been expecting his arrival, hunting him down as soon as she did. It wasn’t impossible that one of her people had been invisible, waiting around at the estate, listening in and hearing him name himself to the guard—but he’d expect as much if they intended to use him as bait not just to extend an offer—and yet lady Furino had already known of Raiden’s presence, as well, as was made plenty obvious in his first meeting with the pair. She’d been tailing him after learning that he’d been tailing Callum.

Moreover, that offer was extended without hesitation, to a young noble of no reputation whatsoever that she’d only just met, before she’d even had any opportunity to see him in battle. The spy networks that each duke had were vast, as was the queen’s own—no doubt they’d managed to intercept and read the letter of invitation, even as Raiden had likely been made aware of it before it even went out for delivery. That was the best that she’d had to go off of, and that, evidently, was enough to take someone from a family known for shifting alliances, someone who’d been sent to learn from a family whose distaste for the current wearer of the crown was far from an unknown thing.

Clearly, he’d been caught up in some unfortunate game, and he was just one of the many pawns being moved about the board. Whatever skill he had didn’t actually matter until the point that Anabel had nearly been kidnapped; now it at least gave credence to the strategy in use, coloured how the next moves would be made. He’d proven himself, in some ways, a more valuable piece than originally expected, which was likely what gained him an audience with the queen directly, rather than Anabel giving her an update and him just receiving orders.

No way to move but forward, then, and hope that he could plan around what all the others had planned for him. It was, in many ways, nothing more than he’d been expecting from the minute he opted to pursue knighthood and martial skill rather than being a mere trader for the family...just far, far sooner than he’d ever thought it would come.

He’d been silent long enough, though if he was lucky they’d recognize the thoughtfulness for what it was and decide that meant they didn’t have to question his answer, that he’d thought it through carefully enough on his own. Nor expect him to ask any of his own; without being given leave to do so, the dynamic was more than clear enough that it wasn’t his place.

”Aye, Your Majesty, I could do that.”

The Wizard Queen nodded. ”You're a good man, Prosser. Defend me, and I will ensure you bring honour to you and your household.

“I want you to focus on dissenters, anyone who displays their hand as being accomplices against the Crown. Leave the subjugation of the monster to me.”

The Queen's illuminated eyes studied Callum's for a moment, before glancing at Vulluin. “That will be all, Lord Urimyar.”

The elven noble nodded, and opened the door for Callum and Lady Furino.

Callum bowed again as he left, waiting until he and Anabel were well out of earshot of Vulluin and the queen both before he let out the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding...before turning to Anabel with a reproachful look.

”And you’re used to all that?” he grumbled, shaking his head as he turned back away. ”Remind me in six, seven, eight years’ time to stay as far out of your way as possible.”

---

Battle-Blood Minstrel, At Sea, An Hour Later

_{In collaboration with @Donut Look Now}

---

Vulluin rapped on the door to the quarters of ‘Asteria' and Mene. Mene opened it, a mixed expression on his face.

“Her Majesty is waiting for you.” Vulluin said simply, barely sparing them a glance before he withdrew.

’Asteria’ rose from her seat on the bed, having just excitedly relayed the delightful experience she’d had with Arwen. No words were exchanged now as the two made their way to where the Queen would be waiting. For this, Nyx was grateful as it gave her time to chant to herself to remain calm and channel the demure softness that was Asteria.

The Wizard's Queen's chambers aboard the Battle-Blood Minstrel were once more free, Lady Furino and Callum leaving with unreadable expressions on their faces. She sat there, in her regal glory within the lavishly decorated chamber, small windows displaying the seas.

Her expression, dark.

Nyx made sure to school her expression, reacting only as a child would to seeing their guardian upset. Keeping herself in the mindset of her character, she let her eyes go wide as she thought about what she could have done to disappoint Her Majesty before remembering to curtsy.

“Your Majesty,” She said as her eyes met those of the Wizard Queen. She tried not to dwell too much on the occupants who had just left, tucking the information into the back of her mind to dissect at a later time. This was not the time to have her gears whirring away as Asteria wouldn’t be dwelling on it - or so Nyx thought at least.

Mene, standing beside Asteria, bowed deeply, his expression grim. He could feel the Wizard Queen's illuminated eyes boring into them, and he feared for him and his sister.

The Wizard Queen looked them over, before she steepled her hands on the table.

“My dear children…” She started off, her voice stern. “Care to tell me what happened with your mission in Odenfield?”

‘Asteria’ glanced sidelong at her brother, trying her best to look the part of a guilty child caught who wanted to hide. However, she drew a deep breath as if summoning the courage to speak. “It was not Mene’s fault!” She declared, adding a quiver to her voice before seemingly remembering her place.

“I- I only mean, Your Majesty,” She bowed her head, looking at the tip of the Wizard Queen’s shoes. “That we hadn’t accounted for Duchess Agustria to show up…” Nyx made a show of gulping, swallowing the lump in her throat that she actually felt while speaking to this woman again…

For a brief moment, her mind drifted to thoughts of attempting to kill the murderer of her dear love, but she mentally shook them off. Her people had never achieved much in the skill of fighting and she was no different. She could defend herself for the most part, but she would not win in a fight against Evelyn. That much she knew.

“I think we were quite lucky to leave with our heads attached, Your Majesty. The Duke was most forgiving of our misdeeds.”

The Wizard Queen stared for a moment, before her eyes went half-lidded, betraying exasperation. “My dear Asteria, you have no idea. The moment that Duke figured it out, it was all over for you. He's a conniving man, always been a thorn in my side in this grand game of ours.

“No, if he didn't kill you to send a message to me, he must have done something else. Him and his court of wizards…”

The Wizard Queen thought for a moment, before she leaned a little forward in her seat. “Viscout and Viscountess Skybound, when we return to the shore I will have our medical mages do a full evaluation of you, and our doctors conduct a physical. If he did anything, like plant a time bomb, we will know it.”

Her gaze looked over her little children, before darkening on “Asteria”. “My scouts mentioned how… willing you were to work with the Duke. Care to explain that?”

Mene's eyes bugged out, and he looked at his sister, panic brimming behind his eyes.

‘Asteria’ glanced at her brother, mirroring his panic in her own eyes. Let the Wizard Queen think she was scared of being found out regarding that piece of information. She needed to work out if a medical mage would uncover her true identity or not. Licking her dry lips, Nyx met the Queen’s eyes with a guilty expression.

“I only thought that he seemed much more suited to becoming your ally than an enemy, Y-Your Majesty. Of course, my allegiances truly only belong with you.” She bobbed another curtsy, dipping low to emphasize her words.

”Ally…” The Wizard Queen scoffed. ”You're a terrible liar, Asteria.”

The hair on the back of Nyx’s neck stood straight on end, a sense of dread filling her stomach. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand as she waited for what the Queen would say next.

A breath, before the Queen's eyes narrowed. ”I have a new task for you, when we reach the Grand Bank, I want you both to disembark. Visit Duchess Agustria. Play on the pretense of innocence, but I want you to find out her secrets. Anything that could hint to betrayal, anything that could be used against her, to blackmail her. You are not to return until you have found something.

“Are we clear?”

Nyx stole a glance at Mene, trying to gauge his reaction to all of this before she met the Wizard Queen’s gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She said in a solemn tone before looking at her brother with an expression that begged him to do the same. Behind her wide eyes, Nyx’s brain started to think of how she might let the Duchess know that she was on her way.

Mene glanced at his sister's gaze, and gave a low bow to the Queen. ”Yes, Your Majesty.”

---

Battle-Blood Minstrel, At Sea, Meanwhile

_{In collaboration with @The Otter}

---

Anabel looked on with a troubled gaze as she approached Callum on the ship’s deck.

“You know how I overheard the sailors talking about missing supplies?”

Her lips pursed. “Well, I did some digging. Some top-notch investigations. And… Well, you're going to want to see this.”

”Top-notch...huh?” Callum blinked; he hadn’t been expecting Anabel to come at him in quite so stereotypical a manner, but he suppose he should have been prepared for it from a girl as young as she was...a girl who had already begun leading him along, ”Hold on, hold on, I’m coming!”

Anabel led Callum down to the lowest deck in the Battle-blood Minstrel, where the supplies rested. And, pulling a lamp off the wall, she led them to the far end, squeezing in between four large crates stacked by two. What Callum found on the other end could only be described as a poor man's paradise. Opened tins, small barrels of Gold-touch Wine, other foodstuffs lay in the corners on the ground, surrounded by a wall of crates.

And, hanging in the middle on a stretched burlap sack of a hammock, was none other than Raiden, snoring peacefully.

Callum looked on, his face void of any expression. Sure enough, Raiden had left him a note saying that he’d see him in Athius...he’d been expecting something along these lines, although to be so brazen as to stow away on the queen’s own ship was impressive. Unfortunately, it also presented him with an enormous problem, especially now that Anabel had happened upon the main.

”Aye, well, it can’t be helped, can it?” he grumbled to himself. If Raiden Asher decided he wanted to be a problem, it seemed there was little chance to stop him. No doubt, they’d soon have to deal with the giant wolf deciding to make its presence known as well, somehow.

He looked over at Anabel, wondering what was going through the girl’s mind. ”None of this leaves this hold for now,” he commanded. The little Lady Furino could puff her cheeks at him and point out that he still didn’t actually have any rank over her to order her like that, but he trusted that even she would see the sense in not making Raiden’s presence known just yet. And indeed, Lady Furino glared hot daggers at him, but it was evident in her face that she agreed with him. They had bigger problems.

Especially as Callum didn’t intend to leave the man to his nap. He drew his sword quietly, eyeing the taut lines that the far-traveled spy used to secure his makeshift bedding—and quickly sliced through the one past the man’s feet, sending him falling the couple of feet to land right on his tailbone against the deckboards. ”Is this your idea of hiding?”

”Aargh!” Raiden let out a yelp as his eyes flew open, finding himself sprawled on the ground. He blinked a couple times, a little slow from the wine, before squinting up at Callum and Anabel.

And he smiled, a hand rubbing the back of his head in an embarrassed manner.

“Well, what a small world, huh? You uh, got my message there, Honorable Prosser?”

His hand drew to his lips in a ‘shhing’ manner. “Perhaps we can keep this between us?” He said in a sweet tone, smiling charmingly.

Callum was unmoved by the act.

”Are you trying to get us all killed?” he hissed, sword still in his hand. ”Drop the playboy bit and think, here. The last ones to see you were the two of us, back in Tarin! Even if we marched you up to the main deck and handed you over to the queen herself, that starts to look more like a guilty conscience than effective hunting, doesn’t it? There’s only one way that works out well for either of us.”

Rather, for him and Anabel. Delivering a corpse would be the only way to make sure Raiden couldn’t say something that would manage to implicate either of them in his infiltration, truthful or not. It was certainly tempting, just to save his own skin, and unlike the last man he’d dealt with he knew that the spy could still bleed.

”...Luckily for you, I’m not terribly inclined to see that through. Just so long as you decide to make yourself useful.”

Raiden smiled, charmed at Callum's threat, his demeanor entirely amiable.

“Well, you're almost right. The last ones to see me were actually Her Majesty the Queen and all her entourage at the waterfront of Hathforth. Oh yes, she would be most pleased to see me. Might let me say my prayers before taking my life.”

Raiden's gaze hovered over the sword in Callum's grasp, “Though, you could always beat her to it. Though, if you were to kill me, I'd ask you not to do it in front of Lady Furino. She's a proper young lady, blood might be too much for her.”

“Hey, worry about yourself!” Anabel equipped, though she still shot a worried glance to Callum.

Raiden pulled his legs together, holding his ankles and rocking back slightly where he sat, looking up at Callum.

“I get what you're trying to do here, kid. Trust me, I'll be as useful as a lute in a bard's college.”

His eyes glinted. “Now, you know why we're all in Athius, yes?”

”How about you tell me what your theory is and I can say yes or no?” Callum fired back. Short of the parchment that the queen had passed his way at their meeting, he hadn’t looked into it too much—focusing far more on how he might manage to achieve any of his other, unstated goals in what he was doing aboard the queen’s own ship. Agreeing as carefully as he did that he would vanquish any enemies that threatened the crown.

Which led right into another question.

”Hold on, before you answer that: Please don’t tell me you were one of the ones behind that whole mess right before we got here.”

Raiden sweated a bit, giving Callum a sweet, sheepish smile, eyes closed. “Ahhh… You heard about that, did you?”

Before his eyes opened, glinting in the light. “A pity.”

Callum stepped back once, raising his sword at the new look on Raiden’s face.

In the next instance, Raiden whistled low. There was a rush of water, and then a loud [i]thump[i] as the Battle-Blood Minstrel heaved, tilting to such an extreme one could swear it might capsize. Lady Anabel Immediately lost her footing, falling into the crates that shifted and slammed into the opposite hull wall.

The same instant the thud lodged the ship, Raiden was on his feet, dashing past Callum with a smirk on his face, running straight for the stairs, his legs adapting to the shifting gravity of the ship.

Too fast. There was no way he’d have been able to catch up to the man, taking them by surprise like that, with something outside that was able to beat the ship around like a child’s toy. Unlike Anabel, however, he was quick and sure enough on his feet not to lose his footing entirely. Raiden got past him in a single bound, making for the new path back to the higher decks that opened up as the crates shifted around. Despite that, though, it was still congested, multiple choke points.

He’d never catch up, and even if he did, he’d never get past Raiden. But he didn’t need to.

”Stop!” he demanded with a yell, the sound of his blade cutting through the air unmistakable to any trained ears. As Raiden stepped towards the raised half of the slanting deck, avoiding a sack of flour that nearly cut his escape short, Callum threw his sword just past the man. Raiden expected some sort of reprisal, already twisting out of the way to avoid a desparate backhand slash or some other attack, the sword sailing past him instead.

It raised up in the air all on its own in the new path out that Raiden had to take, as Callum drew out his long dagger. The barked command had been a ruse, just enough to make Raiden imagine there was some sort of direct attack coming. Instead, as the ship tried to right itself, the man found himself caught between a pair of very sharp weapons.

”Don’t be an idiot and sit down, damn you,” he hissed. ”I’d really rather we all make it out of whatever’s about to happen with our lives, and you are making that exceedingly difficult.”

Raiden froze where he stood, halting any momentum to the stairs. Reflexively, his hands raised in a surrendering manner, eyes very much focused on the sharp blades that pinned him.

Slowly, surely, he turned to face Callum, that devil smirk still on his face.

“Right, right… You know where this ends though, Prossy. The Wizard Queen would love to see me, though I'd rather keep my head on my shoulders…”

However, as Raiden obediently began sinking down to one knee, he made one more sharp whistle. And, in the space between Callum and Raiden, a bolt of lightning burst through the floorboards, creating a hole in the floor and in the ceiling. And as water began to seep in, voices could be heard screaming above.

Raiden wasted no time. His weight was pushed onto his toes, and he spun. The movement immediately made him blur with natural law-defying speed. There were two tings as his blade swatted Callum's blades away, launching them towards the walls. And then, Raiden slowed, dagger in hand as he dove head first into the ship’s hole.

He hadn’t even moved to strike the man.

Callum sighed, calling first his sword and then his dagger back to himself through the air. He hadn’t even made a single move to attack Raiden, and instead, Raiden saw fit to act as though he was being attacked, sending blades flying before diving out the open hole whatever beast he had outside had just made in the hull. He had half a mind to chase after the man—he wasn’t a bad swimmer himself, after all—but, as ever, duty called.

He stepped over to where Anabel had first fallen, reaching down to help her up and steady her against the rocking of the ship. He nearly picked her up outright, before deciding that her pride would likely never allow it...but he did start moving them rapidly, half-dragging her on the way higher up the ship. ”Are you hurt, my lady?” he asked mildly.

No doubt she wouldn’t be particularly happy with that whole show she’d just witnessed.

”It seems you were right to call him scum when we first met. At the very least, he’s either too paranoid or too stupid to take the olive branch offered to him.” He continued on without even giving her a chance to answer the first question, picking his way back through the lower holds. ”Didn’t even give me the chance to try and point out that we’ve got foreigners from the north to worry about more than our own internal disputes. Wonder if he isn’t being bankrolled by them?”

He paused on the steps, carefully noting the rising water level. Anabel looked suitably messy after her fall, although other than some wet legs, he was still a bit too clean. ”Let’s focus on the part where I tried to stop him and not any of the details that might be harder to explain, shall we? I’m not inclined to even give him the chance to talk the next time I see him, anyways. And...sorry for this.”

He threw the both of them down into the rising water once, twisting around and breaking the surface to start half-dragging Anabel up the stairs again. ”Gotta try and look right, at least, after dealing with that cunt.”

Anabel spluttered on salt water, making a reflexive face. She let herself be dragged as they moved closer to the staircase, muttering. “That good for nothing Sparrow… Though, I'm worried. Won't we be in trouble?”

At that, the footsteps of guards began flooding the narrow stairwell down. Some immediately moved to the hole in the floor, using magic to attempt to seal it. Others, mainly a brawny guard and his skinnier companion, stopped in front of Callum and Anabel, suspicious looks on their faces.

“Hold on there, young folks. Mind explaining to me why you're here, and what happened?”

”Investigating the disappearing supplies that the crew has been talking about the last few days,” Callum answered promptly. ”And getting attacked for our troubles by some traitor, Raiden Asher, that’s been causing Lady Anabel no end of trouble for longer than we’ve known each other. The last either of us had seen him, the baroness was attacked by some northern foreigner not long after, and now it seems he’s got something helping him trying to sink the queen’s ship. It seems she was right to be cautious and bring the both of us in.”

“That bastard…” The brawny guard said with a scowl. “Same fellow that caused a scandal at the execution ground in Hathforth…”

Callum glanced over at the ones that were trying to mend the hole as rapidly as they could, his gaze as dispassionate as his tone when he’d just decided to throw the blame right where it belonged. He’d offered peace and a chance at cooperation, and in return he’d gotten an attempt to destroy one of the queen’s ships while he was still on it.

”Did any of you up top see anything moving in the water just before the ship started rocking around?”

One of the guards applying freezing magic to the hole looked up, his boyish features evident in the light. “I did! Shimmering green scales. Just for a moment, I saw it, like something out of Tolker's novels!”

The brawny guard sniffed, placing his hands on his hips. “Just as well… I appreciate your statement, Honorable Prosser. I'd ask you to escort Lady Furino to the upper decks while we get this fixed, if that's alright.”

Callum nodded. ”That’s what I was planning on,” he replied, already starting up the stairs with Anabel in tow. No trouble at all, contrary to what she’d been worrying about. Only...

Honourable Prosser, Honourable Prosser...don’t they know that address is basically only supposed to be used in writing? Is this some new fad in Hathforth I never knew about?

---

Battle-Blood Minstrel, At Sea, Meanwhile

_{In collaboration with @Irradiant}

---

The strong and stoic Captain Thorne hadn't had much time for chit-chat, what with planning how he and the Hands of Iron would coordinate with the Wizard Queen's personal guards on this trip. So, he'd seen Sir Hayworth and his men speak up a few times on how to keep her safe the most, and questions about what they'd be up against.

Of course, no one really knew why the Queen felt the need for such a strong security detail. They were in the middle of nothing but water, weren't they?

Beyond that, Captain Roderic was dotting his I's and crossing his T's. Sir Hayworth was good, but given the history and political view of Agrovia… Well, The Captain wasn't without his fair share of apprehensions.

So when he saw the good Sir Hayworth standing alone on the deck, leaning on the wooden railing, he approached.

“How are your sea legs holding up, old man?” Captain Roderic said gruffly, a slight crinkle to his eyes.

Sir Hayworth let the cool breeze run its fingers through his hair. Ah... It made for a soothing sensation, one that eased his nerves over the current circumstances. He recalled the Undead King's words, knowing now what awaited him in this voyage. The Wizard Queen intends to tame a leviathan. He furrowed a brow. And with it, force all of Arrowfell to subservience.

A heavy exhale. "Change. It is never an easy thing."

After a brief moment of silence, the silver-haired gentleman would quickly spot a familiar figure from his periphery. His head would swivel to face the approaching individual. "Captain Roderic," he whistled, a chirpy note present in his tone.

To the man's chagrin, he'd been conversing with nobles for most of the day. And though he was used to dealing with the verbal gymnastics of the aristocracy, it still tired him to no end. In the captain, Sir Hayworth saw a chance to converse normally.

"No need to worry about this old bag of bones."

He flashed a smile. "I'm not one for traveling by sea, but I can tolerate it."

His eyes shifted to one of his juniors, seeing the young lad hurling chunks. "Can't say the same for the others though."

The captain chuckled lightly, Shaking his head. ”Give ‘em a few years.”

Sir Hayworth's voice turned more serious. "So, Captain. What's on your mind? Seems like there's some purpose behind those steps of yours."

”Aye.” Captain Thorne nodded, clasping his gloved hands on the wood railing. ”I'm not one for politics, but I do have a strong sense of safety. Especially for our charge…”

He glanced at the sea, allowing his words to fall as if they were casual, nonchalant words he was speaking. ”Everyone knows of the troubles Agrovia has faced. The strength of the Duchess, and her morals of right and wrong.

“Everyone knows that Agrovia is, along with Odenfield and Nordor, one of the dukedoms that hold… apprehensions, with how things are run.”

A pause, before the captain turned his face to Sir Hayworth. ”I won't mince words. We have no idea what we're going to be up against. I need to know I can count on you, brother to brother. That you’ll keep Her Majesty safe.”

Sir Hayworth was impressed. "You're well-informed, Captain."

That said, he didn't quite appreciate what the man was insinuating. The captain was certainly right to be suspicious.

However, to the battle-hardened knight, loyalty was of the highest currency. It would be like a slap to the face to have his loyalty questioned. The captain unknowingly stepped on some toes.

Regardless, Sir Hayworth maintained a friendly face. He knew the seaman meant no offense. "You have my word, Captain." He would reiterate his promise to the Queen. "No harm will come to Her Majesty. I swear it upon my honor."

He fell silent.

"Say, would you mind if I tell you a story?" His gaze would drift wistfully to the waves, as the captain's did.

He began to recount a particular uprising in his homeland.

"Do you remember the unrest in Agrovia all those years ago?" He asked, albeit rhetorically. "Back then, there were many factions in Agrovia who opposed the duchess' claim to rulership."

He chuckled slightly. "But the duchess was undeterred. Took to the battlefield herself. Even openly confronted her assassins."

"Full of ambition, that girl."

Ah.

He'd spoken as if the duchess was still a child. An old habit. "Well, she's grown now."

"Anyways," The knight caught himself meandering. "Do you know what she did to anger those blue bloods?" He waited a second for an answer. "It was granting me peerage. Turning a peasant into a noble."

"What’s more, I wasn’t the last," he added.

"With that one move, the duchess undermined the hold the aristocracy had over Agrovia."

He realized he had gone on for too long. "And so here we are."

"The duchess has her ideals, and I, my duty. What drives you, Captain?"

The captain felt a slight tension stir between them, but held his own. He had to know, of course. And Sir Hayworth had satisfied his inquiry. He'd leave it at that, and hold faith in the man that they'd have each other's backs in their shared duty.

To Sir Hayworth's inquiry, it was only fair that the captain responded honestly. The man ground his teeth for a moment in thought, before he glanced at Sir Hayworth.

“My story is the same as everyone else's. I had a father that looked out for me. But, one tragedy led to the next.

“Except for a miracle. That miracle changed my life, and now?”

His gaze dropped to his gloved hand, staring at the iron hidden below the leather. “I only wish to ride that miracle out, and seek the bounty within it. I owe it to my father, to my mother, to myself…”

A breath of a chuckle escaped through his nose, and he glanced at the knight. “I suppose it's my miracle that drives me.”

Before his face grew dark. ”I still can't help but worry about this mission. Something just… doesn't feel right.”

Sir Hayworth raised an eyebrow at the comment. "Has the Queen... not let you know...?" He trailed off.

The knight bit his lip, unsure of whether to divulge the information he'd received from the king of Ravenfell. His conscience would eventually get the best of him, however. And out would spill the truth.

He drew closer to the captain, wrapping his arms around the man in a sideways hug. It appeared to be a gesture of affection to anyone who spared a passing glance. But it also served as a means of deterring any prying ears from catching wind of what Sir Hayworth was about to say. "Beneath the waters of Athius, Captain, is a monster that the Queen seeks to control." He paused, suddenly letting out a laugh.

Then he whispered again. "I... have no proof of this claim, nor can I tell you where I learned of it. But for your sake, and for the sake of your party, I felt that I should disclose it."

"These nobles and their power plays don't give a damn about collateral. They'll use you and dispose of you as they see fit. So prioritize yourself, Captain, and those you care for."

A weak chuckle. "That is, unless you want to wish for a second miracle."

He slowly let the captain go, his grip loosening. "Well, that's enough preaching from this geezer. The both of us ought to get some rest."

The captain's eyes barely hid the surprise in them, before they narrowed in calculated thought, of puzzle pieces falling into place.

As the knight let go of him, the captain gave a grateful smile. “Then I ought to talk with my men. We want everyone to make it home after this.”

The captain gave a loose smirk, before turning around.

“I got your back, old man. See you out there.”

And he walked off.

---

Grand Bank, Duchess Agustria's Estate, Meanwhile

@Donut Look Now, @Click This

---

After taking some well-meaning rest, ‘Asteria' and Mene found themselves in a carriage with their bodyguard Deven, headed towards Duchess Agustria's estate. Mene was turned towards his sister, his saucer-like eyes determined.

“We can't afford to mess this up. Her Majesty is counting on us. We can use the same tactic we used at Duke Rhinecliff's estate. You go in first and distract them. I'll sneak in through any other entrance and try to unearth anything. Deven will stay with the carriage.”

Mene racked his fingers through his hair, visibly stressed. ”The Queen, she'll take care of us, right? She'll protect us.”

A pause. ”Do you… really think Duke Rhinecliff did something to us?”

Outside, the carriage came to a stop. They had arrived just outside the gates to Duchess Agustria's estate.

Meanwhile, a secret correspondence had been sent by raven to Duchess Agustria…

---

Battle-Blood Minstrel, At Sea, Several Hours Later, Afternoon

@Izurich, @Irradiant, @The Otter

---

After some time, Vulluin gave a gentle knock to the Wizard Queen’s chambers.

“Enter.”

Vulluin bowed as he half opened the door, seeing the Wizard Queen at her desk.

“Your Majesty, we've arrived.”

And indeed they had. Looking out on the ship’s deck, they were surrounded by water on all four sides. Even the water itself seemed normal, mundane even.

But the Wizard Queen knew that was not the case.

A formal party was called together on the deck. Lined up were familiar faces, such as Court Mage Tearmoon, Sir Hayworth and his men, Captain Thorne and his men, and Prosser. Behind them was another row filled with members of the Wizard Queen’s royal guard.

She stood in front of them, her elven armour and tasseled cloak smooth and clean. Little could they see, but she knew. Deep in the waters below them, a gleaming kingdom, and a monster laying a thousand-year seized to it.

“Soldiers of Hathforth, Protectors of the Queen! Today we free Athius from the reign of tyranny they've suffered for generations. Today, we harness a power that will put us at the pinnacle of the world - none will be able to stop us, harm us, or take our sovereignty from us!”

The Wizard Queen paced from left, and to the right, hands clasped behind her back as she spoke to the chosen warriors in front of her.

“Today, you prove yourselves to me. You prove your loyalty, your prowess, your ability to conquest. I will lead a team down into the water of Athius to face this beast. Chosen members will be given a Seed that much be implanted in the scales of the beast's head, so that I may control it. The rest will be on damage control, engaging the beast long enough for the Seeds to be implanted.

“Then, we liberate Athius, and welcome it into the fold of Arrowfell proper.”

The Wizard Queen stared at the group gathered on front of her, meeting each of their eyes, before she gestured with her chin at Vulluin. He stepped forward, presenting Seed rings to Sir Hayworth and his men, Captain Thorne and his men, Prosser, and Court Mage Tearmoon. These were chiseled and shaped from the Seed the late Lord Blackthorne and Court Mage Tearmoon had created. They would create a small bubble around a person, allowing them to essentially fly through water with a limited supply of oxygen.

The Wizard Queen slipped on her own ring, before she turned to the gang plank set out to the edge of the ship. The water stirred and simmered underneath, waiting.

Vulluin gave out pearl-like Seeds to Sir Hayworth, Court Mage Tearmoon, and Captain Thorne. Prosser wasn't chosen as he had a secret task from the Queen - get rid of dissenters and anyone who would interfere with the mission.

The Wizard Queen looked over her shoulder at the group. “Leave the beast to me. And Prosser?” Her eyes locked on the young noble. “Stay on the ship. The rest of you, with m-”

But before the Wizard Queen was able to finish, a terrible roar shook the heavens. Depending rapidly from the clouds was Jikoryss, Raiden riding upon his back. Jikoryss opened his massive maw, and a purple bolt of lightning struck the ship, shredding wood and sending splinters and shrapnel in all directions. The Wizard Queen lifted an arm to cover her eyes, but before she could relay orders, they had more uninvited guests make their presence known.

In a flash of red light over the ship's bow, three figures clad in black appeared, standing on a platform of gold. Valor, Spirit and Faith. Spirit locked eyes with Prosser right away, almost seeming to taunt the young noble with just his eyes.

“Leave now and you will be spared!” Valor shouted, armed crossed as she stared down at the Wizard Queen.

The Wizard Queen merely narrowed her eyes in response, before gesturing to the party. “Captain Thorne, defend the deck with the royal guards! Sir Hayworth, leave your men on deck to defend, you follow me. Prosser, stay on deck. Court Mage Tearmoon, stay on me!”

And with that, The Wizard Queen made a mad dash for the edge, and slipped gracefully into the water. The Seed glowed on her finger, causing the water to push out and bubble around her. Hovering there in the center, she began to descend rapidly, raising her other hand to cast a small light spell.

Valor watched the Wizard Queen dive, and gestured to her fellows to jump. Spirit leapt onto the deck, while Faith began to hover, both beginning to slice open guards and sailors alike. Valor constructed a globe of golden light around her, and dove into the water after the Queen.

Further and further, deeper and deeper the Queen sunk, until the water turned murky and dark. Far below her, one could faintly make out the glowing lights of an underwater city.

Before there was something in between her and the city of Athius. Rapidly approaching. The water shifted, churning. Scales and tentacles drifted into view, lit up by the Queen's light.

Before, finally, teeth twice as tall as a man came into view. A massive maw, three pairs of eyes on either side of the head. A head wreathed in tentacles, and a snake-like body disappearing into the murkiness.

This was it. This was the beast. The leviathan. Ingens.

The maw parted, and an ear-shattering shriek pierced the ocean waters, reverberating the air beyond. The beast, Ingens, was preparing to devour the Queen whole.

A snap of her fingers, and a massive portal opened up above the Wizard Queen. A shadeling in the shape of an anglerfish the size of a mansion swam out. More poured after it, until the waters were filled with anglerfish. Each raced to Ingens, biting into its tentacles, eyes and neck, hoping to keep it distracted enough for the bearers of the subjugation Seeds could implant them.

---

[Irradiant]

Sir Sawyer Hayworth

At sea on the Battle-Blood Minstrel, during the Athius voyage

---

XI: The Beast, Awakened

@Estylwen

The bedlam that unfolded before Sir Hayworth's eyes was one he could not have predicted. From the arrival of the envoys from Ravenfell to yet another attack from that "Sparrows" fellow atop the emerald dragon, it seemed that the strings of fate were poised to intersect here, on the Queen's prized vessel.

The residue of mana, as well as the familiar scent of iron, steeped the air with the aroma of battle.

"Intercept the intruders!" Sir Hayworth called out, his voice rising above the chaos. Immediately, his platoon drew their weapons and swarmed the Ravenfell insurgents in a circular formation. Escape would not be an option, unless it was hard-fought. The casters among the group began to whisper their incantations, while the rest rushed forward with their swords and spears. Their armaments shimmered with a menacing crimson, and so too did their bodies. Their physical capabilities had been amplified.

Loathed as Sir Hayworth was to leave them on their own, he was confident in their skills. He had another part to play, after all. Having been entrusted with Her Majesty's safety, he turned to the Wizard Queen, and her command to follow along jerked his muscles to action. Diving from one of the ship's jumping boards, Sir Hayworth entered the ocean, his free hand clutching the Seed meant for subjugation.

As soon as the bubbles that were kicked up from his descent subsided, the sleeping monster that lurked in Athius' depths finally came into view. A leviathan... It embodied the word, truly, and though Sir Hayworth had faced — and cut down — many a large monsters in his day, he had yet to encounter a monster of this size. His blade roared a fierce blue, accumulating mana. Then, he slashed forward. One slash turned to two, which no sooner turned to four. A total of seven blasts of mana would leave his blade, seemingly in the blink of an eye. The energies were aimed at various lengths of the beast, and Sir Hayworth was careful not to harm the Wizard Queen's familiars.

He swam closer and closer to the beast, his sword still suffused with his mana. Should the creature choose to thrash around or retaliate, he was ready to repel it.

[Click This]

Mirie Agustria of the Grand Bank,

Duchess of Caelin

---

Grand Bank, Agustria House\\
@Estylwen, @Donut Look Now

Glass of Caelin whiskey in hand, Duchess Agustria sighed as she examined the grand fleet of ships in her harbor from the panoramic view of her study window. The hulking form of the Queen’s three-decked behemoth stood out among the ships in the Grand Banks. The warships of the mainland had always been larger than those from Caelin, nominally trading maneuverability and stability for greater firepower. Despite that, there had been a reason the isle had been independent for so long before, free of kings or queens. Now, she was personally host to one in an increasingly unstable realm.

Things had begun to move very fast after Duke Willowsteel’s escape. Personally, Mirie had been glad of her peer’s survival, despite what the provocation might portend for future events. Now, with the Queen in port, it looked like some of the consequences of her subsequent paranoia were coming to roost. Below, she could see the carriage of the Skybounds, bearing their coat of arms, making its way up the road to her estate. Setting her glass down after a deep sip, the duchess pulled away from the window, examining the two notes that concerned the two children coming up her road.

With a sigh, she folded one safely back onto its spot on her desk. The other was cast into her fireplace, the crackling flames making quick work of the scrap of parchment. In a few days, the fleet would be departing for an event that was impossible to plan for. But now, the unforeseen matter of the Skybounds was the latest mess that she had to deal with. Taking her glass back up, she finished the rest of her drink.

For the Skybounds, it was immediately obvious that the estate was well-guarded. Guards in Caelin livery patrolled the perimeter of the house, and merely at the gates there were a half-dozen men. Perhaps disconcertingly, moments after the Skybounds’ carriage stopped outside her estate, the gate opened were opened by the guardsmen, as if they had been expected guests. Allowed to enter, the carriage was ushered forwards, the gates closing shut behind them. Although the guards did not move from their posts, they were clearly being tracked.

What met them at the front door were not additional guards, however, but members of the household staff—although as typical of Augustria’s household, and indeed the trend of Caelin gentry, nearly all of her household staff was armed.

They were greeted by Mirie’s steward, Collin Vauxhall, an older tall man with graying hair in a sharp suit and vest, with a dress sword by his side. With him were four household maids in their customary attire, and the five of them bowed to the two children as they alighted from the carriage. They were after all still Viscount and Viscountess. With a smooth voice, he welcomed the duchess’s guests. “Greetings, Viscount and Viscountess Skybound. Milady Agustria welcomes you to her house. She expects to see you in her study.”

One of the maids stepped forward. “Please allow us to escort you to her grace. It wouldn’t do if her esteemed guests were to get lost. It is, after all, a very large house.” The girl had a peppy manner of speaking and a pleasant smile, but between the arming sword at her waist and the undertone of a threat in her words, it was clear this was more of a demand than a request and would brook no argument.

Perhaps this would not be so simple for Mene, after all. For ‘Asteria’, it was just as clear that something was certainly afoot.

---

Swiftsure, At Sea, Several Days Later, Afternoon\\
@Estylwen, @Irradiant, @The Otter

Agustria had promised the Queen an escort of three ships and her personal presence. Ultimately, the escort was twice that number, and a small flotilla of eight Caelin vessels sailed forth from the Grand Bank to join the Queen’s expedition. The fleet was commanded by Admiral Hamilton Shrewsberry, who had raised his flag aboard the Swiftsure and was joined by the duchess there. Unlike the Battle-Blood Minstrel, the flagship and pride of Caelin was a sleek, race-built thing, in lively colors. Fully fitted out given the escort, she had two full decks of cannon in contrast to the three of the queen’s flagship. Despite the smaller size and weight of cannon, though, she could be a near match, with thick timbers and a streamlined design and copper bottom hull that made her fast and supremely maneuverable.

In a line behind her, five ships of a similar size followed. They in order were the Venture, Endeavour, Superb, Resolution, and Sanguine. Providing scouting ahead was the frigate Shepherd, and trailing far behind them all near the horizon was the fast dispatch ship Brilliant.

The Queen had not been the only one to expect interference, after all.

The crew was well-drilled, and it only took moments after the attack on the Battle-Blood Minstrel for the men aboard the Swiftsure to react. The ship’s bell rang out continuously as the crew beat to quarters and began to clear the ship for action. The guns ran out from the gun ports, aiming in the direction of the flagship, but the crews held their fire. They could hardly fire directly on the ship’s boarders without causing indiscriminate damage.

The Duchess emerged from her quarters, cane and sword at her side together with Minuette as she made her way to the quarterdeck. There the white-wigged Admiral Hamilton was observing the chaos with a spyglass. “Audacious. Who is bold enough to attack the Queen’s ships like this?” she asked as soon as she was in earshot of the man.

“I’m not so sure, your grace. Ghosts, it appears,” he answered with a frown, before passing the spyglass to her.

It took only a moment for her to confirm who it was. It should have been predictable. For a moment, two conflicting plans warred in her head. The Queen still could not be allowed to gain an advantage here, but the same could be said of their enemies in Ravenfell.

“Have your orders changed?” Hamilton prompted, without sounding urgent. “I’ve already commanded the ship to come alongside the Minstrel to provide assistance.” As the ship drew closer, the ship’s mages and sharpshooters began to form ranks and take potshots at Faith, who provided a very obvious target floating in the air.

Mirie shook her head. “No, proceed. See to it that Arrowfell’s enemies are beat off. Otherwise, this is your command. As for myself…” her eyes flicked towards Minuette, who nodded as she summoned a shield of air around her. The duchess did the same.

“We have other business to attend to.”

A moment later, the two leapt into the ocean to the battle raging below the seas.

[The Otter]

Callum Prosser

---

@Click This

---

Callum stood still, his face an impassive mask as he received his ring from Vulluin. Given the choice, he would have preferred not to be kept so front-and-center to everything, though after Raiden's last escapade in the bowels of the ship he'd rightfully guessed that his time going unnoticed by the crew and attendants had come to an end. At that point he'd stopped being 'that random tagalong with Anabel', dragged into an audience with the queen after a perplexed posse of tailors had seen to making sure his garments were presentable; instead, it had become clear that they'd recognized he'd been brought along for some special purpose, alongside the likes of captain Thorne and the young, newly-minted court mage.

That she'd sent one of the goldsmiths she'd retained for the voyage to him specifically only further confirmed their views, given that there really wasn't any hiding that sort of thing aboard a ship. At least his sizing was perfect, he thought as he slid the ring home on one finger. Insurance in the event he should find himself overboard, whether intended or not; even before she spoke up to remind him, he knew that her wish would be that he remain on deck. Above water, watchful for any sign of that which she was worried about—

He could only sigh at the roar that rang out overhead, as lightning rained down on the deck. The force around him exploded into activity even at that, some moving to contain the damage, others to make their way to surround and protect the queen. Before any of them got far, Callum's eyes landed on the newest visitors, one of whom had already sought his gaze the moment he'd apparated in. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword, about to draw it and step forward, when Hayworth's men surrounded the trio, one darting off behind the queen with Hayworth himself close behind. The royal guards themselves had quickly regrouped from the initial surprise and onslaught, pushing back against the ghostly intruders.

The waves of fire coming from the Swiftsure next to them made sure to keep the one low enough that they could reach her; the other was lost within the press of bodies so swiftly surrounding him. Faced with such a melee, the urge to draw his blade and dive in ebbed away rapidly...beyond that, it had been made rather abundantly clear to him that his duty wasn't just to engage in a fight to defend the ship. Even over the ride from Tarin with her, he'd gathered just how much of Anabel's service to the queen was in an intelligence type of role; it was unsurprising, then, that his recruitment was expressly for him to act as some sort of counter-intelligence. Were it not for how prominently she'd just shown him aboard the vessel, he'd almost think he was intended to be some sort of secret police.

Of course, given that nobody actually knows why I'm here yet...

Perhaps the comparison was more apt than he'd thought.

He quickly ran to the side of the ship as Duchess Agustria's craft came closer yet, leaning over the railing and yelling at the other vessel: "Look up and fire on that dragon!"

[Estylwen]

Battle-Blood Minstrel, Above Athius

@Irradiant, @The Otter, @Click This

---

The mana struck true, impacting various places in Ingens’ flesh. Though the wounds weren't deep, they stung, and caused Ingens to howl. His face twisted, three eyes settling on Sir Hayworth.

His voice telepathically cut through the water. “Mortal fool, you really dare to think you stand a chance?!”

A tentacle pinned down by biting anglerfish shook itself, sending turbulent blasts of water shockwaving through the seas's depths. The anglerfish lost their hold, and a colossal tentacle swung through the water, attempting to clothesline Sir Hayworth.

Though, as he would watch, anglerfish would swim to the leviathan's face. Their angler bulbs began to burn bright with a fervering, cutting light, and Ingens wailed, momentarily blinded. The tentacle still aimed towards Sir Hayworth, but would no longer track him, and be easier to dodge.

Meanwhile, the Wizard Queen tracked her subjects as she tried to inhibit the leviathans movements. Court Mage Tearmoon shot forward, in the middle of casting a spell. Before, in the blink if an eye, she began to convulse, and soon hung limply in her bubble.

The Wizard Queen watched with narrowed eyes, before a portal opened up near the court mage, and the unconscious girl fell in.

Not even two second later, a massive anglerfish breached the surface as Prosser hollered to the neighboring ship. Its monstrous, needle-like teeth gnashed as it attempted to form human words. Its voice was wet like a foggy marsh.

“She asksss for you, down below. Yoooou and the Thorne.”

Before it spat, and a wet pearl-like Seed sailed straight for Prosser's face. The court mage's subjugation Seed.

Captain Thorne stuck his head over the railing, staring with his teeth bared at the fish. “You think we can leave the deck alone, you freaky looking fish?”

He could only look for a moment before he activated his barrier, blocking a black fireball cast by Faith. He surveyed the battlefield aboard the ship for a moment, before he sighed, and side-eyed Prosser. With a quick flick of the rest, he tossed his subjugation Seed to the young noble.

“I'll hold the fort here, you get down there and help Her Majesty!” He growled out, before he took a step forward and raised his arm, lightning circling it before arcing out to Faith, which countered it with a projectile of black fire.

“...You're not going anywhere.” Said a voice beside Prosser. Spirit had cut his way through, bodies of soldiers trailed behind him. He raised a glove, and snapped his fingers, sending out a shockwave that would daze Prosser if it connected. However, the attack would never see the light of day. Thorne's shield expanded, blocking the attack.

“Go, get outta here!” He hollered to Prosser, staring hard at Spirit.

Meanwhile, as Duchess Agustria and Minuette sank into the water, a golden orb rose up to meet them, Valor staring hard within.

Valor was in the middle of their path on the way to their descendance to the leviathan. Duchess Agustria could see flashes of mana, light and glints of scales in the water below. But alas, they would have to deal with Valor first.

Valor rose a hand, and golden filaments of light glittered through the waters, stirring them. Soon, the golden light grew, churning the water more and more, until a full on whirlpool surrounded them, turbulent water aiming to catch them in its deadly grasp.

In the skies above Athius, a grinning Raiden pointed to the Swiftsure. “Right there, Jikoryss. Take out the guns.”

In response, the dragon opened its maw, static electricity crackling within. In the next instant, a purple bolt rocked the Swiftsure, striking along its side in the hopes to dismantle as many guns as possible.

Faith, having been busy with countering the spells and shots from the Swiftsure, took the momentary confusion to levitate over to the Swiftsure. He hovered over the bow, lance raised, before he threw it forward into the most densely packed area of the deck. It would impact and expand a magical shockwave rapidly, with enough force to throw men off the deck.

[Donut Look Now]

---

---

Nyx Heir the Wanderer

Grand Bank, Duchess Agustria's Estate

_{Skills: Shift}

---

---

After taking some well-meaning rest, ‘Asteria' and Mene found themselves in a carriage with their bodyguard Deven, headed towards Duchess Agustria's estate. Mene was turned towards his sister, his saucer-like eyes determined.

“We can't afford to mess this up. Her Majesty is counting on us. We can use the same tactic we used at Duke Rhinecliff's estate. You go in first and distract them. I'll sneak in through any other entrance and try to unearth anything. Deven will stay with the carriage.”

Mene racked his fingers through his hair, visibly stressed. ”The Queen, she'll take care of us, right? She'll protect us.”

A pause. ”Do you… really think Duke Rhinecliff did something to us?”

Outside, the carriage came to a stop. They had arrived just outside the gates to Duchess Agustria's estate.

Meanwhile, a secret correspondence had been sent by raven to Duchess Agustria…

@Estylwen

‘Asteria’ chewed lightly on the inside of their bottom lip as she listened to ‘her brother’ prattle on, the distress clear in each word and action. She nodded along to Mene’s plan, not really in the position to say no to it. It wasn’t as if she could really ‘distract’ Duchess Agustria, especially if she had received the raven sent ahead of time. “Surely one of us would have noticed, right?” She asked in the soft voice of Viscountess Skybound. Her gaze was focused outside of the carriage as they were admitted inside the gate.

For the Skybounds, it was immediately obvious that the estate was well-guarded. Guards in Caelin livery patrolled the perimeter of the house, and merely at the gates there were a half-dozen men. Perhaps disconcertingly, moments after the Skybounds’ carriage stopped outside her estate, the gate opened were opened by the guardsmen, as if they had been expected guests. Allowed to enter, the carriage was ushered forwards, the gates closing shut behind them. Although the guards did not move from their posts, they were clearly being tracked.

What met them at the front door were not additional guards, however, but members of the household staff—although as typical of Augustria’s household, and indeed the trend of Caelin gentry, nearly all of her household staff was armed.

They were greeted by Mirie’s steward, Collin Vauxhall, an older tall man with graying hair in a sharp suit and vest, with a dress sword by his side. With him were four household maids in their customary attire, and the five of them bowed to the two children as they alighted from the carriage. They were after all still Viscount and Viscountess. With a smooth voice, he welcomed the duchess’s guests. “Greetings, Viscount and Viscountess Skybound. Milady Agustria welcomes you to her house. She expects to see you in her study.”

One of the maids stepped forward. “Please allow us to escort you to her grace. It wouldn’t do if her esteemed guests were to get lost. It is, after all, a very large house.” The girl had a peppy manner of speaking and a pleasant smile, but between the arming sword at her waist and the undertone of a threat in her words, it was clear this was more of a demand than a request and would brook no argument.

Perhaps this would not be so simple for Mene, after all. For ‘Asteria’, it was just as clear that something was certainly afoot.

@Click This

‘Asteria’ shifted her gaze to look at the other Skybound sidelong with a wide-eyed look that read ‘What do we do now?’ She turned towards the staff and returned the maid’s smile with a nervou one of her own.

“That would be much appreciated, thank you.” She told her with the utmost polite and pleasant tone before turning to Mene to whisper. “We shall find another way, I’m sure of it.” She stepped forward, gesturing for the maid to lead the way. “If possible, could you lead my brother to a lavatory? The journey here was long, after all.”

Nyx had no doubt that this request would be denied or if it was allowed, she was sure that Agustria would not let Mene out of her staff’s sight, but she had to make some show of effort for the sake of her mission. She had no idea if she would keep playing the part of Asteria Skybound after leaving the Grand Bank, but hopefully she would find out soon.