[IC] ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

[Andre Valias]

Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey, Two Days Ago

@Estylwen

---

Anton caught a sliver of gray in the dim tavern light, for a bare moment. It reminded him of the Greymont Monarch from his homeland, now lost to the spectral curse.

"My, my, a Ravenfellian. One of the last human ones at that.”

Anton turned in the direction of the voice, and came face to face with a young woman-- or rather a next-to flawless facsimile of one. The way the light hit her porcelain flesh, Anton saw unnatural beauty. It was both unnerving and remarkable, especially when she moved to curtsy before him.

”Baron of Marceilles, what brings you to Arrowfell?”

'I--' Anton began as the doll adjusted her dress, before pressing her palms together and resting her tilted head upon them.

”Don't answer that, I know.” She then closed her eyes ever-so-slightly and recited: "To His Grace, the Duke of Rhinecliff. I won't presume you've heard of us, so let me start with an introduction: we are the Braves of the Orchards.”

Anton said nothing as the girl laced her hands at her waist. He saw the balled joints of her wrists, but thought not to comment on it. It honestly made it more comforting, paired with her flawless skin, that she was clearly not a being of flesh. And there were certainly worse things Anton had to set eyes upon over the years.

Instead, he sighed and rolled his eyes. 'That's what I get for paying the courier double for privacy and urgency,' he remarked, 'Honestly, you can't send letters reliably anymore.'

”It won't work… Your plan.” Anton let go of levity and looked back at her, not at all surprised at her assessment. ”But I'm here to propose an alternative to you.”

'As you wish, but since you know who I actually am,' Anton pulled a cigar from his breast pocket, along with a matchstick, 'perhaps you might do me the courtesy and tell me who you are.'

”My name is Ryllae Evoek of the Order of the Looking Glass. May I… sit with you?”

Anton nodded and motioned for her to do so. 'Please do, Miss Evoek.'

He pulled over an ashtray and then raised his cigar. 'I imagine you don't have lungs,' he commented, 'but would you permit the privilege of me ravaging mine?'

[Estylwen]

The Smiling Monkey, Odonfield, Two Days Ago

_{@Andre Valias}

---

'I imagine you don't have lungs, but would you permit the privilege of me ravaging mine?'

Anton

”Odenfield's finest cigars? Please, don't let me intrude.” Ryllae said, a hint of a smile on her painted lips.

Her eyes glanced about the tavern, almost looking over her shoulder. Whether it was nerves or another reason, she wanted to be sure no one was eavesdropping on them. A beat, before she turned her gaze back to Anton. Her eyes stared at him dead on, serious and unwavering.

”The Glasic Fields are under attack. It is unsafe to travel to or near it. Rumours are that the rebellion is finally making its move. And, moreso a shred of incendiary gossip, but they say His Grace, Duke Rhinecliff, is involved…”

Her arms folded on the table, and her gaze dropped, dismay crossing her delicate features. ”It means your plans with the Seeds may be futile.”

A long pause, before her eyes flickered over to him, and that soft smile was back on her face. It almost appeared mischievous. ”Unless someone just so happened to steal from the Fields before this… unfortunate incident.”

Her smile grew a little wider. ”You can still attend your meeting with the representative of His Grace, but do it with my Seeds. I don't ask for anything in return, except for you to allow me and my partner to accompany you in your goal.”

She leaned back in her seat, butterflies fluttering in her hair, one moving to land on her cheek. Her eyes stared unblinking at him, confident he wouldn't turn her down.

”What do you say, my Lord?”

[Andre Valias]

Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey, Two Days Ago

@Estylwen

---

”Odenfield's finest cigars? Please, don't let me intrude.” Anton nodded in gratitude, wearing a knowing smile to match Ryllae's hint of one. He then struck the match and held the flame below the cigar, casting a cursory glance around the tavern as Ryllae checked their surroundings. Anton waved the flame away as Ryllae turned back to him, a stare of magnitude meeting his eyes.

”The Glasic Fields are under attack. It is unsafe to travel to or near it. Rumours are that the rebellion is finally making its move. And, moreso a shred of incendiary gossip, but they say His Grace, Duke Rhinecliff, is involved… It means your plans with the Seeds may be futile.”

Anton inclined his head as he puffed, holding the smoking cigar over the ash tray. 'I see,' he replied, 'I would not like to be the schoolmate who always copied my homework. But I sense there's an "unless" coming.'

”Unless someone just so happened to steal from the Fields before this… unfortunate incident.” Anton exhaled the Odonfield smoke in a surprised sigh, raising one of his eyebrows at the suggestion as Ryllae dared to even grin. ”You can still attend your meeting with the representative of His Grace, but do it with my Seeds. I don't ask for anything in return, except for you to allow me and my partner to accompany you in your goal.”

Anton watched her sit back, the grey butterflies flitting about Ryllae and one taking perch upon her face. Her eyes were unblinking, and had an air of certainty to them. He wasn't sure what he was more fascinated by: the sheer confidence of a flawless lady, or the butterflies that more and more resembled Greymont Monarchs.

”What do you say, my Lord?”

Anton took a brief drag on the cigar before tipping the ashes in the tray. He mulled Ryllae's proposal over, a few questions forming in his mind as he exhaled another plume of Odonfield smoke. Of the comforts of home, cigars were not among them. But Anton enjoyed the way they eased his troubles. In a way, Anton's newest vice had him becoming part of Arrowfell.

'And here I thought I'd be looking over my shoulder every few minutes in this land,' Anton replied nonchalantly, stirring memories of the Cour Royale of Ravenfell. He held the cigar upright above the tray for a moment as he rested his chin on his fist and thumb.

'Let's say I do entertain your magnanimous proposal. I have two questions.' The fiddler on stage continued to play, stringing between highs and lows.

'First, tell me about this partner of yours. Who is it that accompanies you?' As he asked his first question, Anton looked around Ryllae, but kept his eyes on her as he took another drag. He gave her the time and space she needed to reply, nodding before asking his second and more important question.

'And secondly, you say that you and your partner will accompany me "in my goal".' Anton leaned forward, ever-so-slightly, as faint thoughts of Lamont and Evelyn flashed in his mind. 'Since you've already displayed such powers of clairvoyance, pray tell what goal of mine is it you wish to help me see through?'

[Irradiant]

Sir Sawyer Hayworth

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

---

XIV: The Prisoner and The Warden's Keys

@The Otter

Sir Hayworth gritted his teeth in frustration as he watched Valor conveniently teleport herself away. It was a formidable magic, teleportation, and one capable of warping the very fabric of space itself. More than that, it was magic the old knight could do nothing to prevent. He'd already seen it firsthand during that fateful trip to the province of Ravenfell. To think that the usage of such a recent magical discovery was seemingly so widespread in a neighboring — not to mention, hostile — territory... it was a scary thing to imagine, indeed.

There was little time to dwell on this, however, as Sir Hayworth's gaze shifted once again to the depths below. With eyes still adjusting to the darkness, he could make out the familiar glint of a blade. When clarity finally returned to his vision, this familiarity would immediately turn into recognition. That is... The blade offered by the King of Ravenfell, the supposed "slayer" of the leviathan they were now facing. Sir Hayworth recollected King DuFairre's words. If the Queen were to get her hands on the leviathan... A conditional statement. She will be able to control it to such a fine degree, that not even all our armies combines stand a chance. And its harrowing conclusion.

Sir Hayworth's expression contorted with an uncharacteristic ambivalence. In front of him lay a chance to vanquish the beast once and for all. Yet, it was not a decision he could simply embark on without a second thought. If he were to act on his impulses and plunge the blade into the leviathan Ingens, it would also mean dispelling any pretense of fealty towards Hathforth that Agrovia and the Duchess had carefully maintained over the years. Further consequences swirled in Sir Hayworth's mind. If he were to fail, the Wizard Queen would no doubt order the complete annexation of Agrovia, as she did with Fyrdhaven, to say nothing of his and the duchess' inevitable execution for treason.

If the king's words are to be believed, then salvation surely awaits. An optimistic thought would burrow its way into Sir Hayworth's mind.

But Sir Hayworth, in all its temptation, remained unconvinced. Shaking his head, No. I am betting my hopes on a man with motives yet to be known. He repelled the thought with a counterpoint.

The idea hung like the most tantalizing fruit upon the most tantalizing tree, and Sir Hayworth found himself vacillating, stuck in a limbo between two choices.

Then, he finally noticed young Callum Prosser. The noble's arms flailed about like the wings of a headless chicken, and he was obviously attempting to attract the man's attention. Needless to say, he certainly got it. The strange sight was enough for Sir Hayworth to shake off his paralysis. I must not be rash, he would scold himself. Regardless of the outcome, the Queen cannot lash out with her new weapon immediately. A small reassurance, but it also bore some truth. Agrovia did not yet number among the Queen's enemies, after all.

Sir Hayworth also noticed that Ingens no longer moved. Now was a prime opportunity to embed the Seed into it. That was likely what young Callum Prosser was attempting to relay to him. Wasting no time, he rushed to Callum's side, his sword once again erupting with mana. He placed a palm on the leviathan's head. Boom. A violent pulse of mana would cause ripples in the water.

Sir Hayworth had just lodged his Seed deep within the beast.

[ERode]

The Clandestine

The City of Hathforth

Combined with Arwyn’s own grand magics, the flames were fought back, if only barely. Feathers fell like a rain of arrows, domesticating what spots of fire they caught, and though the heat remained intense, it was enough to prevent Belleborne and Gold-Touch from catching fire. More experienced adventurers bolstered the flagging defenses of the guards, while merchants evacuated their valuables from their estates, flanked by guards.

Such defense, naturally, came at the cost of the north.

On one hand, it was an obvious choice to make. The residents of Upper Bristol could see the fire spreading towards them, and they escaped. The buildings there, if they could be called buildings to begin with, weren’t worth defending. Thick plumes of smoke blotted out the skies, spreading to the edges of Gold-Touch but primarily moving to consume Upper Bristol. The walls blackened from the soot, while those too slow, those injured or old, couldn’t even scream in their last moments as the burning air filled their lungs. It would spread, without a doubt.

It would spread far and perhaps even loop back down to then roast Lower Bristol too. One may hope then, that the reinforcements from the neighbouring fortresses would be able to beat back the flames before it was too late.

But it was not just buildings that burned in the conflagaration. When the last building crumbled to ash, what remained of the people’s trust in their sovereign?

---

People came in and out of Elysia Quarters. Guards and reinforcements, carrying the injured to infirmaries or cases of potions to the magically-exhausted. Against the backlight of the fire, it was easy to step in, to climb up, to find a proper vantage point upon the barrack’s parapets.

Easier still, to spy the flying noblewoman at the epicenter of the storm of feathers, her figure incandescent, her gaze similarly blinded by the monumental task thrust upon her.

He had considered picking off some captains before this. Disrupt the chain of command a bit. But no, there would be plenty of chaos in the streets soon. Better to give the competent ones something to worry about first.

His shoulders rolled back. His neck rotated back and forth. He breathed in the hot, dry air. Strung up his longbow. The mages could invent however many spells they wanted, but in the end, only nobles hunted with magical arrows. Only cold steel was suited for piercing the heart of the arcane. His spine cracked and popped as he drew his bow, sighted his target, and smiled.

It had been a long while.

---

The first thing that had been caught in the Concord’s trap was not a shadowy assailant. It wasn’t an unfortunate servant either. Nor was it a rat, a soldier, a guard, or, All-Force forbid, the Princess herself.

When a spring was triggered and iron jaws clamped down upon a limb, and five of Safina’s men moved on instinct to unload an equal number of crossbow bolts in the direction of that trap, what they slew was no mortal.

It was a carapaced humanoid with stag-horns jutting out from its back, six pale eyes sewn together upon its too-long arms. Shrieking at the sudden assault, it lashed out at its surroundings, only to trigger more traps in the vicinity, which was what finally caused it to expire, green blood seeping down the grooves of the stone floor.

A few of the Concord let out a curse.

Demons have made it into the castle.

[Estylwen]

The Smiling Monkey, Odonfield, Two Days Ago

_{@Andre Valias}

---

'First, tell me about this partner of yours. Who is it that accompanies you?'

Anton

Ryllae stared for a moment, before picking up the butterfly on her cheeks by the back of a finger. She stared down at it for a moment before her other hand raised.

On the other side of the room, back against the wall by the entrance, was a brooding dark knight, heavy greatsword strapped against his back. His cowled, shadowed face immediately perked up at Ryllae's signal, and he stepped forward. Coming to a stop by Ryllae, he gave a solemn bow to Anton.

”This is Gervese, my partner.” Ryllae said, eyes glancing up at the towering man. ”The only other member of the Order of the Looking Glass. He doesn't speak much. Prefers dealing with issues using his sword and his magic.”

Her hand gestured again, and Gervese gave one more small bowl, before returning to his recluse by the door.

'And secondly, you say that you and your partner will accompany me "in my goal". Since you've already displayed such powers of clairvoyance, pray tell what goal of mine is it you wish to help me see through?'

Anton

The butterflies fluttered in anticipation as they perched on Ryllae's hand, clothes, and hair. The sudden stirring matched Ryllae's knowing smile. The noise in the tavern died down just slightly, highlighting the next words she spoke.

”Why, your goal to topple the Wizard Queen, of course.”

---

Present Day, Battle-Blood Minstrel, Above Athius

_{@The Otter, @Irradiant, @Click This}

---

The Wizard Queen watched with satisfaction as Ingens was overcome, paralyzed as he was. The Seeds were embedded first by her trusted Callum, then the final Seed found its home by Sir Hayworth's blade.

Ingens was subjugated. Now there was just a little finessing to do with the now-planted Seeds, and the Arrowfellian weapon would realize it's true potential.

But before she could act on that, a ghostly glint caught her eye. Callum held something. Something that caused her insides to freeze.

The sword. The same that had felled her revered DuRant. Its form was different now, but there was no mistaking it. It was the sword rumored to have been touched by divinity. She could detect other magics running through it, namely one that smelled heavily of the perfumed spice of the Shade. But its ghostly appearance… the Little DuFairre had changed it, hadn't he?

The Wizard Queen drifted through the water, coming to a stop in front of Callum. She could get a better look at the sword now.

Indeed, there had been rumours of an artifact in Ravenfell capable of killing a leviathan. She had a strong feeling this was the exact same that DuFairre had enchanted. But, the fact that this sword was touched by divinity, and that it appeared here at this moment.

She felt the eyes of the All-Force on her, and her eyes narrowed.

”Prosser.”

The Wizard Queen's voice was surprisingly level. Her chin gestured towards the sword.

”I trust you'll keep that safe in your possession. You have been chosen by it, after all.”

Her voice was distorted by the water, however it was still clear to hear the raw emotion of her voice, even as she leaned to whisper so only Callum would hear.

”This sword is a king-slayer, Prosser. Perhaps it is Providence. But I trust that you'll use this sword to put an end to me if I stray too far from the path.”

She leaned back, staring at Prosser with cold, determined eyes. She meant every word.

With that, she moved to hover in front of Ingens, who was beginning to recover. The work of her devout subjects would not go to waste. Of that, she would be sure.

She raised a hand, and the Seeds embedded in Ingens head began to reverberate. Ingens grunted, his many eyes growing unfocused. Before, with a sudden snap, his eyes dilated, and he stared at the Wizard Queen with a sudden, intoxicating fondness.

”Ingens… You're not alone anymore. You don't have to guard Athius any longer. Instead, you will serve me, and you will want for nothing.”

Ingens stared for a long moment, before he rumbled telekinetically. ”I listen and obey, my Queen.”

Satisfied, the Wizard Queen turned back to her companions. As the angler fish shadelings started filtering through the portals set up around the Queen, she addressed the group. Her eyes were alight with… Pride.

”Duchess Agustria and her charge, Sir Hayworth, Prosser, you four have outdone yourselves. As a reward for your efforts…

“Would you care to accompany me to Athius?”

***

The distant lights of Athius came into full focus as the group sank deeper down into the water. It was beautiful. Stone towers rose up from the sea bed, framed by all manner of seaweed and aquatic life. Lights of unknown sources, possibly magical, lit up the towers from within. Fish of unknown colors and origins flitted between the towers, their bodies glistening with sparkles.

As they entered the city, they were quickly greeted by the most beautiful mermaids, all bearing similarities to their Princess Keove. The group was applauded and praised. Little necklaces of seashells and pearls were wreathed around their necks. And they were escorted through the streets to the palace.

Within a tall, blue structure with massive archway and coral lights, the group found themselves in a semblance of a throne room, facing a male mermaid with a striking blue tail.

”You have freed my people,” He said. ”How can we ever repay you?”

The Wizard Queen floated forward. ”By becoming part of the nation, and joining your brothers and sisters of Arrowfell. I would ensure Athius receives the same securities and protections as the other cities in my province.”

There was little hesitation on the mermaid's part. ”We have long desired to be connected with the surface. However, the Beast prevented us. We would be honoured to join your nation.”

Then the mermaid turned his gaze to her group. ”And what of your companions? What do they desire? Gold? Pearls? Solid perfumes? Athius-made weapons?”

[Andre Valias]

Odonfield, The Smiling Monkey, Two Days Ago

@Estylwen

---

Anton eyed Ryllae as she paused to pick up the butterfly on her cheek and inspect it. She then raised her hand. Anton heard heavy armoured footsteps and turned slightly in its direction. He hadn't recalled there being such a distinctive knight, though he and Sylrael had been in the tavern a while. The dark knight approached, taking position beside Ryllae before giving a solemn bow.

”This is Gervese, my partner. The only other member of the Order of the Looking Glass. He doesn't speak much. Prefers dealing with issues using his sword and his magic.”

Ryllae

'I see. Well met then, Sir Gervese.'

Ryllae gestured again, and with one small bow Gervese left their company to take place next to the tavern's entrance.

When Anton asked his second question, he saw the way the butterflies quivered mid-flight before taking perch all over the living doll. Ryllae, with her knowing smile, looked almost painterly as she regarded at Anton. The noise in the tavern died down just slightly, highlighting the next words she spoke.

”Why, your goal to topple the Wizard Queen, of course.”

Ryllae

The cigar was held on stand-by above the ash tray, wisps of smoke from paper and plant curling up into the air. Anton was almost still, for unlike the doll he still needed to breathe. But his lips were pressed together in neither frown nor smile as his unblinking eyes stared into the doll's own. Years of watching his father play the great game of politics in the Cour Royale had rubbed off on Anton.

'Admittedly not the kind of allies I expected,' Anton said after the pause, offering a slight smile, 'though perhaps it does credit to Evelyn's true power: making enemies of many different people.' The fiddler drew the last note on the song, and took a bow as the audience cheered and tossed coins onto the stage.

As the noise died down, Anton took a long drag of the cigar and tipped the ashes as he exhaled. 'I accept your terms, Miss Evoek,' Anton said summarily, 'I suppose now I should tell my Braves we have time to kill. Unless you and your partner have another suggestion, perhaps?'

[HereComesTheSnow]

Amerigo Spadoni

At Sea, Nearing Hathforth's Harbor, Present Day
@AWildSquirtle

---

"Well, this is a fine start."

The journey, as so many of them were when one decided to cross the vast, untamed wilds of the open sea, had been an arduous one. Eclipsing two months and well on its way into the third when the Arrowfellian coastline rolled into view from behind the horizon, the lone galleon rode a steady northerly breeze towards Hathforth from that morning into the day, abuzz with the excited chatter of a crew and cargo pleased to see the finish line at long last. It was clear that, no matter how salty a man of the Republic might be, dry, solid land (likely at least a little less populated by monsters) was a sight for sore eyes.

An idle ear aboard would doubtless be able to leaf through the dozen different back-and-forth talks going on while the deckhands toiled, topics as numerous as you liked, and inane as all working men enjoyed— what some remembered of the local fare from the last time they had made this voyage for trade, rumors about the Wizard-Queen shouting apart the previous ruler with a devilish war cry cloaked in occult force, theories for how one might quickest adjust to their balance no longer needing to sway with the seas. Others still kept these contemplations to themselves, and simply willed the sails to hopefully catch just a little extra wind now that they were in the home stretch.

One such man as this stood upon the forecastle, just behind the prow, arms folded as his silver hair danced in the breeze pushing them towards that long-awaited destination. He was tall and strong, and in spite of his evident youth carried in his posture every ounce of the control you might expect from a seasoned hand at this protection detail he'd been assigned— Indeed, there was little doubt in his bearing that he had more than earned the right to wield the elegant swept-hilt blade at his hip, shaved just so by the most holy Keeper Of Light from the Bones of the Sea. It had been four years of this since he had received his blade that day— and if you looked upon him, things clearly still weren't getting old.

His sharp features had twisted into a crooked smirk, but steely eyes stayed pinned on the spots of angry scarlet that had appeared at the terminus of their heading, tracing the dark clouds pooling above and rolling on the same wind. The phantom of an acrid, bitter taste implied itself upon the tip of his tongue, as the rest of the crew (having long learned to make a habit of this after the first sea beast) caught up with the Brother's suddenly-captured attention.

Smoke. Their protection detail for the voyage had brought his attention to the unmistakable smoke on the very wind they rode, clouding over their destination and tinged brighter and brighter with red at its' base. They were, all of a sudden, now sailing into an ongoing crisis striking the capital to open this "diplomatic expedition".

While the excited chatter between the sailors took on a note of healthy concern around him, even worry for the fact that they were no doubt sailing directly towards its' source, the Brother kept that same glib, cavalier tone as he finally let his head loll over his shoulder to find his charge, the bearer of the Most Serene Republic's formal, notarized diplomatic overtures and mission statement— a Letter of Credit. Doubtlessly, now that the crew had grown restless on the day they were due to arrive, he wasn't going to be far.

Not that you could ever be very far from anyone on the same boat as you.

"Signore Aubri," he called, as though his voice were cutting through the dull roar of the crew to report that he'd seen a funny looking turtle off the portside bow. "The city's on fire."

[AWildSquirtle]

Aubri Silverblade

At Sea, Nearing Hathforth's Harbor, Present Day

@HereComesTheSnow

When one rode the waves as passenger, there were generally one of two responses to the movement of the ship. The body surrendered to an old feeling of maternal love nestled in the subconscious, being rocked back and forth by the endless shift of the hull, as a child in a crib. Or the feeling of unsteady earth beneath one’s feet, as the ground itself rose in revolt and shook the stones of the land, tearing foundations down and throwing all manner of people to the dirt. Aubri only felt the first a few times on this voyage, always when taking a tumble with a sailor in the hold of the ship. All other days, he was not far from the aft of the vessel, surrendering the morning’s porridge and evening's hardtack to the sea.

Much as Ameri might rib him about this in good humor, the reaction wasn’t normal for him. Aubri’s first time at sea had been at the age of eight. Standing beside his father near the helm while his eldest brother Mayel captained a ship for the first time under Pater’s watchful gaze. Even then, Aubri had kept his food down and merely wondered at the endless expanse of water over the railing. The cresting of dolphin pods, the occasional shark fin- these things had been described to him by his tutors but never seen in person before on the high seas. Only one time during that first voyage was there any semblance of danger as a kraken tentacle brushed the surface of the water. Even then the ship’s sworn Brother Bretan Mirthless had merely kept an eye on the beast. Never drawing that fabled sword of coral at his hip the whole voyage through the shallow sea.

Well, unless we are wildly off course, today is the day, Aubri thought before surrendering another biscuit to the sea. And now I am to risk life and limb for father’s dreams. If I succeed, father and Mayel’s stars will rise in the Assembly. If I fail, it means I am dead, and their stars will continue to rise.

Any other year, any other day, if Pater had come with the mission and demanded his son obey, Aubri would have told the old man to go choke on a seagull’s beak. Then give up his inheritance and start life anew on the docks as a common sea-hand. Maybe even become a true courtesa, just to cause scandal and make Pater’s ambitions to climb that much more difficult.

The Golden Gale is missing. Lost in Arrowfell with all hands gone.

Just the right words to get Aubri’s attention. And just the right twist of the knife at the end to ensure the hook had landed firmly.

“Arrowfell can burn for all I care,” he grumbled, wiping bile from his lips on his sleeve. “But I will find you, Auron. And if you live no longer, I will drown whoever did thus to you.”

Which was a timely statement to make, all things considered.

Aubri took care to gather his loose hair into something resembling a ponytail, tied with a silk band to keep the dyed strands out of his vision. His wide face was usually expressive and jovial, but he took care to narrow his eyelids and purse his full lips. A look that had long been practiced in the mirror before and throughought their voyage- his best attempt at a passive diplomat’s expression. Unreadable, perhaps friendly, perhaps skeptical.

As he walked unsteadily toward the forecastle he took care to give wide berth to the busy sailors preparing to make port. Aubri took his place beside Amerigo. A splash of cold water struck him as the ship broke a wave and he tried not to flinch. He failed, but whether from the water or the sight before him was anyone's guess. The city was awash in flames. The size of the catastrophe made all the more apparent by their distance from the formerly safe harbor. For all he knew, the Queen might well be overthrown already. It seemed too close a coincidence to the fall of the old king years ago. A sudden disaster in the city. Chaos. Ruin. Change.

If only it were so simple.

“Brother Amerigo,” Aubri said. He hated when Ameri used his formal title. It irked Aubri's sense of inferiority to no end, being given a title without having to earn it. Unlike the Brother beside him. “It is too much to hope that this… unfortunate tragedy is something other than a cow kicking a bucket into a candle. Do you scent anything else on the wind? Gunpowder?”

[HereComesTheSnow]

Amerigo Spadoni

At Sea, Nearing Hathforth's Harbor, Present Day
@AWildSquirtle

---

"On the wind? About that, amico." he grinned, jerking his head with a churlish leer back towards the foremast close by, sturdy square rig bulging outward as the breeze it had caught pushed them ever closer. His meaning was obvious. "We're in the wrong spot for me to tell you any more than 'salt', 'spray', maybe 'seaweed'. We'd have to be coming from the north for me to know more— we're windward of the city at present. They'd be smelling us coming."

He snickered, evidently satisfied with this moment of playing gadfly. Aubri was ostensibly his boss for their purposes on the expedition, but over the long months at sea the pair had naturally developed a more genuine friendship— swapping stories, drinks, and of course (for Amerigo anyway, he liked keeping himself occupied) whatever spare work needed doing around the boat. They still had their roles to fill, sure, but the Brother felt lax enough after so much time literally stuck on the same boat that he really felt no impulse not to needle in these ways, humorous, harmless.

In saying that, he didn't take much issue with the question raised— he was a swordsman first and tactician second, but both clades still more than recognized the value in the conversation at hand were they any good— any appraisal of a situation you could take from afar you could carry with you as you sailed into it. And for all Amerigo admittedly enjoyed those times where the wise man valued leaping above looking, this was not one such— it wasn't like they needed immediacy. The boat wasn't going any faster.

So, they'd put their silver heads together while they waited to even catch sight of port. The keen steel knives of his gaze returned out to the city ahead, and the cheek in his tone gave way to an undercurrent of anticipation.

"That said, by the time we get there I don't believe it will matter overmuch for our immediate purposes— it will have already spread enough, riding this wind we come in on, that the fire itself will be the point of opportunity. Look at the smoke." he continued, pointing with a black gloved finger towards the rolling cloud as he stalked forward and leaned over the rail to get the prow out of view. "See how white it is? That means it's mainly going to be burning wood, and wet wood at that— lot of steam buildup, and with this wind it's getting enough breath to not turn black and thick. Probably the closest spots to shore, getting the most spray from winds like ours. Heading takes us right into port, so that would mean it rolls up into..."

He paused, cupping his chin with thumb and forefinger as he consulted the memory of an old map of Hathfoth's layout, one he had made sure to pore over well before they had even set off from the Republic's port. His gaze narrowed as the connections built along his mind's eye. Supposing this was an attack, and his information wasn't too out of date...

"Hohohohoho, merda." he murmured, in that dark-humored way only a gruesome situation could really invoke. "I won't lie, we're looking at a lot of bodies, Aubri. In Hathforth, the merchant districts are just off port and pier: plenty of stalls of tinder and cloth to catch and jump between on both the North and South Pearls, alongside the quaint little shops and restaurants and inns— more wood, more food, even some booze to burn— plenty of fuel to build as the wind carries it north."

Bad enough on their own. A merchant district would likely always be bustling with activity, its regular flow of commerce the lifeblood of the city's economy. A lot of people would be down there at this hour getting food, let alone perusing the wares for whatever the hell they might— depending on the crowd that day, the disaster could already have a heavy human toll from those two alone. But a fire was never known to stay put to either of them, and with Amerigo's point regarding the breeze already well illustrated twice over...

"That takes it right into Upper Bristol. Historically the poorest district within the walls— a lot of tents, a lot of run-down buildings, and a lot of people on the city's lowest rungs, stuck trying to clear out of the tight and most likely messy streets. That's going to be a lot of people trapped, a lot of people burning, and a lot of panic at the castle's doorstep. Containment and rescue efforts ought to need all the help they can get. Even if it's burned-out by the time we moor, which..."

He squinted, then clicked his tongue.

"...I don't really see happening, all able bodies that can either battle the blaze or pull people out of it are going to be in high demand." he finished, before finally turning to face Aubri again. "One thing my father always taught me? There are few better ways to say 'hello' than with a favor already under your belt before you even meet."

[Click This]

Mirie Agustria of the Grand Bank,

Duchess of Caelin

---

Beneath the seas of Athius\\
@Estylwen, @Irradiant, @The Otter

Mirie found herself clicking her tongue as Valor disappeared in a golden glow. The ghostly woman proved to be as elusive as ever; it had been twice now that the right-hand woman of the Ravenfell king had escaped in the face of overwhelming force. She immediately broke off the attack, sharing a grimace with Sir Hayworth. Unlike the Queen, it was set in her mind that Ravenfell was unequivocally the enemy of Arrowfell and Caelin. No matter the coming conflict, she would always consider them an enemy first… and here, it served her well in further securing her reliability in the Queen’s eyes even if her discrete political dalliances with Duke Rhinecliff came to light.

She had been aware of the fight above them, but despite the muffled explosion that she had heard, she had full confidence that Admiral Hamilton had weathered the tribulations that the fleet faced, given the sounds of heavy combat faded nearly immediately after Valor had withdrawn. Sparing a glance above, she saw from the shadow of the ships' hulls that the fleet was forming up in pursuit of something. Although it was difficult to see, it appeared that Hamilton was even having boats launched. Whatever fleeing enemy he was after now, she wished him luck. If her sailors captured one of the fleet's attackers, she would have immense additional political capital to play with.

She had been prevented from directly interfering with the leviathan, however, and without Valor’s additional interference, the queen would receive her tamed beast. Minuette, although she was all too privy to the same geopolitical considerations of the battle was still satisfied with just driving Valor away, moving alongside the duchess as she dove deeper below towards the Queen and her party. Mirie’s eyes briefly locked onto the familiar sword that Callum wielded, but did not comment on it. “Congratulations on your success, your majesty,” she said instead, greeting the Queen. “It would be an honor to accompany you to Athius.”

In a moment of cheekiness, Minuette flashed a V for victory sign with her fingers in greeting— informal as it was, it played to the Queen’s achievement and was understandable when the Countess’s variant of magic that allowed her free movement underwater made it a little more difficult for her to speak than the others.

Nonetheless, Mirie gave her a look that prompted a sheepish smirk from the countess.

Both Mirie and her charge looked at the city before them in wonderment. Although the duchess had been privy to the secret ever since the Queen’s visit, the sheer scale and beauty of the city that was below her waters was awe inspiring. By the time they were greeted by the city’s inhabitants, the duchess’s professional mask had slipped back on.

The unconditional acceptance of the city’s king to union with Arrowfell under the queen was concerning for Mirie, especially given the location of Athius. On the other hand, it disproportionately benefited Caelin if she played along. Its location meant that the Grand Bank would receive the bulk of the newly opened trade with Athius.

She gave a commensurate gesture of greeting when she was called upon. “Greetings. I am Mirie Agustria, Duchess of Caelin. On the behalf of my subjects, I would seek to open trade with Athius. With the proximity of our peoples to each other, and the vanquishing of previously unsurmountable barriers, I am sure we will find a future in business that would benefit Athius, Caelin, and a greater Arrowfell as a whole.” All that had been offered they would gain through trade, but seeing how Minuette’s eyes had lit up when the merman mentioned Athius-made weapons, she didn’t hesitate to add, “But of course, it would be remiss of me to neglect the desires of my own companions. Countess Minuette already seems quite taken with the weapons you craft…”

[Estylwen]

The Smiling Monkey, Odonfield, Two Days Ago

_{@Andre Valias}

---

Ryllae gave a gracious nod of her head, ”Actually, my Lord, I did have one proposal.”

Her head tilted, ash-white hair wisping in front of her eyes. ”It will take me time to prepare the Seeds. I also prefer… discretion. Shall we meet again in two days time at my abode within the city here? I'll give the Seeds to you then. Then we can wait for that meeting with your emissary.”

Her butterflies wriggled their wings, anticipating Ryllae would be on the move soon. Ryllae, though, gave no tell of this on her porcelain face.

She procured a piece of lamb skin from her pocket, unfurling it on the table. It was a rough diagram of the city, and an ‘X’ that marked where her home was.

Her crystal eyes gazed up at Anton. ”You'll find it with ease. And if you arrive at a good hour, we will serve lunch.”

With that said, she stood. Gervese shifted a bit at the movement, leaning away from the wall. Ryllae moved to the door, before glancing back at Anton.

”Until next time, my Lord.”

---

Ryllae's Abode, Present Day

---

Another clear day in Odenfield, where the sun kissed the poppy fields. Gervese stood outside a small cottage-like house, arms crossed as he watched the foot traffic flitter to and fro in front of the cottage.

The sun directly overhead. The time, if Anton was punctual, was now.

There was a soft click of a door opening. Gervese turned to see Ryllae dressed in a simple cotton gown, wiping wet hands on the apron wrapped around her. She must have been in the middle of cooking.

”Any sign, Gervese?”

Gervese simply stared, then shook his head. A long pause, before his low baritone voice rumbled. ”What if they don't show?”

Ryllae gave a knowing, small smile. ”Agravaines are always punctual.”

---

South edge of South Pearl Harbour -> Castle Gardens, Present Day

_{@AWildSquirtle, @HereComesTheSnow}

---

Indeed, the city was burning. Indeed, help was needed from any source, even if that source was foreign. However, with the city in its emergency state, it caused those with darker intentions to let flourish and let loose. The temptations were certainly there. Castle Gardens stood near empty, with aristocrat residents evacuated to other parts of the city.

The perfect opportunity for anyone who admired the fable of Robin Hood.

The Ambassador and Brother would notice little resistance, and even less regard as their ship docked at the far end of the harbour, furthest away from the fire. Indeed, everyone seemed preoccupied with either stopping the fire, getting away from the fire, or plundering around the fire.

The wide plaza with its executioner's platform was left relatively untouched, the stone a buffer from the fire. There was a small channel at the end of the plaza that allowed access to the untouched areas of Castle Gardens. With neighboring guards preoccupied with evacuating the injured to Elysia Quarters, very little eyes were on the Castle Gardens. The only things of real note were a Phoenix-like bird arcing through the sky, and the rumble and roar of guard and their commands fliting between South Pearl and Elysia Quarters.

So, if the Ambassador and the Brother were to, say, fall prey to their temptations, they would find one estate stand out to them, the first they'd see once entering the Castle Gardens.

The gate to the estate was slightly ajar - unlocked. A simple push would allow them entry into the lavish courtyard, apple trees and a pond ringed by a crescent-shaped mansion.

And, at the foot of the apple trees, knee-deep in the pond water, were two children. Hardly human. One appeared to be an angelite, while the other, if one had to guess, appeared to be a changeling. In their hands, they were playing a fierce game of tug-of-war over a sparkling gold necklace.

”No, you can't take it!” The angelite bit out fiercely. ”It's all Lady Furino has to remember her mother!”

The young changeling's face was contorted in effort, his grip tight. ”It will go to a good cause! It will be her last service to the Rebellion!”

The angelite's eyes bugged out. ”Blasphemous! You dare speak of treason on the day the Wizard Queen's city burns?! Why I oughtta-”

The angelite raised one hand, preparing a spell of pure light, fully intending to smite the changeling with all her righteous might.

---

The Battle-Blood Minstrel, Over Athius, Present Day

_{@Click This}

---

There was only the sound of paddled water and a long string of courses as Raiden watched, his heart sinking. The ships were in pursuit of him and Jikoryss. They even sent out smaller boats that could move even faster. They'd be surrounded in a matter of minutes.

With a strained smile, he looked down and patted Jikoryss’ head. ”Hey, hey, uh, you sure you can't fly?”

Jikoryss lifted one of his wings out of the water for Raiden to inspect. It was littered in scorched holes. ”Alas, I am sure.”

Raiden stared at the holes, before he winced, joking despite his heart sinking. ”Hey, don't worry, you just let me carry you, and I'll fly us outta here, m'kay?”

Jikoryss rumbled a bit in a chuckle. ”Do you think they'll give us a merciful death?”

Raiden watched the boats cut through the water, turning swiftly to cut off their way forward. They were surrounded. Jikoryss stopped swimming, floating there in the water. Raiden stared for a long moment, his face betraying a bit of defeat. Slowly, his hands rose in surrender.

”If we're lucky… Perhaps.” He whispered.