The Otter
Estylwen
Fetzen
Noctis
Izurich
Lildear18Duchess Altina Freya Bastille, Islara Yelren, & Raiden Asher
The catacombs of Agrovia, date unknown
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 That bastard sold me outdated intel.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.”
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.”
