Mas Bagus

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

After a short walk toward the west wing, the trio climbed the warmer staircase leading to the first floor. In one of the corners was a room, and the sound of mechanical sewing could be heard from the outside. The maid beckoned them to follow, and the sound of a bell interrupted the workers as the door opened.

"Pardon the intrusion, Master Mario. But The King's Guests want to see you.

"Ah about time, don't bother to sit, I will be there shortly."
A tanned, bald man peeked from behind a large, hand-cranked sewing machine before showing himself to the group. He was probably as tall as Solomon, with wide shoulders and a pronounced, muscular physique. His clothing was nothing unusual people often attributed to clothing artisans; they were just a shirt and khaki trousers.

"Nice to meet you. I am Mario." He said, voice booming, but polite as any Royal staff would. His posture was straight, his gait dignified like a disciplined military sergeant. Immediately he eyed Cedar and removed his eyeglasses, showing a pair of eyes that were apparently misaligned and heterochromatic.

"Master Cedar, isn't it?" He said, his demeanor changed slightly when he beckoned his assistant to push a rack where what seemed to be large, single clothes stretched. It was black and some streaks of white, with silver adornings. One might say it was a typical elegant doublet often worn by courtiers alike but with its size quadrupled.

"To work on this particular request is challenging. To say the least. So I'd play safe with this one." he said, rushing his breath.
"Black is gentlemanly, ornamental use of metal buttons, and decorated leather to emphasize elite status, and you don't have to wear anything too garish to complement it. It is, Master Cedar, is a uniform best worn as is."

The Bear's stammering seemed to make the tailor's smugness grown.

"Of course despite 'best worn as is', Gentlemen still need a perfect undergarment for it. Embroidery, no matter how small or well hidden they are can still cause itch. And The Gentleman surely doesn't want his fur sticking out of his doublet."
His other assistant presented several white buttonless shirts folded neatly on a large metal tray. The tailor picked one and beckoned Cedar to feel the fabric. Or even wear it straight.

"Sadly such type of clothing does not allow for extravagant decors, but it will definitely serve its purpose. Made with thread combined with silk. It's smooth, strong... comfortable to wear. Suitable as nightwear after a long banquet. Or just as everyday clothes.

The bear seemed to be at a loss for words, and the lack of raw expression of gratitude or admiration didn't bother Mario a bit. To serve a various array of customers was already a homer for him, from kings, nobles, and now... a druid. It was the experience that matters the most.

He clapped his hand and ordered the accompanying maid to call the other maids to help deliver Cedar's sizable order to his room.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

It was Cedar the bear, and to say that he looked confused was an understatement.

It was a mixture of anger and disgust. His posture, eyes, and how they looked at them, the beating thump of his great heart. Jazdia, once a Sentinel of the Elven nation Varenheim didn't really need her eyes to identify a confused animal, and Cedar, despite his druidic background, was still part beast after all.

And his growling further reinforced this assessment.

Jazdia listened, and that was a lot of resentment in one sentence. The Bear finally finished talking, and the Rosenving girl was slightly stunned before she shook herself awake and chimed.

"If it isn't my favorite bear! Cedrick? Cedar? Which one's the right one? Anyway, what's with the long face? This day out of all should be one filled with joy!"

The greeting, cheerful as ever, but it was clear The Bear did not share the sentiment, and it onfly deepen frown in his bearish visage.

'...a cause we saved deh prince,..or acause we shud be happeh as people gittin ripped apart in de damn street?' he scowled, his tiny eyes darted to Yvonne as if searching, and expecting the reply to come more thoughtfully. Of course, it was hard to deliver such a response when you keep lashing out.

'Cause only one a' dem thangs worth bein' happy 'bout...though from de way dey's actin, dis whole damn place be thinkin' it de secon' one... crazy fuckers, all o' 'em.'

"What about new clothes?" Jazdia interrupted. Now Cedar's simmering anger was turned to the elf, but she tried to keep herself composed and unprovocative. "Most people buy a new set of clothes once a year. To know that our host had prepared one for a special occasion is enough 'something' to be happy about."

Pausing, Jazdia let her word hang between them, it was still a sharp rebuke, delivered matter-of-factly, but that was the gentlest she could muster,

"Let us not tarnish the hospitality provided by not cursing in his palace. About his people, about their way of life and the law of the land."

Cedar's ears flipped back and forth irritably. And for a mere second, Jazdia thought he would bark or growl some more. What actually followed was Bear hunched his back a bit, retelling what he just saw, fortunately with a slightly calmer tone.

'....it wut I was GUNNA do... afores I laid eyes on e'ryone all up each o'er's arses an' carryin' on out 'ere...climbed deh wall, an' looked out tuh see what de commotion was. ... idjiots up on de wall was making dumb fuck noises 'bout havin' ta be up 'ere, insteada out seein' it, an' gettin drunk...an 'ats when I seened what 'eys up tuh. Tiein some beat down barstard up tuh some horses, an slappin' 'em on deh butt ta makes em pull! Ripped at fellar inta chunks, righ' ere in da street, wit' all em people cheerin'! ... .. I jus' wanned sum damn clothes!'

The accent and the cursing were so overwhelming Jazdia could only shake her head when he finished.

***

A comment about missing quite the sight rose to the tip of the tongue, but seeing how upset the bear - whose exact name was still an enigma - were, Yvonne tactfully changed course. Just a little bit.

"They quarterin' someone? Must've been a damn mean motherfucker then, no one will miss the bastard."

'YA HAS A NAME FOR IT!?' His grumble echoed in the palace hall and both women tried to not shake their heads in exaggerated patience.

'Yes, the condemned gets divided into four parts of himself. That's where the name came from."

There was a pause, a hopeless pause radiating from the bear that was currently experiencing an extreme cultural shock. Jazdia's deadpan explanation regarding the origin of the name further depressed Cedar, apparently.

'What deh hell's wrong wit' you humans?!' Cedar rambled again, but now in a lower tone. None of them feel inclined to answer that.

Who's getting it though? Any idea?" Yvonne shifted Sparky, who seemed to be very informed of things somehow. She could bring up some names that may be deserving of the treatment, but there's the small little problem where those people were recently killed by her party. Cant execute a dead man now, can they?

But Sparky only inclined her head, tactfully shushed her with a single raise of her eyebrow. Not now!

Regardless, she shrugged and patted her disgruntled friend on the... waist, because the shoulders were too tall. "Dont overthink it, people can make a spectacle out of damn near anything. These people ain't seeing blood all their lives, they get curious. Especially when it happens to someone very much deserving of it, yeah?"

Perhaps Yvonne wasn't the best choice for comforting someone.

"Anyway, clothes! Since we all need some, let's go together." A glance confirmed that the maid still stood respectfully aside, waiting for them to stop chatting. Cedar, who seemed to be still in deep thought, but had nobody to entertain his grievance could be heard muttering under his snoring breath.

'... clothes. Yeas... clothes.. uh needs sum clothes'.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Jazdia didn't have any particular likes or dislikes regarding anything attributed to the word "Royal" in it. Sure she appreciates the comfort, the cleanest, and the resplendence it offers, but she also knew those qualities are the result of a pretension to brag, and for those who are deep in the hospitality business, pretentiousness seldom brings comfort.

That was also the reason why she didn't sleep that well last night and ended up waking up early at five. After having a small breakfast and a good soak, she asked the maid to bring her ink, quill, and a quire of papers. It took her two hours to complete. A full report detailing their mission. It was not an obligatory task, but Jazdia preferred to keep everything on the record.

The meeting commenced and concluded just like that. She returned to her quarter, her so-called reward was tucked inside the large mahogany cupboard, well hidden from prying eyes and locked. She didn't really expect the monetary reward, but valuables were still valuables.

Her attention returned to the pile of paper she had arranged neatly. It would be rechecked again.

It took her some time, but that was alright. When Jazdia strolled toward the main hall again, she could only imagine what happened outside. The entire execution must have been ended, but surely the people were still celebrating outside, and the gore must have been left there for quite a while to entertain the belated onlookers.

So going to the Angel's Share was not an option, no matter how eager she was to see how Lucas would handle the wave of patrons coming in today.

Without no one accompanying her, Jazdia walked back toward the main hall, carrying the bulk of documents crammed in a transparent wrapping and secured with a few knots of black ribbons. Apparently, Yvonne was also heading toward the main hall with one of the maids in tow.

"Good day." she said when she managed to catch up with her and currently walking side-by-side. "I heard you are going to visit the royal tailor. I'm tagging along with you!"

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

And there it is. Finished. There are more things to write for this chapter, but let it be known that at least the main story has been finished, The King's order has been fulfilled and the VIP has been returned safely (for now)

And as you might have imagined, the continuation will follow. Maybe one or two months later.
I know I should make an Interest check thread soon-ish, but I think I will have to take some time to rest first.

If you interested in joining the sequel, and would like to know more about what's going on (The plot, characters and etcetera) feel free to join our discord discord.gg/XeDNVHWM

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

It was a clear day. A perfect day to see some bloodshed.

As far as Roland could remember, Kindeance had several methods of capital punishment, that would be by hanging, decapitation, execution by firing squad being the most recent, and quartering, which was the most ancient, most gruesome, and reserved only for the most terrible traitors and their conspirators. It was so cruel that for many decades, nobody was executed that way, and the only account that told the details of the execution was dated so old it was almost apocryphal.

And now here he was. The prospect of seeing such cruel and unusual death had attracted people all around Rascade to gather in the public square. Beers will be provided and musicians be summoned. He should have known that this kind of occasion should be seen more as public entertainment rather than a way to instill fear.

But there was something more today. The mounting hatred after the failed assassination of King Fredricus had made the crowd even more roused.

They wanted blood. They wanted justice.

Four masked men ushered their condemned from an enclosed wagon that had been parked there since early this morning. Geralt had had his arms and legs chained, and he was brought out without any resistance. He was modestly clothed, too modest for the criminal imputed with the worse crime possible, his head however was left unhooded for everyone to see.

The crowd jeered. Yet the condemned followed quietly, his face feigned no emotion and his black eyes glanced down. His skin had been heavily powdered nobody save those who had the keenest eyes would notice the liver mortis

Though the wound he received was still throbbing, it was still a fascinating sight to behold. Roland wondered where Doctor Solomon was, earlier he had rejected the proposal of being a part of the team that carried out the execution so he could observe the process as close as possible. He wanted to ask how his spell managed to overcome the stiffness of rigor mortis, how the undead no longer spasmed and walked like a sedated normal man.

A master of ceremony, someone he wasn't acquainted with stepped forward, addressing the crowd after the condemned had been brought to his knee.

"Hear ye! Today I speak for the crown, and I will be brief. We gathered here to see the wretched squashed under the hammer of justice. To see him pay for--"

"Shut up and snuff that King slayer already!" one of the citizens shouted, to which the crowd replied with a chorus of an angry agreement

The master of the ceremony beckoned the executioner to fast ropes on Gerralt's appendage and the man would be suspended with head facing down. Four horses, the best in the entire Rascade waited solemnly, unagitated by the screaming crowds or wayward debris that was intended for the convicted...

..who merely stood there like a clay statue. Metal cuffs linked with ropes, now flaccid, but that won't be long.

"Gerralt of Black Serpent, you have been charged of crimes against the Sovereign Crown of Kindeance and crimes against the Nation and its people. The charges are as follows: Attempted Regicide. Murder. Enforced disappearance of individuals."

Roland could see the Jailer shudder.

"Enslavement. The abduction of children. Torture. Rape. You will be torn apart and your remains gibbeted. May Gods Have mercy on your soul."

In an instant, the ropes tensed. Geralt fell, but before his face could touch the ground he already hovered above ground, legs, and arms outstretched in four equal directions. A masked executioner watched not far, armed with a hatchet. Roland watched in morbid curiosity how the undead screamed in a piercing shriek before his body was torn in two, then into four.

Black putrid blood littered the earth and sprayed the unfortunate onlookers who watched too close. The smell was so horrendous some of them threw up on the spot. It happened so fast so brutal, nobody could have imagined that less than a minute ago there was an intact, walking human being before being turned into four lumps of meat. Silent for a while, then a mixture of confused murmurs until the master of the ceremony exclaimed.

"Behold! The blood of the wicked!"

Then the crowd cheered, applauding. The music played again, the folks danced, beer chugged and they yelled Long Live the King. It didn't matter whose blood was spilled, or if the trial was fair at all, Or if the preparation had been a pure fabrication. The state had eliminated a monster from their lives, and it was worthy of a celebration.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

When the morning came, everyone was summoned.

From their room to the designated place, it was no longer maids that accompanied them, but rather, royal guards led by Matilda herself. And so they followed, politely, for they have reason to object. The reward has been prepared.

The room was not the chamber they entered when Fredricus summoned them for the first time, but rather, a seemingly old hall located on the Palace's westernmost wing. Laid in front of them were four ornated containers that looked like large briefcases with handles on top, not too small to be considered austere and not too big it would render the carrier hunched.

Behind the formations of packaged reward, the chamberlain stood firmly next to Matilda who herself preferred to lock her lips tight. Poshy as ever The Chamberlain waved his hand airily.

"His Highness... asked me to send his regard. The rewards have been prepared by the Crown himself, and he regretted not being able to personally award them. Please be assured that His Highness's absence does not diminish the gratitude he and Young Prince feel."

For someone so sophisticated, his choice of words was deliberately insipid. As if indirectly telling the group to just get their reward and leave.

He regarded five royal servants, who then brought the briefcase before every agents present. When Jazdia activated her eyes, she saw gold nuggets arranged neatly, and a smaller wooden box containing uniformly white diamonds.

"His Highness had also arranged a noble steed for every each one of you. They are waiting for you to claim at the stables. The groomsman will guide you."

There were murmurs, yet nobody opened their prizes yet. Jazdia could almost see the bear Cedar expressing his personal concern, but the Chamberlain quickly silenced him with more poised words.

"A royal party will be held this evening. His Highness hopes to see Lords and Ladies attending the soiree as well. If Gentleman found the prize lacking, be delighted to know that there will be a special audience held when the party has ended. His Highness Fredricus had personally asked me to describe the event as a casual meeting."

It was a long word to describe a secret meeting. Jazdia blinked once, certainly, she was not the only one who thought that the nationwide hurdle had ended with the return of the prince, but she wondered why would Fredricus employ them again. Suddenly she remembered Baker's word and the prophecy didn't look very good.

But she said nothing for now, and let the rest interpret it their own way. As far as the law was concerned, there was nothing stopping them from leaving this palace with their just reward.

"Again, on My King's behalf, I thank you all for your service." said the Chamberlain finally, bowing just slightly. "Feel free to go back to your room or enjoy the rest of the day in our Capital City. Everything has been prepared for your attendance this evening."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Roland the apothecary prepared his note, while the Jailer stood beside him. With Solomon's permission, they walked closer, observing the twitching corpse with great interest. The face of the undead contorted, his head tilted sideways, and his shoulder locked in a way that made both his cheek and his shoulder collide with each other.

Other than that, the violent spasm has ceased. Like some sort of disgusting contraption, Geralt gradually levered himself up, sitting with legs still outstretched.

Then he turned at them. Red eyes surrounded by dark sclera. His lips twitched, mumbling inaudibly as if his soul was in a process of readapting with his own motoric movement.

He spasmed once more before vomiting a mixture of blood, pus, and chemicals. His black, disgusting teeth bared wide when he finally made a noise.

"Morggg Fregricuz ratss," It was barely what you called speaking, what the undead did was spit more substance and forced his bowels to make a contraction to his vocal cord. But that alone seemed to be sufficient for the Jailor, who stepped forward gripping their weighed baton and brandished it on their side.

"Geralt of Black Serpent, you are guilty of the crime against the King of The Nation and The People. Who was the architect of your vile scheme?!"

A twitch, and nothing else happened, as if the harsh declaration had banished the Old Geralt's consciousness back to etherealness. But he was 'present', eyes opened, mouth agape, but his physical form was still.

Roland suspected that the necromancer played a role in this one. And he hoped it would be some sort of dark version of hypnotism. To command the undead to answer the question, and tell the truth.

Finally, the undead turned his head, to this and that. And Once again, through the ghastly wound, they saw his lungs expand, they wept a frothy mixture of blood and pus.

"Delving." he said in one full breath, the smell was almost unbearable, yet the undead repeated the name in utter mania. "Delving! Delving Jonas...Jonas Delving!"

His entire body spasmed, but he grinned when the tremor struck back and caused his head to fall back, mouth opened in a
soundless cry of joy and pain, the muscle and veins on his neck standing out like wire.
His right hand raised, on the back of his palm, a fiery marker emerged from his tattoo, glowing like a fiery iron brand.

Then something happened, he seized the pencil from Roland and stabbed the apothecary in the shoulder. Geralt's sudden mastery of precise movement stunned everyone, allowing the undead to roll down from the table. Turned out for the entire ritual, the dead bastard had taken his time to feel his upper body, reclaiming full control. What he did not calculate was the wound caused by Jazdia's arrow had damaged a portion of his spine, partially paralyzing the lower part of his body.

"Delving! Cheatin fuckwiz! I did all I could for the cause. Why should I suffer alone? Out of my way!"

The undead lurched forward, mustering every will to direct his erratic gait toward the exit, but was quickly stopped by the jailer, who had rushed to ambush the undead and swung their baton at Gerralt's knee.

He screamed, but not because of the supposed pain the jailer just inflicted. "I lent them my merchandise, my tool, my plaything!!!"

The stitching was undone, and his rotten entrails spilled out, blood and foul ichor dripping profusely, yet the dead still marched, slower this time, until he finally stopped dead on his track. Shackled by shadow and an ethereal chain cast by the necromancer.

"Eeverything!" he growled, the frustration was almost humane but turned into a terrifying howl when he screamed a name.

"Joormungand!"

The brand on his hand emanated a crimson smoke, the glow intensified and Geralt was spasming again. The second time he screamed that name, the desperation bled into his voice and it echoed with power that reverberated in the very air.

"Joormungand! Why have you forsaken me!?"

The third time he called the name, the voice was almost as broken as he was. The old bastard hunched, the glow on the tattoo gradually wanes as he slumped on the floor. Eyes opened, lungs-- contracting as if alive, yet he was lying still.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Royal Apothecary Roland hurriedly strode through the deserted corridor, bringing only a dimmed lamp with him. In every step taken, he silently cursed his colleagues who failed to inform him about their arrival. Petty imbeciles, they were, did they not have any inkling how important this matter was now not only for him but also for the entire branch?

In front of a door, Roland stopped, wondering if this was the correct room. Earlier he had asked around, looking for the maid who brought in the particular guest he was looking for, adding more lapsed time to his already tight schedule. If this was the wrong room, who knows how many more he would have to knock. Or if the Man was in this corridor at all.

Deciding to set aside his worries for later, he knocked on the door.

He didn't have all night.

***

Inside, Solomon sat at a table. He looked at the candle, its flame flickering, and the wax slowly dripping down the side. He was in contemplation. So far, everything was moving according to plan, but surely whatever opposing force keeping the country in turmoil would not let this go on uncontested for much longer. Something bigger must be at play. Petra coughed, and Solomon turned his head.

A polite but hesitant series of knocking could be heard. Solomon stood up from his chair, disengaging the latch, and peered out.

A man stood in front of the door. He looked average if not bookish, wearing a robe dyed in yellow and white and wearing a pair of glasses that seemed too small for his wide face. When their eyes met, the man flinched, seemingly intimidated by Solomon's presence, but then he quickly regained his composure.

“Well met to you, Sir. My name is Roland, Royal Apothecary.” he introduced himself, bowing and speaking at the same time. “Sorry for disturbing you at this hour.”

“That is quite alright. I find myself not quite ready to shut my eyes. What brings you so late? Is it something urgent?” asked Solomon. His eyes narrowed, looking directly at the man, “or is it something you wish to keep discrete?”

“Indeed, sir. The matter that I am about to disclose is sensitive. What I am allowed to tell you is we need your expertise to ‘prepare’ a very important individual for tomorrow's occasion.”

“Oh? Then I employ you to enter.” said Solomon

“I must refuse, sir.” insisted Roland, “If you would come with me. More will be explained once we’ve arrived.”

“Very well. Then let us be on our way.” Solomon took a step out of the room, the door drifting to a close behind him.

***

"I am going to tell you that this is the order from the king himself. Sir."

Roland, who had been silent for the entire walk from the guest house to a secluded antechamber in the west wing, now started to speak again as they began to descend spiraling stairs to the Royal Palace basement. "I assume you are already familiar with this individual. We found him in the ruins of Black Serpent headquarters...."

They finally emerged into a room that seemed like both a mortuary and a laboratory, buzzing with activities. Several apprentices could be seen mixing potions, weighing ingredients, jotting notes.

On the large table, lay a corpse of a middle-aged man with white hair. An apprentice was busy sewing his abdomen close, and it seemed that both the staff and the time itself had done quite a number on him; when they get close, the smell was a mix of putrefaction, chemicals, and curiously, an incongruous strong scent of herbs. The eyes were wide open, looked dull and blackened. Despite he heavy damage on his torso, his face was intact, save several scrapes and the contortion in the muscle that made his general expression looked like he had met his demise in terror.

That said, the corpse was still missing a substantial amount of flesh and bones around his sternum, leaving a large fleshy crater on his torso, revealing the seared heart and lungs within.

"We will need you to wake him up." said the apothecary animatedly. Behind him, a masked being approached, inserted himself into the group, then spoke in a demanding tone.

"And talk. We will need him to be alive so folks can hear him screeching when the horses pull him apart."

The additional person introduced themselves as the Jailor. Man or woman, nobody can tell what form behind their heavy coat and cowled head, and plague mask. The voice seeped out from the metal mask was determined, if not irritated, and distorted.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Awkwardly, the prince had himself ushered away by his myrmidons, he only spared a glance once at the group, who soon will be escorted to their own room. A glitter in his eyes showed many untold words, but it was already late, and he had to be mindful of he would conduct himself in the royal palace.

And so they went, ending the brief but very important handover ceremony. Fredricus would want witness, and so did those who were expecting the reward.

In her entire career as a representative and persecutor, this was the first time Jazdia will be spending a night in a royal palace. And of course, the reason was obvious.

She would rather go back to Angel's Share, but the place was closed, making the irony twofold. First being locked out of the establishment she owned, and the second having to sleep in the 'belly of the beast'.

Swallowing her pride, Jazdia decided to make peace with the situation and be friendly to the maid.

"Please lead the way."
She didn't know the others, but the servant who escorted her was not very friendly. After uttering a glorified but rather standard instruction to follow, she led Jazdia toward a very large corridor. At first they were still with the group, until each one of the disappeared at every subsequent door. Cedar was the last to be directed into another corridor and seemed to be very enjoying the conversation with the staff. Good for him.

"This will be your room, Ma'am." said the maid flatly. It was a nice room, as expected from a royal palace. The bed was big, the air was fresh and the floor was clean. Three most important criteria for her, and she would not peruse the other details.

Unbuttoning the admiral coat and threw it on a nearby chair, Jazdia then realized that the Maid was still there.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" asked the maid in an irritated tone.

There was a pause when a rather-unladylike exclamation came from the next door. Complaining about the light that should be dimmed. Not sure if the maid could hear it too.

"No, thank you," answered Jazdia, calmly walking toward the door and reaching its knob before gradually closing it. Indirectly asking the maid to leave. It won't be open until the next morning.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Almost two hours had already passed, and Matilda seemed all too eager to get back on the road. Jazdia agreed with that proposition and asked everyone to be prepared.

Still using the same formation, the party continued their journey with moderate alertness. The road between Hdur and the capital city should be considerably safer now, though Jazdia wouldn't discount a potential ambush no matter how small that was. She instructed Kaito to maintain the usual speed.

***

00:20 A.M.
Rascade City Outskirt, Kingdom of Kindeance.

It was well past midnight now and nothing unusual was afoot. The dimmed light from torches and lamps adorning the city battlements could already be seen from the distance. The wagon slowed gradually and stopped in front of the city gate. There, no less than ten men manned their stations, four blocked the way. The others stood in the battlements with muskets and crossbows

"Halt!' commanded one of the soldiers toward the already halted convoy. He had his pike pointed diagonally toward the incoming stranger. And there he came forward, a herald of the bone-grinding bureaucracy. "The city's closed, no passage!"

"Good night! We are here for official business." reasoned Jazdia, who had positioned herself between the carriage and the line of guards. To her, their cautiousness was understandable.

"Official business you say? With a bear? Elf? And that funny-looking foreigner over there? So a wandering circus is an official guest now?"

"Yes. That's our pet bear, our ringmaster, and that lady riding behind me is our tumbler." Jazdia paused for a breath and winked. "While I am the juggler."

"Yeah, you don't say!" said the other guard, glaring at her condescendingly."Like I will buy that bullcrap. Juggler my arse, don't even have enough tits to juggle."

Before Jazdia considered blasting these grunts to pieces. the first guard interjected. "What, ow who's inside the carriage?"

"Our mime artist and the manager."

"Come now, ma'am, do you want to enter or---"

"Hey, what's the holdup!?"

Like a roaring lion, Matilda's helmeted head emerged from the carriage window and shouted. It took some time for the stationed guards to realize who was that before hurriedly retreating aside. The rest was scurrying for a gate lever.

The metal portcullis rattled as its chains came to life and lifted it upward. The wagon immediately rolled inside. Jazdia however stayed behind to pester the frightened guards some more.

"No need to apologize. I see that you are still maintaining the old standing order. I assume Your Highness hasn't elected anyone to replace Lord Aaron Delving yet?"

The guard shook their heads. Some said they don't know, while others commented that no further order was coming from the top since three days ago, which was not only strange but also resulted in the day-to-day routine going into disarray.

"The bombing case too." added one of the guards right before Jazdia set off. "The investigation was stopped, and it makes people kinda riled up."

Still behind the wagon, Jazdia took a rather sharp turn at the next crossroad. Taking a longer and more scenic route to see the state of the city for herself. She had to accelerate her horse in a constant gallop in order to arrive at the palace in a timely manner.

The streets were calm, almost peaceful and no strays could be seen. Even the famed Black Swan Tavern was deserted, its dazzling lights radiates throughout their closed windows and the only soul there was a seemingly immutable bouncer guarding their front door.

When Jazdia reached the Plaze, it was again, empty and it was not supposed to be like that. The darkened interior of The Angel's Share and a CLOSED sign on its door would warrant Lucas a hefty penalty this morning, and she was sure of it.

Calm, peaceful, and normal. As she rode straight through the main road, she wondered how far she would go to do her part to maintain this normalcy. The stability of the land that was not her own. And for that bried while Jazdia forgot that she was retired.

Jazdia was just a minute late when she reached the palace. The carriage had just been taken off somewhere with all its passengers already climbing the stairs toward the main door. The elf followed suit. No welcoming ceremony, and no flowers or yells or anything. And no spies as well as far as her eyes could see. They returned, in silence, like thieves, and ironically with the next crown walking with them. What an interesting turn of events it was.

Matilda led the group, and Fredricus' personal chamberlain received them once they entered the main hall. Some servants followed the man and quickly flanked Prince Alec with Matilda closely guarding him.

"His Highness will be eternally grateful." said the man pompously. "But I am afraid your rewards will have to wait for his Higness' wisdom. You will be summoned when the time is due. Please follow the servants, they will take you to your chambers."