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no-lightbox
Cordelia didn't need her magic...

She had cracked Altrey and all she had needed was a convincing performance. This, at least, was the comfort she tried to take from all that had happened in that short period of time. This was what she tried to tell herself, each time the temptation arose to skim someone's thoughts, pry into their mind just a touch.

It scared her, the idea of what might happen if she used it again, but she knew only too well that resistance would not... could not last forever. And but a few days following her visit to Lord Altrey, it became abundantly clear that her resilience was nowhere as strong as the magic within her. The fever was mild to start, but intensified as the day wore on, until she felt shaken apart inside, her mind unsteady, unfocused, her stomach twisting at the very thought of food, her body a mass of aches. Her mood, too, had darkened, and an irritability had overcome her that was very unlike her.

Rain still beat down on the dirty, muddy streets of Faledrin, as she paced back and forth in front of the fire in her room. She had left the Seawatch and taken up a temporary residence at Quinn's establishment. There were other locations she could go, and probably wiser ones, but there was a comfort in the familiar that Cordelia desperately needed, a comfort being near someone who knew at least something of who she really was and it helped to be easier to reach. The masque was nearly upon them, and for all hers and Milly's efforts, they had everything they required to crash the party with convincing effect, but her diminishing health had driven her into seclusion, and with time crawling nearer to the event, she was running out of energy to fight.

Sinking into the chair before the hearth, she dropped her head into her hands with a small groan.

Sothal had heard of her stay at Quinn's and was sure to set aside time to see to her before the affairs of the masque. And it was a perfect excuse for him to take leave of his affairs as a prince despite his council being in the dark. Sothal could essentially abuse his magic near to excess without as much repercussions as Cordelia had endured the other day. All he had to worry about for the most part was going missing for too long.

Entering the establishment, he engaged very little with anyone about. His focus was on seeing to Cordelia and thus had no time for idle chats. Rounding a corner, he headed up a stairwell and found the door to which he was told she presided. "Oracle?" he softly called as he knocked.

Flinching at the knock, Cordelia straightened. She recognized the voice and had, in fact, expected him to visit. It had been a few days, but she knew that he would not let what had happened after reading Gerard go easily. Sothal had a way about him, that was certain...

Rising, she made for the door and pulling her shawl tighter around her frame, opened it, leaning against the frame, with a nod, "Sothal..."

He eyed her over noting her state with a bit of a frown before nodding towards the room behind her. "I come bearing gifts," he said. "May I come in?"

It was unusual, indeed, for Cordelia not to be entirely put together - her hair hung down her back, loose curls nearly wild, and she wore only a plain slip beneath the aubergine shawl, her feet bare as they often were.

Nodding, not oblivious to his gaze, Cordelia stepped back, holding the door open for him, her cheeks flushed with color, "Gifts, hmm? Have a seat."

"I think you should sit," Sothal suggested as he motioned to the chair. Despite his inward concerns, he held an aloof and almost businesslike air about him. "Have you eaten recently?"

Frowning, but offering no argument, Cordelia moved, lowering herself into the chair again, shaking her head with a small flinch, "I'm not hungry."

"Well, that's unfortunate," he said as he sat himself down beside her on the floor, cross legged like a child before the fire as he placed a fine embroidered cloth upon her lap. The cloth unfolded to reveal small bricks of chocolate. "Freshly imported from Ghildi. A present for recent relations I've been kindling. We may open trade with them if all goes well. And then chocolate won't be so rare. I may even get fat."

Even in her current state, feeling a miserable as she did, it was difficult to turn a frown at the small brick placed upon her lap. It was exquisite... as fine as if it had been made of gold. Breathing out, Cordelia shifted her gaze to his, cautiously masked, "...Emyrs, fat? What would all those doting ladies think?"

"They'll find a happy man," he said, but then snatched up the chocolate from her lap. "Such sweets are only so good if one eats a meal before. Let me get you some food, hmm? And then you can have your chocolate."

"...Sothal." Leaning back, she shut her eyes for a moment, "It's been too long. I can't... I need to... I don't know how much longer I can hold off."

His expression became guarded once again, and he placed the napkin back on her lap as he turned his head to look at the fire instead. This was not something she could overcome and recover from due to the amount of years she had been practicing her craft. She needed what this world could not provide.

"Then do something small," he suggested. "Take it slow and keep things limited."

"I'm scared." Her voice lowered to a whisper, and she dropped her eyes to her lap, fiddling with frayed edge of her shawl, "After Gerard... What happened... It happened again, twice. I've been alright, since, but I haven't used it. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid not to..."

Inhaling sharply, she turned away, shaking her head, "Damn it all. I just want it to stop... I want to stop."

For a time he let them sit in the quiet of the room after her words had dissipated into the crackle of the fire. He needed to fix this somehow and yet was powerless to do so. He needed the comfort of a drink and it's numbing embrace.

"If you don't use your magic you'll die," he stated. "Sooner than later. I'm sorry, Cordelia."

He turned himself to her and took her hand in his as he eyed her with severity. "I'll give you your other gift if you use your magic," he said. "Any spell."

Grimacing at his words, she lowered her gaze to his hand, as it gripped hers... She knew the risks, either way - knew there was a chance even if she did use it, she could die, anyway. But she wasn't ready to give up. Not when they had so much still to do...

"I visited Altrey..." She whispered, her gaze shifting to his, "It was a hunch, and it paid off. He knows what's happening with the Tainted. I'm sure of it. And he knew who the ring belonged to... He... he thinks I'm a part of it, Sothal. Of the Cabal. A notion I didn't entirely bother to correct. There's going to be a demonstration at the Masque. Something to show their progress..." Curling her fingers around his, bringing his hand to her forehead, she rested against it, closing her eyes.

"I don't want to read you... To invade your mind like that..."

"You're going to have to do something," he stated a bit forcefully. "Anything. A panic attack or one of those light dimming spells. But you can't just do nothing. We will need you there if they're expecting you. You need to get better."

With a sigh, she straightened, her eyes opening. He was right. She had put herself in a position that, whether it had been her intention or not, made her presence at the masque necessary. But it was difficult to put it all into the proper perspective when she hurt so much.

She couldn't remember, through the fog in her mind, the old spells, those her mother had first insisted she learn. They had frightened her, even then - the idea of what she was capable of. Memories, they seemed so much less destructive, even if in truth they weren't.

But it had been so long since she had used her abilities on him. Not since their first meeting, when she had nearly driven him to...

Still... she had to do something.

Nodding, she reached for his opposite hand, cupping both of them in hers, "I'll try for a good memory, this time." And with the barest nudge, she closed her eyes and pressed into his mind.

He didn't resist the pull of her magic as it slipped him into the void. But once there in the fraction of a moment they were enveloped in black he gripped her hands tightly. There was a palpable fear of the nothing eased with the smattering of hazy colors and muffled sounds as Cordelia reached into Sothal's past.

The muddied colors sifted, blurred, and bled onto the black canvas of the void as it painted a scene of a strange city filled with colorful horseless carts and tall buildings that blocked out the sun.

A teenage Sothal sat upon a concrete wall that partitioned a set of stairs from the upper level of a walkway. A man sat next to him in what was defined as a suit-and-tie, or the typical attire of a working citizen. His name was Sergei, and it had been a few years since Sothal had seen him last. They sat silently for a time eating a cold treat called ice cream.

“The mustache doesn't suit you,” Sothal said as he motioned towards Sergei’s upper lip. Sergei huffed a small laugh and stroked it thoughtfully.

“The ladies dig it,” he said with a shrug. “It's been a while. You've missed some things.”

“How long has it been?” Sothal asked.

“The war is over,” he said, and smiled somewhat. “Vitally is home again. Do you think you’ll have enough time to come by? I'm sure everyone will want to see you.”

“It doesn't feel like I will,” Sothal admitted. He frowned a little in disappointment as he fought the telltale pull of his world beckoning him home. It was beginning to feel like both worlds were tugging him at the arms in a fight for his attention.

“I'll tell them you say hello, then,” Sergei said. “They’ll understand. Hey, how’s the war going where you live?”

“Hm?” Sothal had almost forgotten about it. Had it been that long since they'd seen each other? The last time he had run into Sergei he was around his age and in school. They’d known each other for years and always came to this very spot for ice cream and conversation.

“Oh,” Sothal continued, “it still hasn't turned into anything massive. Just terrorism at random.”

“No leads as to where they are?”

“They're everywhere.”

Sergei shook his head solemnly. “I’d give you a whole arsenal if I could,” he said. “Think you could take me back? I’ll find them. I have a knack for finding things.”

Sothal chuckled at that. The last time he had brought Sergei into his world the two spent their entire time setting up practical jokes around the castle. It only lasted a couple of hours and resulted in Sothal falling unconscious for days. He never told Sergei, but the thought ran through his mind as he tasted the final bite of the cold chocolate cream.

“We’d get nothing accomplished,” he said in return. Sergei laughed and punched Sothal in the arm.


The memory swirled back into the deep black of the void. The struggle to return to the present was still evident in Sothal just as it had all those years ago. His eyes stared out at nothing, widened and blank for nearly a minute. And in that time a nagging sensation, almost like a tug at the soul, could be felt within their connection. But just before the ethereal rope felt taut, the sensation lifted, and his eyes blinked as he settled back into reality.

“How are you feeling?”

For a few seconds, Cordelia sat in silence, her breathing deep, her eyes closed. The feeling was gradual, rather than all at once, but she could feel it lifting - the pain... the anxiety. Like pressure being released from a valve, she could feel herself returning to normal.

Her eyes flickered open and a small smile formed at the corner of her mouth, "Someday, Love... you're going to have to sit down and tell me about these adventures of yours."

Leaning back in her seat, she pressed a hand to her forehead, "It's still there, but it's better. And I don't feel the way I did after Gerard. Thank you, Sothal..."

He slipped his hands from hers and sat back down to face the fire as he solemnly pushed away the memory. His head nodded ever so slightly in knowing Cordelia recovered even just slightly with the spell. "It was a strange place, wasn't it?" he said. "It's where I end up sometimes. I don't really mean to go there."

His hand slipped into his jacket pocket to produce a box the size of his hand. It was ornately carved with the wood stained a dark reddish brown. "Your other present," he said as he placed it on Cordelia's lap next to the chocolates.

"You... you ought to be careful, though, Sothal..." She didn't imagine that she needed to explain why. Disappearing and reappearing the way he did, winding himself up in unfamiliar areas... worlds...

It was too unpredictable. Too dangerous...

Her eyes shifted as he placed the box before her and a brow quirked as she looked up at him momentarily, before opening it. A small inhalation followed, as she eyed the necklace inside. Stunning did not begin to cover it... the blues and whites, the shimmering, glistening stones.

Eyes moving to Sothal, she shook her head, "...It's... Sothal, it's beautiful."

"I had it made for you," he said. "My sister recommended a jeweler in Dradmida. It's taken nearly a year to get it here. Now is as good of a time as ever, I suppose. You can wear it to the masque to further your role."

Pulling it from the velvet lined case, Cordelia held the necklace as though it were made from glass, and for all she knew, it very well could have been. Apart from his ring, it was surely the most precious thing she had ever touched...

Blinking, she looked at him and smiled gingerly, before rising to her feet. Holding the necklace out to him, she then turned and pulled her hair up off her neck, "Here... Help me try it on."

He took the necklace and eyed it over for the clasp. It was hidden into the metalwork and took a bit of careful fiddling before it came undone. He brought the beaded strands of blue before her and laid it upon her chest as he secured the clasp around her neck. "Do you like it, then?"

Looking down, touching her fingertips to the necklace, Cordelia shook her head, "More than...It's incredible."

Without stepping back, she turned around to face him, craning her neck up to meet his gaze, "I'm not entirely sure what I've done to deserve it."

He shrugged at that and set the box on the nearest surface to place it out of the way. "What does deserving have to do with it?" he asked. "It's a necklace. People don't get jewelry because of some deserving status. It's an indulgence. Like chocolate."

Smirking faintly, Cordelia's own shoulders rose and fell, "Fair enough." She mused, though her tone carried a weight of somewhat reluctant concession. It was an intriguing indulgence, anyway, "Thank you... It's really lovely."

Over the mantel hung a small mirror and moving towards it, Cordelia looked into the slightly tarnished surface at her reflection. She was a right mess, and the necklace stood out in the worst possible way. Dogs and pearls, or something... but she wouldn't say as much out loud.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she turned back to Sothal, "Will she be there? Your sister? At the Masque...?"

He looked at her reflection and the way Cordelia studied herself with the necklace. "No," he stated as he looked away. "Politics keep her in Dradmida. I'm not sure she'll ever have a reason to come back here. I've been over there once. It's a far better place."

"Hm..." Turning away, she nodded, "It's a wonder any of us stay, sometimes"

Her eyes shifted to his and she smiled, faintly, "But I suppose we all have our reasons. Quinn has his tavern, his girls... Tam his kids. Milly, Leona, Kylar... even Mies. They've all got ties somewhere or another. And you can't very well leave. As for me, well..." Making a soft sound, somewhere in the vein of a laugh, she shrugged, "I don't suppose I need to spell out my reason for staying."

"We have a good cause," Sothal said. "And I feel it a necessary step in the betterment of Faledrin. It's not my familial obligations that keep me here, but my ambition to see this kingdom flourish just as well as Thallas or Dradmida. I'm glad we all share that in common."

Her fingers dropped down from the exquisite necklace to clasp the other string she wore round her neck, palming the ring with a small shake of her head, "I believe in our cause. And I want to see Faledrin rise from this miserable oblivion... more than I can say. But that's not why I stay."

Biting thoughtfully at the edge of her lip, she glanced up at him, "...And I think you know that. Sometimes I wonder what you'd do, Sothal, if I just stopped playing along."

His head nodded in a thought, and he looked from the window to the door before clearing his throat. "I should go make sure our way into the Noble District is clear," he said. "Glad to see you're doing better, Cordelia. And go eat something. We need everyone to be focused at the masque."

"Oh, right. Seems I already know." With a small, subtle smirk, Cordelia shook her head, sinking back down into the chair before the fireplace, "Better for now, at least... Goodnight, Sothal."

"I'm going to tell Quinn to force feed you if you don't get a meal within an hour," he warned. Despite his serious tone, he had meant it to be a bit more playful, yet never bothered to fix it as he dryly pointed towards her in emphasis. He exited without another word to her, closing the door quietly behind him.


 
Mies
Mies made a grim expression beneath her hood at the touch, though, she didn’t throw him off nor did she do anything to bring attention to them beyond a passer by’s judgement for his alleged drunkenness. Her soft, bell-like voice came out in a soft mutter as he walked her along the lane. “Long,” was all she offered him in regards to her splendid visit with her Lord father. She glanced his way briefly, still maintaining the expression that something disgusting had caught her olfactory senses and she watched him take a drink before continuing.

“You’re just prop’ly pickled aren’t you,” she commented, her pitless gaze fixing on his face briefly and then ahead again as he used her as a lean-to. She nodded at his words, stepping away from him as wiggling her gloved hands as she went, “Don’ fall in tha’ river then, eh?” She said, aloud, “Be surprised if ya float at this point, ya tosser.” She continued down a side alley behind a row of houses and made full circle back to the church to wander her way through unseen before finding a disappointing nothing to tell Quinn.

Upon her arrival to his Inn, she flipped the hood from her hair and stuffed her gloves in her pockets, her ears still hidden as she made her way to the counter to drop herself onto a barstool in anticipation of speaking with the man himself. She was first to speak, this time electing to skip the accent. “Hello, Quinn,” she said, flashing him a sweet smile.
 
Newer Blood and a Masque
A collaboration between @Rowboat & @Red Thunder


A masque. Masques meant socializing with aristocrats, which meant butlers and footmen, which meant letter of introduction.

Quinn sat at the bar, writing furiously across various pages and qualities of vellum in as varied colors and writing styles of script. Each letter gave a supposed name and title, referencing pseudonyms that each Cult member was already intimately familiar with. It was to be hoped of course that such would be only minorly necessary; the more they could avoid direct interaction with individuals of major note, the better. Mass introductions were certainly to be avoided at all cost. Best they all flit from noble to noble, seeking information on the Tainted and the misuse of Shadow Magic seeping through the nobility. Yet the Baladuri had learned hard lessons from near escapes and close calls in his decade as a Thief; far better to have all possibilities prepared for.

Making these forgeries was proving more difficult that it otherwise might. For one, the urgency with which Sothal had given Quinn the list pressed upon his mind, and he longed to get more cogs in the oft complicated machine of acquisition moving. Yet even that did not distract his mind like the mysterious woman who'd evaded him not long ago. Had she sought the very hazelnuts that he'd sent the she-elf Vilora after? If so, why? To gain like him the favor of a Shae? For what purpose?

These thoughts crowded his brain, his hand moving with the practiced confidence of an expert as he wrote the forgeries, so when a sudden voice greeted him, Quinn nearly jumped from his stool.

“Mies!” The look of shock was replaced with surprise, which was itself shoved aside by happiness. “Good to see you, lass. Haven't seen you in a month of Sundays. How was the trip?”

As he spoke, Quinn slide his work beneath the overhang of the true bar top, having made use of the lower counter on his side for writing. He pulled out a clay mug then stopped, brows furrowed in thought.

“You take ale, right? Baladuri? You'll have to forgive me; it's been a while.”

Both of Mie’s meticulously shaped eyebrows shot up in amusement at Quinn nearly jumping out of his skin and she couldn’t fight the smug grin that formed across her otherwise sweet face. She planted an elbow on the bar top and settled her chin in the palm of her hand, leaning on it that way as she leaned forward to look at her comrade’s work even as he slid it off elsewhere.

“Oh, it was fantastic,” she said, mirthlessly, rolling her eyes upwards and shaking her head. “Look what I got.” She said, digging the ridiculous, ornamental egg from her pocket and setting it on the bar top with a loud thud. “I think he thinks I actually like that crap. I only drink Baladuri ale with you, Quinn, baby, you know that. Pour it, if that’s what you’re nursing tonight.”

“Come now, honey; you know better than that.”

White froth like a waterfall’s foam crested the top of the mug. Smiling, Quinn closed the keg tap and pushed the ale to his visitor. His brow had raised from thought to mild surprise at Mies’ item. The noise from its weight turned a few heads of those around the main room, but even the most curious immediately turned back to their drinks and conversation. Though they were not privy to their host’s business specifically, still they knew better than to act on their curiosity.

The Baladuri stroked his mustache. It was an interesting sight, the ornamental egg in such a place as the Eel.

“The hell is that?” he wondered aloud.

“It’s an egg,” she said, privately remarking, Thanks Captain Obvious, to herself. She glanced back briefly at the patrons, curious if anyone was watching them and finding herself reassured that no one was.

“I guess you put it on a shelf to look pretty or something?” She went on to say, “See this?” She ran a long finger, which was host to a cotton-candy pink nail down the golden filigreed spine on the side of the egg, of which there were three. “That’s real gold. He always gives me crap like this and I always hawk ‘em.” She shrugged her skinny shoulder, bringing the same hand that had touched the egg around the handle of the stein and pulled it towards her face.

She leaned down and slurped the foam from the top first, “What’ve you been up to, then?” She asked, fingers drumming on the clay side silently.

“Oh, mostly the usual. Tending to the Laughing Eel and our mutual friends, keeping everyone fed and sheltered. When I'm not wolf hunting that is.” Quinn chuckled, pulling his pipe free to light it with a bit of tobacco from his ever ready pouch. “We caught ourselves a big one the other night. Has anyone told you?”

It wasn't likely. Judging by the tired expression in the girl’s eyes, not to mention the road dust upon her gear, she'd only just gotten home. He shrugged. “But that's something not terribly or immediately relevant. Apparently we're attending a ball soon. A masque. So find something nice to wear and be ready for the invitation.”

She leaned back on her bar stool with the same grim expression she had put on when Sothal had touched her. “No one’s told me, no. And… something nice?” She repeated. “Where am I supposed to do that. You’ve seen me. No one is gonna sell me something like… that… “ She slowed down as the thought dawned on her. “...S’pose that’ll be what I hawk the egg for. Speaking of that… Sothal wanted me to give you a report about somethin’ he and Tam were up to.” She leaned forward as she said it, lowering her voice. “Skulked all around the church and I didn’t find shit, so….” She trailed off into a yawn. “How nice is ‘nice’?”

Of course, she already knew. Nice meant the kind of crap her father liked to buy and try to give her while simultaneously denying her existence to the peerage. Her brows both wiggled upwards as a snide thought crossed her mind, If he’s there, the shock might kill him.

Quinn gave her a significant look.

Nice nice. If you can't find something soon, talk to Oracle or Eswayt. Either will able to help you.” The church, though? Why did Sothal want him to know- Ah, of course: the Tainted girl that Tam found and hide there. The question was what ‘not finding shit’ actually meant: whether the hideout still maintained its integrity, or whether it had been compromised. In either case, he'd need to get into contact with Sothal soon.

“Let me know if you need help with your sale,” he smiled as he puffed on the pipe smoke. “Anything else? Bed? Board?”

“No, no. I’m stayin' with Caleb again, I should check in with him. Do I need to wear one of those things that squeeze your middle?” She asked, making a gesture as though she was yanking the laces of a corset in front of her. Truthfully, she had not worn one in her life, perhaps ever and the idea made her a little self conscious. Would everyone see her all dolled up, looking elf-like as ever? She presumed, yes… they would. She grimaced at him again, “Ain’t showing anyone my ears, mind!”

He grimaced in reply.

“I'm not really the expert on lady fashions, lass. As I say, talk to Oracle or Eswayt and let them know I sent you. I'm sure they'd even be able to help you with your, er, difference, if you like.”

She shrugged at him, giving her ale one good quaff before setting it down and picking up her egg. “I'll figure it out... See ya later, Quinn!” She said, raising a hand and departing for home to sleep her travels off, her boots scuffling slightly as she did. They were too big for her.
 
Contractual Footwork
a collab between @Effervescent and @Red Thunder

Orc lands. Really? He wants me to get supplies from that far north? I'll bet he hadn't even checked locally yet. Typical.

The she-elf chewed on the inside of her lip as pushed her way out the inn's door and out into the rain. It hadn't been raining when she'd arrived some thirty minutes ago, so the precipitation splattered again against her unprotected head and shoulders, soaking her immediately. But she had a tough skin. Tough enough to weather a bit of wetness.

And to weather a bit of the usual bias. She'd gotten several cold looks as she left, obvious resentment in more than one of them. After years of living under that stigma, she'd have assumed she was used to it. But that couldn't be further from the truth. It bothered her, but she did her best to hide it. After all, not everyone hated her for her heritage. Eswayt certainly did right by her, as did her sisters, and some of the Matron's associates did as well. And Quinn, well. She smiled. He wasn't so bad either.

Vilora made her way down the street, slippered feet treading carefully around the gathering and widening mud puddles that encroached upon the cobbled streets through the stones, mixing soil with the dust of foreign lands that so many strangers inevitably tracked into their open city. It was a mutually benefiting relationship they had, Windfeld and the foreigners: tariffs were minimal, as was official involvement in standardizing procedures and cargo, and in turn, much in the way of exotic and rare products and supplies could be found on the streets, if one knew where to look.

One almost certainly never had to go to the physical source. Orcish lands indeed.

Eswayt maintained relationships with others of her ilk from days long past. While she always refrained from sharing the nature or even the name of whatever organization to which she might have once belonged, she had little complaints with sharing the names of veterans of that organization. Indeed it was beneficial to the Madam to use her girls as runners and messengers, and Vilora was no exception. Still robed in her thin dress from visiting Quinn, almost qualifiable as a shift for its sheerness, her tight curls stretched straight and long by the downpour, the she-elf approached Muller's door and knocked. The hesitation in her mind was typical; she rarely felt easy talking to a veteran.

Muller called out from the counter where he stopped over a journal. “Come in,” he said as he set down a vial of dried and crushed monkshood. He jotted down the label in the journal and counted the remaining identical vials. There were a couple of crates stacked beside him for further inventory of new shipments.

The door creaked as Vilora nudged it open. She peeked through, nervous. It was one thing to few confident in the construction of a plan; it was another thing entirely to execute it.

“Mr. Muller?” She spoke quietly, unsure of what wood he might be in today. “I'm sorry, sir. Do you have a minute?”

“Yep,” he said simply, and turned around to look at the woman apathetically, graphite still between his fingers as he pushed down his spectacles from his line of sight.

Dammit. She'd forgotten how blasted succinct Muller could be. Vilora squeezed through the door and pushed it closed quietly behind her, cringing a bit at the soft squeak the hinges made. Slowly she eased her way to the counter, feet hesitant but eyes curious.

“What- I mean, you look busy. What is it you're working on?”

“Come on, girl,” Muller said as he removed his spectacles from his nose. He set them gently down on the counter next to the journal with a calm air about him. His tone, despite the wording, was quite warm and soft. “You aren’t here for pleasantries or to get to know my business. What is it you need?”

Vilora winced. Why were the veterans so intimidating? She swallowed, gathering her courage.

“I guess I need a favor. Well, not for me. It's actually for Mr. Travers.” The she-elf glanced about, trying to distract her mind and beginning to ramble a bit from her nervousness. “He wanted me to get in touch with family back north. Which is silly. Why would I need to look outside of Windfeld for things that could just as easily be found within it? Silly man; he didn't even suggest an apothecary or some similar kind of shop.”

She blanched.

“That is, not to say all men are silly!” Damn her tongue. If she represented Eswayt badly…

Muller watched the elf stumble through her words and ramble on, his head nodding as he did his best to follow her direction. “And so you are here because you need something,” he said to prompt the girl back on track. “What does Mr. Travers need, exactly?”

“...warded armor and drackenberries,” came the reply, quiet in embarrassment. “And I think hazelnuts, too.”

He huffed a small laugh as he turned back around to close his journal. “I can only imagine what for,” Muller said, and scooped up the journal in hand before walking over to a shelf. “I'll need some time for the armor and drakenberries, but I think I may have some hazelnut.”

He pilfered through a couple of boxes, pulling out small bottles from sawdust and reading the labels until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here we go,” Muller said as he walked back to the elf. “It's ground, but I’m sure I know what it's for.”

He held out his other hand for payment, sure to keep the small bottle of hazelnut clasped within the other until the exchange. “It's an expensive item, though,” he continued. “Difficult to come by ‘round here. You got the money?”

“Oh! Right!” She reached into her dress through the generous neckline, pulling a small coin purse from where it lay hidden. “Uh, how much?”

“Twenty golds,” he stated. “For the hazelnut, warded armor, drakenberries, and logistics. Not an easy feat to get these things. Mr. Travers understands this.”

Vilora’s face paled, but she nodded. Carefully, almost unwillingly, she counted out the amount as she placed each piece upon the countertop. With a mournful glance into her now significantly lessened purse, she replaced it under her dress. Quinn had given her a substantial allowance to procure the items, promising that she might keep whatever remained once the items were in his possession. It seemed like the she-elf had underestimated the cost of doing business on the black market. Or at least, underestimated the difficulty of obtaining his items. Meekly she extended an open hand.

Muller eyed over the elf thoughtfully as he noted her change in demeanor. It wasn't his business, though, to meddle in Quinn’s affairs and how he ran his own business. And so the Fallenite took the twenty pieces from the woman and nodded. “Here you go,” he said as he placed the bottle of Hazelnut on her empty palm. “Tell Mr. Travers I'll send word once I procure his other items.”

She accepted the powdered hazelnut, nodding. “O-okay,” she stammered. Holding it to her chest, she turned and left, stopping only once she was outside the shop to lean against the wall and catch her breath. Working for Eswayt, entertaining the men and occasional woman within the Rest, that was easy, and she always felt sure of herself. So why did the veterans make her so nervous?

Shaking her head, Vilora made her way back to the Eel with the hazelnut and Muller’s news.
 
Tamerlin


His heart seemed to occupy his ears as he saw the inside of the "closet" he had squirreled Lynn away into. With terrible, aching steps he walked into the scene with a sense of horror. The place was ransacked and it was obvious a struggle had occurred. The door was pried open, the room wrecked.

All he could think of was Jameson Cook's face as he asked if his sister would be alright.

Quickly Sothal grabbed hold of Tam and stated what Tam had feared, and it was only then he noticed the note in Sothal's hand. Tamerlin was still in a state of shock, the blackmailer rubbing his beard as he listened to the organizer. Before he could really ready himself, the man grabbed his arm -- and drug him somewhere dark.

He had had an inkling of the strange, eldritch works Oracle and Sothal could manifest, but he had never been the focus of one such event. It was....discomfiting at best.

He found himself in the Underbelly, surrounded by hodgepodge furniture and books, a fire in the hearth. Sothal, before long, was gone get again, his words echoing in Tam's head. Tam had numbly nodded, before collapsing into a chair with exhaustion.

He had told her it would be alright. He had said she would be okay. And they made him out a liar. He clasped his hands in front of him, biting his forefinger.

He would make sure this did not happen again.[/hr]
 
LEONA MONAGAN

Muller’s business wasn't exactly on the books. He was one of the few Fallenites who illegally operated a distribution operation to individuals, never businesses. From exotic goods to hard to find supplies, he was one of the go-to procurers in Windfeld, and business was fairly decent. His prices were always a bit more affordable for the struggling average citizen.

He operated in one of the storefronts that overlooked the docks, his shop seeming innocent in what it carried. His special shipments would be smuggled to him before the inspectors could discover the unapproved stock. For the most part most didn't even know he had a hidden room of special goods unless given the word. Muller was thankful for loyal customers

The idea of pulling Muller into the mess that was currently the Cult, both excited and terrified Leona. She knew he would not show any restraint in answering the Cult’s needs; but she was curious to see his reaction

“Muller?” She called as she entered the shop. He should be hanging around, or maybe even close to closing up. Weathered features appeared from behind a stack of seemingly inconspicuous crates and cargo. His brow raised at her appearance; he had not expected her. “Hmn?” He said, stepping out.

Clearing her throat, as if a child were about to propose something she wanted to her father, she stepped forward. “We captured a Tainted and are holding him for questioning. Everyone is out on duty and we have none to spare to guard him. Sothal wanted me to see if you could take the job.” This elicited a calm chuckle from the veteran.

“I shall leave at once. Leona, will you close up?” Leona nodded hurriedly, without any hesitation. She was always eager to please him, and take on more responsibility in his eyes as he gave her the chance. Their conversation was just that brief, as much of their talks were. He was a quiet man. She went about the business of putting away open things and pulling shut the window covers the moment he had gone. It was quiet at this time. She worked quickly as to return to the cult as soon as possible.

The door to the shop opened before Leona had the opportunity to lock it up. A woman walked in, hesitantly almost as she looked about for anyone within. “Hello?” she called out as she tied back her damp hair. “I’ll only be a moment. I need some things as soon as possible. I heard you had the best goods in Windfeld…”

“Oh!” Exclaimed Leona, surprised a customer had happened to catch her just before closing. A toothy grin came upon her face as she the claim was made, which Leona would only reaffirm. “‘Course we got the best goods.” She briefly wondered how the word had gotten to this strange woman, but there was always talk circulating about the right kind of people. The people who needed the things that Muller so expertly carried. “What do you need?”

The woman appeared meek, dark eyes downcast as she flashed a sheepish smile. “Oh, good,” she said as she curled a damp lock of dark hair around her ear. There would be something a bit familiar about her, yet it was likely they had never met before this day. “I was wondering if you have any hazelnut? And perhaps some imported coffee.”

Leona took a moment to consider, trying to envision where should we be able to find hazelnut and imported coffee among the cargo. The woman had a familiar air about her, though as Leona thought harder she could almost swear she had never seen this woman before, despite that familiarity. “I’ll go check.” Leona said with a fluttery smile, disappearing in the depths of the shop.

Muller kept a good log of his inventory, though that log likely left with him to the island monastery. The more exotic and rare, the less likely the supplies were out in the open. He had mentioned to her keeping a good stock of hazelnut “just in case Berk needed a push.” It was a rare thing, indeed, and one he kept within the crates towards the back. They were filled with sawdust and required a bit of digging, and possibly some label reading before finding one of the smaller bottles of ground hazelnut. Possibly the last they had in stock.

Despite not having Muller’s log, Leona had a feeling they might have some way deep in the back. As she trekked through the shop that at this point felt like a warehouse, a smile came to her lips at the thought of Muller telling her once that he kept it “just in case Berk needed a push.” The back. Then it’d surely be in the back. She poked her head into multiple sawdust-filled crates only to come out with what she thought was hazelnut, but turned out to be tumeric, and a head full of sawdust. Eventually, she poked into the right box at the very, very back, and grinned triumphantly at the small bottle in her hand.

Meanwhile she searched for the imported coffee, but she knew where that one was and it didn’t take long before she reappeared in front of the woman. “Here we are. Is that all you’ll be wanting?”

The look of relief on the woman’s face was a tad odd if not dramatic. She made it look as though Leona had just saved her life. A smile brightened her gaunt features as she stared at the hazelnut and coffee beans with near wonderment. “Oh, yes,” she said as she tried her best to shake away her demeanor to something a little more normal. “How much?”

Her brow raised at the expression on the woman’s face. Why anyone would be so relieved and thrilled for some hazelnut and imported coffee was lost upon Leona, but she kept her peppy and courteous attitude. “I think eight gold pieces should do just fine.”

The woman seemed to momentarily freeze at the price. Eight gold pieces was steep for most, especially within Faledrin. Even their nobility would give pause. Judging by her dirty appearance and tattered clothes she was just as impoverished as the lot of the city. Eight gold pieces could very easily be a life savings.

She pulled out a little pouch of coins, her fingers working it open as she tried to hide their anxious shaking. There were eight gold pieces exactly, and she held them out to Leona with resolve washing away her nerves.

“Eight gold,” she said to her. “Thank you.”

Leona took the coins with an almost confused look on her face. The woman’s expression changed every moment, up, down, high, low. She felt a little bit bad for asking such a steep price, but Muller had taught her never to undersell what rare goods he carried. It was an appropriate price, but Leona, admittedly, could hardly see how this woman could afford it.

“Of course,” Leona said. “Miss, if you don’t mind me asking, are you from around here?”

Her head nodded somewhat, a small exhale of relief as the burden of the coins were lifted from her palm. It was a shame to see them go, but also a step toward hope when she carefully took the goods in hand. “I am,” she said. “Since childhood, really. Thank you for the hazelnut and coffee. I'll be sure to recommend your establishment.”

Leona nodded, recalling her own childhood memories of this place. “Thank you.” She said softly, watching as the strange woman exited. “Safe travels.”


Collab with @Effervescent
 
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no-lightbox

There was wind of a woman with strange eyes staying at an inn within Windfeld. Blue, they said. The color that could set teeth on edge. But figuring out which room it was took some patience. Above all, it took a lot of risk.

She had already been to this inn not but a day or so earlier. Inns like this one had to stock up on a lot of supplies, sometimes imports if it could be afforded. The owner was a Baladuri, and to that she thought she would have been able to find a few things outside of Faledrin. But that was not the case, and it resulted in a chase she narrowly escaped.

But at the news of a woman described like a member of the Cabal, she had to return and seek audience. It took planning and awareness and a crowd of patrons to hide her from the owner as she slipped up the stairs and adorned her metal mask to hide her features before gently knocking on Cordelia’s door.

"I already ate, Quinn... And I swear, if Sothal is so concerned about it, maybe he shouldn't run off every time I--" As Cordelia pulled the door to her room open, she gave a small start at the unfamiliar figure on the opposite site - a jarring site with a concealed face. Stepping back, she blinked, staring with wide eyes.

"...Can... can I help you?"

“No sudden movements,” the figure said as she raised the end of a short sword to Cordelia. “Let me in. We’re going to have a chat.”

The initial shock, to Cordelia's credit, while not entirely masked was considerably tempered. Her expression as the sword was raised, however, revealed nothing at all. In the Cult, death was an everyday possibility... and it could come from anywhere, at any moment. If it was her time, it was her time...

She only wished...

"Come in, then." Hands raised, slowly, Cordelia stepped back, holding the door open.

The figure slinked into the room and nodded to the door. “Shut it quietly,” she commanded. “What's your business with the crowned prince? And don't play coy. I saw him leave.”

Cordelia paused, as she clicked the door closed again, considering how best to answer. It wasn't what she'd expected in the slightest, and it sent another jolt of shock through her. The unknown was the greatest enemy their cause had, particularly if this woman was familiar with Sothal's true identity.

"...Emrys? I don't see how that's any of your business." Turning, Cordelia pulled her shawl around her, moving to the chair by the fireplace, "He's a friend. I haven't been feeling well, and he came to see if I was better."

Cordelia’s calm was unnerving to the figure, her posture tense and her grip tight around the hilt of her sword partially covered by her damp cloak. “You've been friends for some time, I see,” she said. “But you will tell me what the Cabal is doing in Faledrin or I won't deliver Ambrose to your leader.”

There was something alarming about the words… That she knew Cordelia and Sothal’s relationship was not a recent thing, but that was not the most troublesome part.

Leader... It was a problematic word, entirely. There was no telling who the woman assumed Cordelia worked for, and if she gave the wrong answer, then whatever it was she was holding could wind up in the wrong hands...

"...Leader?" Curling her legs beneath her, Cordelia met the woman with a brow quirked, "What makes you think I have any leader?"

The figure’s masked head nodded towards Cordelia, the tip of her sword following the motion. “I know by your eyes,” she said. “You're Cabal.”

The laugh was genuine... perhaps the first genuine expression Cordelia had allowed since the woman's intrusion - almost unconscious, and shaking her head, she looked down to the fire, "And unfortunate genetic trait, I'm afraid." Looking up again, she met the woman's gaze as well as she could, through the metal mask, "If I were Cabal, do you think you would have made it past the door, threatening me as you did? I imagine if you run errands for their leader, you know well enough what they're capable of..."

“I don't believe you,” she said, and then raised her sword back up at the ready. “But you can't kill me. I'm the only one who knows where the tome is. So, I'll ask again. What is your business in Faledrin?” She took a step closer towards Cordelia bringing the blade half a foot away from her body in warning.

"My dear girl... Do you know anything at all about Shadow Magic? I don't have to kill you. I could plunge you into impenetrable darkness so effective you would never escape the memory of it... With one touch, I could obliterate your mind until you are left with nothing... Until you are a shell, empty and broken, alone in the world. Plant thoughts in your head so unnerving, so terrifying, they would drive you to madness. I could rip the information from you, and you wouldn't even know I'd done it."

Eyes unmoving, she shrugged, "And if I were Cabal, that is exactly what I would have done, and worse, the moment you intruded in my room. You don't have to believe me, but simply put... I am not the person you are looking for. That being said... I do have some information that might come in handy, and if you would stop being so dramatic and put down your weapon, I might be inclined to share it. For a price..."

The figure was trembling, yet only noted by the waiver of the steel she held in the air, ready to strike at any sudden move. She couldn't hide her fear or keep her calm as the moments dragged on. “What's the price?” she finally asked.

"I want the tome." There was no hesitation, not so much as a breath, and her expression remained focused, "Whatever it is, the Cabal cannot get their hands on it, I'm certain of that. Whatever they're paying you, I can see to it you're compensated doubly. But you must never contact them, again. And I want to know who you are. I find it unnerving doing business with a mask..."

The sword lowered ever so slightly as the figure considered Cordelia’s proposition. “I can't let you take it,” the figure responded with a shake of her head. “I can't.”

The figure backed towards the door, sure to keep her sights on Cordelia with her blade still visible from under her cloak. “Don't interfere,” she warned. “There's nothing you can do for me.”

"Interfere..." Frowning, Cordelia rose, slowly, and remained in place before the fire, "You came to me. You don't work for them... I can hear it in your voice, how you fear them. So why the display of loyalty?" Her expression shifted then, her own guard lowering as concern replaced the mask of control, "Please... I may be able to help more than you realize."

The figure paused as she reached the door, her free hand reaching out to grab the handle. “You really don't know?” she asked, but then she shook her head more fervently. “No. Just stay away from Emrys. I'll get Ambrose to your leader.”

"I love him." It came out in a breath, as Cordelia moved to the edge of the chair, grasping the back to steady herself, "Emrys. He..." Lowering her gaze, she shook her head, and her free hand curled around the ring that hung from the string around her neck, "He doesn't know. At least not the extent of it. But... but I do. I have, for a very long time. I would never harm him, and I would never allow any harm to come to him. I don't work for the Cabal. But I do know how they operate, and I can promise you if you deliver that tome to them, they will not afford him the same courtesy. Please..."

There was a moment of silence as the figure considered every inflection of Cordelia’s voice. It was enough for her to warrant lowering her weapon entirely and sheathing it back in its scabbard. Her gloved hand reached for the metal mask she wore and removed it to reveal an all too familiar face to Cordelia. Her dark brown hair was still long, albeit unkempt and hastily thrown back in a ponytail, but her features despite the grime still remained noticeable as Sothal’s sister, Alyse.

“If you love him as you say you do,” she said, “then it is in his best interest that I deliver that tome to the Cabal. The royal house of Dradmida is their hostage. And they’ll do the same to my family if they don't get Ambrose. There are thousands of lives at risk.”

"Alyse?" Straightening, Cordelia stared at the woman, and for the third time, shock resonated all too powerfully through her gaze, "Wh... I don't understand. You..."

Shaking her head, she moved past the chair, "Alyse, you have to believe me... You cannot give them what they want. I know that it sounds desperate, but it can only get worse if you cooperate. The Cabal... they are at work in this city, already. They have been, for many years and you could be handing them exactly what they need to complete that work. I am begging you... Let me speak to Emrys. Let me tell him what's happening, but do not give them that tome."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sank back, as a small wave of dizziness washed over her. As it cleared, she looked up with a grimace to his sister, "You remember Lady Faraday's party?"

“What of it?” she asked as she let her hands fall to her sides in exasperation. “Look, if the Cabal is already in the city then I need to act fast. I can't go back to Dradmida without the tome. And if Dradmida can't be saved, then Faledrin will fall soon after.”

"I'm positive that's when it began. My..." Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed in, then continued, "My mother set it in motion. I was there that night to figure out why she was back in Faledrin and your brother was helping me. And if it's taken this long, then they must be close. Lord Altrey... He's a part of it, and only a few days ago, I met with him. He also believes me to be a member of the Cabal. There's to be a demonstration of whatever it is they're planning at Lady North's Masque. If you give the tome to the Cabal, there is no telling what might happen, but I can assure you... they will not leave Emrys or your family alone. And if they discover that he's..."

Rubbing her arms, she shook her head, "If they discover what Emrys can do, then they will do much worse than kill him. If you want to help him... give the tome to him. Let him decide what to do with it, but please, do not give it to the Cabal. Alyse... you cannot trust them, and I don't expect you to trust me. But I know you trust your brother. Please... Give it to him."

Alyse eyed Cordelia over thoughtfully, mulling over yet another path to consider. But her hand turned the doorknob to continue her exit from the room. “Tell no one you've seen me,” she said. “No one can know I’m in Faledrin.”

"I won't tell anyone, but Alyse..." Cordelia continued, and her tone was laced with painful desperation, "I can't lose him. Please, just... think about it."

She slipped out the door without another word or pause in the matter. To her, they were on the same page, only Cordelia was naive. She still had yet to locate the tome called Ambrose, but was thankful the lie was well received. If they knew she did not have the tome it was more likely Cordelia would have fought for the chance to grab it. Little did she know Quinn was already on that mission as well.


 
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Secrets Upon Secrets
a collab between @Elle Joyner and @Red Thunder

The Eel was busy, and it was promising to be so the rest of the evening and well into the night. Business was always to be appreciated, even when it ran owner and employees ragged. Cups needed filling, plates needed clearing, floors needed mopping. The maids and cook hurried about, the sweat glistened stress on their faces undercut by a happiness at the tavern’s momentary popularity.

Yet for all the jobs that needed doing, Quinn merely leaned against the back wall, pensively examining a small stoppered bottle filled with a crushed brown substance. Hazelnut meant the Shae, and the Shae meant questions. What did Sothal intend to ask? What was so damned important? Vilora, gods bless her for her willingness, had already tried to find their leader at Quinn’s request, but nothing had turned up, and the hazelnut had been left for now at the Eel. The Baladuri had never let it out of his sight; the thought of the intruder a few days before still bothered him. Did she know what hazelnut was good for? If so...why?

“Mr. Tavers!” The strained whisper broke his thoughts, and he glanced up to see Jay walking briskly toward him. “She had a visitor. Wasn't the drunk, neither. Woman, I think. Just left.”

Hm. He'd seen no one come down recently from that flight of stairs. The woman in question must have taken a more surreptitious exit. Quinn nodded, stuffing the bottle into his pocket and leaving his hand within it.

“Thanks, Jay. Help yourself to a half-pint.”

The boy’s face beamed, and he hurried for the keg as Quinn made his slow way upstairs. When he reached her door, he knocked thrice, once, then thrice again, a prearranged signal with Cordelia to show her that all was safe outside.

Cordelia took little time to answer, and pulling open the door, she met Quinn’s gaze, her own rife with concern, “Come in, quickly.” She murmured, ushering him inside, before closing the door after him.

Her hands knotted, anxiously, she moved before the fire, unsure of how to broach a subject she had sworn to keep to herself, “What do the words Ambrose mean to you, Quinn.”

He frowned in response, not having expected this amount of forthrightness from his friend. Particularly when he was but a few steps within the room. His brow furrowed in thought.

“Not much, though the name is...recently familiar to me.” Quinn’s cheeks creased, his lips pulled tight in concern. “Why?”

The identity of Cordelia’s visitor, not to mention the reason as to her visit, itched at his mind for attention. But Cordy it would seem might come to that herself.

Breathing out, her fingertips steepled beneath her lips for a moment, Cordelia considered what to say, then shaking her head, looked to Quinn again, "...There was a woman, just now. She claims to have it, Quinn. And she means to give it to the Cabal. She... she thought that I was a part of them... They're holding her family captive, and she says if she doesn't deliver the tome to them, they will do the same with Sothal's family."

She moved, absently, pacing with all the fury of a wild cat, "Recently, I visited with Lord Altrey. He, too, mistook me for a member of the Cabal and has informed me that there is a... demonstration of sorts planned at the Masque. Something is happening here, that we don't have all the answers to, and I am worried. Gravely..."

Not for the first time, Quinn felt there was a great deal going on with the Cult to which he wasn't privy. It might not bother him, except it concerned him, sometimes for the worse. The crew was scheduled to attend this masque, and if he himself, the third oldest member of the group, were just now finding out, what did that entail for his newer brothers and sisters?

“It might help to know the question in full…” he muttered, his tone not quite hiding the small frustration he felt. A smile crept across his face unwillingly, wry and sarcastic, and his voice dropped in vocalized thought. “The weight of the peons, eh?

“But what is the tome? What's in it?” Quinn spoke more loudly, still rooted in the same spot, a kind of stable position to Cordelia’s agitation. “And why the bleeding hell does Sothal need it for you so badly?”

Surely Sothal had been hiding something. Shadow Magic was in most places taboo. How could there be a book delving into its detail, never mind a cure to its taint? It was nonsense.

"I don't know, Quinn. That's the problem. I have no idea what it is, or why it's so important. I had hoped you might." Frowning, she turned to him, pausing in place, "Wait... Did... Did you say Sothal needs it? What are you not telling me? You do know of it. Quinnis, I swear to you, if you're keeping something from me because he told you to, I will pull it from your mind, myself! And then... beat him with it!"

“Oracle,” Quinn stated, his voice and face suddenly emotionless and hard, “never threaten me with that again, even in jest. That is a fate reserved for enemies of the Cult, or sometimes in extreme cases, as with Gerald. Each one of us has their secrets, you perhaps more than most. You have requested my silence that I know Sothal’s true heritage; don't you think he might have things he wants to keep to himself?”

His weight shifted, a clear break in his anger, and crossing his arms Quinn cleared his throat.

“Anyway. Why might this woman confuse you with a member of the Cabal? And who even was she, that she'd know you and where to find you?”

"Don't mistake it for joking, Quinn. You know I never would. Secrets are one thing... but if he's doing something dangerous, I have a right to know." Shaking her head, she turned away, fingers running through her hair, "Hell... When isn't he, though."

With a sigh, she turned back to him, "My eyes. It's a common trait in members of the Cabal. And her name was Alyse. She..." Pausing, she considered how best to approach the answer, before continuing, "She's Sothal's sister. Well, Emrys's sister. As far as I can tell, she doesn't know about his life with us, but I've met her before, many years ago, back when you first joined. There was a party, and Sothal and I attended, to find some information about my..."

For a moment, she halted again, and her eyes lowered as she picked at the frayed end of her shawl, "My mother..."

He examined her with a curious glance. Her eyes had always intrigued him; you didn't find such coloring like that every day. But that they would mark her as a member of the Cabal? That was heavy news. It boded worse, however; if they marked her as a member of the Cabal, and by association through appearance her- mother. Which meant… she'd be at the Masque?

“So, this Alyse woman claims she knows where the tome is. She confused you for your mother, who I gather is tied very closely to the Cabal. Lord Altrey had connections to your mother, and presumably this Alyse, if you were mistaken for her at his house. The Cabal has plans for the Masque, quite possibly in the same vein as Gerald and Tam’s little girl. And everyone it seems wants the Ambrose tome, though Alyse claims to already have it.” Quinn rubbed his temples, eyes tight. “Quite the mess we find ourselves in.”

To say nothing of what Sothal might be planning with the items from the list. Hazelnut they had; drackenberries and warded armor would soon be in their possession. The other items would need to be pursued in their own time. But the Ambrose tome? Evidently Sothal should have placed more weight on its retrieval. As if ‘saving Oracle’ wasn't enough drive. Quinn cared for her, despite misgivings and frustrations, and Sothal knew that. There was no need to add further urgency.

“It seems to me, then,” the Baladuri began carefully, “that we should find where your Alyse went. Better we should have it than chance the Cabal get their hands on it.”

“It’s something like that… though I don’t think they actually believed I was my mother. Alyse certainly doesn’t, and Altrey didn’t seem to recognize me, at least personally. But I did manage to convince him that I was a part of it… And it’s a role I’ll need to stick to at the Masque, particularly if I’m to get any more information out of him. As for Alyse... I don’t imagine we’ll need to search for her. I did my best to convince her the tome would be best left to Sothal. I cannot imagine she would risk her brother’s safety. But all these secrets, Quinn. Maybe it isn’t how things ought to be done… We’re all stepping on each other, at this point. I almost didn’t tell you about Alyse, but it seems so absurd not to. We need to trust each other… all of us, if we’re going to be of any use to Faledrin.”

Quinn gave her a long look, contemplative and considering.

“Aye. We're going into the dragon’s den, come the Masque; it'd be nice to know what's going on. As it would with the organization itself.

“And I suppose I owe you a secret in return for you sharing your name the other night. Perhaps it's not so much a secret, but oh well. Sothal has me looking for the Ambrose tome, Cordelia. No, don't ask me why; that's not my secret to give. But if the hazelnut he wanted is any indication, he's probably hoping to get some information about it from the Shae.”

“Then it seems we'll need to convince Alyse more than ever not to give the tome over to the Cabal… I don't like this. All these new details coming up now. There's not enough time to prepare.” Frowning, she shook her head, “I'm not entirely sure if Alyse will be there or not, but keep an eye out. She'll have dark hair and probably a mask made of metal… and be careful, Quinn. I'm worried.”

“It'll be fine,” he assured her, filling his smile with a confidence that he didn't feel. “We are a capable bunch, even if we're a small bunch.

“And don't worry about me; I'll be safe, though I'll be handling things more personally from now on, given your information.” Vilora had done well, but Muller was trustworthy. Who was to say further necessary actions would be as safe? “But you worry for yourself. Keep your magic to a minimum; it isn't enough that it's injurious to you, but using it could you under closer inspection by the Cabal. Neither you nor I, nor indeed the Cult, need that.”

Quinn paused then raised an eyebrow.

“Alyse didn't express any interest in hazelnut, did she?”

“The barest minimum, I assure you…” She answered, with a nod, “And she didn’t, but that doesn’t mean she has no interest. Why?”

He hesitated, scratching the underside of his chin. Out of habit, Quinn almost didn't answer her. But they'd just made the observation that secrets between the individual Thieves was at best restrictive and at worst harmful.

“My stocks were raided a few days ago while I was out, and I found a small list of items that included hazelnut.” His shoulders shifted in a shrug as he patted his pocket. “I've got some now, but I didn't then. Curious, that she should claim to have the tome, when by my best guess, the hazelnut is the key to finding it in the first place.”

“You think it’s possible then that she was only bluffing? That she doesn’t yet have it?” Straightening, Cordelia frowned, “Quinn… if this is true, we’ll need to act swiftly. She is determined, and rightfully so…”

“And I will act, quickly as I may. But you,” he leaned heavily on the word, and his eyebrows raised in emphasis, “should not. You've enough on your mind, between the Cabal, caring for yourself through this gods-damned Shadow-sickness of yours, and our dear crown Prince’s machinations. Never mind this damn masque. Hell, I don't even know what I'm going to go as. I was thinking a wolf. To see who gets the joke.”

Quinn's tone was light and humorous, but his eyes shined with mischievous delight. The idea, suddenly though it had come to him, clearly also appealed to him.

Shaking her head, she smiled, but only faintly, little warmth in her eyes as too much worry took its toll, “A wolf is too obvious, sweetie. Go as a lamb and no one will ever know.” Looking at him, the smile fading entirely, she reached out and gingerly, took his hand, “...I mean it, Quinn. Be careful.”

The sparkle didn't leave his eye, but his voice because soft and the tension in his stance relaxed.

“What'd I just tell you? Don't worry about me; I can handle myself.” He approached her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “And I mean it, Cordelia. You save some worry for yourself; you can't help anyone else if you don't help yourself first.”

Nodding, she reached up to give one of his hands a squeeze, before chuckling, a little lighter this time, “I’ve been at this a long time, Quinn. I’ve no intention of going anywhere, just yet. Now go on… off with you. You’ve got work to do, and I’m supposed to be resting.”

“Of course, mother.” Quinn grinned. “I need to find some wolf ears, after all.

“Rest well.”

Giving her arms a squeeze, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. He stopped in the hall, turning to examine the door contemplatively. After a moment he turned, making his way back to his post at the bar and ensuring Jay knew to post back up at her door.
 

Chapter 2: Monkshood

It was a strange thing to experience Windfeld from the perspective of the common folk. Alyse found herself homeless and close to begging as she sat out on Daughey Street. A princess married into one of the wealthiest families in Northlyn now sat amongst the vagabonds in tattered attire and nothing she could offer up as trade for table scraps. She had a protective hand over the pocket that contained the small glass bottle of ground hazelnut and bag of coffee beans while the other kept her cloak shut around her frame. The sun began to peek out from the rain clouds bringing back the warmth and humidity of summer.

Shae Berk wasn't a distant journey from Windfeld, but Alyse found herself hesitant to go to him. If she did, she would discover the location of Ambrose, or supposedly at least. The shae knew much but not all. What if he didn't know and she was back to the start?

Her main conflict presided in morals. She needed to save Dradmida from the Cabal yet in order to do so she would need to relinquish a tome she knew nothing about. Gema...or whoever she was from the Eel made it seem important and dire that they not have it. She wanted to trust her. And yet after all she had gone through trust was difficult to give.

They're planning something big. Dradmida was just a part of a bigger whole. Shadow Magic has returned to the lands after centuries, and yet it was all so quiet. No evil skirmishes or ghastly massacres. It was only recently the Cabal showed their hand once again.

A hand shot out and grabbed her arm in a tight grip, hoisting her up to a stand and dragging her angrily down the street. Just as she turned to protest and cry out injustice her words caught in her throat. It was her brother, of all people, surly and seemingly sober as he forcefully guided her westward. There came no explanation or reprimand or greeting. He didn't even look her way. Just silence, and it unnerved her.

“Let me go,” Alyse requested calmly as she matched his pace. He did not comply, nor did he speak in return. “Emr-”

“Don't speak,” he warned. “Not yet.”

They took a turn and climbed into a cellar to gain access to an underground passageway. It was incredibly dark once the door was shut. “I can't see a thing,” she whispered. His grip was still tight on her arm, and it felt as though they lunged forward in a jolt. She stumbled forward, her hand reaching out to brace her fall, should it come. But her hand met the cool surface of a stone wall.

“This way,” he advised as he continued to guide her through a passage and up a set of stairs lit by torches. He paused and turned her to face him, his expression full of aggression and frustration he fought back. There was a lot of their father in him.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded, and then let her arm go. “That back there better have been a front for something. You're supposed to be in Dradmida.”

“Dradmida is being held hostage,” she blurted, and then lowered her voice. “I had to run.”

“By whom? I've heard no reports of it…”

“You likely never will,” Alyse said. “The Cabal owns the Royal House now. No citizen knows they hold power.”

“What's their leverage?” Emrys asked. “Their motives?”

“I don't know!” she said. “They killed Sahl and Rashal and threatened to kill Mekail until they got our compliance. But I don't know why Dradmida was targeted. They just took over and have been instructing the king ever since.”

“How many members of the Cabal did you see in Dradmida?” he asked.

“There were five, I think,” she answered thoughtfully. “But they were powerful!”

“I believe you,” he responded just as contemplatively, and leaned back against the wall. “Were there any other Shadow Casters or just the Cabal?”

“I think it was just them,” she said. “I don't really know. The guards were on their side, but they didn't use any magic. And they promised paradise to those who complied. A New World. I wondered what they meant by this. What if they intend to purge like how things were in the history books. Remember Edlenfeld?”

“If they wanted to purge they would do so,” he said. “They have the power to do it. But the Cabal is racist. They'd take an elven city before a human one. Dradmida is safe as long as they do as they're told.”

“What could they gain from running Dradmida?” Alyse asked.

“Money, shipping, skyports, international communications,” Emrys listed with a shrug. “They do have connections to most of the world. That's why you were married into it, you know. The money and the connections. Dradmida gained very little by comparison. It could be many reasons, but most especially that it is an easily accessible kingdom to where they are already established. Do they know you're here?”

“No,” she murmured. It wasn't entirely a lie. They didn't know exactly where she was, only that she was given a task to see through, and she was running out of time. “But I need to go.”

“Don't be daft, Alyse,” he said with a sigh. “You'll be safer here. I can guarantee it.”

“I can't jeopardize Faledrin, too,” she said. “I've been fine this long. Don't worry about me.”

“Too late,” he said. “I have a masque to attend tonight, but I'll be around later. Think you'll be alright hiding up in my room? I've got a nice little lock if you want privacy.”

Her reluctance was evident in her hesitations, bit her brother gave no indication of suspicions into her activity or reasonings. He didn't question what she said.

Though unfortunately for her he was just better at the game.


The briefing in the Underbelly was quick. They needed to formulate the plan for the night and establish their goal: infiltrate the estate and find out what the nobles are really up to. Muller had given them updates on their Tainted guest held on the island monastery as he and veteran Caleb took turns babysitting. One never seemed to truly shake the Cult of Thieves even after retirement, but the unfortunate truth was that they couldn't ignore the simple things. It allowed Kylar, and really the rest of the active members, to focus on the more important tasks.

“Based on Oracle’s findings and information that's come to recent light, it's very likely we are dealing with the Cabal here,” Sothal explained. “Rumor has it the Cabal has made a move on Dradmida and has taken over the royal house to take control of the kingdom. To what end, I don't know, but Oracle was mistaken for a member coming to see progress in Faledrin. She will continue that persona through the masque and will likely be one of the few to see what's happening behind closed doors. If anyone else could find their way in as well that'd be great. Hopefully it won't be that difficult to tell who is delving into Shadow Magic for the Cabal.”

As for most of his official business with the Cult of Thieves, Sothal was sober and focused as he pulled the points from his mind. There were only a few notes he had to jot down in their code, to which he held the papers out to read over before speaking again. To the untrained eye it would look like gibberish, and to those that were not aware it would look like their secret code. Sothal kept the true nature of the Cult’s code a secret, for he feared the reveal of its truth. It was a language from another world.

“The girl Tamerlin had in his custody that is in some way tied with Gerald is still missing,” he continued. “We will need to double check out safe houses before use. Not sure how they got to her but it looked like the girl put up a good fight. Anyone not attending the masque I highly recommend delving into the help either at the North estate or in another. The servants at other estates might have the night off.”

Sothal pointed to their newest member, Mies, as a thought came over him. “The Lord of Bettleben will be in attendance,” he said. “Don't make this personal. Remember, we are only there to figure out what is going on with the nobles and how it's tied with the Tainted running around Windfeld.”

He set down the papers and looked around at everyone gathered within the simple confines of the Underbelly. Firelight illuminated the windowless spaces in a soft, warm glow. Who he was, who he really was, would likely become known. He was attending the party as the prince, after all. This could very well be the last time he aided the Cult of Thieves if they deemed him unfit to continue on with them. Who really liked the royal house in this day and age in Faledrin? The king was a tyrant and allowed the wealth to be distributed only to those who kissed his hand and offered him more ways to gain power. To that the common folk had little to offer.

“I…” His voice trailed off, unsure as to if he should reveal now or if it would cause too much of a distraction before the mission. “Use your best judgement. We all have each other’s back no matter what. We enter and exit separately. Bear in mind which entrances into the noble district were reported as compromised. The guards seem to be taking their jobs more seriously in investigations now. Make sure you have those invitations Quinn supplied. I’ll see you all in a few hours.”


The North Estate was one of the largest within the community. The house had acres of gardens surrounding its perimeter upon a hill to provide a lavish scene upon arrival. The sun was setting as guests slowly filtered in with opulent costumes that looked out of place even for Faledrin nobility. Carriages still came through the Northern Gate bringing the overnight guests from all across the kingdom and even those from far and away.

The nobility slinked from their carriages, greeted by the caller at the entrance to check over invitations and announce the presence of accepted party goers as they entered into a grand open venue. Music echoed from the ballroom where dancing commenced in a mass coordinated step. Wallflowers and conversational onlookers enjoyed the entertainment and festivities with jovial laughter. There did not seem to be a care in the world or a speck of regard to the happenings within Faledrin.

The hostess, Lady North, was conversing with a small gathering in the main hall. Her costume was that of an ice dragon with a trail of feathers as her cape and ice like horns adorning her mask. She was a glittering and vibrant woman, young and available and sought after. It looked as though nearly all two hundred of her guests had accepted the invitation as the nobles crowded the open spaces.

For a Faledrin hosted event, this was considered quite successful. There were only around fifty of the two thousand Fallenites at nobility status, and due to a feud between houses the Larough were not in attendance. Nobility from Thallas, Baladur, Dradmida, and Krei were among those gathered within the North Estate. Every Fallenite house proudly adorned their house rings to distinguish their lineage and connections, though it was mostly fashion that set them apart from their foreign allies.

Sothal stepped from his carriage and approached the entrance with princely purpose. His theme was Kimblekree, the haunting soul-demon who punished those who were not good of heart. It was a bit on the nose, but as the Crowned Prince he felt he could get away with many things. His invitation was a bit more genuine than that of Quinn’s forged documents, yet without surprise his were just as well received as the originals. The caller read over Sothal’s invitation, brows raising somewhat as he peered up at him almost questioningly. It was too rare a sight for Prince Emrys to make an appearance at functions, much less a party. All Sothal could think about was what selection of wine Lady North might have and wished the caller would just say his name.

“Prince Emrys De Genisos of Faledrin!”

A few heads close by turned out of curiosity, though none could really confirm. The masks made it all the more difficult, but that was half the fun for the guests. Sothal entered to mingle with the nobility, his eagerness to reveal their secrets at bay as he meandered through the rooms. Where to even begin with so many? It was a very good thing he had the Cult of Thieves to back him up and take on the many tasks.

@Red Thunder @Elle Joyner @CloudyBlueDay @Doctor Jax @Rowboat @rissa @RiddL

Cordelia
Check back with Lord Altrey about the demonstration. Be sure to either attend or gain insight. Avoid using magic unless necessary. Find the man with the gold and emerald ring and discover his place in the grand scheme.
Quinn
Does Lady North know about what's going on? Is she part of it? Her best friend is Adele Liathe, middle child of Baron Liathe. Lady Saleith North has a younger sister, Betaley North, who just turned of age and is a prime prospect for single men looking to merge with one of the most influential houses in Faledrin as she is considered the more attractive daughter. She enjoys dishing and receiving gossip likely more than her sister. Figure out which rumors they spread and hear are true in regards to the servants and presence of Shadow and Cabal.
Tamerlin
Locate Lynn. It's possible she was taken back by her master, Baron Liathe. His home is down nearer to the square and occupied by the spinster Haross, the grandparents, two children, and the servants. There is also the possibility she is in one of the houses where the Tainted are being created. Do some digging and see what can be found. Make sure to be armed.
Leona and Romilly
Figure out who is involved, particularly Fallenite nobles. Find their weaknesses that can be exploitable. Can do together or separate. Use caution. Let Kylar and Sothal know of findings throughout the night. Find evidence or blackmail. Hide your ears, Milly.
Kylar
Keep an eye on those Leona and Milly say are part of the Shadow plot. Watch out for suspicious activity. Dissolve any issues that may arise with whatever means necessary, but do so discreetly. Map out each room to keep in mind exits. Try to sneak into rooms to find journals with evidence or blackmail. Try to figure out where the servants are disappearing to exactly.
Mies
Engage in gossip and check for validity. Figure out why foreign nobles are in attendance. Hopefully it is innocent. Look out for anyone who has eyes like Oracle. Find the nobles from Dradmida and try to see if they know what is going on in their kingdom with the Cabal. See if Krei is safe with their nobles as well. Try not to show your father you are there. Hide your ears and wear a good mask.
Everyone
If you can find a way to gain entry to this “demonstration,” do so. Just remember we may only be able to observe and not act. We will trust each other’s instinct.
 
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Anonymity bred confidence, and that evening Cordelia Briggs was in her element. Blues and green and golds were the theme of the gown she wore, a stunning peacock ensemble that paid complement to the necklace that Sothal had brought her. Across her eyes and the bridge of her nose, a simple wire-lace mask, barely fit to conceal her identity, but then, blending in was not the name of the game for once…

Tonight, she was Cabal… or at least they would think she was, and the confidence she wore served to uphold her role for the event almost as well as her eyes, which scanned the crowd with bored indifference.

Only when Sothal entered did she break character, glancing up at the sound of his proper name with a small, sly smile. Anyone in the cult who recognized him would know now… a secret she had carried for over a decade. Emrys was revealed, and she, for one, was glad of it. For where Sothal worried the truth of his identity might reflect negatively with the other members, Cordelia understood all too well the advantageous nature of it. He was their inside man… their connection to the crown, and possibly the only person who had any hope of taking down Faledrin’s echelon, once and for all.

The smile twitched away, and Cordelia turned back to her observations. She was looking, in particular for one man - the good Lord Altrey. She knew him well enough, but the masks made things a touch difficult. At long last, however, she spotted him, adorned perhaps too on-the-nose, in a horse costume. Parting through the crowd with a swish of her feather-adorned skirts, she approached him.

“Lord Altrey… A proper stallion, if ever I saw one.” She murmured, meeting his gaze with a small smirk, “Good evening…”

The fear he once displayed was not as obvious or prevalent when he turned his lazy gaze upon Cordelia. Lord Altrey finished sipping his wine casually before addressing her with a polite nod of his head. “Glad to see you could make it,” he said. The fear was more anxiety as he looked about for particular people. “Do enjoy yourself. Lady North has been informed of your presence and we’re all prepared for you. But she wants us all to enjoy the party. Creater be.”

Lord Altrey rolled his eyes. The man was likely only there for one reason.

“Of course… Why waste such a lovely party.” She continued, though there was very little inflection to her tone. Her eyes passed around the room again, before turning on Altrey again, “In the meantime, I wonder, would you perhaps be inclined to direct me to Renou?” It was a request, simple and considerate, but her expression was easily more definitively a command, “I should like to see to my other business, while I’ve the time.”

He lofted a brow and smirked at the small woman he mistook for a member of the Cabal. She was playing the part well, especially now that she has shown and shared his eagerness for other festivities. “A woman after my own heart,” he murmured, and then nodded. “I then I saw Edmond in the den playing a bit of cards.”

Altrey turned and meandered through the crowds of masked nobles, occasionally exchanging quick greetings with a raise of his glass or a nod. Those who acknowledged Altrey looked upon Cordelia with either confusion or with muted fear as they quickly turned their eyes away.

There was a table set up in the den with several men seated as they stared at cards in their hands. Altrey approached Renou without any hesitancy, his hand placed on the back of his chair as he leaned in towards the face of the bear mask. “The woman from the Cabal is here,” he whispered.

Marquess Edmond Renou turned his head away from his cards as his focus shifted entirely. His eyes met hers with instant recognition, but his brow pushed together to form wrinkles on his forehead in confusion. “You're not Ladret,” he stated.

“No. I’m not…” She answered, plainly, without embellishment, “But we are at a masquerade, so you’re welcome to pretend, if it makes you feel better. I’ve a few questions for you, concerned one of your… hmm. Projects, shall we call it?” Her eyes moved around the table, then returned to the man, “...Perhaps best if we discuss this somewhere more quiet?”

“Gregory,” Renou said as he stood from his seat. “Take my hand and win me a round.”

Altrey gladly accepted the hand of cards his comrade handed over to him. They switched places, and Renou offered his arm for Cordelia to take in a formal fashion. “Not many quiet places inside, in afraid,” he said to her, “but perhaps somewhere in the gardens. They have quite the back yard here.”

Glancing to his arm, Cordelia took hold of it, and nodded as he suggested the gardens, before glancing back to Altrey with a small, coy smile, “Good luck…”

Turning back, she allowed Renou to lead, her steps measured and light, none of the trepidation she felt internally reflected in her movements. Outwardly, her composure was without flaw, “I realize we haven’t been properly introduced. I apologize for this oversight.” She started, as they entered the gardens, leaving behind the ball room, with it’s enchanting music and the volume of chattering voices, “As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s been… busy, on our end. As I’m sure it has on your own. I’ve heard a good deal about the work being done, here, and I must say… I am impressed.”

With a small smile, she continued, her voice even, almost amused, “Rumor has it, one of your pets made quite a mess in outside on an inn, beyond the gates. Quite the misfortune…”

Renou pursed his lips in displeasure as the mention of their failings was brought to light. He guided her through the modest garden at a slow pace, quietly at first. “We still have some kinks to work out,” he finally stated. “Having control of the beasts takes trial and error. And more error. But that is why you chose Faledrin for this. We have the means. And tonight you will see we have the skill. I've created a success. Lord Altrey, too. Out subjects will be the stars tonight.”

“Kinks…” She laughed, softly, delicately, and shook her head, “That’s quite the understatement, but what is a bit of collateral damage to us. I look forward to seeing your work…” Glancing up at the man, a brow quirked, “I don’t suppose you care to appease my curiosity beforehand, hm? Altrey was determined to keep it all quite mysterious, but I’d hate to overindulge my… expectations.”

“I'm afraid you would need to speak with Lady North,” Renou politely deferred. “She is the hostess for this...masquerade. And my brother is trying his best to court her, to which he would lose out should I make a move in bad form. I'm sure you understand the politics.”

“Well, now. We wouldn’t want that, would we.” Looking past the gardens, back to the entrance, she shook her head, “I suppose I should return you to your card game, then.”

“Aye,” Renou said, his path turning back towards the house aglow with life and music. “Gregory is good at cards, but I'm far better at it. Too bad the game doesn't call for teams. He and I would take the table by storm, much as we will soon with our work here. We are looking forward to the demonstration tonight. And we hope it's favorable with the Cabal.”

They entered the house once again into the fray of the party, snaking through to the den and back to the table. Altrey stood almost relieved to see Renou return. He handed back the cards, whispering tactics and turns of events in his friend’s ear. Marquess Renou turned back towards Cordelia and bowed formally, his lips pecking the back of her hand.

“It was a pleasure,” he said to her. “What did you say your name was?”

Her eyes followed him, as he swooped into a bow, her smile faint, but cunning, “I didn’t say. But you may call me Gema. It was a pleasure, indeed, Marquess. Enjoy your cards. I’ll see you shortly.” Turning to the other man, she nodded, “Master Altrey…”

Lord Altrey bowed in a formal fashion, his gaze flicking over to Renou in a silent exchange before the two returned to the table. Renou graciously returned to the game of cards, to which the other participants looked a bit sullen by his presence. Cordelia was free to roam through the party once again.

Back in the grand chamber, her eyes scanned through the crowd once more, this time in search of a far more familiar and welcome figure. His posture in this particular setting was more regal and refined, but she would have known him anywhere, and approaching through the throng of guests, she paused before him, with a delicate curtsey, “Your Majesty. It was rumored you might grace us with your presence, tonight… but I confess, I presumed it to be only gossip. What an honor, indeed.” Straightening, she offered a small smile, “Tell me, does his majesty dance?"

The men and women surrounding Sothal eyed Cordelia incredulously at first, but as soon as her eyes were seen she was recognized as more than just an unfamiliar face. Sothal took note of the recognition. While the Cabal was little more than a whisper in Faledrin, her presence had more of an impact that denoted perhaps there was more going on under their noses than he realized. There didn't seem to be a look of confusion in the immediate vicinity, and more of interest as their eyes turned to their prince to gauge his reaction.

Sothal smirked, hand raising to receive Cordelia’s to take on her brazen offer. “Quite,” he said, and motioned out towards the dance floor. “Will you join me, then?”

Her smile twitched into something more coy, and her eyes, though they had briefly passed through the small crowd at his side, remained audaciously focused on Sothal. With a nod, Cordelia took his hand, “It would be my pleasure.”

His gloved hand softly held hers aloft as he guided her onto the dance floor, his other hand moving to rest upon her waist before joining in the dance. Dancing was a sign of status even in Faledrin, for what commoner had the time to learn something so useless? Those already upon the dance floor spun with purpose and grace, their minds lost within the music or conversations with their partners.

“And now the royal house is associated with the Cabal,” Sothal said in amusement. “You look nice.”

"Hm... You're sweet. And looking rather dashing, yourself, though the costume choice is a bit on the nose, isn't it?" With a smirk, Cordelia shrugged, "And how do we know they weren't already? It seems everyone else in the Noble District is tied to the Cabal or Shadow Magic to some degree, these days." Leaning in close, Cordelia lowered her voice. To the observing eye, it would seem, perhaps, more intimate than would generally be considered proper, but also no more suspicious than a young woman, vying for attention.

"Altrey and Edmond Renou are definitely both working on their little pet project. Lady North seems directly involved as well. She knows I'm here, and believes I'm a part of the Cabal, but she's instructed Altrey she wants everyone to enjoy her party, first. This demonstration? It's happening tonight, for sure, but neither Altry or Renou will budge on telling me specifically what it's about. I did manage to trip Renou into telling me a bit more than I think he meant to... There are two subjects, he called them. Said they would be the stars, tonight... I can only assume they're Tainted. Also..."

Leaning back, she met his eyes, frowning softly, "Your sister is here, Sothal. She came to me, at the Eel today. She's after something called the Ambrose Tome. The Cabal wants it, and they're holding her family hostage, until she delivers it. Are we in over our heads, here?"

His lips pursed at the mention of his sister, his eyes looking away from Cordelia as he fought back his frustrations. The wine was calling to him from the other room, and every muscle ached to move away from the ballroom. But he refrained as he continued to skillfully guide Cordelia through the dance.

“I honestly don't know,” he admitted. “I found her on the street this morning like a beggar. She’s tucked away for now, but she informed me of what's happening in Dradmida. I didn't know she was after the tome as well, though.”

His distractions grew as he struggled to maintain focus on their task at the masque. Sothal knew what was in that tome and knew the weight Alyse was carrying, and it was enough to nearly make him forget about the matter of the Tainted and what the Fallenite nobles were up to for the Cabal. Their flourished dancing became lackluster even as he brought himself back to the present matter.

“Focus on the demonstration,” he said, partially for his own sake. “We’ll deal with the matter of the tome another day.”

"Smile..." She murmured, gently, "Or at least try not to look so grim, Love. We have a bit of an audience, and I'd hate for them to think we were discussing anything of importance."

Forcing a smile of her own, she shifted her hand so she could bring herself closer to him, "Altrey is impatient and suspicious, but Renou seems a bit more pliable. I think I can work him... The question is, are we going to let it happen, or do we mean to stop it?"

Sothal managed a smile and huffed a small laugh to encourage the facade. “What exactly are we stopping?” he asked rhetorically. “I haven't heard anything from the others yet. We don't know where the demonstration will be or where the ‘stars’ are being held. We can't act on anything right now.”

There were so many variables. So many possibilities as to what their plan was, and with so little information to go on, they were pressing up against time, with no real way to prevent anything from happening. "I could read him..." She offered, gingerly, "If I can get him on his own for a moment, away from Altrey. It's a risk, but it might be all we have to go on. I'm hesitant to go into this, with so little information. If they're planning an attack..."

“You've only just recovered,” Sothal stated. “Try to get the information we need by traditional means and use your abilities only if you have no other choice. Alright? I may be able to speak with either of them about it without having to do so much poking about.”

The music came to a close, and per custom, the men bowed to their dancing partners. Sothal inclined his head a little, more like a nod before motioning back towards the crowd. “Our time is up for now,” he said. “I'll make some rounds in the meantime.”

Nodding her head, she dropped her hands to her sides, but not before giving his hand a delicate squeeze, “Be careful, Sothal.”

Turning away, she crossed the floor and after a moment, returned to the room she had left Altrey and Renou in, leaning up against the door frame with a kittenish grin, “Have you won yet?”

Renou didn't glance up from his cards as he drummed his fingers upon the table. His wife, a portlier woman with high arched brows sized Cordelia up as she stood next to her husband’s chair. It seemed he was blocking out anything but the happenings of the game which left the demands of his wife, and words of Cordelia, unnoticed. Lord Altrey, however, turned towards Cordelia with a slight nod of his head.

“Is there something we can do for you, Miss Gema?” Altrey asked.

Her eyes flicker to Altrey and the smile remained in place, as she shook her head, "Hm? No... Just watching. I'd prefer to dance, but as it is, I'm without a partner."

Even for an alleged member of the Cabal, Lord Altrey would not budge from his disposition. His lips curled to a slight frown as he glanced over to the dance floor. “There are many eligible men to which you could peruse,” he suggested. “I'm sure you'll have no issues finding one suitable to your tastes.”

Chuckling softly, Cordelia shook her head, "Not quite to my tastes, Lord Altrey... But I don't mind watching. Until I'm needed elsewhere."

“Perhaps you can do us all a favor and expedite things with Lady North,” Altrey suggested. There were gasps and cheers at the table as Marquess Renou showed his hand and won the game. His wife finally adorned a smile as she clapped for her husband and even aided in collecting the winnings.

“My dove,” Renou said to his wife endearingly. “Spill not your bosom all over our winnings until tonight. Or perhaps we should go double or nothing, gents?”

Lord Altrey looked from his exuberant cohort to Cordelia once again to await her decision. “I suppose it all depends on how long you wish to stand around waiting, my dear.”

Her eyes remained on Altrey, even as Renou declared his cards, the smile never fading, despite her eyes growing slightly colder. Rushing Lady North to action meant a risk of offending their hostess, at best, and an earlier demonstration, at worst.

"Are you always this much fun at parties, or is there rare form?" She mused quietly, before glancing to Renou, "Congratulations, Marquess. I imagine the Crown Prince himself would be impressed. I'll leave you gentlemen to it, then..." Her gaze shifting once more to the sullen horse-mask, she smirked, "If you change your mind about that dance..."

Turning, she stepped away, and her smile faded to a frown as she glanced through the crowd again. It was her hope that Sothal might find the men and have better luck, but in the meantime, she would need to keep the Lady North in her sights, just in case.

The hostess was surrounded by guests and conversation near the end of one of the long tables covered in food. She had barely moved since the party began, and she did not seem remiss. Though finally, at the moment Cordelia sighted the lavishly dressed brunette, she accepted an invitation to dance by a Krie gentleman leaving her conversation behind for a song. The crowd parted, and some even followed her into the ballroom.

“A bit gaudy,” a lady next to Cordelia said. She was dressed as a butterfly, golden wings flowing out along her dress and mask. Her attention was on Lady North as she spoke to Cordelia. “She can clear a room just with the width of her skirt.”

A brow quirked, Cordelia turned ever so slightly to the woman beside her, though not enough to lose sight of North, swirling around the dancefloor in what was, indeed, a rather ostentatious costume, “Subtlety, I find, is a bit lost on people. I suppose Lady North intended to make a statement, in which case, I suppose … job well done.”

The woman huffed a laugh. “Statement, indeed,” she said, and then turned to look at Cordelia. There was a familiarity about her, and she seemed to have a vague recollection of the blue-eyed woman before her. “Business with Lord Asterly?” she asked with pitched inflection.

Her expression shifting only ever so slightly to one of curiosity, Cordelia turned fully to the woman for a brief moment, “...Hm? No. Not tonight. At least I don’t think so… They all blend together, after a while, don’t they?”

“I've seen you with him,” she stated, her lips pursing with emphasis. “Twice. Oh, the stars! You're one of those women, aren't you. I think I remember you now. Those eyes are just too memorable. You've been to Windfeld before, yes? Darling, stop hunting for a man here. Trust me.”

Laughing softly, Cordelia shook her head, “Oh, I’ve got my sights set a bit higher than that. But tonight it’s purely business. But I’m being rude, forgive me…” Turning, she held out a hand, “Gema. And you are?”

There was a moment where the woman almost looked appalled at the introduction. “Countess Alice Kentworth,” she said. She held out her hand to flash the colors of silver and amethyst upon her delicate finger. “You've no title or surname?”

Smiling at the woman’s presumption and at the look that crossed her face, Cordelia returned her eyes to the dance floor, barely noting the ring, except to consider how many families with Faledrin it would feed, and how difficult it might be for one of the other Cult members to slip it from her finger, “None that would bear any importance or note, here, my dear Countess. I find simple introductions are more reasonable when one isn’t likely to remember who they’ve met one moment to the next.”

The countess laughed awkwardly, and then looked back behind her briefly as if to look for someone. She then leaned down to Cordelia to speak to her more closely. “I've got to pop off,” she said. “It was a pleasure, Gema.” With a wiggle of her fingers, she bid the woman adieu and walked away quickly into the crowd behind them.

Shaking her head, did not watch her as she walked off, but instead resumed her reconnaissance of Lady North… Gaudy. Seemed a fair word for most nobles.


 
Mies
Mies had followed up Sothal’s carriage, unaware it was his until she watched him step out and ascend to the door where he could be properly introduced. At the revelation, she had to bit the back of her hand to keep herself from laughing as she waited to enter herself.

She was enrobed in a soot-colored ball gown that was ombred into a glittering orange color that went all the way up to her chin and finished off with long sparkling sleeves. Coating her arms was a mass of limp feathers of red, orange and gold and gave the effect of having wings and the same feathers were pasted to her ears to conceal the points that might otherwise been revealed by the way her waist-length blonde hair was pulled back into a half-up twist. Her mask, the clear representation of a orange bird with red and black feathers, covered well over half her face and gave to the overall effect of the phoenix rising from the ashes look she had managed to pull off.

When she made her halt on the landing, she passed over her invitation to the highly flustered doorman who was still shocked as ever that the Crowned Prince himself had bothered to show up tonight. Mies had smirked at him, waving a hand in an elegant fashion as her introduction was entirely forgotten at first and she slipped into the crowd before the doorman could realize his error and feebly bleat out the name she’d been given.

“Lady Delia Langfort?”

With a swish of her dress, she found herself making way for the wall where the most timid of nobles had gone to stand out of the way of the writhing mass of people, plucking a flute of something bubbly from a silver platter as she went and rested her back immediately in an open space beside one particularly chubby man in a deer costume who spoke in an effeminate way with a tall, buck-toothed woman dressed as a fox. For a moment, she said nothing to them as she sipped her champagne and listened to what they had to say.

She gave her glass one final sip and said, “Looks like Lady North is trying hard to network, hmm?” to the fox-woman, giving her voice a soft, bubbly chime.


Mies' Outfit:
swfuae.jpg


@Effervescent @Red Thunder @RiddL @Doctor Jax @CloudyBlueDay @rissa
 
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Tamerlin Edelva


Tamerlin had done his share of getting into hard-to-reach places, but this would probably take the cake. He had chosen -- given his obvious lack in size -- to instead enter the masquerade as a caterer rather than attempt to pass himself off as a noble. It was far, far too obvious that he was not part of the upper echelons of society in Faledrin, and a minuscule duke or count would be difficult to forget. It would be far easier for the man to slip unnoticed as a servant -- though he did have a spare mask on hand, should he need to go somewhere that servants were not allowed into. Even if he couldn't pass off as a marquee, he could pretend to be the young son of some no-name Dradmida noble for a good ten minutes.

His set up took a fair bit longer, however, than those who'd be attending the party as guests. He had taken the hard route, and it meant more work on his part -- though if he did things right, he would have a very good 'in' to hear what servants were saying. Often, the nobles treated their servants like moving furniture, speaking of things within earshot as the servants did their best to be inconspicuous. While his compatriots would case out the nobles and their gossip, perhaps ingratiate themselves into their enclave, Tam would be listening to the things they said when they thought no one was listening -- though not without a fair amount of caution. He had managed to build up a fake persona thus far as a down-on-his-luck boy from far-off Arcost looking for work, and after two days of needling the right people, he managed to get hired on.

Another day was spent preparing the hall for the masquerade at the North Estate, and he unfortunately did not hear much, besides the fact that it was rumored there would be many prominent members coming -- no surprise there. The night of the ball, he'd been there since almost six o' clock that morning, whipped half to death by the head matron who ensured that everything was running smoothly. By seven o' clock that night, he was in his uniform, a black doublet with hugging sleeves and a white mask, one out of many faceless servants. Guests filtered in, some with names he recognized, others who were foreign to him. He did his best to serve them their wine and cheese and needs, listening to the bubbles of information seeming to effervesce around him in a buzz.

"I wonder when cousin Linnaea will finally marry off? She's almost twenty-seven, for gods' sakes..."

"...and there was talk of the Church on Broad getting hit something hard with fines. They'd been dealing untaxed port, you see..."

"Did you know there was a kidnapping? Poor Geralt...said he'd never recover..."

"Prince Emrys de Genosis of Faledrin!"

Tamerlin -- whose name at the moment was Adelweis -- glanced at the newcomer as he poured a glass of wine. However, his gaze was stuck on the man at the steps, recognizing the Crown Prince as none other than their own Sothal, Organizer for the Cult of Thieve and Apparent Owner of Two Lives. To Tam's dismay, he stared a mite too long -- a good amount of wine overflowed the goblet and over the noble woman's hand.

"Ugh! Wretched help," the noblewoman growled at him as he quickly debased himself, bowing his head and murmuring his apologizes. "Of course I can't trust your kind to do anything right. I would have thought Lady North would have done better in selecting her service. Lout. Cur. Get out of my sight."

Tam winced at his negligence, both in not realizing who their "glorious leader" truly was, as well as letting his attention lapse and falling under someone's deep, penetrating gaze. He scurried off, though he did not miss that said noblewoman was now going to the Head of Ceremonies to complain of the abhorrent service provided, no doubt indicating that the servant was especially small... But his work was not here. He meant to find Lynn, and so far he'd heard naught but vague rumors, whispers. None of the beggar children could tell him much of who had taken Lynn from the Church at Broad Street, but now that he had seen Shadow Magic at work with Sothal -- the Prince! How blind was he?! -- he knew that whoever wanted Lynn could have easily snatched her that way. But, she resisted -- and perhaps the perpetrators were walking around with a limp, a scratch, a bruise.

Besides that, other servants had said something about Lady North planning something else, something beyond this masquerade. He didn't know what it meant, as he often took servant hearsay with a heaping teaspoon of salt, but often servants noticed things others did not. From what he knew, the nobles of Windfeld were working for someone who wanted Tainted who could turn on command (as per Geralt) and they were kidnapping servants to do it, holding them in cages on a property (as per Lynn). Tam had a hunch that Geralt's appearance and Lynn's disappearance were not isolated incidents. This was an expensive experiment, one that took a lot of time, money, risk -- and it was unlikely that those investing in it would wait so patiently for results, especially after Geralt's breakout. The pieces were starting to come together. Perhaps somewhere, here, they were holding Lynn.

Or, maybe not. It was a hunch. An educated hunch, but a hunch nonetheless. He'd been wrong before.

He examined the crowd through hooded eyes, hoping that he was staying more or less unnoticed. Now and again, he caught sight of Oracle in her stunning dress and wire-frame mask, and Sothal -- Emrys?-- their Organizer. He even caught a look a Mies, in a corner, but she was enraptured in her own conversation. As he caught a glimpse of Lady North, he realized that if anyone was going to be giving clandestine directions, it would be her... With cautious footsteps he served those around her wide skirt, hoping to hear something.[/hr]
 
Kylar

Kylar entered the masquerade, completely immersed in his new role, he had died his ash blonde hair into a dark auburn that shone beautifully in the light as he was announced, the half face mask he wore concealing a olive tanned face, courtesy of a few skin dyes, though his eyes were visibly, though not the cold beautiful blue eyes he was born with, rather a forest green pair of eyes from a painful concoction of various herbs, spices and insects that he had bought for occasions like this. He would be surprised if the other Thieves recognised the smiling nobleman.

"Marquis Durzo Kagé of Thallas" announced one of the barrel chested men as Kylar walked forwards, eyes following him as he moved amongst the crowd, hearing muttering of the Prince being here from the eligible women and singled out the man they were talking about, none other than the man they knew as Sothal.

'I knew he was a Noble but even that was unexpected.' he thought as he smiled at a group of young women who approached him, bowing gracefully and kissing the hands of the giggling girls, who blushed as he flashed his best smile at them, white teeth appearing from tanned lips as they rattled off their names to him.

Excusing himself he walked up to one of the nearby guards and asked to be escorted to one of the Privies so that he could relieve himself. The guard snapping to attention and politely leading him through the maze of corridors to where the privies were located, "One hell of a party, I'm surprised at how many men are stationed around here." he said casually as he relieved himself, the guard with his back turned to him, who relaxed at the foreign nobles friendly tone of voice, "Honestly, Lord Kagé, we 'ad to strip ourselves thin since the Prince im'self arrived to this soiree. I m'self was guarding the lady's room." he said, resting his spear on his shoulder, completely unaware that Kylar had written down everything that had been said on a small note, which was then hidden in the cusp of his sleeves.

With that info obtained he stood tall and followed the soldier back to the soiree, mingling with the other guests and slowly making his way forward, spotting Tamerlin, dressed as a servant and walked by the smaller man, bumping him and slipped the note into one of Tam's pockets.

"Stupid fool, watch where you walk or I'll ask that you be given lashings for your impertinence." he said in an angry tone, a silent message in his eyes as he walked past the man, a look of disgust on face as he walked on towards the stair case, holding a glass of red wine, not rich but still nice.

He finished his wine and was pulled to the side by a woman, dressed in a the guise of a bird of prey and a smile of a predator as she pressed herself against him. "I've never bedded a man from Thallas, nor a man as beautiful as you." She said as looking at him with hungry eyes, eager to share this seemingly exotic mans bed.

"Such things are not discussed in the midst of so many." he replied, voice smooth and deep, a cultured accent replacing his usual manner of speech, "But lord, speaking of such indiscretions are what parties like these are for." came the scandalous womans reply, her smile like that of a cat toying with a mouse. Kylar went in for the kill, "Tongues should be used to commit discretions, not discuss them." he said sleazily, making then lady gasp and blush, pulling him away by the hand past guards and up the stairs toward the bedrooms, slipping into a dark room and closing the door behind them.

All according to plan so far.

@Doctor Jax
 
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no-lightbox

Through the music and cacophony of conversations the caller could barely be heard still announcing latecomers. Lady North indulged in a second dance with the Krei noble as the music began a popular number. Those on the floor performed the dance in merriment, and behind the festivities a name was distantly called.

“Prince Jerian De Genisos of Faledrin!”

She heard the name and straightening, Cordelia’s eyes wandered through the crowd to see the newly announced entering. The worlds between Sothal’s two lives seemed to be growing smaller and smaller by the minute, and with the demonstration in mind, she could feel a twitch of anxiety roll through her.

Frowning, she started towards the doors, but as she moved, her eyes continued through the crowd, looking for Sothal in the sea of colors and faces.

Sothal was nowhere to be seen near the entrance that filtered into the ballroom. A second prince became quite the topic of conversation that quickly reached Lady North’s ear on the dance floor. She looked genuinely surprised by the news and bowed in the middle of the dance like she had received a prestigious award.

The young Prince Jerian slowly attempted to make his way to the ballroom, though happily spoke to those who seemed to cling to his side along the way. He was dressed seemingly without theme, his half mask a wash of stark black to match the pitch of his suit, mostly simple in design apart from glittering black jewels as embellishment. And as he made his way to the music and dancing he caught sight of Cordelia, particularly locking in on her eyes.

He had a handsome smile, one he flashed as he beckoned her over to him.

Swearing under her breath, her mouth barely moving, Cordelia hesitated for a second or two, before she started forward, towards Sothal’s brother, offering a courtesy and a gentle, guarded smile, “Your Grace…”

“By all the stars,” he said beaming down at Cordelia, and then held out his hand that carried his onyx ring for her to kiss. “You will take audience with me, won't you? I would love a chat.”

Decidedly, she was going to murder Sothal, if no one else did first… Taking the hand, she pressed a kiss to the smooth black stone. It was one and the same as the one that currently rested against her breastbone, and that in and of itself was enough to drive a nervous chill through her. Straightening, she bowed her head.

“...Of course, My Lord.”

“My giddy aunt!” Prince Jerian said, and took Cordelia’s hand in his as he guided her to the dance floor. “I hope you're up for a dance. I wasn't even going to come despite the invitation. But now that I'm here I have an itch I need to scratch.”

The music concluded and those who participated in the previous jig gleefully clapped and dispersed. Lady North had peeled her eyes away from her handsome Krie noble to stare at the young prince, her expression that of dejection as she noticed his attention was occupied. Prince Jerian brought Cordelia to his hand and began the next dance, his voice now quiet under the flowing melody.

“It's customary to visit the royal house first when you enter a kingdom, is it not?” he asked, his smile still curling the end of his lips. “I hope we’re not on bad terms.”

With a laugh, soft and refined, Cordelia shook her head, "Not at all, My Lord. It's possible, perhaps, we simply missed one another in transit?"

He laughed with her, his head lifting with the thought. “You must be the new girl,” he said, and looked back down at her with a faded smile. “I just had a chat with my sister, you know. She told me everything. What you're doing is unacceptable.”

A brow lifted, and while her expression did not shift from a pleasant smile, there was an undercurrent of concern, "...You'll have to forgive if I'm not entirely sure what you're referring to. What is it I'm doing?"

His eyes narrowed slightly as he huffed another laugh, studying her carefully to gauge her validity. “No matter,” he said. “Enjoy the dance with me. Enjoy the night. You know, my father doesn't want me attending these frivolous events. I just can't help but rebel against him. Maybe I want to be frivolous? But he also wants to marry me off for the sake of trade like my sister. One of the reasons why I didn't want to come, to be perfectly honest. So many foreigners. But when I heard the news of Dradmida I changed my plans last minute. And here I am.”

The smile twitching away for a moment, her own eyes shifted to his, contemplative, as she considered both the words he had spoken and what he hadn't. If Alyse had spoken to him, what had she told him? And why? What possible purpose could she have for stirring trouble...?

When she spoke, her voice was even and her lip curved upwards again, but there was little warmth to the expression, "...But I suppose that's the benefit of being king, isn't it? You can take what you want and give nothing back, and no one can say or do much about it. Or at least I imagine that's how it is. But I can't personally see the harm in a little frivolity. Particularly if you're to be married off, soon."

His gaze wandered over her and fell upon the necklace draped from her neckline. He brought his hand up to trace his fingers over the strands of blue stone in inappropriate intimacy. “I am feeling rather rebellious,” he murmured, and then smiled once again. “But I just can't decide how much I want to crash this party.”

Blinking, Cordelia's fingers glanced over the necklace as she looked up to meet his eyes again, frowning in thought, "...How do you mean?"

The prince bit his lip coyly as he maintained a playful smirk. “Be on my arm the whole night,” he said. “We’re practically going to all the same things anyway tonight. Demonstration included.”

Alyse...

What had she told him?

"I can't argue there's reason in that..." Smiling faintly, the expression hollow, she bowed her head again, "Very well."

“Perfect,” he said as the song concluded. Prince Jerian raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “And what may I call you? You must have a name else how am I going to introduce you.”

Her eyes scanned the crowd briefly, as the music died down, returning to Jerian as his lips met her hand, "Gema... My Lord. It's Gema."

“What are the chances,” he said as he escorted Cordelia out of the ballroom. Curious eyes watched the pair as unintelligible murmurs whispered from their lips to their present company.

“Gema is my favorite name for a woman,” the prince continued. He guided her over to the long table and leaned in to whisper to her. “What sort of fun should we create first?”

“How fortuitous..." She mused, with a polite smile, her eyes moving smoothly through the crowd. As he leaned in, her smile caved just for a fraction of a second. Earlier, she had asked Sothal if they were in over their heads... She was almost convinced now that she definitely was, "Fun? I suppose that depends entirely on what you have in mind, My Lord."

“Fake gossip, pouring vinegar in the wine, torturing a poor soul with our presence alone,” he responded with a shrug. He turned to look out at the crowd in search for a target. “I wonder if my cousin is here. She would be perfect…”

Across the room, Sothal stood surrounded by a growing group of chatty men and women. He was dumbfounded by the sight of Cordelia with his brother. The color looked to have drained from his face all together inhibiting his ability to move. Eventually, his head nodded towards her as if to cast a silent question into the matter.

A brow arched at his suggestions. She might've thought him childish... if there wasn't also something so alarming about him. He seemed too calculating, too difficult to read, "Now, now..." She chided, with a smirk, "Surely we can think of something more entertaining than gossip, or spiking the wine."

Finally, when she had nearly given up hope she might see him at all, she spied Sothal and as she caught his gaze, and he tipped his head, she looked to Jerian with a small smile, and gingerly, brushed his arm with her hand, "Wine though, does sound appealing."

Her free hand, meanwhile, curved ever so slightly at her side, her fingers gesturing what she dare not otherwise, hoping almost desperately Sothal understood she was out of her league.

“I wonder if it's Thall wine,” Prince Jerian said as he meandered over to the glasses with Cordelia in tow. He gestured towards them as a footman poured a glass of red and held it out to her. “The strange monks out there, the Emasari, are quite good at it. Tell me, Gema. Do you like the color red?”

“Who doesn't?” Sothal interrupted. The footman poured another glass on his command; two fingers beckoning for obedience before taking the glass in hand. “I see you've found the Cabal. Or, well, the only one this side of the Allied Kingdoms.”

Jerian rolled his eyes. “Did you at least talk to Alyse?” he asked.

“I did,” Sothal continued, and then downed the entire glass. “I thought you were above these parties?”

“Emrys, this is Gema,” Jerian said as he blatantly ignored his brother's comment. “Or perhaps you already met.”

“We shared a dance earlier,” he responded coolly. “Would you care for another, by chance?”

She watched Sothal carefully, sternly, as he downed the glass, but as Jerian turned back to her, her lip twitched upwards, her eyes meeting Sothal's with inflection. Slowly, she inclined her head, "Indeed." Briefly twisting her gaze to Jerian, she smiled, "You don't mind, do you? I get so few opportunities to dance..."

“I do mind,” Jerian said as he grasped her hand tightly. “The drunkard will step all over your nice shoes.”

“Jerian, could I talk with you for a moment?” Sothal asked quietly. His brother, on the other hand, decided to raise his voice.

“Whatever you have to say,” he said, “you can say it here!”

The party goers surrounding them glanced sidelong before half heartedly returning to their conversations. An ear was kept to them in intrigue.

“Don't do this,” Sothal said in exasperation.

“You've had far too much to drink!” Jerian continued. It was clear there was no reasoning with the younger prince, and his own stubbornness was a point of delight. A smirk flickered on the corner of his lips as he eyed his older brother over. “I just realized...are you Kimblekree?”

“Yes…”

A chuckle escaped Prince Jerian, and he turned towards Cordelia with a grin. “I've got to chat with the Crowned Prince,” he said. “Don't run off too far. Trust me. I'll find you.” He gave her a wink before turning to follow Sothal through the crowd. And Sothal gave Cordelia a look of apology before his attentions fell on his brother. They spoke quietly as guardsmen converged on their location to provide them a bit of space.

Cordelia’s expression remained passive, bordering on indifferent, but as Sothal caught her eye she gave her head a small shake, and when the men had gone, she plucked up the glass she had been given and took a sip, silently praying the others were faring far less strangely at their own tasks for the evening.

“Wow,” a young woman said wistfully as she approached Cordelia in her gown of soft greens and whites. Two bunny ears curled from atop her mask where her eyes stared out at the guards. “You must be important.”

She looked over at Cordelia and inclined her head. “I'm Lady Betaley North,” she said. “The hostess’s sister. Are you from Bastillos?”

Nearly jumping at the sound of the woman’s voice, Cordelia turned, smiling gingerly, slightly dryly, as she shook her head, “I certainly don’t meant to be. And I am, yes. From Bastillos, that is. Gema. Your sister throws a lovely function.”

“It's expected of us,” Betaley said with an apathetic shrug, and looked back at the crowd. “I'm bored with it already. Is it like this where you're from? All this constant impressing and parading about?”

“I’m rather convinced it’s that way, everywhere…” She murmured, turning her eyes back as well, “But then, it does have it’s entertainment value.”

“I want to join the Navy,” Betaley said. “No place for a noblewoman with no knowledge of the sea. We’re trapped in this life. Oh, it's so droll! What is it your family is involved in? Ours is mining. House North owns practically half the mines in Faledrin.”

“A bit of everything, it seems…” Cordelia answered, not at all dishonestly, and with a small smirk, “Largely acquisitions. I don’t mind, though. We manage to keep things interesting.” Turning Cordelia glanced over to the woman, “And who knows… maybe someday you will join the Navy. The future isn’t always so easy to predict.”

“Our libraries aren't exactly the best here,” Betaley said in return. “We have access to the royal library at least, but even then… You’d think with all that's coming in we would be able to afford textbooks and better confines to keep them preserved. The air here is unforgiving. Did you know most of our tutors come from Thallas? We’re a charity case for them.”

It was hard to imagine anyone in the noble district feeling like a charity case, but then… Betaley had probably never seen true poverty, had probably never been exposed to it. Still, it was intriguing to hold a conversation with someone who wasn’t entirely vapid and obsessed with the latest gossip.

“...It’s a shame, really. There’s not enough people in this kingdom, properly educated. Maybe someday, that will change, too.”

“Maybe,” the noblewoman said with a sigh. “Though I feel it is by design. I heard Baron Liathe say that those poorly educated cannot have the means to fight back. Knowledge is power. Power is power. And those without either can be owned.”

Her eyes pulled away once again from the crowed to study Cordelia from head to toe before lofting a brow. “Do you really think those with power would want to be overcome?” she asked rhetorically and quietly. “Perhaps our king is smarter than a Malan.”

"Hm..." With a slight smirk, Cordelia shook her head, "All due respect to the baron, Lady North... But I imagine he doesn't quite comprehend the strength of pure will. Sometimes, you hold onto something too hard, you lose control of it, entirely."

The smirk fading, she frowned, considering the question for a moment, taking a sip from he wine before shaking her head, "Power is the greatest addiction we will ever know. Those who are lucky... or perhaps unlucky enough to possess it, will never relinquish it willingly. Sometimes, you can't. That's the true master, see... the power, itself. It controls all."

“I suppose to that end Shadow Magic rules this world,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean no offense. But what I've heard you can do with it… It seems like the ultimate power. I wouldn't be surprised if every royal house practices it, really.”

“It seems that way…” She murmured softly, her gaze moving away, “But power without responsibility corrupts. Shadow Magic can be used for many reasons, but without control… without discipline, it will own you. And it will destroy you.”

Looking down into her glass, she frowned, “Most who learn it, they never have a choice. It's taught to them as a child, and it's understood that if that child doesn't take to it, there will be consequences beyond their realm of understanding. So they learn. But I'm not convinced anyone will ever fully comprehend it. There are times, when I don’t feel half as in control of it, as it is of me. In truth, it's terrifying, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone." Looking to her again, she smiled faintly, "Personally, I'd much sooner recommend the Navy."

Betaley’s own smile faded with each word Cordelia spoke until her expression was replaced with pity. “That's awful,” she whispered. “So… not everyone in the Cabal is… bad? I honestly don't mean offense. Just… with everything that's been going on here I thought my sister was up to no good. She tends to let the bad things influence her. And your business here just seemed so shady. Oh, it's such a relief to know it's not bad. You have no idea.”

Flinching, grateful she was turned away, Cordelia shook her head, “...I’m just here for observation. I… I don’t actually know what’s on the agenda for this evening.” Looking to the girl, she frowned, softly, “As it is, any business with Shadow Magic tends to linger in darker territory. It might be for the best you to head home early.”

Betaley chuckled at that. “Ah, well, fortunately I am already home,” she said. “I'm a North. The hostess is my sister, remember? I think this might be just a social event anyway. Saleith hates mixing business with her fun. So no need to worry.”

She smoothed out the fabric of her skirt and readjusted her mask. “I hope you don't mind if I steal away one of your princely interests,” she continued. “It's so difficult to gain audience with a Prince much less the King. This could very well be my only opportunity. How do I look?”

Glancing over again, Cordelia smiled faintly, “Lovely. I can’t imagine you’ll have any trouble…”

Prince Jerian was the first to emerge from the perimeter of guardsmen once his conversation with Sothal concluded. It seemed as though his mind was elsewhere and he had forgotten Cordelia’s existence, at least for now. He disappeared into the crowd along with a pair of guards. Betaley took this as her cue and smiled at Cordelia before rushing over to Sothal. Their exchange had him pensive and the guards looking a bit exasperated. One of them kept eyeing the food sidelong as he kept himself trained on the Crowned Prince. The other guard across from him tried to wave him down subtly, eventually garnering his comrade’s attention as he pointed to a creme puff on the nearest plate.

There came an exchange of expressions between the two before finally he leaned back to snag a couple with his fingers in a quick motion. Glancing about, he checked to make sure no one was watching before tossing one of the puffs to his fellow guardsman who quickly caught it and popped it into his mouth. They both looked in bliss as they indulged, straightening lightning fast as soon as Sothal concluded his conversation with Lady Betaley North.

“He thinks you're part of the Cabal,” he whispered to Cordelia as he reached for another glass of wine. “And right now he does not like the Cabal. I think you should cut your night short and head home…”

Her eyes twisted to Sothal, widening ever so slightly as her lip turned down in a frown, “Are you kidding me?” She hissed, though not loud enough to be overheard, “I can’t leave. This demonstration could be the key to understanding what they’re here for, Sothal. What everyone was here for…” Her mother, included, “If you don’t think that I can handle this…”

He tipped the wine to his lips before continuing the quiet conversation in a low murmur. “It's not that,” Sothal said. “He wants you there at the demonstration. It's not sitting well with me. At least see if you can get Quinn or Kylar in with you somehow. Even if they go separate from you. I'm going to go see if I can run into anyone else.”

There were so many factors that she was missing. So many unanswered questions, and just when she was sure she understood what they were getting into, it all seemed to unravel again, and she was left with threads that led nowhere in particular. If the demonstration was the only way to understand what was happening within their city, they had to attend, but his brother’s involvement was an unexpected development - an unwelcome one, and dangerous, all things considered.

“...I’ll try to find them. But I have to attend, Sothal. If they can’t get in and I don’t, we’ll have no way of knowing what’s happening, and I might lose whatever small edge we have. If your brother means me harm, there’s not much I can do about that whether I go or don’t… but we need this information.” Subtly as possible, she reached out to clutch his free hand, shaking her head, “You keep worrying about me like this, I’m going to start thinking you care. Go on… I’ll be fine.”

“Just be careful,” he said as he walked away. Cordelia was once again left to her own devices, and at least for now able to walk freely among the chatty guests. Prince Jerian was still out of sight.

The current dining hall was large and long and was connected to two large doors at the very end that led out into the back gardens. The length of the table was filled with all manner of foods and delicacies both foreign and domestic. The Norths spared no expense for this event, yet there did not seem any public reason for it apart from the simple fact that they could. The head of the house was away for it all with his brother on an expedition through the jungles of Southlyn. It would be months before his return, and likely with something to set within the game room.

Lord Kleij stood with Baron Liathe towards the double doors while their wives talked up a storm next to them, likely more gossipy than what the men seemed to converse upon based on expression. Guests that passed by Cordelia were either talking about the validity of two Faledrin princes attending the party or about the decline in business.

“I hear the king is going to set things right with the working class,” a woman said as she nibbled on a slice of fruit. “He’s finally seeing they're too lazy, I say.”

“They should be grateful they have roofs over their heads,” said another. “They work so little and expect so much. They were practically bred for it. They haven't the minds for what it takes to actually run the business. What do they think we do all day?”

“The king is recognizing this,” said the woman. “I hope he never dies. He’s always looked out for the ones making a difference.”

Cordelia had finished her wine and had every intention of walking away from the table, but as the women ambled up, their conversation reaching her ears, she found her feet stalled, a brow lifting. Slowly, she turned towards them, her expression innocent enough, but her eyes were like ice, “...Pray tell… What is it you do all day?”

The woman flecked her eyes over to gander at Cordelia and her brazen butt-in. “Work,” the woman stated simply. “A lot more work than the Norths. They got lucky with their inheritance. Not everyone gets to throw extravagant parties to find their next lay.”

"Interesting complaint..." Cordelia continued, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "For someone who decided to attend one of those extravagant parties. In the future, you really ought to think... before you speak. You never know who might be listening." Shaking her head, she plucked another glass of Red from a tray and without another word, wandered off into the crowd.

“Damn Cabal think they own the world,” the woman muttered as Cordelia left. She turned away with her cohorts to continue on with their evening.

As she meandered the through the crowd, keeping her eyes open for Quinn or Kyler, or any of the other members of the Cult, Cordelia did her best not to think too heavily on Sothal’s warnings… on anything she had heard that night. Decidedly, she had spent entirely too much time among the nobles, and were it not for the demonstration, would have had little qualms about returning to her room at the Eel for a long, soothing bath and sleep.

Taking a sip of wine, she pinched her forehead in frustration… Some days, she could understand well enough what drove Sothal to drink the way he did.

A voice, low and smooth, chimed in beside her with a simple question. “Care to dance?” The man stepped up next to Cordelia wearing the mask of a rather beautifully crafted fish. Underneath was a handsome man with a sly smirk and an accent suggestive of Krei. He held out his hand to her in offering as he nodded over to the ballroom.

Turning at the voice, Cordelia raised a brow. Lady North's dance partner, it seemed... and it seemed the evening's slew of eventful turns was not entirely overwith. Bowing her head, her smile easy and light, she set her glass on the tray of the nearest servant and extended her hand.

"...Of course."

His smile brightened at her acceptance, and he led her out onto the dance floor. The music was that of a common Northlyn tune known as “The Duel” where participants of the dance intermittently wove through each other before returning to their partners by the faintest touch of the hand. It was in this time the Krei nobleman conversed with Cordelia with interest alight in his deep brown eyes.

“I must admit,” he said in a honeyed tone, “I did not anticipate the Cabal attending a party in Faledrin. When Lady North told me my curiosity got the better of me.”

"Hmm..." Nodding, Cordelia smiled faintly, "There's nothing wrong with curiosity. I'll confess, though, I did not expect to acquire quite so much attention this evening. Though I suppose it is a bit much to hope to blend in."

“Perhaps it is because you are a bit of a novelty,” he said before the dance took him away once again. They wove through the participants fluidly as the viola carried the melody. He returned to her with a smile. “The Cabal is old news in Edros. Here though? Everyone talks about Shadow Magic as if it were a bedtime story. And I hear the nobles here are quite excited about their secret event.”

"Indeed. It appears so." Her smile faded, ever so slightly, as she shook her head, "It seems as infamous as my own presence. Though perhaps not as secret as I was led to believe." A smirk returned, and she chuckled softly, "But then, I suppose Lady North does enjoy a good spectacle."

“I admit,” he said in a low, playful whisper, “I did loosen her tongue a bit. Most of the talk is curiosity into why you are here. It seems only a select few truly know. And now I am one of those select few.”

A brow quirked, Cordelia watched him, the smirk tipping every so slightly higher, "Do you? Well, I suppose I'm the curious one, now. What has our dear Lady North been saying?"

“That she hadn't intended the demonstration for today,” he continued quietly, “and that you inspired it. She’s not happy about it. But she understands the Cabal gets what they want. I’ll be interested to see it for myself.”

When she had spoken to Altrey earlier in the week, he had mentioned that the demonstration would be a preview of their presentation, whatever that might be, but she had not thought that it was her presence, directly, that had inspired it. It was a little discomforting then, not knowing what to expect...

"So you'll be attending as well, then?" The smile did not fade, even as her thoughts roiled, "This will be quite the affair."

“I'll be there,” he said as the song concluded. His head bowed before taking her hand and guiding her off of the dance floor. “Thank you for the dance.”

Free of the crowd, Cordelia inclined her own head, "It was my pleasure. I'm sorry... I didn't catch your name?"

“Nadrid Kalset,” he said with a nod of his head and a playful smirk. “I'll see you again later tonight.” He parted ways with another bow and turned away into the crowd once again.

Watching him go, Cordelia frowned in thought. Things were getting too complicated, and idly, she had to wonder if Sothal was entirely wrong, suggesting that she head home, after all. But whatever the demonstration was, it had to do with whatever they were planning, and whatever they were planning involved all of Faledrin. She couldn't just abandon her cause, to protect herself...


 
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Playing with Fire I
the North Masque
a collab between @Effervescent and @Red Thunder

”Prince Emrys De Genisos of Faledrin!”

A gentleman turned at the announcement. He was covered in fine cloth of varying shades of gold and emerald, and a short cape of jet black fur covered his left shoulder. His clean shaven face was mostly obscured by the rather disturbing visage of a snaring wolf, but his shining eyes peered through keenly at the Prince as he entered the throng. His hair, normally a mass of blonde braids, had been cut back and arranged in a kind of chaotic if short mane; a natural pairing to the chosen mask, encouraging as it was its aggressive nature.

“So,” he muttered to himself, a bit unhappy that a secret shared between Cordelia and himself was no longer such a thing. “The proverbial cat’s out of the bag. Wonder how that'll turn out.”

Quinn turned away, business on his mind. There had been little in the way of gossip from the nobility, good or bad, beyond the normal and irritatingly predictable ‘Lady So-and-So did this’ and ‘the son of Lord Such-and-Such is sleeping which his sister’. Nothing certainly as might even hint at leads on the Cabal or its malicious Shadow rituals. It might have been pleasant at any other time; indeed, a few of them seemed to have their interests piqued at the mention of his vineyard out east. Serbin Vumahl was attracting a fair bit more attention than he preferred, or at least at that moment, and it was distracting.

At least, it wasn't their attention he wanted to hold. The Lady North stood some few yards across the main hall, chatting amiably. ‘Regal’ was perhaps a trite term, too easily and indeed readily used to describe every given woman who might have spruced up a little more than usual to garner favor or attention. Yet, in spite of the fact that Lady North clearly sought no favor or attention, indeed it seemed to be showered upon her without any effort on her part, Saleith was most certainly ‘regal’. Slowly Quinn approached her, waiting for a lull in the conversation before bowing deeply in the eastern fashion of his supposed house.

“You have been most gracious in hosting this gathering, Lady North. Indeed I find myself in awe of your house’s splendor.”

Lady North smiled brightly both at the compliment and at the handsome blond before her. Her head inclined in a graceful bow as she huffed an airy laugh. “So many new and intriguing faces tonight,” she said excitedly. “Welcome to Faledrin. Have you tried the goose? My chef is the best. I made sure of it.”

“You flatter me! I've yet to try such a dish. In the East- ah, my manners. Apologies, Lady North. Serbin does the House Vumahl ill by such behavior.” He inclined his head. “You have done me and mine a great honor indeed.”

It had been a calculated risk, resurrecting Serbin Vumahl. Quinn hadn't used the persona in some time, and any grudges given the name from past jobs surely would have dissipated or been forgotten. Regardless, it was worth it. Being a Faledrin county lord, ‘Serbin’ might be expected to be curious about the city’s going ons and would certainly not be expected to know the rumors and gossip that passed from noble ear to noble mouth. In short, Quinn could be thoroughly inquisitive without much fear of suspicion or reprisal.

At least, that was the plan.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Lady North said as she placed a hand delicately upon her chest. “The country is no place for nobility. Enjoy your time here as a city man. Were you given a room for your stay? I can't recall your name on the list, but I can see to it that is remedied. I insist.”

There was a masked hunger in her eyes as she looked over Quinn, one suggesting the offer came with certain...perks. Perhaps the rumors of Lady North’s recreations were true.

And Quinn, for all the importance the job necessitated, was still a man, experienced in the world of lust and desire; he'd felt that same look in his eyes before. It was not an unpleasant proposition.

“In truth, I arrived just this morn and have yet to make such arrangements.” His eyes lowered briefly, surreptitiously. But careful to ensure that Saleith caught him tracing her figure with his gaze. A smile broadened his face, and his head tilted. “Your offer is as generous as the your guest list; I readily welcome it.

“But I must ask, before we become to embroiled in business,” his voice lowered, vaguely conspiratorial, as he raised a bejeweled hand to his chin in contemplation, “some of my more paranoid partners and customers within the city have spoken to me of rumors that the nobility wishes to eliminate outside trade! It is a ridiculous notion held by equally ridiculous people, yet I am in no position to provide rebuttal. Could you provide me with an answer for them? It would be a weight off my mind and would allow me to better enjoy the … pleasures of the evening.”

Her disappointment was evident as Saleith sighed and slumped her shoulders. She motioned lazily to her right in the direction of the den. “I don't know,” she said as all playfulness left her tone. “North business isn't in trade. You’ll have to speak to Lord Asterly or some other someone. I’ll have my servants prepare you a room.”

She waved him away, no longer interested in what he had to offer.

Never, ever mix business with pleasure, Quinn. You're wonderfully skilled in both, but only separately.

The half-elf’s words rang in the Baladuri’s ears as he eyed the lady’s dismissal unhappily. Eswayt never missed an opportunity to suggest and teach, especially when he owed her for taking on some of the task of Sothal’s items retrieval. In fact, it was likely that the only reason she had was that he was going to be occupied with the masque. His eye twitched; fine. Business could take a back seat. After all, he was also partially keeping the Lady North distracted by conversation, keeping her away from her quarters whilst their resident assassin sneaked about. Quinn bowed his head, his voice becoming professional.

“My thanks, Lady North. I shall speak with him on the subject, though perhaps he cannot answer all my questions. Another matter of much import requires a more … feminine perspective, and in secret, for I suspect she'd wish her answer be kept private.” He straightened, pushing down his unruly hair in a wide gesture with a shrug. “I too should like to answer her questions. Whomever ‘she’ might be.”

Bowing again, he turned away, leaving her coterie behind.

Lady North watched Quinn leave with a bit of confusion etched in her eyes. Other guests moved back into position around her to continue conversations now that the handsome unfamiliar man no longer held her full attention. It took her a few seconds to smile and converse with those around her as if she had not been left dumbfounded.

Straight backed, Quinn strode about the hall, arms behind his back, prowling for a face with which to discuss the goings on of the nobles. Yet few could give him the answers he sought, though doubtless those that whispered gossip or proclaimed exultations clearly believed that what they knew was worth the eastern man’s visit. Lady Krethwat was certain that Lord Merlatak was sleeping with his scullery maid, and moreover that Lady Merlatak was fully aware and intended no retribution. Lord Fess, heir to his father’s fortune and name, had apparently very little fortune to which to look forward, squandered as it was by the gambling of his progenitor’s, according to Lord Modnis, who was himself the epitome of reliable gossip.

Quinn thanked Lady Sabine graciously, unhappy that her best bit of gossip merely directed him to Modnis yet happy enough to have a lead. Perhaps it was time to approach the second option. He stepped away from the conversation and scanned the floor, seeking her. Ah, there: Adele Liathe. Where Saleith was herself put off by professional discussion, perhaps Adele could offer answer. He drew closer, making a small show of examining the fine decor, until he was close enough to listen to the thrust of the conversation. It wouldn't do to jump in again.

Lady Adele Liathe was prettier than her best friend, Saleith, or at least as pretty as her outwardly appearance would allow. She had an attitude like a viper waiting to strike at anyone who crossed her path the wrong way. Adele stood off on her own with a scowl on her lips and a chip on her shoulder. Her fan blew the feathers of her gryphon plumage as she tried her best to fan away the heat of summer and her disposition. The woman who had just left her company had called her an unsavory term, one likely justified given the nature of Lady Adele Liathe. The brazen name-caller passed by Quinn on her leave as she grumbled to her counterpart about Adele.

“Can you believe the audacity!” the woman said as she passed. “Accusing my husband of Shadow Magic!”

“You're pardon, m’lady; I've not had-”

But the woman had already stormed off in a huff, her heels clacking sharply upon the flooring. Quinn watched her leave, eyebrows pinched in expressed confusion but delight welling up inside. Finally, a lead! He stared after her as long as he thought appropriate for the circumstance, then turned to examine the Lady Liathe. Well to do, if the gryphon plumage was any indication, but likely here against her wishes; that was not the expression one carried at such a social event if one were enjoying oneself. Hands clasped behind his back, Quinn approached her casually.

“Shadow magic, indeed? Forgive me; Serbin Vumahl, of Lake Novae. I only just came to Windfeld after a long absence, so current gossip has left me somewhat behind.”

Adele shrugged and pursed her lips as her gaze flecked over from the woman to her newest company. She eyed him over skeptically as she propped her elbow up on her arm to rest the arm holding her glass. “Vumahl?” she repeated. “Vineyard. What do you want to know, then?”

He shook his head, indicating a lack of dedicated interest.

“I'm afraid you might know better than I. There is no stake for me; I merely overheard the tail end of the, er, opinionated dialogue, and thought I might find with you better company than that of others here.” A sigh, heavy and perhaps a little dramatic, as fit Serbin, escaped his lips. “There is too much concern with the frivolities of society here and not nearly enough for what really matters.

“Like Shadow magic, perhaps.”

It was difficult to tell her stance through her icy demeanor as her eyes narrowed at Quinn’s choice in topic. “Are you wanting to learn it or what?” she asked. “I mean, I can point you in the right direction but I refuse to practice. You know it’ll kill you, right?”

“I didn't. As I say, I am woefully uninformed. Yet the topic seems to garner a distinctly … unfavorable reaction.” Quinn turned, looking back after the woman who had stormed off in such indignation. He adopted a curious expression, tinged with disinterest, as if the issue was a frivolity that he for a brief time had devoted attention to, and he turned back. “What is it, Lady Liathe, and why is it so anathema among the nobility?”

“It's highly controversial,” she explained with a shrug. “Honestly, you country folk should be better informed. Look at history. Edlenfeld, for example. It's a magic that requires human souls to boost potency and perform higher rituals. And the Cabal are preaching about a world designed for humans alone. Just think about it all, Lord Vumahl. On one hand you can build towards a ‘better future’ but at what cost? Everyone’s true colors are revealed. It's actually kind of entertaining.”

Edenfeld. The Cabal. Humans alone. A better future. So. Lady North might have been a missed opportunity, one he hoped to rectify, yet she seemed uninformed. With Adele, however…

“And the circle of noble machinations never really changes,” Quinn muttered, eyes falling briefly to the floor before rising again. He raised his voice, adopting once more the curious disinterest. “You speak as one set intentionally apart.”

“I don't have a death wish,” Adele said. “Saleith doesn't hold it against me. And what they're doing is optional, anyway. Not like the Cabal is going to kill me for not participating. Sure, they might leave me out of whatever they're doing, but I personally don't care. I'm being courted by a Bastillosi. I'll be out of this hole within the year.”

Quinn blinked, briefly speechless. Had he misread the Lady North? But he nodded.

“That might be wise. My contacts in Windfeld were complaining to me of a monster of some kind roaming the streets, coming apparently from the noble district itself. The servants seem worried; at any rate, they keep checking over their shoulders. And as we say on the lake, ‘A servant’s rumor becomes a noble’s truth.’”

She scoffed at the phrase and then rolled her eyes in amusement. “The Tainted? Yeah, they're servants. The ones that do a poor job or get out of line. So they should check over their shoulders. Or maybe do their work properly. Either way, they're serving a purpose. Honestly, Vumahl, I’d love to tell you all I know but if you're not in the know already then you probably need to talk to Saleith or Renou. What I know is by permission. And what I told you should be common knowledge. Well, it is. You’re just...living under a rock.”

“But it's a rock filled with the ever-flowing sweetness of wine. You could do worse, methinks.” But it was painfully obvious that Lady Liathe would divulge no more. And he knew better than to press the issue. He inclined his head. “You have been enlightening, my lady, and you have my thanks. I shall not ask more of you.”

With a polite smile, Quinn turned away. He had some strategy to ponder. Should he approach Lord Renou, or would it be worth offering to Lady North what she do clearly desired, hoping that she would forget his misstep early? It was not clear to him; perhaps a small glass of wine would make it clearer. He made for the refreshment table purposefully, only pausing to greet others in passing.
 
Playing with Fire II
the North Masque
a collab between @Effervescent and @Red Thunder

The refreshment table was also the target of Sothal. He approached it once again desiring a glass of red as if his very life depended on it. Standing next to Quinn casually, he drank from his glass generously before speaking.

“A fine evening,” he said. “Though it does not seem so good of a night for the Cabal lady. Have you had the chance to meet with her?”

At Sothal’s approach, Quinn bowed his head.

“Your Majesty. I've seen her from across the floor, but I've not yet had the pleasure.” The urgency with which the Prince attended his drink did not go unnoticed, and the wolf-masked Baladuri frowned imperceptibly. “Though she'd likely not appreciate your method of nerve-calming, your Highness, if I may say so.”

“What she doesn't know won't hurt her,” Sothal stated. “My brother is here. Out for blood it seems. The Cabal’s hold on Dradmida lit a fire in him and unfortunately we have only one guest from the organization. It’d be unfortunate for any such drama to taint tonight’s festivities, don't you agree?”

“Mm,” came the reply, muffled by the cup into which it was made. Quinn finished his sip and lowered the wine, eyeing the crowd. “And servants cause such drama, do they not? Perhaps the more troublesome and the less adept should be excused from the masque; t’would be a shame for such to be overlooked and later cause a disturbance. Particularly if what you say is true concerning your brother, sire.”

“Altrey and Renou are part of it all from what I gather,” Sothal said as he nodded his head thoughtfully. His eyes wandered over the crowd, catching servants unnoticed by the surrounding party goers as they provided the night’s refreshments and treats without a sound. Could it be that they were all Tainted? He needed to find Tamerlin.

“My brother isn't...well,” he continued as he carefully chose his words. “But I don't see him bringing his people to harm when his sights are on particular people. I'm curious about this secret demonstration taking place tonight. Have you heard? I suppose it's not so much a secret as they wanted it to be. People can be quite chatty. But I also hear Lady North is reluctant to have it. I wonder what could delay the event further. Do you have a hankering for dancing or should I go and to the honors?”

Setting down his cup, Quinn placed a hand to his chest.

“You flatter me, my liege, that you should ask that of me. Yet I'm afraid I only dance with fairer faces than yours.” From behind the mask, his eyes sparkled in silent laughter, and he took another sip. “But if you mean Lady North, I shall take that honor if I may. I made something of a minor misstep earlier and need to rectify it. For all the formality of the venture here, I still have my pride.”

Perhaps he could actually avoid speaking business this go around and let her broach that territory herself.

It was a welcome relief in tension, one which caused a small huff of a laugh to escape Sothal’s chest as he turned to have his glass refilled with wine. “You’d probably have better luck anyway,” he said. “I'll make some rounds with the guests. A pleasure to see you again, Lord Vumahl.”

As Sothal left with a full glass of wine, Lady North returned to the hall surrounded by her friends once again. Adele was guided into the group of women, and it looked to be the conversation turned low and held behind gloved hands. They occasionally glanced over to where Eliza Faraday was standing with her portly Thall friend, Berilus Noromande and what looked to be the newest recruit, Mies, dressed as a phoenix. From a distance he would not be able to make out what Lady North was saying to her cohorts, but it was clear from body language it likely wasn't nice.

Great. More cohorts.

Quinn drained his glass before setting it on the table. For one reason or another, it felt as though they very much needed what information Lady North could give. Never mind her influence. Swallowing, he stood at the table, waiting. The musicians were playing something of a slower tune, music to better accommodate the slow of foot or the unpracticed in their dancing. Another missed opportunity; though competent, Quinn was no great dancer, and the more pensive beat would have better suited him. Who could say what the next dance might bring?

Actually, he could. As the tune crescendoed and ended, he applauded with the rest, slipping close to the conductor in order to request a particular song. Cultured and prestigious yet lively, it would be an effort for Quinn to dance to, yet he hoped it might appeal to his prey. Only then did he approach Lady North’s crowd. For the briefest moment he paused; she seemed in the midst of in depth conversation, and to interrupt the hostess could be considered a major breach of protocol. Yet he had done so once before, and the brazenness had seemed to at the least intrigue her. The risk might be worth it.

“My lord and ladies,” Quinn bowed deeply to all, sparing Mies a quick glance to ensure that she was all right. “I do apologize for the interruption. But I have yet to request the honor of a dance from our dear hostess, and as the word is that the next tune shall be Revelry Upon the Midnight Green, I would be remiss in not proposing it.

“My lady,” he crooned, now focused on Lady North. He extended a hand. “Might you do me the honor of this next dance?”

A smirk curled the end of Lady North’s lips as she set her eyes back on the Noble that perplexed her earlier. Adele eyed Quinn thoughtfully, a hint of her previous skepticism showing through, though she said nothing as Saleith accepted Quinn’s hand.

“What a pleasant surprise, Lord Vumahl,” she said. “And here I thought you weren't enjoying my party.”

He kissed the back of her hand as she offered it, though his expression had fallen dutifully in response when he lifted his eyes.

“My humblest apologies, my lady. It is perhaps a trade off for being actively in business: one’s mind habitually goes there first upon introduction.” The beginning chords of Revelry sprang into the air, causing many conversations to halt suddenly in response. There was a small flurry of movement as couples approached the dance floor, and Quinn smiled. “Shall we...Saleith?”

A smile pinched dimples into her cheeks as Saleith North danced merrily with the country noble. It wasn’t uncommon for the woman to fancy flings with Fallenites, but it always felt rather curious to those around her of status. They eyed the couple in the dance with their own questioning and curious gazes. Quinn’s noble facade was not all recognizable, though his name called more recognition due to his past endeavors.

“Lord Vumahl? The one with the vineyard?”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s right fancy for a countryman.”

Perhaps it was the generated talk that created Lady North’s interest in anyone outside of her typical flare. She indulged in the dance with Quinn without conversation, a smile upon her rosey lips throughout the entire song and even as it concluded. She offered him the cordial bow in sync with the other women to their partners upon the end of Revelry.

“You’re well bred for a countryman,” she said almost breathlessly. “If I may say so.”

Quinn’s breath came as haltingly, the beads of sweat on his brow telling of the effort he'd put his body through during the dance. He didn't answer immediately, though he extended the crook of his arm to escort her from the floor as was fitting. Yet he bore a smile on his face; for the effort, and indeed for the falseness of the conceit, he was rather enjoying himself.

By the time he'd returned the Lady North to her previous locale, Quinn had slowed his breathing down enough to reply.

“I must admit, my lady, I don't know whether to find offense, humor, or honor in that statement.” He lifted her hand and bowed. “Yet perhaps I shall find honor this time. Life is too short to find offense, and I should rather find my humor elsewhere, for honor and humor rarely make for good bedfellows.

“My thanks for the dance, Lady North. Perhaps I may see you again before the end of the night? You make a stunning partner.”

“Of course,” Lady North said with a smirk, and tapped her fan on Quinn’s chest. “Tell my butler to show you to the West End Room. It is one close to my quarters. Perhaps a rendezvous can be in order later tonight. I will send for you.”

“My lady.” He kissed her hand and released it, smiling warmly, though the end of one eyebrow raised in a knowing fashion. “You shall find me readily available.”

With a final dip of his head, Quinn turned away, picking his way across the dance floor to find Cordelia and trade notes.
 
H200qnb.png

no-lightbox

Cordelia was, most decidedly, not as much a fan of masques as she had suspected she might be. Anonymity was well and grand on a small scale, but the idea that in the sea of concealed faces before her were countless enemies and only a select few friends?

It stood to reason that despite feeling a bit in over her head, she had nevertheless uncovered some useful bits of information, but that didn't appease her much at all. Anxious did not begin the describe her state of mind.

Following her dance with the Krei that she decided a breath of fresh air might be in order. A moment, to gather her wits. Moving past the crowd, she again found her way to the doors leading to the gardens, stepping out into the coolness of night.

As soon as he parted from Lady North, Quinn followed. Her exit had not been as surreptitious as Cordelia might have liked, or perhaps Quinn was simply more observant than he took credit for. Either way, as he petitioned the hostess for a dance, he'd seen her leave. As soon as he had escorted his partner from the floor, he'd made for the same doorway, glass of wine in hand. He took his time, strolling more than anything, as he took stock of the flora that had been carefully maintained. It was impressive, certainly; even his rough shod self could appreciate the effort and beauty.

His path led him near his fellow Thief, and Quinn lingered before a bush of dainty white roses, opposite the stone walk from Cordy.

“The flowers bloom well tonight, though perhaps one has to seek their perfume with intention. A boon; it prevents those who might not appreciate them from knowing.”

Had she anticipated being followed by anyone, it wasn't the figure she saw as she turned towards the familiar voice. Behind the black lace of her mask, her expression of surprise couldn't be well contained, “Your beard…”

“Ah. Yes.”

His hand came to his jawline, feeling the oddly smooth skin uncomfortably as it traveled north to his upper lip. Shrugging, Quinn took a sip of wine after placing his other hand behind his back in formal relaxation.

“It was scratchy and obvious. A minor sacrifice, really, to sport such a wonderful and daring mask, don't you think?”

Studying him for a moment, Cordelia smiled, “It's new, takes a bit of getting used to, but… it suits you. And you and Sothal certainly went for making a statement with your costumes. Have you had any luck?”

“Hm?” Quinn’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he brought his head up to regard her. A smile spread across his face, satisfied but still bearing some small mournful introspection that his countenance had held a moment before. “Ah; right. Some. There is to be some kind of demonstration tonight, I gather, and one of the servants is to partake by, er, tainting the proceedings. Or maybe more.”

He shook his head, his smile fading. Gesturing vaguely to their surroundings with his glass, he glanced about, seeking any curious ears. There were none.

“I don't regret any death here, my lady. Not from this lot. Yet I don't like what it portends. But our liege has informed me Lady North is none too keen. I've arranged a-” Quinn paused, considering, and his smile returned. “-rendezvous of sorts later. Hopefully she will divulge what we need to know.”

“It's for me…” Cordelia offered with a frown, “For the Cabal, anyway. The demonstration Renou and Altrey are involved. And I'm beginning to think it's far worse than anything we imagined it might be. Sothal wants you there, Quinn, and I can't say I disagree with the notion.”

Rubbing her arms, she shifted her eyes skyward, “Jerian… Sothal’s brother… he's taken great interest in my presence here, and to be frank, Quinn… he frightens me. He did before I'd actually met him. He… there's a chance he murdered Sothal’s brother. I don't think going into this alone would be wise. Do you think you could get an invite from Lady North?”

“That shouldn't be a problem; I was trained by one of the best, and I can be persuasive. But I'm uncertain about, er, attending the demonstration.” His brow furrowed. “I'm not particularly handy in a fight.

“Though the Prince- er, Emrys seems to think his brother wouldn't bring anyone to harm. I'm not sure how trustworthy that point of view is, honest though it may be, but we can work with it for now.”

Quinn tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

“What good does he think I'll be?”

“If I half understood the way that man thinks…” Shaking her head, she looked back at Quinn, “Fairly certain he just doesn't want me going in there alone. Jerian is unpredictable, at best, and Sothal knows as much. And I can't exactly risk exposing who I really am. It's a bit of a mess.”

“No. No, that wouldn't do. And of course he can't be there himself…”

Quinn fell quiet, contemplative. It was perhaps a good thing: the ridiculous costume he wore may take some attention off his friend during the meeting, provided he could persuade Lady North to invite him, and as Cordelia was far more valuable to the Cult than he was, that was no bad thing. Yet no one, no matter how race, faced the prospect of potential capture and torture without at least some small hesitation.

“You've not spoken of yourself,” the Baladuri cut in suddenly. “save as was relevant to my news. How has the night been for you?”

“I’m not such a fan of masques, as it were…” Frowning, she pushed her own mask back, briefly, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’ve managed, rather unintentionally, to grab the attention of more than Prince Jerian, it would seem. Lady North has a Krei friend, as well… I’ve not yet decided what part he plays, but he’s coming to the demonstration. I met North’s sister, as well… She’s different from the others. Not at all interested in the frivolity - and she doesn’t like what her sister’s gotten wrapped up in. I’m not sure if it’s worth pursuing, but she’s certainly one to watch. Have you seen any of the others?”

Nodding, Quinn gave his mask a small shove, pushing it onto his forehead to relieve the pressure it was creating around his eyes. He rubbed his temples before taking another sip.

“I spoke with Adele Liathe, Lady North’s friend. She said that she was excluded from the inner circle, but seemed to know more than she let on. There-” He paused. “Ah. You meant the others. Er, no; apart from the Prince himself, I've not met with anyone else yet, though I did see Mies with Eliza Faraday and Berilus Noromande. I know little of them myself, though you may know more.”

“I'm afraid not. Only other one I've met is Alice Kentworth. Miserable woman. Mentioned an Asterly, but I've not met him, either. I might see if I can't find Lady Liathe, myself… though if she was excluded, perhaps not. She won't likely take kindly to the likes of the Cabal. Damnable eyes. I'll have to ask Kyler how he manages to change the color of his, even if it is likely to leave the poor thing blind.”

With a sigh, she returned the mask to its proper place, “Everyone knows now… Who Sothal is. It's strange. I've held on to it over a decade and now it's just out there.” Her fingers trailed the length of string around her neck, beneath the extravagant necklace she wore and found the ring tucked into her gown bodice, “He'll need us more than ever, I think… after tonight.”

Quinn looked down, suddenly examining his glass more closely.

“Aye.”

The Prince didn't have long to live; he was sure of it. Even with whatever this Ambrose Tome could do, it didn't seem like it would do much for Sothal. He seemed to hold out hope for Cordelia, which was noble certainly, yet…

I want to name you as my successor in title.

He hadn't told anyone yet, nor had he taken time to consider the full implications of Sothal asking it of him. It was an odd time for it to come to mind, yet Cordelia’s concern was infectious if in fact in a different way.

Shaking her head, Cordelia returned the ring to its place, smiling vaguely, “Well, best not linger too long. Be careful, Quinn… and send word if you manage to get an invite.” Reaching out, she touched his arm, before turning to head back inside.


 
Kylar had laughed at how easily he had manipulated the noblewoman that had all but thrusted herself upon him, the room they had occupied close to where Lady North and her sister had their rooms. After giving the noblewoman a drugged wine Kylar turned his costume inside out, the costume taking on a far more sinister look as he redressed, making sure the weapons he had hidden in his clothing wer easily accessible as he looked at a mirror, sighing slightly as he imagined how much a mirror would cost him for his own personal uses.

He looked up and down the hallway from the bedroom and slipped out, closing the door on the now sleeping noblewoman as he pulled up a hood and donned a mask, only his eyes visible through his outfit. 'Time to get to work.' He thought as he recalled the location of the rooms, pulling out a garrote wire made of an incredibly dursile spider web that some business partners had procured for him.

He ghosted his way through the hallways, staying quiet and using the shadows to hide himself whenever a guard passed by him, suddenly thankful for the drunkard prince he knew as Sothal for arriving, pulling more guards to the main party. He placed his feet with careful precision, soft leather boots making little sound with each step as he approached the first room, young Betaley's room, making sure that no guards were around and lifting the door on its hinges to make sure that there was little noise as he opened it and slippes inside.

Kylar turned and groaned inwardly, draws and cupboards against most walls and no doubt he'd have to search all of them. Collecting himself and taking a deep breath he started looking, starting at the desk which had a heavily melted candle on it, indicating a fair bit of use, though harboring no results, finding only inkwells, a couple of quills and some loose sheets of paper with some sketches on them.

From there he searched all the other draws, going so far as to pull all the draws out to look for hidden compartments behind them, though finding nothing. He did the same with the cupboards finding a dizzying amount of dresses and a small locked chest, which after thirty seconds and a lockpick, revealed nothing but a pouch of gold coins, which Kylar swiftly pocketed before returning it all back to normal.

He closed the door and began to ponder, "If I were a young noblewoman with a diary where would I hide it?" He asked himself, eyes resting on the bed and making Kylar mentally slap himself as the realisation hit him like the Tainted had. He walked towarda the bed when he heard the door creak open, a guard checking for any intruders in the mansion, making Kylar curse as he darted forward, fist flying out and hitting the guard in the nose and pulled him into the room before he could get out a warning.

The insueing struggle ended with Kylar garroting the guard while muttering, "Just go to sleep." Like a lullaby to the guard, who finally slumped dead after a minute of struggling. This left Kylar with a problem, which he quickly solced as he hid the body in one of the cupboards and broke the lock so it couldnt be opened again, turning back to the bed and reaching under the mattress to pull out a beautiful red leather journal, which he immediately began to read as he pulled out his own small journal, recording any names and dates he could find.

"Gregory Asterly, Edmond Renou, Caltador Liathe, Percel Renou, Eliza Faraday, Nettalie Willaby, Sebbet Asterly, Kevin Larough, Jaston Kinsingto... Oh shit..." he said as he wrote down all that he found, though it seemed that Betaley wasn't aware to her sisters dealings with these people it seemed that Jaston Kinsington was here the day before he died.

"One down, one to go." He muttered as he hid the journal where he had hidden it, before leaving the room and the corpse he had hidden within it.
 
Let Me Lynn'd You A Hand

an @Effervescent and @Doctor Jax collab

Lady Saleith North was left dumbfounded as Quinn had left her presence. Her mouth was still agape long after the Baladuri had left her presence, her ear to her friend next to her as another approached her side. They were chatting about the handsome man and whether or not Saleith should pursue him.

“I heard his wine is the best in Faledrin,” the lady to her right dressed as a blue bird said thoughtfully.

“He would just take advantage of the wealth of your estate,” the woman on the left dressed as a goat added.

“He’d just be a bit of fun, girls,” Saleith said apathetically. “He’s chocolates and sweets, but he is no substance. Let me have my indulgences without you thinking of marriage, hmm? Where’s Adele? Marlena, fetch me Adele, would you?”

“She’s not being very nice,” the Goat Marlena said.

“When is she ever?” Saleith quipped. “I need her, please?”

“Very well,” Marlena said as she reluctantly left to find Saleith’s best friend. Lady North waved Tamerlin over.

“Wine,” she demanded with a snap of her fingers.

Quickly, Tam hurried to Lady North’s side, holding up a carafe of wine. He did his best not to repeat his prior flub, keeping an eagle eye on the line of wine that filled the glass. So far, he had only heard her and her ladybirds gaggle over a Fallenite that Tam was three-fourths sure had to be Quinn, at least from his voice. In the interim, he read the note that had been passed to him by Kylar who, admittedly, fooled him for a good thirty seconds before he figured out what had happened. No weapons on the guards because of Sothal… Useful to know, though not particularly helpful to me.

“Lady North!” a voice called out. It was the disgruntled noblewoman from before, her skirt stained from the wine Tamerlin had spilled. Saleith looked almost appalled by the interruption, but quickly noted the disaster that spotted the fabric of her gown.

“Lady Kensington,” Saleith said with confusion, but before she could inquire into the intrusion, Lady Kensingnton spoke up.

“This damnable servant spilled his wine all over my dress!” she exclaimed. Lady North took a step away from Tam as if he carried the plague, her hands clinging to her skirt as she pulled the dress away from him.

“Spilling drinks on my guests?” Lady North rhetorically asked. “What is my rule? Repeat it!”

Tam racked his brains. He’d been told several times what the “rules” were, especially as the head matron had had to hire outside help and they’d drilled and drilled and drilled.

“Out of sight, out of mind. Not a wit of trouble out of us, or our hides be coverin’ your mantle, Madame North,” Tam recited in a thick northern accent, wincing behind his mask.

“I am so sorry, Lady Kensington,” Saleith apologized, gloved hand at her chest for emphasis before waving over a footman. “Take this little imp to Albert. He knows what to do.”

The footman complied without a word, his hand reaching out to grab Tamerlin’s arm. They were headed away from the party towards the servant’s staircase leading down to their quarters.

“Please don't fight me off,” the footman pleaded in a whisper. “It'll be both of us down there if you do.”

Tam, suddenly, realized his fate the moment the footman had grabbed him, though the whispered word of warning only solidified his notion. I have somehow managed to get myself pulled into the lion’s den. I don’t think I’ll have to look for Lynn anymore… His stomach roiled as he wondered what, exactly, awaited him where he was about to be “reprimanded”.

Though if he got out of this with his ticker in tact and most of his limbs, he would be asking Quinn for one on the house after spilling a good bushel of information.

It was only two flights of stairs and a journey down a long hallway before Tamerlin was handed off to the man named Albert. He was not exactly the strongest looking fellow, but the sickly tone of his skin and dark circles around his eyes were a clear sign of a Shadow Caster. Albert flashed his yellowing teeth in a grin at Tamerlin as his fingers curled around the collar of his shirt to drag him further.

“You’ll be a funny lookin’ one when you turn,” he mused. “Ah, too bad you’ll miss the show tonight. You’d get to see what’s in your future. But tonight I'll get you started up for conditioning. For record’s sake, who were you workin’ under?”

Tamerlin’s skin prickled with goosebumps. Indeed, in the lion’s den he was. So this was what happened to servants who displeased their masters in Windfeld. The short man racked his brains, trying to remember the woman’s name.

“Madge. Madge Arkson,” Tamerlin stated, trying to keep a calm head.

He needed to get out of here. If he could get this man to lead him down to the chambers where they were keeping the rest, perhaps Tamerlin could go about picking the lock on his cage before he was used. Though, that was assuming things went to plan and he had an opening before… “conditioning”.

“Madge Arkson,” Albert repeated in a mumble as he guided Tam down the halls and another set of stairs. The lights grew dimmer and dimmer the further they traveled as there were no windows to let in natural light. Eventually the halls were made of stone and wooden beams and carried a constant chill in the stale air.

The end of the line brought Tamerlin to a sturdy oak door that looked to take every ounce of Albert’s strength to wrench open with one arm. It groaned by the hinges allowing the dim light to slowly pour into the dark room. Lined and stacked upon the walls of the narrow room were cages, all filled with people quietly peering out from the bars. They looked sickly and weary, and the dark pulse of Shadow Taint could be seen upon their skin.

The eyes of the caged ones followed Tam as Albert threw him into one of the empty cages and secured the lock. No one said a word or called out for help. Even as the door closed away the light they remained silent. It wasn't until Albert’s footsteps could no longer be heard that a soft voice cut through the void.

“Mr. Timothy?”

Tam grit his teeth as he surveyed his surroundings, the words “Mr. Timothy” grabbing his attention as he recognized one of his many, many pseudonyms. He was not one to forget a voice, or a face, and while he could not see the latter, he recognized the former.

“Lynn? Lynn, is that you?” Tam asked, rushing to clutch the bars of his cramped cage. He was far, far underneath the estate -- not a good place to be, if you wanted to escape. No, he was going to need some help getting out, especially seeing as there was one way in and one way out. Albert might end up having to be, er…. Expendable.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed in a whisper.

“Shut your gab,” another voice whispered. “You’ll get us killed.”

Lynn ignored the warning as she continued to speak quietly to Tam in the darkness of the room. “Did they turn you yet?”

“No, they’ve not touched me. I’ve been looking for you,” Tam said in a hiss, riffling around in the dark within his clothes. It was a good thing Lynn was fairly small. She could fit in his outfit and he could wear his alternate garb, but first he needed to lockpick his way out of this cell. He looked around realizing there were many more servants than he’d anticipated…

He couldn’t save them all. But then again, he’d only promised to save one.

“Is there only one way in and out?” Tam asked.

“There is,” Lynn replied, another hush following her words. She fell silent for a time, and the darkness became a void once again as they all insured no one was coming.

“They don't lock the door,” she finally added. “I guess because of the locks on the cages. Anyone who has gotten out we’ve never seen again. Not sure if it can be done.”

“Well… I’ll see about that,” Tam muttered to himself as he removed from his pocket a couple of picks. He had figured he’d need them to break Lynn out of the cages -- but he hadn’t anticipated that it would be he who would need breaking out. It would be difficult in the dark, but Tam had practice and experience on his side. After about twenty minutes of desperate fiddling, he managed to pop the lock on his cage after a few tries.

The click and metallic clank of the lock’s release stirred the tension in the pitch black room. Tamerlin had been thrown into one of the cages set on the ground, and the person above him took note of the change. “You either die out there or live a monster,” he whispered ominously.

“Did you get it?” Lynn asked.

“Don't be an idiot!” hissed another voice.

“Yes. One moment, please,” Tam said politely, doing his best to keep his head.

He hated that he could not save every last wretch in this den, but he was beholden to one and one only, Lynn. For now, she was the priority. Tam had no way of leading out each person in this hole, and even if he did, the risk that they could all in one fashion or another be Tainted only added to the danger. Lynn, at least, he could keep track of. He popped the lock on her cage and quickly undressed. He handed her the uniform, hoping that it wasn’t too small for her.

“Wear this mask. They will think you a servant. No worries about me -- I’ve my own disguise,” Tam assured, dressing in a set of tight goathair pants and a spare mask. Once put together, the simple costume was easily recognized -- a woodsprite. In the meantime, Lynn would look the part of a servant for Lady North’s entourage. As an overly drunk party guest, perhaps he could bluff their way out.

It was difficult in the dark to dress in such an elaborate ensemble. Lynn didn't want to sit around in a cage anymore like the others. Her hands were trembling as she slipped on each piece offered to her, carefully feeling the fabric to gauge the fronts and hemlines. She wouldn't be sure she was properly dressed until they left the black of the room.

Lynn crept over to the door, hands brushing against the cages for guidance until her hands felt the wood grain and metal handle of the sturdy door. Slowly, she pulled the door open, light pouring into the spaces to reveal the fearful lot behind bars and the woodsprite costume Tamerlin adorned.

“It's clear,” she whispered. “I know the back way out. Gerald took it on his escape. Come on!”

The girl, now dressed as a servant, slipped out the door and secured the mask over her face. She had done well dressing in the dark with only the need to smooth and straighten the direction of the fabric. No one appeared to be patrolling down the subterranean hallways, but just in case Lynn kept her eyes peeled before looking back to make sure Tamerlin was following.

Tamerlin had no problem giving the heading to Lynn, trusting her ability to navigate the underground hall. Experience trumped all, and Lynn had the most of it down here. He hoped that no one looked too hard or questioned too much of their appearance here.

“If anyone asks, you followed me here after I had a bit too much of a tipple and are leading me back to the party,” Tam stated quietly behind her.

She looked back at Tamerlin with confusion pushing down on her eyes from what he could see through her mask. “We’re not headed toward any part of the party,” she said in a low tone. They took another turn down a hallway and purposefully passed a set of narrow stairs. “Won't it look suspicious if we are headed in the opposite direction?”

Tam quietly cursed. That was right. They were headed out, not towards the main event.

“Whatever the case may be, I’m a rowdy drunk who had a bit much and am now in need of an escort. That may allay some fears on the part of guards. They’re not armed tonight,” said Tam. “I’ll try to do most of the talking.”

She trusted Tamerlin without much of a counter, possibly due to the man essentially saving her life. Lynn was still a keen girl as she snuck through the halls with a light foot and checked corners before continuing on. This was, after all, a route she had taken before. Only last time she had the diversion of Gerald turning into his Tainted form.

There were footsteps and conversation in the hall leading towards the stairs that caused the girl to pause and look at Tamerlin with concern. “Do the drunk thing,” she whispered to him. “This is the only way out I know of. Maybe we can get past whoever it is.”

She offered her arm for him to lean against her. The girl had experience in hauling around drunkards.

Tamerlin took hold of Lynn’s offered limb and took on a stumbling gait, leaning heavily against the small girl. His feet seemed to tangle together as he put his head down and weakly “fought” against her grip.

“I jus’ lookin’ fer the wash closet,” Tam slurred, throwing in a hiccup for good measure. “I gotta piss, lad.”

“Damn dog fights,” one of the men down the hall muttered before Tamerlin and Lynn rounded the corner. “Demonstration is supposed to happen tonight again. Hopefully it won't end up like the last.”

“I fully support the idea, honestly,” the other man said. “An army of Tainted at your command? Faledrin is finally unstoppable. The Cabal’s funding in this has helped us.”

“Nah, just the Noble District.”

“Well that is us.”

They were two guardsmen standing post by the stairs, and at the sound of Tamerlin’s drunken play they turned quickly to face them. Lynn continued to carry him closer and closer to the stairs until they were halted by the blades of both guards. Both men looked between the two with confusion evident in their somewhat stern expressions.

“What are you doing down here?” one of the guards asked. “You shouldn't be down here.”

“That's what I told ‘im,” Lynn said as she shifted Tam’s weight up around her grasp. “Chased ‘im all the way from the wine, I did.”

“Then take him back to the party,” the guard said pointedly. “Servants aren't allowed off the premise. You know this.”

This was not something Lynn knew, and it was evident in her staggering words as she tried to quickly conjure an excuse. It seems in her time within the dark room things had changed. Perhaps even within the night where servants were notified in a last minute briefing.

“We’ll go ‘round then,” she finally stammered out. “Come on, m’lord.”

[/hr]

 
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The North Estate

The noblemen crowded around Prince Jerian like eager chicks to the mother bird, mouths nearly agape as they chirped wide eyed at the presence of royalty before them. Jerian fed them his knowledge of what was transpiring in Dradmida, regurgitated from what his sister had revealed to him hours earlier. It was sustenance enough to send the men flying.

“How could they!” Baron Liathe grumbled in disbelief. “The Cabal is supposed to be on our side! They've funded this entire operation!”

“Quiet, Liathe,” Lord Altrey advised. They were in a private room with guards stationed both inside and out, yet they all knew the North estate was far too big to dismiss possibilities.

“They've betrayed your royal house,” Jerian continued. “You give them the command to our army and they will betray you, too. They think us pawns in their little game. Lackeys and underlings. But that is because they underestimate Faledrin. I know you all to be capable men, and from what I understand you all now hold the full power of Shadow. Let us strike down those who oppose us. Tonight we can send a message to the Cabal, for one of them is here tonight to witness your achievements. Only one. The Cabal will get their Demonstration. Gentlemen, I propose we go to war.”


The guards were on a cyclic patrol throughout the estate, doubly so now that two princes occupied the spaces. They could be seen like shadows quietly moving about, ever alert as they kept a keen eye for anything amiss. A man of the shadows, however, would go unnoticed. And so Kylar was able to slip through the rooms with ease never alerting the patrols to his duties behind closed doors. At least, not after the mishap.

Though the unfortunate repercussion of such mishap was to suddenly make one’s self noticeable. As the guards cycled through to other stations for the next half hour, one man found himself without a relief. The third floor corridors were without one guard, and the man called out for his relief before waving over the nearest comrade.

“Do you know who was suppose to be posted here?” he asked his comrade.

“I think it was Derrick,” the comrade answered with a shrug. “I seen him a few ago turning the corner there.”

“Just my luck,” the guard said with a roll of his eyes. “Probably got lucky again tonight, the bastard.”

“Regardless, he shouldn't be doin’ that on the job,” the comrade hissed. “We can't keep coverin’ for him every time his dick gets tingly.”

“I'll just take over both duties I suppose,” the guard said. “Unless you'd like to help. It'll be all our asses if it's not covered.”

With a groan, the comrade agreed, and the two carried on with their duties -and Derrick’s- with mild disdain. Kylar was safe...for now…



Sothal’s public inebriation stirred quiet concern among the masked party goers. Their romanticized Crowned Prince had come to a rather disappointing reality as he nearly stumbled into a man dressed as a hound and wandered bleary eyed outside. For the most part, he was still cognizant, but it was clear there was an internal struggle. He tried his best given his chosen state of being to mark the exits and count the guards and their exchange of patrol. Focusing was difficult even in his experience.

“If I may, your majesty.”

Betaley North hesitantly approached Sothal in genuine concern, but the guards that followed him quickly intervened her path. Sothal waved them off as he sat himself down on a bench facing the gardens, and they complied and allowed Betaley to sit with him. Despite his less than regal appearance and her desire to speak with him personally, she still felt nervous in his presence. She looked behind them at the lively party thoughtfully, her mind wandering to the Cabal woman and their brief exchange.

“Did you just want to sit with me?” Sothal asked with slight amusement. She didn't share in the muted jovial tone, her expression more fixed to a defensive frown.

“Did you come here to investigate my family?” she pointedly asked.

“That’s not exactly a job for a prince,” Sothal answered flatly. “Are you electing to incriminate them?”

“That Tainted that attacked Windfeld came from my home,” Betaley said. “I saw it come from the door to the basement. Just over there. I know it's illegal to hire Tainted, but I'm not sure any of us knew.”

“Are you sure of that?” Sothal asked as he leaned forward. Looking her way made him nauseous, and he was attempting to keep his upper body from swaying.

“I would like to think them innocent, your majesty,” Betaley responded defensively. “But I admit it is speculation. I don't want my sister to suffer through defamation.”

“There has to be repercussions for one’s wrongdoings, Lady North,” Sothal said. “Otherwise Faledrin would become its rumored pit of instability.”

“I can give you a list of names to point fingers for the blame,” Betaley added with a bit of desperation. And amidst her plea he fell over on the bench, catching himself by his elbow before pushing himself back up to sit properly. It caused the young noblewoman pause as she stared at her Prince blankly.

“Realms,” she whispered, and then leaned in towards him. “Are you legitimately drunk? You're actually…”

Her disbelief was cut off by a serious stare through half lidded eyes. Betaley almost looked betrayed by the realization, and he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He had been so consumed in calming his own nerves and drowning his own fears selfishly that he neglected to keep his focus. Or rather, his focus was consumed on an aspect that was not to the Cult of Thieves motive. They were meant to investigate the trail left behind by the Tainted and the mystery surrounding the Cabal within Faledrin. Yet there he was sulking about siblings and Cordelia’s stubbornness while trying to mask his concern for her safety when she was a capable woman.

His drunken introspection was more his typical brooding in silence. Being in the company of a nervous noble who only viewed him as royalty left him wanting for Quinn’s stern disapproval or Cordelia’s candid points.

“Your sister is hosting a private event tonight,” Sothal said. “Do you know anything of it?”

“I do not, your majesty, I'm sorry,” Betaley apologized. “Saleith has only talked about the party and who is coming. I wasn't aware of any private event.”

“Then perhaps you can direct me to that entrance to your basement,” he suggested. “The one where that Tainted came from the other day.”

Betaley rose hesitantly to a stand with Sothal, and helped him keep his stability with a light grasp upon his arm. Her heart quickened. This was the closest she had ever been to royalty, and it was more concerning than exciting. She had always imagined more of an ideal setting with a flirtatious air and wooing. But her young heart had steered clear of her fantasy now that she knew the reality and instead focused on her sister and the implications her Prince put forward.

“Are you saying there's a correlation?” she asked.

“There might be,” he said as the guards followed. They headed through the side of the garden and down a hill.

“So you are investigating?”

“I might be.”

@Red Thunder @Elle Joyner @Doctor Jax @Rowboat @rissa @RiddL