Shadow of a Doubt

Effervescent

Effervescent

|| Perpetual GM ||
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Shadow of a Doubt
A 1x1 with @Elle Joyner​

O R A C L E
⦙⦙ RACE |Faledrin ⦙⦙ MAGIC | Shadow ⦙⦙ AGE | 26 ⦙⦙ WEIGHT | 110 lbs ⦙⦙ HEIGHT |5'4"
personality

Cordelia is a simple creature, with a very complex sense of morality. Where the Cult is concerned, whatever is necessary is fine by her standards, but in everyday life, she exists within a strict parameter of self control seen pertinently in the way she approaches her abilities. Most particularly, Cordelia will not 'read' anyone that she has any sort of deeply rooted emotional attachment to. She can be exceptionally guarded, where her feelings are concerned, but is nevertheless a warm, open individual, quite easy to talk to, promoting a sense of trust and reliability in most she interacts with. When working, Cordelia is extremely focused, tackling every job with the uttermost attention to detail. She can be a bit of a magpie, collecting odd trinkets here and there, largely for strangely sentimental reasons.

PERSONALITY TRAITS

POSITIVE: Intuitive | Focused | Encouraging
NEGATIVE: Guarded | Emotional | Wary

history

Weapons of Preference || None

Cult Specialization ||Cordelia utilizes a mild form of Shadow magic, tapping into the Darkness to allow her the ability to sift through thought and memory of an individual she comes in physical contact with, or, conversely to shield memories from said individual. This ability makes her an extremely efficient purveyor of information, which she uses to aid the Cult of Thieves. Because of the sensitive nature of her magic, and admittedly a bit of paranoia on her part, Cordy is extremely cautious and shields her location using the same method she would to repress a thought or memory - she also uses a pseudonym, to protect her identity, going by the name Oracle for almost any she comes in contact with.

Years within the Cult of Thieves|| Eleven Years

Fortune favors those with a fortune to favor… or so the story goes in Faledrin. A glittering bandage slapped over a festering wound looks are always deceiving for anyone who lacks the vision to really see. One thing Cordelia Briggs has never lacked is vision. Born on a starless night, she came into a broken, damaged world more tool than child and for this, the first several years of her life were hard.

Shadow Magic was not a dirty word in Cordelia's home, but a way of life, one taught to the child before her mind could comprehend the consequences. Visions, her mother called it. The ability to see into the minds, the thoughts, the memories of others. The perfect con… her father's preferred term. And he wasn't entirely wrong. They made an enviable team, sweeping through the city, accruing wealth and infamy, and no one the wiser for it. It really was nearly flawless… until her mother died.

Delving into the Shadows always comes with a price, and Farrah Briggs paid hers shortly before Cordelia's tenth year. By her eleventh, her father had honed her as his new partner. She took to conning like a fish to water, and made of herself a valuable enough commodity. And so they existed for the next five years.

Then one man charged everything. It had been a simple job, a bit of showing off, really. But a brush of the arm, a brush of something secret and her life was forever altered. He called himself Sothal, and he spoke of an opportunity… one greater than her meager existence beneath the heel of her father. He spoke, in many ways of salvation, and Cordelia fell wildly, madly in love with an ideal… a concept. A purpose. She could not say no…

Setting fire to her life and all she knew, Cordelia Briggs vanished into ash and dust, and so it was, the Oracle was born. Her life became a mystery, her identity a vague enigma. The Cult of Thieves became her family, and information… her craft.

appearance

Inside and out, Cordelia Briggs is an unusual young woman. Of average height and thinly sculpted, she carries herself with an air of fluidity, every motion carefully composed and intentional, though never severe or sharp.

Pale for a Fallenite, she nevertheless bears characteristics attributed to her people. Brown hair is kept in loose waves and dreadlocks, which fall well past her waist, often pulled back in scraps of cloth and plaited - ornamented with beads and bangles, blue eyes, wide and eerily bright, set beneath thin, arched brows and thick, dark lashes.

Her clothing choice generally trends towards softer shades and fabrics, primarily varying patterns of lace. Rarely is she seen with shoes, something of a statement towards her more free spirited nature.
writing sample

"You're out of your bleedin' mind, Oracle..." Slamming the tankard on the table, Joshua rose to his full height, which where Cordelia Briggs was considered, was rather towering. All six feet four of him glared down upon her, but the small brunette gave little indication of any anxiety, a single brow arching as she sank back in her seat, flame-blue eyes fixed, lip twitching into a small smirk.

"That was our deal, Joshua. I'm sorry if you misunderstood, but I do believe I've made my conditions quite clear. One cannot barter with information if no information is given, Love. My services are not free, and this has never been a disputed factor of our arrangement. Repressing memories is hardly work and I told you when we began it was going to cost you. This is a transaction. Services rendered, and now it's your turn."

"But he'll kill me... If he finds out I told you--"

"You won't be telling me anything, Joshua. You know that." Extending her hand, she turned her palm up towards the ceiling, giving her fingers a delicate wiggle, "Come on, now. It won't hurt..."

Frowning, Joshua stretched out his own hand, his fingers pulsing with a twitch before he settled palm against palm to Cordelia's.

Reality swam out of existence with the feeling of falling, a plummeting deep in the guts, as sight and sound and smell evaporated into brief, but all encompassing nothingness. Then slowly at first, and steadily faster, like a ripple across the surface of a pond, the vision came to life. Color and space, scent and sound swirling to life. Beside her, Joshua stood slightly hunched, shivering, but a second Joshua stood across the way, the imposing figure he preferred to present, speaking softly to a man very few within Faledrin could mistake. Torrin Balast was the elite of the elite, a dock master with a penchant for stiffing his employees (though that seemed to be the least offensive of his character traits). For six years now, Joshua had been working his way up the rungs until he'd come directly under Torrin, and at last it seemed the Cult would have some valuable intelligence to use against the man.

Joshua's voice rose suddenly, in bellowing baritone, carrying across the dark, empty shipyard, "I told you! Fifteen shipments is too damn many for that few workers, Balast! We can't--"

"You would presume, Mister Habberdash... to tell me what you can or cannot do? Have you forgotten who I am, or are you so miserably thick headed that you honestly think this is something in which you have any say at all? Fifteen shipments... arriving in three days time. Only you, Orson and Casper will handle them... with precision. Should you fail to do so, it is more than your job you will lose. Understood?"

Fists balled tightly, jaw clenched severely, Joshua stepped back, curtains of dark blonde pooling around his haggard features as he bowed his head in a nod, "Understood."

Without another word Balast turned and walked away, leaving Joshua alone.

With the same concussive force, like the jolt of waking from a dream, the scene began to spin away and in moments, the dimly lit back room of the inn returned to focus. Joshua dropped almost unconsciously into his chair, but Cordelia remained on her feet, tapping her chin in thought.

"I... I told you--"

"No." Holding up a finger, Cordelia shot the fisherman a withering look, "Not a word. You know how this works. You finish that statement, Joshua, and I cannot help you."

Swallowing, he lowered his head, "So just do it already... so I can quit feelin' so..."

Opening a box on the table, she produced a small crystal orb, roughly the size of a coin. Palming this in one hand, she reached out with her other, her fingertips glancing along Joshua's jawline, her eyes falling closed for a moment. When they opened again, she dropped her arm to her side and set the orb back into the box. Slowly, Joshua turned his gaze upwards, a brow quirked as a quizzical look stole over his features.

"Sorry... what... what was I saying?"

"You were saying how excited you were that Master Balast has afforded you a night off, in light of all your hard work this season. How you were planning on taking Maggie into town to celebrate."

"Ah, right. Yeah. About damn time, I'd say, but Mags is always so patient. Deserves it, she does."

"Indeed. Well, thank you for your time Joshua. It's been a pleasure as always. You take care of yourself." Smiling faintly, Cordelia moved to the door and the fisherman followed behind. After he'd gone, she moved swiftly, crossing the room. In the corner was a desk and producing a quill and parchment, Cordelia penned out a coded message as fast as her hand would fly. She had to get the letter to her courier within the hour, or it would never reach the Thieves in time. Two nights remaining... it wasn't much for planning, but a hit like this? Fifteen shipments. It was sure to ruin Balast and for that, utter haste was of dire importance... This was what she lived for, these moments, these take downs. As she wrote she glanced up to the large ring hanging from a hook above the desk. The obsidian stone still shown as brilliant as it had the day she'd taken it, the gold inlay glimmering in the candlelight. Slowly, she smiled.

"We've got him, now, Your Majesty."



S O T H A L
⦙⦙ RACE | Human ⦙⦙ MAGIC | Shadow ⦙⦙ AGE | 31 ⦙⦙ WEIGHT | 162 lbs ⦙⦙ HEIGHT | 5'10"
personality
He has a mind for business and a knack for divvying out responsibilities for almost any situation. Sothal can pick out a person's strengths and weaknesses with ease and through that he puts everyone to good use. More often than not, he is a serious man with a lighthearted disposition that only reveals itself in the rare moments of downtime, which often includes heavy drinking. It's as though he were constantly under unspoken stress and by the grace of his patience he is able to keep the overflow in check. He carries an addiction to his relief in inebriation that is only rewarded in excess upon success of a completed task. His mind is always on the job, and always thinking of all paths and possibilities to where he easily misses a joke or glosses over conversation.

Luckily, he is not a man devoid of emotion despite his serious nature. When he allows himself the opportunity to wind down, he becomes a little more vibrant. The alcohol indeed helps to soothe his severity which degrades into a stupor if the night carries on for too long before work arises once again. But in the hours before blackout he can become quite lively, and often the storyteller. Most of his stories are more along the lines of exaggerations, taking from real life experiences and expanding upon them. To him, reality is boring, and he would rather have the thrill of a tall tale than the monotony of realism in his entertainment.
history

Weapons of Preference || Daggers and knives

Cult Specialization || Organizer

Magic Skills || Shadow Jumping - utilizing a connection with The Darkness to transport himself over a short distance

Not much is known of Sothal's past. Those who agreed to bring him into the Cult of Thieves refuse to speak on it either. Sothal has no last name, likely due to it being a pseudonym to begin with. He joined the Cult of Thieves nearly thirteen years ago, though he nearly lost his life in the process. Using his Shadow Magic, he skillfully jumped from path to path within the forgotten catacombs of the Labyrinth until he appeared right in the Underbelly itself. Shadow jumping without knowing where one is headed is ill advised, but Sothal had been experimenting and quickly picking up on the nuances of its manipulation. He landed right within the secret den of the Cult of Thieves taking them all by surprise.


They were going to kill him. They had their weapons drawn, yet instead they hesitated long enough to consider his skill. Here was a man who could get anywhere, even places meant to be secret. Sothal could have easily run away just as he came, and yet he too found himself hesitant within intrigue. These people were the fabled Cult of Thieves, and the stories he had heard over the years blossomed into an invigorating sense of new purpose. He wanted to be one of them, and with his starry eyes they took him under their wing.


He inherited the role of the Organizer around eight years ago after the former organizer, Jensen, died while trying to take down a Tainted. Since then, he has helped in continuing the Cult of Thieves' operations running smoothly by organizing assets and ensuring the right task is given to the right hands. The numbers within the Cult of Thieves has dwindled over the years, mostly due to untimely deaths either on the job or due to plague.
details

STRENGTHS
Intelligent

Strategist

Patient



WEAKNESSES
Serious

Workaholic

Alcoholic

appearance

He is a man whose face changes with the lighting. In darkness, he gives off an eerie air as his deep brows and slight features cast shadows to give an unsettling air. His eyes are dark grey carrying bags of sleep deprivation and age that always look a bit lifeless and worn, especially emphasized in dim lighting. During the day he looks well groomed to a degree, at least more so than the typical citizen parusing Windfeld. He shaves on occasion, but more than likely his jawline will carry the result of grooming negligence.

The scars that line his body are rarely seen, for he tends to dress in layers that cover most of his skin. His upper lip is prominent when not covered by his cowl, and his cowl is only used when he feels it is needed. Being around Windfeld's lower class means being around people who don't particularly care how one dresses or if they don fabric to conceal half their face. It was a typical appearance regardless as plagues began to spread through the city, and so it suited him best to continue anonymity.

While not overly tall, Sothal's lithe build carries toned musculature under his attire, which mostly consists of overused coats, outdated and dulled from weather and time. His leathers are often soften and faded from use, though never combersome. He keeps his ensemble simple to allow for maneuverability with minimal contributions to noise.
 
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Eleven Years Prior
"Sanctimonious, Cordelia. That's what you are. You're sanctimonious. Course, a stupid girl like you probably doesn't know what that word even me--"

"Morally superior." Gaslight blue eyes followed Warren Briggs as he paced across the floor of his office, his hands knotting into fists at the quiet interruption. He swung round, but Cordelia did not flinch. He had never struck her. He wouldn't. Her face was her best commodity, as he reminded her daily. One was less inclined to look for trouble where a pretty face was concerned. It wasn't in truth her best commodity. They both knew that, but it scared him, the Shadow Magic...

It scared her, too. Not that that stopped him from exploiting it.

"And a smartarse, to boot." With a sigh, he sank down into the wooden chair behind his desk, spindly fingers splayed against the arms. He had the hands of a pickpocket... long and lean, swift and sharp. But he didn't do the work, anymore. He hadn't for some time, now. "One of these days, Cordy... you're gonna catch me in a foul mood and it's gonna cost you. Now, I'll tell you again, you get out there and you do the job. No more of this tryin' to tell me what's right or not about it. Know what ain't right, Little Girl? Us livin' in squalor the way we are when all them uppercrusty types, they got more than enough for the lot of us. Only takin' our share's what we're doin'."

"I never said it wrong." Cordelia murmured, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. The hem had frayed beyond repair and the hole was large enough to fit her thumb through. "I only don't understand why it's always me that has to do it."

"You know why." Her father grunted, reaching across the desk for his pipe.

"Meyers. He said... He said before Mum came along, you were just as good as the rest of us. That... that all we needed was to be smart about it. We didn't need-"

"Ain't how we work anymore. Easier's always better... I ain't teachin' you to be smart, Cordelia. I'm teachin' you how to stay alive."

"But I don't want to use--"

"Oi!" He barked, slamming a hand against the surface of the desk with a loud smack that made Cordelia jump, "Enough! You'll do it, and you'll do it my way, or you can find yourself another hole to lay your head, hear me? Now get out of here... and don't come back till you've got your quota."

With a sigh, Cordelia stood and swinging on her faded linen cloak, gave her father one last look before moving to the door, stepping out into the hot midday sun. The weather had been unseasonably warm that month and Windfeld was parched, her dusty streets scorched and cracked. It wasn't ideal weather for anything outdoors, but it made the people slow and dull, and that ultimately made her job easier. It was a ten minutes walk from her father's place of business (as he was apt to call it), to the gates, busy, despite the heat with merchants and seamen hawking their wares in loud, boisterous voices, children dashing about ankles, chasing stray cats and dogs. Always, Cordelia envied them their wild sense of freedom, how easy their smiles came, how uncomplicated their lives seemed. She wasn't much older, she knew, though her exact age seemed to depend most on whatever was convenient for her father, but she felt aged... worn thinner than vapor.

He would drive her into the grave, her father... The way she was sure he had her mother. Young as she might have been, Cordelia couldn't take much stock in the story he'd told that she'd run off, though if it were true, it wasn't as if the woman could be blamed. The sad fact remained there wasn't much hope for any of them in Windfeld. Life was hard among the little folk... and if it wasn't from overworking, it would be starvation or disease or a knife to the throat while another cut your money purse. They had to make do, and she couldn't fault him for being the way he was. In a strange fashion, she loved her father... and in his own way, she knew he loved her, too.

Catching sight of the gates, Cordelia slowed and peered through the small crowd. It was less busy here, though she supposed that was because few had ample reason to be so close to the noble district, even fewer in the exhausting inferno. Pushing back her hood, she cleared her throat, flashing a brilliant smile as she called out over the noise.

"Who among you has courage enough to know what's coming? Tell your fortune for a coin... if you dare!"
 
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They had been tracking her activity for some time that year. Cordelia was of great interest to the Cult of Thieves due to her fascinating and exotic abilities with Shadow Magic. While most practitioners of that particular unnatural magic were rising to power once again and spreading chaos, Cordelia curiously did not seem to be crazed by it. Sothal sat on the edge of the road as carts wheeled past on the dry streets. He knew she'd end up there, right on the other side calling out for business. Most scurried past her, never daring to connect with her striking blue gaze. He knew they didn't know what she could really do. Their fear was more that of being wrangled into a fortune and swindled by a pretty face. Her prey would still come eventually, and so Sothal had to act before she became occupied.

Rising up, he sighed with disenchantment. Jensen had briefed him on his task and talked up her magic as something to be spooked about. He was no stranger to the art of Shadow. What made her so special to be considered at such a young age?

As he walked up to the girl, he sized her up and judged her before even speaking to her. Cordelia was small and unimpressive by every stretch of the word. He couldn't imagine how someone like her could work out in an organization like the Cult of Thieves even with her alleged abilities. Sothal was sent to confirm their suspicions. His eyes settled upon her, inviting hers to meet his gaze as he offered her a brief smile.

"Fortune, you say?" Sothal spoke as he halted before her. His head tilted curiously as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and produced a copper piece. "A coin it is, then. What do ya do now? Read my palm or sommat?"
 
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It wasn't easy, picking up business in a part of town that was so far gone from her usual crowd. She might not have been difficult on the eyes, but tattered was tattered, and even in a queen's gown, it would've been a fit task disguising sunken cheek bones and exposed ribs. It was the weathered, weary, beaten down look of the lower class, and it drove away clientele like the signs of leprosy. But it was also the only place in Windfeld one was likely to find anyone dumb enough to believe in fortune... of any kind.

And eventually, there was always someone too curious to resist. Today, as luck would have it, she managed to snag a particularly fine looking fish. He was young... younger than the usual mark, with dark features, the kind women usually swooned over themselves for. He didn't necessarily scream money, but that didn't mean anything, particularly when her eyes sank from the lustrous pools of grey he fixed on her to the hunk of black and gold on his middle finger.

Loot like that would keep her father quiet and content for a solid week... Might even put a decent meal on the table for once.

A smile curved at the corner of Cordelia's mouth and her gaze returned to his as with a shrug, she rocked back on her heels, giving the edge of his elbow a gentle pat, "...I mean, I could read somethin' else, if you prefer, Sweetie, but that'll cost ya extra." With a wink, she pocketed the coin, then held out her hand, giving her fingers a wiggle, "Now, don't you worry how it works... Sothal, is it?" Her lip tipped slyly upwards again at the use of the pilfered name, a brow lightly curved, "You paid the pretty bird... Just let her sing you a song, hmm?"
 
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He chucked softly at her first glimmer of a trick. Sothal wasn't surprised Cordelia knew that name, after all. It was just a pseudonym that served its purpose well, and while he wasn't a well-known face, those who recognized him in these parts knew him simply as Sothal. A smirk remained upon his lips that tugged to a deep dimple. His weight shifted as his stance became more firmly planted on the slope of the street, arms crossing in a guarded, skeptical fashion.

"Sing me a song, then," he said leaning ever so slightly towards her. The facade he adorned was easy, and made him a rather generic Fallenite of Windfeld from the accent down to the ruddy boots. But there was a definite contrast, even if just subtly, that set him apart from the crowd. Cordelia was beginning to garner an audience eager to see the young girl's performance. His stance straightened once again as he motioned outward to the modest gathering.

"Now you have more than just me to dazzle," Sothal noted playfully. "But I may give you another copper if this one yields poor. Maybe more if you'll read something else, eh?"
 
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Grinning now, and only too grateful for a mark who seemed willing to play along, Cordelia rolled her shoulders, tipping her head from side to side. She stretched out her arms and wove her fingers together, gently plying back the knuckles, before, with effortless grace and poise belying her station in life, she stepped around him, a slow, lazy circle...

"Very well... If you're willing to pay. Today, l will read your soul..." Rounding once more, she paused before him and reaching out, she took hold of both of his hands, her eyes falling closed. "You're a powerful man, Sothal. Or you will be, someday... This isn't the first time you've attracted quite the crowd, and it won't be the last. But be cautious... there is darkness in your path, and if you don't mind your steps, you may fall into it."

Rather suddenly and with a jolt, her eyes snapped opened coming to his. For a moment, only a moment there was something there akin to fear behind the startling blue, her fingers twitching, grip slackening, but only a moment. As she regained herself, her lips curved into a slow, easy smirk, "You wear a mask... but not all is so easily hidden. Some secrets though, are best left to the shadows... I think it's best if we end there, don't you?"

She gave his hands a squeeze, and as she did that ring, that beautiful obsidian thing slid smoothly into her palm and as she straightened, as deftly, into her pocket as she leaned forward, ghosting the shell of his ear with a whisper, "Thank you for your contribution, Your Majesty..."

Rolling onto her heels again, she gave him a wink and small flourishing bow, before she started off the way she'd come.
 
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The small gathering out on the hot street moved their attention from Cordelia to Sothal as they eagerly awaited his reaction to the girl's foretelling. He was unimpressed for the most part, her words generic with a dash of foreboding to incite further inquiry and coin. The initial part could have been applied to anyone and they would find a way to make it true in their minds. Sothal was a bit of a skeptic, especially since he felt no reason to believe that Shadow Magic was at all involved. The Cult of Thieves would be disappointed to be sure, Jensen more than anyone as he had his heart set on recruiting the girl.

But as she leaned in to whisper, his demeanor shifted. Cordelia tied his stomach into knots leaving him to wonder in a momentary daze as she practically danced away. Could it be Shadow Magic or keen intellect? He wasn't sure he liked it at all, either way. A spindly woman meandered up to Sothal's side as she watch her mosey down the street.

"Right strange," she said. He looked over at her curiously and she caught his expression in a double take. "Well she came out 'ere for coin and left with only a copper piece. Right strange."

This prompted Sothal to pat down his person. Cordelia had distracted him to take something of greater value, but his coin purse jingled within the lining of his jacket pocket. Looking down in further contemplation, his eyes landed upon his right hand where once his ring rested. An unsettling feeling overcame him by the prospects of what had transpired, and he set off after Cordelia. It was then the crowd became bored once again and went back to their monotony.

"You there!" Sothal called out to the girl. "Stop!"
 
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She's expected it much sooner, truth be told, but it was to some credit on her part, she supposed, that she had thrown him off enough to distract him rather sufficiently. She'd gotten halfway across the square by the time she heard him calling after her. By all rights, she should have just kept going, but young people, as her father told her frequently, were possessed of a natural arrogance that demanded the satisfaction of approval. She glanced back over her shoulder and catching sight of the vaguely bewildered expression on his face, she could not resist the silvery laugh that escaped.

He'd been had and he knew it, now. Whether he believed she'd discovered the information somehow before and all of it worked coincidentally in her favor or not mattered little. She'd utilized her gift to her advantage and she'd gotten herself a fine prize - one that would make her father proud. Proud enough, she hoped, that he might consider giving her a little more leeway where the magic was concerned...

She had used it, certainly... but had she even needed it?

"You can't think I'm that stupid..." She called back, and spinning on her heels, whipping up the hood of her cloak as she did so, she tore off down the street, into the building crowd. It wasn't as busy as she would have liked - or else she might have simply ducked behind a stall or into an alley and waited until he passed, but she was quick on her feet, surely quick enough to outrun one slumming prince charming.
 
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Jensen had hammered tactics of a chase ever since he began to work with the Cult of Thieves. There was a whole psychology involved that was still beyond him, and so he relied heavily on probability and visuals. Cordelia's tattered cloak fluttered behind her frame as she took off to a spritely run.

This was no longer fun to Sothal. He wasn't entirely sure how the Cult of Thieves would react to his shortcomings with the fortune teller, and he honestly wouldn't use his own clout against them as protection. He was keeping pace with her, still able to keep sight of her curly head despite her height nearly lost in the growing mid day mass. She was quick, but not quick enough, and soon he found his window of opportunity. Just as she crossed into another block Sothal jumped in a cloud of black right to Cordelia's side. He didn't wait for her to respond or slip away, instead grabbing hold of her in a vice of an embrace before jumping once again.

It was the pitchest black that followed with a silence so pure it felt unreal. And then the void was replaced with the interior of a cellar. The two fell from the ceiling onto the floor, surrounded by crates and barrels. Sothal rolled over and winced before pushing himself up from the ground.

"So help me if you do not explain yourself," he threatened, "I will leave you in the Darkness next time."
 
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It wasn't the first time that she'd needed to flee from a mark, but it was probably the first time that she'd ever tried getting away from someone who didn't need to stop to catch his breath, or rest his bum knee. She might've been intimidated, except that she knew the city like the back of her hand and there were twists and turns everywhere... always somewhere to lose someone.

Unless of course they popped out of thin air like a fairy. It occurred to fast, so unexpectedly, that she barely had time for a yelp before his arms slipped around her and yanked her into that bruising hold. The utter oblivion that followed was so perfect, so dark and surreal, so empty and silent that she was sure in that moment, despite the conscious knowing, that he had killed her... that she was dead...

But it lasted only a moment and when the world snapped back into focus they were no longer in the street, but in a small, dusty and darkly lit room. Heart slamming into her chest, she blinked with a small groan, and pushed as far upright as she could, grimacing at the small jolt of pain stretched across her shoulders. Her eyes followed Sothal as he rose, staring up at him.

"...You know..." She finally said, and she pushed the rest of the way upright, dusting herself off, "If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked." Rubbing her elbow with a small flinch, she sighed, glancing his way again, "Very well. Don't suppose you'd accept it was just a really good cold reading? My usual marks aren't so perceptive... but then, they also aren't trained in Shadow Magic. That is what that was, right? It... it's different when I do it."
 
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He wasn't in the mood for anymore games. Cordelia's lighthearted jest was purposefully ignored by Sothal as he unsheathed his knife from behind his jacket and held it out to his side. "I want you to explain to me how you know who I am," he said calmly as he took a step towards her. Even in the dimly lit cellar below the establishment of an unsuspecting owner he could still make out the vibrancy of her eyes. Those striking blue eyes were more haunting to him than what she could allegedly do with her magic. Her confession was still too vague for him to outright gauge if she was of the use the Cult of Thieves was looking for.

"And consider your words," he added. "Carefully. If you know who I really am, you would know I can exact whatever I choose and it never be questioned."

Jensen would probably be laughing at his move. Sothal was always too serious, and with his life it came with too much baggage to avoid a certain level of paranoia. But surely this was what the Cult wanted to see. They wanted to see if the girl before him could divine even the deepest secrets using Shadow Magic. She didn't look to carry the corruption of Shadow upon her features, but then again neither did he. Perhaps, just like his, their magic was different enough not to concern themselves with the inevitable mental decay.

Sothal stepped closer to her, practically breathing upon her face as he spoke down to her. "You will produce my ring," he commanded in a hushed, forceful tone, "and you will explain yourself in its entirety."
 
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Stepping back involuntarily, Cordelia swallowed hard. Despite the fear that flashed through her eyes, she stood straight, with a determined confidence, her hands balled tightly into fists at her sides. She was scrappy, and Meyers had taught her a thing or two about keeping her fists up, about how and when to swing, but there were never knives involved, and Meyers was also but two inches taller than her and skinnier on his good days.

It was decidedly not much fun, anymore... and certainly not the easy task she had anticipated when he had first approached her. Men in his position, they were normally lazy and inexperienced on the streets... and they certainly didn't practice in Shadow Magic or carry dangerously sharp weapons.

"What's to stop you from killin' me after I tell you, anyway?" Narrowing her eyes, she tipped back her chin to meet his gaze defiantly, as he pressed in closer, feet shuffling back again, though there was little space to go, between him and the cellar wall, "It... it's Shadow Magic. I can... tap into it... see thoughts or memories. Of anyone. If I touch them. The longer I hold on, the further back I can go... Sift through, find what I need. I can..."

Frowning, her eyes flicked from his gaze down to the knife, then back, "I can make them go away, too. The memories. If I want. Just... just need a vessel to put them in."

One more step brought her back to the wall and flinching, she felt inside her pocket for the ring, curving her fingers around it. She pulled it out, but didn't hand it over, not immediately. When she spoke again, for the first time, her voice held a quality of youth to it, quivering slightly, "...I just wanted him to be proud of me. So... so he'd leave me alone."
 
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He fixed his gaze to a stare upon her own, silence filling the spaces after her confession as he contemplated its validity. The Cult of Thieves was familiar with her living situation and the tyrant of a father she had to answer to. It was not unlike many unfortunate souls in Faledrin, and just as all of them, Cordelia was unable to run from it all. She seemed genuine; her intent outside of political plot. Here was just another girl trying to scrape by in a kingdom falling further into ruin. But what Sothal couldn't quite grasp was why she would want him to be proud of her.

Sothal eased off from her, taking a step back and sheathing his knife in the process. "You don't need him to be proud of you to have him leave you alone," he pointed out. "If what you say is true, why not just make him forget you?"

Her abilities, as she described, were exactly what Jensen had suspected. It was exactly why they had started to watch her. But since it was so subtle, they were only ever able to speculate until now. Even then, it was the word of a girl and a thief. What if she was a special kind of crazy her Shadow Magic could create? What if she didn't even use Shadow Magic and was just saying it because she had witnessed him use his own?

"Prove to me this is no treasonous plot, then," he said. "Not that we all much like the king, but all things in due time. If this is really about him, then giving him money or a ring isn't going to do you much good in the long run. He won't ever leave you alone, you know. Tomorrow you'll be back to another street swindling for coin. And the next. And the next. You're not solving your problem to reach your goal. You're covering it up with dirt so you don't have to look at it."
 
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With the sound of the blade returned to it's proper place, Cordelia released a breath, clutching her hands to her chest for a moment, where her heart continued it's violent barrage. It was the closest she had come to death's door, and as far as she was concerned, it was far too close for comfort. Whether or not he would have followed through mattered little, though the glint of steel in that grey-eyed gaze told her it was real enough a threat... The risk had outweighed the reward, greatly.

"Maybe you haven't noticed... but there's not much more for us in Windfeld but dirt. A trinket like this..." Uncurling her fist, she glanced down at the ring, frowning softly, "Could feed a family for the winter. Maybe things would go back to the way they were before, but for a while at least it wouldn't be so bad. That's as far as goals go around here.... and it's as far as I ever dare to look."

Dropping her arm again, she slid down the wall, settling on the floor with a small sigh, bare feet curled beneath her, "I can't just... make him forget me. Trust me... I might not be smart, but I'm not stupid. I've thought about it... I think about it every day. But whatever he is, he's still my dad... and he's all I've got. Maybe with him I've got to scrape and steal to make a livin'... but without him? I'm out of a home. You think a girl like me is gonna make it out there, Sothal, on her own? You think I've got half a prayer on the streets? I'd be back to stealin' before I found a gutter to lay my head in, and that's the best case scenario. There are worse things to become in this city... Much worse."

Rolling the ring around her knuckles, she glanced up at him with a small shrug, "Don't you think if I had some great treasonous plan... it'd be a little more involved than takin' a bit of shine from your hand? Hell... you came to me? Not like I could've planned that. I get why you might not believe me, but that's a pretty far jump from a simple con. If it's proof you want, I can show you how it works. You... you can see it, if I let you. But you have to trust me, and considering you just threatened to kill me... I'm guessing we're not quite there yet."
 
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Those in Faledrin who lived in the city or in villages tended to stick there for no other reason than a better profit, and even then, Cordelia's words were far too correct. Windfeld was both nothing and everything to its citizens. It was a weight that weight upon Sothal's heart and gnawed at the corners of his mind. It was an aspect of their livelihood that the Cult of Thieves both exploited and fought to abolish.

As she slid down the wall, he could see her vulnerability that clung to the childlike features that still lingered upon her frame. The children suffered every generation born, and that look she carried became more and more prevalent with each passing year among the citizens of Faledrin. It was that of hopelessness; the realization that this was all they'd ever have and know, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

"What if you didn't need your father?" Sothal said as he knelt down to eye level with Cordelia. "What if I provided you with a new home and means by which you could live a better life away from him? Is that only where your attachments lie with him? If so, you can be rid of him. All you have to do is tell me that's what you want. Show me what you can do and consider it the signature upon our verbal contract. But if you hold any emotion to that man, speak now, and I'll leave you be."
 
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He seemed to consider her for a moment, and under the scrutiny of his stare, Cordelia could do little else but sit and wait. He might very well still decide to kill her, and if he did there wasn't much she could do to stop him. Unless she could grab a hold of him and pull the memories out of his head, she was a goner - and the concentration required for such a task required clarity and quiet... and certainly not feeling as though her heart might explode within her chest.

When he spoke, however, crouching before her, the sense of threat was gone from him, his tone not exactly warm, but understanding. A brow quirked at his words and without meeting his eye, Cordelia smiled vaguely, "You asking me to marry you, Sothal? Cause I don't imagine your father would approve." Looking up, she shook her head, the smile fading as a soft sigh escaped, "I... I want to be able to say that I do. Hold some attachment to him. I know in my heart I love him, because he's my father... but..."

Frowning, her gaze fell again, and absently, she plucked at the frayed strands of fabric on the edge of her skirts, "But I can't pretend that I could ever care about someone who puts everything above his family. Trouble is... he knows what I can do. I think he's always suspected I might try it, someday... to get away. He won't let me near enough to touch him. I'd need to distract him... and get him away from his office. He's got weapons stashed all over that place. He's sooner kill me then let me in his head..."
 
Various options and paths were considered as he remained crouched before Cordelia, eyes cast away in thought as he kept her in his peripheral. There were several courses of action they both could take that would insure her release from her father's grasp they could inact. But trust was still a major component and factor into it all. He still couldn't trust her in the slightest. Girls like her learned quick how to play a role and how to act. He had been prey to the wilting flower and the tearful pleas before. Compassion was a fault he guarded heavily, and allowed his line of reason to outweigh his emotions over time.

His gaze snapped back to those eerie blue eyes of hers, settling upon the unsettling as he presented his thoughts. "It's a common thing," he began coolly, "holding care for abusors. You don't even realize it. You just care and it's uncontrollable, or at least it feels like it until you break free. So. I don't rightly trust your word."

He held his hands out to her, palms upward. "We need a bit of trust between us," he said. "First, you need to tell me outright what you want to do. And second, if you decide to let me help you, you've got to show me what you can do. Stop dancing about it. Decide now or I will leave without an answer and you will be free to go about your life as you see fit."
 
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"He doesn't... I mean, he's never..." But he was right. Of course he was right. She had tiptoed around the issue most of her life, for no better reason than because she'd had no other choice. But with another option presented to her, albeit a vague one, it was as if she were seeing things in an alternative light. Her father had never struck her, but he had certainly never behaved the way a father, in theory, ought to. He was cold and cruel, and he forced her to do things that frightened her, to further his own selfish ambitions and needs.

Whether or not he was right, however, made it no easier to make a decision. If in the end she disappointed him, if what she could do wasn't enough... he could decide to leave her, anyway, and then where would she be? Alone, on the streets... Returning her father's memories to him after she stole them would never be an option. If she did this, it would be final...

It was always simplest, at the precipice, to step backwards, instead of taking a leap. But sometimes, a little faith was warranted, even if it didn't feel like the right choice...

"A bit of trust..." Her eyes moved from his, to his outstretched hands before, smiling gingerly, she met his gaze again, "Okay. Alright. I want to do it. I want to be free of him. And the only way I can do that is to make him forget I exist." Dropping his ring back into her pocket, she reached out and laid her hands over his, "I didn't see it before, you know... How you could be... what you are. But I see it now. Ready to go?"
 
Their hands touched, and he nodded his head simply to answer. Sothal didn't know what to expect, and for a brief moment nothing seemed to happen. But the world fell into darkness, sifting through the nothingness until a memory began to manifest like watercolor spreading onto the fibers of parchment. Sothal became lost within his past, completely unaware that this was neither present reality or that Cordelia was watching it all unfold.

He was a young boy in this particular memory, running about grand halls making noises like an airship while his siblings participated in the play. It was a strange little game, and one young Sothal officiated with command prompts and sound effects. Being the eldest of the four, they excitedly complied and adored his strange plays.

"The airships are above us!" cried his sister. Sothal stopped his action, hands falling heavily to his sides as he heaved a dramatic sigh.

"They're called airplanes, Alyse," he corrected.

"Airplanes! Yes!" Alyse said as she remembered the term once again. "The airplanes are above us!"

A smile broke across Sothal's face as he leaped back into action, arms outstreches as he pretended to fly across an imaginary scene. He flew towards his youngest brother who stood by the window looking out at the rainy day. Sothal halted once again and was about to reprimand him for not playing the part of the enemy fighter plane with their other brother, Thane.

"Jerian?" Sothal said as he tried to get his brother's attention. "Hey, do you still want to play?"

Jerian didn't acknowledge his words in the slightest and continued to stare out the window. But eventually, the boy turned and smiled at Sothal.

"Airplanes again?" he asked. Sothal nodded.

"But we need Thane."

Jerian laughed at that and jumped to a run as he stuck his hands out just as his big brother had. Sothal brushed off the strange feeling and ran after him in playful pursuit. While the two exchanged explosive sound effects and ran about the room and over furniture, their sister meandered to the window and peered out to the small courtyard.

The scream that followed was splitting, and it was only Sothal that rushed to Alyse's side. She pointed out the window and screamed incoherently. Guards rushed through the door and Sothal stuck his head out to see what she had seen. Stories down lay his brother, Thane, in a crumpled heap, crimson spreading in the rain that snaked through the stonework.

His gaze met Jerian's with horror, and the small boy just stared back almost blankly. There was no hint of remorse or signs of distress brought about by an accident. It was in this moment Cordelia could feel Sothal's mind cling to the past with a growing anger. The painting of his memory began to fracture and chip away into the Forever. His connection with it was strong and binding and he felt as though he could slip from her fingers at any moment if she did not release the spell. Soon, he could be thrust into the Darkness, and possibly take her with him.
 
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There had been several instances, when she had first begun her training where the weight of her powers had frightened her so much that she was sure she would never be able to use them... where she had nearly lost control and had been certain that it would be her last mistake. She had grown... learned to hone the abilities the way her mother had... to use as little of the Shadow Magic as possible each time - to focus her attention so as not to lose herself, and she had done well.

But there had still been those odd occurrences, where it almost felt as though she had no control at all. As though it was the magic itself that was leading, guiding her, and she was only a vessel that it commanded. There were those times when she was sure that she would be ripped away from the present moment, lost in a memory... lost in the Forever. Never before, however, had the pull been so strong or felt so certain.

The memory was a strong one... with more emotion than she had been prepared for and it scared her. To her core, it shook her.

It happened almost automatically, the return from the memory... like a jolt, more than a release, with such terrifying force it felt almost physically painful. The moment she was sure they had returned successfully, her eyes snapped open and releasing his hands, she cupped his cheeks, searching his eyes, "You're alright. Come on, now... You're back. Look at me. Let me see you..."
 
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