The Fiery Glazier

Serrana gave a shrug and a bit of a playful smile after listening to her brother - and to Gionni and Ada. "Eh, let him listen," she said, grinning a bit. "What have I to hide? I'm sure that he would be a fool to think that we wouldn't be sharing what happened with loved ones, even if we were being wise enough to keep it to ourselves beyond that. Either he's aware that this conversation is going on, or he, at the least, suspects it. Honestly, given anything else he knew, it would be unwise to assume any less. Regardless, it's good that you know - you'll be able to get mom and dad a message better than I will, if it comes to that. And they should bring Gardas. He can protect them on the way, if they need it."

Serrana let out a bit of a sigh, then gave her brother a warm embrace. "I should go - the carriage won't wait forever, and I still have much to do this night, since apparently I now have a new employer... I feel bad for Oran. He just got back his chief assistant, and I'm going to end up indisposed all over again. That poor man... do check in on him while you're still in town, would you? Especially if I can't? And if I don't see you before you go, Taran, it was good to see you. Really good. Thank you. For everything." She leaned in and kissed her brother on the cheek before turning to Ada and Gionni.

"You guys behave, especially you, Ada!" she said, grinning wide. "I don't want to have to come back here and put on a show just to bail you out of trouble!" Serrana gave each one a hug in turn, Gionni first, then Ada, before she whispered to the woman (though she wasn't being terribly secretive about it) "keep in touch. It may take far more than either of us know now for this to resolve well for all of us. I have a bad feeling about this..."

Serrana shook her head as she stepped back, looking at all of them as she did. "Okay, time to go get into more trouble. Who knew I'd be spending my evening time with royalty like this, hm? Perhaps it's time to cause some commotion in the palace, and see how much I can get away with, hm?" The sorcerous firedancer flashed a playful little smirk as she continued, that same impish tone to her voice. "Besides, if he's sneaking in to watch me dance, I must have a little bit of royal favor in my corner, no?"

Serrana smiled, waved, and headed back out to the carriage, waving to the driver as she did. "Can we head back to my home before returning to the palace? I have a few things to pick up, one that may be rather important, and I think the duke will want to see... it won't be a long trip, I promise!"
 
Serrana's arrival back at the ducal palace was more orderly than the first visit. She found the Duke himself awaiting her at the foyer, fully armored and as strict-seeming as always. Without Ada, he no longer felt pushed off-balance, and his confidence was drastically increased.

"Please, come with me," he urged before he led the way to a study, where he invited her in before he entered immediately after.

Once the door was shut, he turned to look at her, then relaxed slightly—just enough it was visible.

"Welcome back, Miss Bahira."
 
The glazier's return home was indeed brief. She ran from the carriage up to the little hole-in-the-wall, letting herself in and scrambling about quickly. Serrana grabbed every magic book she owned, a few other scrawls of notes scattered about (she had a few things written down here or there before the abduction), and looked all over her room for a long moment for that wickedly-cut and evil-looking little talisman. She did find it though, bundled up in a fold of cloth several inches wide. She gently removed it from its 'packaging' to give it a look, verifying that it was as hideous as she remembered, frowned at it, then wrapped it back up, muttering to herself. "I'm not sure if I hope you're a red herring or not, but we're gonna find out..." she said, pushing the wad of cotton back into her pocket and placing everything else in a satchel, shouldering it before she headed out, locking her apartment and returning to the carriage.

As the carriage made its way back to the duke's estate, for once, Serrana had time alone to think, and to consider what she knew - which was both massive in scope, and, she knew, somehow absolutely miniscule in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, fate had determined that she now had skin in the game, and she'd best play her cards well.

One of the things she knew was that this time, when she arrived at the palace, she wasn't going to walk in unexpected as a surprise caller for the duke in the middle of a meeting that could very well have been a war council of sorts. Duke Achille would, instead, be ready for her return, and she would also not have Ada with her. While Serrana did not regret her decision, she knew that the terrain would be much more treacherous this time, particularly with no relative 'element of surprise', so to speak.

The first thing Serrana noticed - other than that the duke was quite ready to greet her upon her return - was that Prince Brahm and General Guillory were gone. They had likely either been dismissed, or dismissed themselves, which left Serrana alone with Duke Achille. She gave the duke a bow upon seeing him, greeting him with a calm "your grace," as she did, before following as she was directed and entering into the duke's study.

Now it was Serrana's turn to be put off balance - but for a different reason. She had not seen a collection of works and art this wonderful throughout her whole life. Several shelves were lined with an array of treatises, magical and historical journals, and tactical theory, while others had works of art all about to break up the monotony as well as serve the more mundane purpose of being used as bookends. Paintings and trophies alike drew her attention, and for a long moment, she found herself transfixed before she realized that her sudden staring - and slight gaping of the mouth - would likely be considered rude by someone who was of greater station than herself.

"My apologies, your grace," she said, her cheeks more resembling paprika than cinnamon for a moment, "I am simply not quite so accustomed to such decor. I also apologize for the delay - I needed to go to my home and gather a few things before I returned... though it appears that I have not held up your other guests? Have they retired, or did the good prince decide he needed to investigate the rumors at the volcano more directly in person?" A small, playful smiled quirked up at the corners of Serrana's mouth as she pulled her books and personal notes from the satchel she had brought, setting them on an empty spot at the corner of a nearby table.

The sorceress took a deep breath as she looked back to the duke. "These ones are mine - I don't think they have anything to do with what's happened, but it might help me if I were able to reference them with anything we looked at today..." she said, glancing to her books before looking back at him. "Also, there was, something else... something I thought of when you mentioned the volcano, but it didn't pop back into my mind until the carriage ride home. It involved an old story my mother used to tell me..." Serrana reached to her pocket and pulled out the wad of cloth, unfolding it and handing it to Duke Achille as she quietly quoted the story, word-for-word, that she remembered from her childhood:

"'Touch not the black iron. It is wicked and cruel, and though its orb speaks of power and magic, the shaft speaks of death to the one who holds it. If it cuts your hand, you will become poisoned beyond any cure. If you bleed on it, it will drain the rest of your blood from you. If you give yourself to it, it will take you-- body and soul-- into the depths of its orb, never to be seen again.' A story from when the Hero of Light sealed a great evil that lived in a volcano. This came into my possession before I was taken - though I've no idea how. But the timing is suspiciously coincidental, and I did not wish it left behind, given what has happened..."
 
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  • Nice Execution!
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The duke noticed her awe quickly, and turned his attention away, to offer her a semblance of privacy while she acquainted herself with the room.\\

Everything was ordered and pristinely clean. No dust, and every book was grouped by its subject, author, and the date it was written. The decorations were coordinated with the books' subject matter, and every object had a use.

As in the great hall, mosaics were the preferred decoration, using square tiles to form images, these of the duke and previous holders of the position and title. All were pristine, save one—the one right before Achille's. His father, by the sign. The bust itself rested on the floor, on its side, and partly behind its stand.

Paintings were typically realist or highly stylized, and were hung perfectly straight. Trophies were limited, and most appeared rather aged—rumor had it, Achille himself didn't collect them.

One painting stood above the rest, but its place over the doorway left it less visible to those entering, and more visible to the man himself.

It was his wife, who died from a fall some years ago. Nobody knew if it was suicide, murder, or an accident, but Achille was quieter after it, though few noticed the difference.

Once she righted herself, Achille returned his attention to her.

"No apologies needed," he assured, "Taking in one's surroundings is a normal survival mechanism."

That she'd been gaping didn't matter to him.

Her question of the prince brought a slight grimace, but he kept quiet as she moved on to the matter at hand, which was more important to the Duke than defending the truth of the Prince.

The item she offered to him, and the story, banished all else from his mind. His eyes grew wide, and looked between her and the token. His fingers trembled slightly beneath the cloth and its horrifying totem. He carried it to a lamp that turned on with a touch—a captive slime powering and offering heat and light.

He held it close to it and stared for several moments before he turned partway to glance at her, and then looked again at the item.

"You are not the first to find something like this in your possession," he finally breathed, then wrapped it and offered it back. "Keep it for now," he urged. "It looks identical to the rest."

He moved behind the desk and pulled a drawer all the way out, then rested it atop the surface, revealing it was filled with the little totems.

"The common denominator is the date at which those who had them visited the market and purchased something with gold. Those who bartered did not get one. Those selling did not get one. Nobody knows where they came from, or how they got them, but there are as many theories as grains of sand in the desert."
 
The gears in Serrana's mind came to a stop so quickly that she'd almost worried for an instant the duke might hear the grinding that ensued because of it. A jolt of true worry went down her spine as she took in Achille's reaction to her most recent offering. There was so much to that one reaction, let alone to all that followed before he addressed her again, that it took the blush from her cheeks and gave the cinnamon skin a slightly paler tone beyond that.

If the sorceress had been looking for a way to get Achille off guard and take the advantage in their meeting once again, this would certainly have fulfilled that need. The way he looked at the emblem, then at her, then hovered over it... the calm, even stern, demeanor that she expected (and even had endured weeks before when he came to the glassworks) had melted in an instant. It didn't simply fade, either, it vanished, replaced with a look of surprise and perhaps even dread. That was only reinforced by the fact that he stood near the light for as long as he did, staring at it as he tried to take in the meaning of its presence in Serrana's possession before he finally looked back at her.

Even the tone he spoke in and fact he almost seemed to be holding his breath when he examined the talisman spoke volumes. The fact that the glazier was in possession of the little iron trinket jarred the duke, and exactly how, only added another layer of concern to an already growing stack of troubles that seemed to spread far beyond the problems that Serrana had suffered on her own.

The sorceress nodded, looking her ruler in the eye as she took back the talisman, folding it up in its cloth and putting it back away while Duke Achille went back behind his desk and removed the drawer - which was filled with the awful little things identical to the one she had pocketed away. Serrana's eyes widened and her mouth hung slightly open as she stared.

"How does he have so many? Where did they come from? If they all were distributed at the market, how did they all get here? What happened to the original owners? How does he know what the specifics of those owners are?" Her mind buzzed and circled with questions, all of which had not existed even two minutes ago, but now seemed to take center stage as she simply stared at the drawer full of little tokens, each almost seeming to stare back and mock her as she tried to make sense of things. It seemed to take the sorceress as long to find her voice as it took the duke to find his.

"Your Grace..." Serrana said, quietly, moving around the desk to fix her gaze on the drawer full of little iron tokens, her hand moving as if she wanted to touch, but stopping before her fingers actually grazed the metal. "How... how did you get all of these? There must be hundreds..." The sorceress looked at them, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "And... how do you know none came from those who bargained or sold? What are they doing here? And... why did you keep them?" The importance of the little trinkets was not lost on Serrana, though the nature of that importance was beyond her ken at present. What she was sure about was that it wasn't a mistake to bring the little icon - there was clearly some vein of critical value here, she was certain of that much, at least...

"Duke Achille... what... what are they... and why do you have them?" Serrana finally asked, keeping the other pressing question from her lips for the moment...

...The question of "Why are you letting me keep mine?"
 
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A frown, and he took a moment to process her accusations before his eyes narrowed slightly.

She acted like he was some cold leader who snuck around suspiciously.

"The first to enter my possession was my own. The rest, citizens brought to me, and I asked about the circumstances. Understandably, none wanted to keep the things."

He looked at her. "I cannot trash things until I discover their purpose."

His hand tightened on the drawer, and he lifted it, then placed it against its nook and pushed. It stuck as the coins shifted from the movement, and he had to wiggle it.

Though the tokens weren't large, the drawer was full, and as she watched, he struggled to get them all to lay flat so he could close the thing.

What bothered him most was that he did know something of the little things, but it wasn't enough to tell anyone. It was too much to be coincidence, but not enough to be evidence, not without more—

A knock on the door, and Achille flinched, then glared at the thing a moment before he straightened, used a heavy breath to right his face back to the typical sternness, and then approached the door, standing in the gap as he opened it.

"What is it?"

From the gap spoke another voice—female—Morella.

"Father, the prince is—"

Achille swore. "Again?"

"Yes. He saw the troops that returned from investigating."

"Light," he whispered, "Tend to him. Is General Guillory seeing to the troops?"

"Mhm."

"I have someone in at the moment regarding goblin activities and the dark icons—"

"Duke Brightcloud!" the prince shouted suddenly from down the hall.

Achille looked back towards Serrana. "I suppose luck has you pulled in on this matter as well."

Brahm and Morella entered the study, and Morella tilted her head, then brightened and waved when she recognized Serrana, though it was brief, as her attention returned to Brahm.

Brahm, who was paler than before, shaking, and covered in sweat.

"They saw it," he breathed. "I saw it in their faces, they saw it. They saw it." The girthy man walked to the drawer and yanked it open, scattering the tokens across the floor before he pointed at them. "They saw!"

Achille watched him, impassive for several moments before he closed his eyes and sagged. "Brahm. I haven't even spoken to them yet."
 
The sorceress seemed to stare at the drawer long after it was closed in front of her, her eyes narrowing once more, a flurry of thoughts running through her head. Her gaze remained on where the tokens were a moment ago, not glancing up to the duke at present as she tried to muddle through the confused mire of what exactly she'd wandered into. Not an hour ago, she was expecting to be able to help and hopefully aid in solving a problem - now, though, she was being shown exactly how big that problem was, and that it was continuing to grow... and that didn't include the fact that the ever-growing dilemma was, at present, partially discernible at best.

What was worse, the leader of her lands seemed as lost as she was - and not only that, but their allies appeared to be in similar straits. It felt like gazing into a great mass of darkness, staring into a pair of sinister eyes that belonged to a body that had no shape, but almost certainly had teeth, even though it hadn't shown them yet... and the malevolent grin that said darkness gave made it very clear that all who looked upon it were at risk of being devoured. And Serrana was certain she was not the only one who had to feel similarly... the Duke must have felt just as concerned, as did his noble guests, even if they didn't show that particular emotion. They were leaders, after all; leaders need to show bravery so that their subjects do not fear.

Well, maybe not Prince Brahm.

The faint-hearted prince's return, particularly in a state that was more pallid than when Serrana had last seen him short while ago, did little to change her opinion of him. The sorceress's first impression of the foreign prince was similar to one might have of a scared, needy child who was timid and used to crying to his nanny or mother when the lights were dark and a strange noise was heard. Doors were no object, and neither were custom or politic - when the four-year-old runs into your room crying, you pay attention, even if it is not the kind either party is happy with... particularly when he opened the drawer and sent the little iron icons about the room.

Another thoughtful look crossed her face as she looked over at the prince while the duke, his daughter, and the prince all spoke. Her tongue poked the inside of her cheek as her brow furrowed, thoughts racing and vying for supremacy in her head, each one with its own theory or observation, and her mind assaulted itself on all sides from within. Dimly, as she watched Prince Brahm bluster and panic, she realized exactly how thankful, in that exact moment, that the duke was her ruler, and not this man. Indeed, she was fairly certain that Garadas was more capable than Brahm.

Her eyes went to the tokens, and the possibility of exactly how everything might be linking together started to take form... especially given the story she'd brought the duke a moment earlier. They hadn't even discussed the goblins yet, but the combination of the Republic's army, the goblins' odd activities, and this all at once was too much coincidence. Some might be independent of others, but not all. Something linked them. And with panic at the volcano, Serrana at the least wanted to know what the board looked like... and with Duke Achille already acknowledging she'd seemed fated to be drawn into this part of the web as well, the sorceress looked at Prince Brahm and found her own courage, almost seeming to draw it from her leader in the process, and spoke - her tone less curious than when she spoke to Duke Brightcloud, and more convicted and resolved, even stern, as if she expected a straight answer, and a straight question might just get exactly what information she needed - in detail.

"Saw what?" Serrana said, her eyes locking with the prince's, eschewing the usual respects of the man's station. The back of her mind noted that she had done that, in fact, and hoped that the duke wouldn't call her on it - though she was nigh certain that Brahm didn't have the spine to do anything other than panic, especially since her question would seem the 'crying, scared child' what he wanted: attention.
 
The prince didn't even look at Serrana as he pointed to the coins. "That... thing. They saw it. They saw it..." His voice caught as his expression became a grimace, and his eyes couldn't leave the tokens, not until Achille slowly and carefully closed the drawer.

It left the prince looking lost. Frightened. Helpless.

"Saw what I did..."

Achille, instead of scolding him, took the prince by the shoulders and led him to his own seat, where he pushed Brahm until the young man sat down.

He then pulled on some leather gloves and picked up each of the scattered tokens, then returned them to the drawer, once more struggling to close it, but this time, without complaint.

Finally, he looked toward Serrana as he removed his gloves, then rested a hand on the prince's shoulder.

"It is thanks wholly to Prince Brahm that we know of the situation at the volcano."

He gave a light squeeze as the prince continued to babble quietly, staring with haunted eyes forward.

Morella walked up beside Serrana and touched the other woman's back gently to alert her to her proximity before she spoke, addressing her father. "I think we need to share full details with her, if we're sharing any. She's neck-deep now, and she should know what shit she's swimming in, yes?"

Achille grimaced, but nodded. "Go ahead, Morella." With that, he gave his attention to the prince, speaking in a calm, quiet whisper to the young man, "You're safe. You're in Aridefort. Look at me, Brahm."

Morella turned her attention to Serrana. "Should we give them a bit of privacy? Brahm's gonna be embarrassed enough." A grin, and she hooked her arm in the other woman's, furthest from shy. "Come on! My chambers aren't far, and I know to offer guests tea."
 
Serrana frowned. That was precisely what she'd not hoped for. The sorceress wanted to jar Brahm into blurting out what had frightened him so badly, but he was already too far gone, in a fugue of terror that wouldn't let him give detail until he'd pulled himself together. She shook her head, but more sympathetically than out of frustration. Whatever it was must have been bad indeed. Even though she figured the prince was of a weaker will than most, it still took a lot to reduce someone to a blubbering mass like what Prince Brahm had endured.

Still, there was minimal confirmation in his stutters. Whatever the talisman she had in her pocket represented, that thing was at the volcano, rearing its head. Morella's voice pulled her out of her reverie though, and she looked at the girl as she spoke to her father, the circumstances vastly different than the last time she saw her at the White Sands - or the time before when she literally wore bells as they visited the Glassworks. She listened to the conversation between the duke and his daughter, then gave her a nod and blushed a bit as the forward girl took her arm and led her from the study.

While Morella chatted as they made their way, Serrana's mind went back to the tokens. There were so many of them, all seemingly devoted to some kind of horror that now resided at the volcano. That the story of what happened there connected with it so well only reinforced its validity, as did the care that Duke Achille took gathering them back up for safekeeping. Every event now, no matter how minor, took what was once thought of as a child's story, told to her by her mother, and turned it more and more into a potentially terrifying reality - one that seemed increasingly likely to return to their lands with each thing that happened that night.

More gears turned in Serrana's head, the sorceress keeping her mouth shut while in the halls, lest prying ears pick up details they weren't meant to have - or worse, some spy catch an otherwise unspoken tidbit of information. Instead, she thought and chewed on her lip, brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to connect all the pieces, to see how and if her abduction and the goblins meshed with the tokens, or the mentioned ritual to the story... even the "Dark Cockerel" that showed up at the White Sands the night of her abduction, seemingly an unrelated event, could matter, if she could just figure out how.

The only constant so far was those icons. Those hundreds of icons that matched hers... that all came from the marketplace... to only the buyers and not the sellers or hagglers... to people who had turned so many over to the ruler of their lands (or however many kept them - and however many managed to prick themselves on the jagged edges and fall to whatever fate or superstition may have come to them)...

Those tokens... and how they got to their bearers. Maybe there was another lead after all...
 
Morella's room was further than someone might have expected from her father's study. Still, the young woman didn't complain as she opened the door, then tugged a rope a few times in a rhythm.

She waited until Serrana was inside, then closed the door behind her before she sighed heavily.

"Wow. From glassworks to the inner circle, huh? Congratulations, much as can be given."

The noble laughed, though it was distracted, and she shook her head. "Yeah, sounds stupid, especially given the seriousness of the situation."

She tossed her turban to a nearby loveseat, then looked at Serrana. "Brahm wasn't always pathetic. Used to fancy himself an adventurer and sneak out, play at being brave. He knew the dangers, and he loved them, even if he was naive about people of all things."

She motioned towards a cushy chair.

"Anyway, he went with some others to the volcano. The others were slaughtered before his eyes, and he fled here for safety because... honestly, my father's home is the safest place in all Saldecla, and anyone who knows anything knows that."

Morella tilted her head at Serrana. "Well, there was one other survivor. I got him to tell me the details, and the prince is right, it looked like the coins, but bigger, obviously, and it looked made of stretched and stained leather."

"I'm babbling." Morella stopped herself sharply, then shook her head. "Any questions? You can speak freely with me, and expect me to do the same."

The unspoken exception was anything that would damage her father. She loved him, even if he did have a stick up his arse.
 
The glazier followed, noting the tugs on the rope and assuming there was meaning therein - even to the point of trying to remember the rhythm involved, should it matter later (she did have a head for such things after all, as dancing required her to keep in time with beats and the like). Serrana looked back at Morella as the girl spoke, listening and taking the indicated seat as she the lady spoke. The sorceress's eyes looked around the room, taking it in briefly and noting the differences between it and the duke's study before she responded.

"That's understandable, I suppose," she said in regards to Brahm's current state, "if there was a terror so haunting that it scarred one's psyche, it could reduce brave souls to scattering beetles, especially if it was culling their companions." A look of concern and mild fear crossed Serrana's face at the mere idea of a titanic version of the face on those coins, reaving through explorers, causing her to shake her head slightly before refocusing on the topic at hand.

"I also suppose I should thank you for the aforementioned congratulations, though I'm not sure the circumstances are ideal." The firedancer let out a wry chuckle as she looked up at Morella before continuing, a small smirk on her lips. "Such advancement has never been a goal of mine, really; though I guess that if one aspires to study more than the most basic magics, a calm and simple life is likely too much to ask for. It appears the motivation to work two occupations and simultaneously study has paid off in some form after all, no?" Serrana leaned back in the chair and tried to relax a bit - it was quite comfortable, and made that particular effort just a little easier. "In truth, were I to truly have ambition or gain from it, I would likely just use it to study more... or to make sure my family was safe and didn't have anything to worry about. Beyond that? I can't admit to any particular grand motivation. Some folks are diamonds in the rough. Me? I like to think I'm more of an amethyst; pretty enough to stand out amongst the rocks, but probably not shiny enough to be of significant value."

"And now I'm babbling, myself..." she said, her smirk growing and taking a mildly playful turn. "Questions, though? Probably more than would be proper, I'm sure, even if the conversation is a casual one. Though given circumstance, we might as well start with those related to the elephant in the study - even if the first things I've thought of are probably not the ones everyone else is considering..."

Serrana tilted her head, a thoughtful look in her eye as she looked at Lady Morella. "The night I was abducted, on my way home from the White Sands... there was a man - a sickly one, who went by the sobriquet 'the Dark Cockerel'. You spoke with him while I performed, and if memory serves, it did not go over well. What do you remember about him - and that night? I am curious if it has any bearing. It almost seems too coincidental that he showed on that night... which is also the same night I came into possession of the token in my pocket. I wonder if the two are related... especially because I believe whoever is planting these emblems on people in Aridefort must still be about - and must be of some import. There are too many pieces to this for it to merely be coincidence, I would think..."
 
"Mel," she murmured, then sighed. "He's a mercenary from Icesog. From what I've heard, his corpse was found not far from the city." She frowned and tilted her head.

"As for my chat with him..." She sighed and let her head fall back. "I was curious about him and, wanting to learn more, tried to hire him. He said he doesn't do protection jobs."

The noble pursed her lips. What she didn't say was that she suspected he was an assassin more than a mercenary. It wasn't anything she could verify, though.

"When they found his corpse, his skin was black and beneath it was sparkling violently. The Plague of Stars from Icesog—it spreads through blood. I can only assume he was chasing the rumor that a cure was in Glacelieu Cave Region. It's just a rumor, though."

"Fuck... you..." a raspy voice breathed from a corner, and lights appeared, contained within the silhouette of a man, but he didn't move.
 
Serrana listened, giving a nod occasionally as she watched Morella talk. Her description of the man did little, however, to further her theory about him being a connection in all this... though it also did little to make that less likely. The sorceress quietly sighed to herself as she heard the man had died. It wasn't much of a surprise, given the condition he appeared to be in. She'd never heard of the 'Plague of Stars', but it didn't sound terribly pleasant by the condition his corpse was found in...

The coughing vulgarity snapped Serrana's attention to the source of the noise, and the sorceress gasped as her head snapped around, her eyes locking on the dimly glowing figure - one that was nothing like she'd seen before for certain. The young woman's breath caught in her throat for a moment, her eyes wide as she stared for a few seconds before she glanced to Morella.

"The duke's daughter," she thought, and instinct took over.

Serrana bolted up from the couch, immediately interposing herself between Lady Morella and the shadowy, glowing figure. The glazier reached for the book at her be--

Her hand touched only air and cloth.

"Shit!" she said under her breath. Her book - all her books, in fact - were sitting on the duke's desk. She'd had no reason to grab them as they left his study, and so she didn't think to pick them up on her way out. A mistake she wouldn't make again - one way or the other. Dark eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything, she could use in place of her own, but even if there was one there, it would take too much to find in the haste of the situation. Sensing that she might have to do without, the sorceress stared down the figure as her mind raced, going back to her time in captivity, and her occasional practicing to try to memorize all the parts of Inferno, for just this kind of situation. She'd never actually cast it without the book though, even though she was fairly certain she'd managed every piece of it several times.

What could go wrong if she tried to cast and fouled it up, however, was not pretty. Arcane mishap was disastrous to begin with, and Inferno in particular, she assumed, was likely to be messy - and also likely to live up to its name.

Her eyes narrowed and her mind started to roll through the motions, the words, everything. She wasn't casting it yet - but if necessity dictated, she had a duty here, with Morella at her back, and the fates and risks be damned. Serrana took a deep breath, teeth gritted, her decision made as she stared down the glowing figure, come whatever may...
 
The sparkling man collapsed onto his rear in the corner, and his legs and back lit violently as he groaned.

Morella frowned and put a hand up in front of Serrana, then offered a brief smile of thanks that the other woman was willing to defend her, then looked toward the man in the corner.

"I don't think he's a danger."

Her mind churned between possibilities. Coincidence, spying, and more came into her mind, and she walked to the collapsed man slowly after he grabbed a nearby lantern with a fire slime inside. As long as the little thing was kept secure, it was the cheapest lighting source a person could use.

She held the light over him, revealing a man with dark hair and a weary glare. Nearly nude, he had no bulk to his form—mere skin and bones. Arms hung limp, and mouth hung open.

"Mel?"

His lips moved, and lights sparked beneath the skin as his expletive came out, barely a whisper, his breathing was so feeble.

Morella turned from him to look at Serrana.

"This is the Plague of Stars. It starts by blackening the skin, and then when you move or feel, it makes the area light up, and it burns through your essence further and further until you have no ability to move. Most people die when their chests are black, but he's stubborn enough to have lasted longer than most."

She spoke as though he wasn't there, because more and more, he seemed... absent.

"He probably woke up and wandered until he found a dark cool place."
 
As the figure collapsed backwards with a grunt, Serrana's posture and panic eased a bit. It was fairly clear that Morella was right; the most dangerous thing this man was going to accomplish might be to crack and fall under his own weight like a withered tree. If he'd hit his head and started bleeding everywhere, maybe he'd be a threat, but like this?

The sorceress eased her stance and simply watched Morella address the fallen plaguebearer, a little surprised that she seemed to know him at first, though her mentioning of his name made her realize the obvious in terms of who it was. The man looked almost charred, and like he might actually combust while laying there wheezing. Pity mixed with just a tiny bit of revulsion - the latter something that the glazier couldn't help as her eyes drank in what was before her, as he literally looked like a corpse that had briefly ceased its rotting in favor of glowing from within for a time.

Serrana's brow furrowed slightly in thought at Morella's hypothesis, her head tilting just a bit as well, lips pursing as she chewed the inside of her cheek. The lady's statement didn't sit well with her. How would someone wander from being a dead corpse on the outskirts of the city, unmolested and undeterred, through town, in that condition, all the way not into the ducal palace, but into Morella's personal chamber, not only without being stopped, but without being noticed? And he'd "died" months ago. How was he back now? Something about this did not add up, and given everything else that had happened, there was too much for it to be simple unconnected coincidence.

"Alright, so how did he get here?" Serrana asked, looking over to the duke's daughter, casually keeping an eye on Mel out of reflex, but focusing more on Morella now. "He died four months ago, outside the city. Was he brought to the palace or something? And how did he get to your room? I can't imagine it's the only dark, cool place in the palace..." the gears of the sorceress's mind turned, another piece of the picture now coming into view, the image of what was happening all around her far more vast than it had been the fateful night she'd been abducted, and seeming to grow more and more complex by the minute.
 
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"Actually, not nearly so long ago," Morella corrected. "He was moved to the colder chambers below though, so we could try to contact any next of kin."

She folded her arms, and let a finger remain raised to tap at her chin.

"My best assumption is he's dead on his feet, but he hasn't realized it yet."

Her finger flicked away from her face, and she looked toward Serrana.

"He'd only been in the basement for a couple days."

"Anyway, I'll have him cleared out when our tea arrives. We can hold off discussions until after he's taken to a doctor."

"Fu... you..."
 
The firedancer's brow furrowed once more, and her head turned slightly in thought. Morella's last statements only made this seem more odd. He had died four months ago, but appeared at the palace recently, and moved to the basement two days earlier? How had he not combusted, or simply rotted, in all that time? And again, picked Morella's room out of all of the options - and had made absolutely no secret of his opinions of the duke's daughter.

Serrana might be wrong, and she'd be more than happy to simply be coming across as paranoid, but there were too many parts to this for it to be coincidence in her book.

"Milady..." she said cautiously, watching what was left of the Dark Cockerel, narrowed eyes focused on the withered man. "Please, humor me, if you would be so kind... don't stand near him. His presence does not sit well with me, and I suspect there is more to his being in your room than either of us sees at the moment."
 
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Unbeknownst to Morella, the misunderstanding continued. Mel hadn't been found dead four months ago, but...

What she did understand was that one of her father's subjects was nervous about her safety, and she stepped away from Mel with a shrug. "I don't think so, but... It is better to be on the safe side, yes."

Her grinned at the other woman, then turned and walked from Mel, only to spin and flop onto a high-backed chair with a woven, reed-like seat and back, held in place with steel supports.

She traced a finger along one of the arms as she indicated the other chair.

"If he moves, we can just... I don't know. It won't be hard to spot him up to something from here, though."

With that, she pulled up one of her legs and draped her arms around it, then rested her chin on her knee. The other chair had a dip in it in the same position as Morella rested her heel on her seat.

The moment she became comfortable, of course, a knock came from the door.

"My lady? I brought your tea."

"Come in!"

A servant entered, wearing simple clothes in the colors of the duchy, bowed briefly at the door, then delivered a tray with two cups and a pitcher. In the bottom of the pitcher, a blue slime squirmed in a glass case that engulfed the pitcher's lower half. Now and then, fresh blossoms of frost appeared in that case, chilling it, and by extension, the pitcher of tea.

"Thank you!" Morella chirped, then pointed to Mel. "Could you get someone to take him to the physicians? If he bleeds on anyone, they'll probably die, so... tell anyone involved to be careful, yes?" She tilted her head at the end, and her ponytail swung with the motion of her head.

"Ah—" the servant stared at Mel, then swallowed and nodded. "Er... yes, my lady. Anything else?"

"Hmm..." She looked at Serrana. "Would you like a snack? Alcohol?"
 
Serrana's tension eased almost immediately once Morella consented to back away from their 'guest', and that fact was visible in her posture as she relaxed, a slight smile coming to her face as she nodded to the duke's daughter, then made her way to the chair offered her, allowing herself to finally relax a bit as she settled into it with a sigh, one ankle crossed over the other as she extended her legs, still keeping an eye on Mel, but a notably more casual one now as they awaited both the tea and the removal of their unexpected guest. His reaction to Morella - as well as him just being there - really had the glazier on edge, but at least from a short distance, Serrana's host was right - there was little chance Mel could accomplish much without being seen - and likely thwarted.

The sorceress's arms had only been on the arms of the chair she had taken a brief moment when the door opened and the servant entered, and Serrana suddenly found herself not entirely sure how to react. Her whole life was one of her own work, study, and service. She almost felt as if she should be bowing to this servant and thanking her, but instead, she was, even if tangentally, being waited on instead. Still on what was, for her, probably considered to be her best behavior, Serrana took the offered tea and gave the servant a nod, thanking her in the process as she held it in both hands. The glazier looked to Morella as she made her inquiry, then shook her head slightly.

"No, milady, I should be f--"

A loud gurgling sound erupted from the firedancer's stomach, interrupting Serrana's speech. Her dark eyes went wide and she looked down at her belly in surprise, her cheeks growing redder with embarrassment as she let out a bemused laugh and shook her head, politeness quite apparently bested by hunger from having gone much of the day without eating, she now realized.

Serrana took a breath, briefly closing her eyes and laughing again softly before she shook her head once more and looked to Morella. "Actually, I think something to eat might be nice..."
 
Morella laughed and looked to the servant. "Please bring us a small meal? Something simple is fine. Maybe some cold cut meat?"

The servant nodded, eyes glued to Mel for several moments before he left, half-running as he gripped his tray tight against his body, disturbed by the strange black-skinned man.

From his corner, Mel grumbled something unintelligible, and Morella looked over, expression concerned.

"I wish there was something we could do for him. He's in a lot of pain."

The tightness with which she gripped her cup of tea betrayed more nerves than her manner otherwise let on.

The young woman didn't enjoy watching a dying man as he suffered, and she couldn't help but fidget, but for her father's sake and that of the duchy itself, she had to avoid putting herself into undue danger, and if Mel's blood spilled onto her, her life would be, effectively, over.

As would her family line, because she wasn't sure her father would be able to remarry.
 
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