Within Enemy Lines

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Lady Alainn, Oct 1, 2014.

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  1. The leather pouch fell with a heavy clunk onto the table, several gold pieces escaping out the top as the drawstrings loosened. Dreomyn sat up in her seat, her honey-coloured irises flickering to life as her curiosity piqued. One of the two ambassadors who had come to negotiate for her services shifted uncomfortably when her claw-like fingers slithered around a gold coin and brought it to her lips for a taste. She smiled with satisfaction. It was real gold.

    Tossing the coin carelessly onto the table, she leaned against the tall wooden back of her chair and kicked her legs up onto the table, tapping her fingertips together in front of her. "All right, gentleman, you have my attention," her low voice vibrated from her larynx. "Continue."

    The other ambassador who had not cowered in her presence cleared his throat and stepped forward. "We have agents spread throughout Prince Roland's stronghold, but contact is..."

    "Diminishing," the first ambassador finished, finally finding his voice again. He was a shy little halfling who was a good distance from home and incredibly nervous around the tiefling. While some of her kind might have been offended, she only found the effects of her presence amusing. The halfling continued in a squeaking voice, "Our masters are concerned about keeping in touch with them and keeping out of the notice of the regent. We don't want to have to abandon anyone."

    "You middlemen," Dreomyn chuckled, pointing to them, "need a middleman who can slip easily in and out of tight situations. Do I have that right?"

    The second ambassador nodded his head.

    "Gentlemen, I'm a mercenary, not an assassin. We both kill, but only one sneaks."

    "You have a... a reputation. We've tried the assassin route. Our employers believe you might be more ...successful," the second man continued. "But if you don't think you can handle the risk, we do understand..." Dreomyn's eyes narrowed.

    "All right, gentleman, you have yourself a messenger girl. I expect two more of these," she gestured to the gold pouch, "when the job is complete."

    Delighted, the halfling pulled out a crudely drawn map and began pointing out all of the places she would need to memorize and the names of the contacts of the agents she would need to gain access to the hidden knights.
  2. The halls were sparely populated this time of day, men only coming and going during the idle hours. Those few who were staying around heard the strange sight approaching long before they saw it. The air was filled with the echoing clangs of metal and leather adjusting to the movement of those wearing it, the dull roar of almost a dozen pairs of feet marching together in unison falling upon enough ears to cause quite a stir. Heads turned as the squad passed on by and kept turning once they spotted the splash of red, white and black on each and every man and woman who passed by was sporting. Respect and fear kept anyone from asking questions or slowing them down.

    They were all armored and armed. Thick leather sat under under the white cloth of their habits, splashes of red in the material forming crosses while a sturdy piece of metal settled on every one of their joints. On each belt rested a weapon of one form or another -- swords, daggers, maces, axes -- each embedded with silver in the hilt and each being held in their sheathes by their ever wary owners. They walked in rows of three, shoulder to shoulder save for the young man leading the front.

    He looked young, thinner and smaller than some of the men following behind them but there was no doubting he was leading this march. Even if he stood among the others he could have stuck out. His armor was dirtied and worn, stitches keeping much of the cloth together while much of the leather was chipped or damaged. The sword on his belt was like nothing else one could find in a place such as this. The blade was long and oddly curved, the black leather sheathe hiding dark grey steel underneath. The hilt that protruded out was ornate and inscribed, dozens of designs and markings etched into the steel.

    The man's face, partially hidden in the shadow of his own hood, showed only a look of determination. His hand was on his weapon just like his men, fingers gripping it tightly were the worst to happen. The entire ordeal was potentially overblown but the men such at this didn't do anything halfway. To pull punches was a sign of weakness in a time where they simply couldn't afford it.

    His head turned as he spotted the door, the march slowing as he made a beeline for it. He pushed it open hard, the door swinging wide and striking the wall it swung towards with a deafening thud. Half of the men filed into the room, surrounding the table the three figures sat at. They kept their weapons close but still in their sheathes, half a dozen pairs of eyes darting under their hoods as their captain stepped in.

    "This is an intervention on behalf of the Church of Illonos," he man said as he stepped forward, his armor clinking and rubbing together as he stared down the three men sitting across the table from him. "Ambassadors, in the name of and by the right of the Gods of Illonos, you are hereby stripped of power until such a time that They grant you Their favor. As justicar captain, I evoke my right to call for an immediate trial for violations committed."

    He walked up to the table, disregarding the third, female figure sitting there for the time being, his gaze fixed on the two men across from her with a cold look in his blue eyes. It was the look of a man who had no mercy to spare. "Make your plea now before Them. Be thankful you've been granted this much."
  3. Dreomyn flinched as the door crashed into the wall, flooding the dimly lit back room of the counting house with glaring light. Her eyes blinked rapidly to adjust and as soon as her pupils could focus, they flicked constantly from the halfling to the human to the commanding officer of the red cross brigade, not allowing any expression escape her notice. The halfling reeked of fear, his large eyes taking on a wild look as he shifted his weight from one hairy foot to another. His partner fared little better, but at least kept a semblance of calm about himself. Dreomyn dared not move, dared not draw attention to herself if she could help it.

    The man licked his lips. "We are unaware of any violations, captain, and innocent of any wrongdoings before Them. In the name of justice, may we know what we have been accused of so we may defend ourselves?"

    What in the heavens was going on here? What had she almost gotten herself into?

    The map, which had hurriedly been snatched from her the moment the door opened, fluttered from the halfling's trembling hands and landed face-down on the table before her. One flip of the parchment and they would all be exposed as traitors to the prince regent. If they could prove she had agreed to the scheme. If they could prove anything on her at all. But she knew better than to trust in the silence of a halfling as fidgety as this one. Stealthily, her fingers on her right hand slipped to the hilt of the katana strapped to her left side. She knew there was no hope of getting out of here alive if those fancy-pants turned on her as well, but there was no way she was going down without a fight if it came to that.
    #3 Lady Alainn, Oct 2, 2014
    Last edited: Oct 4, 2014
  4. The hardened man did not give an answer right away. He stepped around the table, leather boots thudding dully in the small, quiet room as he looked over the table. He looked to the two ambassadors before laying eyes on the woman, his lips tightening into a thin line as he looks her over for the first time. Then his gaze reaches the table itself. He reaches across towards the single sheet of paper sitting there, glancing towards the man and the halfling as if daring them to make a grab for it before he picked it up, flipping it over for his curious eyes to gaze upon.

    A few tense moments went buy as he looked it over, his men looking to him as he did so as if expecting orders. He lifted a hand to run his finger across the parchment, tracing something out before he stopped and looked to the door. He met the gaze of one of his men, a grizzled man with a short brown beard, and nodded once. He in turn nodded back and reached for the door, pulling it closed in front of him. Half a dozen men inside, half a dozen men out. A bad position in any case.

    "When I swore to help save this nation, I was told that we'd get results. That we'd be free before the next harvest," he said, his cold tone turning to a bitingly fierce one as his gaze fell on the two men. He slammed his hand back down on the table, the paper wrinkling tearing a bit from the rough handling before he waved his hand at it. "And here we are, come and gone and come again and here we are, sitting in backrooms making more outrageous deals!"

    He raised a hand to brush back his hood, letting his dirty blonde bangs fall just short of his eyes and giving his pointed, dagger-shaped ears some air to breathe. Even in the dim light it was easy to see the anger burning in those eyes now that they weren't shrouded in shadows. "I've seen you use the state's men, the enemy's men, the church's men -- my men -- and thrown them all away. You've loaned from your nation, all of our neighbors -- your debt to the Church alone is quite considerable -- and I'd say that the cost hasn't met the results promised if you have in fact used all that gold the right way to begin with."

    He hands rest on the table as he leans forward, looking from the two men to the women across to them then back to the men. He lets out a sigh before he speaks, his tone low and cold as he spoke. "I stood by when you sent men to die for this cause. I stood by when those lost were my men. I stood by as you lied and stole. Gods, I stood by you when you began hiring assassins and saboteurs because I knew that They would understand but this."

    One hand lifted to lazily wave at the woman that he hadn't so much as met eyes with as of yet. "This, gentlemen, is your crime: bartering with a child of darkness. Your crimes are long and varied but this, this is what I cannot ignore. I'll be damned if I let either of you put the fate of these holy lands in the hands of this abberant. Results be damned." He stands straight, spitting on the ground before looking from one man to the other, daring either of them to object.
  5. With only a whimper from the halfling as a protest, the captain of the fancy-pants had no opposition in turning over the map and examining its contents. Though they were all apparently on the same side, much to Dreomyn's amusement, once that fact was established it did nothing to lessen the rigid tension in the ambassadors. In fact, the halfling seemed to be even more unnerved by this. His partner, however, was the first to speak as always.

    "The Church isn't the only organization funding this campaign," the man replied in an equally cool voice. His nervousness had long vanished as the elven captain's speech stirred the coals of indignation inside of him. "And we are only messengers to the Masters. We simply carry out the desires of those above us in supplying and caring for the men, you and your men, as best we can. I shall relay your message to the Masters, of course, if that is what you wish."

    "This money isn't the Church's gold," the halfling broke in hastily. His hands wrung about in an annoying manner. "You need have no fear, good sir, this is purely from the pockets of the Masters who wish to offer you aid. Of course, of course, we would not propagate Their funds into unholy hands. Rest assured, Their benevolent offerings to the Cause have not been contaminated--"

    The man interrupted with his agreement, "No, we do not barter with children of darkness with holy money."

    "Hold on, you bastards," Dreomyn spat angrily, yanking her boots off the table to sit up straight and throw threatening glances towards the three "What gives you the damn right to look down your smug little noses at me? Is it the fangs? Did I forget to shave down my horns this morning?" She raked her fingers through her short hair to display her tiny nubs better as her eyes flashed with defiance. "I can't help the blood that flows through my veins anymore than you can, pointy-ears. You condemn me for a poor taste in parents? I've done tasks for your precious little resistance before and not once has someone dared to slap that label on me, you self-righteous prick!"

    She turned her fiery gaze upon the ambassadors. "And you! Do you shower me with insults to rescue your pathetic hides? Are you done trampling me yet, you slime? Gods above, you all can ha--" her voice broke off. By this point it had risen in volume until she was almost shouting, but not loud enough to carry through the walls or door. She knew her limit. Golden pupils blazed fiercely as her chest heaved to catch her breath. 'Calm down, fool, before you validate the elf's claims,' she thought bitterly. Gods, how she hated this temper of hers. She sat back in her seat again, slowly simmering into a semblance of composure as her fingers drummed furiously on the arm of her chair.
  6. The justicar captain did not seem pleased with the men's answers. Quite the opposite. The fire in his eyes only seemed to kindle with their poorly chosen words, arms crossing tightly over his leather padded chest as they spoke their defense. They missed it, the whole point of his wrath and presence was lost to them. Men like this only thought with purses and coins. Even if they had been paying in hallowed gold, their crime would have been against the church. This was an act of spite against the Gods.

    Before he could speak his mind he heard the scrape of a seat and the sound of boots clicking on the stone floor. He always heard the sound of no less than three blades half leaving their sheathes in response. The elf lifted one hand, fingers uncurled as he set his gaze on the young woman. His men reluctantly put their weapons away as he let her scream her head off. Once she'd apparently gotten it out of her system he kept his eyes on her, watching her sit down before he looked back to the ambassadors, hand resting behind his back as he began to circle the table.

    "This isn't about the money. This is about you and your secrets. Were you planning on telling us about this? Let me answer that: no. And even if you did, we would have still had the issue of you passing this by us. You fail to understand exactly where our jurisdiction begins and ends. If you brought in a man, an elf, an orc, I wouldn't be here." He stops directly across from where he'd began to pace, unfolding his hands to put them on the table as he looks the human man dead in the eye.

    "Allies in this or not, knowingly bringing demon blood within our boundaries without informing us is a grave violation. We'll not damn a soul for blood they never chose but caution is essential when dealing with anything demonic. It's for the people's own sake that such activities must be watched over." He stood up and marched around the table to the woman's chair, putting a hand on the back of it before looking towards the two men.

    "This is not me asking or claiming to have had power over the situation before now. As I said, this is an intervention. From this point on, this operation is now a church affair and out of." He pauses, look on his face bitter as he forced the words out. "The Masters' hands. If they wish to contest with me then they may come here themselves and make the same claim I have in person. In the mean time, we'll watch over the woman. She'll receive boarding and supplies from us. If you choose to withdraw your payment." For the first time the elf smiled -- the look in his eyes was disquieting. His eyes set on the halfling as if he was very suddenly enjoying the little man's nerves.

    "Well, we can always pay her ourselves. Of course that would be another mark on what the Masters owe the church. I'm sure you'll men will handle it in time." The bitter sweet grin fell from his face as he continued. "She'll not be partaking this mission alone. My men and myself will assist in what ways are needed as well as make sure everything goes as the Gods intend it to."
    #6 MasterWarlockTyr, Oct 3, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Oct 7, 2014
  7. Dreomyn could feel her temper boiling within again as Captain Fancy-Pants continued his lecture. It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. Just because one of her ancestors came from the fiery pit shouldn't condemn her to have a representation of that lake of lava inside herself. She worked her bottom lip fervently between her teeth even as the halfling worked his hands in a similar fashion while sweat began to dot his bushy uni-brow. The little thing had no stomach for this line of work. How did he manage to survive this long without dropping dead?

    'Yes, good. Block out his talk and he won't anger you. Now, the man, he is fairing better...'

    But he was speaking. Or at least trying to speak and plead his case before the captain that informing him of bringing in it was not, actually, in his jurisdiction as he had runners underneath his lowly position to do that kind of work for him. Thankfully, he could not get a word in edgewise and was spared from further embarrassing himself by blaming his problems upon the shoulders of others. Unfortunately, it drew Dreomyn's attention back to what the captain was saying. Pointy-ears would be "watching over her" as if she were a convicted felon?

    'At least he called me a woman instead of his former moniker,' she thought wryly. It would seem that whether she wanted to draw out of this deal or not, she would have his eye firmly upon her back. Shudders travelled up and down her spine as the elf stepped behind her and settled his arm across the back of her chair. Repulsed at his nearness, she shoved herself off the armchair and pivoted on a heel to lean her weight against the table. One high-heeled boot rose to rest upon the seat on the chair, the ball of her foot pressed lightly against the wood. She would only have to apply a little more pressure to kick the chair out from under the elf's arm and catch him off-balance. Unless he moved again, of course. But that was what she was hoping to encourage.

    The captain droned on, mentioning again that she would be under strict surveillance. If that was the case, she truly was a prisoner and might as well get paid for it.

    "Does that mean I am under house arrest?" she purred quietly, her eyes issuing forth a silent challenge. "Shall I bare my neck and let you slap a slave collar on? Or perhaps you'd rather I hobble with a weight around my ankles in case I get any demonic urges?"
  8. Felenthor found himself staring down the tiefling woman with a displeased look on his face as she practically jumped from her seat and sat down on the table in apparent response to him putting his hand on her chair. Regrets about this entire ordeal were starting to set in. Her kind may not have been universally evil but they did seem to share a certain hot headed nature. He picked up the conversation a few moments later, his gaze setting on the two men as he gave them another reminder of their financial issues with the Church as they stood. When all of this was over he planned on getting every last coin out of these men that he could. A man such at this did not take well to being taken advantage of.

    Of course the girl couldn't keep her mouth shut and before long she began taunting him, his sapphire gaze on her looking bored as he met her challenging stare. He sighed deeply as he let go of the chair and folded his hands behind his back, deciding to be the professional one out of the two. The smoother he could get this going, the sooner he could leave this place of senseless greed and get back to the task at hand.

    "Slavery is strictly forbidden by all those who follow the way of the Church of Illonos so no, we will not be restraining you. You're still being hired -- merely by a different source who'll wish to run things differently. I'll by no means prevent your from coming and going. You will, however, be expected to report to me, follow my orders and work with whom I tell you to including myself. I'd also expect you to understand the consequences of abandoning this cause after your initial payment is made."

    In a split second their conversation ended as the elf's attention turned towards the two men sitting across the table, his gaze far colder than it had been when dealing with the girl. "I've decided that as long as this transaction goes smoothly, we'll drop the presented charges against the Master and yourself. Please, think hard about denying Their mercy."
    #8 MasterWarlockTyr, Oct 7, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Oct 17, 2014
  9. The tiefling nodded her head in response to the captain's reply regarding her status, or at least the status she was not. A pleased smile surfaced on her face, her eyes keeping their lock on his. "Initial payment" sounded pretty good, as well as "running things differently," and to know that under the Church's protection she would not have to worry about someone slapping a collar on her, that sounded divine. Maybe, just maybe this assignment wouldn't be as bad as she'd supposed. Of course she'd rather not be working so closely with the fancy-pants, especially one as insulting as this elf, but to be honest, the mercenary had worked with worse supervisors.

    "Very well, Captain, I accept your offer and your terms," Dreomyn acknowledged before his attention turned to the two ambassadors. Her gaze followed his and she turned sideways on the desk to put the three males into perspective.

    "You are most gracious, sir, as are the Gods, for Their mercy is unprecedented and I, a humble halfling, have naught to do but surrender myself to Their infinite--" the halfling got no further in his homage to the Gods and constant bobbing of his head as the man broke in with a less enthusiastic performance.

    "As I have stated over and over again, I am merely in charge of distributing funds. These 'charges' are therefore non-existent in my case, though--" Then it was his turn to be interrupted.

    "Shut up about your damn funds already," Dreomyn growled. "Now are we going to finalize this or not, because that man," she pointed to the human ambassador, "is really getting on my nerves."
    #9 Lady Alainn, Oct 10, 2014
    Last edited: Oct 17, 2014
  10. "We'll deal with the paperwork once we return to the church. In the mean time." The elf turned his head and locked eyes with one of his men standing by the door, a big bearded man with an ax on his belt. He gave him a nod and he nodded back before opening the door and stepping out of the room. The rest of the men followed his example, neatly filing out one by one until it was just the four of them inside. The captain looked back to the ambassador, offering then a simple nod of the head as he pulled his hood up.

    "Good day, gentlemen," he says, his flat tone and cold eyes making it obvious that it was just a formality. He glances towards the tiefling and juts his head towards the door before stepping out of the room after his men.

    (( I'm having a bit of a block. hope that's enough to work with. ))
  11. Dreomyn pushed herself off of her perch in one fluid motion, her waist-length cape flaring behind her as she breezed after the departing fancy-pants, boot heels clicking across the stone floor. She couldn't resist flashing her sharp teeth one last time at the ambassadors as she passed them; the little halfling cowering and confused in the middle of the room, the man straight-backed and scowling at this unexpected turn of events. Then the tiefling was gone with no trace of her left in that small back room but the chill of the memory of her presence. The two ambassadors exchanged glances. What were they to tell the Masters?

    Keeping out of the direct proximity of the squadron, Dreomyn flipped her shallow hood over her horns to keep as much attention off of herself as possible. While not unheard of, tieflings were rare in this part of the world and it had been evident, very evident in the way the elf had conducted that "business" meeting that secrecy was vital at this level of political involvement. She kept her head low and eyes trained on the captain, appearing very much a natural part of the marching parade and yet completely unassociated with them. Things at this level were tricky, challenging, and... delicious. Dreomyn licked her lips. It was about time to demonstrate her talents in a good exercise. A small shudder travelled over her frame in a dark anticipation.

    "Ah me, what have I gotten myself into?" she muttered to herself.
    "I can already tassste the blood of victory," came her hissing reply.
    "It's not too late to turn. To slip away."
    "And lossse a chance to feassst?"
    "To lose a chance to have you visit again."
    "You are too hard on usss. You cannot deny what you are."
    "No, but I can strangle you into submission."
    "You want to eat the fanc-sssy-pantsss, yesss?"
    "Self-righteous pricks."
    "We shall feassst sssoon enough."
    "No. You make me sound like some kind of vampire."
    "You are much, much worssse."
    "I know, now shut up."

    Whatever these soldiers had her do, she earnestly hoped she could keep that side quiet, contained. It wouldn't do to snap and lose control. Not here. Not with him watching her. The tiefling tugged her hood further over her head and picked up her pace. Where exactly were the fancy-pants leading her anyway?
    #11 Lady Alainn, Oct 21, 2014
    Last edited: Nov 4, 2014
  12. Felenthor didn't need to tell his men to fall in line, the group of white tunic soldiers splitting back into the same formation that they'd held when they arrived. The elf pulled his hood up as he took point, rough cloth pushing his ears back and down as he spared the tiefling a glance. She wasn't sprinting away now that they weren't confined to the small counting house room. Already she defied his rather low expectations. Facing ahead he began to walk, hearing his men fall into stride with him and expecting her to do the same. As they reached the door outside he pushed it open and stepped out, standing to the side as he watches his men file out. He spares the woman another glance as she does the same. She was... subtle, he supposed. Staying close but acting like she had nothing to do with the parade of armed saints. And not flashing her horns in public.

    A pang of guilt tugged at him as he marched back to the head of the group. First impressions had been rough but she didn't appear to be a thick girl and being hot headed wasn't the worst reaction to being surrounded by men who have a history of hating if not harming her kind. Even if she had tainted blood and a history of violence she was still human. That part of her deserved as much mercy and compassion as any other man or woman in this city. He knew that not every man in the order thought the same as him on this subject but he was justicar captain -- the priests and the high cleric can say what they want about her but he wasn't going to hear any of it from his men. He'd need to have a word with them later, in private. No need to make a spectacle. Not in front of her.

    Even from the counting house one could see the great red stone cross sitting about the heaven bound spire that rested near the heart of the city and the longer the march dragged on the more of the grand cathedral came into view. It was by far one of the largest buildings in the entire city, a grand structure that had stood for well over a century now. A dozen towers stood high over the city, each ending in a spire tipped with an elegant iron cross. Each of the four walls that made up the grand chapel each had a massive stained glass mosaic, each displaying a different gathering of gods in a simple but elegant fashion. The bearded Father, the armored Knight, the graceful Muse and many, many more were shown in a brilliant cascade of colors that bled into the chapel when the sun lay overhead. As they came closer and into full view of it the smaller details began to pop. Marble pillars sat in the entry arch while twin gardens of simple white flowers flanked the steps up to the entrance. Perhaps one of the most deceptively simple designs was the cross made of red stone that seemed to be part of every wall, floor and ceiling in the building, the insignia the same one splashed over the chest of every man and woman in the party. Save one outsider. One could easily spot a dozen of them on any of the outside walls with a glance and many more if they looked closer. While some though to it as nothing more than rock of a different hue, the church thought of it as a holy material of which the first church's very foundation was built upon. Tales spoke of a time long ago when the Father bled for his people's safety and this blood soaked into the land and stained the rocks, the crimson touch making them hallowed and repelling the same evils of the word that spilled the blood of a god in the first place.

    It was not the grand white steps flanked by flower beds that they walked up however. Felenthor lead his men right to the side of the cathedral, down an open space one might call an alley though few buildings dare sit so close to such a holy place. Tucked behind the massive stone structure was a much smaller, simpler one that would be easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. Surrounded by an old iron gate sat a stumpy little house, a barrack made of old wood that sat to the abbey's back. It was old and ugly and small even without the comparison to what it leaned against. The yard outside didn't fair much better with a handful of dummies shared between spars and archers with what space wasn't needed being taken by nature with tall grass all around the edge and ivy crawling up the steel spikes of the perimeter. The elf stood aside once he passed the front gate, ushering his men in and counting heads to make sure a certain horned lass hadn't run off.
  13. The cathedral, he was leading her straight to the cathedral. Dreomyn breathed in sharply, the sound more like a hiss than a gasp. Her blood curdled within her body at the sight of the holy monstrosity, 'twas why on her few trips to the great city she preferred dealing in the back rooms and basements of her employers. It kept her... unsavoury side more appeased at having to be in this city to begin with. And now she was so close to the chapel that she could feel the holy heat radiating on her skin. What in heaven did she get herself into?

    "The eyessss, the eyessss, they sssstaressss at ussss!"

    The tiefling rolled her eyes and clamped her lips shut to keep the wailing entity inside her from making a spectacle. In all honesty, it would be a relief if those eyes could fry the demon right out of her soul. She risked a glance towards the eyes of the gods to see what her self-imposed "other personality" had found so disturbing. It was true, the holy images of the revered gods seemed to be gazing sternly upon her, weighing her soul and judging its contents. They must have found something rotten, which wouldn't surprise her, for they frowned upon her in a most unpleasant way, though she knew they were only fashioned by human hands and could not possibly be the gods themselves. She shivered and dropped her gaze to keep tabs on the captain, and a good thing too for the marching fancy-pants were disappearing around the side of the magnificent chapel. Thank the Gods she would be spared from entering the holy sanctuary just yet.

    Keeping back from the squadron as if she were a tourist wandering aimlessly around the great monument to the gods, Dreomyn waited a good moment before drawing her cape closer about her shoulders and traipsing down the side yard. By now the fancy-pants were out of sight, and for a moment of anxiety and relief she thought she may have lost them, but on further reflection there was only one place they could have disappeared to so quickly-- a ramshackle old building tucked behind a heavy iron fence. She should have missed it completely if she were not searching for an escape for the fancy-pants. Her brow arched with interest. A barracks perhaps?

    Quick steps took her to the door where she paused and raised her fist to rap with her knuckles.
  14. The door swung opened in a heart beat once the woman knocked, Felenthor standing there looking as stern as ever as all his men seemed to be settling down behind him. His hood was down and some of his armor was already gone but he still wore his cross stained habit and still looked anything but pleased as he stared down at the 'aberrant'. He shot a glance around before grabbing her by the arm and pulling her inside, slamming the door behind her and letting go of her just as quickly.

    Inside the room was what could only be called a barrack -- if even that. The entrance stated in a hall which lead to a small room where the rest of the men and woman were. To the right some were taking their armor and weapons off, placing them on a table with pieces quickly mixing with one another. It was obvious that none of the gear was 'personal'. To the right a half a dozen tables were set, most of them occupied with justicars, both those who had accompanied the captain and unfamiliar faces who seemed to be listening to the former. At least until the the two of them walked in. Quiet chatter turned to dead silence as every eye turned to watch, Felenthor disregarding them as he walked through the room without sparing a glance.

    "This way," he said sternly, obviously speaking to Dreomyn as he lead her down another hall that went deeper into the building. They would pass several rooms on the way to their destination; a kitchen followed by many bedrooms that went by in a flash. The architecture was simple, plain and aged. The only thing that stood out was the red wood crosses, humble substitutes for the crimson stone of the great cathedral. They reached the back of the building -- at least that's what one would have assumed from looking at it from the outside. They reached the very back where the small barrack rested against the church's back and instead of a wall separating the two there was a staircase, old and mason made leading downwards. Without so much as a backwards glance the elf went down.
  15. Dreomyn did not appreciate the rough handling, nor the stern look pointy-ears gave her as she was jerked into the old house. Gritted fangs kept her snarl to herself and a quick brush where the elf's steel-like fingers made contact with her leather armour satisfied her for ridding herself of his hold. She did not remove her hood. "Did you miss me?" she quipped. Her hand fell casually to rest on the hilt of her sword as her hard eyes flickered to his. Of course, the elf ignored her and pivoted on his heel to march through the barracks. "I guess that would be a no, then," the tiefling murmured under her breath with a smirk.

    Long strides kept her easily in step with the elf. Around her, conversations ceased and eyes peered at her. Some were merely curious, but others simmered with hostility. Dreomyn pinpointed these easily, her own dark nature naturally drawn to the darkness within others. A subtle frown and glare were offered to those in passing while she skimmed over everyone else completely. In truth, she found far more to wrest her attention in the state of the place. It wasn't ill kept, for the place seemed properly dusted and the structural pillars were well maintained. The furniture, though rough, was still sturdy looking and not one of the red crosses ornamenting the building lacked a coat of paint. No, what she found strange was that the royal guard should be kept in such a shabby old building. Even if it was adjacent to the church, it still deserved architectural upgrades and maintenances, didn't it? Or were these all men fighting for "the cause" and forced to dwell in such an oddity because of misappropriated funds?

    Oh well, it wasn't her problem unless she would be forced to sleep under what was probably a leaky roof. She continued her gawking as Pointy-ears led her through what appeared to be a main corridor. Rooms branched off left and right. Some had open doors for her convenience and others had latched, heavy oaken doors for her imagination. The kitchen looked promising from her glimpse as she was whisked by. A large fire roared in the stone hearth and copper pots and pans suspended from the ceiling over a thick wooden table covered in produce. Roasted chicken assailed her nostrils and tantalized her taste buds, her mouth salivating beyond her control. It'd been a few days since she'd had a proper meal. Swallowing multiple times, she hurried after the elf. Hopefully wherever he was leading her wouldn't be assaulted by aromas from the kitchen or she'd never be able to concentrate.

    They reached the end of the hallway as it gave way to a staircase. The tiefling only paused for a moment before readjusting her hood and disappearing after Pointy-ears down the crumbling stone steps. It took a lot more than a sour-faced elf to make her uncomfortable in the depths of the earth. The only problem was this just might lead her into the bottom of the monastery cellar, and that she would not like at all.
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