|
"Well, we now know that the barbarians of Ragneron Forest support the King thanks to you. Trey La has still given no response. I am told their deliberation chamber stinks from 6 doors away; they've been in there near a month now! From Veir, the King aims to take The Guantrim and use it as a base to attack and subdue the horsemen of valley."
Eonan says as matter of fact as you please. "Oh." He says leaning forward "And Sorcha is unresponsive. Lehrehn is sealed up tighter than a miser's a##$@&&. The Amerysi war on Thelkon is about to end and they will concentrate their efforts on us!" He shouts.
"This cannot happen. We must gain the trust of the King before Amerys attacks. We must be invaluable to him. What would you do to achieve all this?"
Take the Guantrium? They did not kneel to the Emperor?
Thaegrin clicks in disapproval, but is otherwise silent as he thinks for a moment. Then he raises two narrow fingers, the edges still stained from the scribing done that morning. “War is a machine that is fueled by ambition, but the moving parts are greased by gold.”
“After returning from Veir with Jathus’ body and the news of the Emperor’s intentions, I told you what I thought the house ought to do. Take the Thanon mines. The close-quarter fighting of the mountains means the skill of every warrior counts, giving our superior slave soldiers the advantage. With the Rudianos in control of the mines, the Emperor will need the house to bring the other dominions in order quickly. With support from a few well-prepared Ragneron mages, the fortress guarding the mines can be annexed easily.”
The old Feraweni’s gaze does not blink or turn away from the Grand Confessor for what he says next. “However, I think our diverse talents are better suited elsewhere. I have a task in mind, but in truth, the less you know of it, the better. There are more eyes and ears on this island than I would like. I’ll admit this much: it will result in slowing the Amerys war machine. Something the house needs at the moment, yes?”
As Iskandarr listens to the discussion, he reminds himself of the need to scry on the various individuals in the Amerys war machine. His mind gradually wanders to the dragon they encountered, but focuses back on the task at hand. Still, his mind wanders. I wonder what has become of Iskandeer...
Facion stays still from his spot near the door. Listening intently he watches as the conversation moves from person to person. Amerys and Thelkon are close to peace? We cannot allow that to happen. The wizard says his piece. Taking on the tone of one used to submitting to orders he says, "I agree with Master Variel. This group is ill suited for front-line heroics. Better to stay where we're more effective. The sideline."
"If waging skirmishes on the King's enemy will gain his favor, then I am inclined to strike at weak points along Amerys lands. Or at least their coffers," Ezkal rumbled. Gorum will be pleased with the upcoming battles
Closing his eyes, Tholan muses over the presented options. Crippling their war effort without open war... Supply raids? Infiltration? Hm. The codger will share with us when he's ready. Rivers of blood follow us wherever we go, there will be endless opportunity for battle. Pausing to allow a few moments of silence, Tholan nods his agreement. "We've travelled and... worked together long enough to learn to compliment each other well. I'd say we're best working together." He pauses for a moment, thinking, then continues, "I'm not fond of avoiding battle, but someone needs to stay around to keep the Wizard alive. He's yet to lead us astray in pursuing Rudianos' best interests."
Tholan unconsciously begins to tap out the rhythm of a dance on his thigh. I'll need to hone my blade before we travel to further danger. No use in having a blade if it's stuck in a man's shoulder. Shame we can't reallocate more skilled slaves to the forges. A good blade is hard to find.
Thaegrin looks to Ezkal. "There are enemies closer to the Emperor than across the sea. You were not in his grand hall when he dissolved the conglomerate dominions of Erenon into one empire, but that is the truth of it. Some of the sovereignties would not bend the knee, and right now a civil war builds across Erenese soil. For moment, Rudianos sees the wisdom in supporting the Emperor in his ascendance to power. I think Eonan speaks of the domestic opposition to the crown. Presently, Amerys makes no war against Rudianos or Erenon, and I would like to keep it what way." If for no other reason than returning to the peace and quiet of my research. The wizard gives a small nod in deference to the Drolleye's vote of confidence. "I am here to serve. Blunt force might open a locked door well enough, but we are each a tooth of the same key."
"Thoughtful and astutely so as always Thaegrin. Please, explain to meyour plan to slow the Amerysi war machine."
Thaegrin blinks. At first he wonders if the Grand Confessor tests him again, but he could not see the conclusion Eonan would hope to share. Perhaps he does not understand.
“How many slaves are you reclaiming today? I would not like to assume every single one is accounted for. That is what I mean by the overabundance of eyes and ears here. I will not tell you our plans, not now anyways, for fear of spies. But I cannot stop you from observing our actions magically.”
|
|
Eonan frowns furiously. "Will. Not. Will not?" I am surprised at you Thaegrin. No doubt your reception when next you visit Lehrehn will reflect this choice."[/b] The Grand Confessor stands coldly and sweeps out of the room.
"Good. I will await you in Lehrehn with a reward for your success. PLay up the apparent discord between us to find the rats."
A worried expression on his face, Iskandarr watches as the grand confessor leaves. Hopefully if anyone is watching, they will believe what they saw.
Facion keeps his face posed in a mask of passive humility as the Grand Confessor makes his equally grand exit. This little... group, Anga hesitated to use the word team, did it's best work when left to its own devices. Though they were all in the "employ" of house Rudianos, they couldn't operate at max efficiency of they were constantly being hounded by the lords of the kingdom.
Once they were alone, he turns to his companions. "We've spent far too much time on this rock. Let us finish what remaining tasks we have so that we might finally be rid of this place."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"What was just decided here? I know not of politics, just tell it to me straight." Ezkal harumphed.
Iskandarr cocks his head in thought. I can't tell him plainly, if someone is listening, that could cause problems.
The wizard watches the Rudianos leave in silence. His lip twists slightly in disapproval at the spymaster’s desire to leave the island, though he could not blame the Halfblood’s restlessness. His mind’s wanderings are interrupted by Ezkal’s question. Was he even listening?
But he does not answer the hulking Thelkonlander right away, and takes slow, ponderous paces across the banquet hall. He turns to Facion. “No, there are preparations we must make. I do not anticipate leaving here for another week. It will take us two days alone to properly audit and rectify the ledgers. Beyond that, we must see to the repair of the island. Some of the greatest structures drew the ire of the slaves and need to be restored.”
He looks over to the Warbringer. “Little was decided here, it seems the Grand Confessor merely needed a briefing. A waste, if you ask me. I am concerned for the state of Lehrehn, but I need to see to the long-term success of the house rather than what appears to be the actions of a petulant child. We will learn of Lady Sorcha’s intents when we are finished…” Considering Lehrehn’s locked state, and Eonan’s implication that he could not get inside, it disturbed Thaegrin that the eldest Rudianos was the one who responded to his hail for slave transport. Iskandarr’s messenger ought not to have erred, so how did Eonan know? He decides to trouble on this later, pausing to take a deep breath. Thaegrin looks to Tholan, Ezkal, and Iskandarr in the eye. “You may go. I will see you tomorrow.” He maintains his gaze on the man-beast with his dismissal, hopefully reminding him of the scrying reports he expected in the morning.
The old Feraweni sighs as he paces further, his steps echoing in the hall as he faces away from the expanse of the empty room. Nearly empty. I’m nearly to the point of assuming the Halfblood is in any quiet room at any given moment…
At length, he talks into the air in the Feraweni tongue. “I miss my study. It is quiet, organized, and clean. Even the mice are not so bad, they are familiar, after a fashion. Here, are rats and mice…”
A brief guffaw echoes as the wizard laughs to himself. “I should have brought that cat that lurks the tower. Perhaps a trap by my door will have to do...”
Iskandarr nods and leaves without a word. It's interesting, politics are politics, no matter where you are. Tribal or civilized, they're different breeds of cat, but are distinctly still cats. As he ponders this he finds himself walking through the woods, looking for a different pool than the one he had visited prior. Finding one, he casts and again assumes the form of a tiger. Focusing on the pool, he again casts , this time on Vice Admiral Jonathan Trenton
Anga exhales once, loudly, at Thaegrins proclamation of staying for at least a week. After the wizard has said his piece the man of shadows exits the room and seems to disappears into a quiet corner.
|
|
An image of a large ship as seen from above at a great height appears in the pool. The entirety of the ship is swathed in gore. Slowly, the image fades to a dull gray before dissolving entirely.
Evening arrives to find the slaves still working diligently to restore the island and audit the stores and provisions. The Grand Confessor sailed with the tide just before sunset with the greater part of the island's wealth and some of its most promising slaves.
You are positioned in the rafters, in a dark corner of Thaegrin's improvised study. He does not know you're there, but he may suspect. Read his spoiler, you also have a surprise round.
Having just finished a meal, Thaegrin reclines alone in his improvised study. At his order, the half-blood stands guard outside the door. Suddenly, and barely audible, Thaegrin hears the window's lock click and a chill breeze circles the room.
The ale in this place is superb. Of course it is, the hops and barley came from Thegn Floki's fields. Nothing tastes better then home.
Suddenly, you hear a boot scuff stone quieter than a whisper. It came from the nearby window...
Tholan shrugs his shoulders. "Bah. Ledgers. If you need us, we shouldn't be hard to find, Father Time." With a grin, Tholan turns to his brother and nods vaguely in a direction. "Perhaps we will be fortunate enough to find some reminder of home in drink and slaves."
Nearly missing the familiar scuff of shoe on stone, Tholan's brow knits for a moment, and he sets his mug down. He glances to his brother and gestures with a nod toward the window. Then his face turns to a smile. Cracking his knuckles, Tholan stands at the ready for an armed opponent.
Iskandarr cocks his head at what he saw. Interesting... Thaegrin will want to know this. He then heads back towards the city, taking a longer route along a game trail to collect his thoughts and avoid suspicion of anyone who may be watching.
Finishing his meal, the agent of the Rudianos is mildly disappointed when the administrator slave from before fails to report to him that evening. Forgetfulness is not fitting to one so thorough. It must be something else…
Halfway through a rather dull work of fiction he had found on the island, Thaegrin bristles under his grey cloak and a sideways glance moves to the edge of his vision at the sound. He dared not move his head or give any other sign that he heard the prowler. Like a fool, he sat facing away from the window, but the cool felt around his ankles is unmistakeable. He casually wondered if his stealthy visitor is the Halfblood. No matter. This is what he gets for sneaking in here uninvited…
He quickly calculates the space between himself and the window and the placement of the sparse furniture of the room from memory, and he still does not turn around. The old scholar flips a page, not really reading anymore, and sighs audibly. “Such a disappointment,” he rumbles, adding an incantation to his commentary.
A swathe of tiny, glowing gold particles appear all around the area of the window, coating everything in sparkles. The fine dust threatens the sight of anyone caught within the conjured golden shower.
Without hesitation, the wizard cranes his head around to look on his unwelcome guest.
From his place in the rafters Anga bears witness to the dullness that is an old mans dinner. A lesser person might conclude that there was nothing to be gained by waiting on a wizards hunch, but if there was one thing Facion had learned in his many years of survival; it was that patience matters. And those who posses it often win out over those who don't.
As the evening wears on the man in the rafters slowly and methodically flexes his muscles to keep them loose. Careful to not move or otherwise betray his position. From time to time he reflects on passages from Endless Night, leastwise the ones he's had time to commit to memory. All the while keeping his senses carefully attuned to the room and everything happening (or not happening as it were) in it.
With the sound of the opening and closing window Angas eyes flick across the room searching for the intruder.
With a deft flick of his wrist the assassin feels the blowgun fill his palm, poisoned dart primed and ready to fire.
|
|
The shape of a thin man becomes visible in the glittering dust, though a well placed hand keeps his eyes safe from the abrasive stuff.
"Hello Thaegrin." The face of the slave-scribe is unmistakable though the rest of the man is entirely altered. A heavy, short sword and matching dagger hang at his sides and tightly fitted leather plates hug his rather lithe form. Gone are the downcast glances and stooped scraping. Here is a man used to getting his own way. "You were so quick to trust me it's almost laughable, and here you are alone with your books and your dusty magic." The intruder shakes his head and draws the sword. "Anything you'd like to say before the end?"
Ezkal catches a glimpse of a possible something, out of the corner of his eye. He swigs his ale quickly, and then fades from sight.
|
|
Anga's attack misses, but doesn't seem to betray his position to the enemy.
You notice a blowgun dart zip past the enemy. It was a bad miss and came from the rafters behind you.
Tholan, appearing to be alone, watches calmly as pair of cloaked and hooded figures materialize from the shadows at the far end of the room. Neither appear armed, nor do they speak.
By the time the assassin produces a blade, Thaegrin has two and a half gloating monologues constructed in his mind, both scathing to the recipient. But then he recalls a proverb from a priest that advised the father of the late Lord Rodrik Rudianos, Answer not a fool with his own folly... Surely, the look on the spy’s face would be a sight to behold when it is pointed out to him that his own ambush served only to doom himself. Certainly, the assassin-informant should know that his guise scarcely qualified as amateur, and that the court mage spotted him with little effort. That by locking the window behind him, he trapped himself in a room with one of the most powerful wizards of the realm. But is the satisfaction of beholding that look worth the enunciation of the admittedly verbose rebuke? The court wizard is unconvinced, especially if Thaegrin did not intend to let the intruder live for every much longer.
A sharp spitting sound realigns Thaegrin’s focus back to the immediate threat of danger. The ever-watchful Halfblood, perhaps… His face takes on a resigned expression, and with a voice old and tired, sighs, “You got me.”
Inspiration is an odd phenomenon. It cannot be forced, or predicted. Perhaps it was the wizard’s internal lament at his own lack of brevity. Perhaps it was the haste demanded of the situation. The source scarcely mattered; in that moment, the cogs in Thaegrin’s mind turned over, a puzzle piece snapped into place, and the wizard realized he could apply advanced arcana theorem to one of his simpler incantations. A shortcut, in novice terms.
In the space of a blink, he reconjugates the modified incantation. With a terse magical word, scholar vanishes from view. He follows the muttering with another spell, one oft used when the Rudianos agent cannot be troubled with small tasks, and then wastes no time moving from his seat. The boring book falls to the floor with his disappearance.
Tholan's eyebrows raise as the two figures appear, his hand scratching a bearded cheek. Looking closely over the two figures, his hands ball to fists as he strikes his forearms together, a prayer to Gorum accompanying the motion. In common, his voice fills the room. "What is your business here, shadow walkers?"
|
|
The figures answer with more than 2 voices..."We are here to put down a pair of rabid dogs. Where is the other?"
The intruder's face goes dark and he rummages inside a belt pouch. "Honestly old man, do you suppose I haven't prepared for such childish measures?" He draws out a fist sized bottle full of clean white sand and hurls it toward Thaegrin's vacated chair. The glass shatters into the bookcase behind and sand sprays in an arc, but nothing is revealed. The would-be assassin gulps and takes a tentative step back.
Silently cursing his poor aim, Facion watches the drama play out below him. The spy can almost see the wheels in Thaegrins head as they spin. Turning his attention back to the intruder he notices just how similar in stature he himself and the unknown man are. Eyes narrowing as his own mind's mechanics whir, what could have been mistaken for a smile takes the half-blood's face.
Moving quickly Anga changes minor details of his outfit and kit, an added strap here, shirt tucked there. Lastly he tousles his own hair in an approximation of the hair-style sported by the man on the floor beneath him. Making sure a dagger is sheathed prominently on his hip, he grips the hafts of his swords and prepares to drop down.
The alchemist flicks an eye over the spray of white sand, idly wondering if there was more to the substance than mundane granules.
Thaegrin senses his most trusted servant nearby, Sergio. He quietly orders the unseen aide to open and close the drawer of the nightstand on the other side of the bed, before his scrutiny returns to the assassin. Fixing the mask of the Silver Tabby over his eyes, the wizard activates one of its infused divining properties and studies the assassin once more.
A grin spreads across Tholan's face, his hand sliding to War Dancer, swinging it down and around himself, beginning to spin it in the first dance. "May your blood be a pleasing offering to our lord in Iron, your bones a shattered altar for the sacrifice, your soul a torn testament to his power." As he speaks, the familiar rhythm and low hum of his spinning blade swings ever faster, the dancing blade glinting as it catches the firelight in the room.
Ezkal moves away from the bar to circle around the door to near a corner while drawing his great sword and summons a shimmering force around himself, commanding his shield of faith to appear.
Thaegrin considers the spells he cast during the battle of the island, and notes the magical wards over this assassin. Prepared, indeed. Unseen, he winces in annoyance, but wastes no time misdirecting the killer. “Pah, a pocket full of sand! Is your sword made of wood? Your guise as a slave was more convincing than assassin.” The wizard times the movement of Sergio’s approach to the nightstand, and adds “But if you insist on this farse, very well. Let me first retrieve one thing…”
The nightstand drawer on the opposite side of the room slides open as Thaegrin silently steps to the side of where he last spoke.
Tholan's blade continues to dance in his hands as his brows furrow. "Your hesitation is your destruction. Gorum's wrath comes quickly to those who hesitate." The blade spins faster, his hand growing ever more sure as a thirsty grin spreads across his face.
Anga takes note of where the assassin now stands and with a short step he drops down to the floor below behind him.
Drawing both short sword and rapier as he falls, he quickly hides one of the blades, only openly presenting short sword for all to see.
Thus positioned he calls out at the assassin, mimicking the mans voice as best he can. "Ha! Found you! Thought you could hide from me, wizard? Your sorcerers ways fail you, surrender." Facion points his short sword at the assassin with accusation burning in his eyes.
Ezkal smiles as the thought of upcoming battle bolsters his might. Gorum will be pleased, here and now he thinks as his group tightens around his greatsword.
The old Feraweni pauses, unsure of the Halfblood’s intent. Perhaps he knows something I do not… Nevertheless, there is an opportunity to confuse the would-be assassin, so the wizard weaves a simple cantrip and begins to whisper in the intruder's ear from a safe distance. “So it is true. I am not the mage you seek. Small wonder the role of slave came so easily to you. You are no assassin, Thaegrin Variel...”
"Why do I look like you?" Facion asks with no small amount of incredulity. "Really, Variel, I expected more from such a powerful wizard. This is just pathetic. I saw you cast your witches hex! You cannot fool me, wizard!" The spy gestures towards the man's weapon. "I'm surprised you're still holding that, I'd have thought youd try to magic me by now..."