"You found her trail that quickly? Very impressive!" Velvet says, genuine admiration in her tone. "But before we go, Lord Erallan, we must confer with the Duchess on her safety." She catches Marius' eye and gives him a very brief yet sideways glance the Trompe. "Ser Barcos, Lady Faenia, would you please get a headstart and give us a moment?"
She enters the Cabin with Marius in tow, closes the door behind them as well as the curtains. "Right. First, thank you for your assistance in drawing out the Night Swan, Duchess. Before we go after her, regarding the other matter..."
Her gaze briefly shifts to Marius to see whether he was ready to do as was seemingly agreed to, or if he had some alternate plan to put forward at the last moment.
"Rest assured we will do our best to capture her."
In one fluid motion she stabs her with the rapier, aiming for her throat.
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As Velvet--And just where did that nomme de guerre come from? he wondered to himself--stepped into the carriage Marius only placed a foot upon the folded mounting block, remaining outside with the carriage door open...a poor position for a quiet murder. "Your ladyship, the assassin may yet be ours. A pair of strangers," he very slightly stresses the word and glances at Arlandt. "Have arrived with a hound, a blessing from the gods if I've ever seen one. They've caught the Night Swan's scent and I intend to give chase immediately. I think it might be best if you returned to the manor since we'll be unavailable to protect you if she doubles back, and chasing armed quarry over rough ground is more tedious than adventurous. Shall I bring you back her mask as a prize? The two newcomers shall of course return with us as well, I've promised them a meal for their help."
"Right then," Marius says gravely as he rejoins Barcos and Faenia at the treeline. "Let us catch the Night Swan."
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When Velvet addresses him as Ser, Barcos scowls slightly. His jovial demeanor fades for a moment as he says quietly, "No, not a ser. Just a common man like any other."
By the time Marius catches up his charm has returned, "Please, my good man, allow me to do the job you asked of me. Follow in my footsteps, and be a second pair of eyes for myself and the Baron here. We'll find that Night Swan, I'm quiet sure of it."
With that, he heads off into the woods once anyone else who wishes to join has approached him.
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As Velvet--And just where did that nomme de guerre come from? he wondered to himself--stepped into the carriage Marius only placed a foot upon the folded mounting block, remaining outside with the carriage door open...a poor position for a quiet murder. "Your ladyship, the assassin may yet be ours. A pair of strangers," he very slightly stresses the word and glances at Arlandt. "Have arrived with a hound, a blessing from the gods if I've ever seen one. They've caught the Night Swan's scent and I intend to give chase immediately. I think it might be best if you returned to the manor since we'll be unavailable to protect you if she doubles back, and chasing armed quarry over rough ground is more tedious than adventurous. Shall I bring you back her mask as a prize? The two newcomers shall of course return with us as well, I've promised them a meal for their help."
Velvet stops dead in her tracks and just stares at Marius during his exchange with her and the duchess. She didn't say anything, but her stance on it had been clear enough to make an educated guess. "We're really doing this then? Directly risking the lives of *all* our staff and friends in Stachys, as well as all of our efforts here should she leave and Bartbelby learn anything from her? All for the sake of... a malevolent, at-best-selfish and extremely bored construct from a painting which can allegedly walk through walls and cut everyone's throat in their sleep should it feel like it? None of our friends will be safe, and from now we'll constantly have to wonder when our cover is blown by it."
She waits for confirmation either way before leaving and joining the hunt.
"No, not a ser. Just a common man like any other. ... Follow in my footsteps, and be a second pair of eyes for myself and the Baron here."
"Interesting. He travels with a woman with the bearing and equipment fitting of the Ulfen Guard, and is obviously highly skilled, but reacts poorly to adressing him with courtly mannerisms - while naming his dog 'Baron'. An underlying grudge against nobility?"
As she ponders, she does her best to help out with the tracking, calling out odd indentations in the ground, snapped branches and a scrap of cloth matching the Night Swan's outfit .
"Your magic is impressive," She tells Faenia on the way. "It's as if I instinctively know where to go, how I can feel the way forest expands beyond my sight. Are you a skald? I wouldn't have associated such spells with them, though my knowledge of them is regrettably limited."
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Earlier, when Faenia had cast the spell, she waiting until all were near and intoned in a low melodic voice, ”seven misfits and beasts travelled through the woods, to hunt a wayward assassin.” and somehow, it seemed that traveling got easier, just by virtue of her statement.
Faenia was riding along, but not helping particularly with tracking, and Jürgen was stepping carefully, his hooves nimbly avoiding broken branches She had not spoken much, but paid attention when Velvet spoke, ”eh? any bard could if they cared to. There are a few of these tricks available - they say that 300 years ago a student at the Kith fell in love with a dryad and she taught him some of these performances.”
She watches Velvet to see how that registers, and tilts her head, ”hmm? To be a Skald, you must speak for kings and queens. You must advise them and protect them. You must know their history better than they do.” She shakes her head, ”I am only a traveling storyteller.”
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In the carriage, would-be Duchess Veleto Lotheed yawns delicately. "A soft bed sounds wonderful after being rattled about for hours. No offense to your driver, but the state of these roads!" She nods gracefully towards Marius. "Very well, bring me her mask as a trophy, what a delicious idea."
Aided by Baron and Marius, Barcos can easily follow the trail - whoever it is that these people are chasing is fleeing for her life, without stopping to cover her tracks. The quarry seems to know these woods well, following game trails and the banks of narrow streams and staying out of the denser underbrush. The convoluted path doubles back a few times, but seems to generally be heading back towards Lotheedar, the largest town in the county. Barcos and Faenia have passed through it only a few hours ago, stopping for a meal and to get directions towards Stachys and the Betony estate.
After a few hours, those with keener eyes can spot a smudge of white at the base of an old, large tree. The White Swan sits up against the moss-wreathed trunk, breathing heavily as she glares at the approaching party through her winged mask. She holds her chain spear in one bloodied hand that trembles slightly before she grips it with her other hand and stills it.
"It was a good trick, but we've a few of our own," Marius remarks as he steps out into plain view of the assassin. Leather scrapes against steel as Koriana's Blade slides free of its scabbard.
"I will offer you again a chance to surrender--whatever your grudge against me and mine, I do not seek your death. You will be treated honorably, and you have my word that you'll not be turned over to Count Bartleby if that helps ease your choice."
"You are wounded and outnumbered, if you refuse to surrender this ends only one way. I implore you to choose to live."
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The Night Swan climbs to her feet slowly, her injuries clearly painful and debilitating. She fixes Marius with her gaze, then lowers her eyes to look at the chain spear still gripped in her left hand.
"Dying here and now would be pointless. I will live. And I will fight again for freedom and justice!" Her speech is slightly accented, like that of a Galtan.
She throws the chain spear to the ground with a dramatic gesture, raising her chin defiantly.
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Barcos takes one look at the Night Swan and narrows his eyes. His jovial cadence changes, now a calm and reassuring tone, ”You can give up the act. I don’t know who you’re playing it for. It’s plain to see you’re beaten, so I’ve got to assume you’re playing it for yourself. But you can give it up now. It’s alright.”
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Barcos' pronouncement draws a small grunt of agreement with the man's assessent, though there's no mockery to it. "We are who we pretend to be," he murmurs mostly to himself, one of many bits of wisdom taught to him by Field Marshal Vaerli. "There are far worse roles to play than champion of the downtrodden." Louder, he answers the bit of theater with a grave nod. "I'm certain you shall. On the ground, if you please, hands behind your back."
"Aha, just one more thing..." he adds before removing the Night Swan's mask.
"We are who we pretend to be."
"That would mean no one can ever truly be themselves, leaving everyone perpetual liars. A... sobering thought," Velvet remarks, gazing past the Night Swan just then, her mind elsewhere.
Refocusing and seeing the woman in front of them, practically defeated yet still trying to put on a play, evoked some measure of sympathy. Even if she was a dangerous brigand who had killed in her raids, and even if she was propagating a warped sense of reality, there was something to be said for not folding even then - as well as her guts in carrying out her assault alone. Had she always worked as such? A pity. She could have made a good asset. Perhaps they could have been friends under different circumstances.
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Defiance flares up again in the Night Swan's eyes at Barcos's words, but it is clear that his words have struck a nerve. She does not look around, so it is clear that she is not expecting aid or rescue. She truly is alone.
As Marius reaches to remove her mask, she flinches hard, jerking her head out of the way uselessly and crying "No!" The features underneath are slightly familiar, beyond the skillfully applied make-up and what on closer inspection is clearly a blonde wig is the face of Lucretzia Marthane.
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Lotti notes the irregular syllabic stress patterns and vowel placements in the vigilante's words. An un-practiced accent. We all start from somewhere. But she keeps her face expressionless and her body motionless as Marius removes the stranger's mask, conscious of another stranger's body behind hers in the saddle.
A trace of a smile flashes across her face though as the young noblewoman's identity is revealed. We'll have to let Rose know her suspicions were correct, she muses to herself. But of course it's another young noble playing around, playing around with other people's lives without any risk to themselves that their influence or money can't get them out of. Weathered hands hold themselves more stiffly for a moment, as if being from clenching into fists by force of will, before relaxing again. But. She's young, and she may be influenceable. Perhaps Velvet would be interested in another student? She glances at the woman in question, gauging her impressions of the Swan.
"Well I'll be damned," Marius exclaims as he recognizes Lucretzia. "Rose will be livid that she wasn't here to be vindicated."
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Faenia watches the developments from astride Jürgen, and muses, "so - Lucretzia Marthane is the infamous Night Swan." She shakes her head, as if in disbelief.
She hops down, and scratches her cheek. "Good stories, at least. Did you write them? Or...?" she gestures vaguely, "outsource it."
Theatrically, with a bit of a Galtian accent for affect, Faenia begins, "the air was cool in Kuzuhn, cool enough... for revenge! The Night Swan was on the hunt!" She grins, "though, you know, swans don't hunt that much really."
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As the reality begins to sink in, Lucretzia turns pleading eyes to Faenia. "No, it's not like that... Please, my parents! If my... other identity came to light, they'll suffer." She whirls to look at Marius, some of the Night Swan's fire blazing briefly in her gaze. "You said you wouldn't turn me over to that monster, the Count! Judge me yourself, I will accept the punishment as long as you keep my secret."
A flicker of smugness at Faenia's recitation. "Hah! I wrote those myself. I knew that nobles lapped them up, despite turning up their noses at them in public." Her own patrician nose sniffs. "Yes, I know they don't hunt, as such. So what other bird would you suggest? The hunting ones are already associated with the nobility - and with the patriarchy, I might add." She pauses for a beat, shifting her meaningful look from Faenia to Velvet to Lotti. "So what is left? Thle owl? The fish eagle? Hardly romantic symbols."
"The sparrow," Marius offers. "The hawk holds itself above the others but when united the small, humble sparrows wis the day. They're very fond of that metaphor in Andoran, I daresay you could've looked somewhere more reasonable than Galt for inspiration."
"In any event your judgement will come neither from the Count nor even myself. Let's get moving, we've a ways to go and we're losing daylight. I owe these two a meal and I intend to deliver with aplomb."
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“Sparrows also have a habit of getting into places they’re not invited to.” Lotti’s voice is pleasantly neutral, but her eyes are serious. “I would be most interested in hearing how you invited yourself into the Stachys manorhouse, as well as what might have happened to those… trinkets, shall we say, that you liberated from the noblesse sale.” The Galtan slang flows smoothly, hangs in the air as if pinned in place by the same stern gaze that focuses on the young noblewoman.
*Discuss Lucretzia's self-publishing*
” What stories? Am I missing something? Is *that* what her mystery company *actually* does; publishing stories about the exploits of her other self?”
She lowers her crossbow and thinks, finding herself quite amused. Perhaps it was the second-hand elation of being right, or the rush of victory against a presumed deadly opponent improving her mood. ”Hm. I must say, excellent entrepreneurship! Could that business model be extended to the Thread Rare, perhaps? Making ‘ edgy fashion’ based around The Night Swan and herself? We’ll turn it into a teenage clothing line and market it as ‘just a phase they’re going through!’’”
Shaking her head, she sighs. ”No, Rose, If only.” It was just too on the nose, too close to home.
Still, The Night Swan was crafty and enterprising. Courageous too, for attacking a convoy, perhaps even multiple ones by herself. And she might just have succeeded too, if it weren’t for those meddling kids their own trap. She catches Lotti’s expectant look, eyes widening a fraction before glancing at Marius. If the elder gnome thought among those lines as well… But then Marius didn’t exactly have an ‘ open-minded’ track record for recruiting bandits starting all the way back in Ridonport, judging from that report.
”I don’t know enough. There’s not enough to go on and try making her an asset, not without starting another fight with Marius. At present, at least. Unless…”
”You’re brave, Lucretzia, I will grant you that. You also seem to have a fair bit of skill,” She says, critically looking her up and down. ”…as well as a decent tailor and flair for the dramatic. Still, you’ll have to forgive us the lack of surprise. Rose figured out who you were weeks ago. Your identity isn’t just known to us, but suspected by many others in our network. Unless you convince us not to, it will eventually get out either way.”
” So, considering you’re in a rather bad situation, I would ask you: What is your story and why were you doing all of this? You essentially threatened to kill both Lord Erallan and all other nobles in the entire nation. For what reason? And what is this grudge you have with Count Lotheed?”
She was genuinely curious, for one. For two, if Lucretzia shared the same gripes of the nobility with Rose and Marius, that was probably the only way she *might* not get arrested in this situation, depending on Marius’ actions.
Faenia laughs, ”I think sparrows would run into a similar problem. You’d need something like a kite. Nobility probably don’t even know what those are. Or maybe an owl or a shrike.”
She shrugs, ”but, swans are pretty and such so...” she pauses, ”not that I don’t mind sticking it to the man, but Galt? Fysj.”
She shakes her head, displeased obviously, ”if you don’t think a bunch of men don’t run everything there too, just like here, then you are very naive. They call themselves different names, but it is the same type of person.” She stretches, flexing her joints a bit, and rubbing her leg.
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"The ideology has been corrupted by selfish men, it is true, but their principles are sound!" As Lucretzia begins to argue with Faenia, it soon becomes apparent that her grasp of the principles of the Galtan Revolution is rather shallow, and definitely romanticized.
Little by little, after much prevarication and attempts to embellish the truth, they drag the true story out of her. Born in the Marthane family of Cassomir, for much of her early life she fulfilled the proper role expected of an aristocratic young lady. Her sheltered life came to an abrupt end, however, when her family's fortunes were wiped out by a political rival, leaving the Marthane family destitute and landless. The few books she held onto as her parents sold her belongings were the most salacious — tales of daring bandits wooing love and fighting injustice, and banned treatises on Galtan philosophy — and eventually young Lucretzia's worldview shifted around these frameworks.
She began by stealing from those who had wronged her parents, but eventually her efforts spread out to targeting anyone with better fortunes than the Marthane family. Law enforcement and bounty hunters dogged her again and again, harassing her for the audacity of retaking the fortunes that rightfully should belong to her. In time, she resolved that all systems of authority were inherently corrupt, unjust not only for her, but for anyone who had to bend a knee to another. Authority was corruption and ownership theft, and the most corrupt thieves in Taldor were its decadent aristocrats, who feasted while others starved.
Lucretzia used her ill-gained funds to carve a comfortable - and anonymous - life for her parents in a different prefecture, and eventually donned a mask to protect her mother and father from reprisal, and as a symbol for others to rally around. As the Night Swan, she began a one-woman war against Taldor, embodying the most extreme flavor of anarchy that most of Taldor assumes exists only in scary stories. The Night Swan focused primarily on theft and destruction, investing most of her proceeds into improving her arsenal and living the comfortable life she remembers from her youth. She saw no irony in this use of funds; in her view, anyone could and should steal from the wealthy to achieve the same standard of living. To the Night Swan, it is only blindness to the shackles the aristocracy imposes that keeps the public from shaking free; thus she rarely tries to help others survive under corrupt systems, and instead hoped to make their lot so obviously awful that they rise up themselves and take the better life they deserve.
The story she fabricated around her social persona was meant to elicit sympathy - the down-on-her-luck orphan who nevertheless proved an enterprising young lady - and gain her entry to the most exclusive events of the nobility. She hadn't planned on Titus becoming interested in her (and she seems genuinely revolted by the man), but used that opportunity as well to get closer to the Lotheeds.
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Barcos had some sympathy for the woman, truly. He, too, saw the lofty places of power as corrupt and selfish, but as a man who'd been destitute his whole life and gave what meager scraps he could back to his community, he found himself confused and disgusted by her use of wealth.
That in mind though, it wasn't his place to say what the group did with her. He'd no quarrel with her.
He gives a broad smile and a nod to Marius, "That you do, my good man."
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Marius listens at first with puzzlement, which soon grows into incredulity shaded with contempt--ownership is theft, don't you know, unless possessions find their way into one's own pocket. Though he has no interest in arguing the point with a bandit with delusions of grandeur, me mentally pegs the woman as a thrillseeker uninterested in even her own philosophies except as a moral fig leaf. He keeps one eye on the road back to the manor, and another on Lucretia in case she should try to run.
As their little troupe returns triumphantly to Stachys, Marius gives instructions for holding Lucretia in a side room with small windows, feet and hands alike manacled, with a guard present in the room to ensure she doesn't try anything clever. Ordinarily a noble-born prisoner would be entitled to more luxurious treatment--but she'd already proven both highly competent and highly duplicious, and he didn't know how well she knew the manor layout after her break-in.
That handled, he turns his attention to his guests and has a fine (but not ostentatious) meal whipped up, including a steak for the Baron himself, and dines with them out on the veranda.
"That little adventure notwithstanding, what brings you to this corner of Meratt? You make for an unlikely pair," he ventures by way of conversation.
In truth, Velvet had some sympathy for the woman. She too had lost everything at one point, as the result of the current working of nobility, and she seemed to agree with the nobles being the main issue plaguing Taldor. That said, killing all of them was just too extreme for her, not to mention too dangerous. It was a lofty, unobtainable goal that was bound to get Lucretzia killed or worse at some point and that moment could well be just around the corner.
"Let's make sure she's presentable at least, if we're to pass her along for judgment," Velvet says when the Night Swan is sttled, before turning towards two of Rose's attendants whom had followed the group. "You two, please give her a wash, a clean set of clothes and a haircut - partly burned hairdo's are most definitely not fit for polite audiences. The wash can be done with the shackles on. The change of clothes under guard and my supervision," she says. She gestures for one of them to follow and leans in to give an extra instruction. "Be sure to preserve the hair. It might help us later. "
"That little adventure notwithstanding, what brings you to this corner of Meratt? You make for an unlikely pair,"
"Indeed! And how fortunate we are to receive you just in our moment of need. We couldn't have asked for better help," She says, smiling brightly as she regards the dinner guests with great interest.
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Barcos eagerly tucks in. A meal like this was ludicrously ostentatious by his standards, but he was not one to complain.
In between bites (and occasionally during them) he explains some of what brought him here. These seemed like good folks, but one could never be all too careful. His druidic magic seemed a good thing to conceal for now. Being able to shift forms was an excellent escape route if things proved dicey, after all.
"Well, an old friend and mentor of mine put me in touch with a noblewoman by the name of Martella Lotheed. She said my particular blend of skills could be useful here. At the same time, too, I've heard of a charitable and magnanimous noblewoman here in Stachys, ah, what's here name."
He thinks for a moment, feeding the Baron a large chunk of steak as he chews on his own before continuing, "Ah, Rose Talbot, I think it was. As you can see I am a bit of a vagabond, and I was intrigued by the rumors of a noblewoman with the best interests of the people at heart."
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Faenia followed back carefully, letting Jürgen carry the Night Swan back to the manor. She had obviously been skeptical of the political ideology of this pseudo-Galtian, but it was equally clear that she didn’t put much stock in persuasion during the return trip, and was relatively recalcitrant.
When they reached Stachys, Faenia had obvious comfort in the manner of a ‘return’ to an estate, though she managed her own affairs, appreciative of the offers of assistance, but well versed enough in the decorum of how to address servants to be polite and mindful of their time, almost excessively so. It was clear she had spent time at a place like this, but that she had learned many of the tasks herself. When given an opportunity to “clean up”, she did so but with minimal time, keeping her bag (other than those in saddlebags) with her during dinner on the Veranda. She continued to wear her armor and had her greatsword with her, an obvious faux pa, but seemed clearly of intent and purpose.
She was wearing dress clothes with a furred collar cloak, a style obviously intended to mimic that of the Ulfen Guard themselves. It seems to be somewhat old, as if inherited, but does not seem worn.
During the meal she had excellent manners, except that she ate her food largely with her knife instead of her fork - a common practice amongst the Ulfen that they are ‘able to get away with’ when dining in Taldor. Whether intentional or unintended, it isn’t clear.
Having been subdued for the meal, she puts down her drink at Marius’ question, looks him in the eyes and responds, ”you, Lord Marius, I’m looking for you.” She has a hint of a smile, which vanishes, and the woman is serious, her eyes watching Marius closely to see how he responds.
She looks a lot like Landgrave Ogvai Jarlborn, and is probably related. Landgrave Ogvai Jarlborn is an influential noble and Senator. He has ties to the administration of the Ulfen Guard - the pseudo-mercenary bodyguards of the emperor of Taldor.
Faenia is his only child.
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""Ah, Rose Talbot, I think it was. As you can see I am a bit of a vagabond, and I was intrigued by the rumors of a noblewoman with the best interests of the people at heart."
"Raesilia Talbot, Goodman Barcos, is not with us at present but I've no doubt she'll be pleased to learn her efforts have been successful enough for her reputation to spread." Ah, if only you could be here for all this, Rose.
The mention of Martella Lotheed and Faenia's direct intensity puts him slightly on edge, however. "I don't suppose Lady Lotheed provided you a letter of introduction? I don't believe we were otherwise informed that fresh infusion of...particular skills...was being dispatched."
Faenia shakes her head, and then leans back, "Lady Lotheed is not my patron, not directly."
She spreads open her hands, "My patron has found that letters such as this - they are easy enough to forge. And it is not his custom, nor the custom of our people."
She raises an eyebrow, "a tale, perhaps? I believe it will serve the same purpose."
Returning the raised eyebrow, albeit more quizzically, Marius' gaze shifts from Faenia to Barcos and back. "You did us a good turn with the Night Swan, but I confess all this coyness tries my patience a bit. Fine then, let's hear this tale of yours."
She folds her hands on her lap, and straightens her spine, "mmhmm, I appreciate your honesty."
She is extremely annoyed at what Marius said.
She also seems disappointed, and frustrated. She also seems to appreciate his honesty, and is not obviously lying about that. But something has offended her, severely.
Unsmiling, she continues, any playfulness vanished. In unaccented Taldan, she says, "My patron seeks to join your efforts, and I have my own reasons. I cannot speak as to why Lady Lotheed didn't tell you - but you can have my help, or not. Make a decision by tomorrow." There is anger in her eyes, and coldness.
She inclines her head, "good evening; if you will excuse me" and stands, moving to retire.
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An exasperated sigh escapes Marius before he can stop himself. "Ye gods, you're as bad as Lucretia! We don't know who you are, where you come from, who your patron is, or what your interest here is--so why shouldn't we just send you on your way? If you want my trust, Faenia, perhaps a bit of forthrightness wouldn't hurt!"
He turns a mild glower on Barcos as well. "And don't think your evasion has gone unnoticed either. I've rather had my fill of mysterious and prickly allies of late. Speak plainly or begone, both of you!"
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Barcos nods to Marius, ”Ah, my apologies on not quite getting Lady Talbot’s name correct. I am not well schooled in all the Taldan nobility.”
As the man asks for straight answers he finishes his meal and takes a deep drink from his cup of wine, ”Alright then. I’ve been asked the gracious Lady Martella to assist you in reversing the sad, slow decline of Taldor. I cannot speak for Faenia beside the fact that I am fairly certain she shares this goal. As for the truest extent of my talents…”
He snaps his fingers and a flickering ball of flame appears in his palm. In the wavering light the other folks at dinner can see his features shift and change as he goes from human to elf to gnome and then back to human, ”I am a child and a student of the twisting alleys of the slums of Oppara. I have spent my life listening to it’s streets and it has taught me much. I am a druid, one who learns not from the wind in the branches but from the roaches on the wall and the flowers that bloom between the flagstones.”
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Faenia nods at Barcos, and looks down ”as you wish Marius. I make no secret of who I am, but know that I could have.” Her jaw clenches and her nostrils flare.
”My patron risks much aligning himself with you, and your goals. Much that was earned in blood. While Taldan Lords drank themselves into stupor at the massacre,” she stares at Marius, ”he was able to fight off a half dozen assassins using a candlestick. He saved a dozen people.”
She raises a finger and points at him,”Sending me here - he risks me. How am I to know I can trust any of you? How am I to know that he did not misjudge you?” He inclines his head towards Velvet respectfully, ”I do not mean to disrespect you, Velvet - I know some of your history, but you are still something of a … cypher.”
She gestures vaguely around ”but anyone can be listening. Riddles and allegory and knowledge are my sword and my armor. They may not be important to you, but they are of the utmost importance to me, and my people.”
She stares at Marius, and apologetically turns to Lottie and Velvet and Barcos, and her Ulfen accent has returned ”now, I must retire. I have a long trip back home. Good evening again.” With a sweep of her cloak, she begins to leave the dining room.
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""And don't think your evasion has gone unnoticed either. I've rather had my fill of mysterious and prickly allies of late. Speak plainly or begone, both of you!"
"Poor Marius. He is the *only* one present actually open about their background, what with Konstiantina currently absent." Velvet thinks at this, resolving to look into the issue of the paladin and her missing squire. Right after making sure Lisa had survived the return trip with the Trompe, she realizes, as her left hand subconsciously grips around the tablecloth. She hadn't paused to consider that option, caught in the moment of the hunt. It'd have been just her, the injured driver, and the fake Duchess...
"”Ah, my apologies on not quite getting Lady Talbot’s name correct. I am not well schooled in all the Taldan nobility.”
"I'm sure that, were she here, she would forgive you. It is 'Rose' to her friends, whom I'll assume Martella considers her as," She says, drawn back into the conversation by the use of her alter's name. "In fact, an amusing tidbit I once learned," She adds with a slightly yet not entirely forced smile. "It was the name she would have had, had her father agreed to it. But it had to be more... 'status-conform'. So in turn, her mother expanded upon it. 'Raesilia Rosaea Rosu Talbot'. One could think her mother simply had a thing for Roses. But more than anything, it remains a fitting anagram - an ongoing act of defiance."
She takes a sip of her fragrant tea and looks at Barcos again. "Your open nature is appreciated," there is a moment of hesitation as she seems to think how to adress him. "...Barcos. Yet Lord Erallan does have a point. Does either of you have some sort of introduction from her?"
"How am I to know I can trust any of you? ... I do not mean to disrespect you, Velvet - I know some of your history, but you are still something of a … cypher.”
"Those are fair questions," She answers neutrally. "She knows of me? To what extent?" "...I believe the answer should lie in who discovered the clue regarding the impending Senate attack back then, which was Marius. And who then figured it out and went out of her way to warn everyone present there in advance, which was Raesilia. Of course, there is the chance I am simply telling you falsehoods, and Rose isn't here to confirm her part in person. But Lord Erallan," She gestures towards him. "Has a reputation for being a man of honor and integrety. And besides, didn't Martella herself already inform you of such? Is that not part of why you are here?"
Sighing after Faenia makes her grand exit, Velvet takes another sip, followed by a moment to theorize. "I'd heard rumors of Landgrave Jarlborn's only child, but to see her temper in person is... quite something. Being the would-be heir must place a lot of pressure on her, especially with the primogeniture issue still unresolved beyond the royal family."
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Barcos ruffles through his bags and pockets, producing a small clockwork grasshopper, ”Now, I don’t know why this was the particular item, but she said you’d recognize this as a token of trust.”
"I'd heard rumors of Landgrave Jarlborn's only child, but to see her temper in person is... quite something. Being the would-be heir must place a lot of pressure on her, especially with the primogeniture issue still unresolved beyond the royal family."
"Ah, so I have lost yet another round of 'don't you know who I am?' Unfortunately I never picked up the knack for it, to Marshal Vaerli's chagrin." Sighing, Marius leans back in his chair slowly swirling his wine glass and staring off in the direction the skald had gone. "I suppose that makes her 'patron' her father the Landgrave himself? I welcome his support but if he's so uncertain in our cause he might've chosen a messenger less likely to be interpreted as a clear signal. And I really would prefer if my allies be a little less tight-fisted about themselves," at this he raises his glass to salute the table. "Present company excluded, of course.
[b]”Now, I don’t know why this was the particular item, but she said you’d recognize this as a token of trust.”
Leaning forward with interest, Marius lets out a small ah of recognition and offers Barcos a respectful nod. "She was correct--forgive me for my suspicions, Goodman Barcos, that serves as a more than sufficient mark of introduction. Has our mutual friend informed you as to the purpose of our work here?"
"Ah, so I have lost yet another round of 'don't you know who I am?' (...) I really would prefer if my allies be a little less tight-fisted about themselves," at this he raises his glass to salute the table. "Present company excluded, of course.
At this Velvet chuckles. "How strange. You mean to say that despite being the servant of a literal spy goddess, you have issues with finding yourself surrounded by tight-lipped and mysterious allies?" She jests good-naturedly as she raises her glass in turn. "No offense meant for you or She of Ebon Wings, of course."
"I suppose that makes her 'patron' her father the Landgrave himself? I welcome his support but if he's so uncertain in our cause..."
"Is he, though? If we peel back the, ah, 'Ulfen' a smidge, Faenia just confirmed her father allied himself with you. He was at least convinced enough to send his only daughter and heir, which especially in these uncertain times is telling. It seems to be her own doubts ad grievances, whatever they are, at play here," The Shelynite muses. "Perhaps one of us should go talk to her later tonight. If nothing else, I am quite curious about the Ulfen Guard's role at the massacre and what repercussions to the other Ulfen there are, if any. It should be an interesting topic that might be at play here."
Later, she seems to accept the offer of the dragonling from Barcos. "You have to wonder how many of those she has. Her skill with artefice is quite remarkable," She comments as it flies around, surrounding them with the droning buzz that made listening in from outside so difficult.
Seeing Faenia about to storm off Barcos raises his hand to her, palm down as if to say "Stop."
"Faenia. We all here have shared goals, shared interests. If tempers flare and people storm off, Taldor will never change. I understand the value you place upon stories and tales, there is a time for bluntness too. Stay and hear them out, at least for now."
Faenia makes a gutteral noise between a “meh” and a scoff before moving away to her quarters. She’s not obviously intending to stomp, but her heavy boots echo on the stone flags.
"I appreciate the effort, Barcos. We shall have to see what the morning brings."
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"I say, would you mind closing the door behind you? There's a terrible draft."
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Faenia closes the door behind her, and blinks at the tableau. ”my apologies, Lord… Cat? I do not think we have been introduced.”
She curtsies formally, as one would do when being introduced specifically to someone of higher station.
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"Now then, who might you be? And why might have you travelled here? You're not with that dreadful bore, are you?"
She steps towards him a short distance, and folds her hands in front of herself respectfully, ”Faenia, Your Grace. I was sent here to try and aid the others. I suppose including … your servant, Lottie. She seemed to be close to you when I saw you earlier, so that was my assumption. I mean no offense, if another is your servant.“ She inclines her head respectfully.
She tilts her head, ”I do not think it will work out well, though. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that should I intend to” and she does an admirably competent imitation of Marius, ”continue with my… nonsense, that I should be ‘be gone’.”
She sighs, and makes a sour face, ”I paraphrase, of course. But… it is exhausting to be...” Trailing off, she doesn’t finish the sentence. She looks like she wants to explain more, but closes her mouth, obviously resigned and tired, underneath the sourness.
A moment later, after she seems to have collected herself, almost absentmindedly, she finishes, ”I need to pack - I leave home tomorrow at dawn.” Apologetically she inclines her head towards the bag.
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Faenia looks skeptically at the cat, ”are you sure, Your Grace? It is… dried. Like a ‘jerky’. Most do not care for fish like that around here.” She moves to retrieve it.
She holds herself at attention, then gingerly sits onto a nearby chaise - ”this - this is all a lot - if I will be honest with you - I think my father erred. He met Marius once and deemed him noble and well intentioned.” She frowns ”I took away something different.” She pauses for dramatic effect, ”All I see is another Taldan soldier. A boy playing at revolution, with nothing really at stake. Because that is what this comes down to - what does anyone have to lose?” She picks at the braid in front of her, ”I am no heir - I would be in my father’s homeland. But not here. Because of a thousand years of people like Marius who expect everyone to cater to their needs. Lords.” Her nostrils flare and she clenches her fists in front of herself.
Surprisingly, she seems to calm herself down,”anyway, that exchange was something of a …test - and unless there is a good explanation for why he got so annoyed - and why I could not be indulged even for a few minutes,” she mutters under her breath, ”just a short story”, I think I will have to tell my father,” she nods as if to say yes, you guessed correctly, I can’t believe you are the first one to say anything ”that he will have to forge his own path in the endeavor. That the Guard must wait until we find a better ally. That Lotheed’s trust was… misplaced.”
She shakes her head sadly, frustrated ”it is not even about the story! It is about the indulgence. I had not spoken ten words to him until I asked for his leave to explain things in my own way, and he immediately and visibly got annoyed at me. As if my custom is a burden. Why would I want to work with someone who puts so little value on a skill that is my life’s work? That is the reason my father sent me down here to use?”
She looks the cat in her eyes. ”or am I misjudging him?”
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"But, what do I know." He finally rises to his feet and saunters off the pack to the window. "It's not as though I had to listen to that woman's overly loud and nonsensical declarations the whole ride back here. Goodness knows that might have made me a bit short-tempered, especially if I then had to figure out if someone else was a friend or an enemy with friendly fur. Thankfully..." He pauses to hop up onto the sill, "...I am blessed with an innate sense for those who are worthy of my trust. I can smell it." He pauses again expectantly. And waits. And waits.
Finally he yawns - definitely not to conceal a scowl, should a cat's face be able to perform such contortions - and whips his tail back and forth. "Fine. Have it your way. You're misjudging him." And with that, he drops down to a tree branch outside the window and disappears into the night.
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That night, in the garden, a refrshed Velvet sat down near the botanical pavillion. In front of her, the lampposts and their Continual Flames cast their lights on the vibrant flower arrangements put in place by Dame Crabbe's expert gardeners. It was a magnificent, peaceful sight complemented beautifully by the starlit sky. Here she could be at peace and put aside the worries of politics, national instability and ruined lifelong plans, if only for a moment.
But that was enough - it would have to be.
"It's been a while since I practiced. I wonder if Aaron continued on his side..." She thinks, looking at the case next to her. She traced the worn case with its purplish coating and slightly faded golden letters. A sentimental gift, often hidden and showing its wear on the outside.
The inside was a different story - the Cremona Vilagio was in pristine condition. Slowly, ever-so-carefully she pulled the violin from its confines along with its bow and gently placed it to her neck and shoulder.
"By your grace, my Lady. From your gift we exist and by your passion we strive."
She pauses briefly, looking at one of the mansion's balconies in the distance. "And for you, Rose. You probably would have liked this song."
Soon, she loses herself in the music.
The song was captivating; whether it spoke of a longing, inevitability, regret or melancholy was for the hearer to decide. But it was heartfelt and touching, and reached much further through the night than might be expected to.
'The last butterfly'. The song was appropriate, she thought, as she subconsciously began to repeat it once again.