NPC Violette Emberborne's page

“Gilles, let’s not let our captive’s kindness go to waste,” she speaks out after Seth, “Ensure this one gives us more than names.” The Ifrit officer drags a finger across the surface of the mirror, watching as her reflection ripples, then returns to normal. She does this several times as she listens to Marcus. “Your crew has apprehended four from this petty insurgence. Were it not for these offerings, you’d be in a cell awaiting questioning rather than trailed.”

The colonel pauses, then turns back to Marcus, speaking stern but honest. “So I assure you, your kindness is not forgotten. We’ll save the questions for a better time. Unless you have more to offer, the two of you are dismissed. Durant, a word”

The Colonel does little to hide her scorn, openly scoffing the torturer’s enthusiasm. “Quiet, curr. You’ll wait until my word.” She approaches the mirror. Pistol in hand, Violette extends a pinky, and touches the glass, sending a ripple thought it. “Well, Voidwalker (Local/Arcana) was onto something then...”

She turns to Gaston, giving the Halfling a quick nod. She turns to face Seth and Marcus, ignoring Vincent. “Two of you are raising a lot of questions being here. Detective Albert (earlier questioned you all) doesn’t believe in coincidences, what am I to make of this?”

Halcyon departs, seeking to ensure the spymaster is still well in her absence. Vincent stays behind, skulking close to the mirror, read to draw a blade for any of those who exit. For the next couple of minutes, Vincent and Gaston are silent, contemplative.

Without a conversation, footsteps echo throughout the warehouse. While Seth, Marcus, and the others tried their hardest to remain quiet during their entrance, those approaching did not. Quickly, six Guard soldiers march into the second warehouse, each gripping a musket close to their chest. Behind them, two officers follow.

Violette Emberborne enters first, immediately recognizable by rank and race. Her long, crimson hair dances like flames, and her open well-adorned jade-green jacket lay open, and trails behind her. The two holsters at her hip are empty, but each hand grips a silver-white piston of an unusual design. More so than any council member, Violette appears young - were she human, you’d suspect her to be twenty-five, but for an ifrit, you'd assume she was much older. She scans the perimeter, smoky black eyes pausing briefly at each person still alive.

Violette stands a bit less under five and a half feet. Her height deceives her low and toneless voice. Gaston salutes before she can speak. “Wounded and maimed to HQ. This one,” she gestures at Tuner, “we need answers from.”