Portia Ciliathis's page

No matter how many times she has completed her ritual, or how many visits she has received in the night, seeing an actual spirit still causes her blood to run cold and the little hairs on the nape of her neck to stand up. And then just as soon as it appeared, the spirit vanishes again into the night.

Her initial reaction is frustration. Frustration that the spirits weren't helping her find Markus, at least not directly. And what did it mean? She needed to go find Mackeson, probably, and Paige. But did she really have to seek out those stuck-up guards? The old guy, Darius, and the snooty flower knight, Atticus. Oh, and Anguela. That one didn't seem too bad - at least she tried to help... but then again she also watched her try to rip out a guy's throat with her bare teeth. That was a tad disturbing.

She flops down into her soft bed and turns out the oil-lamp she keeps on the bedside table. Maybe, just maybe, if she sought those people out it would lead her to Markus. Or Lamm. Gods, hopefully not both. In any case, she needed some sleep, pronto. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

----

Portia doesn't awaken again until just two hours before noon. Her staff at this point knows better than to try and rouse her too early in the AM - they don't even bother running her "morning" bath until nearly noon. She dresses up for riding and eats breakfast - eggs benedict over a warm, flaky roll and served with buttery soft pork that had begun roasting the previous night. She is cold and distant to her staff this morning as she replays the events of the previous night over and over in her head.

Afterwards she heads to the stables - ostensibly to visit her mare, Honeysuckle, but in reality it is to smuggle her dirty costume and gear back out from the long box she keeps hidden under the hay behind the salt lick. She folds it up and carries it back to her room, where she proceeds to hand wash it in her own bathroom. She hangs it up to dry inside her closet, hidden inside an opaque garment bag over top of one of her other dresses. Thankfully, she has another costume hidden in her shoe closet. Making sure the door was locked, she dons her costume....

Exhausted, Portia stumbles down the hall towards her room. If any of her staff ask where she's been, she says she wound up trapped in the Heights when the riots began, and then dramatically asks they don't bother her for the next few hours so that she can recuperate from that traumatic night.

Once she is alone and in bed, she sits up against the bedpost and closes her eyes as if meditating. She focuses inwards, recalling the techniques she had learned from the Pharasmans to calm her mind and body, making it an open vessel for the spirits who were mysteriously drawn to her. Once she feels fully 'open' in this way - her mind and soul exposed to the spirit world - she asks a simple question. Do you need me?

K.Local (Possession): 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 5 + 2 = 24

Regardless of if she gets an answer, Portia is going to sleep, Good to go to tomorrow.

K.Nobility: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11Question: Trying to get an idea of Portia's knowledge as it pertains to Ileosa. Beyond the information in the Player's Guide. Specifically: Does she have reason to assume foul play through succession? She's young, but has she done anything of note that earned her her poor reputation, or are people just being racist and sexist?

"Hnnnggghh. Too early, Ajenko." Portia grumbles when she is risen far earlier than she would like. While The Silver Ghost did not make an appearance last night, she was getting into a habit of sleeping late... and not awakening until nearly noon. Pulling on a silken slip, she creaks the door open and waits for Alethia, her handmaiden, to come in to help her get dressed for the day.

"Wait... what? King Eodred is dead? What happened?" She gets up and strides over to Ajenko, putting a hand out for the paper for her to read. "How did he die?" Does the newspaper specify? Anything else interesting to be gleaned from the newspaper?

....

She afterwards heads down for breakfast. She knew this trip was coming, and was glad that it would give her some breathing room to investigate what happened to Markus. "Okay, mum, dad. Have a good trip. Bring me back some macaroons, you know, from that place I like, okay?" She kisses them both goodbye then goes on with her day. She spends most of the early afternoon training - exercising in the gardens and performing fencing exercises.

When she goes back into the estate to wash off and grab a late lunch, things are getting bad outside. She anxiously watches everything unfold from a second-floor window.

"Alethia. I'm going out to dinner with some friends tonight. Let Ajenko know, okay? I'll be home late. Don't worry about me," she says, but her nervousness about the situation was getting the best of her, bringing a tremble to her voice.

Bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

Trouble was brewing, and she couldn't just stand by, not when people could be getting hurt. But she couldn't go out as just herself. This was a job for...

The dining room of the Ciliathis estate is as lavish as the rest of it, if not more. The room is paneled with oak featuring rococo motifs of long-tailed birds, and a blue aubusson rug decorates the floor. Four large paintings of hunting scenes add a stately touch, and the table is decorated with fresh roses from the garden, with a pair of ornate lapis lazuli and gilt bronze candelabra that frame the fireplace ahead. But the most beautiful piece is the table itself - carved out of marble and decorated in a symmetrical floral pattern known as commesso fiorentino.

Portia Ciliathis is sitting at dinner across from her parents, poking her fish with a fork, flaking it apart without eating it. For dinner tonight was white asparagus, poached in cream, with royal ossetra caviar, paired with grilled striped marlin smothered in a curried hollandaise. It was well made, but Portia couldn't bring herself to eat much. Not with Markus still missing. She had sworn a promise to herself a week ago that she would find him. And it was Oathday, no less.

"Mum, dad. Sorry, I'm not very hungry tonight. I think I'm going to go to my room."