This thread is for creating a shared-story that explains how you've all come to know each other.  Because I want you to be familiar with each other.

I've had some good experience with hashing out a back-story OOC...  I'd like to do that here.  I'm not at all against IC interaction here, but I don't want people to be stuck waiting on others too long, nor getting too deep into details when we only want a broad-brush of things.

This will also serve to set-up some of the setting Aspects, so feel free to add stuff in as you wish.  You've got free license to evolve the situation details to fit...

I'll provide a basic scenario, and then get you folks to write how and why you got involved.  Simplest answer, of course, is that you were asked ot get involved.  But, still the question remains... why you?

The thread is closed until I get the basic scenario written up.   Won't be long.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:29, Sat 04 Apr 2020.

The Shared Story
Everyone knows that King Dorian was ill.  It's a common occurrence for the rulers of Kumlar.  Some say it's because they are bound to the land in secret ways, and that their lifeblood nurtures the land, even as the land nurtures the people.  But the land extracts a heavy price.  And with the drought and the seclusion of the Heirophant, it seemed that dark times were coming, if not already here.

On the face of things, Queen Jia ruled.  Though Dorian still conducted business, Jia was the face of the monarchy now.

Since Queen Jia's birthed two boys and not a girl, there would be a succession upon her death.  When Dorian died, she would rule until the boys were of age.  They would rule until her death.  Then...  Duchess Jaelle of East Penryn was next in line to the throne.  Her husband, Duke Churthen was reputedly most eager to ascend.

So, naturally, Churthen was a primary suspect when Liam and Lucas, the crown princes went missing.  Churthen  had been in Druvir during the time they had disappeared, although Jaelle had been in South Keep for the Tournament of Flowers.


--
People & Things Introduced

• Prince Liam & Prince Lucas are Dorian & Jia's children
• Duchess Jaelle of East Penryn  & Duke Churthen (also of EastPenryn).
• South Keep
• The Tournament of Flowers is the first tournament, festival, celebration of the four big ones each year.  A "Queen of Flowers" is crowned from among the young noble ladies making their debut...

Okay, that's the basic story.  Churthen might or might not have been responsible.  We'll see where the story develops.    It is wide open, so add details as you see fit.  But I'm mostly concerned with:

How did you get involved with this?  How did you work together to ultimately recover the boys?  What issues came up?  What made things worse?  What made things better?
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:35, Sun 05 Apr 2020.

Etzagith grabbed a sack of onions off the cart and headed into the castle kitchen.  Setting it down, he slipped out of the line of workers to greet Momma Bridgitta.  "Etzy, you little scamp.  Where have you been?" she declared as she pulled him into a bear hug.  He kissed her on the cheek, noting that he was finally tall enough not to be suffocated in her huge, doughy embrace.  "You're so skinny!  Have a pie -- or did you get one already?" she asked, muttering "little thief" as she foisted a berry tart on him.  Etz accepted it gladly, and slipped quietly into the back stairway, unnoticed over the din of what sounded like crashing plates on the other side of the kitchen.

On the second landing, Etzagith stood on the handrail to trip a tiny lever inside a finger hole near the ceiling.  Dropping to the floor, he pushed aside the panel and slipped soundlessly into the passage behind.  He pushed through dust and cobwebs and made his way to the crawlspace above the Audience Chamber.  And there she is, he thought, Queen Jia Eldrian, first of the line of Jorvir, sitting beside her husband, King Dorian Lee.  When he got that message from her, using their old secret code, he dropped everything to come to Druvir.  The sight of her, there, in her regalia, quickened his heart a little more than he cared to acknowledge.

As he watched, an oddly dressed woman approached the pair and knelt briefly, barely long enough to be considered polite.  She was slim and pretty in her well-tailored leathers.  Pretty, that is, except for her hair, which looked as if it had been hacked by a blind barber using sheep shears.

"Tabeta T'Mont" announced the Marshall, who looked slightly peeved that she was already rising before he had completed his introduction.  However, as she rose, Etzagith saw that King Dorian was already leaving the chamber.  He had refused to see her, or -- he looked ill -- possibly he just had no more energy for plaintiffs.  Queen Jia left only a few steps behind the King, and Etz thought she was sobbing quietly as she walked.

I have to get to her, he thought.  There's clearly something terrible.  But she's in the Royal chambers now, there's no way into there except past the guards.  He decided to try his old ploy: carrying in a tray of food.  Several more dusty windings later, he dropped into the back storage room off the kitchen and was looking for servants garb that would fit him when a huge man darkened the doorway.

"Rugulusen, I knew I'd find you here, eventually." said the Menkliia.  "You need to come with me."

"I don't, I, I won't." Etzagith stammered as he looked around for another exit.  But he knew it was hopeless, the only other way out of this little room was the opening in the ceiling that he had dropped through.  That had swung shut and the rogue knew it was tricky to unlatch from this side.  Besides, he'd never be able to climb up before the soldier grabbed him.

The big man grinned wolfishly. "Oh, you do, and you will.  But lucky for you I'm the Queen's man, now, and she told me to watch for you.  There's been an incident, and the Queen needs your help.  You WILL follow me quietly and you WILL keep your mouth shut about this."  Menkliia led the rogue out of the castle keep and into the west tower, two armed guards following the whole way.  Etzagith knew that there was an entrance to the dungeons from that tower, and was relieved when they headed up rather than down.

Menkliia entered a small, windowless room.  The two guards ushered Etz in, posted themselves outside, and shut the door.  Menkliia locked it, then snapped a spell chit, holding his hand for silence while the spell took effect.  "There," he said.  "We can't be overheard now.  You are one of the few people who know this, and it is against my better judgement to trust you, but the Queen thinks you can help.  Prince Liam and Prince Lucas are missing.  They have been taken."

--
People & Things Introduced

• Menkliia: Head, or at least fairly high up, of the Veiled Hand, formerly a soldier in the Royal Guard
• Momma Bridgitta: Pastry cook for the castle
• West tower, which has one entrance to the dungeons

This message was last edited by the player at 05:37, Sun 05 Apr 2020.

Cara awoke an hour before dawn, covered in a cold sweat.  She kicked herself free of the damp blankets, letting the chill of the cell that she called home send goosebumps up and down her arms and legs.  It had been two years since she had come to this land, and still more often than not her nights were troubled by unpleasant dreams.  It was the magic, she knew, suffusing every intricate thread of her carefully woven mantle.  She could feel the foreignness of it all as it infused her, taste it on her tongue, inescapable.  She doubted she would ever get used to it.

She rose, stretched, and began diligently preparing for the day.  After her morning absolutions, she stripped and remade the bed, tamed her unruly locks with twine, and dressed in her formal reds and blacks.  Then she sat down upon the floor and began the Tri-fold Rite, the intricate series of rituals to ensure that she was free of what foreign influence she had not intentionally inflicted upon herself.  First, the Rite of Ashare, to ensure that her mind and emotions were free of magical influence, and taste any lingering magic upon her so that she might recognize its originator should she taste them again. Second, the Rite of Muscolo, to reinforce the wards that guaranteed her cell remained an empty void to any Scryer who might try and turn their Oracular sight her way.  Finally, the Rite of Rasiid, scourging her mantle free of any cursecraft that might have settled upon her from afar.

She had barely finished when a knock came at her door, three short knocks, then two, then one.

The Queen's business then, and urgently. She rose and sighed, any thought to the rest of her morning banished.  She had was supposed to drop in on Arcanist Ellis Yassur, collecting the tithe that was her due.  She imagined he would be more concerned than relieved by the reprieve, wondering when she was going to intrude on his life, and catastrophizing as he envisioned the many reasons she might have been delayed.  The Oracle had a very vivid imagination, when it came to such things.

Instead she exited her small cell in the Southern Tower of the Castle and walked across the open courtyard to the main keep, her collar stiff and high.  She paid no mind to the dirty looks the guards gave her as she passed, provided such stares were tempered with the appropriate amount amount of nervous fear.  Those that were not, she made sure to capture with her brandy eyed stare until they flinched and looked away.  Appearances were everything, and while they could think whatever thoughts they wished about her, the House needed to be respected.  She'd gotten about halfway accross the courtyard when she was joined by Viscountess Oanna Martiness, her handler among the Veiled Hand for the last year and a half. She was a tall woman in her late forties, dressed unassumingly in a long dress of lavender and a rather masculine accessory in the form of a black half cape.  Even more strangely, she bore a curved blade at her hip with an ornate jeweled hilt, though Cara knew that its purpose was better suited for the severing of spell weavings than flesh.

"I can't believe I am actually saying this, but it appears we have need of you."  The Viscountess said, not bothering to hide her affect of surprise.  Her task for most of the last year and a half had been to keep Cara occupied with banal diplomatic duties, and of course to attempt to spy on her every communication with her Homeland.  "How may House Yisil be of service to the Crown, Viscountess?"  Cara replied, meeting the woman's stare with a polite bow of greeting and refraining from making any commentary on the nature of much of the House's previous "service."  "Not here, after the royal audience."

--
"Tabeta T'Mont" announced the Marshall, who looked slightly peeved that she was already rising before he had completed his introduction.  However, as she rose, hat King Dorian was already leaving the chamber.  He had refused to see her, or -- he looked ill -- possibly he just had no more energy for plaintiffs.  Queen Jia left only a few steps behind the King, and it looked as though she was sobbing quietly as she walked.  Cara knew better than to ask questions, the Viscountess would give her no answers that she didn't feel she needed to know.  Instead, she and Tabeta  both were ushered without further introduction towards the Western Tower, up the stairs and through a narrow door.  The moment she stepped through, she felt the warding magics about her as her senses dulled.  A common enough spell within the kingdom, she didn't wasn't overly concerned.

What drew her attention were the two men engaged in conversation within.  The hulking shape of Menkliia she knew well, but the nondescript man next to him she could not place.  Something about him was familiar, but for the life of her she could not guess.

--
People & Things Introduced

• Arcanist Ellis Yassur - College Trained Oracle, currently a banker at the Royal Bank
• Viscountess Oanna Martiness - Cara's Handler within the Veiled Hand, Senior Member.

This message was last edited by the player at 01:20, Wed 08 Apr 2020.

OOC:  Nice start!

There's another in the room, and Menkliia introduces you to Stefen, an old man with long grey hair and beard, and scarred, curdled flesh on one side of his face.   He looked worn down and absent-minded, but Etzagith would know better.

Where Menkliia was the Queen's Man, Stefen was a ghost.  Turns out the man has been a part of the keep's denizen for decades.  He's an alchemist and potion-maker.  And, Menkliia indicates that Jia' had commissioned him to put a list of candidates together for this operation.

Stefen and Menkliia laid out the basic suspicion around Churthen, but noted that this was all very well known to the public and that any public move on Churthen would have political ramifications.   They needed a deniable operation to investigate and, if the opportunity arose, to recover the boys.


Metagame:
So, Stefen is basically your handler.  While Menkliia is the face and makes big decisions, Stefen is more concerned with operations.  He's totally based on Chade Fallstar in the Assassin's Apprentic (Farseer Trilogy) books...

IF Churthen is too obvious, who else might have taken the kids?

When and where were they taken... and how?

Were there any witnesses?

Were there any ransom notes or blackmail attempts made?

Help me build the story, here...

I intend to write up a bit about how Etz sent word to 'Ola to get pulled into this affair; look for more from me on that tomorrow.

Garland took swig of his steaming cup, the morning brew mixing with the mouthful of breakfast as he swallowed.  Having stayed at the Gauntlet before the young man took up his usual table further from the hearth and worked diligently through his plate; a breakfast meal that was some strange medley of fried potatoes, eggs and spices.  Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket he let out a sigh before forking in another mouthful and doing his best to ignore the figure that had taken up residence to the side of his chair.

Chewing in silence Garland took an extra long moment to savor the flavors, a thrust in the passive aggressive little game he was now playing.  Apparently it was and effective maneuver as he heard a feminine sigh before his guest conceded the moment.  Circling round to the other side of the table a raven-haired woman, stared down at him; her lips crinkled and somewhat ill-amused.  Her cloak concealed her weapons, though her leather armor could be seen beneath as it shifted when the woman placed her hands upon her hips.  “We need to talk.”

Now it was Garland’s turn to sigh.  “Take a seat,” he offered plainly as he gestured to the empty chair across the table before he glanced back down to his food.

“We need to talk privately,” the woman replied in a worn, accusatory tone that left the implication clear.  Which of course you know.

Garland winced as he groaned.  “I haven’t even finished my breakfast.”

“The breakfast here is horrible,” Garland’s guest retorted with a shake of her head.  “You aren’t missing much.”

“The breakfast here is excellent,” Garland objected quickly as he reached out and took another swig of his morning brew.  “This is horrible,” he conceded a moment later as he winced and put the cup back down.

The woman snorted and jerked her head towards a side room as she moved off.  Garland sighed, took a moment to heave another two forkfuls into his mouth before he stood to follow her. Closing the door behind him Garland ran his hand over his mouth to clear the stray bits of food away.  Waiting until his guest circled back round to face him Garland shrugged and raised a hand.  “So Sachea, what’s the job,” he asked pointedly; no point in drawing things out.

“For now, you follow me, and I bring you to the one who’s going to give you the job,” the woman replied bluntly.

The hairs on the back of Garland’s neck went up at that.  That wasn’t the way this worked.  Sachea’s face was an empty mask, and Garland couldn’t figure out whether she knew what the job was and just couldn’t say, or if even she wasn’t sure.  Either way he couldn’t shake that feeling, the one he used to get as a child when an ill wind would blow in from off the channel straights.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the pecking order of whom she answered to; but he didn’t like the idea that he was being pulled up it.   She had always kept things vague, shadowy; with enough distance that he could be cut loose if things got complicated.  That was fine, better than fine.  It kept things simple.  But this was different, and if Sachea wasn’t going to be giving the instructions that meant something.  “How bad is it,” Garland asked pointedly, though he wasn’t sure the answer would change anything.  “On a scale of one to Vaeshel; what are you getting me into?”

“Vaeshal was about a six, right,” Sachea quipped with a cynical and almost criminal smirk.

“Godsblood,” Garland cursed.  The young man frowned and stared at his own boots for a second, before he stepped forward, opened the door and gestured for the woman to lead the way.  “After you.”

__
People & Things Introduced

• The Gauntlet: A local inn frequented by mercenaries and sell-swords
• Sachea: Garland’s main contact/handler to this point
• Vaeshal: A town where Garland has done a job in the past

It could be some someone connected to Churthen; a cousin or someone he owes favors to.  Ambition tends to lead to one having debts; and the type of repayment that can be expected should Churthen’s position suddenly be elevated certainly improves.  It also adds a level of scandal to things; neither Churthen nor his wife are directly implicated but if this gets out their names are still besmirched.

I'll add my intro with Etz as soon as able. Let's assume that Etz has brought me in, though.

With a weary sigh of boredom and irritation, Indigo flipped the page of the book he was reading and was continuing to do his best to occupy himself as he waited for the royal audience to finish up. He had received a message from a courier a few days ago that his handler, Stefen, required his assistance with something that had come up and when he arrived he had been hurriedly moved to a small room out of the way to await being summoned more privately while the Royal Family attended to matters as they saw fit for their country.

"Tabeta T'Mont", he heard the named announced through the wood and stone, loud enough that the marshal's voice carried far enough into the castle to reach even Indigo. What surprised him however, was mere moments later, the door to his room opened and the scarred old man who was his handler stepped into the room.

"Okay, time to go. Follow me," he told Indigo, waiting for the young man to stand at the ready and then follow him out of the room, navigating him through the castle. He followed him into the Western Tower, up the stairs and into a small room that was guarded by two guards who werelooking to be quite perturbed and unsettled over something. For just a moment Stefen looked to them and then nodded, they stepped aside, and he produced a small key and walked up to the door, knocking on it in a particular pattern before he unlocked the door and motioned for Indigo to follow after him, closing and locking the door once they were both inside.

Indigo raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he took survey of the room. There were already four other people within the confines, two men and two women. One of whom he recognized as someone named Cara...Eitherway, with six people in the room now, it was obvious things were becoming rather cramped.

Stefen looked to the Victountess and Menkilla, nodding silently to the pair of them before he looked back to Indigo. "Here's the Mage the Queen has secured, he will help us." he said, matter of factly, leaving no room for argument.

Silence filled the room then, before Indigo looked back from the rest of the group to Stefen. "Perhaps you should tell me what I am helping with,"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:09, Wed 08 Apr 2020.

After hearing the news about the princes, Etzagith, finally over his shock, had a million questions.  He started sputtering, trying to ask three questions at once, when Menkliia waved him to silence.  "Just keep it shut until we're all here," he snapped.

The door opened and two women walked in.  Etz immediately recognized the foreigner who had arrived with lots of hoopla two years ago -- her unusual appearance gave her away, but she had a different air from the more carefree woman he had once observed prancing behind the carriage she was supposed to be inside.  The other woman he had seen at large court functions, but he didn't know who she was.  A countess, I think, or maybe a sister to one of the duchesses?

The door had barely closed when it opened again and Garland Rhaine walked in, followed by a woman Etz had never seen before.  Though he was already standing with his back to the wall, Etzagith unconsciously tried to take another step away from the powerful man and glanced around again for another exit from the windowless room.  I had heard that he was "out," but what's he doing here?  Garland started to speak, but Menkliia held up a finger for silence.

The group stood awkwardly for only another few minutes, though it seemed like hours, when the door opened one more time.  Etz recognized Stefen, the ancient potion master, and another man who looked familiar.  Stefen looked to the Viscountess and Menkliia, nodding silently to the pair of them before he looked back to the newcomer. "Here's the Mage the Queen has secured, he will help us." he said, matter of factly, leaving no room for argument.

Silence filled the room then, before the man looked back from the rest of the group to Stefen. "Perhaps you should tell me what I am helping with."

Finally it struck Etz who the man was, and he struggled to remember his name, Azure?  No. Cerulean?  No. "Indigo! It's good to see you again."  To the man's blank look, he continued, "Years ago, you came to my father's keep and made him understand that the creature with the impenetrable shell was not a threat.  Your solution to surround it with a power circle that will alert us if it moves, that was brilliant."

"Rugulusen!  I said shut your yap!" snapped Menkliia.  Taking a breath, he nodded to the countess and to Garland's escort, who both left the room silently.  Then he gestured for everyone to take a seat about the table.  "This is Stefen.  He's going to be your contact on this mission, though he and I will have to stay mostly out of it.  We want your hands free if you have to get messy, and we may need to claim no knowledge of what you're doing.  Rest assured, however, that you have the full backing of the Queen."

The room was silent as the implications of "have to get messy" sunk in.  Stefen took over the narrative, "Some of might know this already, but we are trying to keep it as quiet as possible.   Prince Liam and Prince Lucas are missing, they have been kidnapped ... or worse.  We are putting this team together to recover them if they are alive, or to avenge them if they are not.  Use whatever force is necessary, but bring those boys back unharmed!"

Before anyone could ask any questions, Menkliia jumped in.  "We think that this team has a combination of skills that should be successful ..."  Etzagith noticed an odd emphasis on the word 'should' and he studied the huge man's face.  "... with the exception of a close-in fighter.  Rhaine, here, is unmatched with a blade, but you really need a second person, someone who could fight in a crawlspace, or if you have to give up your weapons."  He turned and glared at Etzagith, leaning in with a tiny smirk on his lips.  "What about you, Regulusen?  Do you know anybody like that?"

Etz shrank back, uncomfortable with everyone's eyes upon him.  "I, uh, I...  Yeah, I, umm, know somebody," the rogue stammered.  He expects us to fail, Etzagith realized.  He wants to make sure he has a scapegoat.  Etz found his courage and locked eyes with the soldier.  "In fact, he'd be perfect, and I'm pretty sure he is still living here in Druvir.  I'll ask him if he's interested."

"You don't ask," said Menkliia, "you tell."

Stefen had a more cooperative tone, "Etzagith, go find him, convince him he needs to help.  All of you, go get whatever gear you need and be back here an hour before sunset.  I'll show you the nursery, and we'll go over what rituals we've already tried, unsuccessfully, to locate the boys."  He looked up, as if he were checking the position of the sun, though the room had no windows. You have two hours.

Etzagith stood slowly.  His first desire was to find a way to get to Jia, to reassure her and get her take on it all, but now he was committed to finding Manaolana and getting back here in two hours.  He didn't think he could make it.  He walked away from the castle, towards Chapel Road, and slipped into an alley.  After dusting himself off, he flipped his cloak around to the nice side, eased out the collapsible hat, and popped it open on his head.  Feeling a little more presentable, he stepped into the side entrance of Marko's Jewelery.

Marko looked up as he entered, then quickly glanced around to see that the store was empty.  "Chameleon," he whispered as he hobbled over to close the window shade, "did you bring me something?  It's full daylight!"  Again he looked around nervously.

"No," Etz replied, "I'm just looking for information."  He slid three coins across the counter.  "I'm looking for the guy they call 'The Monk.'  Manaolana is his real name.  He's the guy who was with me that time I bought you and your friend drinks at the Dirty Duck."  They both knew he referred to the pub 'The Silver Goose.'

"Him?  Yeah, he's working for, uhh, old Geraff Potter.  Something about the purity of crafting useful things with your hands.  He's probably there, now.  Now me, I like a piece of porcelain to be beautiful as well as just functional.  It's a ..."

Etzagith cut him off.  "Yeah, thanks a load, Marko."  He slid a fourth coin across the counter.  "You've been a real help."  Stepping out the front door, the rogue strode across the street as if he had an important business engagement.  While turning the corner, he casually collapsed his hat and tucked it into the lining of his cloak without breaking stride.  At the next corner, he took the cloak off and folded it over his arm; and around the next he put it back on, reversed this time.  Fifteen minutes later he was in the pottery studio, standing over the former monk who was pumping the wheel rhythmically with his foot as he centered a lump of stoneware on the wheel.

Etz coughed quietly to get his attention, then said, "Manaolana, we have to talk."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:21, Wed 08 Apr 2020.

Mud.

Nobody told you that, when you worked with ceramics, you were dealing with mud. Old fashioned, dirty mud. Now, any child would point this out to someone, but not necessarily if that someone were the man seen here in this ceramic workshop. Easily half a foot taller than six feet, this figure is powerfully built, if not overpoweringly so. He stands with feet precisely planted; every line of his being seems almost posed. He bears simple, calm expression. Light shines off his shaved-bald pate.

He is, currently, staring down at a half-formed mud bowl. One might be inclined to sell it to the curious or gullible as a work of art, as the bowl itself was shaped rather irregularly and seemingly with a warped angle. Sadly, the man who crafted it had no such intentions. His dark green eyes betray an annoyance with the beginnings of rage underlying it. He grits his teeth and looks torn, as if reluctant to wade into battle with a deadly foe.

He then sat down at the table and, putting this failed work aside, began trying to turn the wheel and create. He then paused at a slight sound, letting the clay drop in front of him, to look up. He sees a slight man, slim and a little shorter than average, but only a bit.  His face is pleasant but not handsome, soft but not chubby, slightly effeminate but only when he smiles.  He is altogether a forgettable looking fellow.

Etzagith said, "Manaolana, we have to talk."

Manaolana stops his pumping and stands, reminiscent of a dancer in his grace. He looks at Etz with his normal, fairly blank expression, then, as if remembering something, smiles politely.

"It is well-ordered to see you again, Etzagith. I am pleased to speak with you. I was not enjoying my task, so your interruption is welcome."

His green eyes have gained a sparkle of genuine curiosity.

Characters Introduced - Manaolana: Warrior Raised by Monks Seeking a Mission in Life
This message was last edited by the player at 20:11, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Etzagith smiled at the big man's precise, slightly stilted manner of speaking.  I guess well-ordered is a good thing.  "What would you say to performing a major service for the Queen?"  He looked around to ensure they were alone, and lowered his voice such that Manaolana had to lean in to hear.  "It is not my secret to tell, so all I can say is that a serious event has befallen the royal family.  I was recruited as part of a a team to make things right, and we're looking for some musc... someone who can fight hand-to-hand.  I promise you we'll be on the right side of this, and we'll be looking to save some innocents.  If you're interested, we need to go right away.  I don't know, with your job here, if you can just leave, but we only have about an hour to get back to the castle."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: I know that many people freak out if you put even a single word in their character's mouth, but I'm not one of them.  Feel free include his response to any super obvious parts of the conversation.  Etz talks in Aqua.  Since I've already trodden all over your character, making him work in the mud and all, I'll not cross that line without your permission.

If you've become worldly enough to ask about what this job pays, Etz will have absolutely no idea -- it never even occurred to him to think about money, not when the Queen has asked for him.  And it's not as if he ever worries about living expenses, he knows a million hidey-holes if he needs a place to sleep, and he can easily steal enough to keep himself fed.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 22:42, Thu 09 Apr 2020.

Cara could not shake the sensation that the man who was waiting with Menkliia was familiar, but she could not place him.  She was possessed of an excellent poker face, however, so except for perhaps the tiniest wrinkling at the corners of her eyes she betrayed no trace of her inner thoughts.  His eyes were not for her, it seemed, as he and Indigo had business.  Or not, the cult Mage's eyes did not light up in recognition either.  Perhaps he too was practiced in keeping his face a mask, but she had not seen him employ such talents before.  True, she'd only worked with him once, but he'd always struck her as being far more invested in his own internal struggles than upon their echoes upon his features.

"The Mage," Menkliia had said, meaning he had no idea who she was.  Interesting, but she would have to remove said ignorance sooner rather than later.  It would not do for the man to form an opinion of her not first shaped by his perceptions of the House.  It was an arduous task at times, always playing the role, but one that had been drilled into her far beyond her capacity to resist.  It was a core of her being, as much a part of her as the magic which flowed over and through her.  More so, as it was practically an inexhaustible resource, while her Mantle of gathered arcanum was not.  Menkliia was speaking again, explaining the direness of the situation.  The royal heirs missing had repercussions far beyond the kingdom.  She would need to get a Mageword to Oathsworn Hannas just as soon as she could ensure the resonance of such was free of prying magics.   As he spoke of needing a "close-in fighter," her lips pressed thinly together as she unsubtly rested her gloved hands upon the hilts of her two long duelist's knives.   Rhaine then, a name worth knowing.

First named Rugulusen, then Etzagith, the stranger who had been an itch within her mind left.  Not hesitating, she took advantage of the silence and moved to Indigo.  Her eyes scanned him once from boot the crown, predatory and hungry in their intent.

"Lore Mage Indigo, I hadn't thought I'd be seeing you again so soon."

She paid the Queen's favored a stiff nod, touching thumb to forehead in the way of her people.

"Oathsworn."  He replied gruffly, almost instinctively renewing one of the potent wards of protection which encircled his Mantle with an almost effortless flexing of his fingers.  She couldn't see it, but this close she could just feel the oppressive power of it.  He wasn't Oathsworn, but his Mantle was a powerful thing indeed, something to be respected.  "I will review the rituals that they've employed, and make sure there are no obvious flaws in the formulas.  I will inform the group when I am done." No request for help, so much like him.  He followed Menkliia, leaving Cara alone with the Viscountess and the blademaster.

Indigo inspected the room, his gaze soft as his focus shifted between one world and the next.  "Give me something of theirs."  He made a slightly frustrated gesture with his hands, a grasping motion.  "There is an undercurrent here, something just at the edge of my perception."  Menkliia obliged, handing over a silver letter opener that had been Prince Lucas' favorite sword when he had been no more than a few summer's old.  The Lore Mage grasped it, closing his eyes as he followed the sympathy of the knife to the young heir.  It resisted him, and he drew more heavily upon the frayed networks of power within his mind, the twinned bonds forming and reforming as he added to the complexity of the bond through sheer force of will alone.  "Not blocked, severed."  He said at last.  "Someone has altered the pattern of their essence, breaking the bonds of sympathy.  Fate Magic, and a strong ritual too.  If you get me to any of the major ley lines within this city there is a good chance I can sense at least some of the lingering eddies.  Magic of that scale is going to leave a mark."
--

"Rhaine."

She said aloud, her voice like a whip crack cutting across the air.  "Not a name I've heard, and as far as I knew the College hasn't produced a half decent Swordmage in at least a decade." A sleight at Swordmage Rhosus, who had been an instructor for exactly ten years at the College.   "You don't look that old, yet some agent of the Veiled Hand just unpuckered their asshole long enough to lay an extraordinary amount of praise at your feet." She ignored the pointed stare from Viscountess Martiness, her handler was always far too invested in keeping her in the dark, and strode to meet the warrior.  "Who was your teacher to have earned you such praise?  What's your arcane tradition?". Her tone was not challenging, but there was an edge to it, something hardened without being hostile.  Something more than curiosity, ambition perhaps?  It was hard to say.

--
Characters Introduced - Swordmage Rhosus:  Academician Primary of the College
This message was last edited by the player at 17:38, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

'Ola stood stock still for a long moment. Not still like a soldier at attention; more like a paralyzed man, locked in the same position as when he was spoken to by Etz. Etz had the benefit of having seen this behavior before and understood that it meant that 'Ola was thinking, not in fact afflicted or upset. Then, 'Ola relaxed visibly and bowed. "It would be an honor to accept. Allow me ten minutes to clean up my workspace and inform Geraff Potter of my departure."

Potter is renowned for his gruff garrulousness. As soon as 'Ola went downstairs and knocked on the old potter's door, the man begins to regale him with his latest sale.

"Five hundred units, boy! And for good coin. The man must have been thick in the head. Why, if I had known..."

'Ola holds up his hand and steps forward. "Geraff, I must leave. I have been summoned on a matter of some importance to the nation. My apologies for the abrupt departure."

Geraff had just finished a paragraph of words when he stops and turns to glare at 'Ola. "Wait, what did you say, boy? Sounded like you were saying you were leaving."

'Ola patiently repeats his words, though Geraff cuts him off when he starts apologizing. "It's fine, lad, it's fine. Of course, according to local customs, you forfeit your wages for leaving early, you know."

Geraff has a peculiar look in his eye when he says this, but 'Ola does not even flinch at this. "Thank you for enlightening me on this custom, Geraff. I will then make my leave. I look forward to sitting and working with you again someday."

Geraff beams like a man who just swallowed a shot of fine liquor and nods. "Very good, lad, very good. See you around." He then hustles 'Ola out of his office--rather the visual equivalent of a tiny dog herding an oxen--and shuts the door behind him.

'Ola proceeds outside the shop and nods at Etz. "Matters are settled. Your matters beckon. Lead on." His face is the picture of calm, though not of contentment.

Etzagith smiled when Manaolana so quickly agreed to join in this endeavor.  He knew that the quirky man could be trusted, which he couldn't say for Garland Rhaine, nor the strange foreign woman in red and black.  He led through the main streets, forgoing his usual routine of staying to side streets and changing his appearance constantly.  'Ola stands out so much that no one will even notice me, he thought.

Etz led past the main entrance to the west gate, where he knew there would only be one toll guard this close to sunset.  Gesturing for the big man to keep quiet, the rogue stayed tight to the wall.  He peeked in the gate, waiting to see when the toll guard was occupied, then slipped quickly in and off to the side.

Manaolana followed, but once the two were several paces past the toll point, he stopped and spoke.  "Friend Etzagith, are we not required to pay a small entrance fee when we enter the castle?  The man whom we pay is over here.  You have walked right past him."

Etzagith stopped, his eyes turned heavenward.  He gave a little shrug to the guard who was now glaring at him, then stepped forward to drop two small coins into his hand.  After the guard waved them on, the two had only a few steps to the west tower where a page was waiting for them.  Once they had established their identities sufficiently, he led them up to the room where the princes had slept.

Cara, Indigo, and Garland were already there with Stefen, and it looked as if Indigo was busy with something arcane.  Etzagith stepped into the room.  "This is Manaolana, the muscle I told you about.  He has agreed to help."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:32, Mon 13 Apr 2020.

"Well, this has been enlightening, but there are things that I needs must accomplish before we are about the Queen's business."  She brought the fingers of her left hand to her mouth, seeming to kiss her own fingertips, and then splayed her fingers wide.  It was a strange gesture, and likely meant something in Khune, but was utterly without context or purpose here.  Viscountess Oanna Martiness fixed her with another icy stare,  which with her glacial blue eyes had quite the effect.  She started to say something, but before she could get a word out, the Oathsworn cut her off with a sharp glare of her own.  "You knew what responsibilities I was to be about this morning, Viscountess.  The burdens of debt wait for no mortal, not even the Queen.  Besides, we were given two hours, I won't be late."  The Viscountess brought herself up to her full height, giving her a few inches on the Khundari despite her almost skeletally thin build.  "Is this not what you've whined after these last sixteen months, and yet when it is finally here, all you can mind is your bloody traditions?"  Cara let her hardened stare turn into a bitter smile, but the edge in her voice was no less sharp.  "That you even now think of it in such terms shows how little you've learned despite all your meddling, Viscountess Martiness."  Then she was gone, out the door and about her business.  "Khundari."  The ambassador of the Veiled Hand said dryly as the door was shut, though what else she thought of them she kept to herself.

---

Cara moved briskly though the keep, back out through the main gate, and into the Merchant's Quarter of Druvir.  It took her no more than ten minutes before she was jogging up the steps of the Royal Bank of Druvish and Harrell, past the stately receiving room, and into the clerk's office.  "Oh, no appointments to…"  Whatever the already ashen faced clerk was going to say, the words died on his tongue as he looked up and saw the Oathsworn.   "Please madam, right t-this way.  We already cleared his morning schedule, but we didn’t expect you for another hour."  He said apologetically as he ushered her through a curtain and into a back room.  Cara said nothing, her face a blank mask as she moved almost silently behind the practically trembling clerk.   "Arcanist Ellis Yassur, your ten o'clock is here."  He spread the curtain aside to reveal a lavishly appointed office and a slightly plump man in late forties, dressed in robes of ornately embroidered purple and gold silk, his features a mix of abject horror and profound relief.

---

Less than twenty minutes later, she was back at the keep, only the lightest bead of sweat upon her forehead from the considerable jog.  Though none there but Indigo and the Viscountess had the sensitivity to notice it, there was something different about her, something just under the surface of understanding.  She had been back for less than a minute when Etzagith arrived with Manaolana.  "Do we have enough muscle then?"  She said with a raised eyebrow, eyeing the hulking man speculatively.  "More importantly, do we have any leads?"  That last directed towards Indigo.

"Someone has severed the twin's fate lines, in doing so severing any sympathy that might be used for a spell of tracking.  A ritual intended to empower that kind of Fate magic could only take place in a concentrated locus of power, a nexus.  There are only a few of those in the city, and the twins would of had to have been physically present when the ritual was cast.  It's not much, but it's a place to start. 

I've mapped down the three most likely locals, but I don't know if we'd be best served splitting up or hitting them all together."  He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the limelight.

--
Characters Introduced:  Arcanist Ellis Yassur, Dependent of House Yisil
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:10, Mon 13 Apr 2020.

The boys spent an hour or more with their swordmaster.   After, they went to their chambers, though one went to the kitchen first."  Indigo held up a couple of sweat-stained tunics, scowling.  "And that was the last of them."

"Here's where it gets strange.   There's no memory of anyone entering or leaving the room after that--not until the Nurse came looking for them.  Nearly an hour later.  I don't mean that nobody entered or left.  I tapped the beds, the wardrobe, the very carpet.   There simply is no memory of that time-period."

"The meticulous timing of this suggests that this magical-effect was triggered.  Such a spell would have to be embedded into something.  You just cannot do hanging spells without something physical acting as an anchor.  So, whatever it was was either in the boy's chambers or planted on one of the boys."


--
OOC:  Since Indigo had already posted in-character, the character exists.  However, since none of his background had been brought into play (other than his interaction with Lord Rugulsen), we're throwing that to the wind.   Bottom line is that he's now a NPC.   I don't have a preference yet...  He can travel with the group or he can be a research GM-mouthpiece...
This message was last edited by the player at 07:10, Mon 13 Apr 2020.

Cara:
"I've mapped down the three most likely locals, but I don't know if we'd be best served splitting up or hitting them all together."


Stefen didn't ask how Cara had gotten her information.    He simply nodded succinctly and grunted.  "By now, the city watch is going to be checking everyone leaving the city.  Harbour-masters'll be holding back any ships scheduled to leave today.  But they aren't revealing the reasons to the people.  So, we've got a little time to work."

He ran a thin, elegant hand along the stubble on the unburned side of his face.   "But you know the Kingsmen will be looking through the same paths.  It's best you get there before them.  They get there first, they'll muddy the waters if they're not successful."

Menkliia growled.  "Hey!  That's mean.   You got a hard-on for Justin, that's all.  Ever since the fool bungled the Madassa Raid."  he waved and winced slightly, "He ain't gonna be anywhere near this one.  He's manning Wolde's Gate until the first snowfall."

Stefen just offered a slight smirk and a slight nod of his head.

Menkliia shook his head again, muttering.   "The old man's right, though.   I can direct the Kingsmen to one of them.   Split the others.   I'm betting that--if they even want to get out of the city--they'll want to do it after nightfall.  That give us a good six or seven hours. 

"If it's too big, you don't put the boys at risk.  Better to let them move and live than the other choice.   You guys have no idea what Jia's like when she's upset.  What're your sites?"
This message was last edited by the player at 07:11, Mon 13 Apr 2020.

Manaolana enters the room, still puzzling over Etz's apparent lack of understanding of local protocol, when he enters the room with the others. He stands stock-still and bows slightly after being introduced as "the muscle." He assumes that Etz must, in this analogy, be the mind and perhaps the Khundari woman was the bone being moved in this analogy. He makes a mental note to ask about this kind of analogy usage later.

He tries his best to follow the conversation but then leans in to whisper to Etz, "My deferences, but a question...who are the Kingsmen?"

"A group like ours, those who serve the king," Etzagith whispered back.  "A bunch of stumbling fools, the lot of them" he continued, as if he actually knew.

With such a focus on magical investigation, Etz wondered whether anyone had tried any simple investigation by eyes.  He remembered Ridlo's training in getting past security systems, that too many would be housebreakers rely on the pre-cast ritual chips that identify traps.  The best traps were shielded from such magicks, but often simple observance would find them.  He looked carefully at the windows for signs of someone entering or leaving that way, in the closets for signs of anyone who had been lying in wait, and everywhere else in the room for any sort of clue.  He felt a little desperate.  These are Jia's boys, and we're getting nowhere!

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
22:41, Today: Etzagith rolled -1 using 4 Fudge dice.  Investigate (+2) in the Twins room. - -1
Yuck, for a total of 1 on the overcome roll.  I'll apply a fate point "In service of the Queen" to make it a result of 3.

I didn't want to assume that there are secret doors into this room, but if there are, I'll check those, as well, especially looking in the dust just inside the passage to see if anyone had passed that way recently.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 00:32, Wed 15 Apr 2020.

Cara eyed Menkilla speculatively, wondering who the grim man was.  House Yisil had offered her to the Queen as an asset more than a year and a half ago, and she had immediately been granted temporary title within the Veiled Hand.  The appointment had not come with many privileges, and those that had been granted always came with numerous strings attached.  To refer to Viscountess Oanna Martiness as one of those strings would be be the same as if she had remarked that that Lac Lis was rather salty, a complete and utter minimization of reality.  Despite her outwardly pouting and and somewhat petulant appearance, the woman was an extremely competent and shrewd Ambassador.  She had deftly kept Cara in the dark about the majority of the Queen's business for the vast majority of her service, and such ignorance extended into her lack of knowledge about most of the organization's other members.

Indigo set the map down on the oval table of dark hardwood that rested naked in the middle of the room, allowing them all to survey its contents.  It was a map of Druvir, the city's various districts drawn out in excruciating detail.  The margins of the map were crammed with notes and formula in ink so new it still gleamed in the light of the candle that he drew near.  The handwriting on these new notes was crisp and clean, yet so small and tightly packed as to practically require a magnifying glass.  Eddies and currents had been layered over the careful typography of the map, along with identifying keys and additional notes.  There were three key loci of power, each one marked and noted in exquisite detail.

The first site was just outside the Eastern wall of the Merchant's Quarter, within the borderline slum that was the Craftsfolk's District.  The College had aggressively bought out, or forced out, anyone within a city block of the shifting ley line nine months ago in anticipation.  They had been busy since, converting an entire block of family homes and small workshops into an ancillary research campus.  The place was practically a fortress in its own right, and anyone attempting to smuggle the twins into it would have been hard pressed to do so without significant help from the inside.  The ramifications of that were chilling, suggesting highly influential Collegiate Mages participating in some sort of elaborate coup.

The second concentration of ley lines was deep in the Southern end of the city, well away from any of Druvir's traditional bases of power.  Well, traditional at least in terms of official legitimacy and recognition.  To those who knew the criminal underbelly of Druvir well, it was clear why the College had not attempted to exert their influence over the nexus of power in the same way as they had done in the Merchant's Quarter.  The lines of concentrated magical power were deep into South End turf, and likely as not had been quite thoroughly claimed and defended by that organization.

The third locus of power was smack dab in the middle of the East Penryn's primary estate outside the main keep, where it had been shifting slowly for the better part of the last three months.  The Duke and Duchess had been enjoying the magical bounty, and had acquired a great deal of favor and capital as a result of their good fortune.

"That almost seems.... too obvious."  Cara mused allowed, looking at the third location.

"Aye." Stefan said.  "Somebody playing them or they banking on the obviosity of it?  Kingsmen will go to the Penryn house.  Guaranteed.  They might make a foray into the Hundred Flags, but there's a lot of attention there right now.  My money's on the Dockward.

--
OOC:

• Hundred Flags - The "crafts district", also home of the largest open market in Kumlar.
• Dockward - obviously, the docks... this is the south end.

This message was last edited by the player at 00:09, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

Mnkliia muttered a curse.  "This is going to bite us all."  he said after a moment.

After Stefan raised an eyebrow, Menkliia continued.  "Court today.  Envoys from Aren.  Their speaker claims the Mondain are massing in the north.   But there was also a new envoy from House Sood, one of her brethren."  Menkliia nodded at Cara.   "They were going on at length about hunters in Khadid.  All but accused Jia of a letter of marque.  It's going to mean yet another round of negotiations.  And her head ain't in it with this going on."


--
House Sood - Another the the houses in Khundari.   This isn't the first time this has happened, of course, but Sood is a particularly isolationist house on the north end of Lac Lis.  They get slammed a lot from the other houses, but they also deal with an enormous amount of crap from the scarred lands.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:33, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

"This vertice."  Stefan leaned forward, biting his lower-lip.  Ge pointed at the Southern-most vertice of magical energy on the map Indigo had laid out.    "looks to be near a series of warehouses in the Dockward. . Blue Sails Merchants, I think.  They've got ties to the Ember Blades and the Bellhooks.  If the boys are there, they'll be bound for Cryen or worse.  We can't let that happen."

'Ola has been listening to all this stolidly, standing stock-still in that way that unnerves anyone who doesn't know him. At this last statement, though, he steps forward, his head cocked.

"An inquiry: What do you mean by 'bound for Cryen?' It sounds as if that refers to slavery of some kind, from your tone."

He stands still, though he glances sideways at Etz to broaden his friend in the group of people to answer the question. The concern over that prospect is written all over the young warrior's usually stolid face.

This message was deleted by the player at 03:48, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

"Among other things, if you look in the right places," Garland finally commented after a while without looking up.  He had always made it a habit to hold his tongue on matters, like magic, that were beyond him.  Politics?  Well, Garland had an entirely different reason to stay out of those discussions.    Crowns or clubs, guided thrones or shadowed hideouts; the rules of power never changed and so that wasn't entirely beyond his ken.  But the gilded blades tended to slide in a lot more unexpectedly, and more often from the back, than they would in the guild.  Say what you want about how the guilds did business; at least they mostly stab you in the front.

And so, as soon as the four walls of this job became clear the mercenary had shut his jaw tight until he had a better read of territory and how much of a lions den Sachea had thrown him into.  Nobles, politics, successions; these were the types of gears that ground men like him to dust without even noticing.  "Bigger problem is you just won't ever find them if they get there," Garland continued as he glanced to Manaolana.  "Too many holes to vanish down; to many ways to disappear from there.  Lovely place though; you should visit sometime," with a bit of dark humor.

Turning to Stefen, Garland stared for a long moment.  Lips thinning he didn't like the older man mentioning the Blades.  He didn't like anyone, mentioning the Blades. He didn't like the idea this job might lead down those paths...

"I can't think the Blades are involved in this," the mercenary finally brings himself to say, his voice hesitating only slightly before the reference.  "Not that they're above hurting kids," he conceded with a cynical smile, "there's just not enough profit from their end.  Or rather, once you put down the cost of bringing the palace down on your heads, that ledger doesn't balance well.  High Treason's like that."  It was logical and it made sense and still Garland wasn't sure whether it was fact or hope speaking.  There was one scenario where it made sense, but the man again kept his mouth shut.

Stefen waved a hand, though whether it was a gesture of apology or dismissal wasn't clear.

"It does seem out of their purview.  But a warehouse is a warehouse.  I don't know much about the Blue Sails.  As a business, I imagine that they'd contract with whomever pays their price."   He stopped for a moment, then nodded again.  "It's probably worth checking their ledger. Do you folks feel up for a little visit to the Blue Sails Warehouses?"

Ah, there we go.  I wasn't sure how I'd get you to the next scene...  but a little sneaking around to look at the ledger seems right in line with Etz's concept.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:52, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

Menkliia glanced at Manaolama, then back at Stefen, waiting for the old man to answer teh warrior's question.  After a long moment, he coughed.  "Cyren's an outpost city.  Rough.  Part of Kumlar, but not Kumlaren.  Sort of a ... protectorate.  In the early days, the Cyrenni let us build an outpost there to defend against attacks by the Ekwesh.  We lost the outpost, they reclaimed it.   It sucked balls, but better the enemy you know, right?"

Stefen grunted. "It was their island to begin with."

"Nonetheless, now it's a fuck-load of cutthroats and pirates."  Menkliia spat.  "In public, I wouldn't call them slavers.  Bu privately?"  Menkliia shrugged. <DarkBlue> "I wouldn't put it past 'em."


If you're familiar at all with Robin Hobb's The Farseer series (Assassin's Apprentice, et al), I'm envisioning the ancient stories of the Ekwesh to be much like the outislanders...  But it's all ancient history now. 
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

Flashback:
Because I misunderstood Etzagith's posting, where he was and when he was doing it...

Before running off to gather Indigo for the second meeting in Menkliia's drafty little chamber, Etzagith had gone with Indigo to the boy's chambers.  While Indigo had the blessing of the College, the guards at the doors looked at Etzagith with thinly disguised  emotion:  distrust, perhaps, or disgust.

While Indigo had set about the ritual he'd need to sense the ebb and flow of magical currents in the room, Etzagith had performed a more mundane inspection.

The boy's had had food.  A plate of cheese and bread was still sitting on the little table, uneaten.  All in all the chambers looked undisturbed, as if the boys had just gotten up and left.  Had they?


One of the boys had been reading an illuminated manuscript of some sort.  It lay on the table beside the snuffed candle and the food.  Books were rare.  And bound books even rarer.  A piece like that, would have fetched a fair price on the black market.  Even to those who couldn't read.

It was just as Indigo had closed his circle and was doing some strange contortionistic dance, that Etz came across the  trigger-stone for the secret-passage.   A cool breeze brushed across his face as he looked inside.

Crumbling stairs led down, down down...  and Etz couldn't help but follow.  It was a series of passages he hadn't seen before.  But Etz hadn't spent a lot of time in the West tower.  This particular set of passages led to one of the pantries.  It wasn't the kitchen proper, but was probably one of the ones used to supply the keep servants...

It had been traveled frequently.  That much he could tell.    Probably the boys knew of it.

But what caught Etzagith's attention was an etching on the stone beside the entrance to the boys' chambers.    A rough circle scratched into the stone, with five radiating lines above it, and a wavy line across it's middle.


OOC: Indigo had failed to mention that the boy that went to the kitchen returned to the chambers by the secret passage...

Etzagith returned to the room where the others were already discussing their findings, and lack thereof.  When the Ember Blades were mentioned, Etz looked over at Garland, trying to read if he knew anything, but did not get anything from the big man.  I wonder if he's even still welcome on the Ember Blades' turf, now that he is out.  I'll have to avoid the Chameleon being seen with him, just in case it would spoil my welcome there.

The rogue felt shy in the group that was growing large, especially for the small room.  He didn't want to speak up and have everyone looking at him, but he did have some information to pass along -- information that might be important.  After a pause in the conversation, he spoke up.  "Yeah, I'm up for a little look around the warehouse.  Maybe you should let me go myself, first, so I can scout around for the best approach.

"But first I want to let you know what I found.  I took a look around in the twins' room and saw a few things that might be important."  He swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable as everyone stared at him.  "The room looked too neat for two young boys to live in, even with servants that clean up after them constantly.  I suspect there was some sort of confrontation, and somebody cleaned up after.  There was bread and cheese on the table, but the chairs were properly pushed back where they belong.  What ten year old does that?"

Etz paused for a moment to let that sink in. "I found a secret passage from the room, leading to the scullery.  Clearly the boys knew of it, since it had seen a lot of use -- I'm sure they went down there for snacks.  Here's the odd thing, when I was returning to their room, I saw an odd symbol scratched into the stone right above the opening into their room."  He made a rough drawing of the symbol.  Looking at Indigo, he asked, "Does that mean anything to you?"

Cara's face was a blank stare at the mention of House Sood, betraying few of her thoughts on the matter.  Although the Great Houses did maintain alliances among themselves, such pacts were fragile things, dropped as soon as they were no longer convenient to one or both parties.    An Oathsworn of House Sood being within the capital was an unwelcome thing, one that almost inevitably would lead to further complications in Cara's life.  She did not need to fear violence, even this far away from the Dragon Emperor's Laws it would be the height of foolishness to take any action that might incur a Blood Debt.  Still, House Yisil had gained a considerable advantage in being the first to consider Kumlar ripe territory for the harvest, it was only a matter of time before the other Houses had taken note of their change in fortunes and begun circling about like vultures.  Of course they would choose now, when she was finally engaged in something serious for the Veiled Hand, to make their appearance.

She stepped away from the others at the table, and to a small side alcove along the wall.  It wasn't that she didn't want them to see what she did next, quite the opposite.  For all their vaunted secrets, the Oathsworn of the Great Houses made no attempt at obfuscation when they wielded their magic.  They wanted to be seen, wanted to be recognized for what they were, what they had dedicated their lives to accomplishing.  Only Loremage Indigo and Viscountess Oanna Martiness could really appreciate what she was doing, but it mattered not.  All who chose to would witness, and that was enough.

She drew the knife at her left hip, and then its sister at her right.  Both were massive things, more properly short swords than knives, except they were only bladed on one side.  The guards were thick and brutal looking half-circles of nubbed iron, chipped and dented, and looked to be more like knuckles for punching than proper guards.  To Manaolana's expert eyes, they were clearly brawler's weapons.  The sort of blades one might expect to find in a back ally turf war between rival gangs, or on the deck of a ship.  For all their wear and tear, they were well cared for, the black blades gleaming and sharp.

She rolled up the left sleeve of her long black and red coat, unveiling an iron vembrace that ended just before her elbow.  This she unclasped, revealing an arm covered in scars.  No, not scars, ritual scarification.  For glyphs and sigils were carved into her flesh in expanding circles of painful geometry and arcane power.  Something moved upon her forearm, something twisted and unnatural.  It opened, a gleaming eye like a hardened gem, violet and utterly inhuman.  The skin around it was angry and red, as if her body were trying to burn this violation of its flesh out.  It blinked once, iris constricting in response to the light as it tried to focus on the room, but Cara was already reacting. She pricked her fingertip upon the razor sharp edge of one of the knives, and with practiced reflexes flicked a drop of blood into the open eye.  The blood pooled and clouded within the iris, blinding it to the room around them.  There was a shift in the air, an oppressive sensation of frustration that could be felt but not described, coupled with an inaudible groan just at the edge of hearing.  It was madness, it was something beyond understanding  Yet it was there, undeniable.  They could reach out and touch it, if they dared.

From where she stood, Viscountess Oanna Martiness's face hardened in disapproval, but she said nothing despite the horrific act they had all just witnessed.  She had been present to this depravity several times before, and its shock was no longer so profoundly disquieting.  Cara ignored her, taking her bloody fingertip and smearing the blood upon both blades.  As she did, she whispered under her breath, drawing on the interwoven spells of her mantle to empower the blades through practiced Ritual.  The blood sizzled and smoked as it touched the iron, contracting and flowing along the blades to form sigils of arcane power.  The magic was foreign, the runes meaningless even to those skilled in such things, the utterly alien magic of the Khundari.  With a whispered hiss, Cara set the spell into place, sweat beading her brow at the concentrated effort of it all.  At least, she hoped she did.  Magic was a tricky thing at the best of times, and foreign magic most of all.  Weary from the effort, but moving quickly, she clasped her vembrace back into place and once again covered the sacrilege profaning her flesh.

Turning to the others, she sheathed her blades, the magic that she had woven into them invisible to all but those with with right kinds of eyes.  She looked briefly at the symbol that Etzagith had drawn, and shook her head.

"Something to look out for, while we are out.  Shall we?"

She arched a brow, daring any of them to comment on what she had just done.

---

OOC:  For reference



Describe the Action: Cara is using Ritual Magic to weave a spell of poison into her blades.

Roll the Dice 10:53, Today: Cara rolled -3 using 4 Fudge dice.  Lore (+4).

Total of (+1)

Choose an Action: Absolutely Create an Advantage

Well now, that roll sucks.  Considering it's such a bad roll, can I have that compel my Trouble of Foreign Magic in the Blood and have something go wrong with the spell when I try and use it?
This message was last edited by the player at 02:04, Sat 18 Apr 2020.

I'm willing to say Etzagith spends some time scouting the place, but let's do that in prose - metagame - so that we can go int o the next scene and not have any players sitting on the sidelines.

I'll continue that discussion (group discussion) in the OOC thread.

Manaolana's face becomes as stone again. "Understood. Lovely place for a spiritual retreat, then" he adds wryly. One can tell from his eyes, though, that the thought of young people in such a situation troubles him.



Manaolana's eyes become steely knots of green. "As I suspected. Thank you, Menkilla." He stares off into the distance for a moment.



Manaolana's eyes ease a bit at this and he nods quickly. A course of action has always been preferable to the young man--a personality trait that did not always sit well with his monastic family. In these situations, though, it tends to be an asset, in his still-limited experience.



Manaolana says nothing but his eyebrow shoots up at this. He waits for Cara to finish her offer before he clears his throat. "I would accompany you, Etz. I have some skill with stealth. At the very least, I can stand watch in the shadows outside as you investigate the place."

Her hawkish gaze fell on Manaolana as he spoke, evaluating him as she had Garland before him.  Whatever she saw in the hulking man, she kept it to herself, at last looking away to slip on a pair of thick leather gloves and tucking them into the sleeves of her coat.  "I could sit here and weave spells into my Mantle for hours in preparation, if you two wish to scout alone.  However, unless one of you is a skilled Waymage, we'd be committing serious time to something that is only a suspicion.  More so, If you got yourself in trouble, your reinforcements would be sitting around this tower playing games."  She moved to stride towards the door.  "Let's all go, and if you know the South End so well we will stand back and play by your lead."

Garland turns swiftly on his heel as he follows Cara out.  He bites his tongue until he is far enough from Stephan that he feels, well not comfortable, but confident enough to speak.  "If we are going poking about with these people I'd rather my name not be brought up.  At all," the young man stated bluntly; the noticeable emphasis at the end making the statement seem less like an ask and and more of a direction.  It paired nicely with the unhappy crinkle to his eyes as he strode.  Garland spent as much time avoiding reminding Mira of his existence as he did anything else and roughing up associates of the Blades would be like spitting in her eye.

"I'll hang back just far enough to let the rest of you take the lead, but close enough to assist if necessary.  We should avoid violence as much as possible," he continued.  Thankfully there was more than just personal reasons to give that direction."They haven't done anything we can prove and we aren't acting in any official capacity.  Things get rough all they need to do is call for the local guards and we'll be the criminals attacking guilds-men in their own warehouse," Garland continued.  "And since explaining we are on a secret mission for the crown isn't on the table that ends with us resting our backside in a cell for a few hours.  Time being a commodity," he shrugs, leaving the rest unsaid.

Cara threw a backward glance at Garland, resting her hands on the pommels of her two sheathed knives without grasping the hilts.  "As I've only just learned the one name, what do you wish to be called by then?"  She asked as she stepped through the door and into the light, blinking a moment to adjust as she began to weave her way down the staircase that spiraled down the West tower of the Castle.  "And what is it about these people in particular that has you so nameshy?"  Cara lived and died by her reputation, and what a reputation it was.  Wanting to remain an unknown was an impossibility for any Oathsworn, and thus not something they ever tried to implement.  The stories that swirled about those who wore A Coat of Red and Black were woven as deeply into her identity as her Mantle of power.  It was who she was, and she'd never try and be anything else.

She led them away from the main gate, and through a narrow door set into the keep's inner wall.  A winding set of stairs led to a door of bolted iron with a guard standing next to it in his royal blue cloak.  The man's brown eyes widened when he saw the Oathsworn striding towards him, but he recovered his composure enough to throw the heavy bolt open and swing the door wide so that they could pass.  She ignored him utterly as she swept through, stepping out into a narrow alleyway at the base of the keep.  The guard quickly shut the door behind them, muttering a prayer under his breath, and revealed that the outside of the door was set with stone so as to look like just another part of the keep's outer wall when it was shut.  Cara walked down the twenty paces or so of the alleyway, the buildings on either side so close as to scrape against Ola's shoulders as he walked, and stepped out into the Merchant's Quarter.

"You know South End well."  It was a statement towards Etzagith, not a question.  "Is there a way to approach so that we don't have to pass through the main gates?  I'm sure that those we hunt will have Watchers there, and I'd rather not be made before we even enter the District.  We aren't exactly discrete. I have the capability to get over the District Wall without anyone noticing, but I wouldn't want to spend the sorts of resources it would take to get more than just me up and over."

--
Concepts introduced.

• Each District is separated by walls.
• Blue Cloaks guard the gates to each District.
• Gangs and various other factions keep Watchers on each gate, keeping an eye on who goes in and out.

This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 23:14, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

Etzagith looked at Cara with a new interest, pleased that she is concerned with not being spotted as we approach.  He resisted the urge to scratch where the black wig made his head itch, and just tugged on the heavy gold earring, instead.  "Well, it depends a little on who is watching.  We could go out the East side, head down the river to the docks, then come into the South side from there.  The wall kind of peters out at the docks, but watchers would know about that.  What they might not know is an underpass about three blocks in.  There are always homeless people hanging around there, and it is guaranteed that someone will pass word to the Blades that strangers are passing through.  But even if the Blades are in on this operation, we will probably be in and out before word can make it up the chain and down again.  At worst, it'll cause trouble on our exit.

"If it is the Duke and Duchess behind this, or foreigners, I doubt they'd know to have that entrance watched."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:34, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

Manaolana has been standing and listening, but again stirs, causing that disconcerting feeling in some that one gets when a statue moves unexpectedly. "Perhaps some of us could cause a distraction, some kind of misdirection, while others crept in." He cocks his head off-handedly, seemingly curious to see the reaction to his idea.

"What sort of distractions are you capable of that won't violate the nameless one's preferences about violence, Manaolana?" She paused for a step, as if considering things, then turned and inspected him again.  "You certainly have the build for it."   She had yet to actually introduce herself to him, evidently relying purely on her reputation to convey her identity.  It was a particularly bold move considering Menkliia hadn't had a clue as to her identity and talents.  It seemed Viscountess Oanna Martiness had been extremely effective at sidelining her away from the rest of the Veiled Hand, with only the disappearances of the royal heirs evidently being enough to disrupt her entirely warranted paranoia.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Tue 21 Apr 2020.

Garland continued to stare straight ahead as he strode with the others.  In answer to Cara's earlier question the man just shrugged nonchalantly. "I may have hurt someone's feelings once," he answered wryly.  As the conversation turned to the best ways to enter the District he frowned and shook his head.  "Let's be careful not to make this too complicated," he cautioned.  "A lot of people pass through the districts on any given day.  So those eyes have to be selective on who they watch and whether they care."  Turning to face Cara and Manaolana his brow crested inquisitively, "unless you're going to wear a sign that says Agent of the Crown, are they going to pay that much attention?  Does anyone there have reason to care about why you might visit the docks on any given day?  Maybe together, but we can use different entrances."

She favored him with a wolfish grin that twisted the edges of her black stained lips, but did not quite reach her brandy colored eyes.  With the sharp cut of her brows she could not help but look angry, and so even her smile seemed to have a razor's edge to it.  Perhaps it was not her face at all, but simply the knowledge of what lurked beneath.  The memory of the sensation of that utterly alien thing infecting her lefct arm.  "I am wearing a sign that says 'Oathsworn to a Great House,' to any who knows the tales."  She straightened the high collar of her Coat of Red and Black, before returning her hands to rest on the pommels of her duelist's knives.  "So a bluff will be required.  Let us take Etzagith's underpass. Manaolana and I will pass through, making sure that we are seen, and providing the distraction for you and Etzagith to slip by undetected.  I will find the Watchers, wherever they may be, and insist that they take me to speak with the leaders of the South End.  House Yisil can have business with them, if it suites me.  Manaolana can ensure that they don't get any clever ideas, and we will keep them nice and distracted while the two of you do the real investigation."  She paused, evaluating him.  "Do we have an accord?"

Something remarkable happens: a big smile breaks across Manaolana's face, which reveals that he can be rather handsome when he isn't pretending to be a statue. "It would be my honor," he says, bowing. "Precisely the kind of thing I had in mind, but your plan is better than what I thought. I agree."

Etzagith nodded to the big man when he suggested travelling separately to the Blue Sails.  "I'll just saunter along the docks, looking too obvious to be anyone that needs paying attention to.  I've done it a thousand times.  I'll get a few stares, looking like this," he grasped his fake breasts for a moment, "But no one will even give me more than a minute's thought.  I'm too potentially dangerous to be a mark, and too obvious to be a worry.

"There's a rum joint just two blocks east of the Blue Sails, we can meet up there.  It's a sailor bar, so be careful, they're easily angered."

"So spoken, so pledged."  The Khundari said ominously, turning away from the main street and towards the river as Etz had instructed them.  Sticking to the river meant a fair amount of trudging through the mud, as the path quickly wove its way behind inns, fine residences, workshops, warehouses, and other establishments along the banks.  Despite her fine leather boots, the Oathsworn didn't seem to mind the muck, instead keeping her eyes upon the sights about them.  She seemed to swallow it with her gaze, as if she couldn't resist but take in every inch of it.  In less than a half hour, they were Dockward.   As Etz had promised, looking ahead they could see the District Wall there petered out near the bay, so that it wasn't quite clear where the Merchant's Quarter ended and Dockward had begun.  "This is where you pull your vanishing act."  She said to Etz and Garland, watching them with keen interest to see what they did next.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:54, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

"Vanishing isn't something I do," Garland replied with a shrug.  "I know who I need not to be seen by though; so if I get spotted, I'll deal with it.  Best not get involved.  You don't need to be connected to me," he continued after a moment before he turned to Etzaith.  "Ladies first," he offered wryly, "I'll follow in five."

Etzagith grinned at Cara's comment about vanishing.  She'll see that soon enough, but not now.  Taking on the bad-ass swagger of a dangerous pirate, he (she) strolled down along the docks like she owned the place.  She did not look back, but instead paused a moment at any boat loading up cargo, as if estimating whether it would be worth hunting this ship down.  But she moved on from each boat before anyone had a chance to notice and comment.

Once she was comfortably past the river quays and walking by the piers on the ocean, she walked until she saw an old sailor sitting around doing nothing.  "Come on, old timer," she said to him.  "You look just like my Papa, dead these six years now.  Lemme buy you a drink."  She turned and headed to the bar, grinning at the old man and taking his arm once he caught up with her.  As they walked, she chattered amiably, "He was an old tar, and a terrible rummy, but he was always good to me.  He gave me this." She indicated one of her earrings.  She continued the chatter until they stepped down the stairs into the dark bar.  She spoke to the bartender, "Two shots -- the real stuff, not grog."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:27, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

Manaolana watched Etz and Garland head off. He turned to Cara, a wry smile on his face. "These are fascinating companions. That is for certain. Shall we?" He proffers his muscled arm to the lady and nods, flashing his big green eyes at Cara.

Cara turned to Manaolana, one sharply angled brow raised above the other as she inspected his proffered elbow.  "The three of you are the strangest Kumlari I have ever ever been fated to meet." An odd colloquialism, and certainly not one employed by the locals.  She'd already encountered one fool this day who was utterly unaware of what she was, and even the revelation of the alien preversion of her flesh had not drawn so much as a bead of sweat upon the forehead of the hulking man who now stood before her.  Either he was supremely dangerous in his own right, or delusional of his own talents.  Should her reputation continue to fail to proceed her, she would likely find out soon enough.   She could feel her own Mantle, and sense the magics she had woven into it.  She was ready for a fight, but far less than she would have been had she paid Grain Mother Huarta Patil or even little Trilee a visit.

Her gloved fingers tightened around the pommels of her knives, and she turned without taking his proffered arm.  "I hope you are sharp eyed and swift, and well as large and strong." She added, vaulting over a ruined section of the District Wall with a slight stiffness to her movements.  She landed on the other side, and surveyed Dockward for the first time.  The District was considerably run down, at least in comparison to the Merchant's Quarter, but it was not a slum.  Although many were in need of repair, there were no obvious holes in the red tiled roofs of the the buildings about them.  Mostly warehouses, with the occasional inn or even family dwelling placed in between.  There was some wealth here, and no shortage of magic, though all was significantly less polished then that which might have been born of the will of a College Mage.

Sure enough, a trio of Watchers were perched on the roof of the nearest warehouse, staring down at them.  No larger than house cats, each was an elemental manifestation of the art of the Ritualist who had created them.  Two were Thoughtforms, more ethereal than material, whisps of emotion and logic barely perceptible in the misty morning air.  The third was a Waterwyrd, its form more distinct even if it was barely more composed.  It held the hunched implike appearance of all Watchers, even the Thoughtforms, though its body was comprised of the same muddy brown waters of the river where theirs was the pale indigo of the psyche.  Condensation dripped from its serpentine body, making the brilliant jade of its eyes gleam.  The only solid part of the Thoughtforms were the diamonds that comprised their own eyes, brilliant and reflecting as they stared.  Cara raised her gaze to capture them, her voice loud as she projected it out into the morning air.

"Tell your Masters that the Oathsworn of House Yisil would speak with them."

She announced, the words barely leaving her lips before the Waterwyrd and one of the Thoughtforms twisted and took off at high speed along the roof.  They did not fly, only the Windwraiths could do that, but they glided almost as if not touching the tiles beneath their indistinct feet.  The Thoughtform was so much swifter than the Waterwyrd that it was almost instantly lost, the much more exorbitant cost in its casting obvious in the efficiency of its movement.  The third Thoughtform remained watching the path they had taken, unspeaking and unmoving.  That made it that much more likely that they were witnessing the magic of two incommensurate powers, and not three.  Cara crossed her arms over her chest and leaned up against the wall of the mirroring warehouse, waiting for whatever response her words brought down upon them.

---

People & Things Introduced:

Watchers - Small manifestations of elemental power, Watchers come in many shapes and sizes.  The constructs are mindless things, manifestations of their creator's consciousness, but are capable of  imparting that which they see and hear directly to them.  There are many different types, each made by a different ritual depending upon the specialties of the Mage, and the quality of materials invested in the spell.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:30, Fri 24 Apr 2020.