A tiresome affair, for both caster and target alike, and to any outside observers Mallory's incessant psychic prodding was indistinguishable from torture. That the Simulacrum's sweat had been transmuted away from its clothes bore little bearing, for it would soon be permeated again as it twisted its body in agony in tandem with its mind to repel the intrusion. In between each casting, when the Simulacrum was afforded momentary respite, a visage of scorn, of deep contempt, faced Mallory, unmistakable even beneath his blindfold.

Together, they would familiarize themselves exhaustively with the first passages of the Hsao Chronicles. Again and again, it forced itself to repeat the acclaimed scripture until it remembered no more, and then it started over, all in an attempt to fill its mind with useless information so that Mallory was only offered the ephemeral to work with. But painstakingly, piece by piece, the puzzle could be assembled.

The Simulacrum knew the Adventurers. Their faces, their names. But it had not spared them even one thought upon Mallory's first casting. A human who went by Hadden, quite young and stately. He was a warrior from the region, bearing resemblance to the Regheds — if he didn't belong to their numbers he had at the very least spent a considerable amount of time here past the Spine. A Halfling with a chocolate complexion and a big, floofy fro. She was Apple, and was in the employ of Brasn. And lastly, a Dwarf named Firanna donned in heavy armor and wielding a mace of the finest Dwarven craftsmanship. A Tenday and two ago, they had been sent out to scope out the tower for a considerable reward. Three days later, the Simulacrum was constructed and the following day it was sent south.

The Simulacrum knew nothing of the key the Wight had carried. Markham, however, speculated it fit into the weapon's storage by the Eastern Gate, and sent someone who was able to confirm. The coin, on the other hand, the Simulacrum knew of. It was a Soul Coin, the cursed currency of the Nine Hells, and it contained the soul of the Wight as it had been in life. Dzaan had every intention to keep it safe on his person, so the Simulacrum could only presume the Wight had retrieved it after its master had perished.

The real Dzaan's last known location was a mystery to the Simulacrum. No matter how Mallory pried or prodded the information would not surface. Nothing concrete, no visuals, not anything. The Simulacrum had maintained contact with his creator through Messages, but that communication had always been one sided. The Red Wizard guarded his information closely, unwilling to reveal it even to a being that was for all intents and purposes himself.

---

We could get bogged down with Wisdom Saving Throws and Intelligence Contest, but for the sake of brevity I'd rather just have Mallory succeed on most of her points. This does assume she exhausts all of her available castings of Detect Magic, however.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:10, Mon 11 Apr 2022.

That works just fine for me, thanks.  The way it's all ended up basically summarizes the overall success level Mallory was able to manage anyway, so it seems fitting.

---

The look on Dzaan's face, half-masked as it was under a blindfold, was one that pained Mallory.  But she did not permit herself to turn away from it either.  She forced herself to maintain, to take in every moment of the Simulacrum's anger toward her.  The outrage, the betrayal, the hurt.  She would not allow herself to seek the relief of looking away, of not bearing every moment of it as she wracked the Simulacrum's mind again and again.  Not when it was her hand twisting the proverbial knife.  She did not deserve even a second's relief from facing the pain she caused.

Finally, when all was said and done, the coin fell once more to Mallory's palm.  She could do more, she knew.  She still had a reserve of magical energy to draw upon and continue to plunder Dzaan's mind.  But where the body was able, the spirit faltered.  Despite Dzaan's agonized reaction to her spellcraft, despite the pallor of her face and the sweat that coated her brow, it wasn't a physical pain that the experience yielded.  Rather it was psychological; the stress of having one's innermost mind broken into - to endure such abject violation - was more than enough to traumatize the body in return.  Mallory herself was in no better state; she wobbled in place as her legs weakened, burdened by the weight of what she'd done.  Though Dzaan was blinded, he'd surely have a bitter satisfaction of hearing her fall to her knees and heave a splash of bile onto the stone floor.  Her coughs and sobs were little compared to what she'd made him suffer through, but it was likely better than callous silence or some pithy remark.

In time, the young noble sat back on her knees as she panted to regain her composure.  Cleansing magic whirled from her outstretched hand purely on force of habit rather than focus as she purged the floor and her chin alike of her sick.  But even as her simple spellcraft tidied her up, did away with the sweat and run makeup, she still felt marred.  Dirty.  Tarnished in a way that would not be so easily rid of with but a flippant wave of her hand.  The two mages mirrored one another on opposite sides of the prison; each knelt, pained, and burdened by the experience neither of them wanted.

"Sheriff?  May I enter the cell and unbind one of his arms?  He deserves to strike me a few times, at the very least." she panted as she dragged herself up to her still-shaky feet with a heavy lean on her lantern rod.

Rhydd had gone down on his haunches as soon as Mallory went to her knees. He almost called for a towel when she became ill, but soon enough she had called upon her own magicks to tidy herself up. He was pleased to see that she was not so weakened -- mentally or physically -- as to be unable to look after herself.

However, her request of the Sheriff made him question whether she was, in fact, thinking clearly.

"Shhhh . . . Mallory. That is not a good idea," he murmured to her quietly.

Glancing over at Sheriff Markham, he shook his head in the negative as a follow-up to the wizardess' spoken request.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:08, Tue 12 Apr 2022.

Markham fully concurred with Rhydd's assessment of Mallory's proposal. "No. I will not allow that," he said. As Mallory had forced herself to spectate the entire ordeal, so had Markham. The severity of the situation led him to consider intervening at numerous points, but he ultimately decided against it. Though what Mallory had done was reminiscent of torture, it wasn't. At least not in the conventional sense.

"I . . ." the Simulacrum said meekly between sharp inhalations, ". . . forgive you."
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:48, Tue 12 Apr 2022.

Dzaan's words, genuine or not, left Mallory with a look as if she'd indeed been struck a blow.  It was the last thing she wanted to hear.  She would rather he'd scream curses at her, swear oaths of revenge - it would be better if he'd hate her.

"How could you possibly?" she retorted with a defeated tone.  Dark eyes hollowed, head downcast.  As Rhydd was there at her side with concern for her, a part of her desperately wanted to just bury her face against his shoulder and blot out the world for even a moment.  But, as before, she denied herself the pursuit of comfort.  She couldn't forgive herself.  She wasn't certain she ever would.  The best she could hope for was that the mercenaries yet lived so that it would all at least be worth something in the end.

Judging from Mallory's condition, Rhydd assumed that the casting of her magicks -- which presumably had been resisted by the Sim-whatever -- had left the wizardess exhausted. That, he could understand. What he did not understand, however, was her request that she be allowed to step into the creature's cell so that it could strike her.

And her latest comment -- the "How could you possibly?" reply to the creature's stating that it forgave her (for what, Rhydd did not know) also concerned him, for he could make no sense out of it. Seemingly her mind was unfocused in some fashion.

As best he could tell, the noblewoman was wrung out and drained, both mentally and physically.

Turning his head to look at Sheriff Markham, he spoke quietly. "She needs to rest, I think. Do you have a cot where she could lie down for a bit? And mayhap some warm tea?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:35, Tue 12 Apr 2022.

"Yes. Take her upstairs to the common room," Markham replied, as eager to wrap things up as the duo. "I'll have the guards prepare the tea. And when she's properly recovered, we would be obliged if she tells of what she's learned."

---

Upstairs, Mallory was handed a blanket, given a seat, and served tea. Rhydd was given the same offer, as all were, though it was evident to the guards he was merely here to accompany his lady. Mess kits were tended to, filling the room with the pleasant scent of simmering stew. Some of the less fortunate in town found themselves here amid sprawled bedrolls — the woman and her child they had passed by last evening, a feeble man with a missing foot, and some of the vagrants Mallory had helped out yesterday. The red-haired woman was among them. Now, without her hood and cowl, it was clear she was a sprightly, young, and freckled lass.

Upon spotting Mallory, she discreetly scooted over. "Rough day, huh?" She spared the noblewoman a sympathetic glance. "Gonna be honest, didn't expect to see you in here among our sorry butts. No offense." By the way she tossed her glance around the room, the last addendum was meant for both Mallory and those around in equal measure. The one-legged man coughed weakly.

It took some ushering to actually get Mallory out of the prison without an answer from the Simulacrum.  Her eyes remained on him until the very last moment the door shut in their wake and, only then, did her gaze fall downcast again.

In both the walk upstairs and when finally given simple comforts to try and soothe her with, Mallory remained... diminished, somehow.  Her shoulders drooped beneath the weight of the blanket laid across them and the tea remained unsipped.  As she held it between her gloved palms the surface of the drink rippled ever so subtly with the way her hands shook.  When the young woman eased over to give a bit of chit-chat it actually took a few silent moments before Mallory even managed to reply.  "I'm performing a duty for the Sheriff.  It's... taxing." There was a numbness in her words.  Face still ashen and expression miserable as could be, even for the downtrodden in a place like Ten-Towns.  "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be very good company at the moment."

It bothered Rhydd considerably to see Mallory in her weakened condition. The fact that he did not understand the source of her problems made him even more concerned.

He decided that it might be a matter of her overextending herself when it came to using her magicked resources, or it might be something else. It clearly seemed to be something relating to the magicked goings-on that had just taken place downstairs in the jail area, but the archer did not understand the whys and wherefores of it.

When a break came in the conversation between Mallory and the red-haired townswoman, he asked the wizardess "Would magicked healing return some of your energy to you?"

"I can be back with Farwalker or Squire Khulekani very quickly."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:18, Wed 13 Apr 2022.

Rhydd's struggle to do what he could in the situation brought another sense of worry to the young noble's heart.  The concern was deeply appreciated, even if she chose to deny herself comfort as self-inflicted punishment, but a thought struck her as she looked up to her companion.  He didn't understand what had just happened.  But... what would he think of her once it was explained to him?  She'd not hold it against him in the least if he turned away from her despite his earlier proclamation to stay by her side.

"No, I'm not injured, Rhydd.  It's..." she began, though she stopped herself with a glance toward the woman once more.  "I'm sorry, but may we have a moment, please?"

Even in her state, manners and etiquette remained firmly in place with Mallory.  They had been drilled into her every behavior since childhood, after all.  Once the woman had given the requested space, Mallory shifted closer to Rhydd to speak to him in what privacy could be afforded in the common room.  Her voice remained soft and low as, in the wake of it all, it sounded as if she were about to cry with every word.

"What just happened in the prison... what I just did to him..." she began, only to falter as she tried to find the words.  "The spell I cast enables me to hear the thoughts of those around me.  To spy in on their innermost, private moments.  Their memories, their feelings.  All without them ever knowing I was even there.  Liken it to eavesdropping on someone at their window.  An invasion of privacy, but perhaps one palatable enough in that there's no real harm done to them."

She grimaced and stilled herself with a sip of tea.  Bitter.  "Or, when merely eavesdropping isn't enough?  To kick down the door by force.  To invade and defile the most sacred of privacy one has - their own mind - against their will as they try with all their might to fight off their attacker." The surface of her tea rippled once more as hot tears rolled down her face and into the cup.  "That is what I just did to him, Rhydd.  Every time he screamed out, every time he recoiled, was because I was pulling open his skull and taking what I wanted from him.  He was terrified from the very first second.  I subjected him to that violation again, and again, and again."

Mallory's head drooped once more as she couldn't bear to raise it, took look Rhydd in the eyes.  The shame of it all was too great for her.  "How... how could he possibly say he forgives me?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:13, Wed 13 Apr 2022.

Rhydd found himself staring at Mallory as the wizardess gave a detailed explanation of what was bothering her.

"Really?" he blurted out when she had finished. "That's all it is? That's it?"

He shook his head in wonderment. "Not to be rude, Mallory, but you must have led a very sheltered life, to be bothered to such an extent by peeking into someone's mind."

Ryhdd took a deep breath, wondering how he could explain his outlook on such things, which was obviously so different from the wizardess's own feelings.

"Well, first of all," he began, "the fault lies entirely with this Dzaan . . . or whoever he is -- and not with you. He chose not to cooperate, and to resist your enquiries with all his might. Thus, the fault for all that befell him is of his own doing."

"And secondly, he should be grateful that all that you did was poke around in his mind a little bit. With something like this -- when innocent lives are at risk -- dire, very painful measures are fully justified in order to learn the extent of his knowledge, in my opinion."

"If push came to shove, in order to learn what he knows -- and hopefully save innocent lives, as I say -- I would have been willing to dangle him head-down from a low branch, over a slow fire."

"Your being willing to expend your own magicks and energies saved him from that."

"'Tis a hard, cruel world out there, Mallory." Rhydd fell silent and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then continued.

"In order to discourage Orc raiding parties from venturing into territory that I see fit to protect, I nail body parts of their scouts that I have slain to trees that mark the boundaries of the lands that are off-limits to them."

"Brutal? Yes. But the Orcs understand such measures. I firmly believe that it saves the lives of some who cannot adequately protect themselves, who would otherwise surely perish."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:47, Wed 13 Apr 2022.

That her concerns were met with such a reply... Mallory didn't quite know how to feel about it.  On one hand, part of her was relieved that Rhydd could take the matter in stride.  He was the rough sort, after all - hardened by his lifestyle, to be able to give threats that had frightened her only days prior.  But on the other hand, she felt he did not fully grasp what it was she experienced.  There were some things that simply could not be understood second-hand, after all.

After a few moments of silence as she digested his reassurances, she spoke again.  "There is a difference, at least to myself, between fault and responsibility.  Dzaan made his choice, but so too did I make mine.  I didn't have to do that.  I chose to.  His refusal to cooperate does not absolve me of the responsibility of my actions.  What I did to him was no kindness.

When I was quite young... when it was found that I had the capacity to use magic, my teacher gave me a particular lesson.  The very first spell I ever cast in all my life.  He took me to the courtyard where a fine boar captured for the slaughter was tethered, gave me a scroll of arcane script, and bid me to it.  He would not tell me what the spell would do, only how to use it." she explained quietly.  A hand raised ever so slightly, one finger extended in an echo of the motion that had been made so many years ago.  "A whisper, a gesture.  That's all it took.  The creature howled in agony and dropped dead on the spot, just like that.  It was so simple... so effortless.  A wave of my hand and a life was gone.  I didn't understand at first, but in time it became clear what my teacher meant to impress upon me."

Another swallow of her tea to soothe her aching voice didn't really do much good.  She lifted her gaze just enough to peer Rhydd's way through the drape of her hair and found his own eyes set on the ceiling in his thoughts.  "One might say there's no real difference between that and slitting the boar's throat.  It was destined to be dinner either way, and its death was for the betterment of others, so what's the difference?  But it matters to me.  What that day taught me was that I, and those like me, have the capacity to do irrevocable harm with frightening ease.  The more you do it, the easier it becomes.  Magic allows me to enforce my will upon the world in a way mundane means never could, both for better and worse.  And, for that, there are lines we must set ourselves that should never be crossed.  Noblesse oblige.  Those who have power must use it responsibly, lest they become monsters and tyrants."

She shook her head and swallowed down a hard lump in her throat.  "I once swore to myself I would never kill another living creature, but in time I crossed that line without remorse.  Then I swore I would never kill an intelligent being.  With the Ice Trolls, that too was an oath soon broken.  I swore to myself I would never take someone's will from them, certain I could hold true to that, yet here we are." As she took another drink of tea, a part of her left wanting yearned for strong wine.  "I fear for what I might yet do, what I might become, that my convictions prove themselves so weak already."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:08, Wed 13 Apr 2022.

Mallory's building of word-castles in the air was dizzying to Rhydd. He had heard tales of those who could spend all day debating how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. He decided that not only could the young wizardess do such a thing, but she would revel in it.

He did listen intently to her, though. He owed her that, for all the unaccustomed smiles she had given him as of late.

When she had finished, he reached out and gently touched her lips with his forefinger. "Hush, now. You need your rest."

"And take comfort in the fact that your conscience stands such staunch, strong guard against the possibility of your abusing the power that, as you say, you so easily could."

"You, of all people, shall be e'er resolute, and shall not give in to the temptations that your Art whispers to you about in the dark hours of the night, when all else is quiet and still."

"So, do not beat yourself up over what needed doing in this instance. And take comfort in the fact that in spite of your concerns, your way of doing things was much gentler and less painful than mine would have been."

"Consider this, also -- your acting as you did undoubtedly kept our group together. For  I do not think that Farwalker or Squire Khulekani would have remained in my company, had I done what I was prepared to do."

"And in conclusion, my dear Mallory," Rhydd added with a chuckle, "allow me to end with the observation that you think too much."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:22, Wed 13 Apr 2022.

The touch to her lips left Mallory with a wide-eyed look and, despite herself and the moment, a sudden rise of red across her cheeks.  Though in the back of her indeed ever-busy thoughts she felt she was being condescended to somewhat - Rhydd previously pictured her a naive bookworm, fresh out into the big wide world with no idea of its ways.  Some bit of that perception still remained, perhaps.

But, at the heart of it, he meant to help her.  He offered a mercy and outreach she didn't feel she deserved in the slightest.  In return she stilled her troubled thoughts as best she could, let her reddened eyes shut, and rested her head to Rhydd's shoulder in silence.

"Of course, honey," the vagrant responded when Mallory asked to be left alone. She shuffled away over to the mother and child and conversed with them instead.

Sometime later that evening . . .

"Well of course the man's an absolute cad and I'd not trust him further than I could throw him.  But I'm an outsider to these parts and it behooves me to respect local authority, one way or another."
"Even when it would further our enemies' cause? I encourage you to think long and hard on this ideal of yours," Duvessa said, her judgemental stare as sharp as the reply.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:40, Tue 19 Apr 2022.

If Duvessa sought to rile a strong reaction out of Mallory by means of defensiveness or even just a reflex to authoritative scolding, she'd end up with a rather muted reply given.  Ever since the interrogation Mallory had seemed to lose much of her spark; she was sedate for the most part, more measured and somber than when the Speaker had first encountered her.  The experience had taken much of her spirit for the time being, it seemed.

"I don't know what your past or present situation are like, Speaker, so I may only speak by my own perspective.  Where I come from men like Naerth are as pavement tiles: commonplace in their sheer abundance, often filthy, yet deeply anchored and intrinsically vital to the city.  If one is pulled up, it will invariably be replaced with another just like it." the young noble explained in a passive tone, quite the contrast to Duvessa's barb.  "I am an outsider to these parts.  I know nothing of the local affairs, who is who, and such.  It would be a grievous error to cast judgments and make enemies before I understood the lay of the land, especially in towns that sacrifice people to a baleful goddess.  A nobody troublemaker from beyond the walls would surely make a very tempting target."

Throughout, Mallory hardly blinked more than a few times.  Her gaze rested steady and still on Duvessa's; neither indignant nor deferential.  "Both yourself and Naerth have shown me good and bad sides, Speaker, each worthy of praise and condemnation alike.  I have no involvement with the factions around here; their affairs do not concern me.  Whatever enemies you both hold are not mine.  I do not act on Naerth's behalf, nor on yours.  Why, I've acted more in the interest of the general public good and have saved more lives since coming to Ten-Towns than anything else.

I am simply trying to get by, make money, and go home while not hurting anyone in the process." A simple summary given with a shrug.  "Given your own choices today, I would think you would appreciate a decision made of raw pragmatism."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:34, Thu 21 Apr 2022.

"Forgive me," Duvessa replied, her visage ever scrutinizing, "when I say 'our enemies' cause' I mean 'the prolonged suffering and unnecessary death of civilians'. Something we surely both oppose. Speaker Naerth, however, does not. He only seeks to better his own standing and that of his organization, the common folk be damned. And the notion that there is an endless supply of competent corrupt politicians waiting in line is naive — it is my experience that his kin disappears when combated. Tomorrow then would yield a new ruler, and at times they are of the good sort. At times they are not. But nothing changes if men like Naerth are tolerated, or, worse yet, enabled."

She breathed deeply, the edge of her tone dulling with her outbreath. "It is my duty to take a stance. If those privileged choose to remain complacent, who then in my place?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:06, Wed 20 Apr 2022.

For a time, Mallory sat in quiet speculation to mull over Duvessa's words.  Her interactions with Naerth had the same feel of a duel which demanded quickness; to linger was to present the other with an opportunity to seize leverage and momentum.  Duvessa didn't strike her the same way at all and Mallory permitted herself to lower her guard just a bit in return.  The frankness of the Speaker was a refreshing change of pace.

"Perhaps things are simpler here." she'd let her head rest back a bit to gaze up at the ceiling amid her pondering.  "The entire population of Ten Towns could be absorbed into a single district of my city with nary a ripple to be noticed, you know?  The scale is so much greater.  Everything is so enormous, complex, and entrenched that changing even the smallest facet is a monumental task to even plan, let alone carry out."  Though the idea of a backwater settlement's leader calling a Neverwinter noble naive in matters of politics was laughable, Mallory's words bore no condescension for the difference between their worlds.  If anything, they were tinted with a sort of wistfulness.  "To make genuine, tangible improvements... and see it actually bear fruit.  Hm.  That is not something I've been able to do often in my life.  I'd rather like it, I think."

Another lapse into silence followed, but it was quite brief.  Only a few beats before the young noble brought her dark eyes back to meet Duvessa's once more.  "I've afforded Naerth my services, but we hold no loyalty to one another beyond mutual profit.  He has not asked anything of me that I felt would make Targos worse off though.  Nor would I entertain any requests that endanger others' well-being: I'm not so mercenary as to value coin over ethics." she leaned forward with greater intent, hands folded and thumbs steepled together.

"I know where I stand with Naerth and I have some idea of his intentions.  You, however, are another matter entirely.  So, Speaker; what do you propose instead?  What do you need?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:02, Wed 20 Apr 2022.

Mallory's last question brought forth a slight smile on the strict woman. "You'll find me a simple creature — I wish only to rule well for the benefit of my people. We are currently faced with an unprecedented disaster, and my intention is to weather the storm until its source can be banished." She leveled her stare once more at the noblewoman, her seriousness returning. "I need a team. Gods and Arcane Brotherhoods can be felled, but it requires more than just politics. However, I will not cooperate with someone who's motivations might shift. Naerth is a leech. He clings to you with his teeth and removing him is difficult and at times painful."

"You'll find me a simple creature — I wish only to rule well for the benefit of my people."

Now there was a line Mallory had heard before.  Spoken as freely and readily from the mouths of those who held genuine goodwill in their hears just as much as those who used it as an empty platitude to hide their selfish designs.  Though as Duvessa continued, the young noble's expression quirked - first into confusion, then wry disbelief, before it finally settled to a more thoughtful manner as she rolled the notions about properly.

"You speak as if from experience." she pointed out on mention of Nearth.  "He is quite leery of you as well; enough so to urge me not to work with you in the first place.  From what I know he's relatively new to Ten Towns, so what might have gone on between the two of you to raise such pointed ire?"

"I'm sure he's spoken all manners of falsehoods to turn you, or anyone, against me," Duvessa answered, gently pacing through Markham's office. "I simply recognize the man for who he is. Though he has made little effort to hide his origins. It struck me as odd," she continued, her voice taking on an inquisitive tone, "how the Black Network suddenly decided to take an interest in Icewind Dale, a place often omitted from the maps due to its insignificance. Surely their efforts here yields copper on the gold compared to, well, essentially anywhere else, doubly so considering the economic hardship we're facing. An opportunity to pounce on?" She tilted her head as she aired the possibility. "Seems like a simple explanation, so I dug a bit deeper and found Naerth Maxildanarr used to be the accountant for house Cassalanter of Waterdeep — a highly prestigious position — until he was routed for embezzling considerable sums. So he's holed up in Targos, of all places." She stopped, grasping the back of a chair. "That he's Zhentarim doesn't register on the townsfolk — they'd be content being ruled by Asmodeus himself so long as their pockets are lined. And one can't blame them, for at the end of the day all that matters is whether or not there's food on the table.

What happened to my grain? You were part of the caravan led by this Niels ranger, were you not?" she asked Mallory. "That cargo was to be dispersed to all of Ten-Town. Do not tell me it fell wayward because of a blizzard — I find that excuse laughable."
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:40, Tue 16 Apr.

"Honestly, he's practically advertising it.  Who keeps Winged Serpents as so-called pets in this climate?  I can admire the dedication to aesthetic, but one must consider practicality sooner or later."  The Zhentarim had gone through many iterations throughout the centuries, being as old and well-anchored an organization as they were, but Mallory felt its most recent incarnation enjoyed its own air of drama a bit too much.

"That would certainly do it, though.  Normally one might think the Network was capitalizing on the situation to seize control of the waterbound trade, or perhaps as a foothold to begin operations on the landbound wealth of Fireshear or Ironmaster." Mallory reasoned as she turned her memories to maps and trade route treaties stowed in the back of her mind.  "It's more likely a matter of convenience then.  If a stray agent can turn a profit, all the better.  If he fails and disappears, then it's of no great loss to the Network either."

There was more to the matter, of course, but Mallory was not yet certain of her trust in Duvessa just yet.  There were bridges that she wasn't ready to take a torch to.  Though when it came to burned business relationships, mention of Niels sparked an immediate kindling right then and there.  The noble's visage darkened in bitter annoyance at the very mention of the name.

"I know that fool, certainly.  He owes me a fair bit of coin, and I owe him the flat of my palm across his cheek." she'd not been privy to what all the caravan was transporting aside from merchants and their cargo, but the revelation that supplies had been co-opted brought a moment of clarity.  She groaned and rolled her eyes.  "Ooh, that makes so much more sense now... I figured he was in someone's pocket rather than just being completely incompetent, but now it all comes together.

We were indeed 'lost' in a blizzard on our way here and I was left utterly baffled as to how Niels somehow managed to drive us not only entirely off Ten Trail, but to Targos' gates.  Then he forced the merchants to off-load their goods before he'd set out to Bryn Shander again, and even abandoned me and my companions entirely.  Took our fee and just left us high and dry.  We had to walk here and nearly died thrice over!  There is a Dragon out there!" she threw up her gloved hands as the sheer frustration of that whole affair was enough to revive some of her energy.  Nothing like a grudge to rally one's enthusiasm.  "Once I heard the merchants had been forced to move their wares, I assumed there was trade manipulation at work."

"Once I heard the merchants had been forced to move their wares, I assumed there was trade manipulation at work."
"I assumed so as well," Duvessa replied. She laid it to rest, but it was clear she wasn't entirely content with the answer, as if there was still something nagging her. The lack of trust went both ways. "Naerth will continue these games, and, unfortunately, he is a force to be reckoned with. He's an opportunist, and he has rightly identified the foothold he can gain to turn the Ten-Towns against each other.

As for the Dragon, we're familiar with her," she continued. "There's been sightings earlier on this month, but she steers clear of the towns, so as long as you're within a walled settlement, you're safe. As are the routes connecting the towns." After a pause in the conversation she gave Mallory one final appraising look. "Very well. I believe matters are settled. It is unfortunate, about your fare."

---

The Simulacrum sobbed even before it was time for its execution. Failing any magical alternatives for a more merciful disposal, it was decided a swift cut to the neck, down here in the jails away from the public, was best. Duvessa offered to swing the sword herself, but the duty ultimately fell on Markham.

And so he stood above the miserable mockery of a man, blade raised. "You may speak your final words, Dzaan, the Red Wizard," Markham said solemnly.

He looked up through tears, past the bars of his cell, and forced his bloodshot eyes to meet with Mallory's. "Die, you wretch. Suffer as I have. May your efforts amount to nothing."

The sword fell, and Dzaan, the Simulacrum, was no more. Before his head could reach the groud it turned into a dry, powdery snow, as did the dripping blood and stain on the felled blade. The rest of his body was soon to follow, and in an flash it was reduced to a heap of tiny motes of crystal flakes. Somewhere inside, beneath the bestowed simple clothes, was a banded lock of Dzaan's brown hair.

"Calling him an opportunist is apt.  The trouble is when one leaps at each opportunity without caution as to the consequences.  To be perfectly honest, and at risk of putting myself at some disadvantage --" Mallory began, in effort to offer at least some bridge of trust between herself and Duvessa "-- Naerth is a profitable business partner, but he has already crossed me twice now in pursuit of opportunity.  The third and final time is surely coming and, when that inevitably happens, it will not fall the way he hopes."

It was ultimately up to Duvessa whether she wanted to take the chance of entrusting any work to Mallory given her connections.  A worthwhile risk in taking her by her word, that she might gain an asset her rival hoped to use?  Or the danger of taking a chance on a two-faced mage, given Mallory's demonstrated knack for magically-aided coercion?

"It's somewhat funny... my original intent was to come straight here, to Bryn Shander, days ago in hopes of establishing business.  Had it not been for Niels, I never would have set foot in Targos nor met Naerth.  Curious how different things would have been had we met one another first, isn't it?

You need a team and I need coin, so I feel we can help each other so long as operate within boundaries of your making.  I'm no warrior though - I'm a seer, an informant, a scholar, and a enchanter of magical craft.  It is my place to empower those who would take more direct action.  I would hope all I've provided regarding Dzaan would be evidence enough of my skill and conviction, though I understand if you would rather hold me at arm's length." she offered a polite, deferential bow of her head.  "If you would have them, my talents are yours to purchase.  And, regardless, I will express your desires to those I know who could bear arms to your need.  Discreetly, of course.  Naerth will hear not a whisper from me of anything that has happened in our time together."

---

When the time came, Mallory did not look away.  Her jaw was set with a grim tension and eyes remained steady as they held Dzaan's gaze.  She had inflicted suffering upon the Simulacrum and, even if others perhaps did not think it was worth fretting over, would not spare herself from allowing him whatever measure of vengeance he could yield.  He deserved far more of her than an uttered curse.

And then, in a flash of steel, it was done.  It wasn't until the last motes of stray magic dissipated away into the aether did the young noble finally allow herself to close her eyes and heave a long, heavy sigh.  A hand raised to touch the button sewn to her collar.  The real Dzaan was long dead and the Simulacrum was little more than an echo of him, she knew.  It was another life she knew of only as a memory after death.  Another to carry with her.

Mallory stepped along into the cell and stooped to retrieve the bound coil of dark hair from the stone floor.  "If I may?" she asked of Duvessa.  A macabre sort of memento to keep, but it was of no use to anyone otherwise.