As Sna’kti approached the door he pauses with his hand grasping the door handle, he sniffed the air at a sudden strange scent; wet wool and leather. He glanced around at the door and his keen eyes picked out the sign of wet footprints just in front of his door. He let go of the handle and took a step back and crouched down; the water had puddled here as if someone had stood here for a moment, most of the water had already soaked into the old wood. Not seeing the wet prints leave he had to assume they had gone into his room.

Rising from his crouch, a faint growl in his throat, he reached for the handle, unlocked his door and then flung the door open as he let out a growl that usually put fear into most opponents. His keen eyes took in the room in an instant and the growl died in his throat and his eyes fairly bulged from their sockets.

Sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, a roguish grin on his face, sat Gen Menbren, exiled Prince of Pardinal. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he asked still grinning.

Sna’kti leaped into the room and snatched the man up off of the bed and lifted him up in his arms, “You dodgy twit, I could have killed you!” false anger in his voice. Laughing, he lowered the guy and hugged him tight to his sopping wet fur.

Taurwen | Rayther | Outside of The City of Rayther | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:03pm | Storming
The Lady of Taurwen sat back in her chair, closed her eyes for a moment, and paused to let Cyeen’s words sink into her memory. It was a deliberate pause -- long enough for the good judge to stop holding his breath in anticipation of her response. Always in such a hurry, humans. Never pause to think what good or ill may follow their decisions.
In the silence, she contemplated briefly on the meaning of the dark news that the judge had brought her. What are you up to, Todraid?While she knew the High Speaker feared her, the man had so far had enough sense to not challenge her outright. And Sanya had done her best to show that she cared little to have his position. She cared for the people of Rayther dearly, but had no real desire to be their queen.

“I shall help you, Judge Cyeen, as best I can,” she spoke softly. “I shall seek an audience with the High Speaker tomorrow, late afternoon, if it pleases him.” Looking the judge in the eyes, “I should like it very much if you would accompany me.”

[OOC: assuming a positive response… though, if he declines, it matters little.]

“You are welcome to enjoy my hospitality for the night, good judge. Youdar will ensure a room is made available for you, and can provide you with anything else you desire.” Sanya rose from the table. “I must retire for the evening, however, and try to discern the truth of the matter behind your troubling news. “

The paused again, another thought coming together, “I shall also like to examine your ‘gift’ more closely, if I may. I realize you have left it back in your office. Perhaps in the morning, I could see it.”

[OOC: Assuming some sort of response.]

She excused herself from the room, inviting Youdar to follow her. Once out of the room, she instructed her manservant to make a room ready for the judge and provide him with whatever food or drink the judge might desire. “Treat him as an honored guest, Youdar. He may be one of our few allies.”

[OOC: Assuming a positive response]

The Lady of Taurwen moved up to her library, selecting books from the shelf that might help shed more light on the subject. After studies and meditation on the subject, she too retired to her bed, waiting for the morning.

[OOC –PART 1 – Sanya will be looking for books on the subjects of charms/enchantments, magical decanters, a genealogical record of the High Speaker, and similar books.]

[OOC –PART 2 – I’ve stopped here because I want to finalize Sanya’s spells known list before proceeding. I hop to complete it by week’s end…. Thanks]

The Poor Sect | Alleyway | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:25pm | Overcast and Snow-Covered

(OOC: Human Perception 34; Persuasion & Fast Talk 26; Spent 2 falchions in gathering information; )

Having learned what he wanted from Tales, Lloyd abruptly peeled away from the shack, no longer concerned with remaining quiet as he strode out onto the street, his cloak swirling about his legs, caught up in both his gait and the wind, the snow crunching loudly beneath his booted feet. He was determined to make a couple of stops along the way towards collecting the bounty, and he had no time to waste.

The tavern that he found first was called The House of the Twin Minotaur, a rather illustrious name for an establishment that failed miserably to live up to it. The building was made of ill-fitting planks giving the whole exterior the look of being shingled. It wasn’t painted, and the roof was in ill-repair, and looked as though it could barely hold the weight of the snow it carried. The sign bearing the twin minotaurs roughly painted in out of proportion style in front of a cottage was sitting against the wall at ground level, having fallen from its post long ago. It was nearly half covered with snow.

Stepping inside, Lloyd immediately caught the attention of the crowd, for the wind followed him and shook the very rafters. But these were men used to being left alone, and after they’d made sure their hateful looks had penetrated Lloyd’s very soul, they turned back to what they were doing. There was surprisingly little in the way of sitting accommodations available, and it took a few long seconds for the bounty hunter to pick out a proper place to seat himself. It put him between a large, swarthy-looking fellow with a huge red nose and watery eyes nursing a large, clay tankard of flat ale, and a rat-like man with a lazy eye and drooping jowls that were curtained by strands of oily, black hair and canvassed by thick stubble.

The barmaid was nothing too pretty to behold, slightly too skinny to be healthy she carried herself with a limp, and wore a shirt that was obviously made for a woman with bigger breasts. Her skirt was patched and stained about the hem, and she was missing her left pinky finger. There was also a scar that had apparently been created when her left earlobe had been removed, and it continued on down her jawline pulling the corner of her mouth into a permanent frown. Her black hair was done up in a loose bun and held in place by a simple, dingy white bit of cloth.

“We gots ale, black grog, and lentil stew, an’ that’s it, so don’t be askin’ fer nothin’ else,” she said as she hobbled up to Lloyd’s side, leaving the tray she’d just emptied dangling by her side. “The ale’d be two shill, the black grog’d be three shill, an’ a bowl o’ the stew’d be five shill.”

(OOC: Order if you’d like, she’ll deliver within minutes.)

Once she’d stepped away, Lloyd went to work. The man was used to working people for information. It was often necessary when in pursuit of a mark, and he’d honed his skills to perform just such a task. Within moments he was reading those at the table like an open book. Every twitch of a facial muscle, every shift in their position, the nuances of their tone, their language, their pauses, and the focus of their gaze; it all helped him determine the truth and accuracy of their statements. His probing questions were practiced to not alarm, and to help draw out more from the individual, and the little bit of extra coin he offered up, or topping off a mug, were all designed to help loosen the tongue.

In the end, Lloyd has spent three hours milking the tavern so close to Tales’ home that it was a safe bet this was the one he frequented, and it paid off to some degree. The locals determined that Tales had come in bragging about some lucrative deal he’d just struck that was going to take him away from there. He’d been blathering on about how he’d sworn his allegiance to a new power, and that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be saying goodbye to the lot of them. They’d just dismissed it as the man’s usual behavior since Tales’ profession was that of a sewer rat, and he was occasionally hired to clean out the privies in noble’s homes which led to the man’s constant dropping of important people’s names and indications that he’d fallen into favor with one noble or another—he’d even claimed to have been invited to audience with the King some few years back, though he’d never offered up proof of such a thing. The revelation that he’d be skipping out on them was just another act, so they thought, and the balding Tales was certainly never taken seriously while he mouthed off within the Minotaurs.

Making sure to top off their drinks a bit further, Lloyd proceeded on with his evening’s plans. The Western Gate was shut for the night by the time von Schtreider reached it. His feet were cold as ice, and he’d developed a bit of the shakes due to the wind eating at his warmth like some rat on a corpse, but he was determined. Arriving at the large, slate-colored guardhouse, Lloyd was greeted by two men emerging from the shadow of the awning, both wrapped up heavily in fur cloaks, wearing the fur-lined winter helmets traditionally set with the guard uniform. One carried with him a glaive, and the other a heavy crossbow already loaded. They both wore thick beards and the one with the crossbow bore a horn at his waist which would make him the watch sergeant.

“Sorry, friend,” the sergeant said, holding up a hand gloved in thick, brown, deerskin lined with fox fur. “Gate’s closed. You’ll have to come back in the morning…it opens at dawn.”

The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 9:42pm | Overcast and Snow-Covered

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The Dirty Gryphon Inn | Pardinal | The City of Portua | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 9:18pm | Storming

(OOC: Human Perception 11; )

Sna’kti leaped into the room and snatched the man up off of the bed and lifted him up in his arms, “You dodgy twit, I could have killed you!” false anger in his voice. Laughing, he lowered the guy and hugged him tight to his sopping wet fur.

“By the Good Gods, Snickers!” Gen forceably pushed his face out of the dank-smelling fur and disengaged himself from the emphatic greeting, laughing the whole while. His usually handsome face was stricken with the stubble of a couple of days without a shave, and his clothing as still wet from the storm, but he looked healthy enough. “You could suffocate a man by doing that!”

It had been a couple of years since they’d parted company, Gen always reluctant to return to his homeland for fear of being recognized and his older brother Benedict finding out about his return. There was no love lost between the two brothers, and even though Gen had never actually wanted the throne of Pardinal, Benedict had always thought his younger, more intelligent brother was a threat and had worked very hard to get him exiled.

“Going somewhere?” Gen asked, motioning to the kazari’s belongings that were still packed in his single sack. The exiled prince backed up casually and leaned against the rickety bedside table, the smile still on his face. For the life of him, Sna’kti couldn’t read the brooding look in Gen’s eyes to tell what he was getting at.

“The food’s decent at the palace, no?” Gen’s smile remained on his face, even touching his eyes a bit. “There’s something afoot, friend, and it threatens Pardinal. That’s why I’ve returned. I sent word to Herai as well—even received a missive in return. She’ll meet us in Visden; The Company of the Rose reunited, eh?”

The exiled prince split his face into a broader grin as the words settled in the air. “It will be like old times. Oh, don’t even ask how I found out—well, all right. I’ve still friends amongst the servants at the palace. Lord Ontzlere has been very busy, and it came to the attention of more than a couple of these servants. Word got out, and here I am. Now, what I’m really interested in hearing is what Lord Ontzlere has assigned to you down south since he’s sent so many others in various other directions, it is almost as though he’s searching for something, though no one in the palace is allowed to remain within the room with him when he’s offering the deals, and most aren’t speaking of what he’s offering as they leave the city. In the past two days there’s been three adventuring parties who’ve left town rather quickly, and at least three times that in capable men-at-arms following apparently on their own.

All of these people are capable warriors, wizards, and priests…and then they invite you up to the palace. It can only raise the question, my friend. After all, you aren’t exactly among the Menbren’s favorite people.”

The Dirty Gryphon Inn | Pardinal | The City of Portua | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 9:20pm | Storming

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Taurwen | Rayther | Outside of The City of Rayther | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:03pm | Storming

(OOC: Expert: History 22; Expert: Arcana 24; )

“I shall help you, Judge Cyeen, as best I can,” she spoke softly. “I shall seek an audience with the High Speaker tomorrow, late afternoon, if it pleases him.” Looking the judge in the eyes, “I should like it very much if you would accompany me.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea what a relief it is to hear you say such, Lady Sanya,” Cyeen breathed, but immediately followed it up with a slight shake of his head. “I’m afraid that if I present myself with you at High Speaker Todraid’s estates it could be construed as picking sides in what could eventually become a political battlefront. I’m sure that if I remain your silent supporter I can be of more assistance than were I to publicly make my affiliations known.”

Sanya gave the man a slow nod and continued, ““You are welcome to enjoy my hospitality for the night, good judge. Youdar will ensure a room is made available for you, and can provide you with anything else you desire.” Sanya rose from the table. “I must retire for the evening, however, and try to discern the truth of the matter behind your troubling news. “

Then paused again, another thought coming together, “I shall also like to examine your ‘gift’ more closely, if I may. I realize you have left it back in your office. Perhaps in the morning, I could see it.”

“Again, I think it wise to have it shipped to you. I’ll be certain to do so upon my return home. I thank you for your hospitality, Milady.”

Once in the hall outside of the dining room, Sanya motioned Youdar close to her for instructions. The aging human obediently bowed and complied.

“Treat him as an honored guest, Youdar. He may be one of our few allies.”

“As you command, Milady.”

Once she was certain that her duties as hostess had been resolved, Lady Sanya retired not to her bedchamber, but to her library. She had an evening of study ahead of her and wasted no time in getting to work.

First off the shelves were the historical documents she’d procured years prior on the lineages of Rayther and their pedigrees. High Speaker Todraid was from a long line of wealthy nobility, and his lineage was well documented, but Sanya’s knowledge was not in heraldry and nobility, but history, and her library consisted mainly of books, tomes, documents, and scrolls pertaining to the histories of the land she’d come to call home, not their genealogical trees. But the history books did provide her with some knowledge that might be useful.

After piling her desk high with various manuscripts detailed by monks of different orders, Sanya had discovered that Todraid’s family heralded from Sendria, though it was near to the splitting of the Empire that they’d made the journey, it was plausible that there were remnants of his family line still in existence elsewhere upon Antaron. And, since the founding of Rayther, the Todraid family name showed up frequently, and prominently, in the histories, and usually for the good of Rayther, even if the described methods weren’t something that Sanya favored.

Having spent a couple of hours cross-referencing the histories, the Lady of Tuarwen turned her attention to the magical ramifications behind Cyeen’s claims. This was more up her alley in terms of respective knowledge. If there was something Sanya could lay claim to it was a knowledge of the arcane. Her travels had taken her to the mystical City of Spirits (of which she’d documented much in her memoires) and within that magical city her knowledge of the arcane had blossomed. She’d studied with some of the most powerful people she’d ever dreamed of, let alone thought she’d meet, and in the end she’d returned to the arcane wasteland of Antaron out of a love for the land, and only when she was sure she’d be able to find her way back to the magical epicenter she’d spent such little time in.

Now, with the candles flickering, she reviewed the notes on magical items and their construction, those catalogued in existence at the Tower of the Lost in the Protectorate of Estandy (where she’d spent time studying with the head of the college there on another plane of existence so far from Audalis), and checked these against a list of known cursed items. While her search wasn’t as fruitful as she’d hoped and she was unable to match the description of the gifts’ powers provided by Cyeen to any known items, she was able to determine that it would be possible to create items that allowed the transference of enchantment magic in a similar contingent manner to activating a gate (something she was also familiar with). The real challenging aspect of this, however, was that it would likely take a very powerful practitioner of the Art to perform such a deed, and Sanya knew of only a few figures within Antaron with that kind of power (and most of these by reputation only)!

Sitting back in her comfortable chair, Lady Sanya considered her discovery until well past the mid of night, and then, tired and still with her mind working at a million miles per second, the Lady of Tuarwen retired to her bedchamber where she changed into her silk robe and slid beneath the warmth of her heavy blankets, the generating heat from her brass bedwarmer a welcome addition to her covers.

Taurwen | Rayther | Outside of The City of Rayther | Claise 24th, Viladay, 452ER, 1:18am | Storming

A bit of gold, a bit of talk... nothing to much when the Law was involved. And the Law was involved. And it was hunting down Tales.

The inn, which he made a mental note to revisit sometime, was rather run down, and rather sketchy looking. And the patrons were even more sketchy. One job at a time though, so Lloyd took his seat, and ordered the Lentil stew. Pulling out a flask of water, he drinks from that, not trusting those who would be able to poison his drink. Looking at the kinda of people which he needs to appease though, he decides to order a pitcher of the stronger alcohol, and top off the glasses of those suspicious figures. But suspicious figures had the most to tell about other suspicious people. It helped divert attention away from them.

After all the time he spent finding information, he was done. Slightly warmed by the stew, which was hardly worth the 5 shill, he wrapped his cloak around him again, and stepped back out into the cold night, making his way to the gate.

Arriving at the gate, slightly cold, Lloyd pulls his cloak tighter, both making it warmer and getting his hand closer to his rapier should push come to shove. These guards were upholding the law, but also standing in the way of the law. However, what they don't know can't be held against them. But he had to make sure that this man wasn't getting out... Tales would die before he made it out of this city.

"Good sirs, I find it odd how you fine gentlemen may be stuck outside. Please, allow me to explain. My name is Guy. I am a mercenary trying to find a more... stable employment. A friend of mine recommended I try the city guard. He said that the night watch was probably where I'd start, as the new guy. I was coming to see if I could take one night as an unofficial guard, and see if I like it, then talk to the commander, see if I can join." Good thing he had gotten a lot of sleep the previous night... and into the morning. He was going to need to stay awake for the night watch. But Lloyd was going to be here to see this man with a burn across his face. Aiding chaos was being chaos. Chaos must be eliminated. "Is it okay if I stay here with you two, to see if I can handle the city guard? One night is all I ask."

That's the best I could come up with... I hope they buy it... Lloyd thought. He was smiling under his cloak, having mastered the act of interaction. Guy was nobody new to him. He had used that identity many times before. But he was determined to stay the night.

Shiften had spent some time in the tree considering his options. It had taken him a while to devise a plan. For some strange reason, this politician didn't want to be robbed. All the more reason to do it.

A smile ran across Shiften's face as he sorted through the branches and dug some string out of his bag. It took him a little while, but he managed to jury-rig a pair of snow-shoes for the trek. While he worked, he kept an eye on the guards, waiting for just the right stage in their pattern. See, there was a flaw in their routes. The lady of the house wanted them all to meet every 30 minutes. Whether it was for shift change, or to share any information they had obtained didn't matter to Shiften. It meant he had 5 minutes of time to get in and out without any fear of being caught. And if things got raw, he had up to 15 that he could push his luck with. He changed into his white cloak and prepared to enact his plan.

It was a simple matter of timing, 2 groups were making the half of their circle on the opposite side of the building, and one group was on a short five-minute circle. He waited until the 5 minute group was just past the balcony, they would make a sharp right turn that would put his entrance behind them, and it would be perfect. He made his way to the door, his white cloak blending into the snow to those who may be coming in through the entrance.

When he got close to the balcony, he slowed down to keep his tracks minimal near the five minute route, just in case he couldn't get back in time. Then he put his snowshoes in his bag and made his way up the wall to the balcony. Reaching the top, he took a quick glance for anyone who had seen him, and rushed to get inside and out of view.

((Stopping here, let me know if I make it and I'll continue))

It had been a long night, though Caterina did not track the hours once she lost herself in prayer. Hers was a deep form of prayer, moving beyond ritual gestures and solemn poetry into a wordless communion with her God. Still, the passage of time made itself felt with stiffening knees and cold hands, and Caterina returned to herself in the cold light of dawn.

Preparations for Ethain’s funeral were soon underway, and many a servant stopped in their tasks to express their sympathy to their lady. She received their words gravely, accepting the small kindnesses with grace, while reassuring her people that the immediate danger was past.

Once Carin Sollance arrived, the ceremony proceeded apace. With the priest leading the readings from the Book of Rydor, the assembled household bowed their heads in respect for the fallen squire. At a gesture from Carin, Caterina rose to add her words to Ethain’s farewell. She prayed for Ethain’s soul, that he may repose in Rydor’s glory after passing through D’hurgen’s realm. She expressed her thankfulness for having known him, his staunch devotion to his duties and his gentle care of his lady knight. She shared some moments from their life together, smiling wistfully over some moment, and beaming proudly at another. She urged her people to hold Ethain in their hearts, and to take his quiet devotion and steadfast attention as worthy models to aspire to.

Her clear voice never wavered, and her proud Drannese visage showed only serene resolution, yet those close to her could see the shimmer in those golden eagle’s eyes. Her embrace of Carin Sollance at the conclusion of the ceremony was perhaps warmer than her wont, gratitude for the priest’s presence pushing past her customary reserve.

With Ulant instructed to show all hospitality to Rydor’s priest, and the burial concluded, Caterina could address herself to the pressing matter of the attack, and it’s aftermath. She donned her armour with the help as a hastily summoned young squire (“Tilian is his name, Tilian…” she murmured to herself), and while she could not fully take on the mourning attire of a Drannese lady, she did allow Tilian to attach a black lace scarf to trail from her helm, and to quickly sew a black velvet band onto her gold brown cloak.

Striding into the courtyard, she whistled once, sharply, though it was more from habit than anything else. Rico, her Divine Companion, needed no summons other than her need, yet still she used the commands he’d learned as a mortal warhorse. He’d been trained to be Felipe’s mount, but with her twin’s death, Caterina had needed a swift horse, and with equine generosity, Rico had given himself a new mistress.

Rico materialized at her summons, trotting from nothingness to stand before her, resplendent in the gold and black barding of the Aguilera D’Oro family. A glossy black Andalusion warhorse, Rico’s hooves were nearly the size of Caterina’s head, yet he pranced with a colt’s impatience to be moving.

Caterina mounted and settled herself in the saddle, arranging her cloak over Rico’s withers and reaching forward to scratch the white blaze under his headpiece. With a few final instructions to Ulant, she was off, Rico’s steady stride making the miles dissipate as surely as the morning’s fog.

Normally, Caterina was humbled and somewhat chagrined at how quickly the throngs of Drefast made way for Rico, but today, she appreciated the time it saved her. Murmuring her thanks and nodding her head graciously to those who met her gaze, she still slowed Rico to a safe walk, the great warhorse fighting the bit out of sheer contrariness.

Her heart was heavy with Ethain’s loss, and concern over her demonic attacker, but she made sure to hold her head high and shoulders straight. Such a task was easier as her golden gaze found the stone walls of Rydor’s temple rising above the mundane buildings above it. Its grey and white edifice was plain and sturdy; Rydor’s strength made manifest in this world, and Caterina’s troubled heart could not but lighten at the sight.

As quickly as she was able to make her way through the crowded streets, word of her arrival traveled faster, and Fetrese stood at the temple doors to greet her.

“Lady Caterina,” He spread his arms wide, the purple sleeves falling to his knees with the gesture “It is truly an honor to receive you. We heard you’d entered Drefast and could only hope that you’d grace our humble halls with your presence. We’re pleased that this is the case.

“Do you require a private prayer room? A blessing, perhaps?”

The Right Hand of Rydor dismounted and climbed the steps to the temple, swiftly going down upon one knee before the Master of the Iron Tomb. He was of the Iron Flame, and she a Justicar, yet did their sects cooperate in the affairs of Rydor. She bowed her head as she knelt, her shining black hair, cut to a nobleman’s length, swinging forward to obscure her proud features.

“Who among us would not benefit from Rydor’s blessing? I, for one, would not say no to its benefice,” she answered, closing her eyes as Fetrese laid an open hand upon her head, his deep voice invoking Rydor’s blessing. She drank in its peace as gratefully as one lost in the desert, before rising to clasp Fetrese by both arms in a warrior’s greeting.

“I also have need of your counsel, and that of your most discreet and learned advisors. Perhaps we may retire to your study?” Caterina confined herself to polite enquiries after the health of those she knew serving in the temple, until Manderes closed the door to his study, and she could be assured of privacy (OOC: I leave it to the DM to determine who else Manderes summons to the study…Caterina will wait until all are present)

There, Caterina described the attack of the bull-horned, crow-feathered demon, its features and the curious brand upon its head, even taking up pen and ink to sketch the details of the brand as she remembered it. She detailed how the creature bore a greatsword yet confined its strike attempts with the black dagger, and she brought forth the danger and laid it gingerly upon Fetrese’s desk. As the others leaned forward to examine it closely, she shared with them the creature’s only words. You are to die now, Knight. This was intended for you: Compliments of the Eloquent Mask of Obarin.
“I was able to defeat it, with Rydor’s grace, but it slew my squire Ethain. I know not this Mask of Obarin, or why he seeks my death, but now I have an accounting with this…Mask” the last was spat disdainfully as Caterina paced about the room. She stopped and spun to face Fetrese as she finished, the question clear in her eyes.

The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 9:42pm | Overcast and Snow-Covered

(OOC: Persuasion & Fast Talk 31, 31; Awareness/Notice 30)

"Good sirs, I find it odd how you fine gentlemen may be stuck outside. Please, allow me to explain. My name is Guy. I am a mercenary trying to find a more... stable employment. A friend of mine recommended I try the city guard. He said that the night watch was probably where I'd start, as the new guy. I was coming to see if I could take one night as an unofficial guard, and see if I like it, then talk to the commander, see if I can join. Is it okay if I stay here with you two, to see if I can handle the city guard? One night is all I ask."

The second soldier peered sideways at his companion, but the first remained steadfast in his observance of Lloyd, his lips working as though he were chewing something distasteful while he considered the strange proposal.

“You want to freeze your arse off, it’s your own business, Guy.” The sergeant hoisted the crossbow to shoulder level. “We aren’t doin’ much anyway.”

“’It would be a better offer if’n ya brought something as a peace offerin’. Ain’t that so Sarge?” The fellow with the halberd grinned showing grimy teeth barely visible through his heavy beard. “Somethin’ t’ warm the blood, if ya will.” This was followed by gruff laughter.

“Yeah.” The sergeant agreed with a wry grin that showed a bit more hygiene. “Want to join the Guard, eh? Don’t know why. If what you said is true and you’re a mercenary, you ought to be able to sign on with some caravan, or even one of those crazy adventuring groups that goes off seeking the dark. In any case, a night in the cold ought to cure you of this insanity.”

The sergeant lowered the crossbow and turned to walk back towards the awning, the fellow with the halberd waiting for Lloyd to follow before falling in step.

“My name is Blanndis,” The sergeant set the crossbow down on the table they’d come to and motioned towards one of the four chairs surrounding it. Such seating would place the group looking out at the city and the gate with their backs to the door that would be the entrance to the gloomy-looking guardhouse. “And that’s Joncitue…with a name fancier than his position in life.” Sgt. Blanndis chuckled as he plopped down into the chair and readjusted his cloak to better protect him from the cold wind that crept around the corner of the building. Joncitue followed suite and kicked his feet up on the edge of the table, a bit of snow and mud falling from the soles to the table top.

“We’ve another three hours on this shift, and that’s about all the time I can offer. Then the new shift sergeant might have some different ideas. Until then, feel free to become one with Winter.” Blanndis chuckled again.

(OOC: There is time for further small talk if you so desire…)

The shift changed as promised and the new shift officer was at first reluctant to break with protocol, but after Lloyd’s convincing negotiation, the bounty hunter didn’t even have to clear out of his chair (which might have been a feat into and of itself considering he was nearly frozen). About five hours later, bitter cold from his night spent sitting with less than talkative city guard, Lloyd was never more happy to see false dawn as it peeked over the cityscape skyline. Shortly after this, the usual commuters began to gather, and the shift sergeant was put to work checking those leaving, and those asking admittance. This left Lloyd to his own devices, to survey the changing landscape and watch for the scar-faced man Tales was supposed to meet.

Madius arrived within a few minutes of the first wagons. With him was a dun-colored horse bearing a riding saddle and a simple pair of large saddlebags. The scar-faced man stood to the side of the growing column of people ready to leave the city for their own purposes, one hand gripping the reins, his head held high looking about, searching. He was a man of average build, with a neatly-trimmed salt and pepper beard and mustaches, and long, unkempt gray hair. He wore earth tone clothing over a chainmail suit, and a longsword and dagger were apparent on his hips. From where Lloyd sat at the guardhouse table, he could see the man standing about thirty meters away, the column of wagons, pedestrians, and pack mules standing looking back at the city…waiting.

The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 24th, Viladay, 452ER, 6:45am | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

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Noble’s Ward | Treetop | The City of Davnor | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:50pm | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

(OOC: Jury Rig 32 [critical success]; Athletics 26, 26; Pick Lock 35 [critical success]; Appraisal 33 [critical success])

Shiften actually found it easier to create the makeshift snowshoes than he’d originally estimated. Within five minutes he’d crafted shoes that he felt would not only hold up for the jaunt across the compound, but the return trip as well, before falling apart and reverting to the original organic material making it near impossible to determine what they’d been used for in the first place.

Dropping from the tree, he quickly made up the distance to the wall in short order. He’d arranged his approach to give him the most time possible between the guard’s rotations, and once he reached the wall, he was over it in a breath or two, and crouched in the relative security of the shadow on the other side. He strapped the snowshoes on and with long strides the distance to the building disappeared beneath his feat, leaving huge imprints barely two inches deep in the snow in his wake. Against the finely crafted stone of the mansion, Shiften rested his weight while he slipped the snowshoes off and secured them in his large belt pouch, beneath his cloak and between his belt and his back. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would have to do. The sands of time were falling, and the second-story man had a ways to go yet.

Hooking his booted foot on one crenellation, Shiften reached up and took hold of a protruding sculpture made in the likeness of a succubus with cold fingers. From that point he was a shadow climbing the wall in less time than it takes most people to walk the same distance. It ended when he hooked his leg over the stone railing of the balcony and rolled himself to a crouch in the snow just a couple of paces from the door.

As he suspected, there was a lock on the door, and Shiften’s very expensive lockpicks were in hand without a second thought. He made short work of the lock—it was amazing how well things were falling into place, almost as though Fate demanded he succeed—and the door swung inward granting the thief access to the interior just as the hostess of the manor would soon be inviting guests into her home.

Shiften took the parameters of the room and internalized them within seconds. It was approximately ten meters by fifteen meters, and he’d entered mid-way into the room on the long wall. It was finely furnished with sitting areas featuring tables and chairs, bookshelves, and display cases. There was one set of double doors opposite him, but other than that there was no other access to the room. There were plenty of things about the room that could be interesting, but there was one thing in particular that stood out above the others.

In his brief examination of the room Shiften had seen a portrait hanging on the wall between two of the bookshelves in a very prominent position. So prominent that it didn’t matter where you sat in the room, the portrait was a prime focal point. It was too big for him to pack out, so he’d originally dismissed it, but then there was the other portraits, and the bust; all depicting the same subject: a beautiful woman, if a bit cold, with raven black hair, wide, doe eyes of an emerald green, and rich, healthy skin tones. Her shapely figure wasn’t hidden well by the gowns she wore in the paintings, but, in fact, was emphasized to such a degree that it made Shiften’s heart skip a couple of beats. Beyond her beauty and obvious physical appeal, there was the pendant worn about her neck in every representation of her. It was gold and platinum mix, very dainty and elegant, obviously made by a master craftsman. The pendant bore a large emerald center in its setting, surrounded by unique compilation of orbs, suns, and stars made up of various additional stones. Now, this wouldn’t have been valuable to him if he hadn’t seen it resting about the neck of a wooden bust within a display case in the far corner of the room.

That pendant that she appears to have such an attachment to would gather at least 50,000gp if he could find a buyer, but more importantly was the attachment. She’d miss that…oh yes, she’d miss that, and more than likely before the evening was over.

Noble’s Ward | Treetop | The City of Davnor | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:52pm | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

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The Temple of Rydor | The Empire of Drannon | The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 9:00am | Abnormally Warm

“Who among us would not benefit from Rydor’s blessing? I, for one, would not say no to its benefice,” The Right Hand of Rydorhumbly answered.

Fetrese laid an open hand upon her head, his deep voice invoking Rydor’s blessing. There was no magic involved, no divine benefit other than to feel closer to her god. When the last words to his prayer fell from his lips, Caterina rose up and clasped Fetrese by both arms in a warrior’s greeting.


“I also have need of your counsel, and that of your most discreet and learned advisors. Perhaps we may retire to your study?”

“It will take but a moment to gather,” Fetrese waved his hand in a dismissive manner and two of his attendees vanished from the stairs in their haste to be about his bidding. If Caterina didn’t always agree with the mandates of Master of the Iron Tomb, he was very efficient.

Caterina confined herself to polite enquiries after the health of those she knew serving in the temple, until Manderes closed the door to his study, and she could be assured of privacy. With the Master of the Iron Tomb was Galdecus of the Steel Gauntlet, and Hiterung of the Compassionate Law, both high-ranking officials within the church.


Caterina described the attack of the bull-horned, crow-feathered demon, its features and the curious brand upon its head, even taking up pen and ink to sketch the details of the brand as she remembered it. She detailed how the creature bore a greatsword yet confined its strike attempts with the black dagger, and she brought forth the danger and laid it gingerly upon Fetrese’s desk. As the others leaned forward to examine it closely, she shared with them the creature’s only words. You are to die now, Knight. This was intended for you: Compliments of the Eloquent Mask of Obarin.


“I was able to defeat it, with Rydor’s grace, but it slew my squire Ethain. I know not this Mask of Obarin, or why he seeks my death, but now I have an accounting with this…Mask” the last was spat disdainfully as Caterina paced about the room. She stopped and spun to face Fetrese as she finished, the question clear in her eyes.

“This is, indeed, very puzzling—“ Hiterung practically whispered as he stared at the dagger.

“And troubling,” Galdecus muttered. “Could this be more than just an old enemy of the Lady Caterina’s coming back for revenge?”

Fetrese raised his eyebrows and looked to his subordinate with questioning eyes, “Such as?”

“Perhaps this is an attack on the Church,” was the suggestion.

“That, my old friend, is quite the assumption, but I’m afraid that it isn’t something we can rule out. As such, we’ll make sure we take the necessary precautions. But for now, we must set about doing our due diligence on the information we have been brought—information that has already cost one innocent his life.

“I’m afraid I have no recollection of ever seeing such a symbol before, Lady D’Oro—“

“Nor have I,” Galdecus confirmed.

“As well, neither have I,” Hiterung acknowledged if somewhat grimly.

“But our libraries are expansive…Hiterung, do you have your usual selection of scrolls about you?” Fetrese suddenly shifted directions.

“I do.” Then, it was as though the man knew to what his superior was hinting at. He retrieved from his belt pouch an elaborately carved bone scrollcase from which he produced a prayer scroll. He read it with his podium voice, though it wasn’t necessary, and after a moment, with his hand held over the dagger, he nodded, confirming what everyone there had already suspected. “It is poisoned, though it would take an alchemist to determine the type.”

“It might prove beneficial to determine just such a thing, Lady D’Oro, but it would require we retain the dagger for a time. We’ll put our libraries, scholars, and sages to work right away on the symbol as well. You are welcome to remain a guest within the temple—we have a few prayer cells available—while we perform this research.” Fetrese offered, still looking at the dagger where it lay next to the drawing of the symbol Caterina had so graciously provided.

“There are also arcane sources of information we could potentially utilize as well…” Galdecus offered up, reminding Caterina of a relationship she’d made some time ago with a particular Sylvari wizardess.

“And we could seek divine guidance…” Hiterung suggested.

“Rydor has obviously chosen the Lady Caterina as his champion once more,” Fetrese held out a hand to stall any further discussion and redirected their attention back to the paladin. “This is your quest, Lady. How would you like us to help, if at all?”

The Temple of Rydor | The Empire of Drannon | The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 10:10am | Abnormally Warm

Lloyd saw who he was looking for. Madius. The one who was helping the assassin. It was so close. Five thousand royals... right in front of him. He figured he had befriended the guards enough over night, sharing his stories of how he had fought in large wars, and served kings and queen's all over the world. They were quite the nice people. Maybe... friends helped friends out, right?

"Hey, guys, listen to this." Lloyd says, a hushed voice so only the guards can hear. He points out Madius, though subtly enough that only those who were paying attention could catch who he was pointing at. "You see that guy there? He's giving me a bad feeling. Working under queens and kings and the like, you get a kinda sense for who's good and who isn't. And he's giving me a not good feel. Like he's trying to do a smuggling operation or something. I think he's doing something illegal. Maybe we should pull a 'surprise check' on his wagon as he comes out eh? Say it's with the city's law, just to be sure." Lloyd, following suit with Madius, looked out over the crowd, looking for someone that might be drawn to Madius. The assassin was coming by here this morning - he learned that much from his little stakeout. The question was... how soon. And who was this mysterious Tales? It didn't matter though to Lloyd. Justice wasn't exclusive.

Caterina watched attentively as Galdecus, Hiterung and Fetrese put their heads together over the dagger. She was willing to be patient; she was wise enough to know that she wouldn’t have all the answers, and even those that did wouldn’t find them immediately. In this she was different from her brother; her twin would have been unable to remain still while the others thought. But that was Felipe the boy, she reminded herself, who knows what Felipe the man might have been.
“It is poisoned, though it would take an alchemist to determine the type,” Hiterung interrupted Caterina’s musings, and she frowned at the news.

“It might prove beneficial to determine just such a thing, Lady D’Oro, “ Fetrese offered, “ but it would require we retain the dagger for a time. We’ll put our libraries, scholars, and sages to work right away on the symbol as well. You are welcome to remain a guest within the temple—we have a few prayer cells available—while we perform this research.”

“Odd, don’t you think,” Caterina pondered out loud,” to summon a demon, transport it to my keep, only to have it attack me with merely a poisoned dagger? I rather expected it to be cursed, or enchanted somehow to lay a geas upon me, if such a thing is possible. Surely there was an easier way to poison me, if it were an ordinary poison. I think we must identify the exact toxin, no matter how difficult a task. “

“There are also arcane sources of information we could potentially utilize as well…” Galdecus offered up, reminding Caterina of a relationship she’d made some time ago with a particular Sylvari wizardess.

“And we could seek divine guidance…” Hiterung suggested.

“Rydor has obviously chosen the Lady Caterina as his champion once more,” Fetrese held out a hand to stall any further discussion and redirected their attention back to the paladin. “This is your quest, Lady. How would you like us to help, if at all?”

“I am grateful for all of your counsel, messirs, and you have given me hope that we shall divne Rydor’s Will in all of this. I would ask that your wisest alchemists be given the dagger, so that we may determine the nature of the poison. I also think we need to bring other skills to bear upon the matter, as suggested by Galdecus. Tell me, do you have a means to get a message quickly to Rayther? Someone had to have summoned that demon, and that means we need an expert in the arcane. “

OOC: I will wait for a response before posting further. The DM made reference to writing our shared histories, but I haven’t seen it? Would like to see if before referencing my acquaintance in a post.

The Temple of Rydor | The Empire of Drannon | The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 10:10am | Abnormally Warm

“A message? To Rayther?” Hiterung looked slightly confused.

“Is there someone there in particular you wish to consult, My Dear?” Fetrese asked, a kind tone to his voice. (OOC: assuming Caterina has no problem letting them know of Sanya.) “A wizard you say? Well, I’m sure we can facilitate such a request. Hiterung?”

“I will see to it myself, Master,” the other priest turned and made his way to a table set against the wall and retrieved from a drawer within a silver inkpot with a simple white quill and a sheet of parchment. He placed these in front of Caterina and positioned everything so that she’d have an easy time with using them. “Please write out a message to this Lady Sanya that is less than twenty-five words. I’d suggest that you put something in place she’d recognize as truth, otherwise she’ll have no reason to believe this anything more than a ruse. Once you’re done with your message, I’ll ask Rydor to deliver it through His grace to your friend.”

“I will take this,” Galdecus gingerly lifted the dagger and sheathe as though it were a serpent ready to strike him and held it before him with a look of distaste on his aging, bearded face. “To the master alchemist right away.”

Caterina was busy writing her message when the priest left the room, and the other two remained peaceful and quiet while she composed her message. When finished, Hiterung accepted the message and read it over several times to make sure he’d memorized it. At which point he went to the corner of the room where he could offer up his prayer without interruption.

“That will take some time, Daughter of Rydor,” Fetrese gave a nod to his underling. “Such a prayer is usually rather involved.

“So, let us, you and I, determine what steps we need to take in order to combat this evil further. Let’s say that your friend does arrive, and is able to help you determine whatever it is you seek from her; and let us say that our alchemists are quick in their determination of the poison. What is the plan then?”

The Temple of Rydor | The Empire of Drannon | The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 10:15am | Abnormally Warm

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The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 24th, Viladay, 452ER, 6:45am | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

(OOC: Persuasion & Fast Talk 27)

“Surprise check?” Witigus—the watch sergeant—raised his bushy gray eyebrows and sniffed against the cold-wrought pain in his nose as he peered between the wagons at where Madius stood looking back in on the city. “He does look a little suspicious, Guy. The way he’s starin’ back int’ the city like he’s lookin’ fer somethin’.

“All right, you lot go detain ‘im while I finish up with this here wagon.” Having given his orders, the watch sergeant went back to his investigation of the heavy, damp hay in the bed of the wagon that had just pulled up. Two soldiers named Etaulph and Fenaril hoisted their halberds and strode purposefully towards Lloyd’s target.

Madius spotted their approach with ease as they were making no attempt to hide their intention, but the man didn’t run. Instead, he eyed their approach cautiously, his eyes shifting between their gait to their weapons, and across the wagons to where the other soldiers were some few meters away. His gaze passed over Lloyd as well, and it paused on him for a moment before returning to the soldiers.

“What is your business at the Gate?” Fenaril demanded as they drew within five feet of the fellow.

“I am but here at my master’s request waiting a messenger he is sending to take this horse to Lynx,” Madius replied camly.

“Oh? A messenger, eh?” Fenaril motioned to the horse with his free hand. “Then you won’t mind submittin’ to a search, will ya?”

“Not at all,” Madius didn’t move. “You’ll find nothin’ but the usual travelin’ gear, but if’n that’s how you wish to spend yer time, who’m I t’ stop you?”

“Who’s yer master?” Etaulph asked as his partner moved to look through the saddlebags of the roan held at hand.

“My master is Retelias, a merchant who has opened a new shop in Lynx just recently for his brother-in-law to run. It deals in furs and sheepskins if’n you must know, an’ so far my master ain’t too pleased with the way ‘is brother-in-law’s been handlin’ things. So, he told me t’ meet this messenger here with the horse t’ see that the man delivers the message to his brother-in-law t’ clean things up, er he’ll be makin’ the trip to Lynx ‘imself.”

“An’ why not send the messenger from his estate, hmmm?” Fenaril said from the rear flank. “Seems t’ be a lot of extra trouble jus’ t’ get a man on the road.”

“It is a hired hand that he’s sendin’,” Madius remained stoic in his position as he answered the questions Lloyd could barely hear across the distance separating them. “Hired from the Poor Side as a means t’ keep costs low. He wanted me t’ see the man off t’ make sure that ‘e don’ just take the coin an’ run with it. I’m t’ escort the fellow a ways outside the city before I return.”

“Well, there ain’t nothin’ here but the standard provisions,” Fenaril said, letting his disappointment show through as he returned to his partner’s side. Etaulph looked back over to where Witigus was just finishing up with the wagon and shook his head.

“Don’t look like yer hunch was correct, Guy,” Witigus drawled over his shoulder as he gave the draft horse a pat on the rump to get the wagon moving and turned to face Lloyd.

The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 24th, Viladay, 452ER, 6:47am | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

"It would appear that way sergeant. However, something just doesn't feel right about this man..."

Sighing, he shrugged and added. "Look, this guard thing is great, and it must make you feel good, knowing that you're protecting these people. I on the other hand, am not a guard at the moment, just a volunteer. I'm going to wait for his man to come, then question him too. I don't want to you lose your reputation. But... if I whistle, it means I'm on to something, and I might be able to use some backup. Does that sound fair?"

Lloyd stroked his sword within his cloak. Madius and Tales... they would be his. Lloyd began to study Madius. He would be marked by the law, and Tales would go down with him. Cynthia... I will repay you. Lloyd thought to himself. Lloyd moved a little ways away from where he was standing, closer to Madius, though he still hid himself in the crowd of people. The reward was his. And nothing was going to stop him.

“Is there someone there in particular you wish to consult, My dear?” Fetrese asked, and although his tone was kind, Caterina sensed a touch of asperity. The paladin took no offense, she was a little exasperated with this fencing, as well.

“There is a wizard there I’ve come to trust. One who is wise and well-studied, yet comes out of her tower to enjoy the world and the workings of mankind. She may recognize this poison, but more importantly, may know of this “Mask”, Caterina responded smoothly.” I did not feel the need for details until I knew it was even possible to reach someone across the whole of Antaron.”

“A wizard you say? Well, I’m sure we can facilitate such a request. Hiterung?”

The other priest turned and brought to Caterina a silver inkpot with a simple white quill and a sheet of parchment. When instructed to write out a message no more than 25 words, Caterina lifted her eyebrows, but nodded, her gaze turning inward as she pondered her words. Quill in hand, she tapped the plume against her lips as she counted the words in her head, then, satisfied, she dipped the sharpened tip into the ink and wrote carefully in an elegant hand:

My dearest Sanya,
A demon bearing a poisoned dagger attacked your golden-eyed warrior woman, sent by the Mask of Obarin. Advice needed urgently, Caterina
Caterina looked over the note once more, counting once more in her deliberate way, before handing the note to Hiterung. She’d used the ironic title for herself that the wizardess had given her, hoping it would be recognized. Once, over a fine meal and a light wine of good age, Sanya had remarked in her clear voice that such golden green eyes were even more rare as women in armour. Caterina could only hope that Sanya was in a mood to help (the Sylvari sometimes had their own motivations) and that if she didn’t know of this “Mask”, she’d at least know of mages powerful enough to summon a demon.

“That will take some time, Daughter of Rydor,” Fetrese gave a nod to his underling, and the Hand of Rydor noted that the dagger had already been taken away. “Such a prayer is usually rather involved.

“So, let us, you and I, determine what steps we need to take in order to combat this evil further. Let’s say that your friend does arrive, and is able to help you determine whatever it is you seek from her; and let us say that our alchemists are quick in their determination of the poison. What is the plan then?”

Caterina busied her hands with cleaning the quill and replacing the stopper in the inkwell. “I fear, Lord Fetrese, I will not know until some of these questions are answered. The agent of Ethain’s death may be a mad wizard in a distant tower, or he may be a warlord massing on our border, hoping the death of Rydor’s champion would give him an advantage. I cannot plan a counter measure until I know what I face,” Caterina concluded, rising and brushing her hands together as if setting the matter aside.

“Fortunately, Rydor grants me patience when I would otherwise lack it,” she smiled, setting her right hand over her heart,” and I set out too early to attend morning service. Perhaps I could make use of one of your cells to tidy myself before attending the noon service? Perhaps Rydor will share His Counsel with me.”

His first thought was that this was so easy that he should leave a bigger present...But Shiften wasn't your second story thief. He had been there, done that. He knew it was always best to stick to the plan, no matter what. So that's what he did.

He had very little time before he was in eyeshot of the guards coming around, and they were sure to see his footprints, so he grabbed the amulet--carefully--and put it in a safe place in his bg, then headed out the door, setting the lock if possible, to start his path off of the manor.

The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 24th, Viladay, 452ER, 6:47am | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

(OOC: Persuasion & Fast Talk 27)

“…I don’t want you to lose your reputation, but…if I whistle, it means I’m on to something, and I might be able to use some backup. Does that sound fair?” Lloyd had a casual way about his stance that allowed Witigus to remain almost dismissively calm.

The Watch Sergeant shrugged as he absently motioned the next wagon forward, his eyes on the man who’d spent all night experiencing the cold of dead winter with some of Ethryn’s finest. “So long as you don’t do nothin’ to break the laws; I’ve got no problem with you chatting with whomever you want.

“You think this has somethin’ t’ do with Count Urolin’s attack, Guy?” Witigus wasn’t as blank as some of the other guards might have been. It had struck him as odd that the man would have come out of the night asking to spend his own time sitting with the guards just to experience what it was like. In all of his years as a watchman, he’d never yet had someone “test the waters” before, and with the attempted assassination of that grand champion of justice and honor, Count Urolin fresh on the minds of the guard, Witigus had put two and two together. Now, he thought he had it pegged. This man, Guy, was an agent of the Crown, and Sergeant Witigus was looking for some confirmation of his hunch before he committed himself and his troops to act on the gray-cloaked fellow’s whims.

The wagon creaked to a halt, its draft horses snorting and stamping their hooves against the frozen earth in protest at having to halt their progress once again. The driver sat hunched in his cloak, a fur cape draped about his shoulders, his expression one of bored discomfort. His passenger appeared equally numb though it was obvious he was supposed to be the guard, wearing the chain suit, dull steel helmet, and carrying the heavy crossbow. For now—safe within the walls of the city, and probably oblivious to the fact that someone had attempted to kill one of Ertain’s greatest warriors—he was content to let the city guard be about their inspection. The wagon’s contents were barrels lying on their side, and stacked two levels high, tied down with heavy ropes. There was obviously no room to hide between them, and that left no place to hide within the wagon, but Witigus—waiting for a response from Lloyd—approached the wagon anyway, and casually grabbed one of the ropes.

Madius remained passive in his posture; looking askance at Fenaril and Etaulph, waiting on their actions, and they, in turn, waited on further instruction from Witigus.

The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 24th, Viladay, 452ER, 6:47am | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

The Temple of Rydor | The Empire of Drannon | The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 10:15am | Abnormally Warm

“…Perhaps Rydor will share His Counsel with me.” Caterina’s patience was thin…Fetrese could tell. He’d spent many, many years learning to read people, and though the Lady Paladin did a fine job of putting a layer of stoic calm between her emotions and what the public saw, the Master of the Iron Tomb saw through it as though it were a thin veil. As he took in her soft smile—the smile that never reached her golden eyes—he couldn’t blame her. She’d suffered loss the night previous, and yet here she was acting to bring Rydor’s Will against her offenders without even a time for mourning. He could but admire her conviction, and returned her smile, though he allowed his eyes to accurately deliver the message of his heart.

“I will be only too happy to oblige, Lady D’Oro,” Mandrese Fetrese offered her a slight bow of acquiescence. “You shall have a cell, and I’ll have an acolyte bring fresh water and wine immediately.” Glancing over his shoulder to where Hiterung was still in deep, meditative prayer, he returned his gaze to the paladin. “And I will make sure we deliver the results of Brother Hiterung’s prayers as soon as they are completed.”

That said, the Master of the Iron Tomb turned and made his way to the door of the room they’d held their conference in. Leaning into the hall, he caught a passing acolyte with a gaze, and brought him into the chamber with a crook of his finger.

The acolyte was a young woman of maybe fourteen summers. She stood a couple of finger-widths shorter than Caterina and bore herself with a straight back and squared shoulders, though they were dainty to be sure. Her eyes were hazel, her face a deep golden tan, and her lips were pale and full. Her hair was black as midnight and hung to her shoulders in large, loose curls. She was an athletic-looking girl for all of her beauty, slim in the hips and small in the breast, but it was easy to see that she’d turn heads wherever she went. Her garb was that of a standard acolyte of the clergy: white, loose-flowing robes that hung to the ankle and was tightened about her waist by a four finger-width black leather belt with a broad silver buckle bearing the symbol of Rydor etched within its circumference. About her neck was the holy symbol of Rydor born on a leather cord, and her feet were covered by soft slippers that made her footfall practically nonexistent.

“Jenora,” Mandrese intoned with authority. “Please show the Lady D’Oro to a prayer cell, and bring to her fresh water from the well. After, the Lady D’Oro is settled, you may return to her some wine and cheese.”

The Master of the Iron Tomb returned his soft smile to the Right Hand of Rydor and gave her a slight bow. “If there is anything else that you require in the interim, Acolyte Jenora will be at your beck and call.”

Jenora’s calculating stare wasn’t something Caterina was used to from one so young—or, for that matter, from any who recognized her. The beautiful acolyte remained quiet in her studious countenance awaiting the Lady Caterina’s will. Once the paladin made to exit, the young woman took the lead with quiet grace, passing into the halls outside of the meeting room, and leading Caterina through the inner sanctum, past the refectory and chapel, to the guest wing. Once there she did as well as she’d been instructed, pouring cool, refreshing water from a highly-reflective silver ewer bearing the scene of Rydor’s Just March in relief about its splayed base into a simple brushed steel bowl by which there was a folded cotton cloth of the purest white.

Acolyte Jenora gave the paladin a little due, obviously aware that the head of her temple paid this woman respect, but still offering the older, golden-eyed woman nothing more than what she would be required of any in a higher position than herself. Then, she retired to the corner of the prayer cell where she folded her hands in front of her and lowered her gaze.

The Temple of Rydor | The Empire of Drannon | The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 10:20am | Abnormally Warm

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Noble’s Ward | Solan Manor, inside | The City of Davnor | Sendria | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:52pm | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

(OOC: Awareness/Notice 29, 28, 23 | Stealth 24, 28 | Pick Lock 1 [used 2 Creative Currency for Reroll] 27 | Trap Smith 27 | Athletics 23, 26)

Shiften approached the display case without making a noise, passing through the sundries of the room as though he were a wraith fully aware of every sound that penetrated the thick stillness with an acute awareness. The lock gave him some trouble, breaking a smaller pick that he’d have to replace (which he took the pieces of into his pouch to dispose of later), before he managed to dislodge the complex rollers. The hinges of the case were obviously well-oiled and made no sound when he opened the door. A quick investigation of the interior proved that there was a pair of traps that would activate upon the removal of the pendant without the proper combination of wood plates being pressed in a particular combination.

Replacing his lockpicks in his belt pouch, Shiften gave study to the traps. Both appeared to operate off of the same trigger mechanism, and that meant that they would both be disarmed should he manage to accomplish that. They were also more than likely installed by a master craftsman and a lot of care went into the method of delivery, trigger, and concealment. Someone less skilled than Shiften would likely have been the victim tonight instead of the Lady Solan. It took a lot longer than the legendary second-story man would have preferred and he paused in the middle as he heard the crunch of boots and light voices of the guards passing beyond the balcony door he’d left slightly ajar. After a few seconds of tense silence, the voices passed on, apparently completely unaware of the intrusion. So, Shiften returned to work, and within a few more minutes had figured out the combination to disarm the traps after removing thin veneers of wood over the corded combination plates.

Moments later, he was lifting the pendant from its resting place and slipping it into his belt pouch next to his thief’s tools. Padding ghostlike across the floor once more, he paused at the window to peer outside and scan the yard. He allowed himself only twenty seconds of observation while he tried to calculate the time he’d taken and match it to his memory of the guard’s circuit, and then he was stepping quickly into the cold once more, closing the door behind him before rolling over the railing and working his way like a spider down the decorative posts to the snow below.

The make-shift snowshoes were put to use again as Shiften made his escape, draped in his white cloak as he was. Within a few seconds of making his theft, the legend was back at the wall and scaling it with the snowshoes being tossed over ahead of him. On the other side, he stopped beneath the tree he’d perched in previously and returned the materials he’d used for the snowshoes to their natural state.

Noble’s Ward | Solan Manor, outside the wall | The City of Davnor | Sendria | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:57pm | Partly Cloudy and Snow-Covered

Shiften was downright ecstatic, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. He dismantled he snowshoes and headed for the main roads in town. He knew that they could still track him in this snow and he had to get to a road where his footprints would blend in with the rest. After that it would be easy: just switch out from the suspicious white cloak, and make his way into the seedier parts of town without being robbed himself.

That said, he'd still have to find the guild in this town, or huff it to a larger town if he wanted to make this sale. The trick, though, was making the sale to someone who knew the value of the necklace without them knowing whose necklace it was....Those were thoughts for much later. For now, it was safe and secure, and he had to replace a lockpick. It was time to disappear. Disappearing -- that's his specialty.