A Ghost from the Past

[Bloodrose]

Solo. Continued from this thread!

Barton! News of that name spread through Lothiaan like a wildfire, carried home by patrons leaving Vaka's tavern. It was a wildfire fueled by history, and fanned into a blaze by years of questioning intrigue. To the casual observer it might have seemed very strange indeed, all these people running home through the streets with this one name hanging on their ragged breaths. To lifelong residents of this small Salvic fief, however, the commotion wrought by a simple name, that particular name, wasn't strange at all - it was expected.

"He's back!" They whispered in hushed tones, almost as if saying it too loudly would reveal the news to be a lie; a dream forgotten after waking. There was no need to clarify who he was, as most instinctively knew. To the news came a variety of reactions running the gamut from exhilaration to anger - but a poll would have revealed a general sense of excitement spreading through Lothiaan with the heralded name. It's at this juncture that the casual observer, curious and perhaps a bit bewildered, would be forced to confront someone in the know with the obvious question: "What's so important about that name, Barton?" They would ask - and in reply they would be sure to get a history lesson in Lothiaan lore...

"The first Bartons, it's said, were hedge knights - free men of a long forgotten lineage. They roamed the wild places of Salvar in the days of old, pledging fealty to no one but offering their services to many in the forming decades of the nation. It's said that Barton ancestors manned the defenses that kept Berevaran hordes from ransacking a young Salvar. As bastions of Church and Government struggled to rise to their feet in the face of a wary populace, Bartons are said to have quelled the unrest and helped usher in a time of stability in the North. The deeds of the Barton family, and the legendary skill of their warriors, was said to have made the bleeding rose on their coat of arms an unmistakable emblem across all of Salvar."

"Sounds to be more fiction than truth." Would say the casual observer. "A tale embellished in the telling."

"Fair enough. True, even... perhaps." The people of Lothiaan are not a dull sort of folk. "Stories are made to entertain, to be sure, but even the farthest stretch of fact can still contain some manner of truth. In more recent history the Barton family were stewards - protectors and governors appointed to Lothiaan and its surrounding fief by the King of Salvar. Seven generations of Barton blood led Lothiaan to prosperity and kept its people safe. Times were good, and the future bright, but as many ancient lineages are wont to do, the Barton roots started to wither and die. It was said that Bartons had poured so much of their blood into the land, that the blood left in the line was weak. Each successive generation yielded fewer and fewer Bartons to assume their family's mantle - until only two remained. A brother and a sister, two last hopes for Lothiaan's continued prosperity."

"So what happened?" The observer will have by now keyed in on the melancholy in the teller's voice. A deep, smoldering sadness that tinges the story as it’s told.

"One, the daughter, was married away - taken off to Knife's Edge to live a life of privilege. She died there of childbirth. A cruel fate, ironic almost, that she should perish trying to bring the future of her line into the world."

"And the son? The male heir?"

"He left us." That melancholy was strong here. "It was almost as if he decided the Barton name was better lost to the annals of history - for he shed his title and vanished into a seedy underworld. Rumors said that he sold himself as a mercenary, throwing himself into every battle he could find as if hoping to die anonymously on the battlefield."

"I see," says the observer, "why everyone is so excited now. Their hero, this Barton, isn't dead after all."

"No, not dead at all. He is alive, and what's more, he's returned..."

[Bloodrose]

How long have I been sitting in this cell? Teric wondered. A few days? A week? It was hard to judge time in his prison, for no light shone through the bars, and there was no window to the outside. It was a dark and dreary place really, crafted from stone and iron and buried somewhere underground where the prisoners went mad without their sense of time.

Four days, That was the mercenary's latest guess, give or take a day. Without the sun to aid him, Teric had been judging the time by counting his bowel movements, which usually came like clockwork around six in the morning. It was unfortunate, though, that a prison diet wasn't very conductive to good digestive regularity, otherwise Teric would have been able to tell not only what day it was, but probably what time as well. Too much protien, the warrior thought passively, not enough fiber...

Teric was tired of waiting in his cell, sitting quietly with his back against the far wall facing the bars. The cool, damp stone floor and walls offered no markings or interesting deformities with which he could pass the time - and there was no furniture to speak of, let alone utilize. He was a man trapped in a boring, isolated box, and the longer he sat there, the more confident Teric was that his captors had forgotten him down here.

These last four days had been nothing like the first couple days of his captivity.

Ah, to be interrogated again! That was how the veteran had spent his first few days; bound to a chair with Sway agents breaking their fists against his iron jaw. At this juncture, trapped here in the dark, the prospect of getting punched in the face for not answering his captor's questions seemed almost desirable. Pain wasn't pleasant, but it was stimulation, and that above all else was what Teric missed the most. He'd grown too used to the scent of his prison to notice it, grown weary of the touch of stone, and had no light by which to see. The sensory deprivation was maddening; enough to make a man wish someone would feed him a fist full of knuckles just so he could feel something...

"Huuuuu." Teric let out a hearty, audible sigh as he shifted to alleviate some imaginary discomfort. "Pretty soon I'll start talking to myself." He said out loud, strangely comforted by the sound of his voice hanging in the dark air. "Yes indeed, pretty soon I'll be babbling to myself like a crazy person..."

[Bloodrose]

Colonel Charles Bancroft stood to attention in the cozy library of Barton Manor, his eyes trained straight ahead over the top of the high-backed chair currently facing away from him. Beyond that chair was a wide plate-glass window overlooking the town on the foothills below, each little light a star in the chilly night that had descended over the area. Charles was resplendid in his full dress uniform, all the tassels and sigils of his rank newly sewn to the crisp robin's-egg blue fabric of his garb. His promotion was a new one, but that wasn't the reason he was standing here tonight.

"How is our...guest, faring?" The question was noticeably drawn out, and the choice of adjective deliberate. It was delivered in a honey-sweet voice, almost melodical in quality, that one found strangely unnerving in a military setting. There was something about that voice that always made Charles' mind go someplace else; someplace where the answer to the asked question definitely wasn't. His delay in answering prompted the chair at the end of the room to swivel around, revealing his commanding officer. "Well?" She asked, fixing Charles with a knowing stare.

Lady Amelia Hawthorn was younger than one might have expected someone in a position of power to be - but the Sway had been promoting a large number of younger women of late. Those who were both beautiful and cunning were said to be the embodiments of Denebriel herself, and so it was only fitting that Amelia, in her mid-twenties maybe, served as the new Steward of Lothiaan. Better known as the "Vixen" to both her allies and her foes, Amelia got her nickname from both her cunning and her magnificent red-blonde hair. It fell in big, languid curls to her shoulders, framing an angelic face set with emerald green eyes. Those eyes could do things to a man, make parts of him stir with desire, and break even the most stalwart concentration...

"Apologies, Lady Lordship. The prisoner has started talking to himself." Charles wanted to strike himself for acting like such an adolescent, letting hopeless desire interfere with his ability to stay on task. His eyes locked on to Amelia's, Charles would have sworn he saw laughter there - almost as if she could read the thoughts playing in his mind. She smiled a playful, seductive smile that pulled at the corners of her rosy lips. She's enjoying this, watching me squirm. The Colonel thought, summoning new resolve and keeping his eyes focused forward.

"At ease, Colonel." Amelia sighed as she swiveled back around to face the window. Charles let out a big, silent breath of relief as he relaxed his shoulders and slumped forward a little, grateful to be out from under the gaze of those enthralling eyes. "Is he saying anything useful or coherent? Or is it all garbage?"

"Coherent, but nothing of use." Charles replied easier without Amelia staring him down. With the back of the chair between them, it was much easier to think about the matters at hand - as opposed to the soft white skin of Amelia's neck, easing down into those voluptuous, perky breasts... Dammit! Charles shook his head, an involuntary physical reaction to try and clear the boyish thoughts fogging up his mind. "He's telling himself stories to pass the time, speaking in the third-person as he relives campaigns older than I am."

Amelia laughed, her audible mirth as musical as her voice. "He is an interesting foe, our prisoner." She replied. "As interesting, it would seem, as he is dangerous."

"Teric Barton doesn't seem all that dangerous to me." Charles responded boldly, a macho sort of energy inflating his chest. "He can certainly take a punch, for an old man - I'll give him that - but I see no apparent threat in him."

Another laugh, this one tinged with a mocking note that made its melody a little less beautiful. "Do not underestimate him." Amelia replied coldly. "The man has caused plenty enough trouble for our people in the past, and his reputation as a fighter cannot be stressed enough. It is my greatest fear that if he set his mind upon it, Teric Barton could break free of our prison and dispatch the greater portion of our force here with little difficulty."

Charles was flabbergasted. The way Amelia described him made the old man languishing away in the barrack's prison sound like a demi-god; as if the complacent veteran he himself had arrested was some unstoppable force not to be reckoned with. "If that's true, then why did he allow himself to be arrested without incident?" Charles replied indignantly. "If Teric Barton is all he's cracked up to be, why didn't he simply kill me and my men? Why doesn't he simply break himself out of prison and escape?"

"Because he's a cunning old wolf, this one." Amelia sounded almost pleased. "If anything, I'd wager his complacence has something to do with our rebel problem."

"Our spies have reported a three-fold increase in rebel activity since Teric's arrival," Charles conceded, "but none of it has been uncharacteristically bold. Meetings mostly, held in secret - nothing overt."

"There is a plot afoot, Colonel Bancroft." Amelia's voice grew a little more concerned; more resolute. "Be sure of that, and do not let our commanding presence here lure you into a false sense of security. I'm relying on you and my other officers to root out and deal with these rebels as quickly as possibly - now, before whatever scheme they have brewing comes to fruition."

"I'll devote my every waking hour to this issue." Charles offered, a meaningless gesture really, since he would be expected to do so automatically.

"See that you do." Amelia replied. She swiveled back around in the chair, fixing those dangerous eyes on Charles and resting her elbows on the desk in front of her. Charles was almost painfully aware of the shifting flesh beneath his Lady's blouse as she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with intent. "In the meantime, I think our guest has waited patiently long enough. Take the men posted outside this door and go fetch him - bring him here within the hour. I'd like to pick his brain over dinner; see if I can't decipher what makes a Barton tick."

[Bloodrose]

"What a pleasant surprise." Teric muttered darkly.

The mercenary stood before a doorway he had not entered in decades - this time staring up at the stone arch over the double doors shackled in irons, a prisoner in his own homeland. It was both an abrupt and rude awakening of sorts, for not twenty minutes earlier he had been sitting in his dark, dank cell contemplating whether or not he would ever see the outside of his prison again. He'd been sitting there, that is, until a visibly frustrated Charles Bancroft and several guards had hauled him bodily from his prison, bound him in metal cuffs, and half dragged, half carried his old bones to this doorstep.

"Recognize this place?" One of the guards holding Teric under his armpit tried to joke, obviously aware of the significance of the moment. All of the guards seemed aware of it, as if every one of them were clued into the old mercenary's past.

"Is that supposed to be cute?" Teric shot back at the guard gruffly. "I'm old, not senile."

"Shutup." Charles' Bancroft's voice was gruffer, tinged with an ugly frustration that sullied Teric's impression of the young man. Something, or someone, has certainly ruffled his feathers. The veteran thought quietly, ignoring the scowl on the face of the guard next to him, as well as the passive-aggressive way the guard tried to tighten his grip on his arm. What is it that's missing? His swagger? The big, self-assured grin that Bancroft had worn in all their previous encounters was missing tonight - replaced by a stiff lower lip.

The big wooden doors, twin pine portals bound with iron bands Teric knew so well, swung open from the inside. The guards moved to push the veteran indoors, but Teric's mind was already inside, racing up the central staircase and recollecting every room. To the left of the entranceway was the main sitting room, a well furnished room reserved for greeting guests as they arrived at the manor. To the right of the entranceway, across the flagstone floor from the sitting room was the dining room, and behind that the kitchen. From the top of the central stairway, which rose directly from in front of the main entrance, branched two halls - one continuing on straight past the top of the stairs, while the other crossed perpendicular to them. The three bedrooms and the bathroom were accessible off this perpendicular hall, while continuing towards the back of the small Barton Manor led one to the library. Even before the guards finished hauling him up the stairs, Teric knew where they were headed. He could almost see the ghosts of his past, his parents and their servants milling about the manor as they did every day - his mother on her way to the sitting room to sew while his father moved towards the library to read, govern, or relax with a snifter of brandy...

"Brings back memories." Teric muttered more to himself than anyone else, his iron-shod boots silent on the plush carpeting in the hall. The smell of cinnamon bread - a familiar, phantom odor that always used to fill the manor from the kitchen flooded his nostrils. The tips of Teric's fingers could almost feel the smoothly sanded surface of the oak paneling that lined the walls. The hinges on the library's double doors squeaked as they swung open, just as they had all those years before...

"Welcome home, Mr. Barton." A beautiful voice intoned, pulling Teric's head above the floodwaters of his memories.

[Bloodrose]

What is this? Charles was confused, standing there at attention off to one side as the guards hauled Teric Barton before Lady Amelia. Sometime in the hour he'd been gone a table had been arranged in the center of the library; a small table not unlike one would find in any home in Lothiaan. The table was topped with a crisp white cloth, set with fine silver, and topped off by a small centerpiece of winter roses native to the Salvic mountains. It was a scene straight from the romantic fantasies of a bardic storyteller, and not something the Colonel expected for a meeting between captor and captive. For a brief moment the Colonel thought there may have been some mistake, that they had brought the prisoner to the wrong room, but Lady Amelia's presence and the smile she flashed upon their entry dispelled those thoughts immediately.

And what a presences she was...

The Lady Steward of Lothiaan was clothed in a low-cut forest green evening gown, a slim silver necklace around her neck dangling a small emerald that drew the eye to her abundant cleavage. Her hair was recently gathered in a single red-blonde braid that descended to the tops of her shoulder blades, and silver accessories graced her ears, wrists, and fingers. She was glorious, and commanded the room with both her beauty and the sense of confidence radiated by the gaze of her sharp green eyes.

"Remove Mr. Barton's shackles." Amelia ordered softly, folding her hands in front of her as if waiting.

"Mi'Lady, I don't think..." Charles was about to object, but he was cut off by a piercing look that made his voice falter. The guards looked to each other concernedly, and then looked to both Bancroft and Lady Amelia. Charles had a flabbergasted sort of look on his face, as though he couldn't believe what was happening. It was a look sharply contrasted against the calm, cool demeanor of Amelia Hawthorne as she waved the guards on.

"Thank you for your concern, Colonel Bancroft, but I know what I'm doing. If our guest wanted to harm us, I'm sure he would have done so by now." The Lady spoke simply as the guards slid iron keys into the shackles around Teric's wrists and ankles, popping open the locks and freeing the veteran of any encumbrance. As the man rubbed his wrists as if easing the circulation back into his extremities, Charles would have sworn he caught the glimmer of a smile peeking out from underneath the old wolf's unkempt beard.

"Mi'Lady gives me too much credit." Was Teric's reply. Despite being unchained, the mercenary stood his ground as if rooted to the spot, advancing not a single step towards Amelia.

"Leave us." Amelia ordered the two guards out, and the uniformed men quickly bowed and backed out of the library, pulling the double doors shut behind them as they exited. The looks on their faces as they went were looks of relief, and Charles couldn't say he blamed them. The knuckles on his left hand were white as snow, so tightly was he gripping the hilt on the dagger at his belt.

One false move. The Colonel was thinking. One insulting word, and I'll gut the old bastard right here and now.

"Let's not be coy with one another, Mr. Barton." Amelia was saying. "Your reputation precedes you, and your exploits all over the world are the stuff of legend. You are a rare breed - and you should be proud."

"I'd prefer if you called me Teric." Was the veteran's simple response. It was almost as if the old man let Amelia's flattery slip by undetected, because he didn't even seem to register half of it.

"Alright, Teric." Amelia dipped in a courteous little half-bow, pushing that cleavage of her's forward in a way any man would be hard pressed to ignore. Charles certainly noticed, but if Teric had as well, the mercenary was a little more skilled at hiding where his eyes were gazing than the young Colonel was. "Please," Amelia continued, indicating a chair at the end of the table closest to Teric, "I would be honored if you would join me for dinner."

[Bloodrose]

There was a moment's hesitation on his part, but eventually Teric took a couple steps forward - moving deeper into the library towards the table. The musty smell of old books was heavy on the air, almost overpowering, and it was a scent that toyed with the mercenary's mind. Forty-five years ago he'd spend almost every waking winter hour in this room, pouring over arithmetic lessons with his father, reading to his mother, or practicing his letters with Father McDermont. It really was hard to think about things so long past - the magnitude of the time lost since those days almost made it all seem unreal; in a way it was as if it never happened. The Teric Barton who stood in this room now was most definitely not the Teric Barton who studied here so many years ago...

"There is a dining room, you know - downstairs, right of the main entrance." Teric quipped as he approached the table. He thought about stopping at his chair, but the manners ingrained in him by his mother wouldn't allow him to. Instead the old warrior strode right past his seat, around the table, and caught his host just before she pulled her own chair out. "Let me get that for you." Teric offered with a smile. His host didn't seem to notice, but Teric was keenly aware of the bare steel Charles had just drawn from a sheath at his hip. Loyal, The mercenary thought, she's lucky.

The young woman smiled, twin rows of perfect ivory teeth nestled between ruby lips. She whispered a gracious thank you under her breath as Teric pulled the chair away from the table and waited for her to be seated. That done, the veteran moved back around to his chair and seated himself opposite his host.

"I find that the dining room feels terribly empty, should you not have enough guests to fill all the seats." The young woman offered up in way of an explanation. "I thought it would be more fitting for us to meet here - in private - where we can talk freely without being overheard by the kitchen staff."

"Well, if we are to talk freely," Teric began, "then I'll need to know what I should call you."

"You can call her..."

"Amelia." The Lady Steward of Lothiaan cut Charles off before he could finish his sentence. "My name is Amelia Hawthorn, I am the serving Steward of this fief by grace of the Church of Ethereal Sway."

"Huh." Teric grunted. "If I'd known I was going to be the dinner guest of Lothiaan's beautiful steward, I would have trimmed my beard." The veteran made a joke of trying to brush the prison dust off his shirt. It didn't matter what he tried to do though, because no manner of brushing was going to trim the week's growth from his beard or take away the sweaty scent of having not bathed in several days. In his close proximity to such a beautiful, clean woman - separated from her by only a meter or so of table - Teric was suddenly very conscious of his odor.

"As charming as you are polite, I like that." Amelia smiled again. She was all smiles, and they seemed so genuine. In Teric's experiences, captors usually had one kind of smile - the "Hyena Grin" he liked to call it. It was that cocky, mocking smile that a person with control over someone else got. It was a predatory smile, and usually was the portend of bad things. Amelia though, she was different. She wasn't your atypical captor - as evident by offering to have dinner with her prisoner. "Don't worry about your appearance. I think it's only proper that a man have a little dirt on him."

"A woman after my own heart." Teric chuckled. There was a brief lull in conversation, as if suddenly no one could find anything to say. There was something itching at the back of Teric's mind though, so he felt compelled to ask. "Hawthorn." He said aloud. "That's the second time since I arrived in town that I've heard that name. I think it was Charles here that first mentioned it - a Father Hawthorn I think it was - who replaced old Father McDermont."

"There is a Father Hawthorn here, yes." Amelia conceded easily. "He's my uncle, and is in control of the army here."

"The army, really?" Teric nodded. "And what does your uncle think of you having dinner with me?"

"He doesn't know that you're here." Another smile from Amelia, this one more devious and seductive than the last. "In all fairness it wouldn't matter if he did, since as Steward I technically outrank him. I find it's easier to govern, really, if my uncle is not kept aware of all my going-ons."

Another lull in the conversation, and Teric made full use of the opportunity to finally sum up the people he was dealing with. First impressions were all well and good, but a decent judge of character always had to be willing to adjust their conclusions after talking with someone. Charles he'd summed up days ago, but today's events gave the mercenary new pause. Perhaps the young Colonel (When did that happen? I don't remember him being a Colonel when he arrested me...) wasn't quite the confident young man Teric originally pegged him to be. In Amelia's presence he seemed hesitant, almost unsure of himself. Watching him with her was like watching a pubescent boy handle himself around girls just after he's become sexually aware. Timid wasn't quite the word Teric was looking for, but it worked in the meantime...

...And then there was Amelia. He'd only been introduced to her for the last couple of minutes, but Teric was already confident that she was something special. Smart, ambitious, and gorgeous to boot; she was the complete package. It was unfortunate that the Sway seemed to have their hooks in her, because otherwise Teric might have declared himself in love, dropped himself to one knee right then and there, and sworn himself to her aid. As things stood, however, he contented himself with imagining what she looked like under her gown as he waited for what promised to be his first decent meal in days.

[Bloodrose]

"Charles," Amelia spoke up after a couple more minutes of waiting quietly, "go downstairs and see how the food preparations are coming along."

Silence, and if it weren't for the shocked expression plastered all over Charles' face, Teric would have assumed the man didn't hear her. "Mi...Mi'Lady," the Colonel stuttered after a second's pause, "I shouldn't leave you alone with him." Confusion was an ugly thing, and Amelia turned out not to be the sort who liked repeating herself.

"Colonel, I really can't have you questioning my every order. If our guest is to be so rude as to assassinate me in your absence, then I give you full leave to exact a fitting revenge. Until that time, I expect you to do as you’re told. Is that understood?" The verbal lashing was delivered with such confident, motherly precision that Teric couldn't help but stifle a tittering laugh. His mirth only seemed to cross Charles, adding insult to injury, and it fermented in a look that could best be described as the emotional equivalent of spoiled milk on the Colonel's face as he bowed stiffly, and then stormed out of the room. The paneled library door shook on its hinges as it swung forcibly shut behind the exiting young man.

"I fear I may have upset him." Teric whispered to Amelia in hushed tones.

"Let him be upset." Amelia shrugged. She didn't seem to care much that her underling was likely tearing into the kitchen staff with the sort of furious anger only a young man is capable of. "Colonel Bancroft is a competent, loyal soldier, but sometimes he lets his feelings get the better of him. I don't need chivalrous young men to protect me - I need them to listen."

Teric could only shake his head in wonder. "You really are something special." The mercenary let the compliment slip under his breath, but it was obvious that she heard him. It was probably hard not to, seeing as they were the only ones in the quiet of the library. Being alone with her somehow made Teric more expressly aware of her femininity, not that he hadn't been aware of it before. I guess Charles being in the room somehow made it more formal - more regimented. Without him here I'm no longer under guard - no longer a prisoner. It's like we're on equal footing now... The veteran supposed. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

"No, don't apologize." Amelia's voice was soft, seductive. "I like it when you compliment me. There's something very sincere about you, Teric." The Lady Steward seemed to shudder as she drew herself just a little more upright, collecting herself. Something about the way she spoke caused a stir in Teric's gut, but when she next spoke, her voice was a little stronger, and little less husky. "I mentioned earlier that you were a rare breed; I meant every word of it. Warriors like you are hard to come by these days."

"And how's that?" Teric asked, curious now. Maybe he just hadn't picked up on it before, but it was starting to emerge now. There was an agenda here - a reason for this meeting. Amelia, despite her obvious charms, hadn't dragged him out of prison just to chat over dinner.

"You're modest, polite, charming; a true gentleman." She began. "You are so very, tremendously powerful, and yet you don't go around flaunting that power. There are probably only a handful of people in the world that could best you in single combat - and yet you haven't abused that power."

Teric shook his head, bemused. "Listen, Amelia," he said softly, "I don't know what you've heard about me, but I'm no gentleman. I've done things in my lifetime that could turn even the strongest of stomachs. Gentlemen don't burn villages for a handful of gold. They don't kill the spouses of wives and husbands who pay them to. Gentlemen don't break knee-caps to collect someone else's debt. I'm flattered you would think of me in such terms, but I'm afraid I'm nothing more than a bloodied, old killer - a stray wolf who was meant to die much, much younger."

"And yet here you sit, hale and hearty. I'm not a fool, Teric. I know full well what kind of man you are - what things you're capable of doing when provided some incentive. You're exactly the kind of man who will do exactly what he's told, when he's told. As long as you get paid, you follow orders without qualm or conscious. And when you're not fighting you aren't off trying to conquer some country for your own benefit. You're not raping or pillaging the countryside just because you can. You fight when you have to or when you are told to, and outside of those instances you are a true gentleman."

"Where are you going with this?" Teric already knew the answer before she spoke it out loud. He could read the answer in those ambitious eyes; hear it in the tone of her voice as she spoke with such passion...

"I want you to join me, Teric." Amelia almost seemed to sigh as she spoke, as if begging him to accept. "I need a man like you..."

It was in that exact moment, just as Amelia's agenda became clear, that Charles Bancroft came in through the door leading a trio of servers bearing silver platters. Upon his arrival Teric straightened up in his seat, casting a glance at the servers as if he'd been patiently awaiting his meal. Amelia too, straightened up in her seat and collected herself subtly. No one spoke as two of the servers lifted the covers off their trays and deposited decorative porcelain plates piled high with food in front of the two seated at the table. Amelia had a garden salad, but Teric's plate was like something out of his dreams. Days of gruel, hard bread, and water - and now he was confronted with a bloody rare steak, a mountain of mashed potatoes, sweet corn, and peas. As the first two left, the third server deposited in the center of the table a bowl of fresh baked biscuits and a bottle of wine. The label was strikingly familiar - a red rose with a single droplet hanging from one petal. It was a bottle from his Father's days experimenting as a vintner.

"Wow." Was all Teric could manage to say. "You certainly know how to put on a spread."

"Will there be anything else, Mi'Lady?" The server asked before leaving.

"No, thank you." Amelia flashed the man a brief smile as she picked up her fork and poked delicately at her food. Charles, obviously still both annoyed and angry, retired to the far side of the room where he stood with his back to the diners, staring out the plate glass window at the city below.

"Amelia..." Teric felt compelled to say something before digging into the meal that was already sending his stomach into a frenzy, but the Lady Steward cut him off.

"Please, enjoy your meal." She said simply, offering him a knowing smile. "Eat, think, contemplate what I've offered you and we can talk more when you've finished."

Teric cracked a half-smile of his own, hefting a fork in one hand and a knife in the other with gusto. For a moment his gaze drifted over Amelia's shoulder, over in the direction of Charles Bancroft. The man was still standing with his back to them, but he'd half turned his head towards them as if listening. He was a little ways away, but Teric had to wonder if the Colonel caught what his Lady said.

I wonder how much he knows. The mercenary thought as he turned his attention to the food in front of him. I wonder if he knows anything at all?

[Bloodrose]

As dinner was being cleared away, Teric could only lean back in his chair and hold his hands over his belly appreciatively. Days of a meager prison diet had tightened his gut and limited his appetite, but with the aroma of steak and mashed potatoes in his nostrils he had become like a bottomless pit. It had taken all the polite manners he could muster to avoid wolfing down the supplied rations like a wild animal - but even still there had been no time for idle banter between the mouthfuls of food the mercenary shoveled down. The aftermath of course, having just gorged on rich food with an empty stomach, was a bellyache that bordered on unbearable. Teric felt as though his insides were on fire, his gut threatening to rupture at the sides.

"Uh." Was all the veteran could manage for a moment. "I'm afraid I may have eaten entirely too much, entirely too fast."

Amelia smiled, waiting patiently as the servers cleared away her plate as well. Half of her salad still remained on the plate, as the Lady Steward had adopted a grazing approach to her meal; as opposed to Teric's feeding frenzy. "I don't think anyone can fault you for that." She said in good humor. "I imagine the diet down at the prison is far leaner."

"Quite." Teric agreed, letting his hands slip off his belly to hang absently at his sides. The diners sat quietly at the table for a moment, digesting, while Colonel Bancroft continued to stare out of the far window, motionless. Probably staring at nothing. The mercenary pondered as he focused on taking a couple deeper breaths to try and ease the bloated feeling in his abdomen. He's likely focused on trying to overhear every word we say.

Another couple of minutes passed and the two diners rose from the table so that the servers could carry it away as they had done with the remnants of the meal. The white-clothed table and chairs disappeared with efficient speed, leaving the library more as Teric had remembered it. The big oak desk at the far end of the room, and the high backed chair behind it. Without the table as a focal point for the room, Teric became increasingly aware of the tall bookshelves that lined every wall but the windowed one, stacking musty tomes and volumes of forgotten history from floor to ceiling. The only other furniture in the room, the only other thing interrupting the crimson sea of carpet, was a big leather couch that normally sat in the center of the room facing the desk.

"So, Teric," Amelia broke the quiet after another couple minutes of digesting, "have you given any further thought to what we discussed?" She moved towards the couch and sat on the front edge of the seat, folding her hands in her lap. Standing, with her sitting like that, gave Teric a view over the top of her cleavage that any living man would have envied.

"Not really." The veteran admitted freely. He moved towards the couch as well, and purposefully chose a seat closer to the center of the couch rather than the far end - leaving only a negligible gap between himself and Amelia. "To be honest I don't think we've really discussed anything. You made your intentions clear enough, but that was about it. I don't recall any discussion about what I would be required to do, how long I would be doing it, or how I would be compensated."

A smile, a small one that tugged at the corners of her mouth, played on Amelia's face. "Always the mercenary." She practically whispered. She turned, looking over towards Charles. "Colonel Bancroft, come here for a moment."

Charles responded almost immediately, stepping back from the window and hurriedly, albeit gracefully, striding over to stand to attention in front of Amelia who remained sitting. Teric had to give the man credit; he successfully avoided the obvious trap of gazing down into the valley between those enchanting breasts that had been serving as a pleasurable distraction for the old veteran all evening. Funny how that works. The mercenary reflected slyly. It never seems to matter how many you've seen - a man can still always be distracted by great tits...

"Mi'Lady." Charles intoned.

"Charles," Amelia turned back to Teric, a knowing twinkle in her eyes, "tell our guest about the current troubles brewing in my fief." Charles seemed to ponder that request for a moment, almost as if his eyes were to say 'You want me to give this information to the enemy?' The Colonel had been reprimanded harshly already once tonight, however, so the decision to follow his Lady's orders seemed to override the man's hesitation quickly enough.

"Insurgents calling themselves the "Sons of Lothiaan" are currently plotting to overthrow the rightful rulers of this Salvic territory." Charles began, his eyes trained straight ahead. "We believe them to number a little over one hundred in strength, and are led by one Taka, aka Tony, Vaka - and are based out of Vaka's Tavern in Lothiaan's commerce area. They are lightly armed, possess no gunpowder weaponry, and are currently unaware of our surveillance activity."

"That's quite a lot of information to give up so freely." Teric said when Charles had finished, his brain already racing. Seems Tony's revolution has attracted quite a bit of attention, the mercenary was thinking, more attention than it should have...

"Nothing you didn't already know." Amelia replied. "Now you just know that we also know. Now, with that sharp mind of yours, I can imagine you've already figured out what I'm about to ask you to do for me."

"You want me to infiltrate the Sons and play double-agent." Teric made an educated guess. "Since they are the former Lothiaan militia, and I'm a former militia man, you figure they trust me implicitly, and so it will be easy for me to get inside their inner-circle and destroy them."

Charles seemed to find some humor in what Teric said; a brief, sarcastic smile breaking the placid mask of his "at-attention" face. "You think we're going to let you go free?" The Colonel interjected into the conversation. "You've already met with Tony Vaka about his plans... when I left to report your arrival to my superiors. You already know exactly what they are planning and when. We simply require that you provide us this information."

"I met with Tony, sure," Teric replied, "but he didn't go into specifics."

"That's not important." Amelia interrupted, as if she'd been momentarily forgotten in the exchange. "Your original assumption was correct - I want you to infiltrate the rebel movement and dismantle it from the inside." The Lady Steward fixed Charles with a disappointed glare, shutting him up before he had time to express his concern. "Colonel Bancroft doesn't speak for me."

Teric nodded his head, absorbing all this information slowly. The evening had shifted gears so often that he had to reflect back on it all to piece everything together. First an invitation to dinner, then a proposition, then a quiet meal, and now straight to business. To be honest it all felt rather staged, almost made up, as if none of this was really happening. It was a plot so convoluted, so fantastic in scope, that Teric half expected to find himself a part of some theatrical production. Only storytellers came up with this kind of political intrigue - it was never so complicated in real life.

"So what do I get in return for my cooperation?" Teric asked finally, breaking it down to brass tacks. "My freedom doesn't count as payment - you've already pointed out that I could probably get that for myself if I wanted to. So what then? Gold? Land? Land I'm not interested in, and I've got plenty enough gold. Enough so that the cost of getting me to betray childhood pals will be costly. True enough, I'm a man that follows orders without question when I'm paid, but the question now is what are you going to pay me that will elicit such blind loyalty?"

There was that smile again, the seductive one that did wonderful things to Amelia's ruby lips. She gave Teric a knowing look that said she'd summed him up for what he was an hour ago - an old man who was truly alone. In a way it was sort of unsettling, just how knowing that look was.

"Destroy the rebels, and in return," Amelia said softly, "you get me."

[Bloodrose]

What an absolute bombshell that statement was. It was the first time in a long time Teric could say that he was actually surprised, although when he thought about it, it slowly made sense now that Amelia had put it out there. The low cut dress, the compliments, the mildly flirtatious behavior; she'd been setting him up all night for this seduction. Sex with a beautiful young woman in exchange for destroying the last bastion of resistance in a land occupied by the Sway. The mercenary was surprised, but Charles... he looked like he was about to drop dead of heart failure.

"Mi-Mi-Mi...Lady..." The Colonel was stumbling over his words, his face ashen and his eyes wide. To look at him, Teric would have sworn it was as if someone had just plunged a knife into the man's back.

Amelia seemed unphased by Charles' reaction. She sat there, staring at Teric as if the Colonel didn't even exist. "It's as simple as that, Teric." She said, reaching over to place one warm, soft hand on Teric's arm. "Do this one thing for me and I'll show you the most grateful woman in all of Salvar. I don't think I need to spell it out for you, but you should know that my gratitude knows no bounds."

"Why offer me this?" Teric was finding it hard not to chuckle, so ridiculous was the proposition before him. "You've got soldiers, you've got magi, you've got the Ethereal Sway on your side; why send me to deal with Tony?"

"Because arresting Tony and the other rebel leaders would likely promote an open conflict between the Sons and my uncle's men." Amelia's response was a little slow, almost as if she was wondering why the mercenary sitting before her hadn't already agreed to be a party to her plan. "The rebels would be crushed, sure, but the toll they could inflict would directly hinder my uncle's ability to go to Knife's Edge and aid in the siege. Our comrades in the cities need our support if we are to retake the last of the Royalist strongholds, and we cannot afford the time to put down rebellions if we are to win this war." The Lady Steward spoke with passion, with fervor, but there was something about the explanation she gave that seemed wrong. Something about the conversation he'd had with Tony when he first arrived in Lothiaan...

"Father Hawthorn has a small contingent of loyal followers," Tony stated matter-of-factly, "mostly new arrivals from Knife's Edge who arrived in town with him when he came to fill his post. You know us, Teric, the real Lothiaanians. It may be illegal, but we've practiced the old traditions here since before the Forgotten Ones ever roamed Althanas."

"You follow the Goddess, the Mother of Creation, the Womb of the World, yes I know." Teric offered. "My Mother raised me in the old ways too, remember."

"Yes, I know, which is why you'll understand when I say most of the people here don't give two pig shits about what Denebriel or her fanatics want. We've lived in relative peace here for centuries, and now Father Hawthorn thinks he's going to arm our militia and ship us off to take back a city most of us have never seen?"

Does she honestly believe that my killing Tony and the rebel leaders will get the rest of the militia to fall in line and fight for the Church? The mercenary asked himself. Even if I kill them, they aren't going to fight for her or her uncle. By the Goddess! The only reason they're going to rebel is so they don't have to fight the Church's war for them...

"Alright, I'll do it." Teric mumbled, still lost in his thoughts. He didn't tell Amelia that her plan was horribly flawed, and that it would never work. What point would that accomplish? He'd have effectively rejected her, giving her no reason to just let him walk out the front door. It was a terrible plan, a stratagem based on the fundamentally flawed notion that Vaka was the lone driving force of the rebellion. They likely don't even know why there is a rebellion. The mercenary realized. They just know there is one, and want it to go away.

"I knew you'd see things my way." Amelia cooed, leaning in close. Teric could feel the warm breath from her lips on his, smell the lavender of expensive soap in her hair. It was the closest he'd been to a woman in months, and still all Teric found himself thinking about was what her reaction would be if he pointed out how...stupid her plan was.

"Well," Teric played along, "how could I turn down an offer as generous as yours?"

[Bloodrose]

Teric left by the front door, unaccompanied by guards or anyone else to watch him and make sure he behaved. The guards posted at the gate to Barton Manor seemed to know he was coming, and opened the iron portal without a word, closing it quietly behind the black-clad mercenary as he ambled down the trail from the Manor into town. The gravel that was loose in the summertime was frozen solid to the earth beneath his feet as he walked, held tight by a frost that was as heavy on the ground as it was in the air. The stark chill of the Salvic night was a harsh contrast to the warmth inside the manor...

Crazy. Teric pondered as he walked down the trail in a daze. He'd been offered some strange payments before in return for doing a job, but even after thirty-five years in the life he was finding that he could still be surprised. Never before had an employer offered themselves up as a form of payment - and not in recent memory could Teric think of a job less likely to succeed in the manner it was planned.

"And there I was," Teric chided himself, "duped into believing she might be as smart as she was beautiful." In a way the mercenary was disappointed. In the end Amelia Hawthorn has turned out to be just another pretty face - a figurehead installed by a far away regime to rule over a puppet government. Uncle Hawthorn, Teric surmised at this point, would have likely laughed himself to death if told of his niece's plan...

The road curved down the hillside, snaking its way through the foothills into the quiet little town of Lothiaan. From up here, with the town lit up in the night, one could make out almost all the important landmarks. To the east were the train yard and the new barracks erected by the Sway troops. Behind the foreground lighting of those structures was the dark snake that was the palisade wall that ran around the town. To the western side of town was the "commerce area", as Charles had put it, a small gathering of businesses such as Vaka's Tavern, a couple inns, and a blacksmith. There was no designated area for businesses and residences - unlike the strictly zoned city of Radasanth. Instead people built where they could, packed themselves together in the bosom of the mountains, and didn't pay any mind if a butcher shop opened up right next to the school house.

I have to warn Vaka that he's got a mole in his rebellion. Teric decided as his footfalls brought him closer and closer to the edge of town. The first couple houses were passing on his right now, outlying shacks that were spaced away from everyone else by about a hundred meters. In town the gravel path to the manor turned to cobblestone roads, zigzagging through the buildings like tree roots. Everything was deadly quiet; so quiet that you could hear the flickering of the wicks in the lanterns people hung outside their doors to light their steps. It was a discomforting silence; very similar in nature to the quiet Teric had felt in the streets of Knife's Edge just before the war broke out. The tension under the surface here was palpable, and Teric could guess what was coming.

The veteran made it to Vaka's tavern quicker than he thought, although Teric had to admit that it was hard to keep time wandering through the cold while pondering the evening's events. It all seemed so weird that the mercenary was having trouble focusing on anything. His stomach hurt, his skin was numb with cold, and he was having such a hard time staying with any one train of thought that his eyes were losing focus as he walked. The veteran shook his head forcibly to clear the haze that was interrupting his vision, grabbing hold of the cold iron knob to Vaka's and pushing the door open with a bang.

"Mother of the World!" Tony Vaka was sitting on a table that had been pushed to the outside edge of the room, his back to Teric as he had been addressing the assembled crowd gathered in the tavern. All the furniture, not just the table Tony sat on, had been pushed out of the center to make room for the hundred or so men and woman standing about. The barkeep was looking over his shoulder, staring out the door into the Salvic night like he was seeing a ghost.

"Tony Vaka." Teric smiled and pointed a finger at his old friend as he stepped through the doorway into the warmth of the tavern. "I'm here to kill you."