New Blood Bracket Semi Finals: The International vs. Inkfinger

[Tainted Bushido]

This fight will begin 10/5/2009 at 12:00 AM PST. I wish both Contestants the best of luck, and for a good fight.

[The International]

There was no better time than quality time with family. The custom for the Villeneuves was to drop anchor in a new land, and each family member would have his or her own mission to carry out. They often worked in pairs, or trios, but never since Vespasian had become a spy did he ever have the pleasure of working with his entire family on the same mission. Yet here they were tonight, Esme, Alix, and their three children, Maelle, Ludivine, and Vespasian, all under the employment of the Corone Rangers. They cared nothing about this Civil War or any of these other conflicts. If Xem'zund himself gave them something they could do together they'd be on the necromancer's side in a flash... perhaps that may have been an exaggeration. They did have a conscience, but they all placed quite a bit of value on things they could do together. For Vespasian, all five Villeneuves working together was like playing a big trick on the rest of the world, and he couldn't help but smile as his big sister played her best trick on Erik Carlyle, a wealthy financier of the Empire's war efforts.

The dimples appeared on his face and he shook his head as he followed a comfortable distance behind Maelle and Erik. Five days ago Erik was on top of the world with a two hundred gold piece hair cut, a seven thousand gold piece suit, and a ten thousand gold piece whore of a wife. Now he was in dirty scraps for clothing as he stumbled from the yellow light of one streetlamp to another, and leaning on a young woman half his size for support. This downward spiral started at the beginning of the business week, when he passed out in the middle of a high end Radasanthian cafe. He woke up soon after in an infirmary he had never heard of, with a sickness he had never heard of. Neither did the neglectful hospital staff. His room mate was a Raiaeran man with sapphire eyes. Those eyes were hard to forget. Just the day before, that Raiaeran died with his eyes open and staring straight at Erik, and it was then that he overheard the nurses speaking of some kind of plague. A plague strong enough to kill an Elf was certainly strong enough to kill a Human. Erik thought he was going to die in that infirmary. He wanted desperately to escape, but he was already too weak to pull off an adequate getaway. As soon as he stood his vision gave way. Hope came in the form of a beautiful nurse with amber eyes, who claimed to hold the cure, and if Erik wanted it he would have to compensate her in some way. That was how he found himself here.

The story was completely different from Vespasian's side. It was all his doing. Erik's black out was caused by a tranquilizer that the middle sister, Ludivine, had slipped into his coffee. His parents, Esme and Alix posed as doctors, and flashed forged documents of status in order to carry him off in a carriage conveniently parked just outside the cafe. They took him to an abandoned building not far from the center of Radasanth, where they fed him only enough to keep him alive for the next couple of days. Esme took the form of a Raiaeran and became his room mate. He and Maelle, who posed as a nurse, quickly befriended the aristocrat. That was how they found out that the majority of Erik's wealth came from his museum. He was once an archeologist, who found artifacts from the far reaches of the world then sold them at ridiculous prices. Now he employed his own team of archeologists and used his museum as a market to sell the items they found. Just when the aristocrat became comfortable with his surroundings Esme faked his death. It was then that Maelle claimed that she held the cure, but she was skeptical of his claims of wealth. By this time Erik was tired, terrified, malnourished, and more than willing to prove to her that he had the means to pay her whatever price she named. So she 'snuck' him out of the hospital, and accompanied him to his museum conveniently located only a few blocks away. He was in too much of a panic to ask why in all these years did he not know that little building was an infirmary. He did not ask how it was so difficult for him to get out in the past few days, but when she made an escape no one was around. There were so many holes in the story, but Maelle had him so completely convinced that his mind simply omitted those details.

“Alright.” Maelle said with a smile on her face. “We're almost there. Now we'll just go in there and ask one of the curators for a cash advance or something.”

“No. Never.” The aristocrat shook his head so wildly that his shaggy blonde hair slapped Maelle in the face. He looked across the street and gazed into white light emanating from the giant glass showcase windows. They showcased paintings and artifacts from faraway lands. “There's a gallery showing in there right now. I can't show my face like this.”

“What else are we supposed to do? The banks are closed, you have no access to your money notes or lines of credit at this hour, and you have no gold or silver on you.” Maelle helped him down as they sat on the curb. She looked at him with droopy eyes of sadness. “I shouldn't have done this to you, but I have mouths to feed at home, and you can't imagine how little I get paid. Maybe you could give me one of those items in the museum?”

“You've never been to a museum before, have you?” Erik said in between fits of panting. His forehead was glazed with sweat. “The items of real value are rarely put on display. They're just replicas put up by illusionist magic. If we need some real collateral we're going to have to get it from my vault in the basement... Oh my god I could have screwed you over just now by giving you a fake item. Now I know I'm dying.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” Maelle said as she wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Why don't we just get something from your vault then?”

“The vault is only accessible from the back. The guards there know me, but the lock is at the receptionist's desk in the front. I'd still be showing myself in this pitiful state.”

It became painstakingly obvious to Maelle that Erik was one of those extremely vein people that would rather die than look bad. It was finally time for her to compromise. She glanced at Vespasian, who was nothing more than a midnight pedestrian to Erik, and she spoke in a raised volume so her little brother could hear. “Maybe we could wait until everyone clears the front lobby.”

“Unlikely but possible.” Erik said as he burried his head in his knees.

Vespasian took Maelle's actions as a sign. He needed to get that front lobby clear or else they wouldn't get into the vault tonight. He made his way across the street with his hands buried in his pockets. A figure moved about in the shadows between the streetlamps, but he wasn't startled. It was Ludivine. She had been stalking them in the darkness for quite some time, and now that she had someone to beat up, like the guard detail in the back of the building, she was on the move. He paused before the threshold of the museum. He straightened the peaked lapel on his navy long coat, slicked back his hair, and tapped his sheathed rapier out of habit. The young spy stepped into the room and was immediately surrounded by beauty. Beautiful décor, beautiful exhibits, and beautiful people. Somewhere in this crowd of three dozen beautiful people his mother and father were planting little seeds of manipulation. They knew from the beginning of the mission that if they were going to steal something valuable from this man they would have to be able to do it when his venue was open, so they needed to be able to control those occupying the venue at the time. He caught a familiar voice in his ear.

“Have you ever spoken to the brunette curator? She's wonderful. She knows every interesting detail about every piece in this place. I think she's going to be giving a tour tonight, but I'm not sure. I haven't looked into it.” The easygoing voice came from a man of dark brown eyes, well kept black hair, and chiseled facial features. It was Vespasian's father, Esme, in Human form. Instead of making his presence known to his father, Vespasian continued his way through the crowd.

The young spy made his way to a large flight of stairs where a woman stood a few steps above the others. Her vibrant green eyes were a perfect contrast to her silky auburn hair. She stood over a few subjects, enticing them with humerus anecdotes. Their laughs were heard throughout the vast lobby, but that was a good thing. Alix Villeneuve was preparing her captive audience.

“Pardon my interruption, curator.” Vespasian said with a humble tone of servitude. “I believe everyone for the evening is in attendance. We're ready to begin the tour.”

“Is it that time already? Well in that case...” Alix took two more steps up the stairs, hoping to make eye contact with the entire group. She then projected her voice, raising her volume but not her tone. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? Before we begin the tour I'd like to thank our caterers for the fabulous cheese and wine. Give them a hand. It was particularly satisfying this evening.”

The crowd complied and gave applause as the kitchen staff acknowledged them. “I believe the cheese of choice this evening was a Yarbourough Blue Cheese, and the featured wine was a Raiaeran Red Grape. With that in mind I wouldn't recommend getting very close to anyone when speaking to them.”

The crowd reacted humorously. Alix continued. “We're going to begin the tour of the museum by first heading to the second floor, which is a change from past tours, but I guarantee you won't regret it.”

The bodies emptied out of the room in a timely manor. The five day time line for the mission allowed Alix to get in good with the museum staff, and in Erik's absence she was able to convince them that she was the most recent hire. She also had enough time to research the exhibits in the museum, so the audience would have a truly informative and entertaining tour. Vespasian maintained a smile as some of the city's most privileged passed him by. He nodded to his father when the two of them made eye contact. As soon as the room was empty he made his way out the front again, and then around to the back of the building. The back alley was a tunnel of darkness with a refuge of golden torchlight on the other side. Two large men lay on the ground with a mist of black abyss shifting above them. Ludivine stepped out of the mist clad in midnight blue cloth. The locks of her long orchid hair managed to cover one of her piercing jade eyes, allowing the middle sister of the family to look even more menacing than usual. A great thump came from the large metallic door the security was guarding.

“It looks like your mission was a success.” She said with a crooked smile. “Congratulations, you little mastermind.”

“Why thank you. I couldn't have done it without everyone's trust.” Vespasian said with a smile and a nod. “Care to enjoy the spoils with me?”

“That's okay. You deserve the first look. I need to find somewhere to put these boys to bed.” Ludivine disappeared into the darkness once again, though this time not as gracefully since she was dragging two bodies with her.

Vespasian wrapped his hands around the giant silver bars of the door. Their coldness sent a shiver down his spine as his boots dug into the ground. He sent his shoulders back in one massive heave backwards. The door screeched in resistance but moved nonetheless. A rush of air sent the ends of his coat fluttering about. The vault was not just a place for Erik Carlyle to store valuables. It was the place from which his illusions ran. A small flight of stairs led to a perfect cube of a room. The walls and floor were a white marble like substance that were well lit from a crystal chandelier above their heads. It was a spacious vault, for all the artifacts and art were against the wall. Each item was propped up and encased in glass. Vespasian definitely had intentions of taking it all, but his mission dictated that he find a few items above the rest. He reached into his pocket to reveal a small piece of paper and read the list. That was when he heard another in his vicinity.

His eyebrows lowered down creating a sinister veil of shadow over his eyes. His right hand reached across his waist and around the pommel of his rapier. Vespasian just hoped it was one of his relatives entering.

[Inkfinger]

Cael Strandssen slouched through the museum, swallowing the last savory bite of a slice of cheese, his now-empty plate balanced on his half-full wine glass. The ruby liquid sloshed from side to side as the ink mage walked down an ornately furnished hall, heedless of the signs set up: employees only beyond this point and do not enter, most notably. Even the red velvet rope, swinging now between its stanchions, hadn’t made him stay.

But then, he reflected, what is it they say? Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb…and I am an employee right now…sortof.

He was here for a reason. Areesha Gallowsgate, his owner -he had to shiver when he thought it, though for now it was the truth- had been very adamant on that fact.

When you get to the museum, tell the owner that the Gallowsgate sent you. He’ll let you in. She'd said it matter-of-fact, in the middle of fitting him for what she called respectable clothing. That was what he was wearing now, all white linen and blue cotton with no protective value whatsoever for all that she said it looked sharp. The knee-length tunic felt too form-fitting after the familiar bagginess of his coat; the trousers too tight, the boots too high...She interrupted his mental grousing to give him a sharp, gold-toothed grin. Just don’t tell him what you’re coming for.

Her instructions played in his mind now, six days later, as he hopped the next rope on the other side of the hall. His soft boots echoed off the marble and back again, louder than he would have preferred. Fortunately, the intricate tapestries mounted on the walls muffled much of the sound, and he doubted the happy, laughing crowd on the other end of the museum would notice.

What am I going for? he had asked, letting the strange bear-like woman spin him around to admire her handiwork. She’d merely grinned at his query, like she had at his complaints, and shoved him out the door. You’ll know it when you see it, she said, simply, and that had been the end of that.

The massive oak back door had layers of spellwork on it. Cael could see the lines out of the corners of his eyes, glowing gold and silver and pale bronze. It was intricate work, so artfully and thoroughly woven that it almost looked like it was part of a display. It would, if opened, probably send for the City Guard and the museum’s security alike. Cael took a short breath, and shoved it open. The onyx and silver bear-head amulet fixed on his tunic's lapel flickered once, the mouth and eyes lighting up as if the talisman was soaking in the wards, and then they were gone. The door was simple, mundane oak. He shoved it open, feeling the cool evening breeze sift through his hair, sending the tapestries behind him waving on their mounts.

He leaned against the doorframe at the top of the stairs that led to the back alley and (eventually) the vault, toying with the amulet. When he'd arrived earlier that week and given the curator Areesha's words, the man had paled but handed him the device, muttering what might have been a curse, might have been a prayer.

I’m starting to get used to her bringing about that sort of reaction.

And then the curator had gone and disappeared for days. Not, mind, that Cael was complaining - it made life easier not having to worry about the man watching his every move: easier to figure out the building’s layout, easier to figure out which security guards to avoid like the plague…

…wait.

That last thought flared several synapses to life, and Cael trailed to a halt two steps down, pale blue eyes scanning the alley. There wasn’t a single sign of that security. The alley was empty but for the trash bins and a cat meandering through the shadows. The cat looked up the stairs and mrowled at him, plaintively, before moseying further down the alley, unconcerned with the lanky mage. The alley should, technically, have been crawling, especially now with the showing in full swing. He'd had to listen to them babble about security day after day....

Unease stirred in the pit of his stomach. Yes, the lack of security made things easier for him, and yes he shouldn’t look gift horses in the mouth, but...if the security was gone, and he hadn’t made them gone…

Who beat me here?

He unstrapped his naginata from his back, holding it ready as he started down the stairs again. It had taken some interesting stories to be allowed to keep it in the first place - security hadn’t exactly been fond of the idea. He’d managed to convince half of them it was a family heirloom he was donating, only to turn around and convince the other half that the boss wasn’t thrilled with their performance and that he was from a private firm…

Neither was true, of course, but they didn't need to know that, did they?

He made his careful way over dingy cobblestones to gaze at the barred door that now hung open. It hadn’t been open since he’d started this harebrained idea. And here I thought I’d have to talk the talisman into doing it for me… Clean, pale light spilled up the stairs and out the door, and he reluctantly slid one foot through the door. The chandelier here rivaled the one up in the museum itself, and it sent flickering, incandescent tongues of light up the short hall. Cael swallowed, shifting his fingers on the shaft of his naginata, and headed down the stairs. His boots squeaked the moment he stepped from the stairs to the impeccably polished floor, echoing louder down here than they had up in the museum.

Oh Sway, Thayne and all godsdamn it.

His suspicions had been correct. He wasn’t alone. There was someone here already, a scrap of paper in one hand, the other on the hilt of his sword. He was a confident, rakish-looking fellow in a long coat, averagely built, with dark hair gleaming in the light from above. His face right now looked somewhat akin to a thunderstorm. It was a look that…

“Oh hells no.” The Cael of a couple months ago would, possibly, have simply turned heel and left. The Cael of a couple months ago, however, wasn't in quite this situation - he hadn't had blackmail and slander floating over his head like his own personal raincloud. This Cael, however, recognized the man. This Cael was not backing down - not when the answer to his problem (or, he suspected, the answer to one step of my problems.) was in here. Somewhere. “What are you doing here?”

[The International]

“Scribe?” Vespasian said as he narrowed his eyes. He had to take a second to confirm the sight. It wasn’t too long ago that Vespasian called upon the services of this man to forge a few letters of purchase. Back then, Cael Strandssen was an awkward and depressing man with a peasant’s walk and an old beggar’s voice. Now on this night, during this unlikely meeting, the Inkmage held himself differently. His depression was now frustration, and his inelegance was a thing of the past. He walked a little taller although his posture was still a bit lazy. Most of all his voice indicated something he seemed devoid of during their adventure in Fallien… confidence. His new and stylish attire was the icing on the cake.

Vespasian took a quick glance at his slip of paper and committed a few items to memory before he pocketed it and looked into the Inkmage’s pale blue eyes. “This is a… somewhat pleasant surprise. I’m guessing you’re after the same objects I’m after. They hold tactical value to those involved with the Civil War here.

“I know my employers. Correction. We - as in, my family and I - know our employers very well. They wouldn’t hire two separate parties to do something like this. Not when they know we’re on the case.” The spy slowly walked around in a circle making a mental note of the valuables around him; ancient vases, valuable paintings, legendary weapons and armor. Vespasian couldn’t fail, not because it was the Rangers he was working for, but because he didn’t know how to. Plus the man he was about to confront had the makings of a good spy.

“You must be working for someone else.” Vespasian said as he stood directly under the chandelier and faced Cael. The spy’s next action would be a test of confidence. He would see if the Inkmage’s confidence was genuine or just a byproduct of his frustration. Vespasian looked directly into his eyes and said “… I’ll have to have to ask you to leave.”

[Inkfinger]

Cael leaned on his naginata shaft, casually, watching Vespasian circle. The young spy was here for something - just like Cael - but from the way his glances kept lingering, it seemed he already knew what he was here for.

Lovely.

Vespasian hadn’t been a bad sort in Fallien. He wasn’t a mass murderer, or a madman, but he generally knew what he wanted, and he generally knew how to get it. Cael cursed mentally, shifting the wine glass he hadn’t realized he was still holding. With any luck, and the other man's taste, his mystery item would be among Vespasian's targets.

This is going to make life more difficult, he reflected. Especially since he’s not moved his hand from his rapier since I got down here....Not that I blame him. I wouldn’t move my hand either.

There was a brief moment when he considered listening to the spy; considered leaving and telling Areesha just what she could do with her bald, blackmailing hide. It'd be satisfying, to tell the truth, but in the end, everything would remain the same. She’d still own him, and he still wouldn’t be able to go home. Now that he’d gotten used to the idea of returning to Salvar, the desire wasn’t going to let his brain go that easily.

“And I’m going to have to say no,” he replied, calmly returning Vespasian’s stare. The other man’s eyes were dark pools in the chandelier’s light, gleaming with intelligence and calculation. Cael could see his reflection in them – inside, and out. Is he testing me? He only knows me as a…well. Not quite a coward, but as a fearful man… I gave him no reason not to. Cael’s lips twitched in a small smile at that thought, eyes not leaving the spy’s. Though it’s partially his fault I’ve found my backbone. He shook his head, breaking the stare, and stretched, letting his small grin grow into a proper, if wry, smile.

“I don’t,” he continued, setting the half-full wine glass and empty plate atop a nearby display case, “give up as easily as I used to, I’m afraid.” He let his gaze rake the room, though half his frayed, wary attention remained on his quick-witted companion, watching for any hostile motion. He couldn’t see anything that seemed out of place or overwhelmingly helpful among the displays that filled the marble room. He bit back another curse of frustration, running his free hand through his cropped hair. “I can’t afford to any longer."

He glanced back at Vespasian, and his grin dissolved at the other man's look. He doesn't let things get between him and his goals. Not for long. He took a long step away from the spy with an lazy shrug, eyes flickering to the rows of precious things behind him. "How about I get what I came for, an' then we just go our separate ways?"

[The International]

Vespasian scratched the back of his head with his left hand, for his right was still gripping the pommel of his blade. The spy could feel the cold steel of the hidden International Bracer even through his sleeve. He considered his situation: although his list contained a handful of items the must-have was directly to his left. It was what looked to be an ornate dagger, but for anyone who knew its potential it was so much more.

This was the dagger of the Concordian Elf Katelin, the legendary elf who roamed the forest doing good deeds; at least, that was what the civilians knew him for. Those in the intelligence community knew him for something else altogether. The late Elf developed a magic species of plants that grew weapons. One year, he could plant a seed amidst the fields of Gisela. The next year he could return and there would be a silver flower reaching up to the sun. Beyond the roots of that flower would be a brand new steel longsword. Before the late Elf died decades ago, he claimed to have planted an entire garden of weapons and armor, and since they reproduced like plants they would be growing in number as the years went by. This dagger was the Rangers' key to finding that garden.

As Vespasian suspected, Cael didn't back down. His face slowly shifted like clay; his cheeks turned up, his amber eyes took on a certain twinkle, and the dimples on his face caved in. The spy was genuinely happy for the Inkmage, who seemed to have finally built a reasonable amount of self-worth. Unfortunately that meant that he had to take things a step further.

“You've got to be after the same thing I'm after. So,” Vespasian said as his blade rang like a symphonic triangle as he exposed it to the air. “I'm going to ask you one more time to leave. I don't want to have to fight you over this.”

[Inkfinger]

How do I explain? I have no clue what I’m looking for. I might be here for the same thing - I might not be. He shifted, uneasily, feeling a flash of annoyance at Areesha’s hyperactive sense of secrecy, wishing – and not for the first time – that she had simply come out and said what he was looking for. It would have made life so much easier.

He couldn’t look at Vespasian, still scanning the room. The man wasn’t quite a friend, but by that same token, it didn’t mean he wanted to fight the man. He didn’t deserve to get cut up or beat up or anything of the sort. I don’t want to fight you either.

“I can’t just leave,” he said aloud, his eyes finally drawn back to the spy when the rapier’s blade appeared in a grating chime of steel on steel that rang throughout the room. He shifted his naginata to a two-handed grip, sliding into something that vaguely resembled a fighting stance. “There’s something here I need to find, and I’m not leaving ‘til I’ve found it.”

The naginata was a long-range weapon, not close quarters. He’d need more room…he took another step back, bumping against a glass box set on a marble pedestal. The box held an intricately carved statuette of an elfin woman wielding a quarterstaff. She teetered back and forth, falling against the side of the box. The box itself almost followed before Cael caught it, setting it back upright with bated breath. More glowing, twisting lines danced the edges of the glass before vanishing into the bear-head badge, and he swallowed hard.

Looks like some of the things down here are warded individually…

He would have tried to see if any of the others were warded, which to avoid, but motion drew his attention back to Vespasian in a flurry of half-attentive instinct. Clumsy muscles, only half trained, snapped into movement – he spun the naginata, aiming to slam the butt end into Vespasian’s stomach before he could close the distance between them enough to use his sword.

All he did was move, his brain supplied unhelpfully through the haze of sudden worry as he lunged. He probably wasn’t going to attack. If that was the case, he’d just struck first for the first time in his life.

That didn’t really make him feel better.

[The International]

Vespasian bit his bottom lip as he attempted to hold in a laugh. He wondered if Cael knew what he had just done. Everything encased in glass down here was being projected to the public by means of the magic chandelier that hung above their heads. The spy could only hope that his mother was showing them another exhibit, but with his luck she was standing right beside it telling its wonderful history to an audience of a few dozen, and that was exactly what was happening up above. Alix was now leading the group to the First Lady Raiaera.

“Everyone here has heard of the sculpture of Lady Raiaera, right? It's probably Cortini's greatest work of art. Hopefully it's still standing in Eluriand as we speak.” Alix said as she directed the crowd's attention to the miniature statue of a Raiaeran woman holding a quarterstaff. “Well, every artist does a rough draft before they work on the final product, and sculptors are no exception. It's said that Cortini only made two miniature bronze versions of his greatest work of art, and we're honored to have one of them. This is the first of the two drafts to be found, which is why it's rightfully dubbed the First Lady Raiaera. Let me tell you, this woman has had quite a journey...”

Before Alix could begin her story the First Lady Raiaera slowly began to fade out of existence. The high society crowd reacted with little surprise, for they knew museums often used a magic projection system of some kind for security purposes, and that projection system occasionally malfunctioned. Just before the statue disappeared altogether it began to return. Alix looked to the crowd and shrugged as she waved her hand through the illusion. “Oops.” She said as everyone laughed. However, a few bulky figures left the room and made their way down to the vault by way of security protocol.

Vespasian knew that if anyone saw something like a statue disappearing, even for a second, it would compel security to come and check. Time was of the essence now, so they needed to settle this quickly. Vespasian's probing of Cael's inside-and-out extreme makeover was done. Besides, the Inkmage took the bait and passed his test at the same time.

Cael decided to take the first strike, which surprised and impressed Vespasian, even if it was with the butt of his naginata. It was sort of a hesitant move, but it was a move nonetheless and quite possibly an act of mercy. The Inkmage may have built an aura of confidence because he was a much better fighter now, but Vespasian doubted it. Vespasian pushed off the ground with his right foot which launched him to the left and allowed him to dodge the blunt shot. As soon as he landed on his left foot he pushed into the ground once again, launching the spy straight towards his adversary. He complimented that charging lunge with an overhead strike. The International Rapier drew a platinum arc over Vespasian's head as it made its way towards Cael.

[Inkfinger]

Cael adapted when his lunge missed, twisting the naginata around to slam into the back of Vespasian’s knees. Or, at least, that was the intended goal, until he saw light glimmer off the rapier’s blade whistling over the spy’s head.

Well, damn. That’s not pulling punches.

He did the first thing he could think of, dropping flat to the floor and crab-scuttling to the side, shoving the naginata’s capped butt between his opponent’s knees as he moved. At the very least, Vespasian would need to modify his footwork. He gave the naginata one last shove sideways and reluctantly let go, half-crawling, half-scampering as he reclaimed his feet, not really paying attention to whether or not the motion had any effect.

It was harder to maneuver down here than he was used to. He slammed into a chiseled pedestal the moment he stood, stumbling right back to the floor. He barely rolled out of the way before the pedestal's crystal display case – mercifully empty, no doubt awaiting some new artifact – teetered to the floor. It exploded in a cacophony and shower of shattered glass.

He ventured a glance at the bear’s head as he slowly rose to his feet. The mouth remained empty but the eyes were flickering, though whether from new wards being absorbed or old ones held captive, he couldn’t say. He leaned against the now-empty pedestal, watching his opponent carefully, panting in gulps of the vault's stale air.

"Scribe!" As it turned out, he needn't have been quite that careful. Vespasian drew up short, rapier held at the ready, his handsome face somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are that was empty?"

“Maybe,” Cael returned as he slowly caught his breath, a grin trying to tug at the sides of his lips. For once, he wasn’t scared witless in a fight. Heaven only knew why, Vespasian was more than ready to use the rapier if need be, but he just couldn’t find it in his mind to feel fear. He shrugged fluidly, feeling a familiar tightness crawling over his bad leg. It'd be cramping soon... it was probably a good idea to go on pointedly ignoring the discarded naginata on the floor. “Just a smidge?”

Vespasian carded his hand through his hair, letting out a huff of annoyance. “More than a smidge, after the first one! You’re lucky we don’t have half of security down on our heads already!”

Cael opened his mouth to counter, let it shut with a snap again as he remembered the statuette. The spy had a point - a very good point. There had probably been a couple dozen of the high and mighty types upstairs who had witnessed the...he thought back for a second, glancing at the statuette.

Did I catch it before it hit the side? Probably not...they probably missed the statue for a few moments upstairs...

"I guess," he found himself replying instead of letting out the groan he felt like. Apparently the new-found bravery only spread as far as Vespasian. The idea of fighting security was enough to bring the first itching fingers of fear up his spine.

"We'd better hurry up an' finish this, then." He shoved off of the pedestal and lunged for the naginata, hoping he'd make it back to his weapon before the spy reached him.

[The International]

Cael’s icy blue eyes told the tale. They told the spy that he wasn’t out for the count yet. He wasn’t going to give up easily, which was something Vespasian never doubted. What impressed the spy was that the scribe wasn’t backing down easily. Those were two different things. The former was unacceptable unless one’s life was immediately in mortal danger. Refusing to back down from a physical confrontation was a big risk, quite admirable, and something even a smart spy would resort to every now and then. Cael’s icy blue eyes told yet another tale. The scribe had his eyes on the oaken shaft and steel blade of his prized naginata, which lay on the floor equidistant from the both of them.

A moment of silence passed in which the movements of the guests upstairs could be heard. A familiar feminine voice even managed to reach through the walls. The wind from the wide open vault door whistled as it entered at strange angles. An entourage of orange and red autumn leaves escorted Ludivine into the vault, whose naturally quiet steps left her undetected by the two combatants. She looked up to see the the familiar Inkmage and scowled. It was the closest thing anyone got for a smile with her unless they were in the heat of battle.

“Hello, Inkmage!” Ludivine said in genuine pleasure. Her presence surprised them both, and within a split second they were both charging for the naginata in the middle of the vault. Cael managed to get a hold of it before Vespasian could kick it away. The Inkmage swung in an uppercut as he turned around. Vespasian jumped back to dodge the long weapon, but his back slammed into a glass-encased vase. The artifact adorned in metallic paintings wobbled back and forth. Instead of jumping in to protect the priceless item, or even to assist her little brother, Ludivine sat on the steps and watched in amusement. “... Watch out.”

“Thanks for the help.” Vespasian blurted out in sarcasm as his left hand steadied the vase and his right held the rapier out at Cael just in case the Inkmage had any ideas. Once again, the two combatants were at a stalemate, and now they had a captive audience. Just before they could continue Maelle walked in and stopped behind Ludivine with her arms out in a quizzical gesture.

“You can't be serious. What the Hell are you guys still doing... Cael?” She asked with a bewildered look on her face.

Erik sauntered in after Maelle. The sweaty gentleman first had a look of shock on his face. He was practically diagnosed with a fatal disease, his life was being held for ransom as it failed its battle, and now his vault was full of thieves. His look of shock soon became a look of exhaustion. The Radasanthian noble had been completely drained physically and, more importantly, emotionally. He plopped down on the steps not far above Ludivine. “Life can't get any worse.”