Out of Character:
Closed to Sage

The Silver Stocks was buzzing with activity.

Now that the man affectionately known as Soap to the Brotherhood’s new command, Shinsou Vaan Osiris and Storm Veritas, had the ruling council off his back for good he could afford to raise the profile of his establishment to something above “just a front”. That meant the right kind of people could now be kept drinking until their bellies were sore from the gas and their eyes weary from intoxication. The fine new furniture was kept polished, a bandstand was always filled with regular entertainment, shiny new brass oil lanterns were kept gleaming and the best Radasanthian ales that a drinker in the Stocks could expect to sample when they strode in from the cold were fully stocked.

Shinsou had also spared no expense to ensure that the wrong kinds of people were kept out of Soap’s pub for good, too. It didn’t attract the attentions of lawmakers, or law-keepers, that weren’t already intensely vetted or on the Brotherhood’s payroll. It was a stark contrast from the old days, before their rule. The inn now served as a Brotherhood safehouse.

Or so they thought.

Oliver Kadar, senator elect for the Brotherhood’s political wing and a firm friend of the Telgradian, was a worried man. Everything had happened too quickly for the politician to make heads or tails of. Following Whitevale’s annexation by Shinsou and Storm, immense pressure had landed on his shoulders to whitewash the deposing of the Brotherhood’s ruling council. It was his job to paint the assault as a way for a more “politically correct” leadership to emerge from the rogue organisation. But the assault on Ducos and his ruling council had created numerous enemies. He had been marked by some dangerous people; at least that was what Soap had said.

“Lay low in here. Don’t go out until I’ve spoken to Shinsou. You’ll be safe here.”

The words were of little consolation. Oliver wasn’t strong like his leaders. He possessed no magic, had little defensive capabilities and only had his wit and sharp tongue to rely on. Radasanth was a fast-moving city with a pace of life unlike that of anywhere else on Althanas, but one thing that was a constant was that his face was in the limelight. Not Shinsou’s, or Storm’s, but his.

But I swore an oath to him. He helped me out when I needed it. Deal with it, Kadar. This is what you do and what you signed up for. Focus on the mission…

The Brotherhood’s face and voice sipped some tea from his cup, nodding his head in time with the happy jig being played by the band in a false sense of responsibility to the atmosphere of the tavern. As he did, a man wearing a fedora slipped through the crowd and sat next to him.

“Business or pleasure?” he asked

“Business” responded Kadar as he recognised the code word, not looking up from his tea. “Keep your eyes straight ahead and talk.”

“Business it is, then.” The man mumbled, watching as the bar staff wandered into the kitchen area. There seemed to be some delicious smells wafting from a number of unattended ovens. None of the waiting staff seemed to be paying any attention. Perfect conditions for what he had planned. “Ducos wants to meet with Shinsou, but only Shinsou. He is afraid Storm will kill him outright for what happened to Sir Augustus.” The man referred back to the frame job that painted the electromancer out to be the murderer of the most important senator in Radasanth. “The professor is keen to confer with a cooler head.”

“Where would such a meeting take place?” reproofed Oliver, remembering his explicit instructions from his friend.

Get me a meeting or even just a location. I’ll take it from there.

The man looked in the teapot, pretending to be interested in the contents. He slid an envelope with a crimson wax seal across the bar. “In there.”

Kadar slapped the lid back on and tucked the sealed letter into his jacket pocket. Pouring the remainder of the tea, he gulped half a cup. Its flavour just wasn’t the same when it was cool; a sudden, overpowering tang of lemongrass whipped his lips and made him recoil. He shot a glance sideways at the man. “Anything else?”

The peak of the fedora drooped for a moment, casting a shadow over the gentleman’s face. Kadar didn’t see the smile as his vision began to blur up a bit.

“Yes. You’re to convey a message to Shinsou Vaan Osiris and Storm Veritas.”

Oliver Kadar clicked his tongue as a pain started to sweep through his gut. Shivers ran up and down his spine before the room suddenly started spinning in a hellish cyclone of watercolours.

“What mess-“

The man’s eyes didn’t waver for a single moment until Kadar was on the floor, fitting wildly and foaming at the mouth. The poison had worked quickly. Understanding the implications of being caught in a Brotherhood safe-house, the enigmatic assailant put his hands down firmly on the table, pushed back and melted into the crowd as they rushed to Kadar’s aid, his grey coat swaying beside him like the wings of a phantom.

You are the message. If you take on Ducos, then you’ll end up a corpse.