The Syndicate Files. (Open!!!)

[Elthas_Belthasar]

(Looking for 1 or 2 active posters. Continued from this thread: Old Gods (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24692-Old-Gods-and-New-Streets-%28Solo%29) This is the: Recruitment Thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24762-The-Syndicate-%28Open-Recruitment%29&p=201420#post201420) !!! )

After the previous events of the hour had occurred, Elthas understood his place in the world.

He was a Syndicate member through and through at that point and could not turn back. Most specifically, he was a professional Bounty Hunter, but he had to put aside his freelancing ways. He finally had a permanent contractor and he was looking at Seth, Theo, and Hylda in the dining hall. There was a long table where people ate, all except Elthas. Elthas had his arms relaxed at his side, and he was looking down at a series of documents. The documents were outlining Elthas's next mission. The target was an individual of some importance.

"So are we in agreement, Elthas?" Seth Terrentius was saying. The crazy old man that was one of the leading members of The Syndicate. "Your payment will be standard." Seth said.

Elthas was looking over the papers, turning pages quickly. He was studying and getting to know the details of mission. "He is heavily guarded. This is no ordinary hit." Elthas found himself saying. "What's the catch?" Elthas asked.

Seth blinked at that. "Catch?" Seth asked. "No catch. You capture him, turn him in a alive and get paid. Simple as that."

"What about his guards? There are a lot from the reports here. I donot wish to spill any innocent blood here." Elthas was a professional through and through. He did not like making messes whilst on the job.

"You're free to dispose of them using any means necessary, but just be wary, that terminations cause problems." Seth said.

"I am aware of that." Elthas said. "So let me get this straight. You want me to go to Fort Red Falcon. Locate Duke Sheldon, and capture him alive, then return him here?" Elthas's gut was giving him a bad feeling. However, if it was asked by Seth Terrentius, Elthas was certain he would capture a devil by himself.

"How you capture him is not important. The important thing is THAT you capture him." Seth said. The old man was tapping his chin as he ate some lunch.

"I don't like this." Elthas finally voiced his opinion. "There is too many risks here for one hit. Why can't I case the property and catch him outside?" Elthas asked. There was concern in his voice.

"Client was very specific. It had to be done inside the fort. Elthas. The client is paying good money for this operation to go off without a hitch. He is paying for the best." Seth paused. Then he continued. "Elthas, there is going to be a party at the fort about two weeks from Tuesday. That is the best day to do this thing. You won't get another chance..." Seth said grimly.

Elthas's sharp mind was thinking. Planning. Coming up with all sorts of calculations and mathematical formula. "A party you say, huh? Sounds like a hell of an event to go crashing." Elthas said carefully. He looked at Seth and Theo. "Standard pay? Anything else I need to be aware of?"

"Make sure you don't leave witnesses." Seth said.

And the operation was underway...

***

Meanwhile, in a bar in Radasanth, called The Blue Pelican, there was a buzz with it's clients. Apparently, a well known Duke named Sheldon Kretz was holding a party. It was being labelled as the party of the century and all ranking members of the social elite were invited to it. The Duke was going to show off his estate, and sizeable fortune. One of the bar dwellers was looking at a neighbor excitedly.

"Did you hear about the party?" The first man asked to the second one.

"Yeah! The guy's nuts going all out in this type of environment. But I give him props for that." The second man said.

"Hey are you two going?" A bartender asked of the pair.

"You damned straight man." The first man shrugged. "I wouldn't miss this for the world. There haven't been many parties of late of this caliber. Some little events here and there, but, you shouldn't count those drab events as a party either."

"I think you're the one that's drab." Said the second man, and they both laughed heartily over whatever horrible ale they were drinking. "Here's to Duke Sheldon!"

The entirety of the bar patrons suddenly came alive. "AYE!" Was immediately yelled by the gathered patrons. Male and female and those who were in between genders, and those who did not have genders at all.

"Ahahahah. That party better be as good as this one!" The first man was saying to the bartender and his companion. It was after work hours and The Blue Pelican was quite a popular joint those days. Talk of the party at The Duke's fort was spreading throughout Radasanth's districts like wild fire. It was an open invitation and the guests could bring several guests along with them, hundreds of people were expected to show up.

The bartender continued to serve drinks to his clients as they asked. He was observing all of them carefully to be certain none got too drunk, or acted too rowdy. There was always a fine balance between having fun and lawlessness. The bartender kept an eye on the door to see if new patrons were coming in and those patrons who were leaving after having had one too many goblets of ale. It was a productive day, and the party was going to be one to remember...

Elthas Word Count=1,015

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Woo! Happy 1,000th post to me!

It took only one hi-heeled step through the front door of the illustrious manor at Fort Red Falcon to be bombarded with greetings from the other guests.

"How nice of you to join us this evening, Ms. Rakov!"

"It's a fantastic thing your family has done for our community, Ms. Rakov."

"Ms. Rakov! On behalf of the orphanage, I'd like to thank you and your father for their generous donations. We'll be able to afford new windowpanes and locks for all the doors now!"

The fake smile I donned for the three minutes it took for me to make my way from the foyer to the nearest bathroom burned. My pointed features were used to being assembled into a scowl or a look of general indifference. It served as a stark reminder that I was out of my element tonight. I'm used to being the dagger in the alleyway, or the garrote in the back room. But the reclusive heiress at a charity ball? I deserve a fucking award if I make it out in one piece with my cover intact.

The disguise was easy enough. The spoiled heiress is rarely seen by the public. It was just my luck that she's a bitchy, pale, ugly little waif with pitch-black hair as well. I could have walked into this event wearing my normal street gear, daggers and throwing knives strapped to my waist and all, and everyone still would've been all smiles and compliments. All I had to do was cake on a pound of makeup, grab a nice dress, act like I'm better than everyone else, and I was good to go.

Her invitation to the party proved simple to acquire as well. One hundred coins into the hand of the right disgruntled member of the Rakov's security team saw to that.

So. I guess the question remains as to why I'd be in such a place. Well, it's a matter of vengeance, really. The kind of thing that would make for a decent pulp novel. You see, it was about four months ago that my little hiding place in one of the market districts in Radasanth had been uncovered. My dear family came around to my bookstore for a visit one night, tore the place up, tossed me around like a reckless child's doll, then burned it to the ground as I watched on, helpless and broken. Some little turd told them where I was holed up.

And with minimal bloodshed at a dirty little dive called The Green Condor, I discovered who it was.

Nicolas Berman, man about town and part-time shadowy informant; a guest at tonight's party.

I would have words with Nicholas before the night was through.

[Itera]

"A party?"

"Oh, yes. The biggest. It is quite the talk of the town."

"And the Duke Kretz hasn't sent me an invitation?" Itera puffed out her cheek in mock irritation. Neither of her luncheon companions took notice; Isylle was cheerfully feeding feeding her latest abomination and Izayiri was thoroughly engaged in reading a Living Autobiography.

"The footmen probably did not know your address." Feredor Amolet [1] replied dryly. There were many ways to reach Itera's realm, but they all required both a degree of magical talent and a thorough understanding of hyperdimensional mechanics. None of those addresses were listed in anyone's directories, either.

"You were invited, then?"

"Heavens, no. But I am catering the party. Don't worry," He added upon seeing the glint in Itera's eyes, "You've never been on the waiting list. Everything between us will still go as always." The master baker had been supplying Itera with fresh cakes and pastries almost daily ever since the two had met and a deal struck. Today, he had brought two small raspberry-liqueur cakes, one of which was quite firmly claimed by Isylle for her monster.

"I see. Adopt me." Itera's demand caused Amolet's face to turn a ghostly white at the horrible thought. Color slowly returned to his cheeks as he thought about it and finally he chuckled.

"Leave me out of this, you old hag! Find a way in yourself. If you call me, 'poppa' it should take a decade off of my life."

"Where and when is it?"

"At Fort Red Falcon, in two days' time. Many distant guests have already arrived and are staying in the castle or nearby. Fortunately, I have an arrangement with an inn there."

A few more desultory remarks were exchanged and Itera closed the rift to the Amolet bakery. Isylle's monster, a thing that was a ten-foot-tall mass of vine-tentacles, toothy maws, and spiny leaves, was resting contently with its eyeless head in her lap while as she stroked maternally. It made a purring sound that resembled a landslide more than anything else.

"He called you an old hag." Isylle noted, her teacup clinking down in its saucer. She did not turn to look, instead preferring to admire the view. It really was a beautiful view from atop the extinct volcano on this small, deserted island. The bright blue ocean, the flocculant white clouds, and the infinitely deep sky all extended forever into the horizon. A pleasant sea breeze made it up the slope to rustle the pink tablecloth.

"I shouldn't have hinted that I was more than 200," replied Itera, who insisted that she was 17 whenever among mortals, "Fret not. He'll be duly punished in time."

A quiet giggle escaped Izayiri as she read; her face was a bright, glowing crimson. Her black wings twitched and a few black, metaphorical feathers fell. She hadn't touched her tea.

"What are you reading?" Itera asked, her smile pleasant and dangerous.

"No- nothing," Izayiri glanced up and clutched the book to herself. Her traitorous blush strove for a terrified paleness as she saw the glints in the other two fairies' eyes. There was a pause. Then there was violence.

"Noooooo~!" Izayiri wailed, squirming unsuccessfully inside the thick wraps of vine-tentacles around her. The huge, toothy maw nibbling playfully on her head didn't help matters in the least. Itera, the Fairy of Boundaries, had rifted the Living Autobiography right of her hands just before Isylle, the Fairy of Flowers, sicced the monster-plant on Izayiri, the Fairy of Libraries. Next to the overturned chair, the two unbound fairies were quietly reading over her book, mouthing the words.

"... ran his tongue up her neck in counterpoint to his warm hand across her bosom. She gasped softly as his..."

They stopped. Four eyes, two amber, one green, and one red, turned to look at Izayiri. Mischievous and sadistic intentions played in them. She had a moment's clarity to realize what her immediate future was shaped like.

"Noooooo~!"

---

"That's the last of them." Master Amolet turned away from the rows upon rows of mandeleines, petits fours, tortes, and mille-feuilles that occupied a significant portion of the walk-through pantry. He turned towards Givanna, an imposing, brown-haired woman and the undisputed tyrant of the kitchens and scullery. She had switched instantly from a brass-lunged tirade about dust on the best service of silver to a respectful smile when the baker had arrived with his carefully-packed cartload of pastries.

She nodded once, "You're never one to let old recipes stand, eh? Every time I see you, Master Amolet, your cakes are ever the more elaborate and intricate." She gestured towards the towering, four-layered cake that was to be the centerpiece of the twelfth course. The icing and garnishes on it rivaled the finest filigree of the best jewelers. "Except for the chocolate mandeleines. Do I detect a novice's hand?"

"Ah. My eldest daughter's work. We had very short notice."

Givanna's eyes slid to the elder of Amolet's two daughters, who cringed. "Just keep on practicing, girl. These'll do for the snobs upstairs. They can't- well, I shouldn't say."

A jingling velvet bag changed hands. "Teresa'll see you out." Givanna stalked off in the direction of the kitchens, her nose probably having picked up the scent of a too-slow rotisserie or similar offence.

"If Master Amolet will please gather his daughters and follow me?"

Amolet started. Despite his honed senses from his first career, the quiet, slight girl seems to have materialized behind him undetected. It spoke high praise of the quality of maids that the Duke employed.

As the quartet passed the bottom of the lowest stairs on their way to the servants' entrance, Itera spared them a glance from the top. It had been a trivial matter to enter the party without an invitation and without stealing an invitation. A few minutes with an empty balcony, a small rift, and she had entered the party sans list-checking. For good measure and for good fun, she had also stolen an invitation using roughly the same procedure.

The most difficult part of all had been selecting a costume. She knew several dressmakers on disparate parts of the world with whom she had an understanding, but in the end she had decided to bother Illa about getting a dress made. That little lifesucker and her dolls could put more dress together faster than weaver wasps could make a nest. The result, of course, fully obeyed Itera's definitive color scheme: A royal-purple gown with short, puffed sleeves, a conservative neckline edged in arabesques, a skirt with two tiers of frills, and a back-closure that Itera could handily rift-stitch herself in with. She was wearing her best mob cap, soft white with a huge, looping, hollow bow on the front tied with thin red ribbon. Her hair ran mostly loose and was evenly terminated between eight small red bows. A pair of white silk gloves covered her arm until just an inch of skin was exposed past the sleeve, with a small red ribbon cinching the top in a bow-know. Itera even gave up her boots in favor of a pair of sensibly-heeled purple shoes and thick white stockings. Most critically, her normally white fan had been exchanged for a black one intricately decorated in purple and pink butterfly motifs.

While Itera's costume and deportment made a highly convincing simulacrum of some exotically foreign Ashi [2], Isylle had shown up in a very daring pink-and-green dress that resembled a mass of intertwined, flowering vines (and probably was). She would have possibly stolen all the attention if she hadn't apparently eloped immediately with the Duke's gardener and groundskeepers as soon as she had met them. Itera scoffed, that fairy was never truly happy unless the conversation was about her precious flowers.

Now that Itera had satisfied her curiosity about the fate of her cake supplier, she rested the tip of her fan in her left hand [3] and sailed off towards the body of the party. She had no makeup on and was determined to show that fey beauty needed none among mortals. There was another reason. In Tenger Jerhal, the frequent pageants had made a mad science of cosmetics that sometimes caused unpleasant and hilarious incidents. Itera was still wary.

The horde of people clustered around that human woman over there was stealing her thunder, though. What is wrong with those people?

-----

[1] See here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24624-August-14-September-14&p=200264&viewfull=1#post200264) to know more about Master Amolet, the adventuring wizard retired to be a baker.

[2] Ashi - a Bhutanese title of female royalty, here used as a placeholder for "Foreign Female High Nobility"

[3] Fan language for "I would welcome company."

[Elthas_Belthasar]

(I am approaching this like a gm'ed project, and away we go!!!)

Nicolas Berman paced back and forth. He was typically a very calm individual but the party left him too exposed, too out in the open. As he stood there with several individuals walking around him, he was grateful for the duke's guards. Nicolas was a handsome man in his mid-thirties, a Human, by Althanas standards. He had a receding hairline that was almost like an elegant crown. His hair was somewhat spiky, and he wore a beard those days. His glasses also hid his green eyes. He was fair skinned, his clothing quite formal. He wore a suit that closely mimicked the noir movement of underground parties. It was an elegant black suit, leather mostly, and quite loose. He wore a long sleeved, black shirt, pin striped.

There was a long tie at the collar. The tie was surprisingly a grey tie, though it matched the rest of the fellow's suit. He stood in one of the west wing rooms of the fort, away from the entrance and unawares of the threat that had arrived. Niclas smoked a fancy brown colored pipe. The scent of hemp was in the room. The room itself was a simple gathering chamber. Several seats were placed in order to seat the many hundreds of guests that would arrive from all over Corone. Nicolas spoke with several of the social elites that were gathered around him. They knew of his private trades, and the information that he could acquire for the right amount of coin.

Over all, Nicolas was not the only shady fellow that was in attendance of the party...

***

A man with a glint in his eye, did spot Itera. He saw the fae folk, and remembered hearing stories about how good in bed the fae women were. The man was a fellow named Hank Cross. Hank had light brown chin, a round jaw, and thick eyebrows. He was clearly not a native to Corone. But his chiseled features suggested he was more a Hume (Human) from Fallien. He was built like a perpetual tank, his muscles visible through the suit he wore. His suit, however, reflected the unique motifs of the Fallien people. He wore a guild crest of this or that organization, and it was visible on the brown tabard he wore. His cloak was elegant, black, and swished about with every movement. Also noticeable, was the fancy hat that he wore. It was a white hat with a gold ring wrapped around it. It fit evenly on his head, meant to keep dessert heat out of his face. The back portion of the hat covered the back of his neck. It was a soft material, probably silk. The golden ring had many symbols etched upon it's surface.

Hank also wore thick leather gloves, baggy black pants, and fancy boots. His outfit was very colorful. As he spotted Itera, he approached the girl and nodded politely to her.

"May the light of the warm sands find you in good spirits, fair lady." Hank began. "I am from Fallien, a foreigner to these lands." Hank continued. "If it would please mi'lady, would you like a dance with me so that we might partake of this good music together?" Hank extended his hand towards Itera so sh could take it.

***

The noise was extremely uncomfortable. Live music was playing from the various bards that were present. Each bard was from a different realm of Althanas, and they were quite skilled. Servants walked around with trays full of snacks and drinks. Elthas longed for a drink and to partake of the party, but he was there for a purpose. The duke was his man that day. Elthas mingled amongst the people, the silent bounty hunter. Keeping his hood up the entire time. He wore an elegant cloak that he carried as a spare cloak with no markings upon it's surface. The hood kept his face hidden. As he stood there, he observed Duke Sheldon Kretz from the safety of his position. He was just another face in the crow, hood up or down. Elthas noticed there were many Elves in the crowd as well. Also, there were representatives of all the mortal and immortal races of Corone. Elthas respected the Duke and his tastes in company.

His guards were not easily dispatched, so Elthas had to use other means to get close to the Duke. Elthas had already cased the Duke for few days prior to the party. He had managed to sneak into the fort undetected several times to learn the Duke's overall behavior patterns. He knew exactly when in the night would be the right time to strike. The client wants Sheldon alive. Elthas thought to himself. He clenched his fists tightly, until his knuckles popped, and he kept his eyes locked on the Duke. The Duke was seated on a throne in the main hall of the fort. It was decorated adequately for the party. The Duke stared at the gathered masses, and kept his hand underneath his chin. He sat in an arrogant fashion on the throne, as most royals tended to do. This is not going to be easy. I have to make sure i can get him outside of the fort without killing him, without killing anyone... Elthas thought to himself as he waited patiently. He was one of the few individuals not drinking or eating. His fierce eyes rarely left the Duke's position. He simply kept watching the man for any movement he made.

At a certain time of the day, Elthas knew the Duke visited a young maid's bed chamber. That would be the time to strike.

***

"May I have your attention, everyone." Duke Sheldon Kretz suddenly called out to the gathered mass of humanity. "I have called this party to celebrate the fall of the Corone Empire! Her enemies are still being hunted down by the Corone Rangers and will be brought to justice!" The crowd cheered. "For the first time since the Empire's agents put a choke hold on our grand society, we have peace. That is the reason for this celebration. A time of peace and respite from the long civil war that has taken the lives of so many of our brothers and sisters. This party is for you, this party is for Corone!" The Duke raised a finely sculpted gold goblet into the air and then drank heavily from it. People began to clap after the Duke's speech, and the festivities of the hour resumed.

[Itera]

There was a highly unusual human accosting Itera; this inherently piqued her interest. Her approval of his engraved agal just about offset her disapproval of the plainness of his gutra; at least his tailor could have put a few small paintings on such a convenient canvas! As her eyes traveled further down, her disapproval and curiosity grew monotonically. He had not checked-in his cloak at the door and the black was... interesting... against the brown. The baggy trousers did nothing to highlight his otherwise delectable musculature. Everything about the man suggested a parvenu of significant means but limited culture. The costly, haphazard costume she could excuse for his foreign nature, but the manners! What did they teach for manners in that sandy backwater?

"Ah?" Itera questioned Hank with the wide-eyed, innocuous expression of a debutante caught accidentally sans chaperone. Her left hand eased open her fan.

"A dance, milady." Hank fought down a small consternation. He had been told that his enunciation was perfectly passable in polite company. Perhaps the fae was a very new visitor to Althanas and hasn't grasped the language? If there was a linguistic impassé, then it would be all the more arduous an evening for his self-chosen mission. He gestured at the center floor, where the first dancers were tentatively gathering, "Will you dance with me?"

Itera looked away, hiding half of her face behind a spread fan, and with a meaningful look transfixed a passing manservant in the Duke's livery. Her next words simultaneously demolished Hank's fears and wetted his imagination's appetite. "I admire the audacity of those forward enough to ask for a dance with so little preface, but what should I think of the wisdom of someone who asks a dance having neither presented his own credentials nor asked after the lady's own?"

Relief at the reply flooded Hank; he recognized, from the perfect diction and the intoxicating voice, the signs that he was speaking to one of the elder fae who surely knew bedchamber arts beyond earthly ken. If he had been steering with his wits rather than baser parts, he might have felt a new apprehension: behind that young, beautiful face was an ancient and terrible mind that has never been restrained by worldly morality.

"Ah, ah. I apologize. Your beauty enraptures such that I forget my own manners. Hank Cross, Guildmaster of the Whitesmiths of <mangled pronunciation>, Vice-Guildmaster of Architects of <equally mangled pronunciation>, and Grandmaster [1] of the Scarlet Ensign at milady's service. Might I, er, have the pleasure of knowing milady's name?"

The manservant arrived, bearing a silver salver lined with small booklets with attached pencils. Itera daintily retrieved one and shoo'd the bearer away. Hank was treading on dangrous ground, having reflexively puffed up his name with a list of titles. Itera managed to control her impulse to list off every title that she has ever held; she just didn't have the hours with which to do that.

"You may have the pleasure of knowing that Itera Naymuul, will have you for the quintelle." Itera opened up her new dance card, flipped to the proper page, and raised her pencil.

Hank was crestfallen, "The ninth dance, milady?" Not only was that almost halfway through the evening but the dance was one where the couples were constantly switched around. There was hardly anything intimate about it either; the couples barely touched hands and grazed elbows.

"Nine is a significant number in my culture. Is it not to your liking, Master Cross?" Itera arched a golden eyebrow at the poor man. She did not mention that the significance of the number nine was in strong connotations of idiocy.

"I was hoping to see, up close, milady's performance in, ah, the weller? Perhaps the first afterdance?" Hank put on wide smile and desperately tried for something close. [2]

---

Three young men into their third aperitifs were watching with some interest from a window-alcove nearby. One of them, tall, dark-haired, and cobalt-eyed, twitched a smile that carried all the way to his thin moustache. He elbowed the man to his left.

"Franz, pay up."

"What, already?" Replied the elbow's recipient, who was a sandy-haired man half a head taller than the other two and wore a fashionable red jacket, "The sandsucker's hardly been in there five minutes!"

"Well, she looks like she's suffering. Look how she fidgets. [2] Pay up, pay up, the man's obviously gone and wrongfooted the lady, just like I predicted. That land's upstarts know nothing about manners and the appreciation of beauty."

There was grumbling and a surreptitious exchange of a bank note. The man on the right sniffed and drained his glass, for courage. He set the glass down on the tray of a passing servant, straightened his deep blue coat and golden tie, and started off towards Itera.

"What's this. Mounting a rescue, Alfred?" Franz called after.

A new pinkness tinted Alfreds cheeks as he turned to address his two companions, "Isn't it the duty of every gentleman to come to the aid of a distressed lady?"

"Sure. Isn't it the duty of every filial son to make sure that his impulses don't land his family into troubles?"

"What do you mean?" Alfred demanded, closing the distance again.

"That man wears the sigil for a Guildmaster and another for a Vice-Guildmaster. He's not a man to be trifled with, Alfred. What would your father do if he's locked out of the Falleinian markets? Tell him I'm right, Gunther." When no reply immediately followed, Franz hissed a bit more loudly, "Gunther!"

Gunther returned from a studious stare at Itera, "My dear Franz, are you suggesting that we should allow our women to fall to the predations of foreigners in exchange for foreign money?"

"Wha- Surely you jest!"

"I do not. To think that such a lovely piece of Heaven on earth should fall into the arms of that towel-head. It makes my blood boil. Hold, Alfred."

Alfred stopped, having again taken several steps towards the distant couple. Itera was flushing slightly with excitment, negotiating back and forth with Hank over the merits of the dance schedule. He, in turn, had sensed that he was not the victim of a polite refusal but rather the recipient of coquettish attention. If only the three would-be heroes knew.

"It will be I who goes to the rescue. You simply wish to see her denied to the foreigner, while I would have her for my own. Our goals coincide, do they not?"

"You're both mad. You don't even know who she is! She's just some... unheralded low-born. Probably she is some guest of a guest and doesn't even bear her own invitation."

Alfred matched Gunther glare-for-glare, ignoring Franz's protest, "You? You'll bluster and blunder into that conversation, offend the lady, and we shall never see her again."

"Mad!"

Gunther's grin widened, "And you'll launch off on a tirade on the foreigner, such that you'll spend the night with him instead. The lady would be horribly disrespected."

"It is obvious that this contest will not be decided by our skill with words." Alfred's grin also widened. Franz threw up his hands and turned away.

"On three?"

"On three. One. Two. Three!" There was a moment's silence as Gunther and Alfred inspected each other's technique. It was an ancient method of dueling, the style passed down from generation to generation within the walls of the private academy which all three men had attended.

"Paper."

"Stone."

Then the two of them broke out laughing and slapped each other on the back. Gunther straightened his costume, handed over the half-empty champagne flute, and marched off to battle.

"Did you really mean that?"

"What?" Franz muttered back to Alfred, the both of them having returned to their positions in the alcove.

"That we would be mad to challenge the guilder-whatsits and he'll destroy all of our livelihoods?"

"No, but someone has to be the level head between the three of us."

"What does that matter?"

"Everything."

---

Itera tapped her left cheek with her fan [4] as she thought about this latest proposal, "I can't help but to think that you might have some additional motive for requesting the dance immediately before the first intermission."

"I assure you, milady, that I have only the most sincere and honest respect and adoration for you. Please allow me this, and the gavotte to which you had already agreed?" Hank was getting a little frustrated; ten minutes of delicate pleading and the fae still hadn't made a single mark on her dance card. She was surely toying with him. It matched with the capriciousness that he's heard about, but slowly he was gaining ground. Then, the annoying happened.

"Pardon me, milady," Gunther elbowed his way in between the pair. "Gunther Armand, at your service, milady. I couldn't help but notice that..." He looked into Itera's huge, gleaming, amber eyes. His heart briefly went on strike.

[1] Like the master of a ship, but for the entire associated flotilla

[2] Closed-position, as opposed to open-position, in dancing

[3] Fan language: Twirling or fidgeting the fan in the left hand indicates that the present company is disagreeable.

[4] Fan language: "no"

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I could hear the din of the party from within the lavishly-decorated bathroom. I stood in front of the pristine marble sink, gazing into a large mirror framed with gold patterns and precious stones. The duke's policy of making things look impressive by throwing more money at it extended to every corner of his manor, it seemed.

The face that stared back at me was barely recognizable under all the makeup and eyeliner. How anyone could live like this was beyond me. I mean, sure, I wasn't above the idea of wearing just enough to hide some light blemishes, but this stuff was literally caked on. The bright shade of red lipstick that adorned my thin lips was also quite uncomfortable for me, but I was told that this shade is "in" this season. My raven-black hair was pulled back in a small bun. In a little stylistic flourish that I allowed myself this evening, a thin lock of hair dangled from around my right temple, resting comfortably along my jawline.

The dress, however, was atrocious. It was a tight, plain white vlince dress, strapless and sleeveless, and long enough to for the edges to just kiss the floor without dragging fabric behind me with every step. When my information about the heiress I was impersonating for the evening was presented to me, I argued with my contact about having to wear this stupid thing. It's not that I lack the particular assets required to properly wear a strapless gown; it's that it provided me absolutely fuck-all for protection, just in case things with Nicholas got a little more violent than necessary. And, it was ugly in its simplicity. But, apparently this is what Ms. Rakov liked to wear out in public, so I had to deal with it.

I set my matching purse onto the marble counter next to the sink and took a quick check of my inventory for the evening. I was able to sneak in my butterfly knife inside a spectacles case, along with several vials of poisons and paralyzing powders. "My medication," I told the duke's security men at the front door. The heiress was a bit of a hypochondriac, and always kept a small pharmacy's worth of stock with her at all times.

Snatching the knife up, I gave it a few quick flicks in the air. It was utterly silent as the razor-like steel blade twisted and twirled in the air. “Perfect,” I muttered to nobody as I put it back in the bag. Satisfied that my cover was likely to hold throughout the entire night, I snapped the purse shut and put my left arm through the leather hoops to scoop it up before leaving the solitude of the bathroom.

Time to recall all of my old assassin training. Time to put on my act, find my mark, get the answers I sought, and end his pathetic little life.

I stepped gracefully back into the main chamber, allowing the bathroom door to shut behind me quietly. Society's elite and those lucky enough to feed on their scraps busily milled around the expansive, heavily-decorated room. The fakest of smiles crossed my reddened lips as I joined the fray.

More humble offerings of thanks from delighted donation recipients. More casual conversations, never lasting longer than several sentences each. After a while, I began thinking to myself how comically odd it were that such a reclusive woman got around so much, as it were.

After a good ten minutes of searching through the crowd in the main chamber but coming up empty with clues, I snaked my way over to a refreshment table. A nondescript servant decked in all black from head to toe offered me a glass of wine. There was no beer or hard liquor to be found on the floor, so the cup of white sparkly would have to suffice. I took a sip. It had a sort of fruity kick to it, and was rather weak, but then again I never claimed to be a wine connoisseur. Liquid courage in any form is good enough for me.

I remained at the table at the edge of the crowd for some time, constantly scanning the small sea of people for Nicholas Berman.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

Babe-

Nicholas listened when the duke spoke. It disgusted him. Nicholas was a con-artist and worked for a crime organization. They were a thief of masterminds who manipulated Corone's economy to their liking. Nicholas himself was not a ranking member of that guild, yet, but he had influence of his own. Even within the staff of the duke. One of the servant girls, a pretty thirty year old that had Jadet physical characteristics, walked towards Nicholas. She leaned in close to the man, who turned towards her, and whispered something in his ear. For a moment, an expression of absolute fear and shock crossed his face, twisting it into an almost demonic mask. Nicholas felt an incredible rage in his gut at the information he was just told. He looked at the woman before him for a moment, her long, green hair and honey-colored eyes.

"Are you sure it's her?" Nicholas asked.

"I am certain. You told me to alert you immediately if any of your recent marks showed up. And Lady Rakov is in attendance." The girl said, her lips trembling with what appeared to be anxiety.

Nicholas seemed angry after the shock and fear subsided. "That makes no sense, she doesn't ever leave the fucking Orphans..." Then another thought dawned on him. "By the fucken Thaynes...it can't be..." Nicholas said out loud as he looked at the surprise on his servant's face.

"My lord, is there a problem?" She asked.

"A problem!? This is more than just a fucking problem, I just walked into a Thaynes-damned death trap. Where is my personal escort, woman!? I have to get out of here right away." Nicholas's outburst was drawing unwanted attention from nearby attendants. Some were whispering. Can she already be here? That little bitch, Madison, the one who got away!? Nicholas cursed. Then he stopped himself as he looked at the girl before him. "You've just earned yourself extra pay this month." Nicholas said. "I'll be certain to notify my superiors." If she is here, this is gonna be a bad fucking night. Nicholas became extremely agitated, and went to look for at least two of his personal escort. In a crowd as large as the party's was...that was going to be a really huge problem.

Itera-

Hank felt the stiff elbow against his rock-hard body. His eyes narrowed dangerously. Discipline stayed his hand, he was a high ranking member of the guild he had mentioned, and that guild was closely tied to the women in power in Fallien. Back home, the drunkards who just cut him off would never have dared to attempt such an act. Hank's eyes twitched at the corners for the briefest of moments. He stared at the three gentlemen who interrupted his attempt to secure the lady in his bedroom that night. Hank was an honorable man, but he was not a push over. He wasn't about to let these miscreants go. He was well educated, and had tremendous skill in combat. I know the Duke is an important man here in Corone. I cannot disrespect his house and guests by starting too much trouble here. Hank looked at the first man, a man named Gunther and his companions.

Before Hank realized what he was doing, he drew a weapon. A fancily built curve scimitar, made out of plynt. The green metal was heavily reinforced, reflecting the light brilliantly. Several people around the group gasped at the display. Hank grinned.

"Listen." Hank said to Gunther. "The stories of your culture being infinitely rude have reached the humble ears of my people." Hank took the elbow to his gut as a sign of assault and a challenge to a duel. "But my people have mastered the arts of tactical warfare." Hank became angry and pointed his sword's tip towards Gunther.

"Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Gunther suddenly said. "Mate, put that thing down. I would hate to spill some Fallien blood on the carpets of our good host's castle. We'd be exceedingly rude to our host if we suddenly brawled here and now." Gunther said. He was attempting to refuse the challenge, but Fallien culture was quite specific about the way they went about their business. Hank was clearly no exception.

"Sera. By the light of the blazing sun, you have insulted me beyond repair. There is no negotiation, no remorse, there will only be a duel. You either stand and fight, sera, or I gut you like the filthy sand ray you are." Hank said, he had turned his eyes away from the beautiful woman. His attention was focused entirely on Gunther.

Gunther sighed. "Mate." Gunther began. "The odds ain't in your favour." He motioned for another burly fellow to join him. Franz and Gunther sized up the Fallien warrior.

"That sword is fancy. Not Radasanth make, probably worth a fine gold piece." The interloper said as he looked at Hank. "Look, sand-lover, put that thing away and let's all return to this party."

Gunther looked at Franz. "I think he's serious. We may have to hurt him."

"Gentlemen." Hank suddenly said. "I am afraid, that it is my sword that will do the hurting." And Hank rushed towards Gunther, ignoring Franz completely.

Elthas-

The unassuming Elf studied the unfolding scenes before. He was standing in the main hall where much of the party surrounded by bodies. The living bodies of the other party goers, as they partook of the Duke's good hospitality. Out the corner of his eye, Elthas noticed Lady Rakov playing with a single dagger. That is my kind of girl. Elthas thought to himself. The handsome Elf studied the girl for a moment, then returned his attention to the Duke. That was when the well-dressed Fallien warrior made his move. Damn, not now! Elthas thought to himself as three individuals broke into a brawl. People instinctively moved away from the battle, but were unafraid. Radasanth was a city of Heroes. Heroes came in all sizes and shapes, in all Job Classes. Elthas pondered assisting the Fallien warrior, since the other two gentlemen had interrupted his courting of the strange but beautiful woman.

However, Elthas was not interested in Itera in the slightest.

His interest was in Lady Rakov. Her pouty lips were accentuated by the red lipstick she wore. He felt his heart racing, if not for the fact he was taken...he would have pursued Lady Rakov for himself. As the fighting started, people watched the match very closely. Some were studying the Fallien warrior's interesting way of fighting. All dexterity and not brute strength despite his size. People generally recognized Hank as a finely trained warrior. Elthas respected the way that Hank moved, Hank was quick on his feet with an almost supernatural grace and agility. Elthas saw the two men draw weapons of their own. One had a short sword, made of steel, and the other drew a dual wielded pair of medium length broadswords. Elthas had enough. He will need assistance. Never removing his attention from the Duke, he knew that the Duke watched the fight.

He also knew that the Duke would not attempt to stop the fight unless other civilians were put in danger.

It was Radasanth law, the city's generally alerted state and open martial law policies were still effect even after the so-called demolishing of the Empire.

Elthas pushed his way passed the crowd of people, and penetrated the crowd. He made his way swiftly towards Hank's position.

"Hey!" Elthas called out to Hank as he lowered his hood revealing his Elven heritage. Elthas's ears were long, and his green hair flowed behind him as moved elegantly. His movements were almost like a dance.

Hank looked at the interloper for a moment and the fighting stopped for a precious few seconds. "Sera. What is your purpose?" Hank asked of Elthas as he drew in close.

"To help you." Elthas said.

Hank nodded. "You assistance is welcome."

"What the fuck is this, who are you?" Gunther asked as the rude Elf suddenly intervened. "You Thayne-forsaken blue blood!" Gunther yelled at Elthas. And that remark placed the battle lines on the field. Gunther growled and looked at Franz. "Take the sand-lover. I got the blue blood." Gunther commanded, and Franz nodded.

"Let's do this shit." Franz responded and the fighting resumed.

Duke-

"Who is that?" Duke Sheldon asked his ranking councilor. He was referring to the Elf who made his way towards that Fallien warrior's position. "I haven't seen many of them Elf folk in attendance."

"He's a Ruildian." Another gentleman said. This man, wore a fancy pin striped suit, and kept a hemp pipe against his lips the entire time. He wore spectacles, and. His mustache was slicked and thin. He had raven coloured hair, that was slicked back as well. He wore white gloves and a white long-sleeved shirt underneath his blazer. His blazer had twin tails hanging from the rim. "Don't see many these days. Rumor is they went into seclusion after the war."

The duke tapped his chin. "Something is not right." Sheldon said to his companion. "He seems familiar to me." He recalled, several years ago, that a small detachment of some of his men was attempting to clear out Syndicate members. A certain Elf with green hair, was spotted working for the Syndicate as a bounty hunter in recent moons. "Green hair." Sheldon closed his eyes and attempted to recall the description his men had gave him. Then, his eyes went wide with fear.

"Eryck." Sheldon suddenly said to his councilor. "Round up my warriors. Accost that Elf. Elthas Belthasar is his name. He is a member of the Syndicate, and is likely here to cause trouble." Sheldon had remembered it all. By the Thayne! If he is here, that means The Syndicate is out to claim that damned bounty mark on me...how could it still be in effect with the Empire dissolved!? Sheldon realized he was an enemy of the Empire for supporting the Corone Rangers heavily with man power and equipment. Enemies of the Empire meant one drew attention from The Syndicate, and even shadier types. He's a ranking Hunter. Sheldon thought to himself. How could I have been so stupid?! In throwing the party, he had placed himself on the direct and uncomfortable center stage position. The Syndicate is here, I have to get these people out of here. Real quiet like too. Duke Sheldon was not an idiot, he had evaded the enemies of the Corone Rangers up until that very moment. Now, they were right in his house.

Things were about to get ugly.

[Itera]

Itera sighed. Men.

She turned away from the charging Hank with an unhappy look in her eyes and her face again behind her fan. In some ways the situation, with all the yelling and gasping and imminent violence, was very nostalgic and reminded her of home. Reasons to immediately engage in combat to the death included: someone stole a garnishing cherry from your teacake, you were bored, you suspected someone of wearing a hat that looked like yours, you were woken up early by the sound of happy playing outside, you wanted someone to do your laundry for you, someone had noticed you with your latest lover, someone had gossiped about you and your latest lover, someone was your latest lover, someone did not giggle at your new joke, and someone had negligently burned down your house while you were in it. Sometimes, she had to go and kill the same fairy three or four times in the same day for entirely unrelated reasons. That was cathartic and fun.

This was not fun. That scorpion-brained excuse of a person had decided that murder was the best course of action in the middle of an otherwise fine party. For one, that was certainly going to sour the mood of things and Itera did not take kindly to having her mood soured, because then it wouldn't be fun. For two, that was certainly going to deny her the chance to see what this new, brazen young gentleman had to say about the whole affair; he looked like someone who had an interesting tongue in his head. For three, if the murdering was at least partially successful, she was going to have to spend the evening operating under the wrong implications, like that she freely consorts with murderers. She did, but that was not the point. It was all about appearances.

Then an elf joined the battle. Itera sighed. Men.

The party turning into a truly moronic brawl. These were apparently not subtle people. With a little effort, though, the evening might not be a complete loss. There was a delicious-looking lad half-watching the whole proceedings with an air of disdain and downright disgust, over by the doors to the balcony. Square-shouldered, sharp-chinned, sandy-haired, and blue-eyed, he had a certain je ne sais-quoi about him that tugged suggestively at Itera. There weren't many mortals who did that and certainly just one who did it while looking positively radiant in a talc-white dinner jacket.

Amidst noises of metallic impacts, Itera glided across the room towards her target. She was pleased to note that his eyes locked on her almost immediately. One fine, elegantly masculine eyebrow lifted and the look of disdain vanished into an almost-smile. The disgust remained, though, to Itera's dismay. Somewhere behind her was a hiss of pain, but she was quite well beyond caring. What was four stupid, uncouth mortals to her?

"Good evening. My name is Anne Winton, Knight Bachelor of the Order of Montmartre, Baronet Crystal Pine. Enchantée, I'm sure." He introduced himself very politely, though the tone was rather cold. Itera didn't mind; he was polite, that's what was important. She shut her fan to bestow one dangerously dazzling smile on Anne.

"Good evening. My name is Itera Namyuul, Keeper of Boundaries, Captain of the Black Army [1], Guardian of the Secret World, Lady of Horizons, Tyrant of the Boundless Realm. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"You spare these poor ears of the whole of your name, O Lady of Discord, O Countess Belli [2]. For that, I thank you." Anne lifted his snifter in a mock toast. The fourth of brandy in it swirled gently in time to the ringing staccato of blades across the room.

Impossibly, Itera's smile broadened. It became a grin that threatened to decapitate her at the jaw. "Ah, but your shrewd tongue pierces me so. Say more."

"There are those who will start scandalous rumors of me, saying that I associate with a lewd woman, with a woman who abandons her suitors as soon as they quarrel over her. An evil and vile woman is she who does nothing but smile while blood is spilled on her behalf." The disgust in Anne's voice began to override the calm, even, polite tones.

"You wound me." Itera pouted. After a few centuries of practice, the expression appeared instantaneously, without hesitation, and conferred the nagging feeling that the observer had just kicked a basketful of innocent kittens.

"Then I have failed to hit the heart." There was little sincerity in Anne's barb.

"I am weak and powerless. What could I have done to restrain four warriors from each other's throats? I can only depart as a sign of disapproval for the whole matter, which I have done."

"Where the woman that I desire throw herself into the path of my sword, I should think little of embedding my sword into mine enemy instead."

"It is a fool who throws herself between the swords of quarreling strangers."

"Say, instead, that it is a noble duty."

"Since when have I trucked with nobility?"

"Are you not the Tyrant of the Boundless Realm?"

"Tyrants are not always nobles. Again."

"Are you not the Lady of Horizons?"

Itera struggled to hide her delight. Such a pretty mind on this one, to remember the whole of her name after one recitation. "The horizon is as high and distant from the notions of nobility as the sun is from an eel-filled mud puddle. Again!"

"Are you not the the Countess Belli?"

"All's fair in love and war. Beating a tactical withdrawal when the situation is unfavorable is the mark of-" A loud smashing noise interrupted Itera. It sounded like someone had been tactically withdrawn into an expensive piece of porcelain, or possibly display of armor. Itera did not turn around.

Anne wet his lips from his snifter. "They ought to be bound to a tree and whipped."

"Whipped? For what transgression?"

"Disorderly conduct in public, of course. That the Duke has not stepped in to put an end to this, but rather would allow additional participants to prolong this, is a sure sign of- No, no, I shall say nothing of our gracious host under his own roof. A toast to him." And Anne did toast to the Duke's health.

Itera was left feeling somewhat put-out because she had nothing with which to join in the toast. It reminded her that the warm, comfortable buzz of a few drinks were sorely missing from her little part of the party. This was a particularly difficult problem to remedy because it seemed as if all of the servants who were supposed to be circulating amongst the crowd offering drinks and hors d'ouvres had been drawn in by the spectacle of the impromtu fighting. Their incompetence was as breathtaking as the incompetence of the guards, who seemed to have interpreted the term "martial law" as meaning "assault, battery, manslaughter, mayhem, and murder are perfectly legal activities and should be treated as a spectator sport and street theater." The guards, additionally, had also seemed to have interpreted the term "security for a party" to mean "all guests should walk around heavily armed instead of politely asked to check their weapons at the door, because the Duke is made of unbreakable steel and anyone else who might be injured at a party where alcohol is being passed around in liberal quantities must richly deserve it and the attack should be treated as a form of entertainment." It was convenient. It meant much less actual work and thinking for the guards, who were certainly not being paid performance bonuses for things not happening. So Itera snagged a flute of something pale yellow and violently fizzing off of the nearest table.

"You disapprove of the Duke's entertainment?"

"Were it not that I have an appointment with someone here, I should storm out of this gathering immediately."

"Oho? What is this appointment that would hold you here, against such stomach-turning bloodthirstiness?" Itera leaned in and asked sotto voce, "Are you meeting your future betrothed for the first time?"

A tiny, asymmetrical twitch danced across Anne's face. "It would be the first that I've heard of that, if it were true. Burgher Yordt has promised to introduce me to an accomplished forester to help with a vexing infestation problem in Crystal Pine. Already, he is late."

A sudden suspicion struck Itera. "I know just where your appointment is."

"Oh?" Skepticism flooded Anne's features like spring rain to a riverbank, "And your price?"

"That you mend this wound caused by your unfounded accusations."

Several long seconds passed while Anne's blue eyes searched for deception in Itera's amber. The fight had become more muffled after it passed down the stairs, though the quiet whispers of wagers being placed had grown to a quiet murmur. Finally, Anne reached out to gently grasp a strand of Itera's hair.

"I, Anne Winton, express my sincerest apologies for having offended your Tyrantship. Please forgive me." Then he raised the strand and kissed it.

For the first time in quite a while, Itera's face exploded into a luminescent, full-fledged blush. She spun away while her thoughts scattered, leaving Sir Winton somewhat confused.

No, it has to be a misunderstanding. He-
He kissed my hair!
-must be a different custom here. There's no way he knows what that signifies in-
He kissed my hair!
-it's probably illegal here, anyway. This world is so uptight-
He kissed my hair!

"Tyrant Naymuul?" Anne walked up behind Itera and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder, "Are you-?"

He felt delicate fingers grasp his hand. Then he felt Itera's lips on his fingers, but she was looking at him that way. For an eternal moment, Anne doubted his control over his demeanor.

The moment passed. Itera's smile returned. "I feel like seeing the gardens." She lifted one arm towards Anne. Anne offered the crook of his. The two set off, leaving war and strife behind.

[1] See this Vignette (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24579-July-30-August-30&p=200604&viewfull=1#post200604) for the story.

[2] To represent a foreign-language pun where "Belli" stands for 'beautiful' in Italian and 'war' in Latin.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

One of the perks of being a wallflower my entire life is that my people-watching skills are unparalleled. Just give me a vague description and a crowd and I'll produce results. So it should come to no surprise to anyone that within seconds of draining the long-stemmed glass of wine, I spotted my target trying to worm his way through the crowd in every-which-way.

Nicholas Berman was a pretty hefty man; shaped like an egg and just as hairless. He was dressed in his finest avant-garde robes, supposedly to fit in with the crowd of lords and ladies. He was glancing around the crowd with his beady blue eyes... but searching for what?

I set my glass down on the table, and forced myself to mingle some more. I'll spare you the details of the forced small talk that was made as I snaked my way towards the rat bastard through the duke's plentiful guests. As I drew closer, I casually slid my hand into my purse and retrieved my butterfly knife. Not a single soul in the manor noticed it as I flicked it open and reversed my grip on the silent blade, hiding it between the wrist of my left hand and the purse.

I pushed my way through the crowd in a circle, always making sure to stay out of Nicholas's periphreal vision. Making one final push through the partygoers, I came up right behind my target. It was, of course, silly to attempt to kill him right then and there. Instead, I had a plan in mind to separate him from the crowd and then deal with him. He was a very cowardly man, in spite of his profession and the power and secrets that it offered him. One demonstration that I was firmly in charge of his fate, and he'd come along like a lost lamb.

He was utterly oblivious to my approach. I silently slid alongside him, and wrapped my left arm around his corpulent waist. My fist gripped tightly around my knife, I gave him a slight poke in the side with the tip of steel that let him know I was there. Before he could spin around or otherwise get away, I tightly gripped his right arm with my free hand.

"Ah, Lord Berman, 'tis a pleasure to see you again!"

His three chins quivered and he went pale at the sound of my voice. He turned to face me, and with the fear in his eyes it was all I could do to not let my smile turn predatory.

"F-fuck me," he muttered to himself.

I forced a laugh to keep up appearances to the guests that glanced at us. "I'm not drunk enough for that, kind sir. But please, walk this way. I wish to discuss some business with you." I had to get his fat bastard alone before he could alert anyone that he might have brought along with him to the party tonight. Nicholas certainly was a sheep in wolf's clothing; but his cohorts were absolutely vicious.

I gave a quick tug of his arm and a suggestive push from behind, but he didn't budge. I jabbed him with the tip of the knife again to let him know that I meant it. Seeing no way out without causing a nasty disturbance that would likely cost him his life, he hesitantly did as I ordered.

"Whatever it is you're thinking, you won't get away with it. Not here." His breath reeked of cheap alcohol. No surprise there.

"Mum and brother send their regards," I whispered to him without any trace of emotion.

Arm in arm we walked, the executioner leading the prisoner to their doom through the festive gathering. After a long pause, he tried another threat. "Jack and Thomas are here."

"I don't care."

"Once they notice me missing, they'll tear this place apart looking for me."

"I don't care."

"They'll finish the job that your mother and brother started in your bookstore."

"I'd love to see them try."

We remained silent as we moved towards the emptier hallways of Duke Kretz's manor. The few that cared enough to notice only saw a happy, if not oddly-matched couple trying to find a little privacy. I guided him to a remote guest bedroom, where I imagined that the terrifying sound of his first and only scream would be distant enough that nobody would hear, or be too inebriated to care.

As I shut and locked the door behind me, Nicholas violently wrenched himself free of my grasp, and attempted to spin around and deliver a meaty fist to the side of my skull. But he was slow; a man better suited to the back room dealings than straight thuggery. I easily ducked his swing, and answered with a haymaker to his throat.

Nicholas dropped to his knees, clutching his throat and gasping for air, and I dropped the last vestiges of my Lady Rakov disguise. Once again I was Madison Freebird; former assassin and bookstore owner, the miserable wretch and runt of the fabulous Freebird litter. I began to rummage through my purse once more, never taking my eyes off the pitiful sight before me. Here sat a man who represented some very powerful people in the Coronian underworld; a man privy to many secrets--several of which inadvertently led to us being alone in a spare room in the duke's manor.

I had no intention of finding out why this fat fuck sold me out anymore. I'm pretty sure that my family was still sore at the death of one of my brothers, which they had blamed on me after I abandoned them. In all honesty, I had expected them to try and kill me a hell of a long sooner.

Nicholas coughed, and rose to his feet. A single tear rolled down his wide face as I made myself perfectly clear. "I don't care how you found out about my bookstore. I don't care how richly mom and dad rewarded you to tell them about my new life. Hell, I don't care that they torched my store. You don't... live the sort of life we live without learning that you should never get too attached to something."

He opened his mouth to rasp out a response, but I waved him silent. "Sit down," I ordered. He did.

The satin sheets crumpled and the mattress caved in under his bulk as I pulled up a chair from the corner of the room, setting it down several feet in front of him before taking a seat. A deadly silence hung in the air for a brief moment before I continued. "I want to tell you a few things about what I've been up to these past few years."

I took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting my arms on my legs. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've had a dream. I didn't want to become this... monster that I am today, that I will forever be. I was always more interested in creating than destroying. I wanted to be an alchemaster, or an artificer. I wanted to travel to Alerar and learn from the masters, not spend my life slinking in the shadows of Corone.

"In my apartment above the bookstore, I was slowly but surely working towards my childhood dreams. I had countless rare volumes and one-of-a-kind books on the sciences that I spent the-Thayne-only-know how much time studying. I had stacks and stacks of notebooks filled to the brim with my own notes and experiments--none of which survived that fire." I looked Nicholas in the eyes and held his gaze. "Silly penny romances and pulp fictions weren't the only thing that went up in flames that night. My dreams--my future."

Another moment passed without either of us speaking. Eventually, Nicholas Berman cleared his throat. "I had no idea what would happen when your family--"

I sprung forward from my chair, whipping my right hand in front of his face and unleashing a cloud of violet powder. The fool rat breathed it in before coughing hysterically, but by then it was too late.

"A little something I cooked up in the lab this morning. It's a paralytic of sorts; your muscles will seize up, and you'll be unable to move. You will barely be able to breath, let alone speak. Or scream, in your immediate case. But, you will still be able to feel everything." I loomed in front of Nicholas as he lost control of his body. He fell backwards onto the bed, gasping desperately for air. His blue eyes were wide and frantic. His jaw shook, attempting to protest. A glint of moonlight shone off the butterfly knife in my left hand.

"One cut for each book lost; one stab for each night wasted." I fell upon him, my knife plunging deep into his flesh.


* * *

Minutes later, I was out of the guest room window, finding myself in the duke's garden. I had shut the window behind me, dumping into some nearby shrubs a bloodied shirt I used as a makeshift pair of gloves (to eliminate evidence of my escape). The air was crisp and cold, and the moon reflected dully off the white fabric of my dress.

I felt nothing at that moment. I knew perfectly well that killing Nicholas wouldn't bring back my books and research. But even as I repeatedly and violently hacked away at him in the bedroom, I could feel myself reverting to the terrible thing that I used to be years ago; that horrible monster that killed men for a few gold coins, because that's all she knew. And it scared me.

My hands were sticky with the con man's blood--I had to find water with which to wash, and quick, before anyone happened to find his body in that bedroom behind me. I spotted a reflecting pool nearby. I silently walked over to it, bending over to wash my hands clean.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

Duke-

Quietly, exits and escape routes were blocked by burly guards in full suits of armour. The immediate danger zone was cased completely to ensure that nobody could get in and nobody could get out. Only those who were safe were the ones who stepped outside of the fort before Duke Kretz gave his order. The Duke moved through the crowd, angry at the possibility that The Syndicate could be in his very house. His eyes narrowed as he approached the Elf, himself. The Elf had a very distinct appearance that would be recognized as long as the information was there. He's a bounty hunter, Thaynes damned bastards. Kretz wondered why a Syndicate member would step in to help a Fallien warrior out. According to the story, he saved that bastard old man without knowing what he was involving himself in. The Duke's lip, the corners, trembled ever so subtly. He defeated some of my men who were sent to capture that man, of clan Terrentius. The leaders of The Syndicate.

The Duke could feel his anger swelling in his gut.

I haven't been this pissed off in a while. I have to maintain control... The Duke approached the scene of the fight. He forced a smile and looked at Elthas directly.

"Of Clan Belthasar, cease your fight and stand down." The Duke knew that Ruildians tended be an honourable lot. I hope he stands down, I would hate to have to permanently damage him. The two gentleman, Franz and Gunther suddenly paused as The Duke approached them. Hank stopped as well. The only one who did not lower his weapons was Elthas.

"Lord Kretz!" Gunther suddenly said. He bowed and took several steps back as he looked at Hank one last time. "This isn't over, sand-lover." Andrew followed Gunther and the two lads melted back into the crowd.

Duke Kretz looked at Elthas. "Sir Hank, stand down." The Duke asked of Hank. Reluctant, Hank did lower his weapon and sheathed it, knowing who was boss there.

"Sera, I thank you for your assistance." Hank said to The Elf, and bowed. Then he moved away from the Duke.

"You." The Duke's eyes finally settled on Elthas. There was a hatred in The Duke that swelled so suddenly, he was almost overwhelmed. "You are of The Syndicate, are you not?" The Duke asked.

"I am." The Duke heard The Bounty Hunter respond.

"Why are you here?" Instinctively, The Duke's hands clenched around the hilt of his magnificent dehlar longsword.

There was a pause between the two men. The Duke did not like the expression that suddenly crossed The Bounty Hunter's face.

"To be perfectly honest...." The Duke heard the Elf say. "I am actually here for you. Had a plan to, but had to save this guy from those morons." The Duke saw that The Bounty Hunter motioned towards the delinquents, Gunther and Franz. Duke Kretz knew what was gonna happen next. It was how The Syndicate's agents operated. This fucker is gonna give ME a damned ultimatum... By then, all eyes were on Elthas and The Duke. "Duke Sheldon Kretz." Here it fucking comes. "By Syndicate law, you owe a debt. A debt that must be paid. I am here to take you in so that your debt is paid. Will you come quietly, or do you want there to be trouble?"

"The Empire is no more." Kretz suddenly said. "Why would you come after someone who won a war?"

"You don't get this do you?" Kretz heard anger in Elthas's voice for the first time. "My Guild was manipulating The Empire from behind the scenes. How easily it was to take over Radasanth and end democracy. Yes, those idiots in charged of The Empire fell to The Rangers. Yes the war is over on the surface. But no, you do not get to escape a debt that you owe The Syndicate."

"So I suppose I can't buy your blade then?" Kretz asked out of desperation.

"This isn't about money, or relics or power. This is about fear. The shadows are stirring once again, and The Syndicate has risen to power once again. Even now members of our Order are being placed in high positions of power. If you get me, it won't matter. Someone will get you." Kretz was taken aback by that statement.

"I won't let you leave my house alive." Kretz suddenly said. "If you've come for me, let's see you try and get me...."

***
(BABE note: I am trusting you to bunny The Captain at will. Just consider that he is pretty strong and you can do what you wish with him, just don't kill him outright I have an event planned)

BABE-

Nicholas was dispatched in what should have been absolute silence. However, one of The Duke's men took an interest in Madison's actions. After discovering the body he took it upon himself to pursue the seemingly frail assassin.

"You always were a bastard." The guard said as he looked at Nicholas's cut up body. Blood was everywhere and it didn't take a genius to figure out that Nicholas had wronged the girl in some way. Damn shady types. The lone guard was actually a man named Captain Aldor Frank. The Captain took an inhale of the room and noticed a stark chemical smell was present. "She is good." Aldor said out loud. Two of his men not stationed by The Duke approached The Captain.

"What the fuck is this!?" One of the younger soldiers asked.

"His name is Nicholas Berman." The Captain said. "Sorry excuse for a human being. But The Duke kept him around cause he had connections in shady places." The two other guards nodded.

"Do you know who did this?" The senior of the two asked.

"That girl from the orphanage. I saw her leave with him earlier." Damn I should have stopped this. The Captain thought to himself as he finally identified the chemical he smelled. "Do not approach Lady Rakov." The Captain said. "She is considered a hostile, and is extremely dangerous." The Captain knew assassin types by how they worked. They were methodical and dangerous.

"What would you have us do?" The senior of the pair of guards asked.

"Report to Councilor Eryck. The Duke is busy handling that Syndicate guy." The Captain sighed. I knew this fucking party was a bad idea. I'd better go take care of Lady Rakov myself. The Captain dismissed his two compatriots an went to go deal with a major problem. A problem named Madison Freebird, he did not know Lady Rakov's true identity. He only knew that she was an Assassin. She's a fucking dangerous one at that. It took a bit of time, but he finally realized the location of The Lady. He had to ask a few of the fort's servants for information on Lady Rakov's last known location. Once he found the girl in the garden, he walked up to her quietly, but kept a few paces away, drawing his sword.

"Lady Rakov." The Captain said out loud. "I am Captain of The Guards." Aldor said. "I know it was you who killed Nicholas Berman. Scumbag as he was, I cannot allow these sorts of incidents in The Duke's fort. I order you to come with me. Please. Do not make this turn ugly."

***

Itera-

The gardens outside were not as heavily guarded as the indoor portion of the fort. A few gardeners were busy tending to the various exotic plants, a few of them were watering plants. Some were tending to the plants in other means. Fixing the rich soil of each potted plant, and other such activities. There were large oak trees visible in the garden situated in neat rows. The pots that contained the plants were marble and decorated with the symbols of The Duke. Hanging from either entrance to the garden, four in all, were the banners of Radsaanth. Not the Empire's logo, but Radasanth the free. The banners were elegant and adourned with the colours of Radasanth. Many birds freely partook of the garden area. It was quite beautiful to behold with several species of flowers, bushes, and shrubbery. The trees themselves, were imported from all over Corone. Even as far as Scara Brae and Akashima. From the Liviol Santum, there were several specimens of blue trees. These trees were worth quite a tidy sum of gold pieces.

Anne carefully stared at the strange formation of the guards before he left. He saw a few of them moving and that could only mean one thing: an operation was underway. He was happy to be outside as he stared at Itera for a long moment.

"Mistress, the events of the hour were likely quite exciting." Anne said. "So I trust that you have something of interest to show me in this place? Those Liviol Sanctum trees are quite a sight here. The Duke is a man of impeccable taste." Anne's sharp eyes noticed Lady Rakov from earlier. A time later, a Guard approached her, and he sighed. "These trees are far more interesting with your company." Anne said. As he looked away from Lady Rakov and back towards Itera. Where was his benefactor to take care of the vermin he needed taken care of? Anne knew Radasanth was once an efficient place, but The Civil War had changed all of that. His eyes observed as The Captain approached Lady Rakov. Should I assist? No. I better take my leave in case they figure out who I am. Anne thought to himself. He looked at Lady Itera. "My Lady. Perhaps we can find a quieter corner of this fort to hide in? Probably some secluded bedroom to hide for a while in?"

***

Elthas-

Elthas was deadly serious. Suddenly, several guards approached The Duke's position. They flanked him on every side and formed a formidable attack party. Elthas did not like his odds. Elthas also did not like the expression on The Duke's face. He is gonna make his move... Elthas thought to himself. I have to publicly capture him without killing him... Elthas readied his daggers and felt himself tighten his muscles. If he is going to attack, I have to prepare myself. He is very powerful. And quite skilled. I have to focus. Elthas looked at The Duke. His eyes seemed like they held infernos within them, as filled with anger as they were. The two men were both adequately pissed off considering the severity of the situation at hand. Then,when Elthas did not flinch, The Duke reacted. Elthas attempted to shimmy off to the side, in a dancing like movement but The Duke had terrible skill.

Moving his feet in a controlled fashion, Elthas danced towards the right side of The Duke.

However, The Duke did not draw a weapon. He was planning to out brawl The Elf, that was probably his biggest mistake.

Elthas saw the fist coming towards his face out the corner of his eyes.

He attempted to move, but somehow, his body could not react quickly enough. Elthas was caught off guard.

"You are mine!" Duke Kretz yelled and stiff punched Elthas right across the jaw. "Put those blades down and fight, like a man!" Elthas wondered why The Duke did not draw his weapon. He wondered many things as he fought, most of them probably hinted at one major factor: The Duke was afraid of him.

A solid welt developed across Elthas's face. He actually considered putting his blades down, but could not give up his advantage at that point. Instead, as The Duke was getting ready to strike again, Elthas saw the reaction sequence that time. Elthas's brilliant mind was his deadliest weapon and he could adapt to situations on the fly. When The Duke was about to land another powerful strike, Elthas reacted. He danced around the fist at best speed, and stabbed downward towards the center of The Duke's arm. Please connect... Elthas thought to himself and his dagger, did actually connect. Elthas stabbed The Duke right in the middle portion of his offending arm. The Duke cried out in pain, and blood began to spill. Elthas, moved in a jerking movement and pulled the dagger clear of The Duke's arm and thus, taking it out of commission. He saw something in The Duke's eyes at that moment: panic. This isn't really his fault. I just got orders to fulfill as long as I am an Agent of The Terrentius household.

"You bastard!" The paranoid Duke called out. "I won't let you take me!" The Duke suddenly prepared to retreat, and gave a silent order with his hands so that his men could accost Elthas. Elthas, saw the hand sign and moved just a little quicker than The Duke.

Elven grace was far superior than Human grace. Seeing his window of opportunity, Elthas attempted to grab at The Duke with his daggers, stabbing either shoulder with one of his daggers, and pulling him back with his gained momentum. The Duke's men could not react quickly enough from the sudden burst of speed that Elthas displayed.

"You are not going anywhere. If any one of you bastards move, he dies. Do you hear me?" Elthas was addressing the guards. Right when it seemed like Elthas would achieve victory...

KA-BOOM!!! An medium sized explosion rocked the front portion of the fort. But Elthas, never released his grip of The Duke. There was smoke and debris everywhere, even as a small squad of men and women from an unidentified guild rushed into the fort. It was chaos, the unknown assailants struck at anybody who was moving, but strangely enough...left Elthas and The Duke to their own devices. Elthas took the explosion as a Thayne-send and proceeded to remove his daggers from The Duke. Rotating, them, he sheathed them, and even as The Duke attempted to recover the battle, Elthas sent a powerful kick towards The Duke's head. It was a fitting end to one of The Corone Rangers greatest heroes. Duke Sheldon Kretz. Elthas, proceeded to bind The Duke in the magical rope he could conjure knowing full well that The Duke was his. The enemy soldiers...on the other hand...

One walked up to Elthas.

"Ruildian." He said in a gruff voice, looking at The Elf. "You have achieved your contract." The man produced a fat pouch, likely filled with gold pieces. "You have captured The Duke, exactly as our superiors have ordered." The fully covered man, tossed the reward pouch towards Elthas. Elthas grabbed it. And pocketed it.

"Tell your boss. Xem'Zund. That The Syndicate is always open for business." Elthas handed The Duke to Xem'Zund's men.

"How did you know?" The shady agent asked. As people were being hacked to bits all around them.

Elthas tapped his head. "One does not reveal one's secrets. Now then, have your fun. The bastard is yours. I am going to take my leave and Report to The Terrentius household."

"Elthas." The Shadowy agent said. "You are quite skilled. I look forward to working with you again."

Elthas knew exactly what had happened.

After having ravaged Raiaera, Xem'Zund had returned to lay waste to Corone. In a way, a new war had started. Elthas was glad to be on the side of the victors. He felt bad for selling Hank and everybody else of the party out, but he was a Professional. A Professional never grew attached, and always cut loose end. He took a look at the unfolding scene of chaos. Chained blades flew everywhere, and elegant weapons cut party goers down. The agents of Xem'Zund kept swarming into the fort by the hundreds. They moved in small groups, and systematically began to cut down everybody in attendance of the party. Not a single one ever touched Elthas. He was the only truly safe visitor to the fort that day. Cries of the dying and the suffering filled the air, for miles as Elthas soon mounted his horse, and left. Elthas did not even feel pity for the loss of life at that point. A growing darkness was prevalent in his heart.

He knew suddenly and at that moment that Xem'Zund was now a dominant control factor for The Syndicate. This is not the first time I will work for him. Elthas thought to himself as he traveled via horse back to The Terrentius Estate. And back to the only person he gave a damn about, Hylda Terrentius. He knew as long as Hylda governed The Syndicate they would always be in charged of Elthas's destiny.

Far away from the fort, he had earned a pretty gold piece for capturing The Duke in his own fort. In front of many party goers.

I did not count on my Contractor to interfere. Xem'Zund. You rat bastard. I owe you one... And that, was the story of his big fat kill.

[Itera]

Itera smiled and pointed with her fan.

One corner of the gardens had become entirely unlike the rest of it. Had the fortress gardener not been part of the rapid renovations, he might have lodged a strong protest with a sharpened trowel. As it is, an unreal, riotous explosion of colors off in one corner announced to all onlookers just where a particular flower fairy was.

Buds and flowers in every conceivable and some inconceivable colors and patterns vied for dominance in the floral sea around Isylle. There were young trees ten feet high and yet still shedding the soil from new leaves after having erupted from the ground. A mixed perfume thick enough to swim in wafted along on the slight breezes.

Scattered around Isylle were several gardeners, botanists, horticulturists, and foresters, all listening raptly to her (admittedly sometimes nonsensical) discourse on the topic of inherent pesticidal action.

"There is your forester." Itera pointed vaguely, having not the slightest idea which one the person in question was or whether the person was even there. It seemed like a good bet, at the time.

"My many thanks. Which one?" Anne hadn't any idea, either.

There was a pause while Itera tried to figure out something to cover her lies. She was just about to pick one at random when something exploded.

Many heads turned in unison towards the direction of the noise and several seconds were spent, as the noise of the blast echoed off of the hills, for alcohol-sprinkled brains to figure out what to do. Then very nearly everyone ran off towards the front of the fort. Perhaps some wanted to render assistance. Perhaps some wanted to gawk at the scene. Whatever the reason, quite quickly Itera, Anne, and Isylle were left standing alone in the gardens, staring at the faint orange glow reflected from walls within. Itera and Isylle had stayed because they had little interest in the minor affairs of mortals. Anne stayed because Itera was still firmly latched onto his arm.

"That one." Itera indicatd Isylle with finality. Isylle turned her red-and-green eyes towards Itera, looked pointedly at the pointing fan, and slightly raised an eyebrow. Itera hurriedly pulled back and directed her fan at an uninteresting bit of ground.

"You're sure?"

"Oh, certainly. She's the best forester that you'll ever meet. Hello, Master of the Four Seasons! I'd like to make an introduction!"

Isylle weaved effortlessly through a tangle of creeper and glided up the garden paths, her softly smiling face now directed towards Anne. Anne had the strange experience of being simultaneously reassured by a sense of maternal warmth and terrified by a sense of primal doom. In the time for Isylle to glide the last few steps into conversation range, Anne had noted her entirely umblemished hands and perfect skin as that of someone who has never worked a day in the field in her life.

Yet, she appeared to have been responsible for the chromatic overgrown behind her.

"Good evening. I am Isylle, Master of the Four Seasons, Gardener of the Palace. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Good evening. My name is Anne Winton, Knight Bachelor of the Order of Montmartre, Baronet Crystal Pine. Enchantée."

The yelling started.

Anne's head swiveled towards the noise, straining to make out the details. The two fairies paid it no heed, instead locking gazes with each other. Their smiles hardened into predatory things without having changed shape. By the time Anne looked back, the silent conversation was over.

"Apologies, I was distracted. Which palace did you say you worked for, Mistress Isylle?"

Isylle smiled patiently, like someone about to explain the obvious to a child, "I tend to the gardens at the Palace of the Monarch."

A fixed, confused smile replaced the worried one on Sir Winton's face, "I'm sorry. Which Monarch?"

"The Monarch of wh-"

Itera cut in smoothly, "A foreign land so far away that you've never head of it. However, I believe that she will have some valuable insight regarding your bug problem."

"A wilt problem, actually. Please, Mistress Isylle, are you familiar with the crystal pine?"

Isylle was suddenly two steps closer and staring intently into Anne's eyes. "I'm afraid that I haven't had the pleasure. Please tell."

Anne looked disappointed. How could someone who had no idea what tree he was talking about help with a delicate disease problem? Perhaps he could still salvage something out of this. It would be unsightly to turn and leave now to try to find the other foresters; for one, he'd have to push his way past Itera, who was bodily blocking the way back. She had sidled into place as innocently as a cat pushing the cage door shut after the bird was out.

"It's a variety that I am led to believe that there are only a few groves remaining in the world, my baronetcy being the home of one of the larger ones. Attempts to cultivate the seedlings outside of their groves have been ... unsuccessful. I do have visitors around the year to admire them; the needles grow a hard, clear shell and tinkle delightfully in the wind."

Isylle was, to Itera's perception, as close as salivating as she would allow herself to become. That smile of hers had become like that of when she met the fairy of bees. There were many rumors of what those two did together in Isylle's house.

"In the past few years, there's this... rot. It grows on the needles and makes them turn a brown-red, then black. It starts at the twig and eventually, the tree becomes a rusted hulk of its former self. I was hoping to meet a forester who could help preserve my groves."

The screaming started.

Anne's head swiveled towards the noise, deep concern marring his handsome features. The two fairies again paid it no heed and again locked gazes. There was a palpable spark in the air as their intentions were slammed into each other like invisible sledgehammers. By the time Anne looked back, the battle of wills was over.

"I'm afraid that I hear people screaming."

"I hear only the mewlings of animals; pay them no heed." Isylle boldly slipped her free arm through Anne's remaining arm and latched on. A firm tug later, she was surprised that Itera had not loosened her full-body grip around Anne's other arm.

"Itera~" Isylle singsonged, her fragrant breath warm on the confused Anne's ear, "What are you doing?"

Itera muttered something under her breath, her face buried into Anne's shoulder. Anne distinctly heard something about hair.

"What?"

The screaming increased as the second doors were breached. Itera leaned across Anne and whispered something into Isylle's ear. Again, Anne distinctly heard something about hair. The press of bodies was pleasant, but rather worrying given the circumstantial evidence that there was quite a lot of doom coming their way.

Isylle pressed her fingers to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at Itera, "He did?"

Itera nodded silently and reaffirmed her grip on Anne's arm. A terrible chilly idea flushed down Anne's spine.

Isylle was suddenly laughing merrily, "Others are still allowed to visit! Don't think that I'm just going to let you off of showing me those pines!"

"Lady Itera, what did I do?" Anne asked. He received no answer save that Itera's face flushed crimson again. Most of the blood drained from his face. This is because, at that moment, he saw the first of the attackers.

Thirty seconds later, a ghostly-faced Anne was marched bodily out of the gardens while sandwiched between the two fairies. His tongue and his brain had not yet caught up to the sudden violence that had just occured. Behind the trio, an extremely new bamboo grove swayed in the air, the lacerated and dismembered corpses of four assailants waved bloodily from the pointy tips. In front of the trio, partygoers were running for their lives.

"Itera?!" One young lady stopped, looking non the worse for wear despite the unpleasantness going on inside, "This is your fault somehow, isn't it?"

Itera blinked, "Hello Resolve~... I think that it is. My, my, my, how time passes."

There was a crashing noise inside the fort as someone assaulted a china cabinet. Resolve cut her reply short and ran off again.

Anne recovered at around the same time that the three of them arrived at the threshold of the gate, "No, wait! What's going on?"

"I believe some people are trying to kill everyone in the fort." Itera replied evenly, "Aren't you glad that we escaped?"

"But, what about... Yordt? Did Yordt make it?"

"I have no idea who you're blubbering about."

"Can we please go back and make sure? You... you're... awesome. Both of you."

"Hmm, I don't think so. He's probably dead already." Itera chimed in.

"I'll hate you forever if you don't." Anne made a desperate wager. If the only way to see to his friend's safety was to doom himself, well, there were worse dooms.

"No! But.... auuuugh!" The boundary fairy was suddenly on the verge of tears. She dithered for a moment, then spun around and marched back towards the now-burning fortress. She got about two steps before Anne's arm gave a sharp jerk and halted. Isylle was trying to go the other way.

"You go, Itera. I'll keep your... hehehe... nice and safe." It was a good thing that Anne couldn't see Isylle's grin.

"They're trampling the gardens and probably killing the gardeners, Isylle." Itera pointed out.

Anne found himself being bodily dragged back the other way.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

At the booming sound of the captain's voice, I merely smiled. I stood up, facing away from the duke's flunky, and stealthily drew out and unstopped another one of the poison-filled vials that I kept in the white purse.

I turned around, catching a glimpse of your average silver-for-a-dozen military man, his features and build heavily obscured by the uniform of his position. Moonlight glinted in the steel of his blade, which was pointed squarely at my throat, and justifiably so. However, I had one advantage here: The captain had referred to me as Rakov, instead of Freebird. Given the reclusive nature of the former, I had to deal with none of the baggage of the latter. I could go wild on this captain! Poison him, slice him up, and water the roses with his blood; and, should there be an odd witness or two somewhere, I wouldn't suffer any of the consequences. It would be all on the real Rakov's head. But, I decided that probably wouldn't be the best course of action--because of the sword pointed at me, naturally.

I drew a deep breath and chose my words wisely. "I think we're both in agreement, Captain, that Mr. Berman was a worthless scumbag. He is also a vile wretch, a stone-cold murderer in his own right, and had what was coming to him." The captain took a step towards me. I did not flinch.

"While I won't argue that point, ma'am, I am still beholden to the law. You have been caught red-handed with the murder of a man tonight. Surrender now and come with me; whether by your own will or by force is of no consequence to me."

I fiddled around with the open glass vial in my fingers. The captain's eye drifted downwards, and noticed that I wasn't entirely unarmed. My smile widened.

"We both know that any attempt you make to prevent me from getting away will not end well for you. You will survive, certainly, but I cannot guarantee that all of the effects will disappear. You see, this is a bad batch of poison I'm working with. Some of my measurements were off this morning."

The captain regarded my words for a few seconds. We stood in silence. I really had nothing to gain by dispatching the man; he was just doing his job, and I was certain that I could jump the hedges and lose him in the woods that surrounded the duke's manor without much trouble.

He tried once more to reason with me. "Ms. Rakov," he said, slowly. "I will not ask you again--"

KABOOM!

A terrible explosion ripped through the front side of the manor. The two of us in the garden turned to see what happened. A brilliant flash of light, the sudden bursting of flame, and a horrendous chorus of screams coming from inside suddenly meant that I was no longer a high priority for the captain.

He stalled briefly for a second. "Ms. Rakov--"

"Your duke is inside, isn't he? ...Shouldn't you go to his side?"

"But you'll escape--"

"Of course I will. But you stand to lose far more if Nicholas Berman isn't the only... important person to die tonight."

The captain looked at me, then back at the house, before wordlessly taking off to go help his master. The smile still planted firmly on my lips, I decided that I wasn't needed here any longer and made my exit through the woods behind Duke Kretz's manor.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

Party-

As the party came to a close with the symphony of blood curdling screams, there was one figure that oversaw the orgy of death and violence. A lieutenant of the great enemy of Althanas, this man was carefully surveying the scene of his subordinates. His cold eyes stared before him as the blades of Xem'Zund did the act of massacre, a morbid dance. This man, was a general of Xem'Zund. He observed The Duke Kretz, now in his custody. His employer was a remnant of the Corone Empire, and like all regimes, wanted power. Power beyond the mortal world. He knew the greed men knew, and he understood far too well. It was the reason that men like he could succeed in the world of men. He looked down at Duke Kretz, his blue eyes had a fury in them. It was almost a fury incarnate. He could see the suffering in Duke Kretz's eyes and it brought him a sense of euphoria.

This man, had a name that very few souls knew. He was an agent, a simple shadow that manipulated in the backgrounds. He was the blade of history, the sword that usurped power away from the kings and emperors. Those men who would take power away from The Thayne. His eyes narrowed, the armour he wore almost seemed to be alive. In many ways, it was. An entity that hailed from another world in it's own right. Haidia. The Endless. The Endless was a living symbiote that attached itself to it's host. It was a sentient race that actively sought out hosts of the various races of Althanas. The Endless, once bonded, would never part from it's host even after death.

The man was tall, standing at about seven feet in height and having a particularly impressive musculature. His eyes remained fixed on the target of the hour. The target that had eluded his grasp for so long. As he stared at Duke Kretz, he remained silent. The people under Kretz's command were bloodied, raped, and dying. Souls were harvested and the flesh was eaten. All in front of The Duke. The man who wore The Endless armour knew that he had completely defeated The Duke after such a long history with him. Screams filled his ears, and he could see the souls of the suffering as they were stolen from their physical shells. The man had a smirk on his face, cold and frightening.

"Why are you doing this, who are you?" Duke Kretz asked. "Please, you already have me, make them stop!"

"I am afraid that you are to be an example." The man said. "I have long waited for this day and have slept for ages planning this moment out. The fact that you owed a debt to The Syndicate is not the reason you are to be condemned."

"What do you want? Revenge? Is this about petty revenge?!" Duke Kretz asked.

"This is not revenge. My Master has lost the desire for that long ago." The man tapped his chin for a moment, the armour he wore seemed to move with of it's own volition. "I suppose I can tell you what this is all about. I owe you that much, don't I? Considering where you are about to go."

When it seemed like the strange man would reveal his plan, there was a sudden commotion.

"You!?" Kretz heard a familiar voice call out.

"No, stay back!" Kretz called out to his friend, The Captain of the guards.

"I am so glad you remember me." The strange man said, turning towards the would be hero. "I am here on behalf of my Master, Xem'Zund, to put an end to this."

"I won't let you cause anymore lives! You're just a bad memory!"

"Perhaps." The man said as he looked at captain and duke. "But I am also here for something else. It will make an interesting specimen to my collection."

"What do you want now, you monster!?" Kretz called out to the man.

Then, the man reached towards Kretz and removed the Kretz heirloom amulet from around Kretz's neck.

"That is why I am here." The man said.

"You fool, you don't know what the amulet does!" Kretz pleaded. "You're a madman!"

"You will remember my name. It is the day that High Priest Dejeron has waited for." Dejeron said. The old scientist. A madman, who was once connected to the legendary Hero, Neosaim Hyakureiki. Dejeron was now in the service of Xem'Zund. "This belongs to me now." Dejeron grasped the amulet in his hand, and place it around his own neck. Dejeron motioned for two nearby agents. "Take them." He commanded. And as he ordered, the guards took the duke and the captain with very little resistance.

***

Riding hard, Elthas knew where he had to go. He wouldn't go directly to The Terrentius estate. He had to make a detour on the way and address the issue he knew had to be addressed. Thinking back to the sordid event, he had seen the man in charged of Xem'Zund's military somewhere before. The man was a scientist by the name of Dejeron. If the enemy has employed such men to his service, I can only imagine what the plan is. I must speak to him myself before I continue my services to The Syndicate. I owe him nothing... Or so, Elthas thought. As he maneuvered his horse through the fields of Corone, he made it exactly where Seth Terrentius, leader of the Syndicate had told him to go. Where he would meet up with his contractor. As expected, he found a large group of tents set up with a banner of Xem'Zund.

They are mocking Radasanth. Elthas thought to himself as he dismounted his horse, approaching the outer rim of the tents. A guard approached him.


"You are the bounty hunter responsible for Kretz's capture are you not?" The man asked.

Elthas nodded. "I am."

"Do you want further employ?"

"I wish to speak to him." Elthas said carefully, remembering his place in the world.

"You see an audience with The Master?" The man asked incredulously.

"I am not asking, I am ordering. I captured that idiot, you owe me that much." Elthas said. Elthas was losing his temper, and he did not want to have to slit the man's throat.

After a moment of hesitation, the man nodded. "Very well. Come right this way."

***

Standing before the enemy of Althanas made Elthas feel terribly small. However, he never flinched. Not once. Despite the awesome power he knew that Xem'Zund possessed. Xem was locked in a state between living and un-living, trapped in spirit form. He had a grey mist constantly surrounding him, which reminded Elthas of the stories of The Antifirmanent. Elthas folded his arms across his chest as he addressed Xem'Zund. His highest ranking servants surrounded the core of the army of darkness. Elthas looked at Xem'Zund dead in the eyes. He knew what that would mean, Xem'Zund could read men's souls and manipulate them with ease. Xem'Zund was regaining power after his defeat in Raiaera at the hands of the races of men. Elthas and Xem'Zund simply stared at each other for about five minutes straight. Xem'Zund sat on a black throne, fitting of his black heart.

"Do you seek to join my army?" Xem'Zund broke the silence first.

"No." Elthas said. "I have come for an entirely different purpose."

"What do you seek?" Xem'Zund spoke.

"If you can help me out with this matter, I shall assist you in future endeavors." Elthas removed the puzzle box in his packs, and showed it to Xem'Zund. "Help me unlock it's secrets. I know you know what this is." Elthas said.

For a moment, Elthas saw something like fear in Xem'Zund's eyes... "That cube is a simulacram." Xem'Zund said. "It is a relic from before The War of The Tap, you possess a great deal of power within that thing." Xem'Zund tapped his chin. "Yes. It will be most interesting to uncover what secrets we can from it. What do you want in exchange for us uncovering these secrets for you?" Xem'Zund asked.

"I...all I want is protection. My cohorts and my superiors are in The Syndicate. We sided with The Empire, perhaps wrongly so, during the Civil War. Now we are trying to pick up the pieces. If you grant us amnesty in the shadow war to come, I shall bring you more relics to decipher." Elthas was bluffing, but he figured it wouldn't matter at that point.

"You are skilled, Elthas Belthasar." Xem'Zund said. "I shall require some time to think on this matter. In the meantime, you can come and go here with some degree of freedom. As long as you obey my law, you are a welcome guest. Elthas." Xem'Zund sat in a more relaxed position at that point. His eyes still locked on Elthas, even as they constantly swirled with power.

Elthas walked up to Xem'Zund and handed over The Mute Stone. "How long should it take?" Elthas asked. Feeling the powerful energy flowing from Xem'Zund made Elthas feel only slightly nervous at that close range. The thought that he should attempt at Xem'Zund crossed his mind, but he quickly let that thought go. He remained close to Xem'Zund for a few moments longer after handing over The Mute Stone.

"I shall have my top researchers deciphering it secrets." Xem'Zund said. "Give me a month. And you shall have the power you crave."

"A month." Elthas agreed. "Very well. If you need an extra blade in your employ, count me in. So long as there is pay, I shall assist you in your endeavors." Elthas said.

"Elthas." Xem'Zund said carefully. "I look forward to watching you grow in skill as a Bounty Hunter."

Elthas tipped his hat to Xem'Zund and left...

...It was the dawn of a new beginning. For them all.

FIN.

[Revenant]

Plot: 13

Storytelling (4) – Though there was a general plot for the thread, the three of you never pulled the thread together into a single cohesive story. Every time there was the potential to get your characters together you split off again to pursue a different direction and the thread suffered for it. While the thread’s beginning was perfect for the differing entrances, you should have the characters come together for a single purpose.

Setting (5) – You had the beginnings of a beautiful setting in the Duke’s palace but things stalled after the first few posts. The NPCs were the most engaging portion of the ball, but because of this the rest of the setting sort of faded into the background.

Pacing (4) – Part of the difficulty for this thread was how quickly things progressed. While the story had a decently drawn out intro, things finished up within the span of one round of posting which was entirely too quick a way to finish the story up. You all had a good pace going and then decided to rush the ending, which was a thumbs down for the overall thread.

Character: 13

Communication (5) – Itera and BlackandBlueEyes, your dialogue was colorful and engaging. The pacing of your conversations kept your posts interesting and helped to draw the reader into what your characters were doing. Elthas, while your dialogue wasn’t bad it was very blunt and felt rushed to get the information out that you wanted to convey. Work on drawing out the discourse between characters and it will make the communication between them feel more natural.

Action (4) – The action here was jumpy, cutting from drawn out challenges and sword fights to the sudden appearance of an evil god’s forces. The method of execution, as with most of the rest of the thread, seemed to be to hurried. As with the communication section, Itera and BlackandBlueEyes both seemed to be doing well with taking your time to pace out your character’s actions in a way which built up who they were. One downside here was Itera’s inclusion of other PCs in a random way which detracted from the focus on Itera as the focal character. Elthas, I got little real feel for your character other than that he was an extremely proficient bounty hunter. The way a character does something is just as defining as what they do.

Persona (4) – Here again both Itera and BlackandBlueEyes did a good job of distinguishing their characters through theit internal monologue, emotions, and thoughts. Each felt unique and both held important interest within the story. The specialness of Itera’s character was once again muted by the inclusion of other fairy characters, as they all blended together in the same way. Elthas, your character did little to stand out as a unique individual, blending in with any other number of emotionless badasses who have no faults, doubts, or other humanizing characteristics.

Prose: 19

Mechanics (7) – Nothing immediately jumped out as incorrect as I read the thread, and I only found a few errors in total.

Clarity (7) – There were no real issues in this area, though things at the end of the thread got a bit muddled with the way that it finished so quickly.

Technique (5) – This thread’s ending wasn’t terribly unique and was somewhat blasé. What little mounting tension was built up in the thread in each of the character’s various storylines were dispersed quickly, which was a bit of a letdown. The duel over Itera’s dancing rights happened purely offscreen with no effect other than to simply end when it was convenient for Elthas to move his story along.

Wildcard: 3

TOTAL: 48

Elthas_Belthasar gains 300 exp and 50 gp.
BlackandBlueEyes gains 336 exp and 50 gp.
Itera gains 264 exp and 50 gp.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.