Kingmaker Saga: Machinations

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Closed to Aurelianus Drak'shal and Christoph.

I opened my eyes as the soft rustling of footsteps drew closer. I heard the shifting of vines and rot underneath her muted robes as she knelt down next to me. With glowing amber eyes behind a mythril mask, I could feel her inquisitive gaze as she looked over me while I sat there on the cold stone floor of the manor. She took in in each clumped strand of raven-black hair and knot and twist in my briar-sewn arms with mild, child-like interest.

Her voice was tinny, the sharp stilettos of her teeth clicking together when she spoke. "Have you been napping here in the sanctum?"

"No, Hype," I lied through pursed lips, "I wasn't napping. I was meditating."

I turned to face my abomination of an assistant, Hyperion. The flickering light of the candles that circled the room glinted off the silvery metal of her face mask, which was one solid, shaped piece of metal that always reminded me of a funeral mask made for a beautiful woman. Her thin body had been clothed in form-fitting black and blue traveler's robes from Fallien, with a blue hood pulled over her head that had an elaborate pattern embroidered into it with golden thread. The sleeves of her robes, which reached down to her clawed hands, were loose and hung in the air like small tapestries. She was the result of my experiments that searched for a way to engineer life from plant and rot. A parasitic life-form, a mutated amalgamation of vines and muscle and bone that fed on a corpse and took on its physical and spiritual properties.

Hyperion was both fiercely intelligent and loyal to me; but she also had a sort of inquisitive, child-like nature as well that caused her to ask the silliest questions at times and miss the subtleties of sarcasm and metaphor.

"Are you sure? I could hear you snoring from the doorway," she said.

...She's also a bit sassy, but I'm working on fixing that.

Hyperion rose to her full height and offered me her hand. I took it, and she helped me up from my seat on the floor. I dusted off the backside of my pants and took a look around me. The main chamber of the manor deep within the wilds of Salvar were not in as much of a ruinous state as the rest of the place. Months or maybe even a year ago, there was a clash between an Empowered Priest from the Church of the Ethereal Sway and an incredibly powerful pyromancer that I met a while back. This site had been a spot of sort where an excess of magical power had build up over time--I was a little fuzzy on the details, and I had only scraps of concrete information; but I felt that it was my duty to perform some very specific experiments here.

Those very same experiments were themselves growing within a circle in the center of the room. Inside a softly glowing circle of blue light sat between a dozen and fifteen corpses of various animals one could find in the surrounding wilds. Despite being dead for roughly four days now, there was very little evidence of decomposition. Natural processes had been subverted by a combination of the magic drawn from the site by the circle and the numerous twisting, towering stalks of oily-blue fungus that grew and drew sustenance from them.

Nemo's Marionette cordyceps, to be sure, but slightly altered in its creation and effects. You see, I had this theory... The spores that I'm able to naturally produce from being a Briarheart are only able to affect lifeforms in certain states, depending on their unique biology--if it were animals or simpler man-like things such as ogres or goblins, I could successfully infect them whether they were living or long gone. However, when it came to humans, elves, orcs, and other comparable races... That was a whole different matter.

But, this is why we experiment.

I had this hunch was that by tapping into the wellspring of magical energy concentrated within this decrepit manor, I could amplify the effectiveness of the fungal spores. With these magic-infused samples, there was a far better chance that I could successfully infect greater life forms with far more advance biological systems. I was able to test out a small sample already with a quick jaunt to The Citadel in Radasanth, but... Well, let's just say that this is why we experiment even further.

My eyes drifted towards the corner of the chamber, where a massive, one-ton bear with thick copper fur and a braided collar of cordyceps stalks laid dormant, his jaws resting on his paws as he slept. For all of the horrible deaths he caused up in the Skavian wilds when he was alive, Boris did look quite peaceful whenever he was sleeping. I leaned over and picked up the open Archivist's Notebook and the bone pen that were sitting on the cold stone floor next to where I stood. The lines of hastily-scrawled thoughts and observations faded into nothingness as I closed the thing.

Hyperion turned her head to face the pile of dead things in the middle of the room. "Have you made any progress here?"

I shook my head and eyeballed my little garden of death. "Not since I returned from my field tests in Corone, sadly. The orc that I used as my test subject was highly resistant to the infused strain, which doesn't help me at all. If we weren't on a sort of deadline, I could probably work out all the angles as to why, but..." I bit my lower lip, running some calculations in my head. "I was hoping that I could've figured this all out by the time he gets here, that way I wouldn't need to ask him for too many favors before we got underway. I hate being in debt to others that much should things fall through, y'know?"

The horror nodded softly. "I believe that once he learns the full breadth of your plans, he will consider opening up the energies here less of a favor and more of a necessary action."

For someone who consumed a host body and mind as innocent as the one that gave her life, Hype certainly had a cold logical sense about her. Perhaps she had been hanging around me for too long, and I was starting to rub off on her.

I tucked the notebook underneath my left arm and turned to leave the room, with Hyperion two steps behind me. "Where are the others?"

"Diggs and Hedge are in the kitchen, either preparing dinner or playing cards. Probably the latter."

"Figures. You wouldn't happen to know the time, would you?"

There was a short pause as she did some mental math. "Two hours before sundown, I do believe."

A thin smile crossed my lips. "Good, Aurelianus should be arriving shortly, then."

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The night was bitterly cold.

As Aurelianus trudged through the shin deep snow drifts, he lamented the fact in salvar it was always bloody cold - exactly as he had a thousand times before. The wind was screaming down from the snow-capped hills to the North-West, shrieking between the boughs of evergreens, bringing with it flurries of sharp white flakes. He grumbled under his breath, marching through the quickly darkening landscape. His breath misted in front of his snake-like eyes, each ephemeral cloud laced with profanity and irritation. A black-gloved hand came up, trying in vain to ward off the stinging gales as Aurelianus reflected on his poor decisions. As 'The Right Hand' of the Order, the half-demon could have simply commanded one of the Crimson Hands to transport him to his destination in a carriage, comfortable and warm; he could have got in touch with Agnie Lars, the fairy princess of Radasanth, to teleport him there in an instant; he could have had some of his favourite cutters from back at the House of Sin with him to at least provide some company, and distractions of the flesh. But no. Here he was, wading through a thick blanket of white on his lonesome.

The business he was conducting tonight was, as far as he was concerned, a private affair. He couldn't risk letting anyone in on where he was going or who he was meeting. The wheels he had set in motion with the Freebird were at a vulnerable stage, still practically in utero, and he would be damned if he was going to let any berk derail his machinations.

The thought of what they were starting tonight sent his pulse racing, and the tiefling picked up the pace. Raising the wide brim of his capotain, he could see the manor up ahead on a rise, some of it fallen into minor disrepair. There were lights on within, a few of the curtains flickering with a lambent orange glow. The sun had finally set not half-an-hour ago, making the castle-manor look almost ethereal against the stark white backdrop and inky sky. Dragging heavy hob-nailed boots through the drifts, Aurelius was inured to the beauty of the scene, his mind elsewhere. The half-demon's coat was buckled tight against the cutting wind, but he still shivered underneath - his leathers, while as comfortable to the warlock as a second skin, were not exactly insulated for this kind of weather. Finally, with another string of curses spat out in the guttural tongue of the Nine Hells, Aurelianus reached the sagging gates leading inside the castle walls.

He paused to catch his breath. But even as the icy air crawled into his lungs, he was doubled up with a violent coughing fit. His chest spasmed and his muscles clamped like quivering lumps of hot iron wrapped around molten bones. It felt like fire was running through his veins and his head roared with throbbing agony. Aurelianus' vision dimmed, flickering tendrils of black closing in to leave him blind. Something wet dripped from his nose, and the tiefling angrily swiped it away with the coat of his sleeve. A sudden sense of vertigo and his left side went numb with cold.

Minutes passed, and finally the tiefling was back to himself. He touched his lips and his nose, grimacing as they came away sticky with his black blood.

Swaysong.

A substance so powerful it could turn an innocent child into a ravening monster; it could take a man and burn away all imperfections, all limitations, leaving a walking god. And, as the malcontent had discovered during his breaking of Shrikehold, could kill you in a slow, lingering fashion. If it wasn't for his incomparable willpower, his ingestion of the liquid would have consumed him already. But lucky me, I get to drag it out pikin' longer, he thought bitterly. The fits were coming more frequently now, the effects lasting that little bit longer. It was maybe because the substance he had managed to procure was tainted to begin with; cheated of the pure stuff, Aurelius had had to resort to siphoning what he could from a victim of Swaysong's effects. Hells, for all he knew the Swaysong had been tainted on contact with him, warped by whatever vileness lurked inside his black heart. Whatever the reason, it didn't really matter a damn. Only his titanic tenacity was holding back the creeping, warping nightmare contained within his flesh.

It wasn't likely he'd see out the year.

That was why what he was here to do tonight was so important. His time was running short, and he still had so much to do. So many more plans to see to fruition. So many more sods to pen in the dead-book.

Something nudged against his alabaster cheek as his vision cleared, and Aurelius smiled softly at Junior. The movement caused his temples to throb viciously. The tiny familiar was perched on his shoulder, lapping at the blood he had smeared across his cheek. Ruffling sable pinions, the foetus-creature hissed at its master, somehow conveying concern on its abominable little face. The half-breed ran a finger across its soft head, murmuring reassurances to his familiar.

"Don't fret, wee man. I'll be right as rain," he lied.

He hadn't noticed when exactly he wound up lying on the ground, but he dragged his knife-bedecked frame back to standing, brushing the clinging powdery snow from his coat. The red-leather hat sat on a blood-flecked patch of snow nearby, and Aurelianus shook it off before setting it back on his horned brow. Covering his mouth as a final, small coughing fit wracked him, Aurelianus was not surprised when his hand came away bloody. Wiping his stained palm on his coat he stalked through the gate, now more in need of a warm fire, a warmer drink, and - if he played his cards right - the warm, wet embrace of one Madison Freebird.

Chance would be a fine thing, he smirked, forked tongue lashing over his razor-teeth.

Junior clinged to the spikes emerging through Aurelius' coat, its scalpel-bladed talons scraping the battered duster. It could sense a familiar presence within the building, and it perked up, squeaking and squirming. Junior liked the flesh-thing that spent so much time with its master, though it got the feeling the creature was less fond of it.

There was a small set of steps before the main entrance covered by a small wooden awning. The roof overhead had collapsed through in a handful of places, broken by the weight of the snow. Raising a pale fist, Drak'shal hammered the door a few times. It was soft and damp from exposure to the harsh salvaran elements. There was no immediate answer, so he spat to clear his mouth of the taste of blood and lit a cigarette. It was, he mused, important to keep up appearances.. even if his lungs felt like they'd been sand-papered. He ensured he looked as he always did before he shoved the door open and sauntered inside. The main foyer was warm, a fire crackling away in the hearth, and the warlock opened his coat to bask in the satisfying heat. There was no sign of anyone yet, but he knew Madison was here. Junior had taken to the air and was sniffing around the room, slit nostrils quivering as it explored. Aurelius was content to leave him to it for now, and turned to the numerous doors, corridors and stairwells leading away from the entrance. A cloud of smoke slithered from his nose as he cupped his slender hands around his mouth.

"Honey," he called sweetly, "I'm home!"

[Christoph]

T'was a fell night, Marlowe of the Crimson Hand decided, a night of demons. The first he knew well, for she now commanded the entire order. The scourge of Eiskalt, the Briarheart. She lurked within the castle ruins, performing gods-knew-what experiments. The second he knew by name and deed alone; Aurelianus Drak'shal. What grim portent brought the tiefling butcher to the heart of Salvar?

Then the third demon, a stranger astride a fearsome scaly beast. Cloaked and hooded, a strange glow, orange like hearth, radiated from beneath the cloth. He rode silently up the hill, snow melting beneath his mount's clawed feet. Every time his hand came to rest on his sword, the winter winds parted around him.

Marlowe swallowed and stepped forward. "Halt!" he cried, voice shaking. "This place is not for you!"

The dark visitor softly laughed. "This place is for no one, if not for me."

Though not menacing in tone, the voice set him on edge. It seemed to come from behind him, beneath him, whispered on the wind and in the silence between. The monster-riding stranger simply continued forward, as though daring the Crimson Hand guard to block the way.

Marlowe dared not. Mere men had no place among the machinations of demons.

* * * * *

The moon hung high as Elijah rode toward a familiar castle. The silver orb pierced the clouds to wash the hill in a sickly glow. Wind howled through lifeless trees, battering him with icy gusts that even the protective magicks of his sword could not ward off. Salvar homecomings were cold affairs.

Cirothe snarled and Elijah patted the great beast's flank. "I know. I don't have good memories of this place, either." The locals called it the shrieking hill, claiming that the wind carried the voices of lost souls. Knowing what he did, Elijah found it hard to disagree. So many had died here, before his eyes, at the point of his blade, and in his arms. So many lost. Only his curiosity overpowered the dread and regret that would have otherwise kept him leagues away from the ruins. Someone had set up shop in his castle.

She sent him a peculiar letter informing him of it, in fact. Elijah knew the name. Madison Freebird. They had fought once in the Citadel and worked together briefly during Eli's espionage days in Corone. She dropped out of public eye for years after that, resurfacing long enough to lay waste to half of Eiskalt. So the rumors said. While Elijah knew well the dubious accuracy of rumors, he couldn't risk leaving a potential butcher unattended at the heart of his homeland. Thus, when the invitation appeared on his end table one morning, scribbled in handwriting that would shame a physician, he knew it was time to return home.

'Home', this time around, was a ruined castle within a haunted forest atop a menacing, snow-smothered hill. Salvar in a nutshell, he thought. There were four towers, though one had toppled over hundreds of years ago and the remaining three were worn down to nubs like an old man's teeth. The central keep still stood, though half of its walls crumbled. Thick snow covered everything like a funeral shroud, but Elijah still remembered the corpse beneath. Five years later and he could still smell ashes, could still point to where his comrades had fallen, to the very patch of earth where he had lost everything.

"And yet here I am, back to do it all again."

More guards appeared, agents of the 'Crimson Hand'. They let him pass, gawking at him. More accurately, gawking at Cirothe. The great war beast of Ashkore always attracted stares. As heavy as a horse, but with the lean musculature of a predator, not to mention claws and vicious, flesh-tearing teeth, Cirothe commanded attention, because taking your eyes off him for an instant could cost hands or entire arms. He growled again, a low rumbling like distant thunder. He knew this place too, had lost his entire pack in the battle against the Ethereal Sway.

A light flickered from the central keep and Elijah urged Cirothe toward it. Time to meet a familiar trespasser.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The echoes of a familiar raspy voice snapped my focus. I tore myself away from the scattered mess of ink-stained journal pages, maps, formulas, and top secret documents from various powerful organizations in this blasted ice hole that blanketed the desk. The orange light of several candles danced throughout the room, casting shadows against the empty bookshelves along the far wall as I rose from the chair and left my makeshift headquarters.

The first of my two guests had finally arrived.

As I made my way through the hall, Hyperion fell into step behind me. She had met the tiefling once or twice before, and owed him a great deal more than she would ever understand--my friend had gotten his hands rather dirty to supply the specific body I required to give the plant horror life. Without it, Hype would've been a mindless killing machine much like the others created with the same ravenous parasite.

I owed him too for that very reason, as the robed creature at my heels has been one of the only things keeping me away from the edge ever since my ordeal within the Red Forest.

I stepped around the corner and into a hallway that was missing half of its ceiling. Above me, I could make out the dust-covered remnants of the second floor, touched only by the slow decay of time as the years had passed. At the end of the hallway stood a pale man dressed in a black duster only inches tall than I, a funny red hat somehow fitting over the mess of horns and quills that adorned his head. A vicious smile filled with daggers was etched on his face.

(And, of course, due to the inconvenience his... colorful vocabulary causes other people, I will once again provide translations for him throughout this story.)

"((Ah, luv, there you are,))" Aurelianus Drak'shal said. His snakelike eyes flickered over towards my companion. "((Doll,))" he acknowledged her with a teasing hiss.

Hyperion bristled with annoyance next to me; she was rather sensitive to the means of her creation. I spoke up before she could think of a snappy retort. "It's good to see you again, Aure. I trust your trip was alright?"

The plane-touched fiend shrugged his shoulders, an errant snowflake falling away from the tattered fabric of his coat. "((About as well as a hike through the fucking cold and snow could be.))"

"And Junior?" I asked.

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the entrance of the decrepit manor. "((He's having a sniff around the place. He should be occupied for a little while, I think. Anyone else here?))"

"Just Diggs and Hedge," I replied. The two Hands of Blades were off taking a nap before they kept watch throughout the midnight hours. "Come on, let's get you a drink to warm you up, yeah?"

The two of us walked down the empty halls of the remote Salvic manor until we were in the study I set up shop in. The room was moderately expansive, and was more than likely a room that housed the office of whatever hermetic aristocrat lived here ages ago. The walls were lined floor to rotted ceiling with bookshelves that contained tattered volumes that were wrecked by time and conflict. Along one wall sat a stone fireplace, an ample blaze crackling and roaring within to heat the room and provide light. In the middle of the space sat three leather chairs. Considering the events that took place here however long ago, they were surprisingly intact and comfortable.

Aurelianus threw himself down in one, the sharp spikes of his armor piercing the thin dark material and digging into the stuffing underneath. He leaned back in the seat, exhaling a thick cloud of cigarette smoke as his weary body recovered from the pains of travel. I moved towards a short, glass-doored cabinet near the front of the desk my information blanketed and produced a little something to help the both of us relax.

Two glass tumblers clinked together as I set them onto the table before grabbing a small metal container and a clear bottle that was half-full of a dark amber liquid. Amazingly enough, much like the furniture in this room, the whisky survived the conflict that my other guest was engaged in at this place. I removed the wooden stopper and poured us a couple of drinks.

My briar-knit hands deftly set down the bottle and moved towards the metal container. I took off the top, revealing several ice cubes inside. Apparently, the previous owner had the small icebox crafted to keep a few cubes handy for his nightcaps. I removed two small chunks of ice from the box and dropped one in my glass. My hand hesitated for a brief moment over the other one before it moved back to mine. The second cube hit the first with a small splash of gold as I placed the icebox and firewater back into the cabinet.

As I made my way towards the open seat, the tiefling's face soured. "((The blood of thousands on your hands, stealing the power of a false god, and ice cubes in your whisky,))" he sneered. "((Is there no end to your villainy?))"

I simply flashed him a grin as I handed him his drink. "Just trying to catch up to you, dear."

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius allowed himself a chuckle at that, raising his glass to his companion and sipping the whisky.

"Burnaham," he said appreciatively. "Not a bad 'un."

He had been to the distillery himself, a few days ride West of Knife's Edge. They made a damn fine whisky, and he had organised a lucrative deal with them, to keep the House of Sin supplied. He took another sip, letting the fiery tingle nip at the tips of his forked tongue for a moment before letting it slide down his throat. It warmed him, balls to brains. Leaning back in the already abused leather chair, the tiefling tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette and let his gaze wander over the rest of the room. Time had taken its toll on the interior of the building, but the large room the pair of murderers were currently in seemed cosy enough.

Removing his gloves, Aurelius warmed his ghost-white hands and set the glass of whisky down by his feet. He sucked another lungful of smoke, a small cough escaping him. The half-demon quickly hid the flecks of blood in his palm, hoping Madison hadn't noticed. But, as his snake-eyes glanced over, he saw Hyperion's head turned his way.

Had she seen? Would she say anything?

Despite the amount of effort he had put into helping Madison create the creature, and the Freebird's attachment to it, Aurelianus would have no qualms about penning it in the dead-book to keep his dark little secret.

But, the moment passed, and Madison took the seat opposite her tiefling comrade.

"So," he began, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, "this cutter comin' tonight. We sure 'e's the body for the job?"

Madison paused to consider the question, swirling the contents of her glass contemplatively.

"I'll let you judge for yourself, but in my opinion, yes," she replied after another moment had passed.

Aurelianus nodded, taking the coffin-nail between his fingers to throw back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down. He trusted Madison - about as much as the treacherous devil could be considered to trust anyone - and if she vouched for the third in their unholy little trinity, that went a long way to reassuring him.

They sat in silence for a long few minutes, Aurelianus finally finishing his roll-up and flicking the end into the crackling hearth. He fidgeted in the chair to try and get more comfortable but all he achieved was eviscerating the upholstery even more. Finally, giving up, he got to his feet and set to pacing the room. His coat was torn free, the leather flowing back together to repair the grievous damage his armour inflicted on it, and thrown onto the now mangled chair. Fire-light glimmered from every spike, hook and blade adorning his frame. It gleamed on the blades of the plethora of knives carried by the guttersnipe. It danced on the hydras inked across his scalp, making the three-heads on either side of his quills seem to writhe.

"I 'ear your boy Stalt is doin' alright for 'imself," the tiefling smirked, glancing over at the raven-haired monster.

Even now, as the Right Hand, he heard the chant on most things. His spies had apparently been handed over to the faun, Philomel. But that didn't stop them whispering in his ear. From what he had heard, Madison had already done damn well at preparing some of the pawns for their game. His respect for her rose another notch.

The back of his throat burned, and the half-breed suppressed another fit of coughing, silently cursing the bastard substance eating away at him. He could feel it trying to worm deeper into him; to corrupt and change his form just as he altered the forms of others. The fleshcraftin’s pikin’ ‘andy, but the price is a complete cunt, he thought with a barely perceptible sneer, idly fiddling with the myriad charms bound around his wrists.

Thankfully, he was granted reprieve from the musings as a shrill sound split the quiet atmosphere of the study. It was somewhere between an infant's wail and a harpy's shriek.

Junior burst into the room, wings flapping furiously as it swooped in to land on the back of Madison's chair. The creature chittered away in the tongue of the Nine Hells, speaking to its master as it scurried down the cracked leather to try and nuzzle into the Briarheart. She remained still, flicking her eyes towards Aurelius, who was standing by the fire. Leaning on his elbow on the stone mantle, the half-breed smirked back at her, letting her slight discomfort last for a short space of time, before finally whistling to his familiar. The abomination turned its monstrous little face to Madison, somehow managing to convey a look of rejection and sadness on its malformed features. The sutured eye-sockets stared at her lovingly, but the feeling was not reciprocated.

It took to the air, alighting sadly on the warlock's shoulder. The tiny scalpels that served Junior as talons pawed at its master’s armour, as the animated horror whimpered softly into his ear.

"You oughta be ashamed of yerself, luv," Aurelius frowned at the assassin. Junior hissed a string of syllables, its tiny voice and needle-teeth making the sound reedy and harsh.

"You've gone and 'urt 'is feelings. All 'e was tryin' to do was tell you our guest's arrived."

The warlock ran a finger along junior's head, soothing the slighted foetus. The creature turned one last eyeless glare at Madison, before ignoring her completely.

“I play nice with your pet,” he nodded at Hyperion, the plant-creature bristling at the insult. The half-devil bared his fangs in a vicious smirk, daring it to take the bait.

Aurelianus spared the Briarheart one last reproachful tut-tut and shake of his head before turning his attention to the door of the room.

All playful banter was set aside, and the tiefling turned his keen mind to the business at hand. After all of the planning that had gone into this ride so far, Aurelianus admitted to himself he was eager to meet this Elijah Belov.

[Christoph]

“A man returns from a hard day’s work only to find two vagrants in his home.” Elijah emerged from the doorway, sauntering into the meeting chamber. He remembered the room well; Alexandria had once slept there, but he was not in the mood to dwell on that dark thought. He never held meetings here, always preferring the larger, less drafty kitchen on the keep’s east side. Two figures sat at the table, one strangely familiar and the other merely strange.

“We figured the man, being a vagrant himself, would enjoy some like-minded company.” Madison Freebird sat closest to the fire, hands folded.

“I would take offense to that…”

Madison smirked. “...were it not true.”

“Aye.” Elijah rubbed his chin, taking a moment to size up his old acquaintance. “You somehow look even sicklier than I remember.”

"Careful cutter, talk like that'll go straight to her knickers." The gravely voice came from the dark stranger. He sported four finger-length horns curving from his ashen brow and lines of quills across his head. With his glistening black armor covered in spikes and old bits of flesh, he looked like a child's nightmare-fueled drawing. Elijah had seen far scarier.

“Ah, and you must be Miss Freebird’s hellspawn associate, Aurelianus.”

The tiefling grinned, wide and proud and… predatorily, like a wolf or shark. A wolf shark? He gave a mocking bow from his chair. “At yer service.”

Eli stepped up to the table, looking back and forth at the other two. His lips threatened to grin. “Vagrants, indeed. And what shall we three vagrants do? Form a troupe of traveling minstrels?”

Madison snorted. "Hush with that. You'll give this one ideas."

She nodded toward the Aurelianus, who, grinning even wider, replied, "Too late! Sod the plan. I'd make a better drummer than a conqueror." He gave a throaty chuckle. "I'm already famous for my banging."

"Oh Maddy, is this the company you keep now? You can do--wait." Elijah's eyebrows shot up. "Conqueror? Now that's interesting." He finally pulled up a chair and set across the table from the two intruders. He faced Madison, regarding her carefully through narrow eyes. "And familiar. It all begins to make sense, now. Calling me here, to this place."

Madison shot her tiefling companion a sharp look and sighed. "We've been planning this for a while. "

"Planning what, exactly?"

She shrugged. "Nothing too crazy. Just overthrowing Salvar's government."

"Oh, good. I was worried you were planning something crazy like overthrowing Salvar's government." He stared blankly at her. "Ignoring that you're damned insane, how do you plan to do this?"

The tiefling placed a third glass on the table. "I think the man needs a drink."

Elijah eyed the amber liquid. "Make it two."

"We might get along after all, cutter."

He made short work of the first glass, massaging his forehead. He wondered how many drinks it would take before this discussion started sounding sane. "So again, how are you going to do it?"

"That depends on your level of involvement," she replied, holding her glass up so that the candlelight glittered in the ice.

"Obviously it depends on my involvement." He held his glass out to Aurelianus, who refilled it a tad too gleefully. "Merely making me aware of your intentions poses a great risk to your operation. You of all people would know that, so that you still summoned me from a continent away means you must need my help very desperately."

"Let's not overstate things." Madison rolled her eyes, but Eli could see her jaw tighten. "On a scale of one to ten, our need for your assistance is a six at best."

"More like seven if we're being true," said the tiefling, filling Belov's glass a third time.

"Seven sounds nice," said Elijah, swirling the whiskey with a mirthless smile. "And since I don't particularly want to murder both of you, I may as hell hear you out. But to be clear, I wish to restore my homeland, not put her out of her misery nor ravage her further."

Aure's wide, wolf-shark grin reappeared. "Not to worry, cutter. We'll treat yer lady like it's her first time." He laughed, and for a moment so did Elijah.

Belov's grin melted away and he slammed his hand on the table. His eyes burned into both of them. "Best not to test me on that."