Northern Ex Closure

[Briarheart]

It was a trip back in time.

As the worn sheet crumpled to the floor by my feet, I took stock of all the treasures that were hidden beneath it on the table. Before me were the mementos of a man who died a long time ago. Boxes of jewelry, the rusted armaments and outfit of a soldier in the Aleraran army complete with the insignia of the Crown painted on the shield and embroidered into the tunic. Toys and clothes made for a small child. A woman's finery, from dresses to jewelry. Various other things that one would find decorating the home of a family man.

I noticed a small picture frame face down on the surface of the table. Without thinking, I reached over and picked it up.

It contained a small portrait of three people, one of whom was immediately recognizable. Whoever drew it did a fantastic job of making Ulroke look like something other than the assassin I knew him to be. In this picture, he looked... at peace. He looked content. His spidery hand was placed on the shoulder of a woman who vaguely resembled an Akashiman nekojin dressed like the princess she was.

So, this was Isabelle. Even existing in painted form, one could see the brightness of her eyes and the energy she was filled with. No wonder he fell in love with her.

The little bundle of blankets she cradled in the picture must have been Kyleen, their child.

No wonder he became the monster he is today when they died.

[Briarheart]

Now wasn't the time for a series of deep philosophical thoughts or discussions of my own on the matter, I still had more snooping to do. I closed the book, set it aside on the desk, and moved onto the next one, and the one after that, and so on.

I lost track of the time as I flipped through his journals page by faded page. Aside from the manifesto, the only other literature I uncovered in the First Sanctum of any relevance were complete and thorough logs on all of the pawns he shifted around the board in his little game.

Sei Orlouge. Jensen Ambrose. The rest of the Ixian Knights. The Brotherhood of Castigars, whoever they were.

There was also a complete volume based on our actions in Eiskalt, and the reasoning leading up to the conflict and the fallout of its resolution.

The next bunch of books were completely about the other eleven Sanctums, and their roles in his unfolding schemes. I skipped over those, as they were of no interest to me.

Then, I got to possibly the most interesting book of them all; one simply marked PvdA/GL. Philomel van der Aart, Guilded Lily. I took a deep breath and opened this one, intent on reading every word.

I remembered clearly the day that I pushed the freshly-reinstated Master Hand into engaging with his former Master of Secrets over her potentially treasonous decision to organize and employ her own ring of spies on the side. Ulroke chronicled his extreme discomfort and hesitance to engage the faun on the matter, but eventually relented after I subtly threatened him. He was able to get a few moles into the Lily to start feeding him information, but not fast enough, apparently.

He had a complete dossier on her, but it was nothing that I hadn't already known for myself. He noted that the Matriarch was overly independent and acted as if she had a point to move. She was cocky, but her elemental companions (especially that stupid fucking fox of hers) were her most vulnerable point of attack, with her army of whores as a close second.

On the subject of the girls, he wrote about their complete, unyielding devotion to Philomel, who they viewed as their savior. He also noted that should push come to shove, the Matriarch's elimination would immediately cripple the Gilded Lily, and they would cease to function as a threat and an organization within a month. ”Show them their hero is nothing and falsify their strength,” he wrote. Lye was willing to kill her should the need arise, but at the time of his last entry on her their relationship was ”dicey, if not cordial”.

While Lye didn't have the location of the Lily's headquarters in Concordia, he ultimately decided that neither Philomel or her army of whores were nothing more than a potential nuisance, a potential leak for confidential information that could easily be plugged.

Nothing I hadn't already known for myself. Onto the next.

I closed the book on Philomel and tossed it onto the pile of books I had already deemed worthless and unnecessary. I was down to the last journal. I brushed a few errant flakes of snow off the cover.

This one read simply, [/i]”MF”[/i].