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Castle Aldra; The Lady Iona and her minions reside here.
Topic Started: Dec 12 2013, 01:33 PM (526 Views)
Tasha the Gypsy
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Iona Kaland seemed to be studying the map that lay in front of her, but her thoughts were not on the mountains and towns drawn on the piece of parchment. Whatever she was thinking had her so absorbed that she didn't even hear the door open. A tall man with sandy blond hair, obviously a warrior of some kind, entered.

"Lady Iona?" he asked, seeing she didn't notice his entrance.

Iona looked up, her train of thoughts broken for the moment.

"Ah Taan, have a seat." she said, motioning to a chair, "How are things in the castle these days?" she asked.

"Busier than usual." replied Taan, sitting in the offered chair, "We're expecting an emissary from some foreign country to arrive. Still, I'm sure you already knew that, seeing that you have eyes and ears everywhere." he said with a dark smile.

"I think you're beginning to know me too well Taan." said Iona with a smile to match his. "It's a good thing I know you will always be loyal to me alone. Things might get messy if I didn't." she added as she casually picked up one of her small pistols off of the table where it lay, and began polishing the shining metal of the barrel. She lifted her eyes from the gun and met Taan's gaze, danger lurking in their purple depths. "Very messy indeed."
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Captain_Riposte
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Hoofbeats clattered on the cobblestones of Aldra Castle's courtyard. Count Dragomir Wallach's spurs clinked as his boots landed on the blackened stones. His cold eyes leered from a narrow, shaven face framed by raven-black locks receding at the temples but falling with profuse thickness to the shoulders at the back and sides; those eyes watched the blue banner of Lady Iona fluttering in the wind atop the keep with its white shield and gold eagle's head. The Count tossed the reigns to a servant rushing to serve the expected horsemen. It was the guard company of the Wallach Regiment of Horse, the "Black Vlacks" as some men called them due to their ruthless reputation and black cassocks. But most ominous name to their reputation, the "Blackwolves" came from the red-eyed animal that ran along the regiment's crimson banner.

The lackeys at least bowed their heads to the Count and never looked him in the eye. That was good. Order was preserved by fear. But if the Count huffed as he walked, it was because Lady Iona hadn't respected him enough to herald his arrival. He clenched his fist on the hilt of his backsword. In time, he would have his reward. But for now, he would have to be patient. After all, good things come to those that wait.

Count Wallach paraded to the keep, his black, crimson-lined cloak flowing behind him in the gusts of wind whistling within the confines of the castle's five-sided walls. His doublet and trunkhose matched his cloak, but a bit of red-velvet lace bunched beneath the Count's chin, pinned by an onyx jewel set in gold.

The clomping of his boots down the torchlit corridor were joined by the clopping of another set of shoes. Then a muffled clapping as two gauntleted hands beat a slow but steady applause.


"Lords and ladies of Aldra, please give a hearty welcome to the butcher of Valnor, Count Dragomir Wallach!"

A tall man in a red doublet moved ahead of the Count and turned to face him, walking backwards. Three yellow plumes stuck out from his wide-brimmed beaver hat and he hid his black moustache behind his cupped hands, spitting a "Too-too-too-TOOT-too-tooooooo!" through the hole of his "trumpet."

"Out of my way, trench-rat."

"My dear friend, why so morose? Taan is here, chattering away with the Lady upstairs, no doubt planning the banquet for that foreign envoy. I was just thinking, while he's up there, why don't we..."

Count Wallach stopped and glared at Sir Reginald.

"Oh, right," conceded Sir Reginald with a smile. "Next time, then. Ta-ta!"

Edited by Captain_Riposte, Dec 12 2013, 01:45 PM.
"Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4
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Tasha the Gypsy
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Iona was about to say something when she cocked her head to one side. A slow, almost sly smile crept across her face.

"I believe Count Wallach is on his way." she said, "It sounds as if he had another run-in with Reginald."

Taan listened carefully, but heard nothing for a few minutes. He was just about to ask Iona how she knew the Count was coming, when he heard a heavy tread on the stairs.

"Must have had a successful raid." said Taan in a malicious tone, "Or he would have stayed out of sight to lick his wounds for awhile."

Iona nodded at Taan to open the door, and went back to polishing her pistol.

"Back a bit late aren't you?" she asked as the Count entered, without bothering to lift her eyes and acknowledge him, "Were there any complications?"
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Captain_Riposte
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Count Wallach tried to ignore Taan as he entered the room. He chafed at Lady Iona's withholding of acknowledgement and he felt his gloved hand gripping his sword by the hilt, but he commanded his unruly hand back into a relaxed poise. He bowed swiftly, deeply, elegantly. He lifted up his cold eyes at Lady Iona before rising into a formal stance.

"The natives still resist your rule, my Lady. I taught them a lesson--" the Count shot a glance at Taan out of the corner of his eye and added almost without pause "--a lesson that they will not soon forget."

"Lessons! Oh my jolly, I love lessons! What did they learn?" Sir Reginald burst into the room and paid quick obeisance to Lady Iona before whispering to the Count, "Now, now, don't look at me like that, old chap, I just came to give you some moral and ecumenical support."

The Count stood speechless, his black brows like stormclouds converged with silent thunder. With sprightly step Sir Reginald was at Taan's side and patting him on the back. "Dear, dear, Taan, why must you so often neglect spending time with your betters? Oh, I see, you have such a pretty portrait to look at when spending time with our Lady. But, dear boy, don't you know there's work to be done? An emissary is coming, you know. An emissary! Now won't that be grand!"
Edited by Captain_Riposte, Dec 12 2013, 06:16 PM.
"Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4
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Tasha the Gypsy
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A disgusted look crossed Taan's face as Sir Reginald entered the room, but Iona, aside from glancing up when the door opened, gave Reginald the same treatment the the Count had received.

"What of the mountain folk?" She asked Count Wallach, ignoring Reginald as he spoke to Taan, "Have they ceased their resistance?"

Taan, meanwhile, was only just resisting the urge to punch the grinning face of Sir Reginald as he continued his taunts.

"Yes," Taan answered in an annoyed tone as he rose from his seat, "I was well aware of the impending arrival of an emissary, and I'll thank you to keep out of my sight until then."
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Captain_Riposte
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Sir Reginald wrapped his arm around Taan's neck. Laughter hummed through his smirking lips. "Now, now, dear Taan, let's be fair, here. You know that if I am here then you are going to at least see me unless you cut out your eyeballs, which I would be happy to do for a small non-refundable fee in non-negotiable cash. I could leave the castle but then my soldiers need my divine presence for guidance and without my guidance how are they to defend this place? And then Lady Iona would get board with just these two men here giving each other sour faces, and oh, you know how it is."

Sir Reginald then clapped Taan on the shoulder, before opening wide his mouth with a deep breath and a finger raised in proposition. "How about a bargain, yes? If the Lady agrees to set up my command in my quarters and grant me a kitty, then I will stay there until the emissary comes. Oh, and, I do want a pregnant kitty. That way I'll have more company for the price of one."

The Count ignored the two other men. They were fools without motley. They weren't worth his time. He answered Lady Iona while Sir Reginald talked, talked, talked. "It would be a hard thing, my Lady, for a community to revolt when a third of their men have but one hand." A slow, cruel hint of a smile crept along his lips. "That is, a third of those still living."
"Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4
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Tasha the Gypsy
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A dark smile crossed Iona's face.

"Excellent work Count." she said, then still hearing Reginald taunting to Taan, she rose from her seat on the edge of the table, "Silence Sir Reginald!" She commanded, "I've heard enough out of you for now. Both of you go prepare for the expected arrival. Count Wallach, I want you to see to the castle defenses; we don't want our guest thinking we can't protect what is ours."

Taan said nothing, but gave a stiff bow before quickly marching out of the room. He was fuming at having to be stuck with Sir Reginald while they saw to the preparations.
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Captain_Riposte
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The Count bowed smartly and exited the room. His martial formality cloaked his pleasure in the recognition he had earned. He could scarce suppress a smile at the humiliation of those two ninnies. He would outrank them yet, until he was second in command. And then... well, one conquest at a time.

"Ta-ta!" Sir Reginald blew a kiss at Lady Iona and wriggled his fingers in farewell. With arms swinging and feet stepping high he followed Taan down the stairway.

"Taan. Taan. Taan. Taan. Taaaaaaaa..."
"Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4
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Tasha the Gypsy
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Taan had waited around a corner for Reginald to catch up with him.

"Taan. Taan. Taan." he heard Reginald calling. He gritted his teeth as he waited for just the right moment...

"Taan. Taaaaaaaa..." Reginald's voice was cut off abruptly as Taan's fist connected with his jaw.

"Now try to be quiet you pompous little dolt, or I may be tempted to do that again." he hissed before continuing down the stairs and out into the sunlit the courtyard.
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Captain_Riposte
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Sir Reginald staggered an fell beneath the blow. A slow grin spread beneath his black moustaches as he stared up at Taan through leery eyes and wordlessly received the hissing lecture. He rose to his feet, spitting blood on the stone steps.

"Taan. Taaaaan. That's what I like about you, Taan: you always know how to connect with your chums."

Laughter hummed through smiling, bloody lips. "Only, the Panther always leaves just enough teeth for the Fox to bite back."

Sir Reginald half waltzed, half staggered down the stairs, the corridor echoing the gutteral, gurgling, gagging laughter he hurled for no one in particular.


The Count ignored Sir Reginald's repulsive laughter a floor below as he ascended to the black battlements of Aldra Castle's mighty keep. Gusts of wind lifted his cloak in billowing waves as he strode along the defences, surveying the countryside as guards in black gambesons and dull morions kept silent watch. Several farming villages lay under the castle's protection; the Count already had troopers billeted in each, but he would send in Taan's riders there for duty for the duration of the emissary's visit; the more split up they were, the less likely Taan would be able to use them to any mischief. That would mean that his troopers would be outnumbered there in the towns, but he would balance that by deploying some of Sir Reginald's men to each village. Each unit was a rival to the other; if one made a move, another was sure to pounce on the situation. Count Wallach felt that would keep the lads behaving. A no-alcohol order might also help--no matter the threat to each other, heads never think straight when flushed with ale. He'd arrange surprise inspections by some of his troopers to enforce policy. The last thing he needed was for the momentous night to be be disturbed by drunken brawling by men under Lady Iona's own command. He knew he'd be the one to clean it up, and who knew what awaited him upon his return to the castle.

Hedges and forests encircled the lands of the estate. He'd be sure to keep Sir Reginald's sharpshooters in the bushes and his pikemen and musketeers at strategically positioned checkpoints on the road. Lady Iona's knights, dragoons, and infantry would more than suffice to keep the walls and keep secure. And the Count would keep some of his own troopers here, just in case he might need to take care of any trouble from Taan or Sir Reginald.

He turned and inspected the equipment of each silent watchman. As good as could be expected, as usual. Lady Iona either knew how to recruit the best or she knew how to instill the fear of discipline into them. But the Count always believed that great could be better. He took the sergeant and beat him with the flat of his sword for lack of discipline. He knew the sergeant would share the pain to his command for him.

He descended the stairs, pleased with his little demonstration of power. Now all that was needed was to order the Captain of the Guard to double the watch and put his plan into effect, and post a troop of his horsemen down the road to receive and escort the envoy. He paused for a moment.
Yes, he decided, better add a knight or two to the entourage.
Edited by Captain_Riposte, Dec 18 2013, 05:25 PM.
"Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4
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Tasha the Gypsy
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Taan strode out into the sunlit courtyard and glanced around. His eye fell on one of his man, and he beckoned him over.

"Gerrand, where are the rest?" he asked in a quiet voice as Gerrand came to a halt in front of him.

"Some went out to scout the whereabouts of the emissary, and the rest are either on the wall or in the mess hall." Gerrand replied, also speaking in a low voice, "Do you want me to gather them sir?"

"No, but I'm about to tell you something. Be sure everyone knows it by tonight." Taan said, "Lady Iona has given the defenses into the charge of Wallach. He may try to separate you into smaller groups and spread you out to make us weaker. Tell him that you are all needed here for the arrival of our guest. If he starts making trouble, direct him to me."

Gerrand saluted and quickly headed in the direction of the mess hall to begin spreading the word. Taan watched as he disappeared from sight with a grim smile before going in search of some servants to get started on the preparations for the welcoming feast.

~~

As soon as all the men had left, Iona went over to a window. From there she could see Taan in the courtyard, speaking with his second in command. She glanced in another direction, watching as Count Wallach laid about one of the wall guards with the flat of his sword. Without turning around she asked,

"What is Reginald up to? I don't see him."

Two men slipped out from behind the tapestries hanging on the wall. The smaller of them answered.

"Mallik is on him. If he gets an itch for trouble, you'll find out immediately. Rest assured m'lady."

Iona was still looking out the window. She gave a short nod to show she had heard.

"Excellant job Finter. How is the welcome for our guest going? We want to make sure he feels at home on his arrival."

The one who had answered before, obviously Finter, again replied to her question with a dark chuckle.

"Everything is in place. If something goes wrong with the plan, our honored guest will never know the difference."

The first smile that had shown itself since her officers had left crossed Iona's lips. It wasn't a pleasant smile, but one that would make anyone but her private guard shudder.

"You had better see to it that noting goes wrong Finter. This is the only chance we'll get for a long time."

"As you wish, Lady Iona." He saluted before melting into the shadows of the room and disappearing behind the tapestry again.

Iona now turned to face the remaining guard.

"Keval, I want a double guard on me during the feast. I don't trust Reginald or Wallach. Make sure that my food is prepared and brought in under the supervision of my Nadroedd."

Keval only saluted before disappearing in a similar way Finter had.

Iona turned back to look out the window.

"And so, the pieces are set." she murmured to herself with another dark smile.
Edited by Tasha the Gypsy, Dec 18 2013, 07:36 PM.
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The Inkweaver
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The carriage pulled to a stop. Chan pulled her knees down between the benches with practiced dexterity. Three days of traveling from town to town, stopping at nightfall to give the horses (and their driver) a rest had allowed her ample opportunity to practice appearing as human as possible--even in as small a box as this.
The footman opened the door and stood respectfully aside.

"We've arrived at Muldoon, Milady," he announced.
Chan alighted and gathered her bearings. Muldoon was a small, simple town with dirt roads and brick buildings. Far on the horizon to the east stood the spires of Castle Aldra. It would be another day at least before she arrived there. According to the wind-voice (she was not sure if it was truly a spirit or not--there was something much too--human about the way he spoke) she would be there in time for the gala...whenever that was. There had been rumors in the last town that the emissary who had intended to arrive several days previously had been mysteriously detained, and would arrive several days late--which meant Chan, in spite of the length of her journey, would arrive just in time.
She raised her eyes to assess the building before her. It was tall and wide, and apparently had many rooms. Another inn--Chan sneered inwardly. The beds were always too short, and the guests always too noisy. She could not wait to get the medallion and finally return to the Lake where she belonged. For now...

Chan swept into the lobby of the inn with all the dudgeon of a true lady of state.

"Innkeeper!" She announced, "Your best suite, if you please!"
The rotund man behind the counter lifted his eyes from the ledger he was filling and peered at the lady before him. He rubbed the top of his head--the scalp was shiny, as if he'd rubbed all the hair from that area long ago.
"Who might you be?" he stammered in genuine confusion.
Chan nailed him with a superior glare (one thing she did not have to practice much) and declared icily,
"My name is Lady... Charlotte and I am on my way to visit the Count in Castle Aldra." Chan glowed with the warm praise heaped on her by the small gust that blew past her shoulder. She had been practicing the name all day long, and it came out with surprising ease--besides, it sounded far more grand than plain old "Chan." As for mentioning the Count and her destination--well, she'd picked that much up from her helpful breeze-friend, and though the term meant nothing to her, it seemed to have the desired effect on the innkeeper. He all but tumbled off his stool in surprise.
"W-well... blow me!" he stammered. "F-f-forgive me, Your Ladyship! We don't get much of the Count's visitors through these parts, that's certain! Follow me, ma'am. I'll see that you are set up quite comfortably." He cast a wary glance over her unnatural height as she bent over him to avoid smacking her head on the ceiling, but what could one do? It's not like they could magically make the beds longer to accommodate her--no matter what her affiliations!

Chan followed the man through the dining area and down a narrow hall, where he stopped before a set of double-doors.

"Here we are, Milady," He said, unlocking the doors and heaving them open. "It is our largest bed--er, suite!"

The bed was certainly the most spacious Chan had yet encountered--even though it would still not be sufficient. Her legs ached from bending over, so Chan nodded quickly, adding a sniff so she would not seem too eager. "It will do. Have my things brought in, and see that my driver and the carriage are properly looked after."

The innkeeper gulped and bowed. "Y-yes, of course! Anything at all for a friend of the Count's!" Like a chubby rat, he clasped his hands over his wide belly and scurried from the room.

Sighing with relief, Chan draped her long frame over the wide, high bed. Her feet hung off the end, but if she curled on her side, she could bring them up onto the mattress. This would do admirably.

A gentle gust nudged her cheek.

Charlotte, eh?
Chan groaned and turned away, waving her hand as if she could push away the wind. "Leave me be, all right? I'm almost there, I'm tired--and what sort of person is this Count of yours, anyway?"

The gust hissed through the open window, making Chan shiver and reach for a blanket. Not one to be treated lightly, as you have seen already.

Chan snorted. "Who, the innkeeper? Psh! That man would tremble at the sight of his own shadow!"

A stronger gust built around her as the voice prepared to say something further, but Chan was done talking. She rolled off the bed and shut the window. "Goodnight," she whispered to the waving trees outside as the wind tried but could not reach her. She waited, enjoying the silence and solitude. She entered the washroom and pumped the water from pipes leading to the well into the basin before her.

Chanka... Chanka... Chanka...

Chan froze. No one on the surface knew that name, save the wind! She dipped her hands into the water, watching the scales and webs return briefly, only to vanish when she withdrew her hand. Swiftly, she bent down and splashed the water over her face.

CHANKA!

She knew that voice! Where was it coming from? Carefully, Chan lifted the handle of the pump, listening to the slow gurgle of the water as it made its way through the ground to her basin.

Chanka?

Chan fell to her knees before the faucet, leaving it open so that she could hear the splash of flowing water.
"My Lady Kish!" she cried in wonder. "How is this possible?"

Chanka, it is because I hold the Waterstone, remember? I am acquainted with the movement of all water upon Terrarum. Listen carefully: Gondu has been closed in a stassi pod, to keep him from dying away. I have heard the voice of the one who holds the Treestone, and she has promised aid. Why do you sound so far away? When will you return? We are desperate!

"Milady, I have been in contact with the man who holds the Skystone!" Chan cried, and quickly began to tell the mer-queen of all that had passed since she left the mer-kingdom.
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Tasha the Gypsy
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Iona was gazing at her map again as she peeled an apple with one of her knives. She didn't look up as someone entered, but with a quick flick of her wrist the knife she had been holding flew towards the door. Taan pulled back suddenly, but the knife had already buried itself in the wood of the door, just inches from where his head had been. If Iona had been trying to kill him, Taan would have been dead by now.

"Remember to knock next time." Iona said in a preoccupied tone as she glanced up from her map for a few seconds.

Taan recovered quickly from his first surprise, bowing his head respectfully.

"I beg your pardon m'lady. I was so anxious to tell you the news I forgot." He said quickly, "My men tell me the emissary will be here by tomorrow afternoon."

"You're sure this time?" Iona asked in a slightly more interested tone, looking up now, "No more of the roads have been washed out?"

"Quite sure. The emissary will arrive here tomorrow without doubt. My men have never failed me before."

A dark smile crossed Iona's face now, "I hope you're right Taan. If not, I would certainly hate to be one of your men..." She gave him a dismissive nod as she went back to her map.
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The Inkweaver
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Today would be the day. Chanka arose and prepared herself for her last ride in the carriage. Today, she would finally arrive at her destination and obtain the medallion that would save Gondu's life. She glanced at herself once more in the tall mirror in the corner: her tall figure draped in copper-colored brocade, with her hair of brilliant red piled atop her head in a mass of curls and small bronze barrettes, winking with amber stones. Her intense green eyes burned with emerald fire.
Today, she would reach her goal.
She wordlessly swept out of the inn and allowed the footman to assist her into the carriage as one who had been accustomed to such treatment her whole life--even though it was barely a week since she had the capacity to walk.

"To the Castle Aldra!" She ordered the driver.
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Tasha the Gypsy
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Lady Iona stepped out of the huge, charred doors of her castle, then seemed to glide smoothly down the steps to the courtyard; her motions making her almost seem snake-like. A deceptively friendly, inviting smile was on her face as she came forward, holding out both hands in greeting to the short, rotund man who was just alighting from a carriage; transparently in very bad temper.
"Sir Thales, welcome to Castle Aldra." Lady Iona purred, her voice warm and almost dripping with charm, "I'm glad to see that you've arrived safely, despite your unfortunate delay."
The little man immediately replaced his bad-tempered scowl with a fake smile as he took her outstretched hands.
"My Lady Iona Kaland, I'm honored to be here." He glanced around at the well fortified, if blackened, walls of the castle.
Iona's smile was just as friendly as she motioned towards the doors, "Shall we go in? I know you must be tired and in need of a hot bath and some rest before the banquet tonight." She said, leading the way. As they entered, she made a quick motion to a maid standing by, "Lilith will show you to your room." She said, smiling again at Sir Thales.
Lilith, the 'maid', who was actually part of Iona's personal guard, bobbed a curtsy to the man, "Of course, right this way sir." She led the way up a winding staircase to a well furnished room. "If that will be all sir, I'll be needed downstairs. Your bath is through there." She said, motioning to another doorway before disappearing back down the stairs.
Lilith, now no longer dressed in the demure maid's attire, slipped into Lady Iona's chamber. Iona glanced up from the assortment of daggers she was looking over, "He is settled? And perfectly unaware?" [She asked. Lilith nodded, "Perfectly unaware M'Lady." She said with a dark grin, "Everything is in place."
Edited by Tasha the Gypsy, Feb 10 2014, 12:07 AM.
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Chanka gazed out the tiny windows of the carriage. A lifetime of peering into murky depths without the aid of the sun enabled her to pick out shapes among the trees and shrubs. Evidently this Count who held the medallion that would save Gondu suspected some kind of foul play at this event. Chanka smiled to herself; she would give him the sort of foul play he would never expect. She waited till the carriage pulled within sight of the gates, but in the midst of a wide field. She would be noticed, it was true, but at the same time, she had no doubt that she could easily outdistance or overpower any who attacked her.
“Stop here!” she commanded the driver. He pulled up the horses.
“’ere, madam?” he echoed incredulously. “Ain’t ye goin’ t’ the Castle?”
Chanka opened the door herself and tumbled out upon the wet, cold ground. She sighed with relief as the atmosphere reminded her so much of home.
“Never mind,” she said, “I can walk. You can return to the town now.”
The driver rubbed his forehead, but the fearsome lady was walking away from him by now, so he reluctantly turned the carriage around and drove back toward the town.
Chanka, meanwhile, had felt the call of water. In a little hollow among the hassocks in the open field, she found a small pool. She laid flat against the ground and reached her hand in eagerly.


Chanka?

"My Lady! I am here!"

Chanka, what are you doing?

"It is all right, Milady. I need only to relieve the pitiful human of his medallion, and then I shall return to the Lake!"

What need have you of me, then? Why not consult the Skystone-man?

"Because there are others watching me. I have hidden myself in the middle of a field where I trust I am undetected, but I need you to change my appearance as he does, so that I can infiltrate the castle unobserved."

Chanka, what you ask is—

"Please!" Chanka reached deeper into the pool, as if she could touch Lady Kish and let her know how desperate she was. "For Gondu’s sake, just try!"

Very well.

Chanka felt the water clinging to her skin, felt the tingling sensation spread through her fingers. When the feeling subsided, she wore a close-fitting jerkin and leggings the color of the night itself. She could achieve invisibility all the way over the castle wall.

"Thank you, my Lady," Chanka whispered, and slid lizard-like over the ground.
>>>>>>>>>
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Tasha the Gypsy
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Iona settled for a small, slim bladed knife with a blood red ruby set in the hilt. She fastened it to the belt of her elaborate dress, which was of a matching shade of red, trimmed in black. She looked every inch a queen, but under the fold of the dress were concealed various other small weapons, and even, on this occasion, her twin pistols. Satisfied, she exited her chamber and descended the staircase. On reaching the bottom, she met Sir Thales.
"Good evening Sir Thales." Lady Iona's voice had an edge of ice on it, and her smile was slightly suspicious.
At the sound of her voice, Sir Thales started, whirling from the picture on the wall which he was apparently examining,
"Oh, My lady, you startled me." He managed to say after a pause. His face was red, and he hid his hands behind his back as if he were hiding something. Lady Iona's piercing eyes didn't miss a single detail, but she again masked her face in the friendly smile.
"I see you must have gotten lost on your way to the Great Hall." She said, her voice gracious and friendly as she masked every sign of suspicion, "Please, allow me to show you the way."
Sir Thales turned a deeper shade of red, but he composed himself, replying, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of troubling you, Lady Iona. I'm sure I can find the way myself..." he replied, in the same tone that she had used.
Iona simply smiled even more pleasantly, taking Sir Thales' arm,
"Nonsense, I was on the way there myself, and I would hate for you to get lost in these halls. Not all of them have been repaired, and it would never do for you to be hurt by falling rubble." She said, her eyes smiling dangerously down at him.
Sir Thales saw that he was going to be unable to get away from Iona, so he submitted with a smooth smile,
"Of course, of course. Lead the way, my Lady."

~

As the two entered the banquet hall, Lilith came up to them, again dressed in a maid's outfit, "Sir Thales, I looked for you in your room to show you down here, but you had already gone." She said sweetly, shooting a questioning glance at Iona. Iona only gave a short nod before releasing Thales.
"Lilith, see that Sir Thales is taken care of." She said, then turned to Thales, "I trust you will have a pleasant evening, and I hope to see you later. Now I must attend to the final preparations. If you'll excuse me."
Sir Thales bowed as Lady Iona turned and swept away.
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The Inkweaver
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Chanka slipped into the shadows beside a small door leading into the castle. She had made it through the gate, past the silver-plated guards, her shimmering water-colored dress appearing as little more that the shadow of a cloud passing over the courtyard. She waited as humans passed in and out of that door. She could tell they were servants, and they were so focused on the tasks at hand that they did not notice the tall figure standing flat against the wall--nor should they, for people in general did not see what they did not expect to see, and there was not one human in all of Terrarum that expected to see a mermaid on land wearing a dress that simultaneously blended with the night sky and the grey stone, towering over them half again a normal person's height.

She bent carefully to slip into the doorway when the traffic subsided. Backs were turned, heads were bent. Chanka waited for the largest diversion these people could manage: an enormous kettle big enough for Chanka to fit in, that took three burly men to maneuver, passing through this outer storeroom. Everyone was focused on the passage of the monstrosity--Chanka was merely a shadow beside it.

She was inside the castle. Staircases, echoing hallways, faint strains of music, talking, laughter, the clanking of dishes--Chanka crouched in a darkened alcove to hone her focus. She had one aim, one goal--and there was nothing and no one with the capacity to stop her. She crept down the hallway.


"Good evening, Sir Thales."

Chanka dove behind a gigantic tapestry and froze. The voice had separated from all others; she had no idea how close it was. Minute inspection over the course of the conversation between a man and a woman confirmed that they were in the next hallway. Chanka was safe from detection. She waited until she heard the two humans part ways, then slipped out from behind the hanging. Noiselessly, she wafted toward the staircase just through the doorway.

This would be the lady's chambers, Chanka surmised; that was not her desired destination. She moved on down another corridor. A pair of servants appeared around a bend at the far end, and Chanka ducked into a doorway to avoid detection. When they had passed, she continued until she found another staircase. This one had been blocked by wooden trestles, which were no more than minor inconveniences for Chanka to step over, being only three feet high. She made her way up the stairs--and soon discovered why the trestles had been placed there.

The cracked stone steps groaned beneath her tread. Above her, gaps in the stonework let glimpses of the sky peek through. She made it to the room at the top of the stairs. Half of it had crumbled, anyway, but in the dark stillness, where no human dared tread—and, more importantly, no guard bothered to look—Chanka had an almost perfect view of the wing of the castle. An illuminated window attracted her attention. There he was; she imagined this Count, her mark, sitting at a table, wholly unaware that the trinket in his possession had become more valuable than his own life. Chanka climbed the slide of fallen rubble and began making her way on the outside of the castle walls, along the jutting, uneven ridges, toward the window.

Count Wallach was about to receive a visitor.

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Captain_Riposte
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Count Wallach stood in the candlelit room in his shirtsleeves, his laced arms outstretched. Two servant men pulled the arms through the sleeves of a doublet made of black velvet embroidered with scarlet. A third servant stepped forward to push the gold pyramid-shaped buttons through the scarlet button loops. Next came the sword and baldric over the shoulder. The two other servants tied the doublet and the breeches together. At last his black and crimson half-cloak was draped over his tall frame and tall-crowned riding hat festooned with plumes of red and gold was placed into his gloved hand.

The Count stood in front of the tall mirror framed in gold. The aging warlord was still dashing. His lips curled into a slight smile before receding to their former stoicism.


"Two pints each from the cellar," the Count said to his servants without facing them. "Not a drop more."

The servants bowed and exited the room. The Count was left alone in his quarters. Despite his luxurious dress, the room was furnished in stoic simplicity. Only the bed bespoke a semblance of comfort. The Count sunk into his chair before the desk. His presence would soon be needed with the Lady Iona and the emissary, but first he had to pen a letter. He laid out a single sheet of parchment, dipped his quill in the inkwell, and began to scratch his message.
"Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4
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The Inkweaver
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Chanka clung to the uneven stones on the outside of the tower, her long fingers and toes finding impossible chinks in the vertical surface. The ledge of the Count's window was just above her head. Carefully, Chanka raised her bare foot and thrust it into a higher hold, slowly bracing her body upward. She imagined she was floating in Caedryl Lake again, easing upward along the submerged cliffs. Every muscle strained as she kept her movements so gradual they would hardly be detected in a person's periphery. Gently, she guided her body along the edge of the windowsill. Now she could see the plumes of the Count's hat as two servingmen gave his outfit the finishing touches. She heard him dismiss them, but the Count himself did not leave. Instead, as Chanka waited flat against the wall, the Count crossed the room and seated himself at the writing desk. She heard faint scraping sounds. A breeze tickled her ear, and though there was no voice this time, Chanka knew what it meant: Hurry up and get this over with. She braced herself.
The breeze increased to a wind, roaring through the tall trees surrounding the castle grounds. Chanka saw the breeze lift the heavy green drapes flanking the window, and she seized her chance. Moving in rhythm with the quivering fabric, Chanka skirted the edge of the windowsill and alighted in the chambers of Count Wallach, completely concealed behind the floor-length drapes.

She was in. She held her breath and waited for any sign that the Count had noticed. Still, the scratching sound continued.
Chanka waited behind the curtain until she couldn't stand it any longer. She slipped her favorite bone knife out of the lining of her bodice (a present from Lady Kish, along with the dress) and glided out from behind the curtain like a wave on the water. In a single bound, the eight-foot tall woman stood behind Count Wallach, the rough, finely-honed blade of her knife pressed against his throat while she braced the back of his head with her other hand. Slowly, dangerously, she spat the words through clenched teeth.


"Where. Is. The. Medallion?"
Edited by The Inkweaver, Mar 23 2014, 09:59 PM.
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