A Virtuous Quest 3:20: Trapping the bait.

"Feeling more like yourself, big fella?"

Kronmyr, who had propped his feet up on the round wooden table and leaned his chair back onto its two back legs, dropped his calloused, burned hand down for the hound's inspection.  Instead of biting it, after a few moments of intense sniffing, the toffee colored battle hound pushed his whole head under the hand to force a pat.

"There's recognition for ya," the Drow noted, looking up at Howler as he scratched the back of the dog's neck and tugged playfully at his ears.

"Get your hand off," the Human crabbed, turning over his left shoulder and reaching the blood-covered hand out as though he were near enough to smack the dark Elf's hand away.  "Don't you see he thinks he's in charge?  Forcing you to pat him like that?"

"By the spinner, you're impossible," Kronmyr sighed, sitting up by pulling into a brief mid-air split and allowing the first two legs of the chair to clomp to the floor.  The dog stood for a few seconds, then sat back down and laid his head on his paws.

"He snaps at us, you're angry.  He seeks affection, you're angry.  If he gave your bitch the biggest, strongest litter you ever had, would you still be angry?"

"He refused to mount her," Howler growled, turning back to the meat block.  "Laid in a corner and turned his back, while my poor bitch's flagging and whining and pushing against him.  Ignored her, and my beta was howling something miserable outside the whole time."

"He might be playing it smart," Kronmyr advised, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair and put one boot-clad foot against the lip of the table.  "Check that bitch's piss.  He might know something you don't."

"Look, do you wanna do this?" Howler snapped, looking over his shoulder again with the cleaver still in hand.  "Because it sounds like you've gotten years of experience down in the Underdark herding- what?  Your own children?"

"Least I can have children, you feckless sack of ratshit," Kronmyr replied with a slight smirk, as though he hadn't just insulted and cursed the man to whom he was speaking.

"You little-" Howler began, whirling around to threaten Kronmyr with the dripping cleaver.  Surprisingly, the dog got up with perked ears.

"I would have thought you'd finished feeding time by now, Howler; is there a reason that you're finding it difficult?" Bann asked as he strode casually into the room, closing the door behind him.

"And you can fuck off and all," Howler grunted, turning back to the meat block.  The dog sat down again, and after a few moments, laid his head back down on his paws.

"Mordy's late," Kronmyr offered, flicking his head toward the door, which Bann turned and cracked open.

The dog master slammed his cleaver down into the meat with obvious frustration.  "Not a second's worth of help with these seepings wound you've got for-"

"You've got him sitting nicely," Bann commented, walking over to the nearly disinterested hound.  When he crouched down to have a closer look, the dog stood up again, and the two looked into each other's eyes long enough for Howler to turn around and take notice.

"Since you've got him, don't let him go," the Human huffed.  "He's already tried staring me down, and he lost."

"Slowly losing the war, eh, Hammer?" Bann replied, putting his right hand on his boot while his left reached out for the hound's head.  There was no snapping, but again a sudden push to get under the petting hand.

"He's doing it again," Howler complained at once, putting down the cleaver and picking up the strap that matched the dog's markings.  "You still think you're in charge, huh, pup?  Think you're in charge?"  Bending the strap over itself so that there was a loop for his other hand, the Human pulled the strap taut to get a sharp, cracking sound.  Kronmyr frowned up at Howler as he let his chair sit on all four legs, but neither the dog nor Bann were moved at all, so Howler let go of the loop and simply used the strap as a whip over the hound's back.

"Hey, now," Bann countered, expertly grabbing the scruff of the dog's neck when he turned to snap at Howler.  The animal's power nearly matched his own, making it difficult to hold him and impossible to push him anywhere.  "Bit of help, Myr- where's his crate?"

"In the back- and he needs it too damned much," Howler grunted, turning his back to the situation to dole out the freshly cut meat.

"You're forcing him separate from the female he does want," Kronmyr managed as he and Bann coordinated their efforts against the growling dog.  "I think he's doing well, considering."

Howler waited until the Human and the dark Elf had managed to drag the bristling hound toward his cage, then threw the strap down on the floor.  The hound, who had seen the action, nearly broke away from both grown men in the effort to attack the offending male.  Only when the animal handler finally decided to lend a third set of hands to the situation was the dog successfully forced all the way into the crate that was just big enough for him to sit down and stew in.

"Gods," Bann breathed, remaining in a squatting position for a few moments.  "Wonder what that brigand put him through after we sold him."

"Bloody monster," Kronmyr agreed breathlessly, flopping down to the ground himself.

"Weak, the pair of you," Howler huffed, turning his back on both of them and moving away.  Kronmyr had only to roll sideways and hook an ankle with the top of his foot to bring the dog handler crashing to his hands and knees.

"Lucky the beast's girlfriend gave me a work-out," the dark Elf warned.  "Otherwise, I'd've put my knife through the back of your neck."

"You'd've died trying," Howler hissed, taking stock of the soreness that suddenly registered in his shoulders and knees.

"Lovers' quarrels," Bann said sweetly, getting to his feet and dusting himself off.  "I hope whatever woman I'm cursed to marry is as kind to me as you are to each other."

"Plague take your lungs," Howler spat as he slowly got to his feet.

"Pox on your member," Kronmyr replied, rolling onto his back and kipping up as though he hadn't just done anything physically stressful.

"We've actual work to discuss, newlyweds," Bann demanded, striding back over to the single round wooden table in the room.

"The recruit, right?" Kronmyr asked, rolling his left shoulder for a few seconds before he decided to amble back toward the table.  "Does better with simple bo shuriken than kunai- but didn't learn 'em at home, since she calls them yinn and alti'ui.  Exceptional katar work.  Says she only worked with the chain for a few weeks, so her teacher's got to be damned good.  I want twice the normal fare to train her any more."

"From your description, it sounds like I should be giving you half," Bann replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Aren't all Shadar-kai naturally good with spiked chains, you dimwit?" Howler shrugged as he checked himself for any damage.  "That's knowledge so common that even you should have it."

Kronmyr flopped down gracelessly in the chair to the left of his previous place and gave a short laugh.  "The same horses' asses who'll tell you that will also say that all Drow are good with rapiers and short swords.  You ever see me with 'em?  Twice. The. Fare, Bann.  Pay it, or train her yourself."

The cracked door suddenly swung wide, and a slender, rosy-skinned Human male with a smooth shaven head leaned in the doorway with a wicked leer.

"Am I late?"

"A question that needs no answer," Kronmyr snorted, snagging the empty chair's back left leg with his right foot and pulling back so that it fell forward onto the floor.

"See that?  That right there," Howler explained.  "From Myr, it's annoying.  From Hammer, it's unacceptable."

"That is your problem, Howler; I don't know what you now expect me to do with a dog that you told me to spare," Bann fixed the animal handler with a look of mild annoyance, then crossed to the right side of the table to pick the chair up by one rung of its ladder back with the tip of his boot.  "There, Mordren; sit."

"Don't mind if I do," the emerald eyed Human soothed, making a point of dusting the seat of the chair down before he sat in it.  He wisely made sure to position himself far enough away from the table so that he could keep an eye both on the animal handler and the dark Elf.  Howler, in response, decided against turning his back on the mage, leaning on his cutting counter with his arms crossed instead.

"Kronmyr was just telling us that the new recruit was as good with the chain as she told me she was-" Bann began as he turned his back to walk toward the chair that was sitting in the far corner of the room.

"No, she's better," the dark Elf corrected.  "And she's the first Shadar-kai I've ever seen that doesn't crow."

"Slavery will do that to a girl," Mordren noted.  "Didn't have to scry; ring's still in the back of her neck.  Such a shame- somebody must be missing their favorite."

"She may not be that kind of slave- did you ask?" Bann pressed, looking over his shoulder without turning all the way around.

"Do I ever outright ask any of our recruits where they're from?" Mordren shot back, as offended as he could ever be.  "She's most definitely a skinmaster's little lost lamb, although she's a little too... athletic, let's say... to work with most tavern mouthbreathers.  Can't imagine how she'd turn a living around here."

"Her Tiefling," Kronmyr said smoothly.  "Never underestimate the fetish market."

"Hadn't gotten far enough to know about the Tiefling, actually.  I got stuck on my new project's name-"

"It's bloody disgusting," Kronmyr huffed, much to Howler's poorly hidden delight.  "I want the blood of mother and father both."

"Well, childbirth beat you to Darling Mumsie,"  Mordren shrugged, running one of his deceptively delicate-looking hands over his clean shaven head.  "Based on the meaning she gave me, it should either be Jhula'unhaemriina or Jhularma'mice- absolutely, unmistakeably Drow, either way.  I told her so, and got an interesting display of diversionary conversation."

"So she's as smart as she is lovely to look at and dangerous to fight," the dark Elf noted simply.  "But the name, training, attitude- nothing fits."

"Cursed," Howler huffed from the table.

"No, merely an unknown entity, at the moment- which brings us back to the point," Bann sighed as he finally put a foot in the distanced chair and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Sorting the lady out."

"Dangerous business, even for the likes of Mordy," Kronmyr warned.  "In the training room, everybody was drawn to her.  Male, female, partnered, single- didn't matter.  Had to fight her like I was back home, just to keep my focus.  Shadows wrapped themselves around her; they loved her.  Her body- every muscle, every joint, every inch of flesh was so..."

For a few moments, the three other men watched the Drow nearly fall prey to a strange trance of memory, then snap sharply out of it as though slapped.  Howler, who ground his teeth in frustration, gestured to Kronmyr as he looked at Bann furiously.

"Go on," Bann encouraged, refusing to look at Howler at all.

"I threw her to the ground, hard as I would put down a man twice her size, and forced myself to walk away.  Felt myself staggering too, like I'd drunk poison.  Somebody hollered after me- I don't even know who.  Didn't turn around to see, in case she'd come after me.  Whoever it was said she got up, checked herself for bruises, and then just walked the fight off like I'd barely worked her.  She'd asked if it was common for me to leave after the first pass of a lesson- she was concerned that I'd gone 'cause I was displeased with her work."  Kronmyr finished the last part of the story with a silent, bitter chuckle that rippled up from the center of his body.  "I was the complete bloody opposite of 'displeased'."

"Athletic," Bann mused, nodding slowly.

"It's some kind of unnatural heat," Howler grunted, suddenly turning to flick slices of meat into the various bowls that sat around the cutting area on the counter.  "The dogs smell it.  I haven't seen her at all today, but it's like she's calling- not calling me.  The beast.  It's like one of you told her."

"I didn't," Mordryn insisted immediately.  "The information flow was one way, I assure you."

"Cursed indeed- almost unbearable," the dark Elf said.  While the comment had been under his breath, Howler could tell that he, not Bann, had been meant to hear it.

"Can you keep him quiet?" Bann asked quietly.

The Human male turned his head over his left shoulder with a charged sound that rumbled like a low growl.

"We should maybe keep you- and Hammer- away from her," Kronmyr offered in a strangely compassionate voice.

"Hammer is a natural dog," Bann reminded Kronmyr sharply.  "Howler is... not."

"I want nothing to do with her!" the animal handler snapped, turning all the way around to glare at Bann.  "I hated her the minute I saw her.  But the beast- he wants- wants to change her- to sire and own her.  Never felt the like of it.  Splits me in half, the bloody walking curse."

"You're right," Kronmyr nodded.

"I'm sorry; what did you just say?" Bann asked, leaning forward with an incredulous look on his face.

"She is cursed; it's even in her name," the dark Elf replied.

"Get 'er out, I say," Howler grunted, turning back to the cutting table.

"She'll do, for what we need," Bann breathed, picking up the chair and moving it closer to the table before sitting down.  "She can be made quite a stunning weapon- with the right guidance."

"Ah yes, guidance."  Mordren smirked and shrugged slightly.  "Happy to be of service, of course."

"Chuffed to bits; I hope she breaks your piece off," Howler pronounced firmly.  "That female ain't natural for her kind.  Or anyone's kind, probably."

"Look, Howler, better him than us," Kronmyr replied, thinking as he spoke.  "If there's a body in here to resist her curse, he's got the best chance at it.  What's better, he doesn't get in the thick of fights, so he's been spared some beauty marks, and it seems like the woman has a taste for fairer flesh than you, Bann or I've got."

"To be fair, if you decide to take her on, you'll be personally responsible for monitoring her work against Coalwater," Bann advised.  "That third eye may get quite a workout."

"Wait, you want her against Coalwater?" Kronmyr asked, sitting up straight.  "That project's too long in the set up to have some new blood ruin it all.   A second thing, the she'll be useless in tight spaces, unless she either uses her secondary weapons or brushes up on changing her chain's reach quickly.  For a third, you saw how she fearlessly demanded her Tiefling by name in a room full of armed strangers.  Now, she won't so much as pick up her head in the middle of a fight.  She might be possessed, for all we know- you want to rub Mordy up against whatever demons put the girl's lead strap in their kin's hands?"

"Oh, your doubt strikes me to the very quick, my man," Mordren chuckled easily.  "There is no female creature, be she ever so entangled with her patron devil, that I can't wrap myself around.  Watch me work; you handle that little chain issue, and I'll make sure that I'm the first and last thing she wants to see every day."

Bann sighed deeply and firmed his lips as he cut his eyes to meet the gaze of each man in the room.  "I'm not exempt.  I hear what you're telling me, and I've- felt- whatever unnatural power she has for myself.  Trust me in this- she'll be the key to getting past Coalwater's defenses.  Mordren, you must culture in her a loyalty that we can be sure of.  But if she gets into trouble and it is revealed that she was in our employ, we shall beg a priest, then swear to every holy implement that we were bewitched.  She shall burn, and we'll probably only be fined, if that.  We'll be back to square one, but no worse than that."

"I never thought I'd see the day I'd beg for a simpler plot," Kronmyr sighed.  "I feel thread about my neck even now."

"Before she burns, seal up the beast," Howler mumbled, turning his head slightly so that he didn't meet anyone's eyes as he spoke.  "Don't take chances with him.  True mating urges are strong in beasts that... are already... sires."

"Alright, let's bed this while you have the sense to hear me, and I have the sense to speak."  Kronmyr got up and walked over to Howler so that he could stare directly into his eyeshine-touched glare.

"That bloody manipulative wench would have died even if she had made it back to the Underdark.  There'd have been no place I wouldn't have searched for her, after what she did to us all.  Lykan Gan actually made her death far more torturous than I could have ever managed, so I'd thank him directly, if I could.  He- you- let me kill her myself, like she deserved.  Without ripping my spine out after, like I deserved."

And this time, both Bann and Howler fixed the Drow with looks of absolute wonder.  The naturally fearless dark Elf stood still for a few moments, then realized what the Human was unconsciously waiting for.  With a short sigh of annoyance, he allowed his gaze to break off- down and to the left.

"Bullshit," Howler spat at once.

"It's a gift, Howler," Bann counseled gently.  "Take it."

"You can fuck off, and all," the Human grumbled, turning back to his table to lay his hands on it, allowing his head to drop between his shoulder blades.  "Just- just don't make the same mistake twice."

"I'd kill her first and fight you after," Kronmyr replied.  "Regret is a weakness."

"First things first, gentlemen," Mordren said with a single, small nod.  "For everyone's sake, I'll get about learning whether this 'unnatural power' is an actual physical property or some spell cast upon her for the furthering of her... intended and marketed purpose.  While I do, please at least attempt to stop acting as though the undertaking and completion of the Coalwater Project is going to be the death of us all.  Your collective negative energy is immensely distracting."

"Here, I'll do it this time- sit on that and spin," Kronmyr groaned, turning to leave the room at last.

"As usual," Bann sighed deeply.  "Kronmyr, don't leave before you agree to train the creature.  There's something to be said for mercenaries led by a mage, you know."

The Drow waved a hand over his head as though he were batting away an annoying bird as he opened the door and walked out.

"I expect his admission was too much for his pride," Mordren whispered to Bann.  "I must say, I think a bit more of him for finally putting the matter to rest properly.  I'll take a look, see if he's intending to agree to your normal terms or not, hmm?"

"Or you can just go ask him, and not be a peeping witch," Howler piped up.  "Why do you bother whispering when you know I can still hear every word?"

"Why don't I go ask him and not be a peeping witch, then," Mordren sighed, getting up from the table.  "If I meet my pet project on the way...?"

"Tell her to go be properly registered as a mercenary so that she can train above ground, and stop distracting everyone else," Bann noted.  "While you're not being a peeping witch, tell the oaf that it'll be better to work with her at night-"

"No, it won't,"  Howler interrupted.

"-when there's no moon," Bann finished, raising an eyebrow at Howler.  "And not so far away from us that you're unable to be at least a bit of a peeping witch."

"Oh, I'll be close enough to her to offer helpful advice, wash her clothes, and help her bathe," Mordren smiled.  "It's all well in hand, Bann."

3:19 The rebirth of Iordyn Raibeart the Virtuous.

"No, no, no, and a hundred times, no," Terezio thundered, glaring at the highest ranking officer who sat on the other side of the hearth from him.  "I am relieved of active duty, sir and madam; and what's more, some talents which I fearlessly practiced in years gone by are now quite banned!"

Two of the three other Purple Dragons in the room shifted uncomfortably in their ladder-back wooden chairs, reminding Stephen of his two eldest children on the one fateful night that had awakened him to the fact that he had been allowing himself to become his father.  The thought of the screaming match that had brought tears to his eldest son's eyes still throbbed like a fresh-broken bone.

"You have to bring my husband's murderers to justice, you HAVE to!" the darkly clothed and veiled Human woman cried from the couch, nearly shaking.  "You're neither so old nor so long retired that you might forget your oaths to Suzail and Cormyr!"

"You do have a duty to your city and country-" the officer began in a authoritative tone.  Yet, even though the voice was harsh, Terezio spied a distant flicker of comraderie in the stormy brown eyes.

"You forget, Oversword and madam, that limits- very necessary limits- have been placed upon those of us with extreme talent in the school of divination," Terezio growled back, insulted.  "However much duty you may both believe I have, the Suzail Writ quite clearly prohibits me from the type of activity you request.  I have absolutely no desire to fly in the face of a law so newly writ that the wax of the late king's seal is hardly dry!"

"Letting an accomplice to murder walk free, when he can tell her whereabouts in a mere second!" the shrill voiced woman cried, prompting the dark haired, long suffering male next to her to wrap his arms around her in the attempt to calm her down.  "It's treason!  Treason!"

"No, dear, breaking the law that's been put up against telling the little spoiled darling's whereabouts in a mere second is the treason; you really must learn to listen when others speak," Druce clucked, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she leaned back in the chair that she'd placed at the foot of the stairs.

"You oughtn't to have put those women out in the first place," the officer relented as he put one hand to his silver-haired temple.  "They came with the Dragonborn; they should have stayed with him."

"Well, there, a man of your age has said it," Druce huffed.  "I expect that makes the idea more palatable?"

Just after she spoke, a knocking came at the door, and she glanced up at it without moving toward it.  Eunice began to move toward the door out of force of habit, but a single upraised finger from the old matron convinced the young apprentice to keep her seat.

"Dearest," Terezio said quietly, turning his head to the side so that he could cast his gaze behind him and toward his wife.  "You could have at least waited until they'd gone."

Druce couldn't manage to so much as attempt any kind of restitution before she was cut off by Iordyn's interrogator.

"Is it your practice to allow doors to go unanswered?" the grey haired officer grunted, only to be glared at by the Dragon who'd just spoken to Terezio.  "We'd all be better served if she'd mind her place, and speak when spoken to."

"I would thank you to do the same, Ornrion Vannus," the superior ranking officer stated flatly.  "That is the lady of this house, a dam of four children and worthy of respect; even if she should choose to open the door with her own hands, it shall be done only when she so chooses."

Iordyn watched the looks on Terezio and Aleksei's faces reflect their approval of the reproof, and sincerely wished that Terezio's interrogating officer had been by during his own questioning.

A louder, more insistent set of thumps sounded loudly at the door, and Druce put out a hand to convince Eunice to remain seated in the separate chair that had been placed just outside the arch whose hallway led to the kitchen.  She herself got up to open the door without asking who it was, and was absolutely dumbfounded to be presented with Rafael, whom she had just released from her custody not two days before, held up by two guards.  The former Purple Dragon looked much the worse for wear, as though he'd decided to live in a mildew-filled, muddy hole.  The Human woman, who along with her escort had turned to see who was at the door, shrieked in response to the sight and smell of him.

"Rafa, what's happened?" she asked at once, completely ignoring the obvious ramifications of the two officers by his side.

"He's returned to his natural state, is what," Stephen murmured.  Iordyn cast a vaguely annoyed glance at his brother, who shrugged.

"He's in no condition to be in the presence of ladies," one of the officers said.  "Shall we walk him around a few more times?"

"No, no indeed," Druce sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.  "In fact, let him stand on his own.  Go on, he can do it."

The officer who hadn't spoken peeked around Druce's left shoulder to catch the eye of the oversword, only letting go when that superior had given a slight nod.

Rafa foundered for a few seconds after being released, but put a hand to the door frame and steadied himself.  Terezio attempted to sneak a glance at Aleksei, only to find that the Dragonborn had been looking directly at him, not the scene at the doorway.  Feeling a completely uncharacteristic guilt creep upon his spirit, the bespectacled mage returned his gaze to his wife.

"Now, young man," Druce began in a very small, but appropriately matriarchal voice, "you tell me why you've done this to yourself again."

"A bit of whining," Rafa replied with a distracted, rolling tone as he studied the ground.  "I been fired, divorced and disowned.  All in the same day.  One messenger after another.  This lot came, and I wondered if I were going to the block."

"Stuff and rubbish, boy; kip up and brave it.  There's worse things to be than what you are.  I assume some one of those messengers came with money, too, which you've thrown to the barkeeps?" Druce frowned, planting her hands on her hips.

"Not all of it," Rafa smiled wickedly, looking up from the ground at last.  "A well-endowed lass some streets over that way has the rest."

"Oh!" the widow cried, fainting into the arms of her companion, who all but rolled his eyes in response.

"This wasting of an honest soul cries out to every god," Iordyn burst, unable to sit down on his feelings.  "It's no doubt that this is all due to the loss of his position and self-respect.  Did I not warn against this path?"

"You did," Vannus shot back, glaring mercilessly at the archer.  "And I replied that no murderer should trouble himself with the fate of a drunk."

"Ornrion," Terezio's interrogator warned, leveling a serious eye at his junior.

"I suppose it bears repeating that a sitting room cannot be made a courtroom?" Stephen piped up.  "I thought your superior said that this was a conjoined effort to piece together the whole truth, else I would not have exposed my brother to the likes of you a second time."

"The truth is that an arrow killed Blade Hophni, and that this man- your brother- was the only archer anywhere near him at the time of his death!" the officer thundered, standing up at once.

"An arrow?" Rafa laughed, as though it were a great joke.  "An arrow killed Hophni?  Be hanged, sir; Hophni killed Hophni."

"Well, the ale's made clean work of his fear," Terezio snorted.  "A man he might've saluted some days gone is now told to go and be hanged."

"Thank the gods that one were already fainted, or it'd've cost some screaming," Eunice noted from her place before the door.  One of the younger guards acknowledged the comment with a hastily-given nod.

"Come, bring him in and sit him down," Druce commanded firmly.  "Right there, where I was.  I'll stand right-"

"You won't, or I'm no man," Rafa shot back, pulling his arms out of the hands of the officers that had stepped forward to obey the woman.  "This time, Lady Druce, I'm not so far off my wits that I'm without common manners, and if you'll all hear me, I'll tell you what I know, so that you all can go home, and leave this tireless mother's house alone."

The widow, who'd finally awakened from her faint, looked about herself for a few moments as though she couldn't recognize why she was surrounded by strangers, casual temple acquaintances and a clutch of Purple Dragons.  The dark eyed male that she came with whispered something into her ear for a few moments, and after a few sniffles, she turned a suspicious eye on Rafa.

"Sit down, Vannus," the senior officer said calmly, standing himself.  "Men; let me mind the gentleman.  My lady, if you'll take your seat?"

"Handle him with firm respect, and I'll agree," Druce conceded, moving slowly back to her chair by the steps with her gaze pinned to Rafa's sweaty frame.

"My house is made un asile," Terezio despaired as he briefly put his face in one hand.

"Please to write to Gaspozsha Ranclyffe," Aleksei counseled gently, restraining himself from touching the concerned mage.  "She sees as you see, though she does not always wish to.  She will not fold her hands from you, when these things are happening."

Terezio looked over at Aleksei and sighed.

"I fear that's the most sense that's been spoken in this room since six this morning."

By that time, the oversword had made it across the room to Rafa, who was only able to be convinced to move three more steps inside the door.

"Mind the lady, who is the deceased's widow, yet, tell me what you mean by saying that he killed himself," he began quietly, as though he meant to keep the conversation between the two of them.  "Do you mean to say that he put an arrow in his own head?"

"May as well have," Rafa scoffed.  "Always kept aback of us, using marksmanship as his excuse.  He slept in trees, supposedly scouting- yet near a quarter of the company died in their sleep when the Semmites first ambushed us.  He was nowhere to be found when we lost the cart in the river- I thought he was dead when I found him laying flat in shallow water.  I screamed like a bloody girl when he sat up."

"Playing dead," Stephen chuckled, earning him the fierce glare of the widow.

"He hid himself when we were the last two roving guards," Rafa continued.   "Never got touched by the trap wards on the trees.  Left me, the four escort blades, the two female creatures, and the captive himself to fight with stinging eyes and burning lungs.  When's the last time you've ever seen an escort successfully defend himself while chained to a prisoner, even when fully able to do so?"

"That is what the rovers are for," the older Purple Dragon admitted quietly, sneaking a peek at Hophni's wife, whose face was reddening more with each passing moment.

"Well, they hadn't Prince Cat's chance in the doghouse with all that noxious mist in the air.  They all died, to the last man, killed by blades that sliced through solid, Cormite-forged chains as though they were bits of wool before shears, while Hophni played at scouting again, declaring that he hadn't seen any ar-"

"Am I to listen to this drunkard defame my husband?" the widow shrieked at last.  "These are all lies!"

"If these are lies, then I'm the head prancing witch of the nearest coven!" Rafa spat acridly.  "At the last, your dearest beloved was so stupid with fear that both women had to push him to go where he ought to have gone himself."

"No," Terezio muttered under his breath.  "Not a word out of his mouth has been untrue."

The oversword looked over briefly to make another request, but turned away when he saw how weary the old mage seemed.

"I tell you," Rafa insisted forcefully, "Hophni killed Hophni, with his own fool cowardice, and it's too only too bad that it killed everyone else around him first.  Had Shesua left him in the guardhouse and taken even a sickly, five year old Halfling girl instead, mayhap that bloody stubborn half-Dwarf would've lived to send you back your useless, threadbare, dry rotted washrag this very day."

"Yea, but he's fierce!" Druce marveled.  "Do any of the taverns around here sell that exploding liquor?"

"I won't stand it a moment longer!" the woman screamed, leaping to her feet.  "He alone of all his company lives, while my virtuous husband and all his companions lie dead!  He shouldn't just be dismissed from service, he should be hung for treason!"

"Frenzywater, Dearest; frenzywater," Terezio sighed deeply as soon as he was certain that his wife would hear him.  "And no; it's nearly treated as contraband."

"Hang me then; I don't beg your pardon!" Rafa hollered immediately.  "Light candles in the family's crypt, or set an altar in your own house, but if you ask after your beloved's reputation anywhere, you'll hear no better than what I've said.  Some places, you'll hear worse."

"My first statement about the guidance of Lathander still stands," Stephen whispered quietly to his brother, who didn't make any visible sign of protest.

"Well, ser, that's enough," Terezio's interrogator soothed, putting a protective arm against Rafa's chest.  "Remember his wits are damp, dear lady; he may not know all of what he speaks."

"I can tell you this is not true," Aleksei advised.  "There are many things said that people are not wanting to remember later, but in that time of drinking, all that one is saying, they are much meaning to say.  What is more interesting instead is what one is not saying; listen closely to these silences."

"Never bother talking sense when no one is listening," Rafa despaired, dramatically throwing up his arms and rolling his eyes as he flopped down to the floor.  "There's your sickness for you, Alex, right there."

And Terezio noticed that the Dragonborn tilted his head very slightly, as though Rafa's comment needed to fall into some hole that desperately wanted filling on the left side of his head.

"I'm listening, ser," the oversword replied, making sure to relax his posture and his face.  "If you've more to say, I'll hear it- with the forbearance of my ladies?"

"Let him have his say," Druce agreed.  Hophni's widow began to protest, but the matron shook her head.  "I said that we women shall all bear his further speaking.  If you do not wish to hear any more of him, you and your brother are quite free to leave."

"I hope people are so cruel to you when your husband dies," Hophni's widow growled.

"I hope I'm already dead when my husband dies," Druce replied simply.  "If I come not by that blessing, then I might stay silent in the presence of those who wish to help me in my time of wit-rending grief."

The Human woman's face flushed with embarrassment and indignation, but the man beside her managed to get his hand around her head and force her to lean on his shoulder before she could think of something else to say.

"All that it is, is that the Semmites paid an awful lot of attention to us, going and coming," Rafa said tenuously, looking from one face to another as he spoke.  "I've never heard or seen the likes of it.  Attack after attack.  Didn't matter that we killed them; they kept coming, and they got better as we went.  Started planning for what they saw of us, I guess.  Caught us in weaker and weaker spots- but left us alone when the Drow and Ser Raibeart showed up- by that time, it was just me.  Someone's on the list to go to Netheril, I'm convinced of it.  Say, Alex, should I tell about- about the Shadar-kai?"

"Already they are knowing about both Rasha and Bahlzair," Aleksei replied.  "They are not asking, but I am still telling."

"Some one of you is on their list," Rafa nodded, pointing at Aleksei, then putting that pointer finger to his nose.  "Your crimson cuthroat could get away, I think, but I hate to think of your sapphire beauty straining under a Netherese chain."

"This is no different to her than Drow chain or Human chain," Aleksei explained.  "There is no chain anywhere stronger than her own, so she is free."

Terezio looked fixedly at Aleksei for a few moments, willing his desire to probe further into that statement into silence and wanting desperately for any word from Marsember to arrive.

The highest ranking officer looked over at Iordyn, whose unmistakably disturbed look reflected the concern that he wasn't allowing himself to show.  "Young Ser Raibeart," he breathed, "I'm afraid that in light of this, I must ask you a question that will pierce your heart."

"Let it be asked," Iordyn replied, looking up into his strangely compassionate brown eyes.

"Do you have anything to do with Sembia or Netheril in any way?"

Iordyn closed his eyes and shook his head with a slight and temporary frown.  "No, Oversword.  I swear it, by Lathander."

"Battlemage Ranclyffe?" the officer asked in a voice so small that Terezio could hardly hear it.

"He is not lying," came the quiet response.

There was a weary, weighty silence that could have been mistaken for tension or mistrust, but as he looked from face to face, Iordyn got the distinct impression that most gathered was instead simply relieved not to have a Semmite operative in their midst.  The very production of the question seemed to have cost everyone a great deal of emotional distress.

"I thank you, sirs," the senior officer breathed, thinking deeply.

Unfortunately oblivious to the oversword's mental processing, the widow began to pipe up.

"What justice shall be done, then?  What peace will be made with me, and my family?  Have none of you any sense of propriety, or mercy?"

"Be comforted, Dame Hophni," the oversword replied, momentarily turning his back to Rafa.  The latter allowed some tension to go out of his body in response, and his drinking weighed instantly on his frame, forcing him to scoot himself over until he could lean his upper body on a wall.

"I will strive to understand all things about this matter, so that I may mete out the proper judgement.  Much as I hate to continue to draw the matter out, I absolutely must take all this new information under considera-"

"My husband is dead NOW, and has been cold for days!" the woman hollered loud enough to fill the room.  "Must I scrabble for fees in the street, like the close friend of that drunkard there?  What wicked plot might elsewhere fester is little concern of mine, but I refuse to leave this room, this very spot, before someone makes restitution for this crime!  Further, I shall screech the shame of Clan Raibeart to the highest heavens, until some one of that house thinks to stop my mouth by force!"

"The shame is on your house, madam, whose coward son was pushed to and fro mid-battle by a pair of outlander women!" Stephen retorted, not bothering at all to keep his voice gentle.  "There is no child of House Raibeart, neither male nor female, who would turn their back and run from any enemy!"

"Oh, but let me cry retribution, and away your little whelp flies, behind you, and guards, and facts, and time, cursed time, that will wear away at the shame on your precious, spotless name!" Hophni's widow cawed with a bitter laugh.

"I hide nowhere; I presented myself readily for judgement!" Iordyn chimed in, mortified.  "It's you who flees away from the way of righteousness.  More shameful even than your flippant disreguard of the good soldiers' efforts is this clamor for the sort of justice that jangles in the pockets!  If your husband were the most craven man alive, should he yet deserve to have his spirit wander restless while his hot-blooded mate trades due process of law for filthy coin?  I am ready to meet the gallows, and to give all my part of my father's fortune to your house, yet I too must wait upon the moving of those that uphold the law."

"Are you all deaf?  He is ready for his death!  Take him!" the widow protested.  "I know no justice other than this, that restitution be made for the loss of my husband and all that which he might have brought home, were it not for that accursed arrow!"

"If you know no justice farther than your purse strings, it is not my arrow alone that should be cursed," Iordyn shot back.  Stephen, who had never seen such a sharp side of his younger brother, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, wondering if his youngest might suffer a similar conversion.  The widow screeched wordlessly in response, and jumped up to put nails into Iordyn's face.  Her male companion, whose long-suffering seemed to know no bounds, restrained her with a simple arm around her waist.  Had the situation not been so serious, the resulting look of the two of them- complete with her wild flailing and his nearly bored facial expression- would have been outright comical.

"It is no easy thing for a young man to see the shadow of his death advancing long upon him; it must be this that has so hardened Young Ser Raibeart's normally patient, gentle spirit.  Madam, I ask for your peace, that I may reason calmly with him," the oversword said calmly.  The woman huffed and threw herself back into the couch with such force that the wooden frame protested, and her companion briefly checked his arm for any accidental damage before returning his attention to the oversword. 

"Now, ser, though you are fearlessly righteous when you speak, I ask that you surrender your reason," the elder officer replied, sneaking a look over at Stephen as he spoke.  The suspicious blacksmith raised an eyebrow at him, but the oversword remained calm as he continued.  "I warn you, your heart will rail against my words, but my years greatly prevail upon those that you command; therefore, listen to me not merely as a war-forged, decorated common officer, but as an elder of your own family, whose honorably departed grandsire I fought alongside years ago.  In his name, I pray you, hear my words."

"Most respectfully yours, Lord Garimond," Iordyn replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands like a reproved child might.

"I thank your forbearance," the oversword soothed, leaving Rafa's side entirely to stride over to Iordyn.  Surprisingly for a man of his age, he got to one knee before the younger man with no sign of ailment or stiffness.  "Again I tell you, your words are words of an upright man, and I see now with my own eyes why you have been followed closely by the epithet 'the Virtuous.'  I believe with all my heart that you will be as wise toward this woman, once you have been given good cause, as you are now zealous toward the law, and so I will speak plainly with you. 

"The law of this and any land, made and signed by one ruler, may improve or warp with the coming of another.  You know in your heart that there have been some laws made that chafe you, for they are against the more righteous commandments of the gods themselves, who are to be obeyed above any existing potentate.  These natural laws of the gods, whose indelible writ of survival is laid deep in every beating heart, must be served now.  This woman wails not for the clinking together of coins as it may seem, but against the tears of her babes, the shouts of her creditors and the growling of her own belly.  Render to her, then, such materials as shall satisfy these pressing needs, and let that be part of your just penance in this matter.  Let the spirit of Andrej Hophni rest forever peacefully in death, knowing that his widow has been duly cared for by that man who snatched him prematurely from her side.  Protection and providence for the home is all the worry of every mate; I say so with authority, having been married for nearly a full score longer than you have walked alive.  If my woman were the shrillest shrew, I should yet roar until the gates of all the Hells shook to pieces, if she passed but one night hungry after my death. 

"As touching the matter of this Semmite danger, I should rather command your living help for such time as it takes to root to the bottom of it than demand a testimony from a corpse.  I thought you ran from the great claws of the Purple Dragons in your youth, but now it seems the gods themselves have so directed your circumstances that you had no choice other than to lift up your eagle's eye under the banner that every one of your forefathers has served since the foundation of Cormyr herself.  Lathander, as we all know, presides over new sprung purpose and rebirth; this is undoubtedly the work of his hands, which puts to death that archer whose unattended arrow struck down an innocent man, and resurrects in his place a wiser, truer adherent to the Way of the Bow.  You are a wholly different creature than that former boy; I am no more certain of this than if I saw your dame's breast graced again with babe.  Let this service to the Dragons stand as the other part of your justice, and know that you will, in so doing, pay two times over what your mortal frame's death could not once satisfy.  Now, what have you to say to these things?"

"My Lord Garimond, may I touch my bow?" Iordyn asked humbly.

"An honest request," the oversword nodded, getting to his feet at once.  "Let me have one as well, of the poorest quality as can be found, and let all bear witness to this test- for a test I know it to be."

"I know where to find that second bow," Stephen grunted, rising.  "Spare me two cart rides, to my shop and back, and you'll have the worst bow in all of Faerun."

"What a curious saying!" Terezio suddenly broke.  "Why would the commissioned blacksmith of the Purple Dragons admit to shoddy work?"

"My lord, to answer you that is to put greater shame on my head than you think," Stephen replied as he headed for the door.  "Spare me but ten minutes, to my shop and back."

"Go," the officer replied, looking over to Rafa, who'd in the meantime fallen asleep while leaning on the wall.  The dark eyed Dragon simply walked back over to him and gave him the slightest of pushes with his knee, which sent him pitching to the other side.  Sensing himself falling, Rafa woke up and sat straight without even having to stick out a hand for balance.

"We're done, then?" he asked simply, looking back at the soldier who'd pushed him.

"Two things more, one of which involves you," the oversword replied.  "I must admit, I handed down your judgment sight unseen, for I do not know many men that can long survive in armed service while overly enamored of any activity that might occur in a tavern."

Rafa chuckled wearily, as though some long sickness had robbed him of most of his breath.  "Upon discovering my state, my great grandsire forbid the rest of the family from even speaking my name.  My wife- wife only to the coin I brought home- had found a new man long ago, and is now free to wed him openly without public reproach.  I feel like a free man for the first time in my life; that's no injustice at all."

"So what will you do with this freedom?" Druce interrupted immediately, crossing her arms.

"I don't yet know," Rafa shrugged with another laugh.  "I've just tried being an alms beggar, and it hasn't worked, so I'll try at being something else tomorrow."

"Had you thought of being a mercenary?" Terezio offered almost jokingly.  "Your skill set almost overwhelmingly lends itself to such work."

"Which is why I'd said 'Bugger' to it, sir," Rafa stated gravely with a raised index finger.  "Time for new things!  Reading, and stitching, and making a proper trade at market."

"If you're going to learn stitching, I could very well start a class," Druce suggested with all seriousness.  "Bittersweet, who's still abed upstairs, likes to look upon my sewing needle as well."

"Probably likes to see you prick yourself on it," Rafa replied with a frown.

"Mayhap he does," Druce shrugged.  "If that's the case, I'm sorry I don't do it often.  I imagine he has few pleasures in life that haven't to do with someone being harmed.  I like to afford him the one I can."   A light, but repeated tapping at the door brought Druce toward it.  "Ser Raibeart?"

"The same," came Stephen's voice from the other side of the door.

"Well, that didn't take at all as long as you indicated it might," Druce smirked as she opened the door to see Stephen.  "Have you the bow then?"

"The worst in all of Suzail, or let me be hanged," the blacksmith replied.  "Where shall we go?"

"The closest tree," Oversword Garimond replied, moving toward the door himself.  "Let us all go there now- with the leave of the masters of the house?"

Terezio merely nodded his head and extended an open hand as he arose from his chair, happy to have the entire company move out of his sitting room.  As two of the five soldiers made it clear that they would be responsible for Aleksei, the oversword moved to take custody of Iordyn, and the ornrion was made to help look after Rafa, the old mage cast his eyes around the chairs that had been brought from all parts of the house to accommodate the session.  When he was certain that everyone had gone through the front door and around the side of the house toward the small plot of natural land beyond it, he concentrated on a mental image of a single eye-like ball of energy.  He fed his power slowly to this center of energy, then expanded the awareness within it from one chair, to another, and to another, until he could sense phantom traces of residual energies from the people that had recently vacated them.

Druce waited for him to open his eyes.  As usual, they had begun leaking- the first thing the older woman did was remove the corrective lenses from his face and brush gentle fingers at the corners of his eyes.  He offered a short grunt, unable to force his lips to obey his mind.

"You tell everyone else that you're retired, and then you do this," she cooed, all trace of her normal sharpness gone from her voice.  "One of these days, you're going to be caught, and they're going to put you back to real work again."

Without another word about it, the mage tapped the bridge of his nose, and his wife put a gentle kiss there before replacing his glasses.  The two smiled at each other for a few seconds, then moved out the door toward their yard, where the spectators had clearly backed up in a semi-circle to view the archer and the oversword.

"I'll ask the retired Battlemage Ranclyffe to verify that I lie not when I say it has been a full week since I last worked a bow, and that was in a training room, to ensure that I'd not forgotten how," the officer began as he inspected the bow.

Iordyn, for his part, noticed which bow Stephen had brought right away.  "Stephen, I split your beam evenly with that not two days gone," he protested.

"Then we don't have to ask Battlemage Ranclyffe to tell anyone anything, for you and I both know from experience that this piece is stiff in multiple places," Stephen nodded.  "That it was shot at anything with any reasonable accuracy speaks to the talent of the archer.  Tymora look over you."

"It's not Tymora's judgement we beg," Garimond corrected pointedly.  "Draw back, Young Ser Raibeart.  Lathander's unfailing guidance will aid you."

Iordyn looked at the tree- probably a mere decade beyond being a sapling- and breathed deeply.  His instrument, the ever-familiar long bow that he would not change for a composite or a cross bow even though he'd been told to on multiple occasions, seemed to weigh much more than normal.  He knelt down with it, and for nearly a full minute, he simply remained on the ground with his head touched to it, as though it would whisper in his ear.  The oversword, who knew better than to disturb a genuine request for divine guidance, glared Hophni's widow into silence.  Finally, Iordyn spoke- and though his head was still bowed to the ground, his words were unmistakable.

"I shoot for the taking of my life as answer for my murder."

And as if released from a spell, the initiate of the Way of the Bow arose and took a single arrow from his elder brother's waiting hand.  His aim was precise; the speed of his draw and the flick of his release were absolutely picture perfect, as though he were a machine that could not err even if he had desired to do so.  Unsurprisingly, the iron arrow smacked into the center of the tree, biting into the bark with half its head.  Stephen shut his eyes against the sight, but Iordyn nodded.  No one wanted to comment on the sheer beauty of his ability- even Hophni's wife was struck amazedly silent.

"And I shoot for the double sentence; that you give no less than three year's worth of Andrej Hophni's wages to his wife as restitution for his loss, and that you give an indefinite amount of service to the Purple Dragons as it touches the affairs of this Semmite encroachment upon Cormyr's lands."

Garimond was no slouch.  While Iordyn could tell that the oversword was primarily a blade wielder, the knowing power in his upper body easily moved from that brute experience to the finesse necessary to aim the bow.  In fact, possibly because of the incontestable force in the elder officer's chest and arms, Saul's awful, stiff bow bent back as though there were nothing wrong with it.

If this is my end, then let it be as you will have it be, Lathander, not as I will have it, Iordyn prayed silently in his spirit, forcing himself to keep his eyes focused on the tree.

And at that moment, the arrow- one of Stephen's steel headed monsters whose tips were slit so that the thing was much more difficult to rip out of flesh than commoner work- sung away from Saul's bow.  Without a fraction of an inch's mistake, the beast struck the back of the iron headed arrow.  The steel head first served its purpose, driving directly through the wood of its iron cousin, then surprisingly cracked the brittle metal absolutely in half, so that Iordyn's arrow fell out of the wood in two pieces.

No one could speak.

Garimond, who himself was astounded at the unmistakable answer, walked behind Iordyn to put Saul's bow back into Stephen's hand.  The blacksmith had not opened his eyes since his brother's shot, and so had to have the oversword's result pointed out to him.  Stephen looked immediately back up toward the sky in silence, as though nothing on the ground interested him at all.  The oversword simply patted his shoulder, swung an index finger around just once to tell his men to form up behind him, then left with them.

"Home," the male companion to Hophni's widow said in a strange tone.  Iordyn looked over ad briefly wondered why the man's voice seemed so unused to sounding.  "We're answered here.  Or three years of Drej's lions won't do?"

"You're right; let's go," the woman whispered, still feeling her skin prickle with the nearness of divine direction.  "Sirs- thank you.  Thank you- bless you, even.  I'll see to Andrej's services, get a job somewhere, and- and I hope you get those Semmites."  She looked around herself for a few moments, as though something were going to fall on her, then turned and left with some speed.

Aleksei sat down on the ground, and Iordyn looked down at him for a few moments before turning back to the steel arrow in the tree.

"The gods will take who they will take, a woman once is telling me," Aleksei noted, "but also they will spare who they will spare.  If in speaking to the gods, you hear only silence, then listen to that silence."

3:18 Notes.

The Coalwater Mercenaries' headquarters were just as well-proclaimed as those of the Sunfire Mercenaries- the building was visible above ground, sported a welcoming front room and comfortable accommodations for their members, and had an open log book right at the front door where one was to sign in upon entry.

But Mi'ishaen knew she had met accomplices of Dark, however, when she was instructed to use an outside name the moment she stepped across the threshold.  When she hinted at already having one, she was asked if she were still in Urmlaspyr or not.

And thus, the Tiefling became, according to the Coalwater Mercs, Fireblade Mishka Azarovna Luzkaya, while Silveredge became Rasha bat-Ceubel.

"We're registered openly, so the trick here is to get close enough to a real name that your outside companions will recognize it and cleave to it," a slender-built Dragonborn called Greyscale counseled.  "It's useful of this Aleksei fellow to have given you those nicknames."

"Seems like the Dragonborn where he's from put a lot of stock in them," Mi'ishaen replied, looking over the flamboyant seal that was proudly displayed upon the charter that she could not read.  "He calls them 'little pet names,' or whatever- I guess it's his way of displaying affection.  He has his own, but- it seems to be a family thing.  It's awkward for me to say it, I think."

The Dragonborn nodded, thinking back to his own past.  "I wouldn't worry about it; he's styling himself as the leader of your 'clan,' which isn't as prideful as it sounds.  He's likely worried about you."

"We can take care of ourselves- he's said we can take care of ourselves," Mi'ishaen noted quietly.

"Uh huh," Greyscale nodded, opting to leave that conversation alone as he looked over the notes that had come down from the second floor earlier that day.  "Nice touch by your Shadar-kai, double checking the 'false' books.  Also, she's the only person to get away with telling Cypher that she's wrong for a long, long time."

"It's a talent of hers," Mi'ishaen agreed.  "She would make any pauper feel like a king, even if he'd just spit in her face."

"So you must be an empress," the Dragonborn smirked.  Noting the unamused look on the Tiefling's face, however, he deftly returned to the more pressing subject.  "According to this, the Sunfire Mercs are in trouble, but neither the real journals nor the 'false' ones make sense about it.  It should take better than one turned hound to put the whole operation under closing notice."

"Depends on who it turned on," Mi'ishaen snorted, turning her attention from the seal to Greyscale, who was leaning on the base of the stairs that led to the second floor.  "Any cross thing done to a nobleman goes straight to the ears of every judge and priest."

"Hard to believe you're less than a week over here," came the weary reply.  "Doesn't say who the dog took or why; just says he turned and got exterminated for his pains.  But the severity of this description doesn't make sense even if the hound turned on Foril himself- the Sunfire's breeding business is so well-confirmed that they have no competition in all of Suzail."

"That's because the closure threat has nothing to do with the dog, or with their kidnapping rescues, or even with their work with alchemic users," came a rich alto voice from the second floor.  A honey-brown haired Human popped out from one of the four rooms upstairs, accompanied by Silveredge, whose Raven Queen coven robes now sported a few more pockets.  "Read this; you won't believe what they're up to."

"Cypher, you can-"

Before the Dragonborn could finish the sentence, the lithe female had hopped sideways onto the smooth banister and slid her way down to him, hopping off just before she would have fallen off the end of it.  Handing over the small scrap of paper with a peck on the scaly cheek, the Human crossed her arms and waited for the reaction she knew would come.  Silveredge, meanwhile, noted that she had caught Mi'ishaen's attention immediately, and smiled shyly as she slowly descended.

Greyscale read down the brief note once, tilted his head slightly, then read it again more slowly.

"They want in on our racket," he marveled, almost to himself.

"Not just that; they want us, lock, stock, and every last bloody barrel," the female nodded approvingly.  "And maybe not everybody's happy with that idea."

"Or maybe another organization has caught on to their game.  You know what the merc business has been like these past few years," Greyscale murmured, still going over the paper.  "You two have any idea who this 'R' might be?"

"That's what makes me feel like someone's gumming the pipes from the inside," Greyscale's counterpart offered.  "Dark's got her fingers on Sembia's wrist, and she knows some coteries over there are finding Cormite allies.  Noble ones, at that.  So now you have a whole new Semmite invasion- quiet, weaponless, with their path paved in coin."

"It's about the Suzail Writ, I bet," the Dragonborn huffed.  "Oh, sorry- signed by the late king, gave commoners rights."

"And not a single noble family likes it, not even the Emmarask," the Human added.  "I wouldn't be surprised if some one of them tried to hire the Sunfire to work with the Semmites, and the true-blooded Cormyrians among them wouldn't stoop so low."

"Are Semmites so hated here?" Silveredge asked as she finally reached the floor level.  Once there, she moved to Mi'ishaen's side, so that the four of them fell into oddly natural pairs.

"Kidding me?  As I hear it, Spectre split in half over it, and they're little more than a cadre of thieves, swindlers and con-people," Greyscale spat.  "There are deep feelings here, deep feelings.  If it were that a noble were trying to turn the Sunfire Mercs into a Semmite tunnel- or worse, a front- we'd be doing them a favor by burning the place down around them."

"Would we not do them a greater favor by offering them the chance to overthrow those who are trying to put a bit into their mouths and turn them in a direction that they do not wish to go?" Silveredge suggested.  "Surely the utter destruction of the place and everyone in it is not entirely necessary."

"Girl after Dark's own heart," Greyscale chuckled, looking up from the scrap of paper at last.  "I'm sure that's what old firehair'll say, when she gets Shiv's message.  How do you feel about going back in there to see if they'll still recruit you?"

"How?" Mi'ishaen interjected.  "You're connected to me, and I'm connected to the Coalwater Merc that those idiots have got to still be looking for- you think they're going to just forget that?"

"They may forgive it if the handmaiden returns what they believe that you and Coalwater Merc stole," Silveredge replied.  "This mistress has taken such faithful notes that her handmaiden cannot imagine that the original documents should any longer be necessary to her."

"I'll take a look at them one more time, just to make sure we're not giving away something we're going to have to send manpower back in there to get," Cypher mused, reaching out her hand tentatively.

"Should the mistress require it, the handmaiden would return them, of course," Silveredge assured.  "They, and any thing in the Sunfire's possession, can be called her own."

"They're going to want the dog back, too," Mi'ishaen reminded.  "You think he's going to be okay in there?"

"Do you think that I will be okay in there?" Silveredge asked quietly, looking directly into Mi'ishaen's eyes.

Mi'ishaen thought back to other times, and Silveredge, seeing this deep contemplation, reached out and gently took hold of the Tiefling's tense upper arms.  In response, the arms uncrossed, and Mi'ishaen mirrored the Shadar-kai's touch.  For a few fleeting moments, the two seemed unsure of what to do with each other, but the Human female broke the near-sacred silence between them.

"Gods, just kiss her and be done with it!" she exclaimed impatiently.

Greyscale glared at Cypher in an incredulous silence for a few moments.  Then, taking her firmly by the arm, he turned and marched her upstairs- although she wasn't thrilled about being taken away from the situation, her dexterity couldn't quite match his simple, brute strength.

"Well, of course- you'll be fine," Mi'ishaen replied guiltily, a few moments after the quarreling pair disappeared behind an upstairs door.  "You're more than capable of making everybody in there think that you're their docile servant-"

"And do you think that I am doing the same to you?"

The question wasn't totally unexpected, but the Tiefling was winded by it all the same.  While she hadn't spent sleepless nights over the situation, she had begun to admit that they had been moving past simple friendship for some time.  For a creature so used to controlling what she would and wouldn't get herself into- or out of- the helplessness of her waltz into this situation had been jarring.

"It's... strange," Mi'ishaen finally managed.  "And, sometimes... I do wonder..."

"There are some things about which we can only know that we do not know," Silveredge soothed.  "You can look and look and look forever, or you can trust that it is because it is- rather, that I like you because I do, and I have done from the very day we first fought.  All I have done, in the time that I've known you, is find more reasons to go on liking you, but I cannot answer why I first began to do so."

"But I... don't really know... how to like you back, I guess?" Mi'ishaen continued with even more difficulty.  "How to really... do... whatever that is."

"I don't know that anything has to change," Silveredge explained, dropping her voice to a tone so soft that Mi'ishaen had to come closer to hear her.  "We talk.  We share our thoughts."

"You kissed me," Mi'ishaen pointed out.

"And you might do that back," Silveredge smiled shyly.

Mi'ishaen's face lost all pretense at coolness at that point.  "Is that... do you... want that?"

And from upstairs, both women heard-

"Oh, dear gods- FUCKING KISS HER!"

-followed by multiple shushes.

"Sheesh, that tells you the level of confidentiality anybody can expect around here."  The moment worked to clear some of Mi'ishaen's nervous energy, and Silveredge smiled.  "But I guess she's got it right, huh?"

"I guess I might also work on telling you precisely what it is I want at any given time, instead of having others do it for me- others have requested me to do as much."

"Well, yeah, that's a start," Mi'ishaen admitted, nearly laughing the response out.  "Please do that, or I'll never know what to do with you at all, ever."

"Perhaps... if I showed you?"

Both went quiet suddenly, again knowing what wanted to happen in the next moment.  They neared each other's faces gradually- and with some remnants of awkwardness- and Silveredge eased the tension by smoothing her cheek against Mi'ishaen's first.  When she drew back into a nuzzling distance, Mi'ishaen squeezed her eyes shut and planted her lips firmly on Silveredge's, rather like a small child would push a kiss onto a mother's cheek.  The Shadar-kai allowed one hand to leave the Tiefling's upper arm and brush the cheek instead, wordlessly encouraging the contact to last longer than its initiator had planned- and as the moment stretched on into a minute, Mi'ishaen allowed Silveredge to gain control over it, allowed her head to be guided to one side as the light blue fingers slipped into her loose, dark hair.  When they finally separated and rested, Silveredge found Mi'ishaen's cheeks much redder than they had been just a few moments before.

"I liked that," she whispered encouragingly, pulling her fingers all the way through Mi'ishaen's hair.  "And I like you.  Truly.  No spells or tricks."

Mi'ishaen found herself smiling giddily, until something else unexpected happened- and shockingly enough, she didn't even have to find some kind of strange excuse for wanting to break away from the close contact.

"No, you haven't," Silveredge stated simply as she allowed Mi'ishaen to step back from her.  "And I can explain why that happened, but- shall we see what plans Cypher's got?"

"Yeah, let's not have her holler down again," Mi'ishaen agreed, grateful for the skipped explanation.  Taking hold of Silveredge's hand, she moved upstairs with a new energy, and breathed a sigh of slightly-ruffled satisfaction.

3:17 Stalemate.

The half-Elf had nearly gotten used to the persistent salt smell, by now.  He'd gotten used to not being able to see the sky.  He'd gotten used to having the quartermaster- an intelligent, but barely verbal mountain of a man- personally come down to offer all three daily meals, and he'd also gotten used to refusing two out of three of them in protest of his situation.  When his health began to decline as a result, he also became used to seeing the blank-faced medic, who didn't speak at all, but simply got about his business with all the speed and kindness of a full python.  He'd even gotten used to the young Human cabin boy- a fragile thing that seemed to pick up every illness known to Abeir-Toril- poking his head down to ask in hideous Common if he were feeling alright or not.  With the passing of time, the creature noticed that he was difficult to understand, and so began using Ymilsano's exact phrasing when he asked questions.  To the half-Elf, that sounded as though he were speaking to the captain himself, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Liam didn't know how many days he had passed as Ymilsano's "captive," and the idea of an entire month going by without his knowledge no longer seemed a frightening possibility, but instead a cold, sobering reality.  He denied himself the twisted comfort of knowing for certain, however, which he could have easily discovered by simply asking any of his unasked-for visitors what day it might have been in that nearly-forgotten land where the sun still shone.

The ship's makeshift brig was in the farthest aft part of the cargo hold- though two had been used to hold men, the "cells" were large wooden crates with solid metal bars, originally intended for the shipping of dangerous animals.  From his crate, the half-Elf was close enough to the rudder to hear it constantly shifting as the helmsman- who also served as the first mate, since the original first mate had died with his captain- at the wheel above him.  He had counted how many shipments had come on and gone off since he'd been placed in the belly of the ship, and had begun to recognize the sailors that were usually responsible for bringing goods to the cooper for storage.  The cooper himself- a gregarious sort who had been brought aboard along with the cabin boy and a few other survivors from the defeated ship from Urmlaspyr- attempted to make small talk with him about the goods, to little avail.  Liam noted that there was a distinct attempt at proper grammar and manners that was markedly absent when the sailors spoke amongst themselves.  Over time, he realized that the attempt at a higher class of speech wasn't merely a pitiful sham, but instead a realistic push toward refinement.

The half-Elf was just as amazed as he was angered, because the one thing to which he could not become accustomed was the devolution of Ymilsano DiCipriano from an accomplished swordsman of the Yuirwood to a strange class of card-carrying pirate who treated his shipmates to open reading lessons whenever they had a calm moment, and tea and prayers every morning.

It was just after one of these morning prayer sessions that the half-Elf found his cell attended to not by one of the lesser mates, the quartermaster, or even Drudge, but instead by the Ymilsano himself.  Well-kept as always, the full-blooded Elf had braided his ever-lengthening blond hair back so that he could clean his quarters without any of it getting into his face.  He wore a simple tunic, a wide leather belt that seemed as though he'd recently cut and fashioned it himself, and long, loose breeches, as though he expected to do still more physical work.  Under his right arm, he carried a woven basket.  In his left hand, he held an empty pot large enough to fit a young child.

"Say what you've come to say and be done," the half-Elf grumbled immediately.  "This cell is damp and rank enough without you sitting here."

Ymilsano put the bucket and pot down a foot away from the bars of the brig and pulled one of the three stools over to them.  Much to the half-Elf's consternation, he said not a word as he sat down and pulled a potato from the basket on his right.  He'd nearly finished skinning the spud when the half-Elf spoke again.

"What do you want?  Are you going to ask me if you can put me off home again?  Because the answer's no."

"It's not 'no,' " the Elf replied, finishing the potato easily and placing it calmly into the pot on his left.  "It's 'yes, with conditions that have not been agreed upon as yet.' "

"This is ridiculous, this faux-renegade role you've fashioned for yourself," the half-Elf scoffed bitterly, turning his back to the bars of the cage.  "Time to shake it off."

"Not possible, I'm afraid," Ymilsano sighed, pausing in the middle of the second potato to look up at the haggard half-Elf.  "I'm not suffering a fit of fantasy."

"You should work on souring that Common, if you wish to be a believable brigand.  Further, no captain of any vessel anywhere peels his own goddamned potatoes."  When he didn't receive a response, the half-Elf's tone quickly descended from disinterested to markedly concerned.  He grabbed the bars of his pen and shook them in the effort to get his former comrade's attention.  "Ymil, you don't belong here!  Not any more than I do- or Sadrianae, if you even think about her anymore."

Ymilsano sighed, shaking his head slowly, but continued to peel the potato in his hand.  "I think about Sadriana all the time."

"Do you now? While you're out playing at ships?" Liam replied in a near wail.  "You must consider-"

"I have," the fair haired Elf replied sharply, putting the finished potato into the pot and retrieving another from the basket.  "Quite deeply, in fact.  You may not think so now, but you will, upon further contemplation."

"Bloody self-important little shit!" Liam cried, kicking against the bars in rage.  "What about Sadri?  What about your family?  What am I supposed to say?"

"You oughtn't feel called upon to testify favorably on my behalf," Ymilsano noted quietly as he cut around a particularly foul part of the potato upon which he was working.  "Encourage Sadriana to marry a farmer, or a merchant- perhaps an innkeeper."

"You're abandoning her, then?"  Liam's forehead began to throb, so that he felt he had to close his eyes and press his hand to the center of his head before he could speak.  "Tell me the truth, Ymilsano.  Tell me if-  if it's because-  because you prefer-"

"No," the Elf finished solidly, looking up at Liam with an intensity that made Liam's heart beat a few seconds faster.  "Not that you, of all people, have the right to ask me that."

"Don't dare tell me what I oughtn't ask!" Liam choked out in a strange cross between a holler and a laugh.  "You've done such things as to make me wonder-"

"True enough," Ymilsano said very quietly, picking another potato out of the basket.

"Then on what grounds could you possibly tell me not to question your actions?  Your intentions?  Who you even are anymore, Ymil- I don't know who you are!"

Ymilsano finally stopped working on the potato, allowing both hands to simply rest on his lap.  He closed his eyes, frowning slightly, then sighed deeply.

"The Jackal."

"No," Liam spat fiercely, his hushed voice nearly like a dagger through the Elf's chest.  "You're not-"

"Calm down, and listen.  I am a murderer.  A contraband trader.  An enemy to the Urmlaspyr naval force, a collector of ransoms- and I have, without outside compulsion, done things that qualify me for such classifications.  You cannot deny that; not with the same tongue that so recently accused me of being some creature that you cannot- or rather, will not- recognize."

"No," Liam managed, trying to refute the truth even as it began to dawn on him.

"Could I then, in good conscience, return to our land, to my family, to your sister, or to any sort of law abiding existence, knowing that someday, these my actions will return from across the seas to devour every good and living thing I've ever touched just as surely as a serpent will swallow its prey?  Could I yet claim, upon that return, to be an upright creature, a stalwart soldier, a faithful brother, or a loving husband, who had done right by all those who put their confidence and love in me?"

Liam stared at Ymilsano, who would not open his eyes to meet his burning gaze.

"We were both commanded-"

The Elf waved the feeble attempt at defense away with the hand that was holding the knife.  "I could have asked our commanding officer why he was putting the captives on an unknown cargo ship.  I could have refused to comply with his scheme- if it was that he purposefully made plans with the original captain of this ship.  If that were so, I could even have demanded that he abdicate his command, but I did none of that.  And every day, I have asked myself why."

"I could find out-" Liam began voicelessly, weakened by the weight of the situation's reality.

"I cannot answer myself, Liam," Ymilsano continued, ignoring him.  "I am utterly condemned by my own conscience, and need neither potentate to judge my fate nor priest to preach my condition.  Now, then, should I not go to my death?  Indeed; yet, I can neither take my own life- for that will submit me to the judgment of the gods- nor allow any government to put me publicly to death, for then the cry of piracy shall return via the proper proclamation of that death to Furthinghome, putting my loved ones in shame at best, and destitution or death at worst."

"I yield," Liam finally admitted, sitting down on his bedding.  "What would you have me do?"

"Tell your sister the truth," the Elf urged quietly.  "Hide nothing from her.  She is her own soul, of course, and will decide for herself what she will do- but strongly encourage her to publicly denounce and divorce me.  Convince her of her need to be free of my coming judgment."

"Put it down," the half-Elf croaked, finding his emotions rising thickly into his throat.  "Set all this to paper and let her read it, for I... haven't the strength-"

"Find some, base-born craven, for her sake," Ymilsano commanded sternly, suddenly glaring at Liam with a steely determination.  "She must publicly spit on my house and divorce me.  To permit her to do otherwise, however tender the intention, is to knowingly anchor her to a name that is destined to be cried out at a hangman's noose, or over a watery grave.  She is a righteous female; a creature possessed of more mettle than the gods thought to give the male who shared her dam's womb.  If you do not press her to this desperate action with all your reason and resolve, she will proclaim herself my wife until I become her condemnation, and when I die, I shall not for one night leave your soul in peaceful rest."

And Liam, who felt as though he had been sliced to ribbons, could do nothing but shake his head.

"I assure you," Ymilsano finished, putting the knife into the pot and picking that up in one hand while retrieving the basket with the other, "I have considered all things touching this situation most thoroughly."

The silence that reigned between them weighed powerfully upon the captain, so that Drudge knew not to interrupt the consultation merely by spying one side of his resigned face from the top of the stairs.  Ymilsano heard the cabin boy anyway, and turned to offer him a questioning half smirk.  Encouraged by the mildly amused face, yet still anxious to avoid displeasing his captain, Drudge shook his head and popped back out of view.  Liam, who had watched the entire wordless transaction, grieved at the thought that the deceptively persuasive, highly intelligent Elf was fully capable of guiding all who would follow him to success irrespective of what side of the law he was on.  Worse yet, who could make a better criminal than one who had once hunted such fiends with unparalleled success?  His only handicap would have been his ignorance of maritime practices, but as his crewmen had functioned as a cohesive whole around him, that babe's naivete had rapidly disappeared.

"I could petition- surely someone would hear-"

Ymilsano refocused his gaze on the half-Elf, allowing the weight of the situation to rest on him again.  "Only Sadriana.  And tell her that her dream was startlingly accurate.  In her refusal to give me children, she has, I must now believe, acted as the gods instructed her.  Her holy example has pressed my spirit freshly to Tel'Seldarine."

"And for what shall you pray?" Liam laughed sadly.

"For you," Ymilsano replied as he got up.  "When we have drawn near enough to Alphar, I shall give you my things, to throw into the ocean or otherwise utterly destroy, as you will.  Let nothing of mine come marked with my name into any other's possession, or remain in your hands, or reach my family. You must bear with the quiet rumor of my death.  Neither spark nor fan such fires, but if some unaided plume arises, stamp it not out.  In time, truth shall fall into step with common thought; therefore, think it no wickedness that you permit, but instead divine mercy.  Goodbye, Liam.  Keep the law, as you have always done, and set no foot again upon a ship."

And the half-Elf watched his former brother-in-law go up the stairs and out of his sight, knowing it might be the last time they would ever speak.

"Land, ho!  Shall we send word ahead, Cap'n?"

"No, gentlemen; let us seek out Pedrossa and hold fast by his ship's side, that we may do our business as quickly as is possible."

3:16 Sewn together.

The room was comfortable, there was no denying that.   Even with the curtains taken down, the place was set at such an angle that the light of the sun only burst through full force for about two hours.  Since that was hardly enough to raise the temperature in the room even two or three degrees, and the light afforded could be easily avoided simply by closing one's eyes, it seemed as though the room had been chosen with its present inhabitant in mind.

Just to the side of the bed, simply fashioned and left uncovered, was a small, square wooden table.  The chair whose ladder back braced against the wall was obviously one of the table's counterparts, since it bore the same simple style.  The bed itself was filled with sheep's wool and feathers, a combination that made it much softer than the beds of commoners.  The blankets were multicolored swirls of spun yarn; warm, thick, and just as comfortable to be underneath as they were to look at.  The sheets beneath were smooth yards of cotton.  Across from this relatively sumptuous resting place was the washing basin, which was dry at the moment.  On the other side of the room, just inside the door, was the second ladder back chair that rested next to a very small, round table whose more ornate carvings didn't quite fit with the plain set. 

There was a highly polished wood desk with no drawers that sat immediately underneath the largest window.  At the moment, it held the torn drapes that had been resting comfortably on either side of the windows for many undisturbed years- before Bahlzair arrived.  Now, with the only partially-mobile Drow leveling an interested gaze that could be mistaken for a glare at the old Human woman who had turned the desk's chair so that it was facing the bed with a swatch of familiar fabric spread across her lap, the room seemed somehow much darker than it ever had been before.

Druce, however, couldn't comprehend the fear that constantly accompanied Eunice every time she poked her head in, however.

"And so I learned," she stated flatly, completing a story that had begun some fifteen minutes before.  "It wasn't easy, mind you, since there was always something else to be done in the house, but frankly, if I hadn't, he'd have had to bind up all those broken bones, sprained joints and busted faces by himself, and that simply wouldn't do.  Well, I thought it wouldn't do.  You very well might have let them all rot with the gangrene."

The crimson eyes turned away from her for a few moments, contemplating a reality different from the current one, then returned to their mark.  In the air just to the right of Druce's busy hands, illusory script appeared.

"Well, that's little excuse, my dear.  All soldiers are quite self-absorbed," Druce replied simply, as though it were the most mundane statement in the world.  "Or they quickly become that way.  I've not met a single one that doesn't think that I should thank him profusely for killing others on my behalf, as though I hadn't the ability or presence of mind to do so for myself, if I so chose."

More script appeared as an interested smirk appeared on the Drow's face.

"Then I'd die, wouldn't I?" Druce shrugged, the motion moving her silvery hair, which was only loosely braided, and so rested heavily upon her shoulders.  "Let me be dead.  People cling to life foolishly, anyhow, the weak-willed fools.  I've stared death in the face yea these past ten months, and many times during that span, I prayed the gods that they'd simply end it.  Finally- mind you, this is after years of faithful devotion- finally, I realized that they pay us not one iota of attention at all.  We are each on our own in the face of our miserable existence."

Bahlzair contemplated these words deeply, his perpetual scowl reappearing quickly.  After a few minutes of nothing but the sound of Druce's needle piercing and pulling through thick fabric, Bahlzair willed a few more words into existence off to her right.

"Of course; put a sword in my hand, and I'll use it.  I mayn't be the strongest woman in the world, but anyone will tell you that I'm a determined one."

And immediately, blazing script appeared.

Druce stopped sewing to look at the sentence, then laughed with strange delight, as though the two were speaking of something as dainty as a floral pattern or a perfume.  "I do see what you mean, my dear, but just because I'd be satisfied to die doesn't mean I'm on fire to do so as quickly as possible.  That's the difference between weary and suicidal- and you knew that before you asked.  I don't think there's so very much that I can tell you about every shade of death that you don't already know."

She turned back to her stitching as her laughter died away to a soft chuckle, and Bahlzair rested his eyes on her work.  He disliked his own fascination with sewing, but found himself too weak to deny himself the pleasure of watching.  There was something inexplicably calming to him about the needle pushing, piercing, pulling through to the other side of the fabric.  Druce, who'd noticed his eyes lingering a bit too long on her work the day before when she'd put whip stitches in the savagely torn fabric, brought most of her sewing equipment up from her sitting room on the first floor, against her husband's better judgment.

"You don't know how to touch this creature's soul," she'd argued as he'd put stitches in the gash that the Orcish sword had given her.  "He's too distant, too damaged, too perverse for you- for any of us, quite frankly.  But if something so harmless as my stitching the curtains in his sight can keep him- or at least temporarily distract him- from thinking of new ways to terrify Eunice, then so be it."

And Terezio had made his arguments- her physical safety, her other chores and responsibilities, her reputation, her sanity- but none of them had the desired effect.  In spite of all the old battlemage could do, his wife spent a full hour moving her extensive sewing materials up the stairs to satiate the Drow's interest for her mundane chore.  She had dismissed herself to tend to other chores- the washing of dishes and clothes, the management of household accounts, the administration of Terezio's teaching schedule and materials, among many others- and was somehow surprised to find that Bahlzair seemed remotely pleased at her return.  Not being one to hold her tongue, she remarked upon it, and Bahlzair asked her why she expected him to dislike her company.  So had begun their conversation, which had taken many twists and turns since.

Finally, when Druce finished the drapes and turned to put them up, Bahlzair noticed that the inside of her right forearm bore stitches- wicked-looking dark ones that irritated the fair flesh they bit through.  He waited until she climbed down from the chair- which she'd used because she wasn't quite tall enough to put the drapes back properly- to allow more script to appear between himself and her.

"Oh, they're not so bad," she shrugged.  "Not so ugly as some other wounds I've seen in my lifetime, especially with two boys.  It smarts a bit when I'm at rest, throbs if I'm moving, but it could always be worse.  You yourself sport a few; I saw them.  You must have been an unholy terror yourself, as a child, to get stitchwork done under your jaw."

Bahlzair pondered this statement deeply, then found that he agreed.  Although the Human woman before him probably didn't consider the age of 64 to be childhood, most types of Elves did.  He chose to keep the details of his stitches to himself, and instead allowed his mind to wander back to what he must have looked like when he received them.  He imagined his skin being stretched and pulled at, all the while leaking blood and poison.  He had been awake- trying desperately to scream- during that surgery, but he had never actually considered what he may have looked like since then.  A few moments after he truly began giving his mind to the workings of his imagination, he heard a familiar laugh.

How very interesting, Shadowfire.

Bahlzair cast his gaze around the room, noticing that Druce had turned back to putting up the second set of drapes and that his patron was standing right behind her, gazing up at her reaching arms as though they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.  Which was absolutely untrue, of course.  The obvious mockery of Bahlzair's fascination cut deeply.

It's absolutely adorable how much you long to crush her spirit and her bones.  You want to grind them up- shred her flesh- reduce her to mere ribbons, tendrils- scraps.

Bahlzair remained silent, consciously deciding to allow his mind to go completely blank.

She isn't useful, the six horned creature lamented with a sigh, as though he were truly sorry.  Stiff and tough- one foot in the grave; she told you that herself.  Yet, you have allowed her to distract and delay you.

The Drow suddenly grabbed the glass of water that had been sitting on the small square table next to him and launched it with full force toward the far wall just beyond Druce's left shoulder.  The resultant smash, with a spray of water and a shower of shattered glass, startled her enough to cause her to loose footing on the chair.  Yet, she did not fall backward, as Bahlzair expected- instead, she gave a small hop, which allowed the tipping chair beneath her to right itself seconds before her weight settled back onto it more evenly.

"Perhaps I'm not at my most honest when I say I'm just a seamstress or cook," the woman clucked, as though she were telling a faintly amusing joke.  The jovial tone rapidly changed to a thoughtful one that sounded much heavier.  "Oh, my goodness, I remember when Trizzie first brought that sort of thing in the house.  Thought she'd give us a scare, I suppose- Rezi got himself nearly into a fit, but I simply figured she'd get hers one day, for messing around with baetzu, sirens and the like.  That otherworldly smell is inimitable."

Bahlzair reached his hand out without moving another muscle in his body, and gave the table next to him just enough of a push to send it clattering forward to the ground.  Druce ignored it, opting to finish putting up the second drape as though nothing were going on.  And Graz'zt, who enjoyed watching what he considered one of his favorite vassals throw his rendition of a temper tantrum, smiled.

Your reticence has been duly noted.

Bahlzair felt a chill travel up his leg from his wounded ankle to the hip before dying away.

Do what you like, Graz'zt concluded, moving toward the Drow to run a single finger from the unhurt leg's ankle up to his face.  Caressing Bahlzair like an infatuated lover might, the demon allowed a honey-sweet smiled to spread slowly across his face.  I know I will.

3:15 Dual rogue.

Niku, who had been chained to the stone wall of the cellar for hours, panted restlessly, his nose shifting from side to side as his head rested on his fore paws.  The three men- all muscular Humans draped in wool due to the cellar's perpetual chill- had left him alone since chaining him up, since merely doing that had won one of them a savagely bitten hand.

"How could she have gotten hold of him?" one of the others asked for the fourth time since Silveredge and the brown haired mercenary who was escorting her began descending the stairs.  "Not every little puppy you see has a fighter tattoo on its back."

"As right as I think you are, she says she knows him," the mercenary explained just as patiently as he had the first time.  "Why don't you let-"

And at that very moment, the tan ears perked.  First a hopeful whine, then a full fledged bark came from the tense shadow in the far corner.  The two other men, who were each sitting in front of large, man or woman-sized cages, winced in spite of themselves.  There was a flash of movement, and the chain gagged and strained as the hound pulled forward toward the descending Shadar-kai, prompting the jailers to stand up.

"Let him go," the mercenary finished, looking at the immediate reaction in the woman's face.  It was a mildly unpleasant cross between familiarity and sorrow, and it tugged at his heart immediately.  Being wholly unused to such sensations, he wanted the feeling to go away as quickly as possible.

The man to whom the mercenary was speaking turned, rustling the many keys on his ring for nearly a minute before finding the correct one.  In moments, the chained collar at Niku's neck swung free, and the large hound bolted past his jailers toward the Shadar-kai, who knelt to receive him into her arms.

"I'm so sorry, little brother," she whispered, holding his massive head close to her cheek.  He, the body of forgiveness, kicked his head back to give her encouraging licks to the face and neck.  There could have been no clearer sign of affection even if he had the power of speech.

"Now, about that other matter-" the mercenary began, moving from behind Silveredge to join the astonished Humans who had formed a half-ring around the reunited pair.

"I hadn't forgotten her," Silveredge said plainly, looking up from her embrace with Niku.  "Where is she?"

The man who'd freed Niku used the key that had freed the hound to scratch the back of his own neck in discomfort.  "Ehmn...."

"Out with it, man," Silveredge's escort encouraged, elbowing his associate in his side.

"She, ehmn... got away from us," the man admitted, still scratching the back of his neck.  "Not sure how she did it.  We haven't left the cellar, but-"

Silveredge hugged Niku tighter, closing her eyes for a few moments.  "Will you help me, Niku?"

The hound whined, shifting around in her arms.

"Oh, you remember.  You've found her before- I'm certain you can do it again."

"She's talking to him," one of the other Humans marveled in a whisper to the Shadar-kai's escort.  "Right to the beast- how can that be?  Is she a witch?"

"Not quite," the armored man replied, though the thought had crossed his mind as well.  "I was told she could do some magic, but not that she was a witch."

"I have a secret, Niku," Silveredge whispered, putting her forehead against the dog's wide head.  "Should I try to tell you?"

The dog's long tongue lolled out with a low and pitiful whine, but quickly slipped back into his mouth as he pushed his head into her chest and neck.  Silveredge put her cheek against his jowl so that he would hold still, then whispered so quietly that the mercenary behind her couldn't hide his straining to hear her.

"A 'coimhead suas. daonnan ab 'fheàrr leis na speuran gus an talamh."

The dog held completely still for the first time since he'd seen her; even his stump of a tail remained quiet behind him.  For a few moments, it seemed as though the air around the Shadar-kai and the hound were different- warmer, thicker and heavier- than the air that the men near them breathed.  Then suddenly, Silveredge sat back, and the dog burst away from her arms.  The escort held up his hand to stay the dog's former jailers, turning his attention to the woman who'd let the him go.

"I thought you wanted to see him well," he noted quietly as he knelt down next to her.  "So soon after he's returned to you, he's flying out of your reach again?"

"My lord will forgive me for thinking that his friends could use some help with finding the first beloved?" Silveredge replied as she looked down at the floor.

"But what if the true problem is that she needs help finding you?" the mercenary pointed out with a smile as he put a firm first knuckle under the Shadar-kai's chin.  With ease, he picked her head up until he could look into her eyes.

Silveredge kept herself from making any outward signs of surprise or disbelief.  "My lord is of course free to do as he wishes," she replied calmly, "but he may wish to check the window locks."

"That's nonsense," spat the man whose hand had been bitten.  "There aren't any windows down here."

"You trust yourself and your companions a bit too deeply," the mercenary said, keeping his gaze on Silveredge as he stood again.  "What she means to say is that the Tiefling got past you, toward the upper floors."

"Impossible," the one with the keys piped up.  "All her things are in this chest.  She can't have gotten upstairs; everything's locked."

"Not everything," the mercenary mused.  "My dear Silveredge, about how strong would you say this 'first beloved' is?"

"She can fight all night without tiring," Silveredge replied calmly, knowing where the mercenary's line of thinking was going.  "She would be as vicious at dawn as she was when Selune rose up."

"And she may be patient, as well," the mercenary concluded, turning on his heel and looking above him.  He moved up the stairs into the building above with a quickened step.  "Look up into the rafters!"

Silveredge took advantage of the spots of darkness in the basement and the fact that the men weren't actively looking at her.  Breathing all the air out of her lungs as she concentrated briefly, she disappeared into the shadows around her without a trace, then waited.  Sure enough, the savvy mercenary turned around again and realized that she wasn't there- or at least that she didn't seem to be.

"Tell me you gentlemen haven't managed to misplace the recruit as well?" he asked in a smooth tone that completely belied his annoyance.

The three Humans looked around themselves nearly comically at first, then began to really get close to look into each corner, behind each barrel and around each crate.  Silveredge, knowing that sooner or later they would bump into her by accident, began moving toward the door, which was partially blocked by the brown haired mercenary.  As she prepared to try scooting past him, she suddenly had a radiant idea sparked by her reaction to Ironfeather's sigil.  She thought briefly of the glyph carved into the side of her mother's manse, then imagined the same sign appearing on the floor where Niku once lay.  Moments later, the glyph actually appeared, first glowing a gentle, ethereal silver, then exploding into a radiant aqua blue.  The jailer closest to the prestidigitation screamed, alarming the already-spooked men and bringing the mercenary down the rest of the stairs to peek back at what the problem was.  The moment the stairwell was clear, Silveredge slipped up the stairs and out of the door- which was noticeably ajar.

Once back above-ground, on the first floor of the residence-like headquarters of the Sunfire Mercenaries, Silveredge stuck close to what few shadows were to be had with the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows above her head.  At the center of the front room, between the front door and the hearth that gave its warmth to the entire place, Niku had sat all the way back on his haunches as though he would soon spring forward.  Just in front of the hearth stood a shaggy haired Human male, naked to the waist, who was flanked by two hounds that were similar to Niku's build.  Silveredge was struck by the fact that both dogs had swirling tattoos on their backs- they weren't the same as Niku's, and didn't even match each other, but the similarities were undeniable.  Just after Silveredge noticed this, she heard the footsteps of the men coming up from the cellar, and moved farther into the corner on the left hand side.

"Call in!" the mercenary announced the moment his face was visible.

"Nothing, Bann," came a cry from upstairs, accompanied by thudding footsteps.

"We were checking the rooms, until Hammer tried to attack us," a voice came from somewhere over to Silveredge's left.  When she looked over her shoulder, she saw four mercenaries clad in leather armor.  "Snapped and growled, even at Howler.  You'd think he'd never seen any of us before in his life."

"Well, move in and-"

"No, this is between me and Hammer," the Human at the center of the room said firmly, without taking his eyes away from Niku's gaze.  "Down."

Niku continued to snarl menacingly, but didn't move a single inch.  Itching to attack, the dogs on either side of the commanding Human struck up the familiar  whine that threatened to become a bark.

"The recruit must be in here somewhere, gentlemen," Bann urged.  "Split up and look for a Shadar-kai and the Tiefling.  Howler, Hammer has her scent; he just slammed into her arms a few moments ago.  Do you think you can turn him on her?"

The top-naked Human, whom Silveredge finally realized was Howler, moved a single step closer to Niku as he spoke.  "She must be close.  He's outnumbered, but holding his ground because thinks he's got to defend her."

"Bann!" one of the mercenaries hollered down from the second floor.  "Coalwater Merc's gone!  With two of the bum journals!"

"Interesting," the hazel-eyed mercenary mused, casting his gaze upward as though he would see Mi'ishaen himself.  "One of the two of them- or both, even- must think they've come off with a haul."

Silveredge kept herself from sighing, and purposed deeply in her heart to teach Mi'ishaen to read at any cost.  Taking a look at the area around her, she noted that the lower floor of the building only had four rooms- the small storage room that gave way to the cellar, a larger one that gave way to the dining room and kitchen, another- larger still- whose partially open door showed off fearsome animal-sized cages, and a room just off to her left whose door was closed.  Making certain to keep herself in the shadows, she began to make her way toward the door closest to her.

"Down!" Howler hollered.  His command was powerful enough to have effect on the dogs he wasn't actively talking to- they both ducked their heads instinctively, even in the middle of a plain snarl.   Niku, however, merely barked twice, as though he were talking back to the Human in front of him.

"Careful now," Bann warned, drawing a small knife from his boot.  "I'd rather put him down then have him harm you."

As though he hadn't heard, the dogmaster took two powerful steps forward, making voiced bark-sounds that resounded in the front room.  Niku continued to growl, but backed up.

"You know," the Human said in a threatening tone. "I know you know who top dog is."

Silveredge pulled the one of the pins that had been in her hair out, allowing some of the braids that traveled down her head to begin unraveling at the nape of her neck.  Gritting her teeth as she listened to the dogmaster attempt to lord over Niku, she began to work at the lock on the door.

"Can you get him into a docile enough state for us to chain him back up without injury?" the head mercenary asked warily.  "Our recruit came for him once; she'll come back."

"Still here," Howler replied, talking to the mercenary while staring straight at Niku.  "Got to be.  No other reason Hammer'd be so stubborn."

Silveredge managed to get the lock to give just as the dogmaster fished a slice of meat out of one of the various pouches at his waist.  The door swung easily on its hinges as though nothing else but the lock itself had been holding it back, but Silveredge managed to catch it before the movement gave her away.  Slipping inside without closing it behind her, she found before her a small office-type place.  She went for the smooth wooden desk immediately, and found that although the large drawer on the left was locked, only one of the three drawers on the right side were locked.

Outside the door, the dogmaster stood tall as he called the dog on his right to heel at his side merely by pointing downward.  The dog padded forward and sat, then laid all the way down on the floor when given the signal.

"Me first.  Then the dam," the dogmaster said emphatically.

He dropped his right hand completely and allowed the piece of meat to fall onto the floor, but forced the heeling dog to wait for an entire minute with a single upraised finger.  As this went on, Bann made silent motions to command the rest of his men to back off the dog situation and search the building inside and out.  The three cellar guards returned to the cellar, two mercenaries moved around the dogs and into the kitchen, four mercenaries went upstairs, and two more moved outside, leaving the boss to continue to keep an eye on things in the front.

Silveredge broke her pin in the second drawer's lock, but simply pulled the first drawer all the way out of the desk to get into the contents of the drawer below it.  Spying two slender books, the Shadar-kai wedged her fingers between the slats that would have held the upper drawer in place to begin coaxing the things up and into her possession.

The dog on the dogmaster's left bounced forward more energetically than his wiser packmate, and was plucked on the head as a result.  However, he heeled well, waited for the piece of meat, and received his reward just as she had done.

"Fresh stud," the dogmaster grunted.  "He's second.  You're third.  Get down.  Or I will put you down!"

There was, for a few moments, a terse impasse between the two wills.  Then suddenly, Howler surged forward and put his hands on Niku's back to force him to sit.  Niku bucked up immediately, snapping at the dogmaster's face, but the dogmaster responding by grabbing hold of his entire head.  The dogs that had heeled so obediently before hopped to a standing position, snarling and barking their desire to punish the wayward puppy before them.

"You got him, Howler?" Bann asked, wanting to step in to the situation, even though he knew he could do no help.

In the large drawer, which claimed another one of Silveredge's pins before she could open it, lay a few opened missives, a wax seal, and a rather hefty money purse.  The Shadar-kai took up the missives and the money purse, then went through the contents of both open drawers, which yielded twine and the wax that would have been melted onto any letters sent from that office.  There was also a small box that Silveredge found to be the case for a flint.  The Shadar-kai carefully put the top drawer back in its place, and arranged things neatly, so that it would not be immediately discovered that anything had been moved.  She locked the large drawer easily, but the smaller drawer on the right broke her last pin before she was able to lock it.  Without all three pins, she felt her wealth of hair slide quickly free of the braids that had held it hostage.  She used the twine from one of the unlocked drawers to bind one of the books to her belly and one of them to her back, then managed to tie the money purse to her with the slack.  The books were a bit too forgiving to look like a true bodice or girdle, in her opinion, but she knew that if she carried herself stiffly enough, no one would think to question what was beneath her clothing.  Just as she turned to leave, she noticed that there were more than ten unusually marked straps on the inside of the door- with some searching, she found that one of them bore the exact design that had been inked onto Niku's back.

Suddenly, Niku laid down, his belly all the way on the floor.  The dogmaster nearly fell with him, since he'd been putting most of his weight into holding the dog back, but caught himself before he hit the floor.

"What happened?"  Bann charged at once, mere breaths away from charging at the animal with blade in hand.

"She did something," the dogmaster growled, nearly as savagely as the animals he commanded.  "Come out, you beta bitch, so I can whip you both good!"

At the sound of Howler's demand, most of the mercenaries returned to the room.  Bann was just going to give an order when another cry came from upstairs- one of pain.  Suddenly, one of the mercs that had been searching the upstairs rooms fell over the banister, helplessly writhing in agony.  In the back of his knee, a tell-tale black dart bit deeply.

"Coalwater merc," one of the other men noted in a low voice to his commander.  "We better-"

And just at that moment, one of the brass candle chandeliers that gave the front room light clattered to the ground, striking a mercenary in the head and starting a small fire.  While all three of the upstairs operatives rushed to the ground level to help their compatriot and to lift the heavy metal thing, Bann looked up into the rafters just in time to catch a retreating shadow.

"Beware- watch your heads!" he cried out at once, rushing past Howler, whose dogs whimpered pitifully.

Sure enough, a second chandelier dropped down, showering the area with splattering wax and tumbling candles.  As some mercenaries looked up and others moved to stomp out the flames, another man fell prey to one of the Coalwater merc's black darts.  Bann opted not to waste his voice on further orders or warnings, easily slipping down the stairs to the deserted cellar for his own reasons. 

Silveredge darted out of the room that she was in, not minding about the shadows, and Niku leaped up to bound after her immediately.  When she opened the front door to allow Niku to charge out before her, only Howler the dogmaster, who hadn't moved an inch even though he'd allowed both of his hounds to retreat to the safety beyond the door with the cages, actually noticed her.

The Shadar-kai and the hound ran together in the afternoon sun, as fast as the make-shift girdle would allow the two-legged creature to go, until both were far enough away from the Bann and his Sunfire Mercenaries to flop to the ground.  Silveredge put her back against the wall of a house and allowed her head to fall back, so that she very fortunately caught the owner of the shadow that darted over her head.

"Oh, Mi!"

Mi'ishaen smirked to herself, begrudgingly allowing herself to warm at the nickname.  "Yeah, I knew those jerks were no good," she replied as she pulled herself into a backflip that took her from the roof of the house to the ground.  "They're actually rather thorough, as an organization.  I had to really think to get out of there."

"So did I," a third voice soothed calmly.  "We're quite fortunate that we're all rather good at what we do."

Slipping around the corner of the house on the other side of the alley, the male speaking pulled the thin black cloth mask that was over his face above his head to reveal a pleasant Elven visage.  Based solely on the discoloration of his right eye's iris, Silveredge assumed that he was blind in that eye, and began self-consciously scooting toward his left.

"I don't know if 'fortunate' means what you think it means.  Remember when you said you wanted to meet my friends, Edge?" Mi'ishaen smiled sheepishly, sitting down on the other side of Niku, who promptly nudged her with his snout.  "Oh, hey, dog.  Look, the next time I say 'Come on,' you should probably do it, what do you think?"

Niku made a rolling grunt noise, as though he were attempting express exasperation, and Silveredge had to keep herself from giggling at it.  Mi'ishaen raised an eyebrow at him, and he put his head down on his paws in surrender.

"Well, it's good to meet you properly, Silveredge, and you, Hammer," the Elf smirked, squatting down himself.  "I'm Shiv- well, outside, anyway.  What do you say to a proper lunch- plain, calm, in a safe place- maybe an with inappropriate offer or two?"

"My lord is more than welcome to do as he wishes," Silveredge smiled, feeling herself somehow relieved to be privy to Mi'ishaen's associates.  "We are both quite glad to make your acquaintance."

"Acquaintance?  You're kidding me," Shiv laughed, eying Mi'ishaen with mock suspicion.

"Why does everyone assume I told her everything?" Mi'ishaen complained.  "I told Dark she was smart; that she ought to be brought in on her own terms- and don't call the dog Hammer.  That's not his name."

"Anymore," Silveredge added quietly, feeling the weight of the illustrated strap in her hand.

"Yes, well, you know Dark," Shiv shrugged, getting up and offering Silveredge a hand.  "Three birds, one stone.  Never less."

Silveredge got up easily, and Niku stood with her, sniffing at the hand that held the strap.  Silveredge looked down at him with a question in her face, and was surprised at the answer.  Wordlessly, she slipped the braided leather loop over his muzzle, jowls and ears, then fashioned a loop out of the other end of the strap for her wrist.

"Pfft, never mind if we accidentally kill each other," the Tiefling sighed, looking at the interaction and knowing that it probably meant more than she could understand.

"Nah, we wouldn't have killed each other," the Elf argued as he scanned the alleyway for guards.  "You'd've made off with those journals, thinking they were real, and I'd've ratted you out to buy me more living time.  You look for advantages, when you're a rogue- that's what she banks on.  You look for chances to off people, and you're just a murderer."

"Pfft.  Sell that to one Mister Selvien; see if he'll buy."

"Well, some of us die for our sins, don't we?" Shiv breathed quietly.  "Plainclothes incoming.  Meet me back at the Dragon's Jaws, and we'll figure out how to get your stuff out of that house."

"My lord may also want to have a look at the books the handmaiden has come away with," Silveredge suggested.

"See?" Mi'ishaen smirked wickedly.  "C'mon, dog; to the tavern."

Niku began trotting at a leisurely pace, not quite reaching the end of the strap's length before Silveredge and Mi'ishaen thought to move behind him.  And Shiv found himself watching the two rogues amble off, speaking in clips and phrases as they took each other's hand, for a full minute and a half before deciding to slip into the shadows to pull his mask back over his face. 

The plainclothes guard, who had been too far to tell whether the interaction had been of a legal nature or not, huffed her frustration, but moved on to tail the two women.  Her gut told her that this was the pair for which her commanding officer had put out the search warrant, and her gut was rarely wrong.