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.

3:14 Privileged.

"Did you get that down?" the elder guard asked the young page.

Stephen stealthily moved his gaze over to his sons, whom he had invited to the consultation to demonstrate what precisely Sylvester might be doing with his scribe work when he grew older.  The elder son immediately noticed the way that the two men worked together, but the younger son had been far too mortified by the fact that Purple Dragons were carrying on an interrogation of his uncle in the dining room of his house.  By now, about forty minutes into the conversation, his eyes had glassed over with the overabundance of unwanted and incomprehensible information.  Stephen restrained himself from sighing as he forced himself to look away before Saul noticed his gaze.

"And...got it," the page replied coolly, crossing a "t" as he spoke.

"Note that the Shadar-kai is docile, he said that as well," the guard added, turning his attention from the page back to Iordyn.

"Uh-huh, got that as well, up here, see?" the page replied, leaning over to briefly point the place out.

"And he said he doesn't know where they-"

"But you can start any search with Battlemage Ranclyffe," Iordyn finished quickly.  "He's the one who sent for the Dragonborn, and the Shadar-kai and the Tiefling seem to have just come with him, for whatever reason.  Blade Unessmus should still be with them-"

"Yes, you've said.  I know you're worried about them, so I'll tell you- just don't tell anyone that I told you," the older guard began, sitting a bit farther forward in the chair in the effort to keep his news out of the children's ears.  "There was a pair of us dispatched yesterday to find Unessmus, and neither of those two women were anywhere around when they arrived.  Apparently they'd been sent off into the night with the mage's female apprentice, which of course prompted the men to question why they were sent off without the Purple Dragon that had arrived with them.  There was much waffling and shuffling, but when they finally saw the man, he was an absolute mess- sweating, vomiting- couldn't even bear his own weight upright.  When they got back, they told the rest of us, and one of the younger soldiers that just got transferred here trained with him in Waymoot.  Says he was the same way when his family forced him to enlist in the first place.  'Can't help some folks,' I said."

"And what did they do with him?" Iordyn asked, the natural flicker of concern in his spirit growing into a larger flame.  "He'd said he was just going to be suspended-"

"Well, he was, until he failed to appear in the court to speak in his defense.  And when it was discovered that he didn't show because he was drunk- well, that was the end of that."  The guard shrugged and sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest.  "At least he didn't get time in jail for defaulting on his duty.  I'd say he got off easy- probably because he wasn't long in the Dragons anyway.  No big loss for anyone that he's gone."

Stephen snorted, a frown printed plainly on his face.  "But he's back where he started."

Iordyn looked over at Stephen, knowing that his older brother had been less severe with his comment than he could have been.  "Perhaps this is enough for the boys?"

The blacksmith raised an eyebrow, but nodded.  "Saul, take your brother outside.  Make sure you start that second bow right away- I'd better see bending wood when I get out there."

"Yes, my lord," Saul sighed, obviously disappointed.  Sylvester, however, bolted out of the room ahead of his brother, so uncomfortable that he forgot to properly dismiss himself from the room.

"You're planning on actually raising that little boy as a boy, right?" the elder soldier laughed, thinking this to be a great joke.   The silent glare he received from Stephen, however, was all the answer he needed, and the gathering quickly fell into an awkward quiet.

"Why don't I take a look at the young boy's letters- give him a few pointers?" the scribe offered, wanting to smooth the affections of the blacksmith.

"See if you can do anything about that 'M' of his," Stephen agreed in as polite of a tone as he could muster.  "I think it's fine, but he's completely dissatisfied with it.  He needs someone other than his mother, sister or I to take a look at it before he will believe that he's judging himself too harshly."

"One day, that perfectionist spirit may serve him well," the page suggested, gathering his scroll and his instruments.  "Today, however, I'll try to convince him that it's not so bad.  I thank my lord for his hospitality, and- I hope things turn out fine, Younger Ser Raibeart."

With that, the page showed himself to the door, peeking around near it until he heard the boys and could move toward them.  The guard watched him leave for a few seconds, then rested a chilly gaze on Stephen, who met the look with a challenging glare of his own.  Iordyn opted to ignore the cold war between the two.

"I'd like to question Blade Unessmus's release from duty," the archer began, sitting forward himself.  "To reward the need for discipline with the complete cessation of the same is unspeakably harmful- whoever made such a cold decision could find himself indebted to Lathander for that man's soul."

"Just Unessmus, now, and his soul is none of our business," the elder guard retorted, surprised at Iordyn's reasoning, "much less yours.  What murderer stops to question the fate of a drunk?"

"I'll remind you that my brother is no murderer," Stephen replied in a low, rumbling tone.  "He wasn't aiming for that man, he told you that."

The soldier raised his hands as if in surrender and sat back slightly in his chair.  "I heard him, Ser Raibeart, and personally, I think you have little to fear.  When we bring this report back, we're likely to be sent back out merely to collect a fine."

"What?" Iordyn shot, confused.

"Oh, come now," the guard reasoned, finally placing his full attention on the younger man before him instead of staring holes into his older brother.  "You can't be so miserly that 500 lions would dissatisfy you.  We have to give you some sort of penance, or people will talk."

"Iordi, it's likely that they'll press a harder charge on the Tiefling, who was really responsible for this," Stephen counseled quietly, leaning forward to pat his brother on the shoulder.  "Once they find-"

"Oh, is that the worry?  Frankly, I think it's too bad we can't just strike her down on sight," the guard laughed at once.  "It'll be 800 lions, once she's found."

"She's only just got here," Iordyn reasoned.  "It looked as though what she had with her was all she owned in the world, and she can't possibly have papers to work here yet."

"She doesn't need papers to work in a tavern or on the docks; perhaps she can do that," Stephen sighed.  "She'll be alright."

Iordyn turned behind him with a look of disbelief.  "How could she honorably earn 800 lions in a tavern, Stephen?  Or work on the docks at all?"

"You must have your eyes open, Young Ser Raibeart; you don't know what those creatures are.  Trust the situation to us.  She'll rot in prison, coin or no, and the whole city'll be safer for the trouble," the guard counseled gravely.  "As for the Shadovar-"

"No, no, no- she's a Shadar-kai, yes, but she's not Shadovar.  I told you that, too," Iordyn corrected immediately as he sat straight in the chair.  "This is all written down properly, I hope?"

"Of course it is," the guard laughed, finding that Stephen was glaring at him again.  Both stood up together, and Stephen stepped past Iordyn to show the man to the door.  "I must say, while your concern is nearly saintly, you should really focus on yourself, rather than worrying about the souls and futures of others."

"I trust that this will all work out for the best," the blacksmith stated flatly as he opened the door and stood beside it.  "The shop will be closed until this is settled, however, since the quality of my work will be affected adversely by worry for my brother."

"Completely understandable," the guard replied grimly.  With that, he placed his helmet on his head and stepped outside to begin searching for his page.  Stephen wasted no time in closing the door behind him without even checking to see if the guard and page had been reunited.  With a sigh, he turned around and leaned his back on the door, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What's the matter, Iordi?" he asked, leaning his head slightly to one side.  "I can hear you grinding your teeth from over here."

Iordyn sat back in the chair quietly for a few moments, then looked directly up at Stephen.

"Do you agree with that?"

Stephen raised his eyebrows, then crossed over to the chair that the guard had left, leaning forward in it so that his elbows rested on his knees.

"With what?  What he said about the Tiefling?  You yourself praised her virtues- mouthy, bent to fighting and a sour disposition- she caused the murder.  That's why her fine is higher."

"Stephen, he said she'd rot in prison anyway, whether she had the coin or not," Iordyn argued.  "This is the capital, the heart of Cormyr.  The cornerstone of her laws.  You find it acceptable- excusable, even- to suffer such double talking here?"

Stephen shrugged, then leaned back in his chair with a wave that seemed as though he were batting Iordyn's complaint out of the air.  "Suzailans aren't the benchmark of righteousness, Iordi.  You're hardly used to living in a place that's got more people than trees, and now you're landed with a bunch of fork-tongued, stuck up, spoiled fops.  The whole blasted city runs on who you are, who you know and how much coin you have."

Iordyn sighed sharply, bringing the palms of his hands down with force on the arms of his chair before standing up. 

"I didn't ask you about the Suzailans, Stephen."

The larger man paused for a few moments, as though he couldn't fathom what his younger brother was implying.  When his voice finally did manage to force its way from his body, it exploded fiercely.  "What do you want me to say?  You're getting a sentence different than that which the laws prescribe as well; will you carp about getting away from this with your life?"

"Yes!" Iordyn exclaimed loudly, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration.  "However mistakenly I did it, I killed another Human bei-"

"Human, there it is; there's your difference right there," Stephen shot back, standing up to look down at his brother.  "You are a Human and she is a Tiefling, in a city full of Humans that are as fearful and prejudiced of her kind as they are rich and privileged.  You were born into a family so close to noble that it makes true nobility nervous.  Even as the last son, and even if you never turned a single stitch in your life, you're still destined to fall heir to more money than some people ever make in their lifetime.  This Tiefling is an outsider.  A poor one.  Her demonic heritage aside, it's easier to throw her under the dungeon because no one knows her, she can't afford to make a stink about it, and she will not be missed by anyone that anyone else wants to keep quiet for any reason.  There will be a life for a life, and the dead soldier's family will be satisfied."

"And will you?" Iordyn asked pointedly.  "Will you be satisfied that some poor woman may die in the dungeons under our feet while I pay merely 500 lions?"

"What kind of question is that, you idiot?" Stephen crabbed in rage, reaching out and grabbing Iordyn by his hair.  "You're blood to me; what do you expect me to say?" 

"I expect you to see the wrong of this, is what I expect," Iordyn replied, his voice straining as he turned his head so that Stephen's hold wasn't as painful.

"The wrong was that bitch putting a Purple Dragon in the way of your shot," Stephen growled, letting go of his little brother.  "It takes effort to push a trained soldier where he doesn't want to go, and you say she literally leaped into the air and kicked the man into the shot so that it split his head in two.  She knew exactly what she was doing, and killed that man as surely as if she'd held your bow herself!"

"But she didn't!" Iordyn cried.  "I like my life, I do, but this is injustice, clear and obvious injustice!  Our father started all this expecting me to face up to what I'd done-"

"Our father is a cross old cur who thinks as much of you as everyone wants me to think of Sylvester," Stephen spat, knowing the weight his words carried.  "I'll show you that letter of his- in fact, I should have done when you came.  He thinks you're finally getting yours for not being a proper swordsman.  For taking traipsing off to study religion in the woods- for running from the war like a frightened woman."

Iordyn could only stare at Stephen for a few moments, all words knocked from his being.  He sat down slowly, as though his strength were fading away from him.  Stephen, pained and stranded between what he wanted to do and what he felt he should do, couldn't move toward him, but only looked at him with an old sorrow.

"I tried to tell him that you'd do anything he asked of you, and he would hear none of it.  Suze tried to tell him how many archers there were in other parts of the army, and he wouldn't buy of her, either."  Stephen finally sat down, with a sigh.  "Mother finally told him that you were so devoted to Lathander that you would soon become a priest.  None of us believed it, but she had to tell him something."

"She always says that-"

"What our parents tell you they've done and what they have actually done are two different things, Iordi, just like everything and everyone else," Stephen interrupted, shaking his head as he spoke.  "I- even I, you've just proven it- am just as guilty as anyone else of saying one thing, then doing and believing another.  Is that what you wanted to hear?"

After a pause, Iordyn shook his head in silence.  Throwing all concern for how things should be to the wind, Stephen got up out of the chair across from Iordyn and drew up the chair that he'd been sitting in behind him while the guard was still in the room.  Sitting next to his brother instead of across from him, he reached over the armrest and opened his calloused, scarred hand.  Through the tears of frustration, confusion and disillusion that Iordyn fought to keep in his eyes, it seemed as though years fell away from that hand, revealing the younger, fresher skin that lived there nearly three decades before.  In those days, Stephen had been teased for being so much bigger than other children his age, and Iordyn had been persecuted for being slighter of build than his growing mates.  While Iordyn could do nothing for his elder brother, Stephen had braved many nightly punishments for soundly beating Iordyn's bullies.

Younger brother put his hand in elder brother's hand, and the latter squeezed tightly.

"You're still doing it," Iordyn finally managed.  "You shut down your shop, to punish them."

Stephen gave a momentary frown and a sigh, then strangely enough, a tight chuckle.  "I might get a fine out of the bargain.  Commissioned blacksmiths aren't supposed to close for any reason.  Order of the crown and all that bullshit."

"Don't add to this," Iordyn advised in a voice so close to a whisper that Stephen had to bow his head to hear it.  "I'll have to suffer on my own.  Like Sylvester and that accursed 'M.' "

"I guarantee that either Saul or Sarai are still attempting to help him," Stephen laughed softly.  "Probably both of them, just as Adassa and I always did for you.  I try to force them to give the boy some space, but all four of us know it's a charade.  I'm not willing to play such games with you and the Dragons.  If you see the Eight Pillars, so do I."

3:13 Sunburned.

In the persistent darkness of the very early morning, where the weary torches could hardly be bothered to cast their light, Silveredge and Mi'ishaen stood behind a row of houses with their foreheads touching.  Niku sat closer to the mouth of the alley, his careful nose twitching as it worked to catch any distrusted scent.

"Be on your guard," Mi'ishaen finally said, breaking a near minute of silence.

"Of course," Silveredge agreed, reaching out her arms for the Tiefling's waist.  The two drew closer together, their shadows morphing into one near-solid mass.

"Don't let anyone get behind you.  Sit in a corner, watch the entrance."

"Back to a wall, I promise."

"Not to close to anything that would require a hole to be in the wall- pictures, mirrors, shelves, lamps-"

"I'll come back, Mishka.  I'll come back and tell you all about it, from beginning to end."

"I'm crazy over this- it just feels all kinds of wrong," Mi'ishaen admitted, clinging tightly around Silveredge's waist.  "I'll be nearby.  I won't come in with you, but- I just don't like this at all."

Silveredge only nodded, biting her lips as she began to release her hold on Mi'ishaen. 

Mi'ishaen released Silveredge immediately, stepping back with the quickness of a child caught at a forbidden activity.  "You're right- get going, before somebody tries to push curfew on us again.  Here's the-"

Silveredge slipped two of the largest of the remaining coins between her breasts, then pulled the tied sash a bit tighter underneath them.

"I'll return for you."

Mi'ishaen, who remembered with stinging clarity that Silveredge was borrowing her words again, couldn't say anything else.  So with that, the Shadar-kai turned to walk resolutely up the alley toward a side street with better lighting.  Under the stronger torches there, her hair, which she'd braided half way back on her head while leaving the rest loose to cover her piercing, gleamed radiantly.  The profile of her delicate, yet angular nose, her soft cheeks, swan neck and pleasantly curved body struck Mi'ishaen, who realized at last that she wasn't just appraising the Shadar-kai.  Without finishing the thought, the Tiefling turned away, and Niku- with a displeased snort- got up to follow her into another side street.

An hour later, just as the sun began thinking about rising over the homes of Suzail, a young-faced, robe-clad woman entered the tavern.  She looked miserably out of place at once, surrounded by rough fighters waiting for work, sailors and off-duty guards.  As a precaution, the Shadar-kai thought first of the chaos of a world without laws, then the rigidity of a place where laws were the uppermost in all minds.  She then stretched her thoughts toward the blessing of a fresh baby's soul, then of smashing the babe's head to the ground with a darkened heart.  Meditating on these images, she invoked a spell that obscured her own intentions, so that it would be more difficult for someone to do to her precisely what she was about to do to the young woman.  Silveredge thought of Svaentok as she carefully, but consciously allowed her spirit to sense what the woman might be looking for.  The answer surprised her, and she remained quietly in her corner, wondering why such a waif would be combing the place looking for her.  The young woman sat down at the far corner of the bar after nearly a minute of scouring the area without apparent success.

Ten minutes after the slight, robed female ordered and received a hot cup of coffee, a leather armor clad male strode into the tavern.  He had closely cropped, chestnut brown tresses that retained a bit of waviness, and hazel eyes that could swiftly change their hue with the shifting light.  His features were sharp, but also carried without any edge of nerves or temper, and the manner of his movement spoke to an easy, experienced confidence.  It was altogether believable that whatever martial line of work the man was in had employed him for at least a decade.

The man looked briefly at the young woman, and when the two locked eyes, the woman looked away quickly.  Just as the man began to move toward a table, the server that had been working with Silveredge approached the table.

"Is there something wrong with your soup?" the young woman asked cautiously, pushing a stray bit of dark hair behind her fingers.

"It- was only a bit cold," Silveredge suggested gently.  The honest truth was that it had been as cold as day old porridge, but the server had seemed so easily bent that Silveredge took the bowl without a word.  Now, however, the young woman's eyes popped open in surprise, then glistened with apology.

"I'll take it back to the kitchen right away," she whispered, picking up the bowl.  "I can pay-"

"Not at all; I'll pay for it- and a cup of tea, if there's any yet in the pot?"

"I don't know; I think it's gone for the morning, but they're bound to boil another, if you don't mind staying a while," the waitress said a bit more confidently.

At at this point, Silveredge noticed that the armor clad man had made his way to her table and seated himself directly across from her, so that he blocked her view of the robed woman.

"I don't mind- oh, you don't have to take the fork."

The waitress thought to remark on the fact that one usually needed a spoon for soup, but then figured that her patron was in the habit of using the bread as the spoon, as a few other cultures were wont to do.  With a small nod, she moved toward the kitchen with the bowl, leaving Silveredge with a stranger.

"Good morning, Silveredge," the male smiled genuinely.  "I come on behalf of the Sunfire Mercenaries."

"My lord is kind," Silveredge responded at once, bowing her head slightly.  "His handmaiden hopes he will not mind if she asks the grace of knowing his name?"

"It can be unnerving, can't it, to have one know you without knowing them," the man nodded.  "Are you alone?"

"As alone as is my lord," the Shadar-kai replied, her voice coming quietly enough to be considered a whisper.

"I see," the man said with the hint of a smirk playing at his lips.  "Your knowledge of alchemy and magic hasn't gone unremarked.  Where did you learn?"

"One can learn much simply by listening and watching," Silveredge answered with a delicate smile.

"So very true, my dear, so very true- ah, here's your soup back, then-"

"Yes, here it is," the server smiled politely. 

Silveredge immediately noticed that the young woman held a small scrap of paper underneath the saucer, but didn't allow herself to look anywhere but up into the woman's face as she accepted the soup and bread.

"This is warm, thank you," the Shadar-kai noted.  "I can give you the-"

"Never mind the bill; I'll be glad to pay it when we're through," the man said.  The tone was kindly enough, yet dealt with enough weight for Silveredge not to attempt to counter it.  "And if you wouldn't mind, I'll have a tea as well, when they've heated up the water again."

Silveredge set the bowl and saucer down and began ripping at the bread as though she'd noticed nothing strange.  The man allowed her to get the first bit of soup-sodden bread into her mouth before calling the bluff.

"I don't intend to attack you.  But it was interesting that your gentleman caller was merely put down with a pillow.  If he had attacked your ladyfriend alone, he would have run into greater peril."

Silveredge pursed her lips and swallowed slowly, then looked up into the man's satisfied face.  "Your handmaiden did not hold the pillow."

The man nodded slowly, as if conceding a point, then leaned into the table.  "You didn't have to.  You have before you a choice; one that I ask that you make before your soup goes cold again.  Be aware that either way, you will not be harmed.  It's not our way to crush the fingers of one closing the door."

Silveredge dropped her gaze again, then moved the bowl and saucer off the paper as the male reached across the table to her.  Realizing his intentions even without focusing on them, Silveredge allowed his movement to mask her opening of the paper.  After nearly a full minute, she slid the saucer and bowl back into its original position, then laid her hands on top of the man's hands.  Her chilly touch pushed goosebumps out on his flesh, but he made no other sign of being cold.

"My lord may have a difficult time of doing as he claims."

And at this, the man laughed quietly- a calm, knowing chuckle that told Silveredge that he was expecting such a response.  "Oh, she wasn't so difficult to convince.  Now that dog- that was another story.  He won't like me very much at all, when he sees me again.  Now, what do you say?"

Silveredge flicked her metallic gaze directly into the man's ever-changing hazel eyes with a pure intensity that won a small noise of surprise from the young robe-clad woman at the other table.

"Your handmaiden shall walk in your footsteps until she has seen them with her own eyes.  Then, other decisions shall be made."

The man, although intrigued and stunned in equal parts, managed to find his words quickly.  "Well said; I'll allow it.  Although, I must say, that's merely a delaying tactic on your part."  He attempted to draw his hands away from Silveredge's grasp, only to discover that she was actively holding his hands down onto the table.  "Oh, I see.  Well, I should make myself clear then.  They won't be harmed, either.  And you may find yourself quite surprised at their state when you see them next, at that.  It's not our way to mistreat our- guests."

Silveredge let go of the man's hands, but maintained her steady gaze, not saying anything.  Within herself, she reminded herself of the extremes of psyche, then sunk into an impenetrable neutrality, willing herself not to give any hint of intention away.  The man nodded slowly again, as though he understood what she had done, then backed away from the table as the server returned with two cups full of hot, brownish water.

The swell of tavern noise surrounded them, but could not fill the depth of the silence between them from that point forward.