3:23 Due process.

"Well, you found her, which is more than my plainclothes guard did.  That woman hasn't seen hide nor hair of either target for days."

Valeria's tail thumped quietly behind her as she shifted her eyes from Iordyn, who had all but collapsed into his chair on one side of the fire, to Oversword Garimond, who had been peacefully going over a sheaf of papers before either of them arrived.  On one side of him, a small collection of papers with the remnants of the stack grew, paper by paper, as he added a few sheets from the pile in his lap.  When he came across a frivolous or duplicate record, he simply tossed it into the fire that popped contentedly on his other side.  Valeria was less tolerant of the crackling than he, and jumped slightly every time it did.

"A lot of good my finding her did, anyhow.  When someone else- some housewife- figured out that it was she I was attempting to address, she tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at me.  And as the woman passed her, she just looked at me- this blank, platinum stare- as though she'd never seen me before, and then said, 'What does my lord require?' " Iordyn sighed, putting his hand over his face.

"And you told her...?" Garimond mused, squinting at a paper with hideous, sprawling handwriting.

"I asked her about Mi'ishaen- that's the Tiefling's name- and she simply turned to go without responding at all.  I nearly sent Valeria after her, but-"

"But the battle hound-"

"Yes," Iordyn breathed with frustration, leaning his head back until he was staring at the ceiling.  "Big, heavy, fierce- like a monster."  Leaning forward in the chair suddenly, he fixed his eyes on Valeria, who whined slightly.  "Still can't believe you were trying to mate with that.  Snapped and growled at me like a creature possessed."

"You've never seen a slight woman give her heart to a much bulkier, hot-tempered man?" Garimond mused, looking up from his papers.  "Perhaps his smell is pleasing to her, or the way he snaps at you lets her know that he will defend any puppies he has by her to his death, like a good father ought to do."

Iordyn looked at Garimond incredulously, then leaned back in his chair again.  "Well, that what you told me about the Sunfire hounds fits- it's no doubt he's theirs.  She had him before she got here, so either she's part of the Sunfire or she somehow acquired their property- I don't know which.  I followed them all the way to the market, and when she finally stopped at a food stall, I spoke her name again.  She corrected me-"

"Corrected you?" Garimond repeated, now allowing his body to straighten in the chair.

"Yes- she said, 'My lord's handmaiden is called Rasha'.  And I asked her about the Tiefling a second time, and she said, 'Your handmaiden has seen nothing of the first beloved since Battlemage Ranclyffe parted us."

"Deft turn around, pinning the fault on Ranclyffe like that."  Garimond sighed deeply as he contemplated the situation.  "It's a dead end, since he can't tell us where she is without disobeying the very last edict the late king wrote.  He's got a reputation, but even he wouldn't do that."

"If I'd never seen that man's test subject-" Iordyn began disconsolately.

"Never mind that," Garimond counseled, putting his papers to the side.  "If you practice storing the venom of regret up against yourself, you'll lie down in your grave top-full of it.  Now, the Shadar-kai referred to the Tiefling as the first beloved- focus on that for me."

"Ser Unessmus originally introduced me to them both as his wives- Mi'ishaen being the first wife and Silveredge the second.  When Mi'ishaen attacked the Drow, he said she must be another wife, since they all fight each other as though they were mad.  It's all lies, though," Iordyn replied, a faint chuckle not too far from his voice.  "Battlemage Ranclyffe wasn't fooled either, I could tell.  And the Drow- Bahlzair, I think his name is- is male."

"They may not be serving that Dragonborn as natural, fruitful mates," Garimond replied as he leaned forward so that his elbows met his knees, "yet it's obvious that they're all very actively preserving a bond to him.  Now, was there ever a time when the Dragonborn spoke of or to the Shadar-kai in your hearing?"

Iordyn allowed his head to fall back into its natural level, then leaned it slightly to his left as he looked into the heart of the fire.  "He did," he managed quietly after a few moments' thought.  "By Lathander.  It was Rasha."

Garimond nodded slowly.  "But Ranclyffe said she was introduced as Sheekliheemre and Silveredge, as though the second were a nickname for the first.  When the border guards finally got him to register on her behalf, he said that he gave them that first name- or tried to.  It's of Drow origin, and nearly impossible for any of us mere Humans to say or spell." Garimond sighed as he rose from his chair.  Valeria picked up her head to watch his progress toward the dull metal tray that a servant had brought in earlier.

"Well, the actual Drow probably wasn't any help," Iordyn scoffed, pulling his hand down his face.

"No, he wasn't.  He looked at the record, shrugged, and then listed the clearly false name he'd given at the docks as his own- the one that indicated that he was female?  That one.  Refused to write the true one, even when threatened with imprisonment.  So Ranclyffe crossed that out and wrote the name he knew was right, excusing his poor spelling of it, and was rewarded with a brief spell spat with the creature.  The guards thought it was all very strange, and so told me right away.  Now, was there a name for the Tiefling?"

Again, Iordyn had to delve into memories that were a little less clear than he would have preferred.  He frowned with effort for a few moments, and the oversword took the opportunity to pop a slice of apple into his mouth.

"Mishka," Iordyn finally replied as Garimond picked up a piece of cheese and broke it into three pieces.  "While they were fighting- sparring- while she and the Shadar-kai were sparring.  With the dog.  He called them Rasha and Mishka, never anything else, and he thought it was a great idea for all three of them to fight in the middle of broad daylight.  In the middle of the street."

"Hard-hearted son of a whore, isn't he?" Garimond scoffed as he popped a piece of cheese.  "I'll have all the records throughout Suzail searched for any sign of a 'Mishka.'  I can almost guarantee that those three- four, with that strange Drow that keeps playing at being a female- are in some sort of alliance with each other.  A mercenary company of their own, perhaps."

"I hadn't thought of that," Iordyn admitted.

"Even if one doesn't believe their marriage bonds, one can be distracted by them," the oversword reasoned.  "They're not fools, these four, and Ranclyffe is diligently trying to crack the Dragonborn without considering the rest of the group.  I'll have to sit with that beast myself, though.  It's obvious that he's battle-hardened, and Ranclyffe retired for a reason.  I'll put his creature to a harsher questioning, see if he responds to that."

"Again?" Iordyn asked, turning his head as far over his right shoulder as he could in the attempt to see the oversword.  "Hasn't he been questioned twice now already?"

"Remember, the first set of guards came only for Unessmus, and returned to me with only the stale news that the man was a drunkard.  I questioned only Ranclyffe, when I went myself, and although the Dragonborn was present when I called everyone to his home, he barely spoke at all.  This time, I mean to focus on him."  Garimond returned to his chair with two pieces of sliced apple and a small wedge of cheese.  "Depending on how calloused his heart really is, I may even need to resort to torture."

"Ranclyffe would have known what of Voyonov's words were untrue," Iordyn reasoned, instantly concerned.  "There's no reason to-"

"He wouldn't even hear the questions I had for the Dragonborn, at the time," the silver haired officer replied with a short grunt.  "He was still treating the creature as an actual medical or magical danger at that point, however cavalier his wife was about the whole matter, and refused to question him about anything that didn't directly pertain to his own actions in Urmlaspyr.  I now have reason to ask precisely how that questioning went, and to do some questioning of my own.  Ranclyffe will realize the danger once he considers the big picture, instead of only seeing as far as the edge of his laboratory table."

Iordyn finally sat forward in the chair and reached down to pat Valeria, who popped up and moved so that she was more directly under his hand.  The two men sat in silence for a while until Iordyn finally looked up to the silver haired soldier again.

"What if she's left the city?  Gone back out to make contact with- whomever she's making contact with?"

Garimond nodded briefly.  "Get back after that Shadar-kai, whoever she is, and get her to talk.  That's your first step.  I'll focus on the Dragonborn, see if I can pry some information out of those scaly jaws."

3:22 Contaminated control.

One dark haired, creamy brown skinned young woman, whose arms were crossed at the chest, just under her wealth of bosom.

One dark haired, harshly tanned male whose sword-calloused hands were firmly planted on his hips.

Between them on the table were the evidences of their stay- a pitcher of beer that had been drained and refilled three times, the male's clean plate, and the female's plate with the remnants of mashed potatoes and boiled grain.  It had been obvious from the way she could only push the meal from one side to the other that something was less than settled within her.

On the northern side of the tavern, the owner wiped at a spot on the bar that hadn't existed since five minutes ago, when she first began cleaning.  Far to the other side, in a corner purposefully untouched by light, a heavy figure stirred.  It was so late at night that it had become early morning, and the two barmaids that lived in the tavern had already bedded down in the kitchen.  The owner had considered going upstairs to nap with her child, but then the confrontation between the two patrons who had just rented a room together a few hours ago began.

"I said 'I don't believe you,' and I mean it," the male replied, not at all daunted by either of the onlookers.  "I saw those boys."

The woman's face tightened considerably, but she kept her voice level as she spoke.  "But you don't know what it is to live with them, day in and out, to give up dreams, to work without rest, to be compelled-"

"You're right; I don't," the male shot back.  "But I do know what I saw.  And I saw those boys throw their arms around you, kiss you, tell you to come back to them safely.  What selfish witch would turn that kind of love into the dirt like a full piss pot?  What creature suddenly invents such cruelty for a fool she knows nothing of?"

"Then I'm a creature?  A witch?  Just for wanting to remember myself as a woman?"

"That is not remembering yourself as a woman, that is reverting into a selfish child, and I won't take part in it," the man declared, turning his back.

"Don't!" the woman screeched at once, her fists clenching by her sides.  "I can forgive anything else, I swear it, but don't... don't..."

"Leave.  Leave you here."  The man turned over his shoulder first, then turned all the way around.  "Because it's happened to you before, Karri, I can see it all over how those boys treat you.  Yet, that's what you expect me to believe that you'd do to them."

The two looked at each other.  The male's gaze was hard and cold- a glare that had been passed down from a stern mother and strengthened by rigorous martial training.  The woman withered slightly in it, and when he witnessed the lowering of her eyes and the weakening of her shoulders, he realized himself.

"I'm sor-"

"No, I'm sorry, Raf- Ser Unessmus-" Karri despaired, sinking back into her chair and putting the palms of her hands on her shoulders so that it looked as though she were preparing to rip the shoulders of her peasant blouse off of them.  "I knew I shouldn't.  I shouldn't have- but I- ugh!  I wish I'd not come."

"It's Rafa," the male corrected, coming one step closer to her before checking his motion.

"How could I?" the woman moaned quietly.  "You don't know who I am."

"I can forgive it.  Someone put you in this situation, I know it.  Commanded you to do this, and you did what you were told, because that's what you do.  I can forgive that, but tell me," Rafa urged earnestly, moving his chair close to Karri's right side and sitting down.  "Confide in me.  I won't say anything, won't act outside of what you need.  But what I need is to know what's really going on."

"But the confidence of my mistress," Karri began, tears beginning to come to her eyes as she hugged her arms more tightly around herself.  "I can't- I-"

"Just yes or no then, yes or no.  Did someone- anyone- tell you to tell me lies to get me here?"

The woman couldn't answer.  Her lips quivered, but remained silent, and the tears fell like the first few drops of a spring rain from her long lashes.  Beyond her, in the dark corner, the figure moved until it looked more like an upright human being.

"I don't believe that you'd leave your sons- that you'd abandon them like that- and with me, for me, this good for nothing fool that other women have already thrown away," Rafa sighed, rising.  "I do believe that you are one of the most loyal, caring, sweet creatures that I've ever met, and I wish I'd met you before- whatever it is that this is."

"Are you going home, then?" Karri managed in a choked, small voice.

Rafa took a deep breath, and with it, noticed the figure at the table.  It had been sliding in and out of his notice ever since the two had walked into the tavern, but with this public display, it was now an actual concern.

"Not without you."

Karri closed her eyes completely, and the tears that had been dripping from her lashes elected to slide freely down her cheeks instead.  "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Rafa urged.  "To the Hells with whatever plan, whose ever plan it was- it's failed, now.  It's done.  If you're fearing that I'll leave you to suffer some punishment for my waywardness-"

"I knew you wouldn't," Karri sniffed quietly.  "She left you."

"Technically, she threw me out."  The former soldier sighed deeply.  "Your boys are really Kirk and Lamar?"

The woman nodded, her loosely pinned bun bobbing slightly as she did.

"Your mother and father-"

"All true- but please, Ser Unessmus, don't question me farther.  I can't betray my mistress, but I-"

Rafa turned his head to the side slowly, fixing the wall behind the tavern owner with such a rage-filled glare that both women in the room feared there would be violence.  The figure in the back, however, didn't move a muscle.

"You're a wise woman, Karri.  Because if I could lay hold of whoever it is pulling your strings, I swear, I'd snap them."

Karri allowed her hands to slide from her shoulders to her elbows, and she hugged herself so tightly that the tips of her fingers first turned pink, then white.  She fought hard to keep her shuddering breaths from coming too loudly, but Rafa's jaw stiffened all the same.

"So what, we stay?" he asked very quietly.

"If you... go, Ser... Ser Unessmus, I... can't go... with you.  If you... stay, then... I will.  I can't... go home alone."

"Rafa, Karri, it's Rafa," the man groaned, realizing himself again.  "I just- it hurts, you know?  But with you, it's different.  I know it is.  You were made to do this; I smell it, I feel it.  She- she just- she just wanted the other man.  That's all.  Selfish bitch."

Karri couldn't manage to respond.  She bent at the waist as though she would vomit, laying her forehead on her knees.  Rafa looked at her for a few moments before he felt a slight push on his midback.  Snapping his head back, he discovered that the tavern owner had made her way from the bar to the table.

"G'wan," the woman whispered urgently.  "Whaddeva tha game is, play i', won't cha?"

Rafa nodded slowly, then took a deep breath.  Stepping back to Karri's side, he knelt down and got his head as close to her left cheek as he could.

"I'm not going anywhere.  Let's pretend none of this happened.  Lead me, and I'll follow wherever your finger points."

Karri's body shuddered sharply, as though her crying had begun in earnest.

"I played pretend well, when I was a married man," Rafa smirked bitterly.  "A man told me to my face that I was infatuated with two women at once, and I lied in his face.  This- I deserve this.  What you've done.  Come, let's go to bed- and I can sleep somewhere else- the floor?"

Karri picked up her head and turned it sideways so that her left temple was lying on her knees as she looked at Rafa's rich, chocolate brown eyes.

"Please don't.  The floor.  I... enjoyed your... company."

Rafa chuckled softly.  "I should hope I'm not the first since that wretch that closed the door on you and your boys."

And Karri smirked pitifully, her eyes red and glistening.  "I'm a mother, not a woman."

Rafa picked his head up suddenly, and with a simple motion that swept Karri from the chair to his arms, he stood.

"Both," he said definitely.  "You're both; one need not be slave to the other."

A Virtuous Quest 3:21: Blessing of the Inferno.

Trizelle's creased brown eyes flicked quickly from the cowering young boy in the middle of the floor to the self-satisfied gaze of the middle aged male before her.  Without moving a single muscle, the older woman simply thought of the spell necessary to rid the Human messenger of the illusory images of nipping black imps that had so terrified him.

"You know, he could have been spared this treatment," the well-dressed male smiled.

"Begone," the woman spat at the boy sharply.  Unable to get his balance and run as quickly as he wanted, the boy suffered some stumbling before he was able to follow the command.  Once he was gone, however, the grey haired female mage crossed her arms before her chest expectantly.

The male, for his part, tilted his head slightly like the impudent child he once was.  "No courtesies for your son?  No time for the mage who is fighting for the freedom of all magic practitioners?"

"It's impractical to demand freedom by demonstrating why you shouldn't have it," the court mage said simply.

It was a criticism he had heard before.  The fact that she was the source of the criticism did more damage than the words themselves- and because she was who she was, there could be no doubt that she knew it.

"He wouldn't do as he was told," the man replied, smoothing a hand over a bare spot in his mouse brown hair that seemed more like a tonsure with each passing year.  "What use is a servant who won't do as he's told?  Whose is he, Mimsa's?  Has to be Mimsa's; you'd have never-"

Not a single muscle in the woman even threatened to move.  "I said afternoon, Dresan."

He shrugged with a sheepish smile.  "No sundial."

The court mage dropped her chin so that the shadows around and beneath her eyed deepened- while the glare wasn't as withering as it had been when its focus was younger, it still had a marked effect.  "So you decided to torture Gimago into interrupting my class?"

"Gimago," the man smiled wickedly, a sudden streak of crimson intruding on his naturally brown eyes.  "He wouldn't tell me his name, you know."

"He can't defend himself against you.  I can."  Trizelle walked to one of the cushioned benches that braced the walls of the hall and sat down with a small degree of difficulty.  Once there, she pulled a letter from one of the pouches at her side and held it straight out in front of her.  The two locked eyes, the unspoken battle between them begun.  However, with much more experience and determination than he, Master Ranclyffe was assured of victory.  With rolled eyes, Dresan walked to her and took the letter from her, breaking the seal and flipping it open casually.  It took only a few minutes for his face to cloud with distaste, but he at least had the sense to read the infuriating missive more than once before he began to speak.

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" he began, looking up after the third pass at it.

"You should rather thank me for showing this to you now," the woman replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back onto the cold stone of the wall behind her.

"I, thank you!" Dresan barked, the sound of his voice as sharp as a sword.  "Why should I thank you for telling me what I should have known-"

"Unknown unknowns are unknowable," came the icy reply.  "A Shadar-kai slave learned that wisdom in one hour.  You've spent three ungrateful decades without it."

Dresan resisted the urge to throw the letter.  "I've spent more than three decades without a family.  Should I thank you for that, too?"

"Considering the wealth of opportunity afforded you by infernal heritage, yes, you should," the court mage stated flatly.  "But you waste time with those worthless stage strollers, instead."

"I am the only Human ever to be in the Phoenix, let alone lead it!" Dresan hollered back.

The older woman raised a vaguely unamused eyebrow at him.  "I would have been the first Human.  And instead, I left for Thultanthar."

The man seethed with indignation.  "You must regret that even more than you do my existence."

There was a short, quite harumph from the woman before the actual answer came. 

"I cannot regret."

"Everybody has regrets," Dresan snorted impishly, drawing close to her as though he would soon strike her.

"You're not listening," Trizelle warned, very aware of his nearness.  "You may regret destroying that holy shrine, however badly you wanted to demonstrate your point at the time you did.  Your beloved probably regrets killing a few innocent bystanders in her raids, or allowing people to suffer in one way while she takes care of others in another.  My mother likely regrets allowing me to become an apprentice of someone other than my father, and my father undoubtedly regrets allowing me to even demonstrate an interest in demonology, but I cannot regret anything.  Especially anything that has to do with you."

There was a quiet moment during which Dresan almost felt something.  His deep brown eyes met his mother's, and for a brief second, an urge rose up within him.  Trizelle watched his entire visage darken with gathering energy, utterly unmoved and unafraid.  To her, he was little more than a toddler on a tantrum.

"What?" he said at last, unable to raise his voice from a raspy whisper.  "You feel it?"

Trizelle merely shook her head. 

"You're lying.  It's stronger now."

The court mage firmed her lips, and Dresan watched her gaze change as the all-too-familiar emotional wall begin to rise between them, as impenetrable as the darkness that held the Eastern Quarter in its inky arms.  The desire to overpower and destroy her grew within him, checked only by the pragmatic awareness that he could not yet do so.

"Mother!  The only prestigious title you don't at all deserve!  You belong in the Hells; you do.  With Baalzebul and Belial-"

Master Ranclyffe scoffed so quietly that her son almost could not hear it at all.  Only the movement of her upper body betrayed her.

"-you watch calmly as Baator claims your only child!  You proudly draw the line between your ability and my inferiority!  You have absolutely no shred of actual motherhood, no scrap of conscience, no drop of Human kindness-"

"There is no such thing," the older woman proclaimed, finally standing up.  "Humans have, in every documented age of their existence, dined upon each other, sold each other as commodities, offered each other up to spirits and destroyed each other for entertainment.  I know of no other animal that will treat its own kind in like manner."

"And I know of no right-minded woman who would give her only son over to the demons themselves to win herself freedom."

Master Ranclyffe leaned her head back for a few seconds, as though in surprise.  "You were never mine to give."

Dresan's focus of his dark energies was shaken immediately, and the shadows that had gathered and darkened him moved away momentarily.  "What, you're saying you're not my-"

"This is the trouble with not listening to people when they talk to you." 

Trizelle watched in silence as a strange look crossed over Dresan's face.  While she was fully aware that it was detestable to enjoy his discomfort, she was also aware that he would not be able to sense that she was.  The best she could do was keep her inner entertainment away from her face.

"You said that there was a demonologist-"

"Aleth; an insufficient mage.  He tried to summon a demon in the effort to document infernal magic tendencies."

"You used to tell me the demon appeared.  That it manifested over my cradle."

"He did."

"Why would it come if the summoning failed?"

"When I found that I could neither contest the demon nor kill its child while yet in the womb, I warped the summoning ritual in the attempt to kill you.  The lesser demon was unable to break through planes, but Asmodeus was unhampered by my efforts.  Nowhere in Aleth's agreement with that lesser demon did it say that I had given my body over to Aleth for negotiation purposes, and Asmodeus's affinity both for complicated plots and contractual detail is legendary.  He killed Aleth.  I lived- but unfortunately, so did you.  You do not have the knowledge that Aleth asked for, but the Infernal Underwriter gave you a heightened ability to decipher it.  It is time that you inherit that birthright."

Dresan walked a half circle around his mother, staring holes into her. 

"I have always known that other Humans would rather you simply be a possessed mage than a Tiefling mage, especially one with such close, clean ties to Baator.  It is now up to you whether or not you would like to openly be what you are."

"This man- this Terezio Ranclyffe-"

Trizelle turned her back on her son, preparing to leave for the courtyard.  Her winded son found he could only take hold of the back of her cape as she passed by him, but at his touch, she stopped cold.

"He will not be fooled.  He will also cry the matter from the highest parapets of Suzail, as it is no doubt that Asmodeus has not spared either of us due to any real mercy."

The light brown haired man finally found the strength to stand up, even though so many memories and ideas were crashing down in his mind.  With the back of his mother's cloak still in hand, he walked around her until he could see her face.  While other women would have been in tears, Master Ranclyffe stood emotionless, distant and reserved.

"I'll see you in ten days, Mother."

Trizelle nodded shortly, stepped to the left of her son, then walked straight past him.

"Don't refuse food in that house.  My mother is a better cook than I am."