3:54 A type of truth.

The rain outside of the smithy came down in sheets, smacking against the sewn hides that protected the normally exposed side of the shop mercilessly.  The commissioned blacksmith had shut his shop for the day, although soldiers and officers were always permitted to drop off worn or damaged gear and pick up trades.  Under normal circumstances, people who were not part of the armed forces in any way could also pick up a piece of armor or weaponry, but this day, Steven didn't even expect to have to tell any sanguine travelers or new mercenaries he wouldn't sell that day.  The market beyond the hides was absolutely empty; the streets as still as waiting graves.

The Raibeart household, like most others, was hunkered down, most of the daily chores- aside from the sheltering of various types of livestock- going undone.  Much earlier that day, when Sarai had come inside soaked to the bone and sniffing, Susanna had simply told her first daughter to put the water bucket outside and wait.  The bucket had filled to overflowing in a mere hour, and the subsequent bathing, cooking, and cleaning had all been done with rain water.  The only thing Stephen would not permit anyone to do with it was drink it, unless it was being boiled for tea.  This was fortunate, since visitors to the home were almost always served tea.

Although the peasantry of Suzail had taken cover, the law makers and enforcers had not.  The pace at the court had even quickened, prompting Mi'ishaen's retrial to be called up that day.  Against Battlemage Ranclyffe's better judgement, Druce brought Silveredge and Niku to the peasant's gallery, where they had remained until the retired battlemage could no longer stand the thought of the two women standing uncovered in the pitiless downpour.  Knowing that the commissioned blacksmith was closer to the court than his house could be, Terezio commissioned a messenger to find them there once the cases had been fully tried, then convinced the women to leave with him, dog in tow.

Just a half hour later, Susanna watched Sarai and Salone carefully hand the hand painted cups to each visitor.  The family room was warm, and very cozy, with Battlemage Ranclyffe, Druce, and Aleksei sitting on one side of the hearth, Stephen, Iordyn, and herself sitting on the other, and Silveredge sitting cross legged on the opposite side of the room from the fire with Niku.  Valeria sat calmly at Iordyn's feet, but picked up her head to inspect Niku's every twitch.  Everyone but Aleksei and Silveredge had accepted tea- Aleksei had opted for mead instead, and Silveredge had very politely declined everything but water.

"The bread should be out in ten more minutes," Sarai announced seriously, turning around in the center of the room so that she could look into everyone's eyes briefly.

"But it'll be hot," Salone said very quietly.  "You'll burn your hands cutting it, and everyone will burn their tongues eating it."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Susanna cut in, before her first daughter had a chance to say anything else.  "Make sure you have that bread sit quietly for five minutes; while you wait, you can help your sister slice the fruit and the cheese for everyone.  Did Saul have any fortune getting that milk?"

"No," Salone replied gently, as though she felt as though she had to apologize for the lack.  "He came back very upset, though.  He's upstairs."

"Thank you; I'll talk to him when he's calmer," Susanna said sagely.  "Now you ladies go and tend to the rest of the preparations.  If the courier comes and Saul is still upset, fetch Sly."

"Yes, Lady Raibeart," Sarai answered as she curtsied.  Salone simply nodded without saying anything, which was her custom, and Susanna watched both girls leave, knowing that Salone's silent agreement had just earned her a good pinch from her elder sister.

"Quite well behaved, dear," Druce smiled knowingly.  "They remind me of what my daughters were to each other, once.  Only in our case, it was the elder daughter- Master Ranclyffe, these days- who was the quiet one."

Susanna chuckled and nodded.  "I must admit that I fail to understand your eldest daughter, Lady Ranclyffe."

"Don't be too upset about that," Terezio scoffed.  "That girl could have taught the 'Introduction to Mental Sanctity' class at seven years old.  Solid as the side of a mountain."

"Was she always so... reserved?" Susanna asked carefully.  "Even before her studies?  Sylvester all but lost his voice when he first went away to learn calligraphy.  It took some doing to revive him, as it were."

"Her studies did not a thing to her one way or the other," Druce sighed.  "There was always something different about her- heavier, more melancholic- Rezi and I did what we could with her, but she was always... as you put it... reserved."

"I'm told she was of some meager use in my place, with you, but... not much," the battlemage frowned, fussing with his glasses.  "I never did get any sort of... response... to my request."

"I..." Susanna bit her lips and looked from Druce's carefully plain face to the clear stonewalling gaze of the battlemage.  "Oh, Master and Lady Ranclyffe, forgive me.  Her hands were like death, her tone like the prick of a envenomed needle, and her gaze like a basilisk's.  But... a permissive basilisk.  The type who could turn you to stone, and firmly purposes not to- and the goddess said nothing."

"As good a response as any," Terezio frowned, unable to contain his disapproval.  "I see no reason to fault you; workers of divine arts are- severely limited- in case studies that hold no belief in divine powers."

"I don't know that the trouble is a lack of belief," Susanna said with a sad smile.  "I think it might be a sort of... hopelessness."

Druce closed her eyes and firmed her hands into fists as they rested on her lap.  "No more of that.  She visited, brought her son- spoke to us, for the first time in so many years.  I will hope enough for both of us, and I will see her this summer, if I must learn to fly to do so."

"I will go with you," Terezio finished strongly, as though annoyed that a completed conversation had been plucked open again.  "Now, did you, Ser Voyonov, receive the messenger that was sent with the results of your trial for Hophni and Shesua?  The boy claimed to have given you the written letter of it, but..."

"The last son of this house is reading this letter to me," Aleksei replied.  "He knows letters well, and is also teaching me to see my name in them."

"Brave soul!" Druce enthused, opening her eyes to reveal the genuinely pleased twinkle in them.  "I had very much hoped that some one should dare to do so.  Have you learned to make the letters he showed you?"

"Not as yet," Aleksei admitted sheepishly.  "But his wanting to have me do this is stubborn; it will not leave him in peace."

"Yes; it's showing me the streaks of his elder siblings in him," Susanna smiled.  "Sylvester, his name is, Ser Voyonov.  With every inch as much fierce persistence as they have with him, he is pressing one so much his senior that it should be blushed at- I'd thought to apologize once or twice!"

"This is not needing apology," the Dragonborn rumbled, accidentally startling Valeria into a bout of nervous tail wagging that thumped against the partially rug-covered wood floor.  "I am thinking my spirit also has scales, and does not easily feel gentle brushes of learning."

"At any rate, you've been given the message," Terezio mused, almost to himself.  "Now, your blade daughter is being retried a third time, due to the suspension of some evidence and her condition upon submitting herself to the authorities- I'm told she was in quite a state, if the young lady won't mind my saying so."

"Don't repeat what that girl said, Rezi," Druce urged.  "Lady Raibeart isn't in condition to hear it, and it'd break Silveredge's heart- or at least put another serious crack in it."

"Another-?" Silveredge asked breathlessly, suddenly embarrassed for speaking when she hadn't been directly spoken to.  Niku, in clear response, put most of his upper body into her lap by suddenly throwing himself backward at her, panting warm, meaty breath into her face.  Across the room, Valeria's tail thumped even harder at the floor, and Iordyn raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, it was a state," the battlemage repeated, at last sitting his glasses on top of his head and massaging the bridge of his nose with the first two fingers of his right hand.  "If it's half as bad as was described, it'll likely be all Garimond can do to keep those at the Pillars from throwing every one of those cases out."

Susanna hummed as she smoothed her hands over her swelling belly.  "Well, Dame Hophni's already been tried and convicted for conspiring to sell me to slavers, so she might have lost her right of claim.  Further, Mi'ishaen can be tried for abetting slavery on two counts, and perhaps manipulation, but the treason case should have been thrown out long ago.  A non-citizen can't commit treason; it doesn't make sense."

"The murders also are not making sense," Aleksei piped up.  "It is much confusing me why people are mistaking Bahlzair for Mishka."

"It looks to Garimond and the rest as though the two are covering each other," Iordyn answered flatly, leaning over to scratch at Valeria's ears for a moment.  "I myself heard her dodge that 'Who held the blade' question like an acrobat, not to mention the "Who owns who" one that preceded it, and Bahlzair's motive for killing all those guards and prisoners seems to be crystal clear."

Aleksei heaved a deep sigh, as though someone had disappointed him greatly.  "It is not so.  If the blood of the judges amuses him, he will kill them, too."

"Wait," Iordyn puzzled, his hand resting momentarily on Valeria's head.  "If the judges amuse him, he'll kill them?  That doesn't-"

"Not everything is good to understand," Aleksei inserted frankly.

Iordyn sat back slowly, and a very serious silence settled in the room so thickly that the sounds coming from the kitchen seemed to be alarmingly obtrusive.  Valeria held her tail still, but panted as though she'd recently run across an open field.  Across the room, Niku turned a semi-interested gaze upon her.

Appropriately, given the tenor of the room, Salone walked very quietly into the center of it with the tray of cooled bread, slices of cheese, freshly minced and spiced apples, and an entire clay pitcher of cool rain water.

"I've made Sarai upset," she confessed directly to Susanna immediately.  "I ruined the apple slices, and she had to cut them all the way up."

"It looks fine, Lona," Susanna smiled gently.  "Please send Sarai with the utensils and napkins- 'Yes, Lady Raibeart,' hmm?"

Salone, not catching the hint at all, nodded silently, put the tray down on the low table at the center of the room, and left.  Stephen, who had been largely silent, finally gave a very low hum- it was impossible to tell whether he were merely curious, or actually displeased.

"Is é an strainséirí," Susanna explained.  "A dhéanamh le daoine di neirbhíseach."

"Still needs a sit-down," Stephen muttered.  "She knows better."

"A student of the ancient crafts are you, Lady Raibeart?" Terezio said, calmly changing the subject as Sarai entered with the forks, knives, and napkins on a smaller platter.  She curtsied politely, then left the room.

"How many other Elven dialects were you expected to learn?"

"Only one," Susanna admitted shyly.  "The sisterhood wasn't nearly as demanding as is the College- I don't even remember the proper name of which dialect that is."

"Oh, I don't know either, but it sounds to me like one of the Sylvan variants," the retired battlemage supplied easily.  At the center of the room, all the food and water remained exactly where it was rested.

"Evokes a sense of the great woods themselves, rasping and scraping the palette.   I prefer Eladrin myself- open, rolling vowels- you never say the end of a word, practically.  Everything is lofty and broad.  Of course, just about every mage around here knows it; some prefer it to Common.  It used to vex Lady Ranclyffe to have me muttering things she didn't understand, so I got my first start at teaching by having her learn it."

"I don't know if I can say I vexed Stephen- can I?" Susanna sheepishly looked over at Stephen, who allowed a fleeting smirk to cross his face.  "But I can't say I taught him, either.  I will say that the stubborn streak in the Raibeart family is amazingly hereditary.  Now, please, feel free to take what you will.  Who knows how long this storm will last?"

But everything, and everyone, remained exactly where they were, as though the force of gravity were too daunting a challenge for all of them.

"It washed out a training session," Iordyn piped up suddenly.  "Some Dragons and I had just nocked our arrows, and out of the clear morning sky comes rain.  It at first had stones in it, about as big as a baby's thumb.  Pelted us all but good."

"I shudder to think what it must be doing to people's land," Druce frowned.  "If the fields aren't stripped bare by the weight of it coming down, they'll certainly be flooded by the sheer volume.  We'll feel this again, come harvest-time."

"Lathander spare us," Iordyn breathed.  "Perhaps there'll be some time for salvaging."

The gathering fell silent again, and in that silence, Stephen got up and personally offered the tray of food around.  Silveredge, possibly out of force of habit, immediately began pouring water into every cup-like thing within her arm's reach.  Noting this, Stephen waited until she'd reissued cups, made sure everyone had napkins, and sat herself back behind the large puppy.

"You too," he said simply, and stood still as a stone until Silveredge managed to select a single slice of bread.  "You can do better than that."

At the prompting, Silveredge took two more pieces of bread and two slices of cheese.  Aleksei beamed warmly as the blacksmith sat himself down, and the two shared a nod before the man of the house himself cleaned most of the rest of the plate.

"Thank you for your hospitality, of course," Druce remarked, tearing the bread she'd taken into bits so that she could easily pop them into her mouth with the cheese.  "You could very well have sent us home."

"Of course not!" Susanna smiled.  "Battlemage Ranclyffe was right in noting that the shop is closer to court than your home, and no one ought to be outside in this weather; it's terrifying.  I fear for whatever messenger will brave it to bring us news."

Beyond her, Steven grunted his agreement, mouth full.

"Frankly, I wonder now if any messenger will brave it," Terezio added gruffly, toying with his spiced apple pieces.  "I don't think there's a purse in Suzail heavy enough to buy being soaked to the skin and pelted sore by either hail, tree nuts, or actual stones."

The pause that followed stretched into another silence, though it was more comfortable than the others.  Salone returned to sit the pot of freshly boiled tea next to the nearly empty water pitcher, entering and exiting the room with a nearly-forgotten curtsey that might have been cued from her elder sister as she hid in the kitchen.  Only a few minutes after that, the hazel-eyed scribe child stopped at the archway that separated the front room of the house from the wider, warmer family room in which everyone sat.

Valeria's tail began thumping again.

"There's a messenger for you, Battlemage Ranclyffe," Sylvester noted in a muted tone.  "Says he's down from the Pillars and doesn't want to come inside."

" 'Doesn't want-?' " Druce piped up at once, looking up from her napkin.  "Is he standing out there in the wet?"

"Yes, but he's got a Dragon shield up over his head, to keep the stones off," the young boy replied.

"Thank you- Sylvester, right?"  Battlemage Ranclyffe put down his food and stood.  "Good.  Excuse me; I'll return- Ser Stephen, you will come along, won't you?"

The battlemage, grayed and wizened, was dwarfed at once by the natural bigness of the blacksmith.  The two together seemed like an artist's idea of how age left its revenge in Human bodies as they moved past the slender boy whose papyrus skin seemed to fade even further into whiteness as they passed by him.

"Sly, how's by Saul, hmm?" Susanna prompted, a warm tone clinging to her voice.  "Is he still as upset?"

"No, he's- I was closer to the door when the messenger came by, and I heard the stones on the metal of the shield.  I didn't want to go all the way down to the smithy, so... so I just opened the door.  My lady."  With some relatively well buried nervous energy, the boy purposefully turned his attentions to the guests.  "Ladies, and Ser Voyonov... I... hope you're all feeling welcomed.  One of my sisters might bring you more cheese or apples... or anything."

It was clear that the presence of all assembled weighed on his volume and posture- Aleksei noted that his spine must have been capable of stretching another inch, if only he would stand straight.  But a phantom embarrassment or fear curled it downward, toward the floorboards under which he seemed to want to hide.  To his great credit, however, he seemed to be winning the fight against his shyer self.

"Thank you, Sylvester," Susanna nodded, her own emotions admirably under control.  "If any messenger happens by with the bill for the firewood delivery, convince him inside while Sarai fetches my ledger and coin purse.  Between the two of you, you'll have it well in hand- and there's no need to make it look like my writing, either.  It only confuses your father when 'I' accept deliveries for which I wasn't really present."

"My lady," Sylvester repeated.  It came out with more ease than the first formal address had, but with lower volume.  Susanna smiled meaningfully at her departing child, whose spine had straightened just a bit, and across the room, Druce sat more comfortably.

"Such manners," she remarked in a congratulatory tone.  "Really, it's quite a well-run household.  Your mother should be very proud."

"Thank you," Susanna answered gratefully, with a momentarily chilly remembrance that she could hardly decipher what kind of mother Druce might have been to Master Ranclyffe.  Iordyn leaned forward again and scrubbed the back of Valeria's neck until her tail stopped committing flagrant violence against the defenseless floor.

Fortunately, Terezio and Stephen returned before the quiet that crept in from the corners of the room became another uncomfortable silence.

"Ser Iordyn, you're not going to believe this- completely warrants the poor boy braving a hailstorm with a shield.  Bahlzair emerged from the prisons during Mi'ishaen's manipulation case, and threw himself at her like a greased wrestler.  The guards all went for him, on Garimond's order, the court immediately dropped both Mi'ishaen's murder cases, and she's been put in your charge, in the same manner that Unessmus was under mine.  Says here she will be escorted by armed guard so soon as weather and her condition permits."

"Sounds as though they've finally figured out the difference between your two loved ones, Ser Voyonov," Druce huffed.  "That's one worry off your mind."

"Did they actually catch Bahlzair?" Iordyn asked, moving to scratch at Valeria's side with his fingertips.  Niku raised his head, sniffing at the sudden change in the scents that only he was capable of detecting, and Silveredge laid her head on him, eyes closed.

"It doesn't say," Terezio frowned.  "I suppose they weren't concerned with letting you know that.  All the focus is placed- and rightly so, in my opinion- on the fact that you are the guarantor of Miss Lucien-Azaroth's good behavior to Suzail, and all of Cormyr.  And they have codified that epithet of yours."  The battlemage handed the embossed paper over to Susanna, who stopped and looked at it herself.

"Wait," the young mother said breathlessly, her eyes widening and flashing with excitement.  "My word, Iordi, they've claimed you innocent!"

"What..?" Iordyn asked, stunned into simplicity.

"Yes!  Look, look at it!" Susanna said excitedly, handing the paper over and girlishly putting pleased hands to her mouth as she watched him read.

"It's something she said," Iordyn concluded in a trance-like tone.  "Mi'ishaen must have said something that made Garimond think-"

"How could that be, if it took Bahlzair attacking the woman in the middle of the hearing to get the murder cases to shift?" Druce injected, her voice clean and sharp as a well-honed knife.

"It's this- listen to it," Iordyn replied, shaking his head.  " 'By your hand, this clearly godless creature was compelled to act contrary to self-preservation, which is clearly uppermost in her mind; her recent compliance seems contrary indeed even unto every fiber in her being-'  He believes that I have been guided to-?"

"A late enough convert to a belief rather popularly held," Terezio scoffed.  " 'Ser Iordyn Raibeart, the Virtuous.' "

And Druce shushed her husband, only half playfully.

"Your own testimony could have changed his mind," Susanna said seriously, having rested her hands atop her belly again.  "Remember when you shot and wounded whoever was haunting the rooftops, not because you knew you would make your shot, but because Lathander told you to shoot?"

"He reguarded me as though I were insane, Suze," Iordyn reminded his sister in law bitterly.  "But Mi'ishaen- he wouldn't have put her in my care if-" Iordyn broke off, again slowly moving his head from side to side.  Stephen moved around his wife to take the letter out of his brother's hands.

"Something she herself said made him believe.  The clearing of my name may have happened anyway, since the true organizer of the Semmite kidnappings was discovered, but her testimony must be why he's handed her over to me; nothing else could have done this."

"In that case, perhaps the testimony was that she turned herself into the guards not once, but twice," Susanna reasoned.  "Doesn't that sound like something 'contrary indeed to every fiber in her being' ?"

"Ask those who are most familiar with the creature, I say," Terezio interrupted, ignoring his wife's better judgment momentarily.  "Ser Voyonov, Miss Silveredge, counsel us.  Bahlzair is likely settling the score made when you all first arrived; but Mi'ishaen's actions?"

"She is much more likely to try to get out of captivity than to enter it," Silveredge answered, when she realized that Aleksei had remained silent for a reason.  "Your handmaiden cannot claim any familiarity with what the first beloved is doing right now."

"I am satisfied that the right person is being blamed for Hophni and Shesua, at least," Stephen grumbled at last.  "They can rest in as much peace as the gods allow them.  Whatever led to that, I'm grateful for it.  When they catch the- when they get him, I'll make the headsman's axe myself.  Already commissioned to do Illance's."

"He'll pay his way out of that, or I'm no woman," Druce crabbed.  "He and others in his family have done it before for graver threats, I'm sorry to report."

"I maybe should not complain to the gods about what I am never seeing before in my life," Aleksei chuckled, finishing the mead he'd been nursing and setting the cup near Silveredge.  Niku sniffed at it, as could be expected.  "Over and over they are making me to see things that I am talking about in this way, as though it is giving them great pleasure to do so."

"I hope you'll think of staying here, Battlemage and Lady Ranclyffe, in wait for Mi'ishaen?  I'm certain Aleksei and Miss Silveredge have both suffered much, what with the separation and accusations, and the trials- all in a land that couldn't so much as properly write your names on the books," Susanna said.  "I expect they have them now?"

"Your handmaiden was asked to read and verify all of our names when she was brought to the judges," Silveredge noted.  "Every one they showed me has been used for its right purpose, even the ones they did not want or like.  I am not certain what they did with them all."

Iordyn looked over at Silveredge with a look that would have been frustration, if he could have managed to retain any sort of negative feeling toward her.  "Silveredge, you were supposed to verify which name was your legal name.  And the ones for Aleksei and Mi'ishaen too, since neither of them...eh..."

"Since neither of us can read?" Aleksei finished smoothly.  "I do not think Mishka is having very much shame at that fact, and I know I do not have any at all."

"My lords did not ask me about legal names," Silveredge replied.  "If they had, I would have asked them what a name might do to make itself illegal.  It was instead asked of me which names were correctly used to call me, and I have answered to every name that they presented me, so I told them 'All of them.'  I did the same for Aleksei, and for Mi'ishaen.  Why should I have told them something other than the truth?"

"It occurs to me, at times, that she is more dangerous than her paramour," Terezio sighed under his breath as he re-perched his glasses atop his head.

"Only at times?" Druce asked, feigning surprise.  "Yes dear-heart, we'll stay.  And I'll make myself useful in the kitchen.  I wonder do your girls know how to wrap these sorts of chopped fruits in cooked meat?  It gives a lovely flavor."

"I can't say I know that, Lady Ranclyffe," Susanna answered brightly.  "I was raised very simply, so that it was easy for me to go into ministry.  I'll have Salone prepare the shrine room as a guest room; would that do?"

Druce bit her lip in thought for a moment before she responded.  "Oh, put Silveredge in there.  It may do your meditation good, don't you think, to be right near a shrine?"

"Any corner is fine," Silveredge smiled gratefully.  "As the first beloved is not nearby, I might remain with Ser Voyonov."

"Like both of you should have done in the first place," Druce finished decisively as she stood up.  "Well, there's that.  Look, Lady Raibeart, just point me in the direction of your pantry, I'll have something thicker than bread and cheese for us.  I'll put your elder girl to work with me and leave you with your younger to prepare the rooms- Silveredge, have you better knowledge of the pots and pans, or of the hearth and the bedroom?"

"Your handmaiden was once highly trained in many arts of the home," Silveredge replied without pause.  Iordyn, for his part, made an uncomfortable face and shifted.  Valeria, picking up his discomfort, began punishing the floor with her tail again.  "She is not certain whether or not there are many that she does not know, or at least have an idea of.  Wherever there is most need, let her be there."

"Right; go off with Lady Raibeart, then, and when she doesn't need you any more, then come back down to us in the kitchen.  Sirs, your pardon.  There's no use of us talking the air grey in wait of the end of this storm- give the lady a hand-"

Silveredge kissed Niku's head first, then arose to help Druce get Susanna to her feet.  The three of them left the room without a backward glance, and the large puppy shifted himself so that he was near Aleksei's feet.  Amused, the Dragonborn slid himself off the chair and maneuvered with the dog so that he, crosslegged, had him sitting in the bowl of space his thick, two toned thighs made.

"We've more mead, Voyonov, if the good battlemage is of a mind to learn your master's game," Stephen sighed, releasing his barrel chest from the lock hold his arms had been pressing upon it ever since he'd finished his food and drink.  "First thing I'd like to hear is the harrowing tale that made 'wives' of that one and she what's on her way."

"I don't know about any game," Terezio frowned.  "But if we're going to hear tales, I want how you got mixed up with that Drow.  No poking, prodding, or producing seed- just the man-to-man truth."

Aleksei looked up from Niku's contented panting to smirk at the retired battlemage.  "You are thinking, at last, that I am well?"

"Master Ranclyffe, as I noted before, has always been solid as a rock," the elderly mage puffed.  "I may never know what she intended by sending you to me, but I know what I got.  I also know that I owe one Rafael Unessmus a rather overdue apology."

"So does Garimond," Iordyn piped up, listening to footsteps begin to hustle around upstairs.  "I'll get the mead."

3:53 Retirement options.

As Cypher watched Amadelle skip down the street with Niku running wide circles around her feet in the weary noonday streets, Greyscale calmly pushed against the floor again and again.  Cypher smirked to herself when she looked down at him, restraining herself from running a finger over the clay-colored tendrils that were busy holding his hair away from his face.  His push ups were always slower when she was along for the ride, and because she knew it wasn't a question of his strength, she often wondered if it was because he thought that he would cause her motion sickness if he hefted her as quickly as he normally would lift his own body weight away from the floor.

As it was, she didn't have long to enjoy her musings.  A frustrated male Human walked in the courtyard door, behind the couple, unbuckling his leather cuirass as he went.

"Mishka walked right back in there," he said wearily, as though he'd just pushed an elephant up a hill in order to get the news to its hearers.  "Looks horrible.  Like they put her at the bottom of a well and left her to starve."

Greyscale stopped himself at the height of a push up, but said nothing.

"It's Ruffian," Cypher said, looking down at Greyscale.  "He said she went back to jail again.  She didn't say anything to us."

The Dragonborn didn't even grunt, remaining in a full planking position as though he meant to stay there forever.

"Go on," Cypher urged, looking up at the pale skinned, dark eyed young Human man before her.

"They just sat her down somewhere for questioning, or something," the man scoffed, smoothing a spot on his side that was either stiff or sore.  "They didn't even put her in chains, because they were too busy dealing with the Drow.  That scourge of the Underdark killed six or seven guards, but didn't leave.  They don't know where in there he is."

"The place is only so big; they'll find him," Cypher huffed.

"Pfft, more like he'll find them, and then Garimond'll have a few more graves to dig," the mercenary scoffed.

"Did you see the Drow?" Greyscale asked, still at the apex of the pushup.

"Yeah."  The man turned his face and pointed to a slice in his grizzled right cheek that looked as though it had suffered gangrene.  "I turned a corner on my way to Mishka, and he was right there, waiting for me as though he'd heard me.  Witness rules be damned, I was scared as a little girl.  So I turn to beat it, but he catches my ankles and dumps me face first.  I start scrambling, trying to get out of the way of a coup-de-grace.  He kicks me, hard.  Sends me right over on my back; winded me good.  I had to lay there a minute, and he doesn't move in to finish me off right away.  He spits on his blade and slices me in the face, like we cut the Sunfire mercs that we caught?  Then he backs up, like he means to let me go.  So I get up- suddenly, he's coming at me- boxing, almost, and he's good.  I get a good couple of hits in, but I can't get away.  We're going at it- and first, my body starts aching, then going numb.  He's just wailing on me.  Gets me to the ground.  I think he's gonna finally kill me, but he hops up.  Hops right off, and smiles.  I go to move, and I can't.  He shuts my eyes for me, because I can't even do that.  I'm sweating, but my whole body's witch-tits cold.  I laid there maybe a half hour, listening to the guy next to me gurgle himself to death, hearing all these other screams and shouts go up all over the place- it was like a nightmare.  But after a while, things get quiet.  And my body starts actually hurting again.  I'm thinking, 'Pain means I'll live.'  I start moving- blinking my eyes, squeezing my fingers shut, pulling my knees up- but everything comes back slow.  By the time I can limp myself out of there, Garimond's people are starting sweeps.  From the sounds of it, found more dead than alive."

"Good that he left you alive," Greyscale mused, still supporting himself in a full plank position.  "And really good that the guard is torn up.  Garimond's going to need new people, you know."

The man laughed amiably at first, then sighed.  "Give me some time to see a healer or something.  I don't want to look like an evil story-book mook for the rest of my life."

"It'll be a good gig," the Dragonborn urged playfully.  "Be able to tell your mum about it; make her proud of her last son."

"Go see about that slice before it scars," Cypher cut in, getting up and walking over to a window.  Outside, a few strolling guards finished a brief conversation before parting from each other to continue patrolling their sections.

"Pay?" the mercenary asked.  There wasn't any malice in the tone- it was like a freshly hand-fasted young man checking in with an elder about what time would be the wisest and safest to bring his young lady home from the tavern.

At last, the rose colored gaze lifted from the  floor and turned toward the male Human.  "Gold'll come at the end of the week.  For now, you're inactive, okay?"

"You got it," the Human nodded, tapping a first finger to his head as a reference to the hat that he would tip if he'd worn it.  "Don't count me out too long."

When the mercenary had left, Cypher sat on the sill of the window.  Outside, a strolling guard spied her gaze and waved.

"What's on your mind?" Greyscale asked, rising from the floor and walking over to her side.  He glanced out the window at the guard, who had just received a half-hearted wave in return, smiled, and gave a stronger wave of his own.

The guard nodded knowingly and quickly moved along.

"It's just- this isn't a good gig, you know?" the Human woman sighed, digging her fingers into her hair as she watched the guard leave.  "Ruffian- Jerome- could have been found.  He could have been seized by the Dragons.  What would we have done?"

"Lucky the poison ran through him in time," Greyscale nodded.

"Mi'ishaen is not very lucky, right now," Cypher replied, her words quiet enough to be whispers.

"She's talented," Greyscale countered.  "Damn good shot, incredible acrobat, and tenacious.  Between her and her pet, Dark's got a good pair."

"At least the Shadar-kai is safe.  Right now, that Tiefling is facing double murder and high treason charges at the Pillars!" Cypher hissed.  "Does Dark have any ideas about that?"

Greyscale crossed his arms and sighed, leaning on the wall just to Cypher's right.  "None that she told me about."

"She caught an arrow with the back of her shoulder and fell off a rooftop, and for what?" the Human woman breathed.  "For us?  Could sing like a bird and get us killed."

"What's on your mind, Dortana?" Greyscale repeated, sitting down on the floor so that he was looking up into his partner's face.

For just a moment, the Human woman shot an incredulous glance back at the Dragonborn below her.  "You must be joking.  I'm talking right to you; what do you mean, 'What's on your mind'?  Haven't I been talking?"

"You're talking alright, yeah, dropping names like they were important to you- and if you were talking to anyone but me, you'd get away with it."

"Get away with it!" Cypher exclaimed, jumping up at once.  "I should smack your face!"

"Yeah, yeah you should," the light scaled Dragonborn sighed, letting his head hang as though it were too heavy to continue holding up.  "You should make me feel what you're feeling right now, because unlike you, I can't reach into somebody's mind and pull out what's really there.  You're gonna have to put the cookies on a lower shelf, if you want me to get them at all."

There were a few beats of charged silence between the two.  When Cypher spoke again, her voice had softened and quieted considerably.

"We're going to be responsible for that girl's death, Yuli."

"Mi'ishaen breathes scams," Greyscale shrugged.  "She even runs them on herself.  And she's already proven that she can physically get out of that cage at extreme disadvantage."

"But Dark hasn't said anything about how specifically she wants that handled," Cypher argued.  "And you just heard that she looks like death.  When is Dark going to tell us what to-"

"She's not going to," the Dragonborn answered, sitting up straight and laying his arms on his thighs so that it seemed he would meditate or pray.

"How are you okay with that?" Cypher complained.  "How are you okay with leaving a merc that we didn't have anything to do with in a position to turn us inside out to the Dragons?"

Greyscale nodded as though he had been waiting for that question.  "We all got the same offer, and everyone who didn't want to take it moved out, with full immunity, in exchange for a promise not to sing to Garimond.  And Dark's not a controller.  She has a reign-holding hand so much softer than mine that I'm pretty sure more than half of these guys are actually grateful to her."

"But who's going to pay the bill, when it comes due?" Cypher asked, crossing her arms.  "Who's going to the Pillars for hostage taking, thievery, murder, espionage, and black market trading?"

"You forgot palm greasing," Greyscale noted, trying to keep the scorn out of his voice.  "Don't worry about it; if Garimond comes calling, I answer."

"Yuli, I'm serious," Cypher sighed, squeezing herself tighter.  "Is this what our lives are going to be?  Dual log books, strategic hostage planting, sending cryptic messages across town to pay masters, secretly cutting Semmite threads while forging steel chains to a head-in-air, demon cuckolded woman in Urmlaspyr with our own hands?"

The light tan scaled Dragonborn planted his elbows on his thighs and folded his hands under his chin.

"What does your mother do for coin?" he asked after a few moments of silence had gone by.

Cypher peered at Greyscale through squinted eyes.  "She's dead.  She died in childbirth, thanks to me."

"Your grandmother, then," Greyscale shrugged, as though the previous statement had absolutely no emotional undercurrent whatsoever.

"Washing," Cypher spat back, surprised.  "She was a wet nurse for a while, served a family that sold some land to Pop-pop.  Why?"

"I'm a third generation mercenary," Greyscale explained thoughtfully.  "My father took odd merc jobs, and so did my grandfather, as long as they both lived.  Neither of them was even allowed to join a mercenary company, let alone run one."

"You're avoiding the issue, Yulian," Cypher groaned, rolling her eyes.

"No, I'm finally hearing the real issue," the Dragonborn replied.  "Dragonborn cannot interbreed.  We physically can't.  Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, Humans, sure, but us- no."

"I- I didn't mean-" Cypher admitted, rubbing the back of her neck self-consciously.

"Sit with your lizard a while?" Greyscale asked quietly.

"Yuli, seriously," the Human woman sadly replied.

"I know, I know."  Greyscale reached a hand up to Cypher, who took it and sat in the small nest that his legs made.  "It's natural to want a family."

"But you just said we can't," Cypher breathed, snuggling her head close to Greyscale's chest.  "And I know the 'marriage by habit' thing is what we agreed, but I don't want-"

"Let me worry about what I agreed to," Greyscale counseled.  "I choose to be happy or unhappy.  I choose to be docile or bitter.  I choose to be loving or hateful.  Nobody can do that for me, any more than they could sign my name."

"It's not so hard to reproduce that claw slice of yours," Cypher smirked.  "But what about Dark?"

"What about her?" Greyscale snorted.

"Children aren't in the agreement- would she be alright if we- if I tried to- maybe with-" Cypher asked haltingly, leaning up again to look up at Greyscale.

"You're free," Greyscale replied.  "You're always free to leave and return as you wish- or not to return at all.  You're not counted as a witness, so there'd be no hit put on you.  In fact, we're to protect you and your family.  If there's a code nobody else is cracking, we might send it your way, but only if you're amenable to that, and if it's a good time for the kids.  And your pay's brought to you, no gallivanting off to a paymaster for it.  If you're not wanting to help, then we tough it out without you."

"How can you be sure of that?" Cypher asked incredulously.  "That's a lot of detail for an arranged marriage to a Human woman who used to be a rival merc."

"We were never rival mercs," Greyscale corrected gently.  "You were in a rival organization.  I knew you could be better with mine, so I made you a better offer.  And before I said I'd take Dark up on her various offers, I asked a few questions- she expected them.  Not everybody's a lifer.  We both knew that."

Greyscale wrapped his arms around Cypher and nuzzled near to her cheek, which caused a blush.

"Are there Dragonborn orphans?" Cypher asked very quietly.

Greyscale was quiet for some time before he answered, and when he did, it was in so hushed a tone that Cypher had to hold very still to hear him.  "As Humans define orphans, yes.  But as far as we- as Dragonborn themselves- are concerned, you'd either have to kill the whole clan, or have an unfortunate exiled family."

There was a knowing silence that reigned between the two mercenaries for a few moments.

"Do you ever want to go back?" the Human woman asked cautiously.

"No."

"I don't mean to introduce me or anything."

"I mean no."

A few more beats of silence went by.  Outside, a bell dutifully tolled for the first hour past afternoon.  Neither one of them even looked up.

"I want you to be happy," the woman said, shrugging slightly.  "I like to imagine that I can at least give you that."

"You want to make me happy?" the Dragonborn chuckled, leaning back slightly so that the woman could look at him in the face.

"Well, you said I can't, but I still like trying," Cypher admitted with a wry smirk.

"I can understand that," Greyscale nodded.  "There is one thing you can do, actually."

"And what might that one thing be?"

"Marry me," the Dragonborn replied simply and without much outward emotion, as though he weren't proposing a life-changing matter.  "Not by arrangement or habit, or as a cover for anything- for real.  In your family's holy place, or wherever your gods will hear us, and bless us."

All the patrolling guards as far as two streets away heard a shrill shriek of joy.

3:52 Verdicts.

The sun, now at its highest afternoon point, hadn't thought to rise when most of the members of the Sunfire Mercenaries were called.  Sent back to the manse from various jobs, pulled out of training, or summoned out of homes, every single member of the group had been given a carefully worded summary of why Bann and Howler had been called to the Pillars, and then given small slips of voting paper.  Those who were unable to leave wherever they were had been sent discreet messengers, who had been given instructions not to leave until they had received an answer.

Although everyone was familiar with the practice, having read the company's charter, the vote had somehow been a complete surprise to most.  Most of the voting papers came quickly, but the last few dribbled in.

Kronmyr's crimson eyes flitted over the small bits of paper.  Beyond the table, Howler slept fitfully on a palette of blankets that would normally lie under his dogs. The dogs themselves had been hastily crated along with a small litter of new puppies, and the biggest of those made a pitiful, hungry whine. There was no response from the dog master, but from a shadowy corner on the far right side of Kronmyr came a slight stirring, then the sounding of a worn voice.

"How is he?"

Mordren's wife, who was attending the sleeping Howler, narrowed her eyes. "He is exactly the same as he was the last time you asked."

"Mmmn," Bann groaned quietly. "Forgive me, I-"

"For what?" Kronmyr charged testily. "Give the man an actual answer, you soulless bitch."

"Soulless, am I?" the wizard woman hissed, sounding very much like an angry cat. "Are the Drow so very well known for their Human kindness?"

"Look, I've not survived twice your lifetime's worth of matrons' beatings just to listen to you, you child-eating spawn of Asmodeus," the Drow shot back. "Take your miserable sack of dry bones out of here, and let your apprentices do your work, like usual."

"How dare you!" the woman shrieked, now made absolutely furious. Howler groaned and shifted, sweat beading up on his brow.  "Never mind that I've been up half the night with this-"

"Hush, hush now," Bann pleaded, laying his head on his arm, which rested atop his knee. "We're not doing him any good, fighting like this. I'm sorry for my impatience, Magister Der Lang.  And Myr... just... just don't worry about it, alright? I take no offense. We're all tired."

"She can fuck off and all," the dark Elf muttered, still bristling.

"Kronmyr," Bann breathed, pulling one hand down his face. "You remember she saved your life not ten days gone, don't you?"

The fighter merely grunted in response, and the silence left behind afterward could have smothered someone to death.

The atmosphere remained tense even when Mordren entered the room with two small ingredient pouches. He noticed that Bann had decided to lean his head back on the window sill instead of back down on his arm, but had drifted off to sleep again anyway. Kronmyr, who hardly needed sleep irrespective of his condition, still sorted the small bits of marked paper.

"Comment est-il?" the mage asked his wife quietly, crossing the room toward her as he spoke.

"Il va mourir, et je ne peux pas dire pourquoi. Je l'ai tout essayé. Aidez-moi, mon amour," the slender woman admitted, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself as though she were cold. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi un coup de couteau devrait être mortelle."

"Je pesais que je ne sais," Mordren smiled brightly, sitting next to his mate. "Aller acheter des sangsues et d'autres herbes du vendeur de rue."

"Allez-vous essayer à saigner un poison hors de lui?" the woman asked, beginning to slide into a tone normally reserved for the likes of Kronmyr and new mage initiates.

Mordren merely raised an unaffected eyebrow at his wife, who frowned, but left without another word.

One of Kronmyr's proteges entered the room with a message, just narrowly missing the exiting mage.  Surprised into a mild confusion, he at first began heading straight for the master with whom he was most comfortable. Upon receiving a waved hand from the dark Elf, the young male Human turned to edge toward the dozing figure in the corner.

"Sir Kylsohn?" he asked very quietly, stepping toward the master mercenary carefully.  "Sir?  Kylsohn?"  Since the man being addressed did not move, the messenger firmed his lips and decided to take one final step closer.  "Are you-"

The nearly inaudible groan from Bann answered his question.

"You're tired, Bann," Mordren stated flatly, as though he, and not his wife, had said the same thing more than once. "You and Myr-"

"You're just as house-less as your she-creature," Kronmyr growled, just barely turning his head so that he could peer at Mordren over his shoulder.

"...should both take your rest, and let others help you," Mordren finished, unabashed at the red eyed glare and the frustrated insult that had come with it. "Leave the message with me, boy, and follow Master Ivonne."

The young fighter- a wiry, self-confident Human- glanced over at Kronmyr for a brief moment. The dark Elf, having turned back to his counting after hearing the belittling epithet, stopped his work again to hold out his hand.  The fighter smirked as he wholly ignored Mordren and handed the bit of paper to Kronmyr.

"But do see to his pet wyvern, eh?" the dark Elf asked, practically addressing the fighter's back as he moved to leave the room.  "Folks getting hurt, these days."

The fighter offered an affirmative grunt, but nothing more.  Behind him, Mordren made a small production of taking the reagents he'd bought out of the bag, staring at Kronmyr as he did.

"Well, take it, if you want it so badly," the dark Elf crabbed, handing the paper back behind himself.  "Not like it's for you; your own mother probably wouldn't write you."

"Lover's quarrels," Bann breathed, leaning his head back on the side of the window again.  "I suppose I should thank you for the show of concern."

"Or what's passing for it," Kronmyr huffed.

"Thank you, Kronmyr," Mordren said pointedly, having placed much more focus on the message as soon as it hit the palm of his hand.  He read it twice, then looked up at the weary Human man in the window.  "This is from Garimond.  Wants to know if you know anything about a sort of market within the guard."

"Yes," Bann replied, lifting his head and raising an eyebrow.  "We used to auction off the confiscated goods from the executed ones- a little side game.  He rose through the ranks long before I did; one would think he'd already know the answer to such a question."

"Perhaps not this question," the mage frowned.  "I don't think he's talking about reclamation auctions here.  I think he's talking black market.  Refusing to return the belongings of the innocent, selling them off to each other instead- maybe even selling them to folks without the seal."

Bann turned his head slightly as he looked at Mordren, as though the latter had just lapsed back into the dialect of Elven he was so fond of using with his wife.

"No," he finally said when he could check his disbelief.  "I don't know anything about that.  Why does he ask?"

"The girl that had been planted for the Raibeart woman took your advice and made a complaint for her symbol and prayer book.  Guards said they were robbed of them, but Garimond found them.  Says the circumstances interest him enough to make further inquiries." Mordren shrugged and reached his arm out as Bann finally moved from the window toward him.  "You ask me, he's got better things to do than track down a two copper carving and a pitiful collection of bland, useless poetry."

"Robbed?" Bann repeated, taking the message and stepping back toward the window with his gaze pinned to it.  "The guards claimed someone robbed them- of holy items, no less- and got away with it?"

"With the way he conveniently left out the circumstantial details, I would say that the fact that the prison guards were robbed is not the most interesting bit of the information available," Mordren snorted, returning to Howler's side.  "I should perhaps cast a scry or two."

"Leave that third eye closed," Bann frowned.  "He might-"

"Sir Kylsohn?" a gentle female voice asked.

Bann turned around and dusted himself off a bit without moving any closer toward the table or the door.  "Who is it who needs him?"

A female Gnome, modestly dressed in long breeches and a comfortable-looking, albeit high-necked, peasant shirt that seemed to have been made for a boy, stepped into the doorway and gave a tight, polite bow.

"I'm to proclaim the judgement of the Pillars to him, if he's to be found here," she announced calmly.  "Should I assume that you are he?"

"Yes, my dear," Bann replied, standing at ease with his hands behind his back as though he'd returned to service.  "At your leisure."

" 'In the case of the Sunfire Mercenaries versus the sovereign Crown of Cormyr, bearing in mind the total illegality of Lord Rancelair Illance's access to the records of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn as well as those of the honorably deceased Officer Garett Thom; and further bearing in mind Lord Rancelair Illance's clear, premeditated intent to murder Magister Mordren Der Lang, Ser Kronmyr Tuinre, and the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn via paid proxies; and further bearing in mind that Lord Rancelair Illance was, due to the hiring of these proxies, the brokering of citizens to slavers or malicious magisters, and the knowing alliance with Shadovar, complicit in acts of high treason against the sovereign state of Cormyr, the Crown has rescinded all high treason charges against the Sunfire Mercenaries due to treasonous and lethal coercion.

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus the sovereign Crown of Cormyr, the Crown has found Swordmajor Kylsohn exemption of fault for high treason, due to the treasonous and lethal coercion of Lord Rancelair Illance.

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus Lord Rancelair Illance, the Court has found Sir Kylsohn fully innocent of slander.

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus the Purple Dragons of Cormyr, the Court has found Swordmajor Kylsohn guilty of insubordination by way of direct disobedience to an order.  The Court has also, by way of that disobedience, found Swordmajor Kylsohn guilty of aiding and abetting both a murderer and the murders committed.  However, bearing in mind that Officer Garett Thom was ordered killed prior to any reasonably tractable sign of lycanthropy, and bearing in mind that said lycanthropy was not properly recognized until Officer Thom was witnessed in the act of murder after Swordmajor Kylsohn was already honorably discharged from his post by personal petition, and further bearing in mind that the victim of the murder was complicit in acts of high treason against the sovereign state of Cormyr, Oversword Julian Garimond has rescinded all charges against both the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn and Officer Garett Thom.  The Court has ordered that Officer Garett Thom be relisted as honorably fallen, that Howler Lykan Gan be recorded as an immigrant with an active petition for citizenship in Cormyr pending his presentation to the War Wizards for proper testing, diagnosis, and treatment.  The remaining family members of Officer Garrett Thom shall receive the remaining pension due to families fully duty-bereft of relations, and shall have all rights to bring case against the war wizard who failed to properly test, diagnose, and treat the honorably fallen Officer Garett Thom. 

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus Miss Mi'ishaen Lucien-Azaroth, the Court has found Miss Lucien-Azaroth guilty of destruction of property, and has therefore seized from her goods in the value of 150 lions, to be sold for its proper value immediately.  Payment shall be rendered to the Sunfire Mercenaries as soon as all goods have been sold for the proper value.'

Here's the money- now, according to the note here, there is to be a retrial of the Tiefling's manipulation, slaver, and treason cases.  Would you like me to return when it has come to the Court's hearing, or would it be alright to simply bring you the results of the retrial?"

Bann, who had closed his eyes, tilted his head just slightly to his right, then straightened it.  Opening his eyes, he stepped past the far side of the table to get to the Gnome.

"Just the results are fine; she's nothing more to do with us than the chandeliers.  And here's a lion for your trouble."

"Thanks!" the Gnome smiled gratefully, opening her hand again to receive the coin.

"Those are terrible bruises on your fingers," Bann noted with raised eyebrows.  "I hope you'll consider taking better care of yourself."

No flicker of consideration even crossed over the short woman's face; it was as though the mercenary before her never spoke a word.  "Hey, does Rasha or Silveredge still work here?"

"What have you to do with her?" Mordren asked without looking up from the herbs that he was busy crushing into a paste.

"She's inactive," Bann replied, repressing the urge to look back at the mage.  "Although, to think of it, she may want to hear about the manipulation and slaver retrials- yes, come back to get her when they've started."

The Gnome shrugged in compliance, as though the request were no big deal.  "Well, do you know where she is?  Where she lives now, if not here?"

"She'll be back," the mercenary shrugged with a smile.  "You may as well leave your message with us, rather than cheating yourself out of other message commissions by running all over the city trying to find her."

The Gnome nodded, then pulled a second piece of paper from the pack by her side.  " 'In the case of Ceubel Silveredge pas-Naja versus the sovereign Crown of Cormyr, the Crown has granted full exemption of fault to Miss pas-Naja due to coercion.  In the case of Ceubel Silveredge pas-Naja versus Dame Hophni, the Court has found Miss pas-Naja innocent of the murder of Blade Andrej Hophni.  In the case of Ceubel Silveredge pas-Naja versus Dame Shesua, the Court has found Miss pas-Naja innocent of the murder of Swordcaptain Akrias Shesua.'  You guys sure you don't know where she is?  I'm not actually-"

"She will be told," Mordren replied without any sort of feeling to his tone.

The Gnome took a half step back as though she'd been pushed, then turned and left the room without another word.

"I'll put a few words down for Coalwater," Bann nodded, turning toward the window so that he stared out at the lazy mid-afternoon streets.  "Exemption of fault.  It's unreal- like the end of a night terror."

"That woman wasn't kidding," Mordren answered, placing two of the fingers that had been working in the bowl underneath Howler's nose.  It wrinkled momentarily, and the mage nodded.  "When she made an appeal to us, on behalf of how Cormyrean they all were?  Those were perhaps the most honest words out of anyone's mouth that day."

"Dortana," Bann remembered.  "Yes.  Wonder how long it took her to convince Yulian to talk to we Humans instead of just punching them into agreement."

"He's- more of a wrestler, but docile, as I remember him.  I grew up down the street from him," Mordren shrugged.  "Well, I grew up in a house, and he grew up in a terrible shanty down at the end of the street.  The guards kept pulling it down whenever they got a chance, and he, his sister, and his father would spend about a quarter day every time they did, fixing the damage.  They never moved, never complained or backed down about it, but no one would sell them a proper house.  Boys up the lane always throwing rocks at he and his sister, to see if they'd bounce off, grown adults calling his father Lizardface or Scaly-drawers as though it were his name- I imagine that sort of treatment baked Yulian's scales a bit harder than they had been when I knew him.  But he was docile."

"You think he recognized you?" Bann asked, turning to look over his left shoulder at Mordren.

"Can't have," the mage replied simply.  "We've both changed."

Bann was going to argue that he had recognized Yulian, but decided against it.  It wasn't entirely uncommon for Mordren to know someone without being known himself.

A chestnut brown haired Human girl who was only slightly taller than the rudely departed Gnome entered the room with a toffee colored dog who was clearly too strong for her to control.  He trotted next to her out of sheer desire alone, because it was obvious that if he ever pulled to the end of the branded strap that the girl held, he'd likely take her arm with it.

"Hello?" the girl said uncertainly when she met Bann's eyes.

The dog, immediately identifiable to both Bann and Mordren as Hammer, padded to the full length of the strap, which the girl let go.  Without any noise, he dropped his nose to the floor to come and sniff at Howler.  Mordren, more out of force of habit than any fragment of concern, pulled himself and the mixture he was working on out of the way, and before he could think to stop the large puppy, whose presence brought the wondering sniffing sounds of the rest of the dogs in the room, the creature had laid his full weight on top of the dog master and began licking his face.

"Get- stop- Kronmyr, get this creature away," Mordren finally managed, completely disgusted.

"Huh?" the dark Elf grunted without even looking up.  "Ugh... Hammer, c'mere, boy-"

"Niku," the girl corrected confidently.  "Please be nice to Ser Howler; he's not feeling well, remember?  Remember how she said he wasn't feeling well?"

And the dog, clearly more properly addressed as Niku, stood up and took a single side step away from Howler before plopping down and licking his face again.

"Miss Silveredge asked us to please bring this to Ser Mordren, but I don't know who he is," the little girl continued importantly, having lost all sense of fear or shyness.

"There he is," Kronmyr said, sticking a thumb out in Mordren's direction before shifting his full mental focus back to the small slips of paper before him at the table again.

"Whatever it is, put it on the table," Mordren ordered immediately, clearly annoyed.

"Okay," the girl replied, fishing in the pockets of her small apron to produce yet another small piece of paper.  "But it looks like all the others.  How will you tell it's hers?"

"Fear not," Bann laughed.  "Did she tell you precisely what to do with it?"

"Yes," came the nearly incredulous reply.  "She told me to give it to Ser Mordren, but he wants me to put it on the table, so now someone needs to be able to tell the difference between hers and everybody else's."

At her unmistakable annoyance, Kronmyr looked up.  "It'll be alright; she intended him to put it wherever he thinks it ought to be."

"But it's hers," the girl protested.

"No one can tell whose anyone's is," Bann explained calmly.  "It's supposed to be a secret vote."

The little girl blinked and frowned.  "But Ser Mordren will know, if he has to put it somewhere for her.  He'll know that he put her paper somewhere, and it won't be a secret anymore.  It'll be cheating."

"She ought to have come herself," Mordren breathed quietly.

"I wrote her that she was inactive until she returned of her own free will," Bann reasoned in a near whisper.  "We could have gone up for coercion ourselves, considering how we got her here- I didn't think she would want to have anything more to do with us."

"It's blank," Kronmyr noted, almost as much for Bann as the girl next to him.  "See how all the others have the full, half, or new moon drawn on them somehow?  It might look like all the others at first, but the fact that it's blank already tells us it's hers.  She likely intended Ser Mordren to vote for her, so just-"

"No," the girl declared finally.  "I'll go back and ask her to draw on it, like she was supposed to.  She maybe just forgot, or something.  It's hers; she has to do something with it herself.  Ser Mordren doesn't get to say for her; that's not fair."

"A sense of fairness with which the lady herself doesn't agree," Mordren frowned, speaking a bit more loudly.

"Quiet, you demon-coddling childeater," Kronmyr hissed over his shoulder.

"Myr!" Bann exclaimed, mortified that the dark Elf had said such a thing in front of an actual Human child.

"Give... it to... Niku."

For a moment, it seemed as though time stopped.  No one could speak, and all eyes focused on the dog master, who hadn't been breathing properly, let alone talking, for two days.  After a few amazed seconds- which seemed more like eons, for Bann- Howler breathed deeply and tried speaking again.

"Amadelle?"

"Yes, Ser Howler?" the girl replied readily, her eyes glowing with a near other-worldly happiness.

"He... will know."

"May I please give you a hug after?"

A hum arose from the dog master, and Bann found he wasn't sure whether it meant he was agreeing or not.

"Okay, c'mere, Niku, please," Amadelle asked, kneeling down on the floor.  Niku picked his head up and looked at the piece of paper for a second, then calmly trotted over to the little girl to gingerly take it in his teeth.  Kronmyr shoved back from the table to accommodate the body of the creature.

"That pile's for confidence," he explained, feeling silly for talking to a dog.  "That one over there is for unconcerned, and that one is for no confidence."

Niku picked himself up so that he could sniff at all three piles carefully.  After what seemed like a very long time to both Bann and Mordren, he leaned his head down and placed the blank paper down on the confidence pile.

"For the sake of argument," Kronmyr sighed, closing his eyes and crossing his arms, "which pile was unconcerned?"

And Niku, who had padded away from the table toward Amadelle, sat down and barked twice.

"No, come back over here and point it out," the dark Elf stated.

Niku whined at first, but got back up and padded back toward the table.  Lifting himself up again, he sniffed at all three piles carefully, then pushed at the small hill of unconcerned vote papers with his nose.

"But you're telling me- you know what?  Thank you," Kronmyr nodded.  "You've done what you came to do.  Tell Miss Silveredge thank you, and that she has a message here at home.  Do you want a sweet?"

"No," Amadelle said immediately.  "Mommy says not to have any sweets anywhere but home, unless she's right next to me.  Ser Howler, may I hug you now?"

"Mmm," came the hummed response again.

Taking it as assent, the young girl walked over and lay her head on Howler's stomach, throwing her arms around as much of him as she could from there.  Unable to watch the scene any longer, Kronmyr pulled his chair back toward the table and began working at counting the votes again.

"Miss Silveredge says you'll be alright.  I asked her please to tell me before I left, because nobody likes being sick, but it's easier, when you know you're going to get better.  When you do feel well, we'll come and play, all of us.  Miss Silveredge says you like most to play at night, but that sometimes you come out in the day too, so we will wait for that.  I can't come out at night; I'm supposed to be in bed."

"Mmm," Howler repeated, his reply less like a low groan and more like an actual answer.

Niku padded over and sniffed at both Amadelle and Howler, then began poking Amadelle in the ribs with his nose.

"Okay," the girl replied, as though the dog had spoken.  "Don't forget us, Ser Howler."

There was a long, strange silence as Amadelle and Niku simply left the room, and the building.  Mordren looked down at Howler, frowned very slightly, and left the room with his bowl still in hand.  Bann, for his part, was absolutely rooted to the ground.

"And that's it," Kronmyr nodded, putting the last tick mark on the paper upon which he'd been keeping count.  "Two no-confidence, fifteen unconcerned, and fourty two confidence, across both company charters."

"I hope you don't go around telling everyone that we have two company charters; we ought to get brought up just for that," Bann breathed, the weight of the judgement he'd heard finally settling in his bones.  "And you don't have to mess with the results."

"I'm not," the dark Elf replied.  "It was practically a landslide; I could have stopped counting some time ago.  I just wanted to count the no-confidence votes, actually."

"Don't team up with Mordren about them, okay?" Bann said offhandedly, returning to the window.  "If they don't want to work with me, there are other ways of dealing with it."

Mordren returned with a different bowl and sat next to Howler.  He stuck his thumb into the bowl, swirled it around for a few seconds, then unceremoniously jammed his thumb into Howler's mouth.  Precisely thirty seconds later, Howler's eyes opened and fully focused.

"Don't bite it off, honorably deceased Officer Garett Thom," the mage smiled.  "Now, Bann, do you want the good news, the bad news, or the really bad news?"

"Mordren," Bann scoffed quietly, finally breaking his at-ease stance and pulling a hand up and over his head so that his slightly-touseled hair looked a bit better.

"The bad news is that either Lord Illance or somebody who's offended on his behalf is almost definitely still after us.  The really bad news is that said somebody is probably also wearing the Cormyrean colors or crest in some form- there are very few other good reasons for Howler to be shot at, in court, in plain daylight, without any kind of real repercussions.  The good news is that there were absolutely no natural werewolf lords responsible for Lykan Gan at all."  The mage paused, pulled his thumb out of Howler's mouth and patted the somewhat bewildered dog master on the cheek.  "No, my dear sirs, this is a spell.  Locked in either by a permanency spell or other highly illegal spellwork.  If it hadn't been- rather, if you had been a completely natural werewolf- that single silver-tipped arrow would have killed you.  But it can't.  Because if the spell were broken, you would be fully Human again, and the only person for whom that is actually really, really bad news is the war wizard who should have been able to diagnose that years ago.  For whatever reason, the honorably retired Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn and now honorably deceased Officer Garett Thom may in fact have been set up."

3:51 Elemental truth.

"...and therefore release you from service to us until such time as you should, of your own volition, wish to return...," Druce read to herself as she leaned gingerly on the banister in front of the now oft-used guest room.  Well, that's wise of them, she thought.  I think with everything they've been through these past few days, it's completely understandable to cut ties with anything and anyone that vaguely-

And at that moment, Eunice began climbing the stairs.  Seeing Druce calmly contemplating the Sunfire's letter to Silveredge as though it had been addressed to her while standing outside the partially opened door to the guest room, Terezio's apprentice prepared to see why the older Human woman was not about the business of learning warding magic.

"Don't tell me you don't remember," Druce said with a start when she realized Eunice's presence.  "She's done this for as long as she's been here; it's obviously a sacred ritual for her.  Just wait."

"I don't see why she should waste your time with her... worship," Eunice frowned, "or why it's permitted-"

"Eunice, if there had been any stripe or flavor of Shar worship in this house, your tutor himself would have brought the entire place down to destroy it; now, don't you make me slap your darling little impudent face," Druce smiled sweetly.  "Just wait, and-"

From inside the room came four unintelligible, but sweetly sounded, song lines.  Although quietly and reverently voiced, the delicate soprano seemed somehow piercing, as a needle or a snake fang might be.

"It's wickedness," Eunice whispered fearfully, drawing closer to Druce than either woman was expecting.  "Don't you feel your arms prickling?  I don't think that's even Common, whatever she's saying."

"Get a hold of yourself, woman," Druce spat, pulling herself away.  "Act in accordance with your age, if not your knowledge."

A long sustained note, like the cry of a young or frail mourner, seeped through the half open door.  Druce closed her eyes, much to Eunice's horror, and clutched her hands to her heart to begin a prayer to Lliira.

"Lady Druce, I thought you feared Saint Cuthbert and Pelor, as Battlemage Ranclyffe does!" the apprentice whispered fiercely, holding her own arms closely to herself for an entirely different reason.

Druce finished her prayer, touched her right hand to her lips first, then her left breast, and finally opened her eyes with a sigh.  "Have you bothered to find the Ranclyffe family shrine space?" she asked patiently.  "And what sort of worshiper of any god are you, anyhow, to interrupt an obvious prayer like that?  Now come along, if you're coming."

With that, the older woman moved past the astonished apprentice and opened the carved wooden guest room door all the way.  Immediately, a flash of red tattoo and fur dashed toward her.  For a moment, Druce was concerned that she would be knocked flat by the powerful creature, but as nimbly as a hare, the large puppy dodged off to one side of her and ran all the way around her.  He sat back on his haunches for a few moments at a time as he barked, sniffed at her, and panted, his stump of a tail furiously moving behind him.  It was, all in all, a great show, considering that he knew exactly who Druce was- it was hard not to recognize the woman whose faint scent had joined his charge's on every plate of food he'd gotten in the house so far.

"Oh, dear; you gave me a fright," Druce smiled, steadily regaining her confidence that she wouldn't be harmed.  "You know, there was a small child, a little girl, who came by to visit you.  You and your lady-friend were both still asleep, so we turned her away."

"The handmaiden is sorry to hear that," came a calm, clear voice from a far corner of the room.  A silver haired woman who was still in the process of braiding some of the hair at the front of her head moved out of the shadows there, which receded considerably in response, as though they had been made of dark water.  "If she returns, we will go and play with her."

The idea seemed to please the dog greatly, and he hopped around the room for a while to show it.  The young blue-skinned woman finished her long strap braid, knelt down, and opened her arms to the creature, who wasted no time in slamming nearly every pound of his power into her waiting arms.  The woman, judging by her low, careful positioning, had clearly expected the charge, and was rewarded by only having been moved three or four inches back toward the wall, and the curtained windows there.  Druce took the opportunity to realize that the curtains were still drawn as though it were night, then saw out of the corner of her eye that Eunice had noticed them as well.

Another reason to suspect her, Druce frowned.

After a few moments of quiet speech that neither of the Human women present could understand, the Shadar-kai arose from the floor.  The dog, still sparking with energy, padded off to the makeshift bed that had been created in a large wicker basket, immediately positioning himself so that he could watch whatever might come through the doorway.

"Now, Lady Drussandra, I give you again the challenge of your soul," the Shadar-kai smiled, moving back to the corner from which she'd emerged briefly.  The shadows there again deepened and lengthened as though the young woman had somehow submerged herself in dark waters.   Druce stepped carefully to the small table that sat between the two windows and sat down.

"And I receive it gladly, Dedicant Sheeklihemree... did I get it right?"

"It is of no concern," Silveredge smiled genuinely as she busied herself the shadows.  "The handmaiden answers your intention, no matter the robes in which it presents itself."

"I should still like to get it right," Druce chuckled lightly.  "While Rezi and I were expecting Federico, he received orders for Immersea.  The registrar stationed us thinking that she'd put me with my family to help me through the pain and concern, but didn't realize she'd sent us to Rezi's family, not mine.  I wound up staying with Petricio, one of Rezi's two uncles, because his wife was alive and willing to help me.  Anyhow, back home in Minroe, I was called either Sandra or Sandy, but my town was small enough that you wouldn't mistake one girl for another no matter what she'd called herself that morning.  In the comparatively huge Immersea, there were already plenty of Sandras and Sandys, one of which was Rezi's unmarried elder cousin.  You can imagine how pleased she was to be distinguished from me by being called 'the Aldermaiden.'  Then, two months later, because Drussandra was nowhere near as well-known a name as Cassandra, the Dragon Requisition Office decided this little lack-brain from Minroe had to be either mistaken or lying.  The head req-officer demanded that I have my mother and midwife send a written solemn oath, and absolutely refused to put in a request until she had received it.  My mother, rest her soul, was illiterate, but the midwife, rest her soul, wasn't, and she was furious that the Dragons would refuse a pregnant woman food.  So she wrote out three identical copies of the oath- one for the official Dragon records, one for me to keep, and one for the Ranclyffe family- then put a small cut on the first finger of my mother's left hand and pressed her blood to the papers.  The req-officer was embarrassed, shocked, and incredibly penitent, so she doubled my food rations.  She also started calling me 'Druce,' and I never corrected her.  By the time Rezi was moved to Wheloon, I had learned to introduce myself that way."

Silveredge returned to Druce with two bowls- one full of sand and water, and the other completely clean and dry.

"I remember my mother telling me that her good friend claimed that I looked like her child, instead of my father's.  My mother loved this, and even in pain on the birthing floor, told her good friend to name me.  Unfortunately, neither she, nor my elder sister, nor any of the other women in the room could write down, let alone pronounce, what my mother's good friend said, and she was not able to write any of our languages.  So when it came time to present me, my mother did her best to say exactly what her friend said, and Jyklihaimra is the result.  The handmaiden is often told that the pronunciation is deplorable, but can offer no idea of what her mother's good friend truly intended.  The meaning, which the elders asked for at once, is something like 'Charmed mage,' but degenerated, over time, into Silverhag.  With a bit more time, I simply learned to answer to whatever it was that others decided I should be called; one title is as good as another, so long as the intention is understood."

Silveredge continued moving as she spoke, retrieving a worn and battered robe from the corner.  Druce, as she listened, fished in her pockets, and produced a pair of shears that belonged to her sewing kit.

"I suppose that makes some sense," the older Human woman frowned.  "But all the same, I should like to get it right.  There's something- comforting, I think- about hearing the name that you actually should be called.   It feels as though the person speaking took time to remember it, and speak it correctly.  That's it- the consideration of it.  That's what I mean.  The person speaking should be considerate; should know you, and know what you're called.   Your name is special, like you."

"The handmaiden doesn't desire to be special," Silveredge replied quietly, sitting on the other side of the table.  "Simplicity is sufficient."

"I don't know that you can do very much about the rather vast space between yourself and simplicity, dear," Druce smiled warmly.  "I'd say, if nature sees fit to make you shine like a star, you oughtn't pretend you're a common rock."

"Wait- what is this going to do?" Eunice interrupted, unable to keep her peace any longer.

"Hmm?  I'm supposed to get the sand out of the water," Druce replied, turning her body and the chair so that she could fully face both bowls.  "I've been at it for too long now, and I don't seem to quite be... getting it."

The apprentice wrinkled her brow and looked to the Shadar-kai, who had focused on snipping at the robe in her lap.  It seemed to be the absolute opposite of what needed to be done to the tattered thing.

"Miss, what do you mean by this, having Lady Druce to do menial work?  This isn't spell work at all- aren't you supposed to be-"

"Aren't you supposed to be in training?" Druce huffed, mildly annoyed at the interference.  "Go on, get to whatever it is you're supposed to be doing."

"But Battlemage Ranclyffe sent me to find out how you were progressing," Eunice argued.  "I was to tell him what spells you might be working on, so that he might help you properly factor and execute them, if need be."

Druce looked up from the bowls and put her arms on the table.  "Eunice, I am getting the sand out of the water.  Go and ask Rezi to remember how desperately he wants me to keep out of his playroom.  Right now, I need him to stay out of mine."

"Oh," the younger Human woman said with a strangely offended tone.  She blinked and looked about herself, vainly trying to think of something that might keep her from having to leave right away.  She instead met the calm, platinum gaze of the Shadar-kai, which sent chills down her spine instantly.  Unable to think of anything at all, she turned and left without pardoning her exit or closing the door.

"Don't mind her, dear," Druce said as she returned her focus to the bowls before her.  "She's not at her best with others.  One would think someone would have the sense to put her with a homey, sister-aged magic worker, or perhaps a cheery, fatherly male one.  Even a chatty aldermaiden with a cat or two would have done, but no, they apprentice her to Rezi.  The College makes me wonder, at times."

"My lord Ranclyffe is very cheery when he is with you," Silveredge noted quietly.  "Sunlight touches his face then; I have seen it."

Druce laughed gently.  "Yes, well, that's not always the case.  In fact, it was quite the opposite, when first we met.  I was just a nosy little cook and pot washer, back then, and had gotten myself into his study room- well!  The glares and tongue lashing I got, you'd have thought he was my father.  But the next night, I simply picked his study room lock again, and was sitting right there, proudly reading his notebooks, when he arrived to practice his incantations and experimentations and whatnot.  As though I could understand a word!  But he was handsome to look at, willing to brave all for what he thought was good, and very intelligent.  All I had to do was convince him that I was just as smart as he, and twice as stubborn."

"My lady is wise, to have chosen for herself a good and honest challenge," came the quiet, but clearly pleased reply.  "May you contend beautifully against each other for the rest of your days."

"And what about your challenge, dear, hmm?" Druce said at once, looking over the bowls toward Silveredge, who was still focused on the robe in her lap.  "I do believe I had heard a stray word or two about Young Ser Raibeart- and his case should clear, I think, at the Pillars."

"My lady is kind," the Shadar-kai answered.  There was no further reply, but something about the way the words were spoken made Druce realize that she wasn't the one to hear whatever else had to be said about the matter.  She looked down at the bowls, but decided to take up a different tack.

"It's a shame, you know, about the young woman you came here with.  It's very easy to hang around the wrong sort of people, doing as she does. I would know."

A couple of beats of silence passed before Druce decided to completely cant the playing field up toward the silent woman.

"That's how I landed myself in service to the War College in the first place, getting caught at stealing from their alchemy gardens."

Predictably, the Shadar-kai stopped working at the robe and looked up.  Druce caught the platinum gaze and nodded.

"I could tell because of her hands," she admitted with a smile.  "Lovely and delicate, perfect for fooling a lock into opening for someone who hasn't the proper key.  You're very similar to her, that way, and I found myself wondering if both of you are good with needles as well."

Silveredge smiled with no hint of negative emotion, but the puppy, who was laying with his head on his paws in the basket, did all the emoting for her with one very quiet whine.

"I'm very sorry, my dear," Druce said honestly, wishing she could hug the suddenly frail-seeming woman before her.  "Perhaps- who knows.  Perhaps there's some sort of mistake, and the Dragons are wrong.  It wouldn't be the first time."

"My lady is very kind," the light blue-hued woman replied.  "It must be that her god or goddess teaches of mercy, and second chances."

Druce deftly took the change of subject.  "In a manner of speaking, yes, they both do.  In name, Rezi and I are followers of Lathander and Pelor, but- well.  We have our secrets."

The two women smiled at each other for a while longer, then turned back to their respective tasks.  Below and just beyond them, the hound gave another sad or worried whine.  Druce found that the fact that she could not tell which problem it was concerned her; it was obvious that the woman behind her and the dog were very close.

Síochána, the Shadar-kai thought calmly.

The dog sighed and shifted, but fell otherwise quiet.

After a few silent minutes, Druce began to dig her fingers into the sand at the bottom of the bowl.  The sand, which had sat in the bowl under the water all night, was hard, cold, and difficult to shift.  She frowned, pulling her hand back out of the water and wondering why her tutor had not given her an instrument with which to work.

A familiar tread began its slow, heavy progress up the stairs, underscored by a lighter set of footfalls.  Near the bed, the dog got up and over two steps to the door before abruptly stopping and returning to the basket as though the Shadar-kai had given an actual, spoken command.  Druce, unconcerned, didn't even look up, although Silveredge certainly did, and was rewarded by the sight of the very same bespectacled seer who had given a rather stony welcome in what now seemed like a strange and distant past.

"A good morning to you, Miss..." Terezio began cautiously.  "I am told you are... working out crafts of some sort."

Druce suddenly took a sharp intake of breath and put her hands over her mouth.  Eunice and Terezio both looked at her immediately, and Silveredge felt waves of concern ripple from them both.

After a few moments of silence, Terezio dared to speak.  "Are you-"

"Shhh," Druce hissed, waving her left hand at her husband briefly before putting it back over her mouth.  Silveredge looked back down at the work in her lap, her face left carefully bare of expression.

Terezio opened his mouth to speak again, then stopped himself, tilting his head very slightly as though he'd just heard something very surprising.  Eunice took a half step forward, only to be stopped by the cautioning hand of her mentor.

"If I just-"  Druce picked up the bowl of sand and water completely, then slowly and carefully poured the water into the other bowl.  "There."

"But there is a little water yet in the sand," Silveredge noted quietly.  "And there is a little sand in the water."

"Well, the sand will settle and the water will dry," Druce proclaimed firmly, sitting back from the table.

There was a short silence during which Silveredge stopped cutting the stitches out of the robe and actually looked up.

"Is the water good, or evil?" she asked.

Druce's face clouded for a moment, but then suddenly beamed with understanding.

Terezio took a step back and crossed his arms, intrigued.  Having already felt where the lesson would go, he found himself strangely pleased.  Eunice, however, was absolutely dumbfounded at the question, and found she couldn't even think of the words she needed to object to it.

Druce folded her hands in her lap and breathed deeply before she spoke.

"Water is water."

"And Drussandra," Silveredge smiled, looking back down to the robe, "Is Drussandra."

Terezio very quietly took his pink-cheeked apprentice by her shoulders, turned her around, and walked back out of the room.

A Virtuous Quest 3:50 Believable lies.

Mi'ishaen laid on her back for a few moments, happy to simply not be tied to the chair any longer.  Her back and arms ached miserably, and one of her wrists was bleeding.  She panted hot breath into the chilly air for a few moments, watching the puffs manifest themselves like Aleksei's words when he began losing his temper.

She vainly attempted to breathe more deeply.

The female half-Elf groaned and began to shift herself.  Mi'ishaen summoned strength instantly, seemingly from nowhere, to roll back over and lock her arm around the guard's neck again.  The woman put up less of a fight the second time than she did the first time, and the Tiefling again flopped herself down to the ground to breathe.

And this is the easy part, she thought to herself.

She counted to thirty, again in the attempt to slow her breathing and calm her racing heart.  Her chest hurt, and each beat felt as though her heart might burst out of it.

Okay, she thought after a few fruitless moments' effort.  To work.

Rolling over again, she took the wrist that was bleeding and made ritual-like markings all over her chair.  She made sure that the guard was absolutely clean of blood, then took a few moments to practice running and jumping off her chair.  Truly reaching full extension hurt her side, her joints ached from the cold and damp that she'd sat in for so long, and she found her head spun when she hopped up and down.

It'll have to do.  I won't have another chance at this.

She crumpled the guard's hand around her knife and made another small cut in her wrist to draw some more blood.  She used it to dab at the walls and the cell door, then finally left, leaving the cell door slightly ajar.

The hallway outside was utterly black, and Mi'ishaen didn't dare try to get a torch.  To conserve her energy and make sure she was as quiet as possible, she got on her hands and knees and crawled up the pitch black incline that led to the lit hallways above.  Within her, her heart began speeding up again as though she were running a marathon.  She inched up the hallway slowly, pausing every time she heard footfalls.  Her head pounded, and it seemed as though it were ages before she could actually time the pace of the moving guards.  In the shadows just behind one of them, she managed to make it all the way to a small room where a half-full dinner plate stood.

Mi'ishaen's stomach roared at once, vengeful against the days it had spent churning mossy water, stale bread, and air.  She heard voices up the hall, however, and tore her eyes away from the plate in favor of cramming herself into the few shadows that existed at the back of the room.

Something solid that she didn't see from across the room poked her in the back.

"...and I can't help how many patrols have gone out, or how many other prisoners there are," a male-sounding voice finished as a shadow crossed the small room's threshold.  "Somebody's got to scrub the cells, half the store's rotted, and none of you want to share your feed.  Oughtta get a cat and a priest down here- I got people puking and fainting in the halls for want- aw, c'mon!"

Mi'ishaen watched the shadow on the floor, careful not to look up- it was easy for light to reflect in one's eyes if one did, and any little clue could give her away.  Whoever it was that was holding the conversation with the man seemed to berate him farther for his wish to clean whatever cell was bothering him.

"Oh, push off," he answered finally, moving away from the doorway.  "You're so concerned, you take an extra go-round.  Oh no?  Too much trouble?  Right, then shut it up."

Mi'ishaen waited until she could no longer hear him nor the echo of whomever he was speaking to.  While it was good to note that the guard was stretched thin at the moment, it meant that pathways that were normally set and able to be tracked might be erratic.  She quickly turned to see if she'd suffered an actual bleeding scrape from her accident in the dark, only to discover that she'd scraped herself on a large, unlocked chest.  Upon opening, she was surprised to find her armor, all of her weapons, the small ruby, Aleksei's bottle of frenzywater, Silveredge's sewing equipment and katars, Niku's branded strap, and Bahlzair's pact knife, snugly fit into a jet black leather sheath.

I can't believe I'm about to do this.

Mi'ishaen pulled her armor over her prison garment- again, a thin cotton dress- and began fitting everyone's things into the various pouches that were empty.  She was glad she hadn't taken her stolen merchandise with her, since it gave her room to be a pack mule.  The frenzywater was the toughest to stow, but in the end, she put it in the pouch behind her and prayed that she wouldn't have to fall on her back again.  She took the leather sheath out of the chest last, fingering it carefully, as though the knife inside would jump out and bite her.

There were more hollers down the hall, and although they were unintelligible, they were enough to give the Tiefling rogue a bit of extra urgency.  Her stomach growled too insistently when she attempted to pass the plate twice, and for a moment, there was a fear that it, not any other sound that she might make, would ruin her chances of escape.  The candle light in the room seemed to dim slightly, and the room suddenly became significantly colder.

Mi'ishaen immediately thought the lack of food was driving her insane.  She quickly grabbed the bread that rested on the plate and sopped up some of the ignored meal with it.  The food was mediocre, but having been starved for some time encouraged her to gobble it down anyway.  When she heard the footsteps returning, she pulled herself away from the plate, noticing suddenly that she had decimated more than half of what had been left behind.

"It is not raining, sweet heart of my beloved's heart."

Mi'ishaen blinked, surprised, and could say nothing.  The chill left the room, and the candles grew sharply brighter.  Her heart beat regularly and calmly, and her head didn't spin; yet she knew she hadn't imagined the gently-used, but commanding female voice.  Shaking her head clear of the creepy feeling that suddenly made her skin break out in goosebumps, she crept carefully along the half-lit hallway again, noticing that every prison cell could be accessed off the same single pathway.

The uniformly spaced cells were laid across it at intervals, making it seem more like Silveredge's catacombs than any of the simple prisons that Mi'ishaen had seen before.  Just as she'd passed the third set of cells, the runes on the hilt of the knife began to faintly glow.  Nodding to herself, Mi'ishaen peeked down each side to see if the any guards were around.  Finding that particular hall of cells blessedly deserted, the Tiefling crept to her left to see if she could find Bahlzair.

The Drow was all the way at the end of the hall, calmly meditating in a cell that was so disheveled that it looked as though he'd been wrestling a bear in his spare time, with his back to the barred door.  Mi'ishaen didn't stop to ask questions- she simply slid the sheathed weapon between the bars and started back up the hallway.

Bahlzair looked over his shoulder and down at the weapon, which was still glowing as though it were an ember in a recently-doused fire.  With an interested grunt, he picked it up, took the loose tunic that had been given to him off, and pulled the black skinned sheath on.  He listened to the whisper of Mi'ishaen's freshly re-booted hooves along the prison stone, and waited until he could hear their rasp no longer.  Then he got up, fished the keys that he'd taken off his jailer's dead body out of the severely damaged bed in the corner, and let himself out.

Mi'ishaen inched from hallway to hallway, timing the way the mostly disinterested guards walked halfway down each side, then walked back toward the main hallway and on to another dual row of cells.  It seemed to take forever to reach the large arch that gave out toward the city streets.  Thankfully enough, it was dark outside- whether that meant it was very early in the morning or very late at night, the Tiefling couldn't be sure.  She quietly and cautiously slipped past the inner guards without incident, found a poorly manned corner of the stone-walled courtyard, and got about the business of finding a way over it.

She managed to find the strength to spring from the side of the prison building to the center of the courtyard wall in order to pull herself up and over the high wall.  Just as she had successfully scaled it, she heard shouts behind her.  When she was on the other side, she paused to listen, but couldn't hear anything that referenced her escape, or her, at all.  Instead, there were bellows and screams about the escaped Drow murderer who had apparently solved the lack of food for prisoners problem by eating part of a guard.

I'm less surprised at that than I should be, Mi'ishaen thought to herself as she began to stealthily make her way back to the Coalwater manse.  Probably if I'd been any hungrier, I might have done the same.

She was kidding herself about that, and she knew it.  As it was, her jailer would wake up to chaos- some of it fantastically real, and some of it realistically false.  The hope was that no one would be able to tell which was which for a long, long time- and part of that would mean running into the guard again, just as purposefully as she had done the time before.