4:34 The devil you think you know.

The gates of Marsember were nothing special to Seyashen, who had seen structures built with bones and accessorized with sunbleached skulls.  The guards were likewise underwhelming for him.  Clad in his dark robes- his lighter ones wanted washing, and couldn't be worn that morning- the hornless Tiefling stepped off the cart and looked at the single-file line to be met by one of five guards as he began digging his fingers into his coin purse.

The driver didn't breathe a word about payment.  As soon as Seyashen had descended from the cart, he slapped the backs of the horses with an iron will, and the horses, shocked, took off as though there had been wolves behind them.

"Saves you the twenty gold," Iaden scoffed as he manifested on Seyashen's left side.

You didn't spook that poor man, did you? Seyashen thought, forcing himself not to look at the spectral form of his cousin.

"I didn't, no, but some little girl about nipped the flesh off the man's wrists and ankles all the way out of Urmlaspyr," Iaden replied.  "Didn't catch her name."

Seyashen didn't bother to tell him.  The line inched forward with all the will of a dying worm.

"I don't think Isha's here," Iaden noted after a few quiet minutes.  "I don't feel her here."

Your sister and her partner follow that two toned Dragonborn like plague after rats, and this is where the High Captain said the big fellow and his captors were headed, Seyashen thought.  This might not be where they are now, but it's where we have to start.

Iaden scoffed.  "That rodent of a Human knew more than he told.  He's the sort that always knows more than he tells."

He wouldn't keep his job a day otherwise, Seyashen noted.  Some people have to be... mindful, let's say... of what they tell others.  Imagine if I noised it about that I communicated with the dead as easily as one could with their next door neighbor.  They'd have me bound, beaten, and burned in an hour.

The death knight decided not to argue with the bone rattler.  After another agonizing few minutes, the line struggled forward again.

"I don't like how they're questioning every person," Iaden grumbled.  "This is the custom of a settlement that's either recently had trouble, or is currently expecting it."

I've never been to Cormyr before, Seyashen thought, consciously keeping himself from physically shrugging.  This could be their standard procedure.

"No one's standard procedure is questioning every single visitor," Iaden shot back.  Despite the bite of the comment, Seyashen noted that there was no bitterness or annoyance in the warrior's tone.  "Not for no reason.  Even the lords of the Hells let spirits come and go as they please, until someone gets suspicious that one demon is using those spirits to try to overthrow another."

Seyashen sighed wearily, and the woman in front of him in line turned to nod in agreement.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" she complained crisply, her lovely blue eyes aglow with the kind of annoyance that only the privileged could sustain.  "It's pageantry, is what it is; they're pretending to keep us safe from raiders and slavers, but are the thefts and people snatching attempts really being curbed?  No, of course not.  Pageantry; mere pageantry."

Seyashen, at a loss for the correct thing to say, made what he believed was a sufficiently dissatisfied huff, and nodded at the woman.  She, for her part, took his relative silence as an opportunity to continue airing her sentiments.

"At the very least, there should be a separate line for those of us who are Cormyrean by blood, whose families have held land for generations, whose hard-earned coin now funds this type of nonsense.  For example, the taxes on my land- my husband's land, according to the collectors, but it's only his because he married me- the taxes have gone up twice this year.  Twice!  Where the lions go is beyond me.  Are there more guards?  New suits of armor or improved weapons?  Better walls, more trained fighting dogs, more calvalry- any of that?  Hah!"

 "Put it up, lady," a man behind Seyashen finally piped up.  "No one cares how sore you are over the taxes on your daddy's land."

"Yeah, leave the preaching to priests what're trained to do it, will ya?" called another voice from farther back in line.

Seyashen, too focused on keeping his temper even, hadn't even realized that the woman had gotten loud enough to be heard at such a distance.  He realized that despite the color of his skin and eyes, he looked Human enough to complain to because his thick, dark hair had grown long enough to cover the severed stumps of what once were straight spike horns. He rubbed the back of one of those stumps and cleared his throat.

"So I ask you," the woman continued even more loudly, "where is Foril putting our coin?  Who's getting paid, and for what?  His father, gods keep him in peace and rest, never raised our taxes once, but he took the fight to the Semmites and the Shade witches, he did.  Rode out to fight them himself, until he was too old and sorely wounded.  Ruled with wisdom- knew how to get the lords to manage the poor rabble on their lands.  Foril?  Doesn't have a spark of his smarts.  Marries foreign, brings foreigners in here from everywhere, allows all kinds of imports that harm the native craft guilds, and then raises our taxes because somehow, foreigners are stealing people from the streets and marketing all sorts of wicked potions and poisons.  He can't imagine how it's happening, people say.  Doesn't understand what's the matter- hah!  Raises the taxes to give us nonsense checkpoints like this, but doesn't keep the actual problems out."

"Hey, Her Majesty Rhindaun is straight descended from Queen Monarch Zaranda," complained the first man who had spoken up before.  "If your man Foril had any smarts, he'd stand back and let her rule the place."

"The nerve!" the woman cried furiously.  "You see what dangerous conspirators Foril allows?  If King Azoun were alive, such nefarious elements would never even see these gates!"

"Oh, nice," the man chortled.  He turned his bristly, muscular form around to a smaller, shorter compatriot some ways farther back in line.  "Hey!  Hey, Karl!  Karl!  I'm a Tethyrian conspirator now, eh?  A nefarious element.  Mind ya'self."

Karl, who was the person who'd made the weak joke before, laughed just as heartily at the so-called conspirator's jest as he had at his own.

Just behind Seyashen, Iaden gave a righteous snort.

"I... am foreign," Seyashen at last managed awkwardly, feeling as though the words were made of bitter lead.  "I'm Turathi.  My family was... migrant, but... Turathi, all the same."

"Ooohhh my," the woman cooed, her tone becoming light and distant, as though Seyashen had just admitted to eating mud pies.  "The Tiefling empire, yes; I've heard of that, of course, yes.  Such a shame how it... was destroyed- fourty years ago?  Fourty five?  Such a shame.  But the gods have their ways, and I'm sure your family survived for a reason.  What a blessing that you survived."

"Now that's pageantry," Iaden scoffed.  "Now that you've gone from Cormyrean Human to Turathi Tiefling, she'd just as soon see your blood run in the street; you can smell it off her."

Seyashen, who had been fighting the urge to make the woman see her death, swell up with boils, or choke on her own vomit, pressed his lips very firmly together, determined not to allow himself to get out of hand.

"Being born to a family without a home- it must be painful to live with," the woman continued.  "The future will offer you brighter opportunities, if you work hard and cleave to the gods who have spared you.  This city, Marsember, has many beneficial temples that can point you in the right directions, in your time of need."

"I do not find myself in need, m'lady," Seyashen managed with a tight smile.  Just a little ways away, one of the check-in guards had called the person ahead of the woman.  "I have been made a citizen of Urmlaspyr, and I am in the service of Afflux.  We at the Bone College are not given to proselytizing, but if there's anything that I, as an acolyte of the Unsatisfied Questioner, am happy to entertain, it's inquiry."

One of the two men, either Karl or his unnamed Tethyrian compatriot, gave a quiet "ooh," as though an unusually dangerous parlour trick had just been played.

The woman's already pale face drained of what little color it had, and her blue eyes grew brighter with a sudden fear that Seyashen could tell had been planted in the tenderness of her youth.  His grim, hellfire smile widened until it had fully claimed his face.

"Madam?  Over here, please," a guard called, waving a hand to the woman.  Seyashen barely shifted his head in the direction of the terse invitation before the woman turned and scurried toward the one who had rendered it.  Both Karl and his nameless companion clapped appreciatively as she hustled away.

For his part, Iaden laughed.

"Well played, cousin," he breathed when he could.  "Grinning like that, like you were about to eat her alive?  She just about shat her knickers."

The Bone College has a reputation, Seyashen thought.  She very well may have thought that I might eat her alive.

"Useless little soap bubble," Iaden replied.  "If we were that kind of Human before, I'm glad we were cured of it.  Otherwise, the first of Arkhosia's skirmishes would've razed us to the ground."

That kind of shortsighted, self-centered Human would struggle to lead a village, nevermind an empire, Seyashen thought.  And then he considered what he meant by what he'd said.  My father believed that our leaders were too far sighted; paid too high a price to ensure that the empire stood for generations longer than it should have.  Humans like that woman... they wouldn't have made such drastic decisions as our ancestors did- and as our leaders continued to do, right up to the day the empire finally did fall.  I wonder... were the Humans who did not make pacts with the Hells made... weaker?  Did the demons rob this continent's Humans of their mettle to give it to us, marking us with horns, hooves, and tails to make of us a monument to their sin?

"Had other gods answered the petitions of our ancestors and leaders, things would have been different," Iaden commented.  "But they didn't, and choices had to be made while homes were burning and people were dying.  I suppose your father forgot that Arkhosian Dragonborn had been forcibly colonizing our land since the War of Teeth.  It's not like they were just up there in the sky, peacefully playing five finger catch, and we decided to try steel with them for no reason."

You, who can't read, know about the War of Teeth? Seyashen asked, caught entirely off guard.  As I understand it, Turathi people were violating the treaty that ended the War of Wings- and all that was thousands of years ago.

"All of us knew about the previous wars," Iaden frowned, looking at Seyashen as though he'd just eaten a shoe.  "All the soldiers, I mean.  Down to the little kids.  The commanders made sure of that.  Any soldier who walks into a fight ignorant can only fight for themselves.  A soldier who walks into a fight wise fights for every body that fell dead before they joined the field."

Seyashen frowned and gave a slight nod in appreciation for Iaden's point, entirely forgetting not to physically respond to his spectral cousin.

"Ser?" asked one of the guards, who had by this time tried to capture the hornless Tiefling's attention twice.

Seyashen snapped to himself without a hint of embarrassment.  "Ah, yes."

Iaden allowed himself to lose the focus necessary to remain in an identifiable spectral form, but remained nearby to keep an eye on his mortal cousin.

The guard- a young man from the sound of his voice- cleared his throat uncomfortably as Seyashen stepped away from the line to confront him.  "Right; great.  Now then, what is your business in Cormyr?"

"I intend to spend some time with a relative of mine, in celebration of Greengrass," Seyashen replied brightly, surprising even himself with the levity of his tone.

"You do know Greengrass is nearly two weeks past, right?" the guardsman asked.  "Anyway, what's the relative's name?"

"Mi'ishaen Lucien-Azaroth," Seyashen answered, assuming that the question had come because there was some sort of record of who had entered the country.  "She traveled here with two or three companions."

The guard stiffened at the hearing of Mi'ishaen's name, and didn't recover.  "And your name?" he asked thickly.

"Seyashen," the hornless Tiefling replied, suspecting what the next problem would be.

"Your entire name," the guard clarified.  "I have to-"

"Seyashen is my entire name," Seyashen said smoothly.

"Look, I can very well put you on the next cart back where you come from," the guard shot back, soaring from discomfort to annoyance like a kicked stone.

Seyashen raised an eyebrow, feeling as though he were dealing with a petulant child.  "The name I gave you is my entire name, by virtue of my being a bastard of a bastard.  You couldn't so much as ask that first bastard what he suspects our family name might have been, because he is, fortunately for many of us, very dead."

"Right; that's enough out of you," the guard huffed.  "Lionar Danrick!"

The junior soldier didn't have to call more than once.  A strapping Human man who had been monitoring his charges' progress with one hand on the hilt of his dragon-branded sword and the other gripping a beat up steel flagon comfortably strode the few feet that separated him from the scene.

"What have we here?" he asked in a warm, mead-and-ale comforted way.

"This one claims to be visiting for Greengrasstide," the guard reported sharply.  "Going to see the Miss Lucien-Azaroth for a holiday near on two weeks past, and won't give his family name."

"If I had one, I'd give it to you, but I don't," Seyashen insisted.  "I could lie and make one up, but I imagine you wouldn't prefer that I did."

"A jester-y sort," Danrick smiled.  "Good that you have your humour about you- where did you come from?"

"Urmlaspyr," Seyashen answered calmly.  "I'm a made resident there.  If I were to cause trouble here, it'd only take six or seven days for any bad report to get back; it's not worth the risk."

"Oh no, it doesn't take us so long to get word back and forth as it takes your friendly cart driver to get you here; no, we'd tell- what's his name?  Sarkuda?"

"The High Captain Pohatkon Sakoda, may his gods guide and spare him," Seyashen said, knowing that he was passing a weak sort of check with his answer.

"Ah yes, that's it- Pohatkon Sakoda," Danrick nodded.  "Good man, that.  Strong man; very strict, as I hear it.  We'd have him in the know in two, maybe three days?  Five at absolute worst- I'm taking storms, slavers- got to be downright awful stuff, but five days would be the maximum time you'd have to disappear after doing us wrong here.  A made resident, you say?"

"Yes, and recently, too.  Originally from the Turathi empire," Seyashen supplied easily.  "No fixed address there."

"Well, you wouldn't have, would you?  Without a family," the Human reasoned as he swirled the remains of the sweet and hoppy substance in his flagon.  The assertion wasn't entirely correct, but Seyashen didn't see fit to correct it.  "Anyway, what brings you to the land of the Purple Dragon?"

"My cousin, Mi'ishaen," Seyashen smiled.  "I'd thought to pay her a visit in celebration of Greengrass- which I do know is past.  Personal matters, cart availability, and surprisingly poor roadways all delayed my coming."

Suddenly, the lionar looked up from the flagon, his face iced over with a seriousness that struck Seyashen.  "Are you now, or have you been, a party to slavers, ser?"

"No; never," Seyashen replied firmly, burying his surprise deeply enough to prevent any flash of it to show up in his face.  "Why do you ask?"

"Any dealings with one Bahlzair Xuntrin?" Danrick continued as though he hadn't heard Seyashen's question.

"Why do you ask?" the hornless Tiefling repeated, putting just a touch of irritation in his tone.

"I understand that all this questioning must be wearing your patience thin," Danrick said, handing off his flagon to his junior without looking at either it or him.  The younger guard took the flagon and stood back, allowing his superior to face Seyashen straight on.  "As you can see, everyone's being questioned; it's not just you.  I have no problem with Tieflings; never have.  This isn't about your race.  It's about the safety of my people."

"I am a dedicant of the Bone College, an acolyte of the Tireless Inquisitor and Bloodfather," Seyashen said calmly and quietly, "and you may ask whatsoever you will to whatever end, be it good or evil.  I protest not the trading of both answers and questions, but instead what seems to be the unfair portioning of those currencies between us.  Now, an answer from you will buy another from me."

Iaden refocused and manifested just behind Seyashen's right shoulder.  Seyashen found himself relishing the threatening chill of the grave that naturally emanated from the death knight.

"Shall I prepare to put him on a cart back to Urmlaspyr, sir?" the guard behind Danrick asked with poorly disguised concern.  Beneath his armor, despite the cloth and leather between the metal and his skin, gooseflesh had cropped up.

Danrick ignored both the inferior officer and the noticeable drop in temperature, but took Seyashen's words seriously.  "Ser... ah, Seyashen, that's right; no family name- Ser Seyashen, we've had some... incidents, let's say... involving Miss Lucien-Azaroth."

"Of course you have; everyone does," Seyashen shrugged simply, allowing the tense nature that he'd adopted to fall right away.  "If not given anything wholesome to do with her energy and intelligence, she gets into every type of mischief.  Has ever since she was a child."

"No lie there," Iaden commented offhandedly.  "I turn my back and she's off, climbing out of the window in the middle of lessons, cutting purses, stealing sweets, punching kids three times her size-"

"Might I ask what 'incidents' she's gotten herself into?" Seyashen continued, taking advantage of Danrick's thoughtful silence.  "I am one of her few remaining family members; when I speak with her, my reproaches might have greater efficacy than those of others."

The lionar looked searchingly at Seyashen for a few moments, and after either finding whatever trustworthiness he was looking for or at least not seeing any apparent danger, he decided to bless the question with as honest of an answer as he felt he could give.  "Property damage, some petty theft- got involved in some kind of scheme with the aforementioned Bahlzair Xuntrin, although it sounded to me as though she got the worse end of whatever had them lumped together."

"That's not unusual," Seyashen sighed wearily.  "Bad company can easily bend her in or warp her out as they see fit.  I'm not familiar with Xuntrin, but I've certainly heard enough about him.  I'd like to know what his end goal is with her.  The inquisition I make into that matter will end in blood being shed, and I expect it to be his.  Are they still in this city?"

Danrick allowed a careful concern to cross his face.  "No; Miss Lucien-Azaroth and her companions went to Suzail- and promptly got into some trouble there.  She escaped the lockup, but recanted and went to the Pillars- that's a part of the Royal Court where judges hear cases and decide upon them.  There was some aggression on Ser Xuntrin's part, and the judges realized that he was trying to kill her for turning herself in, so they judged her only for the property damage that seemed to be unrelated to any of his charges, then released her to one Ser Iordyn Raibeart of Arabel.  He's a dedicant to Lathander, and might be the good company that could help to fix whatever harm Ser Xuntrin has done.  A righteous man- so much so that he's called 'the virtuous'."

"That's quite an epithet," Seyashen agreed, forcing himself not to gag.

"Indeed, and well earned, I assure you.  He's the sort that'll try to coax even the worst of sinners to a life of righteousness," Danrick said confidently.  "You might leave the... inquisition... of Ser Xuntrin to us."

"I might," Seyashen relented.  "But I will not trust any answers that come without proof of death."

Danrick gave a very short, quiet puff that wasn't quite a chuckle.  "I appreciate your candor, but I'll say again that I believe Ser Raibeart will do your cousin good, and that you have no need to pursue Ser Xuntrin now.  I've not received any documentation of Ser Raibeart or Miss Lucien-Azaroth either entering these city borders or leaving the country, so I have to assume that the pair of them are either still in Suzail or gone some other where in Cormyr."

Seyashen wrinked his nose.  "While I'm glad of the gentleman's apparently positive influence, I doubt Mi'ishaen would keep to him for very long.  When she's not after some mischief, she tends to prefer more delicate company."

Danrick gave a slow, half-hearted laugh, then said, "Yes, I definitely remember that part of the report- that she's sweet on women instead of men.  I can imagine why you'd be so careful of saying it, in a place like Urmlaspyr, but don't worry about that here.  Now, as to why she's entrusted to Ser Raibeart- while your cousin remains in Cormyr, that gentleman guarantees her good behaviour to us.  If she breaks the law anywhere in this country, he'd get a very hefty fine, and she'd go to the lockup.  When she leaves the country, she can't come back without either him, or a signed letter from him passing custodianship to another law-abiding native Cormyrean."

"Does she have to serve him, or whatever other person he chooses?" Seyashen asked, concerned about the terms of this strange punishment.

"No; she can do what she likes, as long as whatever it is is legal," Danrick replied.  "Think of Ser Raibeart as a nanny, not a master, and you'll be nearer to understanding the arrangement."

Iaden scoffed.  "I pity Ser Raibert.  The woman that Isha's become is even less given to being minded than the girl that she was."

"Well, if she is in Suzail, then that's my heading," Seyashen said firmly.  "How much coin will a cart driver cheat me of to get me there?"

"Unless my eyes are worse now than they were at my last physical testing, the driver you came with was cheated himself," Danrick noted, raising an eyebrow.  Seyashen nodded a silent admission, and Danrick continued.  "Have you Cormyrean coin or Semmite coin?"

"Semmite, and since you've asked me that, I assume I have to find a translator," Seyashen replied.  "Is there one within the walls, or shall I have to walk closer to the center of town?"

"You're prepared to be dealt with as harshly as possible, I sense," Danrick said, a genuine smile at last returning to his face.  "Not so very unlike that cousin of yours at all.  Well, I'll see what I can do to be good company to you, ser; perhaps prepare you to be treated more gently than you've made yourself used to."  Danrick turned his wide back to Seyashen momentarily, took a few steps toward the gate, and gently dipped a ring on his first finger into the ink sponge that sat in a small jar on a stool just behind the junior.  Much to the young guard's visible displeasure, Danrick pressed the inked ring onto the record that he was holding, then reclaimed the flagon from him.

"You're listed only as 'Seyashen' here, but let's bless you with a family name to help others in this land to treat you more respectfully," Danrick grunted, turning his head over his shoulder.  "I'll make a note of it, and my reasoning for it, in my reports."

"Pedras-Azaroth is the family name that my mother and Mi'ishaen's mother shared," Seyashen explained.  "My father had no name to give my mother, and no father demon to whom he could confess its lack; I'll call us... VaHara'ath.  Yes, VaHara'ath-Azaroth, and may his spirit forgives me."

Behind him, Iaden let out one sharp laugh.  Seyashen assumed that his deceased cousin knew exactly what had been abbreviated to form the impromptu latter half of the name.

Danrick turned an incredulous face toward Seyashen.  "How am I spelling that?"

Seyashen smiled genuinely, and picked up his hand to scribe something in the air in front of himself with his first finger.  In seconds, 'Seyashen VaHara'ath-Azaroth' appeared in block letters in the guardsman's pad, just as bold and black as if it had been written with fresh natural ink.

"Prestidigitation is a marvelous spell," Seyashen admitted when he saw the curious look on Danrick's face.  "I and a few of my sisters actually manifested it before my mother had time to teach it to us- there's a 'correct' way to cast it, but... well.  I suppose no one anywhere near the Azaroth name does overmuch in the way of rule abiding.  Just write over that, and it will disappear when I end the spell."

With a nod, Danrick turned back to the pad to do just that.  "Speaking of spellwork, what kind of caster are you, Ser VaHara'ath-Azaroth?"

Seyashen huffed at the way the blended name fell heavily out of the Human's mouth.  "A conjurer," he answered, deciding to keep the scarier part of himself to himself.  "I hear there's a custom to trace each practitioner back to a hall of magic-"

"The Bone College; you mentioned it," Danrick finished smoothly.  "And now it's on record.  Come, ser, I'll take you to a translator I trust, and when we've traded out that steelpence for good Cormyrean coin, we'll get you on a boat to Suzail, with my blessing- are you an ale sort?  Suzail makes the best."

"I'm a ginger wine sort," Seyashen replied, "but I haven't seen that in years, so I keep to spiced teas and wassail."

Danrick took a swig from his flagon and shivered, pretending to be more disgusted with the thought of ginger wine than he was.  "Well, wassail I can help you find.  Carry on, Jesse."

Seyashen moved behind Danrick, noting on the way that Jesse- the young guard- was making some comments under his breath.

I would make him vomit, but he'd be proud of it, he thought grimly.  'Such a pure Human that being near the likes of that one made me sick,' or some such stupidity.

"I'll think of something," Iaden huffed.  "Guards like that make their country seal look bad."

The proud land of Cormyr felt it necessary to execute and exile hundreds of innocent survivors, Abethann and Te'valshath being just two of them, based solely on suspicion and fear, Seyashen thought.  I'm not fooled by Danrick's merit-making; Jesse and that noblewoman are par for the course in this place.

4:33 And everything in its place.

In the bright Suzailian morning sun, Iona blinked his hazy eyes.  Only a fraction of the pain and irritation remained in them, a fact of which he was glad.  He slowly turned his head, and could just barely make out unexplained forms in the thick darkness that had become his daily reality.  Not one of the unfathomable masses was even remotely recognizable, let alone familiar.

"Half-formed shapes in the dark of a moonless night," he finally replied.

On his right, close to his shoulder, he could hear his sister-in-law sigh quietly.

"That's the limit of our abilities, I'm afraid," the soft voice of the priestess who had introduced herself as Radiant Servant Iris lamented.  She indicated the cloth coin purse on the low table between herself and the family with the slightest extension of her upturned hand.  "Lady Susanna, I won't keep your-"

"I won't have it back," Susanna protested, folding her arms tightly against her chest to enforce her point.  "You prayed your prayers, made sacrifices, cast spells-"

"But if they were for naught," the priestess began to argue.

"You must keep it," Susanna interrupted.  "The reagents were purchased, the time spent, and the work done- that Pelor did not answer your efforts in a way that favoured our plight should not mean the emptying of your offering box.  So many others depend upon you; you must be fully supplied.  I pray you, please, keep it.  Every coin."

A sad silence fell across the four people gathered for a moment.

"It's no small sum..." the priestess began again, looking up at Iordyn in the attempt to get some support from him.

"And you undertook the working of a miracle," Susanna cut in insistently, leaning her upper body just slightly in the feigned attempt to get in the priestess's line of sight again.  When the older woman refocused on her, she sat up straight again.  "If you don't keep it properly, I shall have to find some nefarious means of sneaking it in here, and-"

"I'll do as you ask," Iris finally frowned, picking up the coin purse and tying it securely to the bare rope that served as a belt about her healthy waist.  "Now return to the safety and security of your home, and please, don't upset yourself."

"I'm not upset," Susanna said breathlessly, struggling to push herself up from the cushioned chair that didn't seem to want to let her heavy body go.  Iordyn, who had been standing just a few paces behind her, easily moved to her right side in order to give her an arm to lean on.

"Ser Raibeart, if you love your sister, keep her in the house," Iris chided as she rose, folding her hands into the wide sleeves of her saffron yellow cotton dress.  "The baby is so very close at hand, it could come forth this very season, yet she gallops about, up and down in this noisy, dirty city, with matters she could easily send her eldest girl child to handle."

Susanna immediately bit her lips between her teeth to keep herself from disrespecting the matronly priestess, and Iordyn put a firm grip on his sister-in-law's forearm.

"I will do all I can to safeguard her, Raidiant Servant," he replied, giving a slight bow.

"See that you do," the priestess answered knowingly.  "Now, may the light of Pelor guide you on your way, and keep you from evil."

"So be it," all three siblings chorused at once.

Iona listened to the priestess's footsteps on the hard stone of the hospital wing, which were quickly swallowed up by whispers commingled with the cries and moans that wafted through the place.  "Suze, you were all but threatening a priestess into taking coin.  And you weren't taught to be cagey with the servants of the gods, Iordi."

"Must those be the first words you find to say?" Susanna quietly groaned.  "Give me your hand."

"I'll go without it," Iona replied, reaching out to feel the now-empty chair beside him and the low table that he remembered being in front of him.  "Tyr himself walks in darkness more complete than mine, and has no guide."

"Tyr is a god," Susanna stated firmly.  "No mortal should even think of attempting to be his equal even in a supposed weakness; now, be reminded of the humility that same god bid you thrice over to have, and give me your hand."

"Surely Stephen is the worst of thieves, to steal you away from your true calling," Iona smiled, reaching up for Susanna's hand.  Once he'd found it, Susanna let go of Iordyn and slowly turned herself around, so that both she and Iordyn could help Iona to get around the chairs.  "No common housewife could preach so short a sermon with such authority."

Purposefully positioning himself between Susanna and Iona, Iordyn made a sound that seemed like a tightly controlled cough. "If you'll take my elbow-"

"With a few lessons, they would every one be as qualified to speak on simple spiritual matters as I," Susanna answered, nonplussed.  

"But they are called only to keep themselves pious, their homes clean, their children healthy, and their husbands happy," Iona smiled warmly.  "Yours is an unusual case, and my brother is blessed beyond his understanding, but-"

"Anyone can see what trouble my education saves Stephen," Susanna said pointedly.  "The girls also see what trouble ignorance brings their playfellows.  Sarai complains of having to read the little love letters that higher born boys write to their commoner girl friends."

Iordyn bit his lips and led his siblings resolutely out of the hospital wing of the Pelorian temple.  The sun poured itself eagerly over the dial in the courtyard, but the archer did not stop to notice what time of morning it was. 

"Sarai likely complains because no boys have written to her," Iona scoffed.  "She does better keeping the company of her sister than that of peasant girls.  Young men's words aren't for her eyes, and further, I imagine any correspondence between them and those untaught prattlers are kept secret out of shame."

"There's no shame in- listen, we live next to those 'untaught prattlers', and their parents, who quietly rely on their gentle neighbors rather than find and pay a cleric, a war wizard, an alchemist, or a witch to help them," Susanna argued.  "What should we do, keep indoors for fear of contaminating ourselves with lack of coin or schooling?  The Raibearts are blessed to have been as literate as priests and princes for two generations, and I am doubly blessed that Sylvester and Sarai are both of such minds and hearts as to share their gifts with others not so fortunate."

"Sylvester may do well as a missionary, but mind the seeds of over familiarity sewn in Sarai, or you shall reap back unseemly fruit," Iona admonished.

"Oh for heavens' sake, you're right in that no boys have written to her; she'll hardly bear a bastard child for some neighborhood girl!" Susanna exclaimed.  "The day you have children, you may counsel me in rearing mine.  Until then, you might better bite your tongue."

"Stephen and Suze have done four times what neither of us have managed even once," Iordyn interrupted before Iona could reply.  "The two of them decide what freedoms their children can or cannot have, without any interference from the likes of us."

"Should we also stand idly by and let her endanger this last one, Iordi?" Iona asked.

Iordyn rolled his eyes with a groan.  "The midwife said-"

Susanna's eyes flashed with insult.  "Other women must so much as mind livestock, walk miles to draw water, or harvest crops while pregnant- I've watched them do it!  I am more delicate, perhaps, and have lost-"

"No talk of that," Iordyn said firmly.  "Iona, the midwife gave us leave to come, so we've come.  Don't upset Suze and pollute the air with angry words; that would endanger the child.  Babes can hear all we say to them, and to their mothers, long before they are birthed and cut away."

"Well, I'll be quiet, then," Iona said quietly, "and may the babe live to forgive me."

Susanna pressed the tip of her tongue very hard between her front teeth and gripped Iordyn's right arm so tightly that the flesh around her fingers paled for lack of blood.

"You might sit in Sly's company again when we return," Iordyn managed, trying not to let on that his sister-in-law was actually hurting him.

"What good will I do him?" Iona said with a tired laugh.  "I was not so good at the calligraphy of my companions even when I could see it, and now-"

"You might help him memorize scriptures," Iordyn suggested.  "Isn't he trying to memorize the Pelorian scriptures, Suze?"

"No... not those, no," Susanna breathed, stranded somewhere between exasperation and frustration.  "Turn right here, Iordi; we're not going to market."

"Whose words is he memorizing, then?" Iona asked.  "If he is so much like his missionary-minded uncle, perhaps those of Lathander?"

Iordyn realized his mistake for himself, and sighed softly.

"No," Susanna admitted after a pause.  "Keen observer that he himself is, he's chosen Helm as his patron."

Another silence stole between the siblings, much longer and more awkward than the last.

"A popular god, to be sure," Iona finally commented.

"Most everyone in the house keeps to the worship of Lathander, as he is the patron of the elder Raibeart household," Susanna added with the faintest tinge of apology in her tone.  "Of course, I have my little shrine to Chauntea, and Iordi has expressed his belief that Lona seeks some other god, but-"

"Many Helmite brothers have written to the father of the Tyrran order," Iona interrupted.  "Their common refrain is that both prize justice highly.  May your son's patron protect him from carnal temptations and the... unfortunate misunderstandings... that may from them arise."

"So be it," Susanna said quietly, thinking immediately of how she'd gotten her husband and eldest child in the first place.

The three walked together without speaking for a few moments.

"Lot of bustle around the college today," Iordyn commented limply.

"There's been a series of 'accidents' on campus; there was a story about them on the Tellings's Greengrass broadsheet, but I didn't read it all the way through," Susanna admitted.  "You... might ask Sly, he... he probably read it more closely."

More of that prickly silence.

"I wonder what patron you believe Salone has taken, Iordi," Iona said, trying to sound cheery.

"Some nature deity," Iordyn answered.  "She's a little shy, as I'm sure you've noticed, and-"

"Her quiet spirit is becoming most of the time, but she has no reason to be secretive about holy devotion," Iona wondered.  "Has she at least dispelled any doubt that she might be straying down the path of witchery?"

"Lona's not a witch," Iordyn spat immediately.

"Of course I'm not accusing her," Iona replied, struck by Iordyn's quick response.  "It's just that the very nature of witchery is hidden- secret knowledge, hushed practices.  Girl children are often lured to such wickedness when they believe themselves otherwise powerless, and as the youngest child in the house, well... the possibility is there; one must keep their eyes open to it, that's all I mean."

The three turned down the street that ran down past the shop, and could clearly hear the ringing of Stephen's hammer over the din of the passers-by.

"She hasn't spoken of her chosen patron," Susanna fretted, "because I made a grievous error that I believe has made her... afraid... to do so.  I have finally asked forgiveness, but... I fear being forgiven only partially, or... or perhaps not at all.  She smiles at me more often, but... she shares nothing her sister or brothers couldn't also tell me, and... in such short order, she has learned... to keep her mysteries so very well..."

"Come now, come now; no tears over that," Iordyn interrupted, wrapping a comforting arm around Susanna's back.  "Lona's patron is holy, I'm sure of it, and will probably direct her to confide in you in due time.  Remember, she was so happy to press that leaf with you, wasn't she?  And leaves take time to dry, and to leave their marks upon pages- isn't that so?  The leaf is pressed in that prayer book, and your words to the tree, I think, are likewise pressed deeply in her heart.  When the time is right, she'll speak.  No sooner, that's for sure, but trust in her, and in the forgiveness of her patron, whoever it is."

Susanna nodded, wiping tears.  "Of course.  Of course.  It's just... to hear the possibility spoken by another... and I worry so constantly..."

"Worry is our natural reminder to pray, so do that," Iordyn soothed.  "Trust in me; I know what it is to be overshadowed or underestimated by elder siblings, and I've never gone running after 'hidden knowledge' to empower me.  Lona is quiet, but strong, and consistently holds her own.  Her patron is some force of natural peace, and she is a good girl.  Just give her time; time will prove me right."

Iona made a short noise of surprise.  "I pray that all that be so, but... I didn't think you were so poorly treated in our youth, Iordi."

"You weren't looking," Iordyn replied tersely.  "Mama and Stephen were.  Almost all the time, right up to the day I got on the cart to Arabel.  And now- having seen our father's sharp contempt, our mother's constant shepherding, seen how much being some kind of... I don't know... child guardian has taken out of Stephen- I have a lot of questions.  For him, for Ronny, and for you."

Iona gave a single, short huff that went entirely unheard over the heavy, powerful hammer strikes.

"You're in your right to ask, but... there may be few answers."

The house, with the smithy facing the street upon which the three walked and the front door facing the street that dodged off to the southwest of the city, loomed ahead.  From the sounds that sang out of the smithy, both Aleksei and Stephen were shaping metal.

"Why don't we go around upstairs, so that we don't give the baby a fright with all that clanging?" Iordyn suggested sheepishly.

"Oh no, Iordi; let me stand and watch my love from here," Susanna smiled gingerly.  Having been so recently ambushed by tears, her eyes were still a bit pink, and her face even puffier than the pregnancy had made normal.  "Just knowing that he continues on gives me strength to do likewise, sometimes.  I used to come down within a good stone's throw of his master's shop- it was open on three sides just like this, so I could see past the forge- and just watch the pounding he put on that metal."

"Is that how you made a plough horse out of the wild stallion?  Just by watching him?" Iordyn joked.  "If he catches you standing here gazing at him like a lovesick maiden, he'll answer you now like he answered you then."

"Well, his is the mare," Susanna said slyly.  "What he has offered, I've always taken very happily."

"The pair of you are filthy," Iona complained, only half serious.  "Speaking of pounding and stallions like base peasants, spurred on by the desires of the flesh."

"Oh, have mercy, Father Firehammer," Susanna breathed as she rolled her eyes, fully understanding that he was joking.  "If I'm going to be spurred on by desire for any man at all, should it not be for my own husband?"

"Where is the upper door, Iordi?" Iona asked pointedly.  "Show me there, and let's leave the lady to lavish her looks upon her husband as she chooses."

"Ugh, the pair of you," Iordyn groaned, beginning to trudge toward the southern street.

As they began walking again, Susanna caught sight of a finely dressed, dark-skinned young boy, with a gleaming dagger peace-bonded to his wide belt with a sleek blue ribbon, who stood just outside of the front door.

"Stand close," she said to Iordyn lightly, shifting her eyes toward the young man.  "I don't believe I know that boy."

Iordyn got the two to the bottom of the steps up to the front door, then paused.  "Iona, the house has visitors; we'll have to let Suze go up first," he said under his breath.

"It's early for that yet, is it not?" Iona wondered back quietly.

Susanna left Iordyn's side and took a few careful steps up to the young man.  "Ser, how fare you?"

"Well, Lady Raibeart," the young man answered without missing a beat.  His crisply spoken consonants and open mouthed vowels made the native Cormite woman blush just a bit.  "The esteemed Lady Marliir awaits you, with her manservant Shilon, within."

"I thank you, ser, and I would again thank you to know your name?" Susanna asked.

"It is Ammi," the young boy smiled.  "As young Lady Amadelle's furry companion is elsewhere occupied, I have come as her manservant.  She is also within, but Lady Marliir believed it would be unseemly to have two strange men in your house when you were not present to receive them.  May I assist you as you enter?"

Susanna looked back at Iordyn, who still had Iona in tow, then rested her gaze firmly on Ammi, who was only as tall as her shoulders.  She delicately extended her arm to him anyway, and much to her surprise, he took it as firmly as a grown soldier would have.  Susanna opened the door, and the two stepped inside, leaving Iordyn to help Iona to the door.

"What is that child?" Iona asked.

"I don't know- an unmixed Human, to be sure," Iordyn replied quietly.  "But from where, I couldn't say.  Dark skin, dark eyes, dark, curly hair."

"A tongue too thick for Common," Iona noted sharply.

"He spoke well enough to be understood," Iordyn chuckled.  "Emni, or Amni, likely hasn't lost his mother's tongue while he was at the learning of Common, and we're not likely to understand whatever that language is at all."

When Iordyn got Iona into the door, his breath was taken by the sight of a lovely dark eyed woman who had her head covered with both a light blue scarf and a white cloth that delicately encircled it, wrapping under her chin and cascading over her shoulder.  Her deep blue-green empire-waisted dress had a much higher neckline than Susanna's did, but had similarly long, ornamented sleeves.  She had a peace-bonded dirk that looked as though it were more for show than for defense, but its mere presence, resting calmly at the lady's left side, spoke to Iordyn of a woman who was more than met the eye.

"Good morning to you gentlemen," the lady smiled, extending her willowy right hand in a way that left no doubt about what she expected.  "I am Lady Tauriana Harlhaun of Delzimmer, wife to Lord Jhiden Marliir- first of Arabel, now of Suzail."

 Iordyn guided Iona closer to her, then took her hand and bowed, touching his forehead to it.

"Good morning, Lady Marliir.  I am Iordyn Raibeart of Marsember, and this is Father Iona, who is in the service of Tyr."

"If the lady will put her hand in mine, then I will greet her properly," Iona smiled politely.  "I unfortunately cannot behold her."

"No need; you shall of course pay no homage to anyone but your god," Lad Marliir soothed, her accent-thickened syllables rolling like syrup off a spoon.  She retracted her hand slowly once Iordyn had released it.  "It would be sinful of anyone to demand otherwise.  Now, young Ser Raibeart, your skill with your weapon and your stoutness of heart was much praised in my presence some weeks ago.  How fortunate it is for all of us that justice was rightly meted out in your case.  It is not often that one hears an epithet such as yours- not in earnest, at least- and my entire household is quite certain that had you been executed, your patron would have exacted a most terrifying revenge."

"You honor me above what I deserve," Iordyn managed, not sure what else to say.

 "No, it's deserved," Lady Marliir said smoothly, with a small nod.  "My husband still has family members in Arabel who sent us speedy reply when I wrote to them of your case- so strongly worded was their correspondence that I privately submitted the entire letter to Oversword Garimond as character witness.  Further, I have personally had many dealings with wicked elements, and no matter how upright I was in their company, their operation did not change.  That your good report compelled an obvious criminal to willingly expose herself to justice speaks to some divine influence that ought not be sinned against.  Now, if you would please, I'd like to have a private word with Lady Raibeart."

"I sent Sylvester, Salone, and Amadelle upstairs to listen to Sarai practice her lute," Susanna suggested.

"Then we shall go and swell the audience there," Iordyn replied, grateful to not have to remain in Lady Marliir's presence.  "With the lady's leave."

"How shall I grant leave in the house of another?  Look only to the lady of this place; no one shall countermand her.  Now, Ammi, go behind, please.  Assist Father Iona in any way that seems necessary, if Ser Iordyn permits you to do so," Lady Marliir ordered.  "And tell my little sandstorm that if she dismisses you from the room, you shall have to stand outside it and wait for her there."

Ammi smiled at Lady Tauriana Marliir, some unspoken knowledge resting between them that put a gleam in both pairs of chocolate brown eyes.  Lady Marliir nodded to indicate her permission, and Iordyn made his way up the stairs with the utterly silent Iona in tow.  Ammi bowed to Lady Marliir, then turned and followed Iordyn and Iona up the stairs, always a few treads behind them.

Tauriana watched them go, and when they had tucked into a room, she turned her attentions back to Susanna, who had in the meantime sat in Stephen's chair.

"Young Ser Raibeart is unused to hearing himself praised, I suppose," Tauriana noted, making her way to the couch opposite Susanna and taking a seat there.  "Well, humility is a becoming trait.  Now, I had believed the baby to already be in your arms; will you have to wait much longer to have him?"

"A few weeks yet," Susanna replied kindly.

"Ah, wonderful.  Shilon, the gift, please," Tauriana said, turning and motioning to a man who had been standing in the far corner of the room, close to the kitchen.  He stepped briskly forward, and from a large satchel at his side produced a well-woven blanket.  Tauriana accepted the blanket from his hands, then rose to lay it on Susanna's lap.  "There.  The dye colors and ribbons are uncommon here, but simple to come by in Delzimmer; I hope you will think of myself and my homeland kindly when you look upon them.  Take it; may it keep you in good health now, and may it be of comfort for many years."

Once Shilon had handed the blanket over, he stepped back toward the far corner of the room without needing to be ordered there.  Susanna, who had been gazing at the rich, deep sea green star burst at the center of the piece in contrast with the sandy tan and sun bleached white yarn and bright gold ribbon carefully worked around it, found herself stunned to look up and realize that the servant responsible for bringing it over had moved so quietly and quickly back to where he'd come from.  The native Cormite cleared her throat delicately, trying to fight the entirely unreasonable sensation that she was sitting in her front room with the best born and mannered thieves or assassins in Suzail.

"It's beautiful- thank you, my lady; many thanks," she finally managed from a dry throat.  "I can offer little, but if you'd like some tea satchels, or perhaps some cooling poultices, I can have some specially made for you."

"Dear Lady Raibeart, it's a gift, not a trade," Tauriana said warmly.  "Further, it, like this meeting, is somewhat overdue.  Now, since your Sylvester came to learn the art of fine lettering from my husband, my Amadelle has been often in the company of your Salone.  Tell me, have you given any thought to apprenticing your little dove?"

Susanna smoothed her hands over the blanket.  "No, I hadn't," she said honestly.  "I wasn't quite sure that would be the best decision to make."

"Well, the decision might presently make itself," Tauriana said as she gently flicked her hand as though she were shooing a fly.  "It's come to my attention that she and my little sandstorm have nearly made businesswomen of themselves.  Now, I am descended from a long line of profitable traders, but until getting involved with... what is this?... Blight's Blessings?"

"Bliss's Blessings, my lady," Susanna corrected with a withered tone.

"Yes, Bliss's Blessings; that's right.  Until this-" Tauriana waved her deeply bronzed hand over the sitting room table, upon which various salves and creams sat displayed, "-my little sandstorm had absolutely no interest in market whatsoever.  Imagine my surprise when she proved herself to be sharp at drumming up public interest in these wares, and at bartering!"

"I... can't say Salone could have been much help in that," Susanna said as she looked down at the blanket again.  "She's... very quiet."

"If you mean that 'Saint Stone' matter, I've heard complaint of it," Tauriana said with a slight frown.  "No child breathed that in Amadelle's hearing without her thundering about it to me, and as I unfortunately deliberated just a second too long in dealing with it, for her taste, I have heard that she has learned to tell her furry friend to handle it for all of us."

Susanna hummed in understanding.  She had, of course, heard no such thing- yet another matter that Salone had been keeping to herself.  Susanna promised herself that she would ask Sarai to discreetly learn which children had seen the wrong side of Niku's claws or teeth due to calling Salone the mean-spirited nickname.  If nothing else, she felt she owed them salves, or a trip to a healer.

"As I was saying," Tauriana continued in a thoughtful tone, noting Susanna's distant look, "my family excelled at trading in Delzimmer, and I would be pleased to have Salone as an apprentice... if that seems to be the best decision to make."

"Thank you-" Susanna began tenuously.

"Although, of course, it would also be a great honor to her to be sent to an order, as once you were sent," Tauriana said with a small, sly smile.  "Any matron mother would be quite pleased to have her, I'm sure."

Susanna's eyes misted up immediately, and she covered her face in embarrassment.  Surprised beyond all high society pretense, Tauriana moved quickly from where she sat to the cushioned chair, where Susanna normally sat when Stephen was occupying his own chair.  Gently, Tauriana took Susanna's rosy hands in her own earthy, smooth ones, pulling them away from her face.

"I'm no good at polite chatter, and should have been more myself from the start... I don't mean to try your feelings, at this of all times," Tauriana whispered, bending her frame just a bit in order to catch Susanna's weepy eyes.  "This is what comes of toying with words instead of getting straight to the point.  Dear lady, I mean only this: your daughter has done mine nothing but good, ever since your son brought her to our home with him the first time.  Even her sewing has improved- look... here, look at this, and delight your heart.  This work on the left is done by your gentle dove, trying to get my wild sandstorm to slow down and place her stitches properly- take it and look.  Let your spirit by it be at least soothed."

With one hand, Tauriana tugged at a bit of fabric that had been tucked into her belt.  Susanna blinked and brushed at her eyes for a few moments as Tauriana spread the fabric out on her lap atop the blanket, and in no time, the contrast of the uneven, haphazard stitching on the right side against the consistent, well-spaced stitching on the left brought a few promising puffs out of her.

"Well, go ahead and laugh!" Tauriana happily encouraged as she squeezed the hand that she still held in her own just a bit.  "I keep it near me, as you see, since Amadelle finishes so few homely projects that every one is a treasure.  As shameful as this should have been to me, I had to play act most of my annoyance at my sweet sandstorm.  The great Warfalcon, Anhur, has clearly called her to be some sort of fighter; his claim cannot be argued against with stitch work, or perfumes, or pretty dresses.  Both of your daughters are of a mind to be good stewards of their homes, but imagine what liberties I shall have to beg of Amadelle's father, in a few short years, to prevent her running off to 'seek her fortune' when she has plenty of wealth at home."

"Oh!" Susanna exclaimed suddenly, her free hand flying to her face again.  "The Raibeart family has lost a daughter to the sea in such a way.  I pray little Dellie keeps herself from such dangerous fancies."

"Hah!  Unless my husband comes to his senses, and realizes that no begging, yelling, or paddling will prevail against the call of the storm god himself, I expect every dangerous fancy to put claws deep into her heart," Tauriana sighed wearily, as she turned straight in the cushioned chair and rested her free hand in her own lap.  "That's why I'm laying siege to the battlements of his pride now; I'm no fool."

"May your goddesses take special interest in the matter," Susanna said sincerely, placing her free hand atop the one of Tauriana's that was still in her lap.

Tauriana turned a grateful smirk toward Susanna.  "Well, in the meantime, Salone's company has given Amadelle just a bit more self-awareness, a bit more focus, and a bit more forethought.  I know that ultimately, I have you to thank, hmm?  If Salone will be a merchant, I'm happy to train her.  If she will be a priestess of some sort, then I'm just as happy to call in a few favors to help her get into an order.  If it turns out that all our two little ones want to do is to continue to be in each other's company, then we might scheme together, and convince your husband to allow Salone to be the paid lady-in-waiting to whatever type of warrior that Amadelle will be- I'm certain she wouldn't let your little dove come to harm."

 Susanna looked down at the blanket in her lap.  "I thank you for the interest you've taken in the matter- I'll offer prayers and see what Salone wishes to tell me of her own aspirations.  Outside of the machinations of others, she... seems to have few."

 Tauriana reached across herself and raised Susanna's head with a firm first finger pressed under her chin.  "She speaks when she has to, my sandstorm says; I believe that of both her and you.  Look, all this while we've been speaking of apprenticing your younger daughter, while your elder daughter is still without trade training- I suppose I shall have to compel you to tell me about her, so here is my blatant attempt.  It would be unseemly to have your dove begin to try her wings before your raven."

Susanna sighed and moved Tauriana's hand away from her face.  "Sarai is talented in many ways- stitching, weaving, cooking, house keeping- she plays the lute correctly, albeit without much artistic flare.  And she reads and cyphers well.  I had tried to make a place for her with the menders and weavers, but... well... there was a slight setback, and a few relationships were damaged in the process."

Tauriana retracted the hand that had been under Susanna's chin and sat straight in the cushioned chair again.  "I don't have any connections in that guild beyond simple trade agreements," she mused.  "Might she be the sort that keeps tightly to the house rules?  I have friends in customs that might have use of her, if so."

"Oh, yes; she's very fond of all rules," Susanna laughed, almost to herself.  "But, I don't know much about what 'customs' entails."

"Ah- the folks at the ports who determine whether cargo from out-of-country ought to be permitted entry or not, and how much those delivering it should be charged for the privilege of marketing whatever-it-is here, especially if another variation of the product already exists within the country," Tauriana expertly explained.  "Now, as a commoner who hasn't any hand in trade, it's to be expected that you have no idea of the process that marketing a product outside the confines of one's country entails.  But said process keeps the traders in the country safe, and offers those outside of the country the chance to get another market for their product.  The trick is to make it profitable for the out-of-country merchant while keeping competition possible for the in-country merchant- usually via fees and special allowances.  One absolutely must follow the rules without playing favourites, but frankly, that's not the sort of thing everyone can manage."

"No, Sarai is very much one for following rules and standards," Susanna nodded.  "If she had any more of a spiritual bent, she would be going straight to an order, definitely."

"Then perhaps such a post, with its clear, unwavering standards, would be a good fit for her," Tauriana pronounced smilingly, patting Susanna's hand and rising from the chair.  "I shall set about asking a few friends if they wouldn't mind showing Sarai around their offices.  Bear in mind, they don't have contact with the sailors themselves, which keeps the ladies who work in customs beyond reproach."

"I wasn't even thinking of that," Susanna admitted, shifting around in Stephen's chair with the intention of standing herself.

"Don't worry, dear lady," Tauriana beamed.  "We shall think together, and that way, more shall be thought altogether.  Now, you must be weary.  We'll leave you to your rest- Shilon?  If you would please be so kind."

The quiet servant raised his left hand and snapped once.

"There.  Now, the next time I visit-"

There was a small commotion upstairs, punctuated with a whine that had become fairly familiar to Susanna.  Tauriana gave a small tight smile and held up a finger, interrupting herself.  She stepped back just far enough to meet the bottom of the stairs in order to address her daughter.

"Amadelle Zhippora, if I have to climb a single step to reclaim you, you will find yourself very embarrassed before your friends."

Amadelle popped into view almost immediately.  "I'm sorry, Mama!"

"Don't run," Tauriana said, just as her daughter began taking a few hurried steps.  "Head up, arms strong, and act appropriately to your station."

Amadelle straightened her back, picked up her voluminous skirts, and began gingerly making her way down the stairs.  Ammi, whose cheeks were bright with either embarrassment or effort, was just a few steps behind her.

"As I was saying," Tauriana continued importantly, "The next time I visit, I shall bring you word of what and what can be done in terms of either an apprenticeship with my compatriots at the customs office or some other sort of regulatory position- I honestly can't think of anything else now, but my husband may be able to make a suggestion or two."

"Your ladyship is very kind to-" Susanna began, attempting to curtsey with her hand gripping the back of Stephen's chair for balance.

Tauriana interrupted with light laughter.  "Nevermind titles and reverences!  My little sandstorm has become 'Dellie' in this house, and your sweet dove has made herself 'Lona' in mine.  Further, parenting- save the fact that the nobility in this country hardly deigns to parent themselves- is exactly the same in every place, rank and class matter not."

"That's true," Susanna smiled shyly.  "I had wondered why Dellie responded so quickly, and so well, to the lightest of reprimands."

"I should be quite displeased, quite thoroughly displeased, if I should hear that the admonitions of a certain friend's parent had been disreguarded out of some deluded perception of upper or lower class," Tauriana stated strongly, eying Amadelle as she finished coming down the stairs and stood still at the bottom.  "Now, dear friend's parent, I shall be quite pleased to cultivate between us the sort of relationship that our children have.  From this moment forth, I shall be nothing but Taura, and when you have time and health to enter into my house, you shall there be as well-cherished among my few friends as any of so-called high birth.  I shall trust Shilon, who has seen you, to announce you properly to all the servants in my household; you and any you bring with you to my home shall be to them as I am."

Shilon immediately bowed deeply to Susanna.  The commoner woman felt herself sorely so, and simply nodded her agreement to the formal declaration of friendship that she found herself nervous to think about, let alone exercise.

The dark skinned, almond eyed woman opened her arms and smiled broadly at Susanna, who stood up straight and laid the blanket that had been in her other arm in the chair beside her.  Slowly, tentatively, Susanna made her way toward Tauriana, and received a warm, genuine embrace as soon as she had come close enough to reach.  After a moment, Susanna returned the hug, and allowed herself to feel comfortable with the noblewoman's strong arms, the filmy fabric that covered her head and neck, and the orange, vanilla, and cinnamon scent that pricked the native Cormite's nose.

"There, dear Susanna-"

"Suze," Susanna smiled.  "If you're Taura, then I'm just Suze."

"Dear Suze!"  Tauriana squeezed her hug just a bit tighter, then let go entirely.  "We shall leave you alone- come, little sandstorm- but do expect that we shall ask after your health and well being often.  Gods bless you and your house; fare thee well."

Amadelle walked with just barely controlled energy over to her mother, who took her small hand.  Ammi finished descending the steps and maintained his distance, which stranded him somewhat off to Susanna's right side.  Only after a meaningful look from Shilon did Ammi realize that he should have crossed behind his lady to stand at the elder servant's side.  The young man, looking much more boyish in comparison with Shilon than he had looked when standing at attention on his own, nearly scurried behind his patron to get to the more appropriate position.  Tauriana took no notice- or at least pretended that she didn't.  Shilon nearly burned Ammi alive with his eyes.  Susanna looked away at once, concerned that her attention could be making the matter worse.

"Lathander's blessings on you," Susanna said kindly, purposefully turning her attention to Amadelle, who excitedly waved at her and at someone else behind her. 

Shilon gracefully moved to open the door for Tauriana, then allowed Ammi to hold the door as he went through himself.  Susanna quietly wiggled her fingers at the younger man to say goodbye as he quietly slipped through the door after his family.  By the time the door closed silently behind him, Salone had sat at the bottom of the steps.

"They don't believe in Lathander," she noted, looking at her mother.

"I don't believe in their gods either," Susanna said.  "But perhaps their gods may bless us, and perhaps Lathander may bless them, reguardless.  Gods are different to petty Humans, are they not?"

Salone said nothing, but smiled genuinely.  Susanna felt her heart quicken in her chest.

"Well, being visited by nobility in the mid-morning- that's our major happening for the whole ten-day," she said, turning back to the chair to recover the blanket.  "To think; I was too nervous even to offer Lady Taura biscuits or water.  Look, she has given this to us; would you please place it in the baby bed upstairs?"

With a silent nod, Salone got up and took the blanket from her mother.  Susanna watched her young daughter go all the way up the stairs with it, her eyes again welling up with tears that she was almost annoyed at for appearing.

Dear Mother Chauntea.  Though you be my patron, and not hers, I pray you protect her.  Keep her from witchery.  Keep my precious little girl from any shade of witchery, and be friend to her patron, whoever they are.

 

A fresh, unmixed seabreeze pushed its way into the smithy underneath the Raibeart house.  Saul let the leather bands with which he was working go slack in his hands for a moment, and Stephen, unusually chilled by the breeze, stopped shaping the steel with which he'd been working.  He looked out to the water that, of course from his inland position, he could not see.

Aleksei picked the blade that he had been sharpening up from the grindstone.

A few seconds later, Stephen came to himself and looked at Aleksei.  "What're you pushing the pedal for, if you're not going to let the stone do its work?"

Saul, self-conscious, began eagerly pulling at the leather bands, hoping his father wouldn't notice that he'd ever stopped.

Aleksei shrugged.  "It is seeming to me like someone is speaking to you.  I am wanting to be polite to this someone, and sharpening metal makes much squealing- much loud, unpleasant noise.  Not good for the hearing.  Also very impolite to the speaking.  Mamoshka never is raising me to be impolite."

Stephen looked at the Dragonborn.  "Either you're not crazy or we both are," he said simply.  While he had meant it to be a joke, as Aleksei had supposedly been cleared of the suspicion of brainworms weeks before, the blacksmith's tone wasn't light enough for the comment to be entirely taken without seriousness.

"We both are," Aleksei confirmed.  "Although I am not always understanding why others are wanting this to not be true.  We who are crazy are feeling, hearing, and seeing the things that we must be feeling, hearing, and seeing, only by breathing awake, while those who are not crazy must go everywhere and do everything, and are only receiving silence.  We are having the easier time, we who are crazy.  We must be very kind to those who are not; their lives are much colder, and they are never finding fires without us."

Saul stole a glance at his father, and found a deeply pensive look etched into the blacksmith's face.

At long last, Stephen pressed his lips between his teeth and nodded, having understood Aleksei's sentiment despite not understanding all of his words.  After a few more seconds of knowing silence, the two got back to work.

Saul, having never dealt with as many questions of sanity as he'd heard in the past month, decided to talk to Sarai about what madness might or might not mean.  After all, she was only two years younger than he, and she usually knew how things really were.

4:32 In contemplation of gambits.

Hammer, who was sitting in a corner reading some armor treatment studies that had been stolen for her, smoked her pipe while she twirled the end of her beard between her fingers.   A few seconds before, she'd simply wordlessly jabbed a thumb over her right shoulder in response to Stone's question without even looking up at him, and Stone knew that the brusque gesture was all the response he would receive from her.

The only full-blooded Orc in Spectre walked slowly down the hard-packed dirt corridor in the Forge, peeling his damp, worn robes from his body as he went.  Below his feet, the dirt floor gave way to actual solid stone- the change marked the crossover between the addition for which the entire area was named and the tunnels that owed their existence to the persistence of those who would not accept their fate as Shadovar slaves.  The few Shadar-kai, Elves, and Dwarves that Stone passed all went about their business as usual, entirely unbothered by the Orc's nakedness.  The awe-struck Halflings, uncomfortable Tieflings, and extremely embarrassed Humans knew better than to ask him to cover his dark green skin, the angular rune-like religious tattoos scarred into it, his impressive muscles, or any other impressive parts of him. 

Just outside the roughly shaped portal behind which the main office lay, Stone sighed and rubbed at the back of his tense neck.  He bent slightly and looked around, wanting to get an idea of what he would be dealing with before he walked in, but what he saw surprised him.

In the middle of the floor, a good three feet away from the desk behind which he expected to find Dark, sat the bare, scarred form of the ash grey-skinned Drow who was normally her ever-threatening shadow.  His short grey hair, tied back with a glossy black ribbon, was visibly cleaner than the Orc remembered seeing it before he'd left.

The Orc took a knee and softly ran the flesh of his bare right hand over the stone of the floor, knowing from experience that the resulting gentle whisper was the only possible sound that would not startle the Drow before him into a pain-riddled fit.

Venomously lucid copper brown eyes focused on the Orc so suddenly that their stare felt like an arrow to the head, and the accompanying hiss sounded too purposeful to be simple menace.  The Orc gave a grunt of surprise before he spoke.

"Stone."

And the Drow- Stitches- made a genuine effort to repeat the name.  The hiss intensified, but the second consonant refused to come out of his mouth.

After a nearly painful twist in his belly, the Orc made a quiet decision.

"Kafil."

The hissing stopped abruptly.  A distant concern clouded the brown eyes, and a single, puppy-like whimper escaped the lips.

The Orc knowingly nodded his consent, then slowly repeated himself. "Kafil."

For a few moments, only spasms lit up Stitches's face- wrinkling his nose, making his upper lip jump, pulling at his brows- all without his desire or permission.  It was the cost of hearing and committing new information to the brutally fractured memory.  But Stone maintained his gaze into the dark Elf's determination.  The next minute of silent focus felt like more like ten.

"Ka."

It was a horrible sound- the type of gasp that happens either just after surviving a drowning, or just before vomiting the pint that shouldn't have been drunk.  But Stone felt himself smirking anyway.

"Not bad.  Where's Mama?"

The Drow made a strange gurgling sound and turned back around to his work.  Stone scoffed softly and got up to see precisely what it was that was being worked upon.  Laid on a roughly tanned hide was a pair of greaves.  Just beyond the hide, on Stitches's right side, was a small jar of awful smelling dark stuff.  Based on his stained fingertips and the look of half of the greaves, Stitches was smearing whatever was in the jar onto the armor.

Once he realized that Stitches didn't intend to move right away, Stone felt free to stride farther into the office, assuming that Dark would come to find them both eventually.  He glanced at the desk, which had a few sealed message tubes upon it, at the rack of documents in the far left corner, and at the strange wet pool in the far right corner.  He was going to squat down to see what the wetness was, but got hissed at by Stitches.  When he turned over his shoulder, the Drow appeared to still be fully focused on the greaves.

"That armor, or this spot?" Stone asked, not fully expecting an answer.

And Stitches actually looked up at him to hiss his reply, this time with an open mouth.

Stone sighed and got up, knowing that annoying Stitches further would basically be inviting the twitchy Drow to use a domination spell.  He strode over to Dark's storage area and peeked to see if anything seemed recently moved, but since there was too little light in the room for him to tell, he looked around at the candles in the room instead.  A few were burning low, but most were fresh.  There weren't any black ones, and Stone wondered at himself for even pretending to look for any.  Some one of the candles closer to the desk smelled of some sort of herb or flower, and Stone moved closer to try to figure out which of them it might be.  When he drew near and found it, he noted that bits of whatever weed it was seemed to have been pressed into the candle itself.  He marveled at whatever alchemist had mixed whatever-it-was into whatever the candle was made of and still managed to get it to set properly in spite of it.  Most such experiments that he knew of, attempted by fiends who were trying to make something that would give light and a high at the same time, went so poorly as to set clothing, the fiends, or their shacks on fire.

Off to his left side, Stitches finished the coat of mixture that he was working on, got up, and abruptly galloped out of the room on all fours.  Stone was only left surprised for a few moments before he took off after the Drow, hustling down the corridor toward the far end of the Forge's tunnels.  Stitches, with the benefit of the head start, disappeared into one of the cloister-sized rooms before Stone had a chance to turn the corner at the end of the passage, and left the Orc to glance into each room along its length as he went.  In the second to last one, with the length of the wall on Stone's right entirely occupied by chests that were empty, but locked, knelt Dark.   She, with her thieves' tools laid out on her left side, was working by the light of a single candle that sat behind her, a little off to her right.  Stitches crouched behind her, flicking his tongue behind her right ear, and partially blocking her light.

"I really... I didn't need... an additional distraction, but..."

And Stone crossed his arms over his chest, an interested rumble emanating from deep within it.

Dark jumped, and nearly bent her lockpick in the chest.

"Oh, that's... oh, come now, are you two trying to put me in a mood?" Dark asked, looking up from Stone's waist to his bemused face.  Her freckled cheeks warmed up to a pale pink.

Stitches, pleased, curled his way around her left side until nearly his entire upper body was in her lap.

"Raining topside," Stone answered.  "Cloak and robes were soaked.  Didn't want to catch chill."

"Mmnn, I see," Dark purred, her eyes half closed.  "Well, I need that intel, so the proper welcome will have to wait just a bit, boys."

Stone snorted at her.  "Only one boy in here."

Dark's radiant emerald eyes opened all the way and speared Stone through with a look so purposeful that he felt his stomach gurgle hungrily in response.

"Duly noted, chieftain," she finally answered, every syllable dripping from her mouth like rich fat from roasting meat.  It was impossible for Stone's bare weapon not to stir in answer to her, and he stepped all the way into the room to prevent casual passers-by from seeing it do so.

Stitches, who had been contented by sending up soft cat-like purrs from Dark's lap, looked up at Stone with the shadow of her sentiment in his own gaze.  Slowly, carefully- and obviously not entirely due to the involuntary jitters that always pulled at his face- he sent his perfectly pink tongue around his plush grey lips.

"That's new," Stone noted, side stepping so that he could lean on a wall.  "I dare you."

The Drow turned sideways so that he could butt his head against Dark's chest like a fawning pet might, and the Tiefling gently ran her hand over his hair, pulling tenderly at the end of the short ponytail.  When he looked at her, she pointed to her cheek with her free hand.

Stitches first licked at the indicated cheek, then maneuvered the rest of his body around until he could sit against Dark, crab-like, with his bare legs expertly winding behind her back.  Thus ensconced, he stretched his upper body long against her shorter frame, wound his still-messy fingers in her loose red-and-silver hair, and pressed hungry lips against her cheek.  Dark let go of the chest and her thief's tool in favor of wrapping one arm around Stitches's upper body and the other over one of his shoulders.

"Very new," Stone commented under his breath, enjoying the show.

"Mmm, good boy," Dark cooed without having heard Stone.  She allowed Stitches to continue, moving from one cheek to the other, then at last catching her pale lips in a fiery kiss that chased all idea of calming down from Stone's mind.  "Mmmn.  Alright, you've convinced me.  But no biting; I think the chief wants all his pieces where he remembers having them."

And Stitches unwound himself from Dark to stalk toward Stone on all fours, mouth open and eyes focused on the object of his desire.

"It seems we've hit another growth surge.  We're bathing regularly, we're using high level spells more regularly, and we have rediscovered some physical abilities and... preferences," Dark teased, shaking herself a bit before she sat back up to try the lock on the chest again.  "Good luck actually managing to give me any intel."

"Ask questions- hnng! haaah- that'll work," Stone answered tightly.

"Work for me, or work for him?" Dark laughed, not looking over her shoulder.

The Orc thought of getting a hold of Stitches's slate grey hair, but decided against it.  "Uuhh- Both- uummff."

Dark cast a glance over at the two men, then looked back at the chest.  "Did you have to block the candlelight, Stitches?"

"You could- uhhng- pick that lo- uuhh- pick that lock blindfolded," Stone managed.

"That's true, but that wasn't what I was-"  Dark sat back momentarily and flexed her fingers as though they'd gotten stiff.  "Nevermind; I suppose I could use the practice."

"Mmff- practice," Stone jeered as he looked up from Stitches.  "Gotta- aahh- be kidding me."

"Well, my hands won't stay as good as you remember them if I don't practice," Dark replied, slowly pulling her lockpick out of the lock to make a bit of a show of inspecting it.  After a few moments of turning it between her fingers in the light available to her, she put it down and chose a fresh one from her nearby thieves' tools set.  "Here we are- now.  How's Sapphire?"

"Haah- slower, Stitches.  He's still- uuhhnmm- a bitch," Stone answered.  "That's it; perfect.  Like that."

"That bit of edge he has to him has its uses- besides, people call me a bitch all the time.  How is he far as requisitions go?" Dark prodded, squinting as she fiddled with the lock.

"Good," Stone huffed.  "Got your... your reagents.  Dropped 'em... hmmm... off with Dragon."

Dark shifted the pick in the lock, causing a small click that only she could hear.  "Good that you didn't take them all the way to Sweetheart.  The Only's taken to alchemy; I might ask Eagle to ask him to take a crack at making poison instead of continuing to chase after tinkering with that cure disease potion that was obviously penned by a handful of drunk clerics."

Stone, who had all but closed his eyes, turned his head to focus on Dark.  "Ummf... how's Eagle?"

Dark, with both hands on the opened chest, blushed and dropped her head.  "Also of a mind to put me in a mood... I mean, I'd heard of Elven syncing, and... The Only and I are... quite alike... in unexpected ways."

Stone laughed- just once- out loud, and Stitches held his action for a moment so that he could recover from the sharp sound.

"Now that's competition," the Orc noted, gingerly resting a hand on Stitches's shuddery shoulder.  "Old man got some good tricks?"

Dark blushed even harder, and didn't reply immediately.  Behind her, Stitches resumed his efforts, to Stone's audible approval.  For about a minute, his quiet grunts and Stitches's eager pursuit were all that were heard.

"Eagle did find time to tell me that the court is finally on speaking terms with Vhalan," Dark said, when her face finally stopped sizzling.  "Some kind of change has improved him- Eagle had a hard time explaining it to me, and I didn't feel comfortable asking The Only directly.  But it seems he's in more control of himself, so The Only now has a bit more mental and emotional space to go after other matters- even if they're entirely useless." 

Stone shifted slightly to his left so that Stitches could put both hands flat on the wall on either side of his waist. "With so much time to waste, what... uuhhh... what does useless look- haaah, yeah- look like to him?"

Dark's back stiffened as though she'd been slapped.  "How did you find Westgate in general?"

"Mmm, mmmn, wait, wait," Stone panted, having instantly sensed that he needed to pay closer attention to his words.  Stitches entirely ignored the command, forcing Stone to actually physically stop him with both hands.  "Haah- wait, Stitches.  Aa-hah, aah, uhff.  You win; you got it.  Good boy."

Stitches gave a sticky, open mouthed gurgle that sounded remotely like an old fat frog.  Dark was amused in spite of herself, and relaxed just a bit.

"Westgate," Stone panted, his weapon still doing some twitching of its own.  "There's... mmff... a turf war.  Two different thieves' guilds.  Don't know... mmmnn... how we... got outed."

"The third guild that they don't know about yet," Dark commented offhandedly, picking her head back up.  "Either that, the Zhenties, or that disgruntled operative."

"Loose end?" Stone breathed.  Stitches hissed quietly, but Stone decided not to even look down at him.  "Pappy said the house was clean."

"It's in the process of being cleaned, he should have said," Dark said coolly.  "I had been wondering why he decided to send me a letter; he never writes.  Anyway, Pappy has a good idea of who his leak is, and he's... working on it.  There's a few too many plants in the guard for him not to want to get that resolved before the law comes in to break the matter up.  The Teziir house is interested as well, since if Westgate doesn't get a hold of that operative soon enough, some one of those rogues is going to sort out that they haven't been dealing with real Night Masks... Stone.  Aren't you going to let him finish?"

It was Stone's turn to give a small smile.  "Nope."

Dark smiled shyly, and her freckled cheeks began reddening up again.  "I don't know why not."

Stitches managed a sticky burbling sound, wriggling in the Orc's grasp.

"Yeah, you do," Stone said firmly.

"Do I, chieftain?" Dark teased.  But Stone's senses were too sharp, even for her, and he grunted at her.

"Chieftain makes offerings to Shargaas.  I'm here.  With you."

Dark turned her attentions to reorganizing the tools off to her left.  "With all of us," she corrected.  "Temporarily."

The growl that always made Dark's neck hair stand on end arose from Stone.  "Not arguing that again."

Dark closed the pouch in which she carried her tools, closed and locked the chest she'd been working on, then stood up.  "Speaking of unnecessary arguments, did you drop by Suzail?"

Stone waited until she turned around to face him, which took her a few moments.  But when she did, she had managed to force herself to look businesslike, which was as irritating as it was powerful.

"Yeah," he answered.  "Murk says Dodge is almost independent.  Playing potionmaker, at that.  She, Poof, and Hen have all been vicious with each other for the past two weeks or so.  Not sure why."

"Phantom," Dark mused.  "Even Eagle and I could take notes on that kind of loyalty.  Did he manage to lure Dodge onto the theft tracking project, at least?"

"Nope.  Threatened Hen with a fire trap under the bed and Poof with a cold-blooded death, if either of them tried to convince her to get back on it again.  Talked to Hen, she's just as blank about the reason for the hostility as Murk is- or she says she is.  Doesn't smell blank to me."

"Ugh, why did Murk decide to complicate his life?" Dark lamented.  "Ignoring her, he didn't say anything else?  About anything?"

"According to him, house's clean," Stone shrugged.  "Better liar than Hen, at least.  Didn't even bother talking to Poof."

"Who hates anyone who has Murk's attention, sure," Dark sighed.  "A wonder she doesn't have dibs on Hen herself, honestly.  Or... oh, wait... now, that's a thought.  Dodge's liable to do that 'I hate you, but I hate her more' kind of thing, especially when someone's crossed her morals.  Which Poof has- twice, to my count.  You didn't look unusually interested in Murk yourself, did you?"

"Nope," Stone replied, slowly smoothing his hand over Stitches's head.  "Strictly fellow wrestlers.  Not a good time, though.  Too much on his mind.  Didn't call him on it.  Maybe should've."

"No, you did the right thing."  Dark quickly braided a strip of her hair, then wrapped that braid around the rest of her hair, tucking it into itself when she was done.  "Stitches, can you bring Mama her maps, please?"

Stitches, who had been sitting relatively still, aside from the odd tremor, since Stone had last asked him to stop doing what he was doing, trotted out of the room on all fours without any noise of affirmation or dissent.

"Ah, he's annoyed," Dark frowned, wrapping her arms around herself.

"At what?" Stone shot back.  "Does he not like fetching for Mama anymore?"

"Hah!  I could be crueler about it, for his taste," Dark sighed.  She looked over at the single candle.  "He's so much as begun making me a crop, or a whip, or some such implement- I caught him at it.  It's being interrupted- he hates it.  Getting sharper and sharper about that every day- which is wonderful, but..."

"Huh," Stone scoffed.  He leaned off the wall and began slowly stepping toward Dark.  "I agree with him."

"Do you?" Dark mused.  There was such weariness in her tone that the Orc felt himself get defensive.

"Been through a lot.  Time might not be on his side," he said sharply, coming within an arm's reach of her.  "We know it's not on mine."

Dark bit her lips and gave a bitter chuckle.  "Tess said something similar, just the other way around, because Lucien brought it up.  Apologetically, to boot.  She said that when he began to suspect that we were..."

"Are," Stone corrected pointedly.

Dark shook her head sharply, which Stone knew better than to take as a denial of fact.  "...he started gently dropping hints to her about the short lifespans of Humans, only for her to directly tell him that I wasn't one.  Just like that, he holed up in his library and started researching Tiefling lifespans.  He hadn't paid much attention to the matter before- said didn't have to, since last he knew, Tieflings were rare.  She told him to come topside and look around, and he laughed.  She said the sound of his laughter was... hollow, or faded.  Like a painting bleached by the sun.  A memory of what laughter was supposed to sound like."

Stone gave a quiet grunt.

"He sent some vassals topside for newer studies, but the findings were just about the same- according to almost all of them, I have a little over a hundred years left in me.  But I'll age and she won't; 'more than just a few winsome grey streaks', he said.  Clearly doesn't realize the word 'winsome' has long fallen into disuse outside of the Dales, and... I... didn't say that to her, of course.  I didn't say anything.  And she changed the subject.  Showed me the place where he laid her- it's her sacred ground, now.  Has to sleep there.  Can only sleep there.  Can't get peace anywhere else."

"It's done," Stone replied, very slowly taking her into his arms.  "Doesn't change how she feels."

Dark stood as firm as a statue in Stone's arms, not allowing the prickling heat that was engulfing her from her thighs up to register in her stance or voice.  "Yes, it did.  It changed her ability to feel at all.  So she's not angry; I don't know that she can be.  She didn't say that, but... I... obviously don't understand vampiric culture.  Didn't realize there was a whole vampiric culture, so-"

Stone's embrace tightened.  "More intel."

"Yeah, that's... she basically said the same thing," Dark said, vaguely attempting humor.  "You make me feel boring and predictable, the two of you."  

"Not 'predictable'," Stone replied in a leaden tone, " 'trappable'."

Dark sighed again, breathing in the Orc's earthy scent without softening in his grip..  "She tried to explain how advantageous it was going to be to have creatures that the gods had always intended to be nocturnal stalkers as allies, but... creatures.  She called herself a-"

Stone loosened his hold a bit and stepped behind Dark, positioning his lips near her left ear.  "We're all creatures," he muttered almost directly into it, "and we chose this trap over the ones our ancestors made for us.  None of us could stand a day topside.  Pouring out blood on altars, serving ale, cleaning puke, standing guard, dropping curtseys for those born better, but mannered worse.  Weaving those stupid little dyed straw baskets, making coin the 'right' way, the 'respectable' way.  Especially you, bastard daughter of the Isles- think you could sit quietly in the shadow of one single man who's supposed to be your hand and voice in the world?  You wouldn't last a day, not even there, where thieves, swindlers, and pirates alike are all called 'Ser' and 'Lordship'.  You're here.  With Tess.  And Qualyn.  And me.  As solid as metal, or stone, or the forge itself."

Dark closed her eyes, but did not relax her physical stance one bit.  "Your proselytizing streak is showing."

Stone pressed himself against Dark so strongly that she was sure she could feel every part of him through her armor and clothes. "Tell me I'm wrong," he demanded, "with the tongue that some father demon gave you."

Stitches scuttled back in on one hand and both feet, holding three large rolls of parchment under his right arm.  He stopped his advance in the archway, and began giving purposeful puffs, like a dog that was making a show of sniffing his companions.

Dark breathed as deeply as she could in Stone's solid arms.  "Spread them out for Mama on the floor, please, Stitches.  Let's take a look at them."

"Give me a reason," Stone dared.

"I can only focus on one problem at a time," Dark cooed.

"That and a few copper would buy me a beer," Stone rumbled in Dark's ear.

"There's no way to close that portal," Dark warned quietly.  "And consent would be questioned.  Especially for Stitches, who many still believe is two shades off of being entirely mentally undone."

Stitches laid the maps down carefully, like children that he didn't want to wake, and gingerly spread them out with trembling fingers.

Stone pulled himself up to his full height, but didn't let go.  "Maybe you let somebody catch us, they'll put more faith in his capacity.  And stop tiptoeing around the mention of Tess."

"That could be... useful," Dark admitted.

 " 'Useful'," Stone echoed with a touch of derision in his tone.  With Dark's left arm pinned under his left arm and her right wrist held firmly in his hand, his right hand ventured up to rest ever so threateningly on her collarbone.  "Any studies on why Tieflings are so detached?"

"Yes," Dark scoffed.  "And Lucien told Tess about those, too- she wasn't sure why.  I... didn't try to explain."

"You can't," Stone said.  "Old man's been a vampire a long time.  Might not have the reasons a mortal would think of."

Stitches ambled over on all fours, but after taking a quiet moment on Dark's right side, slowly stood to his full height.  Stone watched, interested in the transformation that didn't happen often, and was surprised to watch the Drow inch himself forward to force his fingers between Dark's body and Stone's.  The Orc allowed his upper arms to soften enough to permit Stitches's fingers, hands, and arms access, but didn't let go of Dark entirely.

"I really must finish this," Dark said quietly.  "Time isn't on my side here."

Stone slowly slid his bare left foot back.  The sound forced Stitches to twitch a bit, but once he looked down at the offending foot, a lightning strike of understanding streaked across his face.

Dark felt both men near her begin to lower themselves to the floor, and bent her knees so that she could go with them.  She held her own weight most of the way down, but since Stone and Stitches were both taller than her, they had to shift their weight before she did.  Stitches slid his hands down and picked Dark's feet up while Stone moved both arms under her armpits, and Dark found herself peacefully lying with her head in Stone's lap and her boiled leather boot-clad feet on Stitches's.

"Think fast," Stone commanded when all three were comfortably settled on the floor.  "Half hour, maximum."

"There has got to be a word for multiple partners laying siege to one's higher senses at the same time," Dark smiled faintly.

"For you, that word is 'normal'," Stone huffed.  His arms snaked around her belly.  "Half hour; that's it.  Think."

Stitches gurgled, amused.

"Is that so, Stitches?  Elven syncing is no joke," Dark breathed, allowing the brief imagination of Stone's nakedness beneath her to flash across her mind.  "Alright, starting with operative availability... House Darkness has people in Sembia, and the new girl in charge owes us a big favor.  There's the Daerlun house, clean or not, and depending upon who's available, we've got some who'll pass for Semmites.  Some Fringe operatives can even pass for Shadovar- might come in handy.  The plans themselves... option one, House Darkness at point.  The Daerlun operatives find the trade points, watch them awhile, catch a pattern.  No pattern means we need twice as many operatives as there are trade points, as well as a decoder who's okay with sitting right next to whoever House Darkness thinks to send.  Pattern or not, House Darkness bitch-in-charge gets a tip, get her interested in that action.  House Darkness will either start robbing the mules, or they'll try to repl-."

Stone wrinkled his nose.  "Slow down- House Darkness sells protection."

Dark looked up from the maps to the Orc behind her.  "Keep up; they used to sell protection around here, but that won't track for them there."  

Stone snorted, and Dark turned her attentions back to her notated maps.

"Illance himself lives in Suzail, but has properties throughout Cormyr.  Even if the mules aren't specifically Suzailian, they're almost positively Cormites.  Thus, if they get robbed, or if House Darkness botches attempts to replace them, they'll hire Cormite protection.  Coalwater's never been relied upon for escort missions; their racket is property recovery and pest removal- bipedal pests included.  The Sunfire has the stronger escort reputation, especially because of those vicious dogs- if the Sunfire get involved, we've got Phantom, but we can't even bank on that.  We need to tip either Poof or Phantom ourselves.  Poof is a straight shot to Murk, but will be harder to tip.  The Daerlun operatives would have to scare her into running the correct di-"

"Why keep Poof if you hate her?" Stone asked, knowing the answer already.

Dark leaned her head back so that she could look back at the Orc again, this time with a raised eyebrow.  "How easily spooked into moving out of a unfavorable position Poof can be is one of two things about her that makes not having Dodge on this job nearly tolerable, and the second thing is to the credit of her gods and foremothers, not her own."

Stitches scrunched his shoulders up, gave a unsettling yarfing noise, then allowed the wave of tremors that swept over his body to punish him for the sound.

"No, she won't sit this one out; unlike Dodge and Phantom both, Murk is Poof's only payday," Dark said flippantly.  She looked back at the maps and gently trailed the fingers of her right hand over Stone's muscular right arm.  "Phantom is beginning to make a name for herself with that pretty little chain; she can get lured into witnessing a real handoff- or a very good play-acted one- by a few well-placed Daerlun operatives.  If she doesn't suspect that I'm involved, she'll leak both ways one last time, because she doesn't realize how competition on the Material Plane works quite yet.  If she does suspect my involvement, she will go silent until Hen comes to her for information, and will likely warn her that I've taken a hand in the matter- not a positive outcome, but one that can hopefully be dealt with at a later stage of another game.  Either way, unless the new House Darkness girl is some new brand of Drow that I've never dealt with, she'll blame whatever happens on the weakness of the individual rogues instead of either on herself for sending them, or on us for telling her about the action in the first place.  The entire operation, if we ran it that way, would be... maybe... four to six month's worth of work- longer, if something goes wrong.  About two times more blight points than I'd like, but they'd be-"

Stitches, who had closed his eyes in order to eliminate the sensory input that he needed the least in that moment, gave an open mouthed hiss.

"True," Dark replied, reaching her right hand out to touch Stitches.  She couldn't quite reach him, so the Drow folded himself forward so that she could gently run her fingers over his grey hair.  "They wouldn't make much money, but... point taken, Stitches."

"So Coalwater stays in bed with Illance?" Stone asked.

"No," Dark fired back immediately, "but that part of the Illance project will take more than this to solve- Stitches, is Mama talking too much?  Or too loudly?" 

There were a few moments of shuddery silence, followed by a quiet gurgle.

Dark ever so delicately tugged on the black ribbon that held back Stitches's chopped grey hair.  "Alright.  I don't know why the pair of you are staying here to listen to this.  You usually leave me to talk to myself, and I'm used-"

Stitches, with his eyes still closed, slowly and deliberately picked Dark's hand away from the ribbon in his hair as though it were a bug.  Instead of letting go entirely, however, he put her first finger in his mouth and bit it.

"Ay!" Dark exclaimed voicelessly.  Stitches smiled around her finger, and she couldn't help but smirk in return.  "I suppose the days of my being a solitary pseudo matron mother are coming to an end?"

"Option two," Stone prompted firmly.

"Daerlun at point," Dark sighed, shifting herself back so that Stone could hold her a bit more closely to himself.  Stitches scooted with her, but turned himself sideways out of her lap so that he laid flat on the floor between the two and the maps, with her first finger still in his mouth.  Dark turned on her left side in order to accommodate his unwillingness to let her go.  

"Daerlun targets the money changers instead of the mules," Dark continued thoughtfully.  "Take them out nice and quiet; replace them.  Semmites for Semmites, Shadovar passers for Shadovar- guaranteed they're not bloody Cormites, but wouldn't hurt to have a few Humans on tap.  The mules come to them, change money, and get both chatted up and tailed back.  Phantom gets tipped in my name.  She'll go quiet, Hen will come for the intel, and we're at the not-so-great-but-still-workable ending.  About six months in the doing if nothing goes wrong... although a lot can go wrong with directly tampering with the money flow.  It doesn't have many blight points, but it does require multiple parallel course correcting operations, just like any other in-house take down."

Stitches nibbled thoughtfully on Dark's finger, but didn't make any noise at all.

"That puts Murk more firmly in Illance's pocket too," Stone ventured after a few seconds of silence had gone by.

"I know you're worried about Illance's pockets," Dark soothed as she gazed first at Stitches, then at the maps beyond him.  "It would have been useful for you to try to suss out what Murk is doing to try to get himself out of them... but then again, your friendship is genuine, and you're right not to manipulate it like I-"

"And that's you admitting how you got where you are," Stone interrupted.  "That's you admitting that you're a creature, and that you like being one, too."

Dark cleared her throat gently, despite having absolutely nothing but dry air in it.  "Option three, Sunfire at point.  For all Phantom's efforts, they're not going to move without a direct threat, so we give them one- in the form of the accusation that it is the Sunfire themselves taking Illance's money.”

Stone grunted. "You pull that off how?"

"Good old-fashioned shill job," Dark smiled.  "Daerlun house intercepts the mules, break into the Sunfire manse, and tuck the spoils someplace cute- the boss man's office, the back garden, the cellar- somewhere smart, but not too smart.  Both the mules and the intended recipient are going to get angry, fast.  The mules are going to get protection.  If the Sunfire themselves get hired, Daerlun takes their hands off the mules.  If the Sunfire aren't hired, Daerlun only takes and stashes an intermittent supply.  If the mules or the intended recipient don't get suspicious enough, boss man himself or his in-house rogue trainer certainly will.  Once the Sunfire start trying to sort out who among them is doing them dirty, Daerlun takes their hands off completely and lets them find their own way.  They're going to be zealous to protect their recently-cleared name, so I give them three months, maximum.  Nobody else has to turn a stitch- although Murk probably will.  He'll have more room for trial and error with the Sunfire doing the heavy lifting."

"Sounds better," Stone nodded.

Stitches took Dark's finger out of his mouth and cooed.

"There are fewer blight points, yes," Dark admitted.  "But I dislike giving the Sunfire the reigns when-"

Stone didn't even let the Tiefling finish her thought.  "Get Murk out of Illance's pocket, then."

"I can't yank him out while Illance is looking straight at him," Dark retorted, rolling her eyes.  "Unless I want to simply make a widower out of him; that I could do myself, right now."

Stone grumbled a few words that neither of the two with him understood.  "Thievery?" he asked when he'd regained a bit of relative calm.

Dark shook her head, and her hair hissed softly on the Orc's skin.

"Bodies?"

Dark snickered a bit before answering.  "Try again."

"Witchery?"

"Are you joking?  Hen hasn't the willpower to be a real magic worker of any kind," Dark laughed.  "The Sunfire mages twisted her around their fingers for sport."

Stone's face contorted into a mask of disgust.

"If you must know," Dark said, smiling, "the matter is this: once upon a time, Hen belonged to a chartered mercenary group that supplemented its income by selling the charms of their female operatives.  The problem wasn't that the merc group doubled as a brothel, but instead that they got caught at evading taxes by not registering as one."

"Who's running a band of mercenaries who double as whores?" Stone scoffed.

"It's more 'managing' than 'running'," Dark corrected pointedly.  "You of all people should know how many streetwalkers' parlours double as Spectre safehouses, chieftain."

The Orc growled.  "You pay them extra to take me off your hands?"

Dark raised an eyebrow, but didn't engage the accusation.  "Anyway, Murk bought Hen like anybody else, but he never gave her back.  To protect her, he got a lot more... mannerly, let's say.  Went above board, got a charter.  Hired on operatives who could work in the open, even as he kept running shady deals when the lamps were put out.  By publicly pairing off with Hen, he capitalized on her humanity, and got Suzailians to at least pretend to trust him.  I offered him partnership, which he questioned unusually thoroughly.  Most of the time since then, he's been a careful man.  So either he overplayed himself and got on Illance's shit list, thereby leading to some digging in the couple's past, or Illance makes a habit of finding out the dirty secrets of those he plans to use to his advantage.  If it's the latter, then Coalwater won't be the last operation to get stuck, which could be advantageous both to Murk and to me."

Stone snorted.

"Point is, it's worth doing fully and correctly," Dark pointed out.  "Whether or not every female mercenary in Hen's former group was also selling 'pleasant conversation', everybody did know what was going on; that is a solid aiding and abetting charge.  Second, everybody who put gold down to buy any of those ladies was knowingly patronizing an rogue operation.  Back in the day, Murk's little two-pony circus was just as illegal, but now, the man has respectable clientele and a charter of his own.  Hell of a step backward for his reputation if his financial entanglement with an illegal brothel were to be discovered.  Especially if anyone suspects that he was the tip off that got the scheme discovered, which by 'happy accident' eliminated a source of competition in his field."

Stitches allowed himself to quietly voice his nibbling on Dark's finger.

"Well, yes I was, but I never told him that, because as it turned out, he didn't need the extra pressure," Dark relented.  "Now, I have to assume Illance knows as much as I do, and that he has hard evidence, until I know for sure that's not the case.  Unfortunately, Hen is Murk's drug of choice; he can't think past her.  When she's involved, his inner clan papa Dragonborn roars awake, and he makes desperate decisions that don't suit anyone in the long run.  While she's talented in her way, and it's no small gain to have her around, she's also sadly adept at shutting down his higher mental processing over, and over, and over, and over again- he sees himself in Dodge, I think, but is even less likely than Dodge is to appropriately desensitize himself."

"Is that how you do it?" Stone asked.  "You desensitize yourself, so that your myriad of partners become nothing but assets?"

"I'm not desensitized," Dark said, looking up at Stone.  "I'm compartmentalized.  There's a difference.  Now, it takes three to five days to get a letter of any kind over to Daerlun- or back from it, for that matter."

"Five days plus however long it takes you to find the right way out of this chokehold," Stone threatened, finally easing his hands up over Dark's shoulders.

Stitches let go of Dark instantly, noiselessly rolled over, and curled up as though he were a disinterested cat.

"Five days plus moving to a location with more than one candle, a desk, paper, ink, and a door that closes," Dark bargained.

"Definitely not the right way out," Stone answered firmly.

"Uncommon touch of impatience," Dark commented.

"Was hungry when I left," Stone replied.  "Starved, now."

"I can't do anything about what you will and won't... consume... while you're out of my sight," Dark replied with a touch of haughtiness.  "You could have taken your pleasure on your way out and back."

"If I hadn't," Stone grunted, "I'd've had you screaming as soon as I walked in here."

"Tough talk, chieftain," Dark teased.  "Five days plus moving to a location with a door that closes, good liquor, and enough ambient noise to give us relative anonymity."

Stitches gave a few voiceless clacks with the back of his throat that Stone took a few quiet moments to understand.  He slowly eased his muscular arms out from under Dark's and crossed them over his chest.

"Fine.  Go write your letters, put them in the hands of your couriers-"

"Oh, now you're okay with me finishing this?" Dark asked with feigned offense, rolling over onto her belly to look up at Stone.  His weapon, free from being semi-pinned under her back, was just as insistent as it had been when Stitches was working with it.

"-and set up whatever wants to be in motion over the next two days, because no one will see or hear from you until then.  Satisfied?"

Stitches issued a grunt that was an obvious imitation of Stone.

Dark looked over her right shoulder at the Drow.  "Stitches, go put these maps away, put the good cotton in your ears, and bring me back the cloth for your eyes, would you please?"

And with a crackling sound buried in the back of his throat, Stitches scurried off- on all fours- to begin doing as he was told.

"Are you going to tell me how much time I have to get all that done, chieftain?" Dark asked with feigned innocence as she began to sit up.

"No, but you know that I know what it smells like when you're stalling," Stone countered, glaring down his nose at her.  "Petey's Pots.  I'm a caravan guard; you two can be whatever alter egos you want.  But don't get lost."