In the fresh-smelling Suzailian twilight, Ivonne walked calmly past Howler, who didn't even as much as look up from the leather that he was tanning. She took no offense; he'd always distrusted her, as much as any mundane warrior could and would distrust a mage. She sipped delicately at her mead, enjoying the crisp taste, and allowed her gaze to flit briefly upward.
As she'd suspected, Mordren was peering at Howler over the edge of his half-empty mug as he stood on his rear balcony. She took her eyes off him just as a chilly aura brushed ever so lightly on the edges of her consciousness. Her lips thinned, and she watched Howler pause for the briefest of moments before returning to work with a scowl dug more deeply into his face than normal.
Silveredge had finally made it back across town from Battlemage Ranclyffe's home. The feel of her natural energy was so delicate that Ivonne had begun to believe that she purposefully buried a great deal of it within herself, as though she were one of the trained faire hawks who glided gracefully and perched prettily for show, instead of dedicating their powerful wings and talons to a hunt.
The front half of Silveredge's long hair had been pulled into a tight braid, wrapped around the rest of it, and tucked into itself. While the style was lovely- far lovelier than seemed credible, given the fact that it had been apparently been done by a half-blind Dragonborn very early that morning- it had the stinging side effect of showing off the brutal slave ring that pierced through the back of her neck.
Ivonne knew that the trinket irritated Mordren every time he saw it. The spells that had been woven into the thing, likely considered absolutely necessary by the slave owning cluster of Shadar-kai that some called the tiarnaí daor, could easily have been cast upon any little piece of jewelry. In Mordren's not so humble opinion, the piercing's most basic practical purpose- the chaining of Silveredge to a wall, a stake, or to a member of the tiarnaí- was merely a side effect of its primary function. According to him, the main reason for shoving such a thick, ugly piece of metal into such smooth, delicate flesh- must have been to crush the pride that came naturally to most Shadar-kai.
For Silveredge, it had been viciously effective. She was the only Shadar-kai that either Ivonne or Mordren could think of who never crowed.
Ivonne believed that crowing was a social construct instead of a natural behavior, and that Silveredge may have been enslaved early enough in her life to have never learned how to properly participate. Mordren believed that crowing should be considered a natural behavior necessary to the success of the race, and that Silveredge probably knew how to crow, but was likely prevented from doing so by masters who wanted full control over how, where, and when she could find an interesting partner at all, let alone successfully breed with such a specimen. Ivonne had known better than to try to argue her case with history, the study of the Shadar-kai culture, or even personal experience. He would think what he would in his deepest and darkest of hearts.
Ivonne swirled the mead in her chilly metal cup, then sipped at it, sighing her maudlin musings away for a moment. She watched as Niku followed Silveredge out into the courtyard as though he'd been on an invisible strap. Silveredge, realizing that Niku was behind her, turned and knelt quickly to welcome him into her arms, and he slammed himself into her as though he intended to run her right over. Howler again paused uncharacteristically for a moment, then went back to his work with a snarl that Ivonne sensed with her spellwork more than she physically heard. With a slight shudder, Ivonne moved a few steps farther away from the dog master, admitting to herself that she didn't much care for him, either. She wondered if every man was like Mordren- if every one made illogical decisions like hiring on a murderous male "best friend" who had been hardly qualified to breed dogs when he'd started while hemming and hawing about hiring on a perfectly capable female healing mage who had been trained both by the College of War Wizards and a prestigious temple.
As Ivonne thought her thoughts, she could feel Mordren's thick, heavy gaze from across the courtyard. She sipped at her cup again, purposefully ignoring his look and rejecting his pesky magicks. She did not feel like having her thoughts opened like books just then.
Silveredge's roommate, Celeste, who had returned to the manse from a caravan escort assignment that had sent her to the northern Cormite border, jogged into the courtyard just ahead of Kronmyr, who was making his way toward the wooden table at the far side of the couryard with a weary smirk. Silveredge stood up to give the slightly bruised Human woman a hug, at which Niku barked a few times, twisting himself into useless puppy-ish tail-chasing circles at the women's feet. Silveredge reached out her left hand in the mere appearance of finding Niku's head, and the dog sat down instantly, quiet and pacified, save for the occasional weight shift from one forepaw to the other. Silveredge and Celeste chatted to each other, casually ambling over to a nearby tree, to which Niku followed them after they'd taken some two or three paces away from him. Despite having noted that Silveredge was instantly more engaged with women than she was with men long ago, Ivonne found herself still watching with interest as Silveredge's fingers dug themselves into Celeste's messy, curly brown hair. There was a brief show of protest from the tan-skinned mercenary, but a few false shouts and real giggles later, Silveredge's lovely, long blue fingers began weaving Celeste's dark hair into a braid worthy to be worn by a queen.
The comfort that Celeste and Silveredge had in each other was so brutally apparent that it stung Ivonne a bit, because no such camaraderie was to be found between Silveredge and herself. Even when Ivonne had made the first steps in trying to figure out the Shadar-kai's methods of magical notation, and the magic itself, there had been no display of friendship, or even a coworkers' accord, between them. Only deference- a distant deference that Ivonne suspected was bordering on the disdainful.
During Silveredge's encounter with Celeste, Kronmyr had made it to the table and sat himself on top of it. A slow but steady stream of onlookers that began to gather, tankards in hand, to watch the training session, drawing Ivonne's attention away. Many waved to her, or offered her greetings, but others passed without saying anything. Howler was entirely left to himself- there were no breeding or dog training apprentices. Ivonne couldn't be sure whether this was because Howler would have nothing to teach, or because everything that he would have to teach could only be learned or practiced by another lycanthrope.
While it wasn't unheard of for daytime sparring matches to become spectator sports, especially since Kronmyr admonished the mercenaries in his direct employ to learn from each other's mistakes, and a few of them were known for taking bets, Silveredge was the only one who drew onlookers from both the daytime and evening mercenary bands. Since no amount of grim talk and pay docking had prevented early morning employees from staying up late into the night to watch the training, Kronmyr had begrudgingly given in to Bann's thinly veiled demands by holding Silveredge's training sessions earlier in the night. As Bann had said they would, great deal of the daytime mercs stayed long enough to watch Silveredge, then left en-masse as soon as her session had concluded. About half of the evening mercs were annoyed or embarrassed by this, but there was a solid contingent who were happy about it, as it took the pressure to perform off of them. A few of the more empathetic ones among them had even come to pity Silveredge, as any little mistake she made during what was supposed to be an event tailored to what she needed to learn was hooted and hollered at by nearly the entire company. But Silveredge, trained to dance shamelessly while being assaulted in the middle of towns, focused on the training itself, instead of everyone watching it. She was unconcerned and unashamed, but also distant, as though the attacks coming at her were illusory. Kronmyr hated the unusual openness of Silveredge's training sessions, understandably. Mordren hated them too, but with less reason, as Ivonne had quietly pointed out a few days ago.
As Ivonne brought her wine cup to her lips again, she felt the persistent brush of magic from her husband. She sighed, but allowed herself to glance upward disinterestedly. Surely enough, across from her, in his favorite perch, stood Mordren, glaring regally down at her. She could tell even without scrying that he enjoyed her full attention, and as a reward for giving it to him, he opened himself to her mentally. Information was the currency of their relationship, and inner thoughts and feelings were particularly valuable. For a few moments, Mordren silenced every other thought in his mind and merely gazed at Ivonne as he thought of her impeccable spell theorem writing, her masterful spell casting, her unerring ability to match appropriate spells to otherwise barely capable casters. He remembered that he had demanded, while they had not yet been married, that Bann hire Ivonne along with him, and that she, while despite at first detesting the charge of healing and training mercenaries, had masterfully grown into her position. Despite the jokes and whispers in the manse, Mordren knew that Ivonne had never been jealous of Silveredge. She hadn't yet told Mordren when Silveredge's magical proving would be, but her manner of speaking about it had told him that she preferred to have all the details under her own control, and he had- uncharacteristically, in Ivonne's opinion- allowed it. Ivonne smiled shyly and lowered her eyes, breaking contact with Mordren and his spellwork before he could crown all these warm sentiments with any direct expression of love. A few nearby apprentices breathed their lovelorn sighs into the air, jealous of what seemed to be a truly romantic connection without having any idea of its true nature.
Under the tree, Celeste squealed and giggled at her reflection in her own small mirror, which Silveredge had borrowed momentarily. Ivonne looked over to the two women just in time to see Celeste hugging Silveredge. It seemed like a strong reaction for such a small show of affection, but the only question Ivonne had about it was whether Celeste felt herself just a friend to Silveredge, or something more. She watched the Human mercenary take her mirror back from Silveredge, take up one of the Shadar-kai's two hands in her own, and make some sort of conversation about something she'd noticed on or about it. Silveredge shrugged her shoulders in response, a rare full smile spreading across her face. In fact, as the Shadar-kai went on explaining whatever it was that she was explaining, complete with gestures that at times strayed oddly into what Ivonne knew was signed Undercommon, her cheeks grew more intensely blue.
Ivonne realized at once- in a moment of embarrassment she was glad that everyone but Mordren would likely miss- that she had never before seen a Shadar-kai blush, and wondered if it had been racist of her to have subconsciously believed that such a physical reaction belonged only on the faces of Humans.
Along with the onlookers, who were seating themselves in a large semi-circle around the training area, came Kazmiir. Ivonne recognized him at once, since not only was he a capable short sword fighter, he was one of her more promising mage-warrior hybrid proteges. His affinity for fire-based spells seemed to fit right in with his welcoming, lively personality. He had become an accomplished mercenary with the Sunfire, and had the financial means to prove it. Instead of purchasing new weapons, however, he had invested in the ones he'd always owned, paying one Stephen Raibeart a scandalous sum to have new steel wrapped around the original blades, have the hilt replaced entirely, and even to have the image of a fireball that he'd drawn carved into the short bit of the blades between the guards and the sharp edges. This evening, the blades rested comfortably in the sheathes at his sides as he walked over to Kronmyr's table to chat with the Drow. Kronmyr pointed out Silveredge's unique pair of katars, and the two made their way over to the ladies beneath the tree. Kazmiir reached out to try to take one of the two of them from Silveredge's side, apparently without asking, and Niku barked threateningly. Silveredge didn't even bother to look over her shoulder to see what the problem might be, engaged as she was with Celeste, but leaned the side of her head on top of the dog's. Kazmiir smilingly backed up a few steps, looking straight at Niku as he did.
Kronmyr cleared his throat to get Silveredge's attention, and Celeste gave Silveredge a final hug before fading into the farther side of the half-circle of spectators. Silveredge turned herself around and sat looking up at Kronmyr for a few moments as he spoke to her. Her face, so clearly happy just moments before, went disturbingly blank, as though she were a handsomely carved stone golem awaiting a command.
A few of those gathered tried talking to Howler, who didn't seem disposed to conversation. Ivonne continued to monitor Silveredge as she rose and moved toward the training area, only to sit back down on her knees at its center, with the tops of her ankles flat to the ground. As Kronmyr and Kazmiir looked down at her in the center of the training area, the master explained something to the protege, who nodded. His duty completed, Kronmyr nodded and moved to the area just beyond the table. He patted his thighs in the attempt to call Niku over to himself, but the battle hound didn't budge from his spot under the tree. Celeste, who was still next to Niku, pointed at Kronmyr and apparently did her best to convince the dog to move, but to no avail; Niku stayed exactly where he was.
Silveredge rose to her feet and bowed to Kazmiir, who bowed back, after a moment's pause. Oddly enough for everyone watching, Silveredge made no move for her katars, nor did she take the spiked chain off her hips. She stood absolutely still, waiting. Kazmiir turned his head inquisitively for a moment, then simply tried sending her a straight punch to the face with his right hand. Silveredge easily brought her left hand up and over quickly enough to deflect the blow; no other part of her body even moved. Kazmiir repeated the action with his left hand, and got the same response from Silveredge's right hand. With a smile, Kazmiir attempted to grab hold of Silveredge's head to prepare for a headbutt, but instead of even attempting to block him, the Shadar-kai very sharply descended into a crouch and rolled forward, past him. In the time that it took him to turn around and draw one of his two short swords, Silveredge had kipped up, then crouched back down with both her arms spread backward, as though she would fly. This gave Kazmiir little choice but to try to slash or stab down at her, which he did, but Silveredge dodged each attempt. While the experienced mercenary managed to win glancing slices, which Ivonne paused the encounter to heal as they were received, the Shadar-kai spent most of the time completely eluding Kazmiir's blade. During one spectacular pass, Silveredge slid between Kazmiir's legs and disappeared entirely, leaving him to finally draw his second weapon while looking around himself.
Ivonne felt herself smiling in that way that was usually reserved for surprise birthday gifts, well-made date pudding, and warm baths. Stealing a glance at Kronmyr, she realized that the Drow had been walking around the training area, watching the session from all sides. As he neared a deep shadow cast by the moonlight on the manse, he stepped back and shoved at what appeared to be only air. Silveredge stumbled precisely three steps forward, then recovered her balance, spiked chain in hand. Kazmiir turned around, since he had been standing with his back toward the manse, and just barely perceived that Silveredge was making up for having been outed by using her bo shuriken. Two of them missed, burying themselves into the loose dirt of the training area, but one of them found glorious purchase in Kazmiir's right thigh, sticking just far enough into the leather armor to be irritating. Ivonne thought of offering healing, but decided not to interrupt, since Kazmiir advanced on Silveredge without showing any sign of wanting to stop.
Silveredge, who had been swinging half her chain up to speed while she had thrown the shuriken, took advantage of Kazmiir's temporarily unstable footing by slinging the chain at his left side, which forced him to move to his right. She moved just slightly too far for Kazmiir to reach with his swords, but he tried anyway, and lost one of the two to Silveredge's relatively recently discovered ability to disarm people with her chain. Ivonne watched as onlookers had to scurry out of the path of the lost weapon.
Kazmiir moved his remaining weapon into his off hand so that he could take the straight spike out of his thigh, without taking into account just how in danger of being fully disarmed he was. Kronmyr, from the far side of the training area, rolled his eyes. In a flash, Silveredge's spiked chain wrapped itself around Kazmiir's sword and forearm alike, and Silveredge responded to Kazmiir's unpreparedness by pulling herself up into a twist that yanked him face-first to the ground.
And just as suddenly as full coup-de-gras opportunity had been won, Silveredge sat down on her knees and the tops of her ankles as she had at the beginning of the fight. Kronmyr, who had by that time made his way back to the weapons table allowed his head to fall back in an obvious show of exasperation.
No one was more surprised at Silveredge's full stop of motion than Kazmiir himself, who got up, disentangled himself and his sword from the chain, pulled the shuriken out of his thigh, and walked over to collect his lost sword, all without challenge. He looked at Kronmyr, then leaned his head back slightly, as though he'd just understood something that had been told to him before. He sheathed his weapons, walked back in front of Silveredge and bowed, then got himself into a defensive stance. As though released from a spell, Silveredge got up, rewrapped her chain around herself, then bowed in response. Again, she sunk into a near crouch with her arms behind her.
Being a bit more familiar with her starting position now than he had been at the beginning of the fight, Kazmiir stopped trying to fire attacks down at her and focused more on trying to get her into a grapple. It wasn't easy- Silveredge twisted, ducked, and rolled in ways to which the mercenary was obviously unaccustomed, and he would try to lock in a choke or a hold only to discover that his opponent could get out of it, with varying levels of grace, effort, and ease. Ivonne swirled what was left of her wine around in her cup, and just as she prepared to finish it, she felt the thrill of one of her husband's favorite spells. Moments later, Kazmiir wildly missed a grapple, this time dumping himself face first onto the ground. Ivonne, not to be fooled, glared up at Mordren at once. Kronmyr, artless as he was, raised an eyebrow at Kazmiir's uncommon miscalculation. Silveredge, for once more surprised than respectful, turned and knelt down next to Kazmiir to check if he were alright. She put her hands on either side of his face and turned it up to herself, giving everyone behind her a spectacular view of a freshly broken nose. Kazmiir used his hands to hold himself away from the ground as she moved her hands to his nose and did her best to figure out how to help. And Ivonne knew that Mordren, free to sew whatever type of divination he wanted in the mercenary's distracted and unprotected mind, would likely do just that.
She finally tore her eyes away from Mordren, handed her wine cup off to a nearby onlooker, and moved toward Silveredge and Kazmiir. Wordlessly, Silveredge made room for Ivonne to kneel immediately in front of Kazmiir, who batted her away at once. Silveredge and Ivonne both watched as he stood up woozily and shook his head, trying to clear it. Ivonne got up first, striding away from the situation and checking for any blood on her carefully kept light brown robes. When she was satisfied, and had gotten her wine back, she turned to see that Silveredge had remained kneeling until Kazmiir seemed steadier on his feet. When he was, he smiled down at her, wiping blood with the back of one hand while offering her the other. Silveredge took it, but didn't put any weight into it, opting to stand on her own. The two bowed to each other while still hand in hand, then briefly parted- Kazmiir reclaimed his dropped swords, which had jiggled out of their sheaths when he'd fallen, and surprisingly for everyone but Ivonne, he sheathed them.
Kazmiir turned and allowed a bolt of pure magic to manifest and roll off his fingers toward Silveredge as though he were throwing one of her spike shuriken back at her. Silveredge opened her hands at her sides and willed a shield into place before the bolt could hit. The shield survived one more pure magic bolt and two fireballs, but Kazmiir, whose nose was still bleeding, was noticeably worn down after the second fire ball. He and Silveredge cautiously moved around each other for a few moments, after which Kazmiir brought a wall of fire up via the circle he had just traced around the Shadar-kai. Silveredge spent a few seconds within the wall, then suddenly stepped through it to grasp Kazmiir's face with both hands. For a moment it seemed that nothing was happening, but Kazmiir slowly sank, with shivers and shudders, to one knee. Kronmyr gave a holler which prompted Silveredge to take her hands away, but it was clear when the Drow trotted into the circle that he'd gotten the wrong idea about what precisely was happening. Silveredge's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and she buried some laughter in her hands while Kazmiir jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating a handsomely shaped female Tiefling who had been watching the session. Kronmyr looked over at the Tiefling, who swatted a hand through the air as though she were close enough to actually smack Kronmyr, and laughter arose from all points of the observing semi-circle.
Ivonne recognized the female Tiefling as So'ochel, one of Bann's very few direct apprentices- a wildly intelligent woman who was just as talented with a ledger as she was with a dirk. She was often sent on caravan escort assignments as the face of the operation- an interesting choice on Bann's part, as the woman had horns, hooves, a tail, and strange orange-y green eyes. Ivonne had never realized that Kazmiir, who looked very Human despite having an obviously Tiefling name, might not be embarrassed to be seen with, let alone in a relationship with, a Tiefling more physically obvious than himself. But there was the proof, in So'ochel's embarrassed blush and Kazmiir's still-dizzy, but proud grin.
And Ivonne finished her mead in one vicious swallow, certain that she'd just been very, very racist.
She looked over at Howler casually, trying to downplay her displeasure with herself, only to find an intense look printed on the dogmaster's face. Following his gaze, she began looking at the rooftops, which were, of course, far above her view. Concerned, she looked over to Mordren, and found that he too was checking around himself, with the benefit of a much better vantage point. Unfortunately, nothing was there but birds and various outdoor altars to Lathander, and when the mage couple looked back at each other, each could sense the other wondering precisely what on the rooftops had been so intriguing that it had managed to steal Howler's focus from Silveredge.
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