Private Tales The Blade of Night

One would think a few months in Vel Anir would one make used to human architecture, but it did no such thing for Lilette. It felt so... hostile, unwelcoming, even in these cities where all were welcome.

She paused at the doorway, trying to shake the feeling that an arrow awaited her from one of the many windows angled ominously toward her, or that it should be a servant braving the door while she watched from the safety of a carriage.

Or it would have been, a long time ago.

Nevertheless she knocked, perhaps more harshly than she'd meant.

For all this oppressive smog represented—an absence of the nature from whence she came and the gloomy atmosphere of peasant's quarters—it offered one comfort;

Her powers had returned, freed the sun's bitter shackles.

In fact, she pulled her hood down, from which spilled hair like white silk over her should. She might've looked the part of a fair maiden come to do business on behalf of her house, were it not for the sword sheathed across her back.

---

A few long beats followed, the military sanctity of the house disturbed by harsh knocks. The doorknob and knocker presented the ghastly iron heads of gargoyles, dented from time and use, snarling at any would-be visitor, seeming more intent on intimidating beggars or lepers from disturbing the hallowed confines beyond than welcoming any guests. Even the door itself, fashioned from dark oak, carried steel reinforcements and studs, seeming more akin to a miniature castle gate.

Eventually, a muffled rattling of keys and a long string of cursing could be heard beyond. Not one click, but two, three, four, preceded the opening of the door and even then it only opened by a sliver before arrested by a taught chain. An eye at about the height of four feet glared up at Lilette through that gap, revealing little else but a scarlet coat and short-cropped hair. The beady gaze sized up Lilette's presentation with a pawner's ruthless scrutiny.

"Aye? Name? Purpose? What cheer? Ye come to engage in custom desired commerce or a socialite visitation?"

The questions rained over Lilette like hail in a sleet storm, spoken with a harsh, grating accent that mixed all the worst tendencies of dwarven vernacular in the mould of Common and Crook Cant, the speech patterns of those found in the Areck Slums. Yet some of the words belonged in a whole different sphere of reality, that of high-born ballrooms and mansion parlours, inflicting new meaning on terms like 'socialite' and 'custom desired commerce,' like one might brutally chop up and make mince-meat of fine, honey-glazed venison.

Lilette Blackbriar

She could hear footsteps before the keys, preternatural senses given room to breath in this overcast place. They keys however grated on her pointed ears, as did the barrage of questions.

"Lilette?" she answered when given chance.

"Tis commerce what brought I hither, I doth believe the smith wert to ink thee a letter ere mine arrival."

The Elf spoke with an accent befitting of such woodland creatures as herself, though her vernacular resembled the antiquated speech of Human nobility long extinct more than any child of Fal'addas.

She craned her neck to the side, peering through the doorway with what little appraisal one might glean through a crack. The woman was likewise difficult to discern, save that she had strange, silver eyes and was pale indeed.

"I wert told to speaketh upon the ears of one "Yldore", about a blade o' strange properties."

"Be this thou...?" she asked nervously.

---

The beady eyes kept watching Lilette with a squinted gaze, until she mentioned the name Yldore. That caused the eyes to flare open like twin beetles in pools of milk, before they narrowed again with suspicion.

"That so?" A harsh cackle followed. "Nay, not me. I be--"

"Master Marsh!"

The figure behind the door grumbled and closed it again, though his shouted conversation could be heard through the timber.

"Aye, my lady?"

"Who is at the door?"

"Don't know. Some abbess dressed to butcher sinners or summin'. Lilette's the name."

A contemplative pause followed.

"Let her in, post haste. She is to be afforded all due courtesy, Master Marsh. And be certain to let her know she is welcome beyond our threshold."

With that, the door ripped open. Behind it, a dwarf in a scarlet coat, his squat width nearly equalling the span of his modest height, bowed and scraped with whipped courtesy. Both his receding dark hair and beard were cropped short, bearing to mind a mangy wolverine nearly shaven bald. Pearls of sweat glistened on his exposed brow, and below the fancy coat, a thick breastplate glinted, only engorging his compact frame at the chest, leaving two stubs for legs to titter below them. The dwarf bore more resemblance to a cannon ball dressed in fine velvet than a dignified footman.

"Ah, please, enter, Mistress Lilette, enter! I invite you in. Or is it Sister? Eh, I get the terms mixed up, but please! Come on in, come in." The dwarf scrambled into a lavish foyer, eagerly beckoning Lilette all the while. A hefty axe nearly equal his height leaned against the wall near the door, and he quickly stowed it behind a curtain and closed the door behind her, attempting to distract his guest with unctuous smiles, hand running repeatedly over his remaining hair. "My sincerest, deepest apologies, ma'em. Had no inkling - none whatsoever! Durn Marsh, at your service. Times be mischevious these days, you understand. All sorts come knocking these days, you understand."


Once the eye wandered past the huffing and sycophantic dwarf, it would find a different world altogether from the outside. The foyer combined that rare quality of high aesthetics with opulence, presenting a generous tapestry of deep purple curtains, blood crimson carpets, rosy scarlet tablecloths, a chandelier of white crystals instead of candles and walls of the darkest wood, nearly rivalling midnight black. Tasteful but sombre armoires and tables holding aloft lavish display cases crowded the space. Behind most of these displays could be found an ensemble of various artefacts, many curious and ancient, most of which seemed to end in sharp blades. A winding stairway of black iron, exposed to the open room, led up to the next floor. An assortment of doors fanned from this foyer to other chambers.

"May I, ah, may I take your calle--cloak, I mean, cloak?"

Durn Marsh's extended hand froze when light footsteps rattled down the iron stairway, followed by the sensuous whisper of a long dress, brushing against these stark steps. The top half of a figure remained in shadow from the burning witchlights set in ornate lamps and the chandelier, exposing only a black, velvet glove on the railing and a long, frilled dress of the finest dark satin.

"Master Marsh. You should know at this point to ask for hats and gloves, first."

"Ah! Oh! Aye! That's right! Anything else the mistress desires relieved?"

Whether or not Durn received items from Lilette, he would soon sweep out of the room and through a nearby door with another command:

"Prepare the parlour for two, if you please." Once the footman was out of sight, the voice from the stairway would curl out to Lilette: "I hope you can forgive any unintended rudeness on the part of my footman. Good help is so very hard to find, these days."

Lilette Blackbriar

Grey brows knit with confused curiosity. She even leaned in to listen, smiling faintly at the assumption that she were an "Abbess". Oh how she wished. Dressed to kill sinners though? a most curious choice of words.

She resumed a 'less than nosy' posture while footsteps neared again, greeting Marsh with a polite smile.

"Sister or Lady, if thou wilt." the nun bowed her head.

The careful attention to invite her in was most curious, but a passing thought. Crossing the threshold without issue, nodding along to whatever the Dwarf was saying, though her gaze leisurely drank of the house. Expensive curtains, magical lighting and a three-tone interior design of utmost finery, it all felt so familiar. Though it lacked the muted earthen hues and naturalist practicality of fair Falwood, it seemed the nobles of both their species weren't so different.

In matters of taste, at least.

An arriving Lady Yldore cut an imposing figure; towering over the porcelain maiden and dwarfing—no pun intended—Master Marsh.

Tearing her shimmering eyes off the dark silhouette clad in that soft sheath was most difficult, and ended with a series of blinks as the woman processed what was even said to her. A little dazed, she removed the gloves first, then cloak.

That sword however, remained about her back.

Chained into it's scabbard however, she clearly had no intention of using it.

"O-oh, 'tis no great trouble, my lady. 'tis a challenge most nostalgic." she said, cracking a brief smile.

Relieved of her burdens, Lilette performed a well practiced curtsy for the mysterious figure as would befit a noble maiden and guest, perhaps more than a woman of the cloth.

"Lilette of Ragash, formerly of the Falwood."

"Thou'rt the Lady Yldore, I doth presume? 'tis a pleasure to make thine formal acquaintance, at last."

---

A pause emerged as the figure on the stairway considered Lilette's curtsey and general presentation. The conclusion of this study trilled from her with slight approval:

"Charmed." The stairway tinkled from even lighter steps, until the shadows yielded the contours of her face and cascading black hair. The hair fell in sinuous locks to cover her left eye, whilst her other orb sparkled like a tiny diamond caught in the enchanted light, competing with her similarly glittering diamond jewelry, full of luxurious enterprise. Pursed, crimson lips eased into a languid smile, mildly inviting, though greatly mischievous. Her ivory face juxtaposed all the blackness adorning her, like a crescent moon half swallowed by midnight. Once she reached the end of the stairway, taking her sweet time before responding to the greeting, the lady of the house went on at length: "I am indeed Lady Yldore. So fear not, you have arrived at the correct estate. But you may call me Xeraphine, as friends do. The pleasure is all mine, Lady Lilette."

Lilette Blackbriar

There was something about that voicing coming of those lips which caused the elf to shift in place. Lady Yldore slowly closed the distance between them, and in the silence, Lilette appraised her like a jeweler at work.

Still, her choice to refer to the elven maiden as Lady was met with a pleased smile.

"As thou wishest." she hummed.

The little nun continued to stare up at her for a moment before jolting out of her thoughts.

"Ah! I ken naught what the smith wrote to thee, so I shalt make clear mine intentions;"

"I wouldst do commerce with thee, though I hath an unorthodox request."

"Tis about mine blade, thou'st see. 'tis-"

She hesitated, and looked over her shoulder.

"Mayest we talk privately within thine halls, or shallst I await this parlour of which thou spoke?"

Specifically her gaze seemed to drift towards Dun Marsh's last known whereabouts, unsure if he could be trusted with such identifying information as what she must unfortunately reveal to her host.

"Forgiveth mine secrecy, Miss Xeraphine, 'tis a matter most personal I assure thee."

---

Xeraphine raised an open palm, halting Lilette's courtesy.

"You need ask no forgiveness, my lady. We treat matters here with the utmost of discretion." Her eye twinkled with pride. "That is part of our specialism. Please, if you will follow me into the parlour, and we shall see to this blade of yours. Master Marsh should have managed to prepare it by now."

She opened a door next to them near the stairway, bidding Lady Lilette to walk through first. A narrow corridor led to another portal at the end, from which the clanging of placed cutlery and tableware could be heard. On the way there, they walked past a great painting, standing side by side with two other paintings, near dominating the whole space of the corridor.


The first painting depicted a stately gentleman, wearing a fine cloak of black fur, golden jewelry and a black doublet with white collars. Though the artist had allowed some of his ruddy complexion to shine through, the full hair and neatly groomed salt-and-pepper beard spoke of a man in the prime of his vitality and mental faculties. His one hand rested comfortably on a golden rapier by his side, the other planted on his side, his stance full of collected poise.

"My father, Kezrim Yldore." Xeraphine would explain. "The head of House Yldore. Ah, but did he complain of the hours he would have to stand still and the sluggish pace of the artist." Her formal tone gave way for brief mirth at the past, before a rattling cough issued from the rafters, near shaking the house with a violent fit. An old man, it sounded like, coughing his lungs out and gasping for air, before subsuming into muffled breathing and muttering. Xeraphine's face darkened, her previous humour strangled by the noise.

Lilette Blackbriar

"Ah, most excellent." she would nod to the passing Lady and follow her lead.

The portal at the end of this corridor was certainly an oddity, something she'd not seen in recent years since her trip to Elbion. However, it was the enormous painting which stole her gaze longest.

"A man who doth value his time, methinks."

Lilette smiled to the woman, these paintings filling her chest with an air of nostalgia.

Coughing. She heard coughing, and old memories bled a very different hue into those very same, dead, lungs. The pale girl swallowed, casting an almost sympathetic gaze towards the rafters. Oh yes, she knew that sound all too well.

"...Lord Yldore, I doth presume..." she said, rather than ask.

"How long...?"

---

Xeraphine turned away from the painting in a snap. Steel entered her voice:

"Indeed. Two years or so. The best physicians are seeing to him."

Not that they had any way of healing him. All they could patch up was his reputation with the illusion of improvement. Xeraphine whisked down the corridor, her stride increasing its length, walking by two other paintings. One of a dark-haired child in a purple dress, looking cautiously happy and plump-cheeked. The third painting was torn to shreds, barely showing a black coat and some ostentatious background. Yet it hung as neatly in place as the two others.

Xeraphine opened the door at the end, urging in Lilette, haste thinly concealed.

Within, Durn Marsh had set up the parlour for two.

Lilette Blackbriar

"...'tis a sound I know well..." she said, and nothing more.

Where Lady Yldore's features hardened, the nun's softened with something that could have been sympathy, drooping into a pensive frown that alluded to much and yet specified little.

Her gaze did not rise from the floor until nearly passing the defaced artwork upon the wall, knitting puzzled brows at this ruin that must surely have been the immortalized likeness of a living person once. Perhaps she'd gawked overlong, upset her ladyship, who was now urging her through the door.

She paused a half second to tear her eyes off the paintings, and stepped through the door with a lightfooted graced in those small, quiet steps.

"Please, forgiveth mine prying, Miss Xeraphine," she said, wandering to her seat.

"I studieth medicine and maladies, thou see'th, at the Bamaristan in Ragash."

"An olde habit, though it doth warm me so, to hear he is seen to."

---

A short flight of stairs led up to the parlour. Durn bowed before them, hand over his breastplate, having executed his work and set up a central table with an empty sword stand on the crimson tablecloth. The snug darkness only submitted some of the room for a few candles and a gently babbling fireplace, cracking and popping faintly in the corner, licking small tongues of flame. The long table was set for two, cutlery and goblets arranged, near a pot of steaming mulled wine. A third, smaller goblet, a so-called 'tasting' goblet, rested near it, a uniquely Allirian tradition of allowing guests a taste from it before dedicating their goblet to any particular drink.

Outside a window, curtains pulled aside like on a stage, the gloomy performance of Outer City spires and chimneys could be glimpsed through the grey smog. It pressed against the window pane like an ethereal beast, seeking entrance into the insular manor.

"We pray for his health," Xeraphine said in response to Lilette; little faith in her own words. "You studied in Ragash, you say?" She led them to the chairs, where Durn pulled out one for Lilette. Meanwhile, eyeing the size of the sword on Lilette's back, Xeraphine daintily took the small sword stand and handed it to her manservant, who promptly whisked it away. "I should like to see it, some day. I hear the Alabyad Palace is truly a wonder to behold."

Careful, neutral courtesy had commandeered her tone. She extended a hand at the table, inviting Lilette to sit. Durn promptly filled two goblets of mulled wine for them, forgetting or not bothering to use the tasting goblet. Xeraphine's eyes indicated the doorway, silently prompting Durn to take his leave of them. Before he could do so, he seemed to find it prudent to ask:

"Ah, shall I take that slicer off your back, m'lady?"

Lilette Blackbriar

"Ah, indeed." she answered with quiet enthusiasm.

"I hadst once the honour of meeting with the Empress-regent amidst the palace."

"Never ere mine arrival hadst I beheld such towering structures."

The young maiden took her seat as bid, casting a wry little smirk at the sword stand being so hurriedly removed. The blade was indeed quite large, a longsword of near-equal length as herself, forged to be wielded by men much stronger than she, yet the maiden showed no sign of burden.

To the question of it's removal however, Lilette frowned thoughtfully.

"Mm. prithee keep it safe? 'tis the item o' commerce I wishest discussed with thine lady."

The reluctance transferred from her voice to hunched shoulders, and the tapping of nails against her goblet whilst carefully undoing the straps with her other hand.

She eyed the 'tasting goblet' confusedly but said nothing, sipping from her own instead.

"Never had this vintage afore, Is it local?"

---

"Local indeed, through the artifice of House Iskandar. Grapes are one of few things to grow here. Leave the weapon here, Master Marsh. It will make for excellent table conversation."

Durn did as commanded, and by Lilette's leave, would take the great sword and prostrate it on the table with as much grace as the gods saw fit to give him. His cheeks grew flushed and blew like a bellows, just about managing to angle the blade on the table, keeping both furniture and weapon clean of needless dents or scratches.

Xeraphine herself took a seat at the far end, crossed her leg over the other and extended an open hand, fingers poised for a stem. Seconds after, Durn hastened to fill her goblet with mulled wine and rush to unite drink with her awaiting hand. His efforts thus summoned, she waved him away with the other hand, and the manservant hobbled out and closed the door behind him, eliciting a quiet click.

"Now then. We have privacy." She took a small, pondering sip, then gestured with her goblet at the sword. "Shall we debate your weapon or further pontificate upon the taste of this vine?"

Lilette Blackbriar

"Mm." the 'nun' took a sip, "I'll not tarry then."

She ran her fingers along the flat of her blade, gaze transfixed, chin held a little higher as she recalled the history seeped into elven steel.

"Tis enchanted, thou see'th. yet this is not enough."

"This heirloom-blade doth answer a particular bloodline in their hour of need, and shalt be passed down to a warrior of inhuman strength."

"I wouldst see it reforged, enchantment intact."

Finger and gaze lifted from the sword.

"And of greater mass."

Her gaze faltered then, and Lilette seemed to wring her hands as pride and inquisitiveness retreated.

"I wilt provide thee silver, of course, or a service in recompense. So too wilt I arrange transport for such a hefty weapon, though I mayest require assistance to place it upon the wagon."

She took another sip, and allowed a hopeful glance at her host.

"Can thou maketh such a weapon?"

---

"Reforging a weapon while keeping its enchantments intact? A difficult task indeed. I can see why you sought an audience."

A thoughtful hum escaped her, observing the already massive weapon with a mulling sip.

"Nothing is impossible for the careful and ambitious. I suspect the price will come to gold rather than silver, unless you possess a truly vast quantity of it, or an equally valuable service to offer. But I wonder though; what sort of material is this rendered from? The steel itself looks rather unique. And you say you want this - larger?" A scoff of disbelief emerged. "Seems more fitting for a battering ram than a weapon to swing."

Lilette Blackbriar

Hope beget despondency.

Gaze fallen, she drowned her frowning lips ever so gently in wine. Options were weighed under the sound of Xeraphine's voice, coin and years counted, tipping the scale of odds ever out of favor.

And then she scoffed.

Lady Yldore scoffed at the one piece of home left.

"Tis elvish steel." she breathed.

"Mine brother's steel."

The young woman excused herself from the table, taking her wine to the window where might stare at the smog choked streets below. So many little smithies, so many hammers beating in disunion.

"There was a melody to it," she began.

"The hammers, shouldst one listen close. 'tis what he told mean of this city, when he returnst to us many years ago."

"A Yldore ere thee told him the same; "Tis too large, too unwieldy." Yet he spoketh of thine house alike miracle workers, who took'st of his steel and made the blade upon the table."

There was a gloomy quality in her eye, and almost pleading frustration in her voice.

"I am not mine brother, nor am I half the knight he was."

"But I am possessed of his strength." she swallowed.

Lilette made a half turn, lips thinned to a frown, brows draped pleadingly over her eyes.


"I've naught our gold, yet I wilt provide thee a service, whatsoever it taketh."

"Wilt thou do as thine forebearers hadst done?"

---

Xeraphine eyed Lilette's back for a long beat. This elven figure, as pale and pristine as a marble statue, staring mournfully at the smog-clad Outer City; reminiscing about her brother and the past of her sword.

A soft exhalation of bemusement left Xeraphine's nose, and her face dipped in consideration. She forgot how long-lived elves could be and was reminded that they often remembered humans for their past generations. She spoke of an Yldore before her time, but that could have been any member of her family. A hundred years ago? Two hundred? Five? Who was to say? The potential gap in years proved almost too much to fathom.

The strength of her brother. Lilette truly had to admire him; Xeraphine could hear the awe and respect she held for him, whoever he had been. Xeraphine's head turned slightly, considering the door they had left. The canvas all but torn from its frame in the corridor. She had nearly forgotten what familial respect sounded like. Instead, all she felt was an empty gnaw, a lack that couldn't be satisfied, a stomach craving something all the fields of the Reach couldn't provide.

Lilette Blackbriar said:

"I've naught our gold, yet I wilt provide thee a service, whatsoever it taketh."

"Wilt thou do as thine forebearers hadst done?"

Click to expand...

Xeraphine's goblet landed on the table with a tinny chink. Her gloved hands folded and calculation took to the fore, glinting from her exposed eye in the candlelight. Lilette had already proven a measure of her strength in carrying that slab of steel around like it was toy weapon. Force like that could be quite instrumental.

"House Yldore prides itself in acknowledging its past arrangements. So why should I not honour a return patron?" Her hands spread with her rhetorical question, wry amusement lacing her tone, while the addendum: even one returned from centuries past privately idled in her mind. "Perhaps there is something you could do for us. Besides, reforging a weapon of this calibre will take its time. They say engaging work makes the time fly away. And this sort of work might keep you plenty occupied."

Lilette Blackbriar

Her lips pursed, then curled into a relieved smile.

"A returned patron? hmh," she chortled, "he would'st have liked that very much."

Lilette returned to the table with a newfound weightlessness, pausing to glance at her own reflection in the blade before she sat. Was she worthy to wield this thing of grace as her brother had done? perhaps not, but Xeraphine would adapt it to her new form, and perhaps in wielding it then, she would rise to the occasion.

"I knewest I'd chosen rightly." she said warmly.

"And pray tell, what manner of work dost thou speak? Mine work as a doctor, or mayhaps the clerical work of Celestial scripture?"

There was a curious and almost excited lilt to the elf's voice, and even eye.

Her mind swam oceans of possibility, for what service would this house of noble iron ask of her that was so engaging if not the aforementioned? Nostalgia had set anchor now, memories of her family's servants and all the ways they'd kept her and her siblings as children. Perhaps she too might find herself a babysitter or lady in waiting to another of noble blood.

A glimpse at the life she so sorely missed.

---

"Not quite."

Xeraphine breezed out of her chair. Like a shadow thrown by the argent-haired nun, Xeraphine's umbral form of dark hair and satin hovered behind her guest, a sharp smile of opportunism cutting her features, equally opposed to Lilette's earnest countenance. Her hands folded behind her back, like she was about to concoct some sororal scheme rather than the black market offer she had in store.

"You see, we are not in need of healing, either of the physical or spiritual kind, but of protection. Our enemies seek to undermine us. Cut us off from our craft, as it were -- that very craft to which you might be a beneficiary." She paused, walking around Lilette in a semi-circle, inspecting her much in the same manner she had sized up her blade before. "You say you are possessed of your brother's strength. You bear his arms, and if I am not quite mistaken, you seem to carry his creed as well. Tell me. What manner of elf was he? And what happened to him?"

Lilette Blackbriar

Xerephine's shadow fell upon her like a soft cloak, or perhaps a funeral shroud.

"Protection, thou sayest?" she said in hushed, almost awe struck tones.

Her expression turned a touch more serious when she eyed the Lady Yldore over her shoulder, then the other, as the woman circled her in a way that would've seemed predatory to someone more worldly than Lilette. But this tale of injustice, of foul schemes against an ailing house?

Irresistible, to one romanced by chivalry.

"Ah," she shrunk back into her chair at the mention of her brother.

"Tis a tragic tale, I doth confess."

"Illness, or a curse beside, tookest him some half a decade or so by the human calendar."

A pause swallowed her words, and the floor her eyes.

"He..." she exhaled slowly, "he wert a good man, my brother."

"Godewyn wert a big lad for one of elvish blood, yet good hearted and true. He fought with honor to defend us from the humans of Vel Anir."

"He taught me of noblesse oblige, and wouldst bring me storybooks from his travels."

Lilette smiled at her own bittersweet nostalgia.

"Tales of chivalry and adventure all."

The elf took a moment to sip her wine and wrest control of her face.

"I ehm. I am yet unknighted, but I doth make effort to live by his example."

---

Xeraphine stopped mid-stride, one heel not quite planted with the rest of the foot. Her motion mirrored her calculation. What an interesting specimen Lilette proved to be. Xeraphine could think of a dozen different knights in this city that would shatter any illusions about the inherent chilvalric nature of such a station. Knights that wasted their titles slamming back mugs of ale and pestering whorehouses, itching for the next grand tourney to prove their worthless mettle in games of crossed lances and appropriated armour.

But why crush such ideal notions when it could be employed most efficiently?

"The greatest of knights are sadly some of the most unsung. 'Tis a crime, verily. I am certain your brother was one such, ah, valiant warrior."

Her heel found purchase, grounding herself before Lilette, one hand resting comfortably on the near invisible pommel of her stiletto, its scabbard so dark it was all but camouflaged against her dress. Xeraphine produced an encouraging smile and a gentle tilt of her head that seemed to indicate she measured Lilette's personal honour.

"True knighthood exists not in its title, Lady Lilette, but in action and courage. And this city provides plenty of scum and scoundrels to prove such mettle, believe you me. Yes -- I believe I may have work that could match your skill."

Her fingers drummed gently on the pommel, and she sized up Lilette's blade once more.

"By the week's end, a ship is going to dock in the harbour. A ship called The Balance. It is a shipment we have awaited for quite some time. And those who work against us wish to plunder it once it arrives in the Allirian Strait. I would greatly appreciate you protecting this shipment and ensuring it remains in our hands, while we work on your blade."

Lilette Blackbriar

"Verily indeed," sighed Lilette wistfully, "He is sorely missed by comrade and kin alike."

She hadn't even noticed the dirk hidden among Xeraphine's clothes, preoccupied with such flattery.
It was everything she wanted to hear; a perfect trap.

"Thou thinkest so? truly...?"

She looked up at the dark haired woman and the spark of genuine gratitude set her eye alight with childlike innocence. Her ears perked up, creating small points in her veil to better soak up the details as though battle plans for a great crusade again evil, and for the first time in her unlife, the little knight felt less like an imposter.

"Thou would'st see me defend thine ships, from those who work against us?"

Oh yes, Us.

The elf glanced at Godewyn's sword, brows knit in thought, but when she looked to Xeraphine again, her jaw settled with a sense of hopeful determination.

"I wilt need a sword, and mayhaps armor or shield." she said, or perhaps instructed.

"This ship, wilt she arrive under cover of night or bathed in golden sun? I must confess an inclination to working by starlight, as doth mine fellows of the Celestialist church."

A half truth, characterized by only the briefest break in eye contact.

But what was one lie when both would benefit so?

---

"We do not know. It should have arrived last month. But reports place it close to our city now. Within a week of sailing under fair winds and a fortnight by land. I will show the route, however, so that you might encounter it. It will be coast-bound for the rest of its journey, a schooner sailing under black sails."

Xeraphine went to a cupboard and pulled out a drawer, after which she extricated a scroll from a gold-filigree case. This parchment she rolled out on the table, using the nearby goblets to keep it straight.
Xeraphine drew her stiletto in such a soft whisper of steel she might as well have drawn a pen from her belongings. Its onyx-black blade pointed first to Alliria, before moving up the western coast of the Allirian Reach, where arrows indicated the predicted journey of the ship. The tip of her blade finally ended on an indicated circle further north.

"Its last known location was up the Savye river in this area, in a port town known as Gablieux. It had sustained damage to its hull and needed to remain there for repairs. If you follow the coastline, then you are bound to discover it, either in the port town itself or on your way there."

Xeraphine lifted her thin blade, as long as her underarm, holding it up to her own satisifed inspection. The black steel split her face in twain, her eye flicking from its steel to Lilette.

"You shall have a weapon. And not only that, you will be in a company of like-minded souls. We have several blades forged from an alloy mixture of Emril, or 'deep steel,' as they call it, and Celestine iron. The iron that fell from the stars and which our family were the first to hone. I believe this alloy will make for a fine component to enhance your blade as well. Heaven and earth united into one glorious feat of metallurgy. We affectionately refer to it as Yldorel Iron. Or Black Iron, to some."

Lilette Blackbriar