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."

---