Private Tales The Blade of Night

"Black sails~?" she echoed in amazement "Canst sails be red, or mayhaps green too?"

Now that was a striking image! Surely difficult to see by night though, but perhaps her nocturnal vision meant her well suited.

She then froze at the sight of Xeraphine's hitherto unseen knife, thankful it was only a pointing implement for now, though it was certainly distracting. She caught the gist of it though, follow the coast, find the ship there or Gablieux.

"Hmm. I may need to fetch mineself a horse, If am to venture so far."

She pressed her thumb to her lip.

The blade however possessed both gaze and thought, as did Xeraphine's own eye when it met hers.

"Drow steel?" she chimed, "And a gift from the stars?"

"Stories hast I heardest, of black blades that ne'ere dull, and shirk mighty blows by night."

"I wilt maketh good use of this gift, I assure thee." said the elf reverently.

"And where shalt I find this company o' thine, So that I may show thee gratitude for such wondrous gifts?"

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"You shall find them outside Pitchgate, the northernmost gate out of the Outer City. I will summon them to meet you there. Master Marsh shall accompany you. As to your mount and blade, I believe I have the ideal choices in mind."

An interruption announced itself outside the parlour. A long, drawn-out roar of dismay, reverberating through the walls. A man's voice. Stomping feet came up the stairs before barging through the door, followed by the apologetic voice of Durn Marsh, battling with the voice of the intruder for pre-eminence:

"My lady, I tried to stop him--"

"Hands off, Marsh, I wish to speak to her. Xeraphine! Where in the unholiest dark ones is my bloody stash, I know you--"

Both the rude invader and Marsh stopped on the threshold, spotting Lilette. A man in his mid twenties with a mane of black, shaggy hair, bleary, narrow eyes and uncontrolled and uneven stubble marring his cheeks, chin and neck. A half drunk bottle sloshed in his hand and his dark tunic and hose looked as weary and battered as himself.

The sight of the nun gave him pause, but soon he regathered himself with a haughty sniff and only a slight slur tracing his words:

"You seeking redemption now for your sins?" A swig followed this conclusion, wiping the grape off from his chin with the back of his hand. "About time."

Xeraphine smiled with about as much warmth as an ice-capped mountain peak. Wielding her courtesy like armour, she gestured at the impudent young man with an open palm.

"Lady Lilette, may I present my brother. Fane Yldore."


Lilette Blackbriar

Lilette froze at the sudden uproar, mercurial gaze wide and locked with the door.

Her otherwise delicate fingers had already made found her sword's hilt, neither gripping nor absent, but nevertheless ready.

It was Fane's silence that saved them both incident, her pale fingers slipping from hilt to goblet so that she may hide her embarrassed deep in her cup. Truth be told she wondered if Xeraphine felt the same way. Not for herself, but to share a roof with someone so...

Willfully disheveled.

A sentiment only reinforced by their introductions.

"Ah...?" she glanced up as if to question a terrible joke, but found no amusement in those blue eyes.

She had to wonder if his was the defaced portrait outside.

"Uhm," the nun curtly nodded towards Fane, "salutations, Ser."

"I am afeared mine business with Miss Xeraphine be of a material nature."

"Though I am capable of rendering thee spiritual services, if asked." she added, glancing at Xeraphine.

"Shalt I assess the particulars with Master Marsh, then? giveth thee... privacy?"

---

Lilette Blackbriar said:

"Shalt I assess the particulars with Master Marsh, then? giveth thee... privacy?"

Click to expand...

"No, that shan't be necessary." Xeraphine's voice was calm. Calm as a poised blade of cold steel. But her eyes burned like the forge such a blade might spawn from, searing into her brother. "Grant him a moment or two and he shall remember his manners."

Fane stepped forward with a bestial snarl, raising his pointing finger with his bottle.

"You flaming bi--"

In turn, Xeraphine raised her own finger, shushing him from a distance. Marsh's hand on his arm helped silence him.

"Think carefully before you utter another word, brother of mine. I would hate to expose how you squandered family funds on card and dice in the Mermaid's Tangle, on top of the expensive company you seek there. What ever would father say?"

All the wind abandoned his sails, his shoulders slumping with delayed shame. His eyes still smouldered in defiance, but they stuck to the floor rather than meet his sister's eye. Xeraphine smiled harshly. She knew his greatest fear to be what Kezrim would finally think of his second born on his deathbed.

"Now, then." She sauntered to the other end of the table, approaching her brother with all the coiled meditation of a panther stalking prey. Her stiletto hammered into the table for added effect, near causing him to jump. Suddenly, she turned, smirking at Lilette. "What say you we put him to use, my lady? I reckon he could aid you in our shared endeavour. Against receiving more coin for his aching purse."

Lilette Blackbriar

Lilette squeezed her hands, wringing to the surface what little blood remained beneath till the faintest hue of rose glimpsed light again.

She kept silent through the argument, staring as though it were completely alien.

Expensive company? she craned her neck.

The table shook, eliciting a shallow gasp from the elf. Xeraphine had her undivided attention now, everything from that smirk to the way she kept her brother in line through blackmail. One had to wonder; what sort of dealings did Godewyn have with these people...?

"Uhm," she glanced from him to her, "If thou wishest, Miss Xeraphine."

She regretted those words instantly. A knight would have spoken with poise.

"And if I mayest ask, what role shalt Mister Fane play in our endeavor? What beist mine role in relation to he?"

Following the orders of a drunken reprobate seemed... less than ideal, nor did he seem valuable as rations given his blood likely tasted of muck and cheap booze. Hardly better than the scum of Vel Anir, not what she expected of a noble at all.

It was written on her face, if one read between the lines, the subtle crease between her brows when she looked at him.

And the slight lidded glances exchanged with Xeraphine, subtly pleading.

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