Quest Shipment Recovery

The meeting point was chosen for its anonymity, no doubt. In the dying dusk, Pitchgate stooped below the shadow of its mightier brethren; the towering gates and walls that marked grand entrances to Alliria. In their gloom, a small gate fit for a country town teetered between the Outer City and the Areck Slums, as reluctantly as its meagre sentries, faces sour below pot-helmets, knowing they had gotten the shorter end of the stick in their duties. It led one to the bit of wetland near the coast, too muddy and untamed for most merchant carts to bother crossing, preferring greater gates and drier footing.

Portcullis shrieking in rusty lament, it allowed exit for those who sought escape from the Outer City into the unprotected slums, stone giving way for rickety wood. The guards looked upon any such traveler with scepticism; the sort of scepticism that weighed the options insanity or stupidity equally on their scales of experience. But for those seeking to come in? The gate only reluctantly opened, its manned operation knowing who brought trouble and who brought manpower to the districts of various crafts beyond.

A group on horseback would already stand out by their sheer mounts. No meagre mules here — no, these horse were all black as night and powerful, muscles rippling below saddlebags and harnesses. The queue of denizens seeking entrance to the Outer City gave a wider berth around this company, chief among them two figures, both wearing long cloaks, equally black as their horses, hoods drawn well over their faces, as if made to melt into the night. Below those hoods, though, they might as well have been night and day.

The first was a human with stubbled skin, mouth puckered into a taught line. His leather gloves clenched tight on the reins of his horse, a rapier jutting out from below his cloak like an open-ended question. If tension could be described with a person, it might well use this man, looking as taught as a bowstring.

The other, however, lounged in his saddle as if propped up by cushions below his cloak. Similarly, he wore a lazy smile — all gleaming white teeth, daring anyone to come question his presence. Hair white as woven moonlight spilled out from his hood, veiling skin too solidly dark and midnight blue in its tinge to belong to a human.

"You think she'll arrive, then?" asked this smiling rascal of the human.

"Oh, she will. You should have seen the look on my sister's face meeting her. I don't think I've seen her this intrigued since she received a diamond dagger from Lazular."

The white-haired rider turned his head subtly, noting the sulking tone in his companion.

"Does my eye spy a touch of jealousy here, Master Fane? A lack of familial affection, perhaps?"

A snort from Fane near matched the one from his restless horse.

"Nothing of the sort, drow. But I know that look. It always precedes a dangerous plan. And that nun, well — she seemed innocent in the way I find few to be these days," Fane's lower face twisted with regret, and he raised his reins, as if considering making it back through Pitchgate. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Nonsense, my good fellow. A spot of wind in our hair and then a leisurely sail back home. What could possibly go wrong?"

"If you're attempting at humour, you're sorely lacking. In any case, what do you gain from risking life and limb for my sister's whims?"

The smile below the drow's hood widened — and hardened into something much more disturbing.

"That is for her and I to know. But now that you mention it, I think I know which look you mean . . ."

"That so?"

"Mmm--yes, I believe I saw it right before I corrupted her soul with my particular craft. Frightening, really. I never knew humans to have such endurance, such vigour . . ."

"On second thought, keep your lying mouth shut. I don't want to hear your deranged fantasies."

The drow tapped a long-nailed finger to his chin, as if mulling over a philosophical conundrum.

"Now I wonder how a nun compares to a noble. Are they flagellants, by any chance—? Or perhaps— ah, hello, where you going now?"

Fane couldn't endure the drow's lascivious pontifications any longer, cantering his horse out of earshot.

Lilette Blackbriar

Lilette Blackbriar said:

"Ser Yldore." she bowed her head.

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Fane gave her a nod of greeting back, then ducked his head below his hood and looked away, as if embarressed. If Rae'twyn could believe the manservant, their first meeting had gone rather disastrously. Perhaps the young gambling addict finally felt a spot of shame? An interesting turn, to be certain.

The group parted to reveal two horses: saddled, ready and riderless. Rae'twyn took the opportunity to slip off from his own mount first, movement fluid as oil, and take one of these horses by the bridle. Thus leading it to Lilette, he offered it with exaggerated reverence.

"I present to you -- your mount. Lasse Sua'co, I like to call him." Rae'twyn clapped the black stallion with something akin to rakish fondness, mischevious grin meeting the watchful eye of the horse. He waved his hand quickly, as if to dismiss nurturing his mother tongue. "Lady Lilette, was it? Your reputation precedes you. I am at your service." He made a flourish of his hand and gestured at himself, right below where a strange ruby pendant dangled from his chest. "Rae'twyn is the name. And we are but waiting for one more. I am led to understand that, ah . . . you are to lead this quest. Is that not so?"

Marek
Lilette Blackbriar

A peal of cutting laughter first issued from Rae'twyn, his face contorting into a mirthful mirror of a grin. Mockery reflecting mockery.

"Oh, I'm afraid none of you could afford my back. Least of all you, my dear Marek." His grin turned as oily as his movements, pouring into a friendly smile; about as friendly as a loan shark seeing a return customer — all pearly, sharp teeth.

Marek said:

“So. We riding out, or are we still waiting on someone else to make their dramatic entrance?”

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"Well, we were just waiting for your timely arrival. But I agree, let's not waste any time in saving your aching purses, mm? We wouldn't want to let down your creditors, after all."

The pointed remark was not only aimed at Marek this time, but at Fane Yldore as well, whose face darkened grimly below the hood. Rae'twyn didn't seem to mind at all though, flashing his eyebrows knowingly at Lilette and making a last, commenting bob of his head to his fellow elf:

"Then he finally comes in at last, crying 'haste, haste!' Tut, tut. The young are in such a rush, aren't they?"

Lilette Blackbriar
Marek

Rae'twyn at first pretended not to hear Marek's scathing comment, saddling his own horse.

Still, he couldn't help but indulge in a tiny comment.

"Ah, yes. Tragic indeed."

Airy musings, very much like a little song of pontification to himself, just loud enough for everyone to hear -- and just as high-strung courteous as Marek's pantomime. But whereas Marek had merely adopted the role for a few moments, Rae'twyn had ingrained it for centuries. His act was beyond acting at this point.

He allowed himself a little private smile as they rode away. It was near adorable how far the human's imagination went towards demeaning displays; such as licking rich buttocks. That was child's play. Oh, if only he knew how things went down in the District of Pleasure . . .

Reminiscing in feats of debauchery and lust could wait though. Their fearless leader was cantering ahead of them, seeming about as pleased with the whole affair as Fane was glum. No wonder when she was equipped with a brand new piece of Yldorian steel and a title of some importance.

He wondered, though. Did she know? Did she suspect the web of intrigue and malice spun by their shared employer? Perhaps not. Then little did she know how trapped in its silks she already was. Some ensnared themselves willingly, such as himself. Attend the strands of one spider to avoid another. He felt the thrill of icy dread travel down his spine; a familiar feeling by now, one he had come to view as an old friend.

For a human, he had to grant Xeraphine some credit. She could near rival the matriarchs of Zar'ahal in her devious designs. But alas, she lacked their centuries of experience. She was playing a dicey game, and if she lost, he intended to be far beyond hill and mountain by then. But if she came out victorious . . . well, Alliria had proven not to be the worst place in the world. Perhaps he could enjoy it for a century or more.

Thus they rode the winding roads, hooves slurping and squelching mud, passing by many a bedraggled and unfortunate soul. When the slums gave way, marshes and empty fields welcomed them, travelling a good handful of miles from the main road along farms and fields normally seen from a distance.
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The Hooded Woman

After four days of travel, Rae'twyn had grown accustomed to their rhythm. They travelled by night, from dusk to dawn, and slept in the day in farms or inns, paying enough to warrant privacy. A much more preferable mode of travel for him, for certain, avoiding having his red eyes scorched by that malignant, glowing mace they called a 'sun' in these parts.

Secondarily, it afforded them fewer chance encounters. They could travel in relative peace and avoid detection. The humans in the company might struggle with this inversion of sleep and day, but Lilette, at least, seemed perfectly unbothered by it. Perhaps she had been drow in another life.

However, they couldn't completely avoid detection.

They were being followed.

On the second day, Rae'twyn had noticed her. The same woman who had slept in a nearby hedge and then entered the same inn on their third day of travel. Oh, she wore different cloaks, to be certain, disguising herself well and always keeping to a distant corner. But he recognised the gait; the faint limp in her left foot, as if she dragged it like a stump along with the rest of her. The shooting forth of her right side, leading with her shoulder, as though prepared to throw herself past thresholds or through the nearest window at a moment's notice. Different scarves covered her face, hood always drawn up, but he didn't need to see it to recognise her.

As such, he had amused himself by giving her a name. She reminded him of a goblin slave he had once known, always dragging himself in a bundle of clothes like a walking, overstuffed knapsack. Hobblegobble.

And now, as they all sat around a round table, reaching their fourth dawn on the road in the safe, wooden cavern of The Gentle Wyvern, he saw Hobblegobble again. Chatting up the barkeep, making idle conversation with others at the bar -- classic trick to blend into the environment. He should know. He had done it on several occasions himself.

So far, he had said nothing. After all, it could have been someone travelling the same way, in the same manner. Or he could have mistaken two for the same person. But today, there could be no doubt.

Fane rose abruptly from their table, seeking to escape the lull of silence.

"I will get the drinks."

By now, Fane recalled which drink each preferred. Still, Rae'twyn pestered him.

"Oh, be sure to get me their house wine."

"Yes, I know--"

"And make certain it isn't too thin."

"Yes, yes, dro--"

"You might have to taste it yourself, Master Rain, just to be certain. I'll allow it."

Fane sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, as if seeking patience from Astra. Rae'twyn had started calling him 'rain' for his constant complaining about the weather -- perhaps to catch his gloomy attitude, as well.

"Oh, I only jest. I'm certain you can select a proper one. You're a man of experience on that account."

An incomprehensible mutter escaped him as he left, something akin to mouthy bloody drow. Rae'twyn's ruby eyes followed him up to the bar, where he stood next to their personal stalker. The drow rested his chin in his hand, then leisurely rolled his head to the side, taking in Marek and Lilette.

"Well, I hate to say it . . . but I fear we have another louse tacked onto our company. And not one of the lady's employ."

Lilette Blackbriar
Marek

As Lilette tugged at her hood and showed her worry, Rae'twyn's eyes glittered with amusement. Where had Xeraphine found this one? Her open worry struck him as almost endearing.

With lazy convenience, he nodded towards the bar where Fane stood.

"She is right there, beside Master Rain now. The one submerged in her cloak and scarf. Oh, would you look at that, even chatting to him, it seems." Cue sleazy smile, beaming gleeful imagination. Eyebrows flashing at Lilette. "You reckon she is making a pass at him?"

Lilette Blackbriar
Marek

By now, Fane and the woman were talking, their backs shrouding their hands. The barkeep lumbered up before them, pouring their drinks in mugs and cups. The woman leaned in and whispered in Fane's ear. Fane nodded and looked away, while ale and wine flowed, passing coin to the barkeep. More people gathered around the bar, obscuring the view to the two.

Rae'twyn nodded again, pleased that Marek carried a solid pair of eyes. For a human, of course.

"Well, I think this is an excellent time for our graceful leader to make that decision. I'd be curious to see what happens either way." He conjured a dagger out from his sleeve and sank the sleek piece of steel into a crack in the table. "You say the word, Lady Lilette, and I'll make things interesting."

As quickly as the dagger appeared, he cradled it in folded hands -- and when he opened those hands again for a suggestive gesture, the weapon vanished.

"A little exercise never hurts, after all."

Lilette Blackbriar
Marek