Private Tales A Simple Escort Mission

[Oraya Urahil]

Oraya's back was straight and her pose absolutely perfect in the carriage. Her platinum blonde hair styled without one single strand out of place. Frigid blue Urahil signature eyes looked out as they passed by the outskirts of Vel Anir. While she looked like the calm and perfect noble lady on the outside, she was absolutely livid on the inside. Due to Felix's meddling, he had insisted on an escort for her to the city of Vel Acan.

She doubted his intentions were all for her safety.

She wondered if he suspected of her other talents. Her other endeavors. Regardless, she would not let him ruin her plans. She just had to play nice with these guards and whichever pour soul from the Academy they sent. Whether it was a full-fledged dreadlord or initiate. Perhaps multiple?

One way or another, she was planning to lose her escort.

Even with the growing rumors of the rogue Gilram and his merry band of miscreants. Another glance out the window to see if her so-called protectors had joined them yet.

Zael Castomir

 

[Zael Castomir]

"The longer an elf lives, the longer his ears get," said Oswen.

Gavo thought about it for precisely one second. "That's bullshit."

"No I'm dead serious. My father was in the Guard for twenty-five years."

"Twenty-five fuckin years," Gavo almost sounded like he pitied his friend's father.

Oswen kept on with his explanation: "He's been in plenty of action against elves. And he swears to Kress it's true. The best warriors were always the ones with the longest ears; you know, the ones who lived the longest. He says it's true, and I don't have any reason to doubt him."

"What if some elf is really good at fighting and he's only, say, twenty-five years old. Only as old as your Pa has been in the Guard, but a god of war, born good at it. Wouldn't his ears be long then if he's Falwood's gift to the elves? Shit, wouldn't his ears drag on the ground?"

"No, no, you're not getting it."

"I think I am getting it."

"No, you're not. Look, Gavo, it makes sense if you think about it."

"I am thinking about it and I think I get it and it has nothing to do with age. Well, not necessarily have anything to do with age."

These two Guardsmen, Oswen Forrester and Gavo Lightfoot, were on point in this escort mission. Easy job (and it'd be even easier once that Dreadlord Initiate joined them), one aristocrat, tucked away inside her carriage, and they were going through pretty secure Anirian lands and just a relatively short distance, that being from Vel Anir city to Vel Acan. Easy, easy job. So they were passing the time by having these sorts of in-depth, groundbreaking conversations as their horses leisurely trotted ahead of the Lady Urahil's carriage.

Ahead, though, looked like there was something blocking the road. A wagon, teetered over into a diagonal slant because the wheels on one side appeared to have been broken off. A small assortment of men, a merchant and some porters, were standing around it deliberating on how best to fix the wagon—if they could fix it.

Problem was, that busted wagon was taking up the road, and the ground to either side was too treacherous for Lady Urahil's carriage to navigate.

"Halt," Oswen half-said, half-called back to the carriage driver and to the two other mounted Guardsmen at the carriage's rear. If anything he sounded more annoyed than anxious or anything of that sort. He said flatly to Gavo, "You want to see what the fuck-up is or should I?"

"You're the lifer, go do your esteemed duty."

Oswen huffed amusedly. "When your year is up, I'm punching you in the mouth."

"Yeah? And do what? Break your delicate knuckles on my manly-as-fuck jaw?"

Oswen blew a hearty raspberry and said to Gavo, "Go tell Lady Urahil what the hold-up is. And be respectful or her family will fuck you up." And then he started off at a trot toward the broken wagon and the men scratching their heads around it.

Gavo turned his horse around and came up beside the carriage. He knocked on the carriage's door and then opened it and peeked in. "Lady Oraya, there will be a slight delay. We need to clear an obstruction from the road."

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

Oraya stiffened in her already straight posture as the carriage came to a halt. Cold-gaze fell upon the soldier for only a moment before they drifted back down to the notebook open upon the impeccable folds of her dress on her lap.

"Very well, Lightfoot. Do offer assistance if needed but take care not to further my reputation on being unpunctual." The quill in her hand was careful and elegant as ever in tracing its lines on the parchment. Might as well take advantage of a stopped carriage to continue this map.

The two guards in the rear, Tom and Jerry were each playing the game of whoever spots the first ten black horses in a field wins. Tom was up to three and Jerry was at five. As far as Tom was concerned, he was very much still in this.

"Ya recon we should offer them help?" Jerry tipped his chin toward Gavo.

"Nah. We're stationed back here. Gotta keep a look-out to - THERE! Right there. Black horse way up in that hill. That's my fourth," said Tom.

Jerry squinted and scratched at his beard. "I dunno, looks like kinda a dark brown."

"You fukin' blind? That's blacker than a piece of your Ma's burned cake.

"You shithead, my Ma doesn't burn her cakes."

Meanwhile, Oraya rolled her eyes inside the carriage. Perhaps she should step out and get some fresh air.

 

[Zael Castomir]

"What's the hold up?" Oswen said to the merchant and his porters, bringing his horse to a halt.

"Never trust an Elbion student, that's what. Well, alright, to be fair, this lout probably failed out of the College," said the merchant, exasperated.

"What's this now?"

The merchant waved his hand about in irritation. "He was a nice enough fellow, bought a couple of things, we got to talking, we're heading south and he's heading north, so on and so on, and I come to mention my wagon's squeaky wheel. He says he can fix that for me, and you know what he did? Dumb bastard ends up blowing off two whole wheels from my wagon! How the hell did he manage that?? So he makes some sheepish apology, looks all embarrassed, and then just goes scampering off! Last time I let some wiggly-fingered prick do something a craftsman ought to do!"

"Well, that's unfortunate," Oswen said, "but we've got to clear the way."

The merchant looked between his porters and Oswen and the other Guardsmen behind him, closer to the carriage. "Tell you what. We get enough hands on my wagon and we can force it off the road—I'll..." he sighed, "...I'll worry about fixing it later. This way you and your lot can pass. It won't take but a minute. Does this sound good?"

Oswen glanced back, surveyed the surrounding country. Some trees and bushes along the road, open fields, no thick forest this. No one had spotted anything concerning, they wouldn't be far from Lady Urahil's carriage, and even while helping the merchant it wouldn't take more than a quick glance back to ensure her safety. Alright, well, so long as they made this quick.

Oswen raised a hand and waved. "Gavo! Get Tom! Get Jerry! Bring them up here."

* * * * *​

Not so long after the trotting of horses went by the carriage, one of the doors opened up. A man jumped in; long blonde hair touched his shoulders, bangs partially obscured the eyepatch over his right eye, and he was dressed, funnily enough, in the robes of a College student.

He closed the door. Looked right at Oraya. Then held up his hands—he was unarmed—and grinned as genially as he could, though there was a hint of the awareness of just how sudden and potentially alarming his abrupt intrusion happened to be.

"You don't know me, Oraya, but you're in danger."

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

As Tom and Jerry rode past, complaining beneath their breaths and not being subtle about it Oraya couldn't help the lift of a few of her elegant fingers as they pressed gently into the side of one temple. They were leaving. Any signs of a growing headache should be receding and not growing. At least she did not have to hear about black horses anymore. For the next few moments.

Those Urahil ice-blue eyes of hers' drifted back down to the map she was working on. A flash of movement out of the corner of her vision. The carriage gave a small rock with the quiet click of the door. Gaze snapped upward.

There was a strange man in her cart.

A delicate sniff of her nose.

And he smelled.

But more importantly...

When was the last time he had a haircut?!

No wait.

THERE WAS A STRANGE MAN IN HER CART!!!!!!!!!!!! HER. CART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The journal in her lap was snatched up and wielded swiftly like a weapon as she went to smack it against the man's arm. Chest. Body. Anything within reach.

Even as he spoke her name and gave his warning her lips parted and she inhaled ready to shout for the guards.

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Hey. Woah. Stop. Stop it. Ah fuck! Relax," Zael said, not making much of an effort to defend himself because, frankly, he figured that'd likely exacerbate the situation. The journal struck his palms, his forearms, the funny bone in his right arm (hence the "ah fuck!"), slipped past his "guard" a couple of times and got him square on the chest and on the nose, Kress, she was vicious enough to make a Proctor or two blush.

"I'm not gonna hurt you."

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

Surprisingly or not, his slipped explicative did not cause her to blush. Or to raise her sandy brows along her pale skin in shock. But his lack of aggressiveness. Even his lack of defense caused her to pause. Only the first "G-" of guards made it out of her parted lips.

Her raised journal paused in the air, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths that were beginning to slow. Then her arm lowered but remained tense. As if to remind him that she could go back to swinging at any moment.

"Explain yourself immediately," she commanded with a huff.

The sounds of the guards working with the carriage owners ahead filtered lazily back to them.

 

[Zael Castomir]

He kept his hands up, palms clearly showing. In a world with magic—that is, things far more deadly than some steel in your hands—this might not mean much, but this along with not even trying to defend himself was all part of making himself appear exactly how he needed to appear to Oraya: non-threatening. Because yeah, the way he barged in here, who wouldn't get right to beating his ass or shouting for someone else to beat his ass. But he didn't have much of a choice here; he had one real shot to do this as cleanly and quietly as possible, and he took it, bet on it, hoped to Kress that it would work.

She was pissed, and rightfully so, but at least she didn't call out for her guards. Though he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Belethor Dyne," Zael said. "That name mean anythin to you?"

It just might. So far as Zael knew from talking and drinking with Dyne's ornery ass, he used to be one of House Urahil's top Dreadlords. Key phrase: used to be.

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

Her pointed jaw and what most called a perfectly proportioned face tensed. Belethor and his chestnut brown hair with eyes to match. A short temper to rival his magic which she couldn't quite remember what his gift had been. She only remembered that something happened to Amaux.

But that wasn't what made her father or Felix release the dreadlord from their house. She had no idea of knowing the details but she imagined it had something to do with coin. And she'd nearly bet the Tempest that Dyne had tried to steal from them. If that was the truth, he was lucky he got out alive, knowing Felix.

Oraya did not answer his question directly.

"I know you said I was in danger but are the twins?" If this scoundrel knew who she was no doubt he knew of Leander and Odessa. And for the first time since this blond man entered her carriage, she looked apprehensive. And the closer she looked at him she realized he seemed not much older than her dear Leander.

And of course she knew Leander and Odessa were in danger every day since they'd been sent to serve at that dreadful school. She wasn't above bribing those at the Academy to keep an extra eye on them. To keep them as safe as they possibly could be in an environment like that.

 

[Zael Castomir]

The twins. The ones from the class below him, the "Gilded" class, chock full of Urahils and Luanas and however many other noble names you could come up with. And one of these two twins was pretty damn hard to miss—heh, for more than one reason.

"They will be," Zael said, "right after Dyne gets to you. See, you were the better target."

And, well, there was no getting around this part. Best to get it over with as quickly and as soon as possible, because if nothing else then this was the thing which could be the dealbreaker—implying that he was a Rogue.

"Dyne's got it out for you. You and all the Urahils. I know...because he told me over drinks."

If the man had a weakness, it was that a few tankards of beer got him to yapping away about anything and everything that had him pissed off.

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

Dyne and his quaffed chestnut haircut that was far outdated could go rot in the ninth level of hell. She'd make sure of it to make sure he never got his grimy hands on her younger siblings. Did Felix know about all this?

Her perfect, full lips twisted into a frown.

"Didn't think you were an Elbion. Those robes are far too big and you have a desintcitly Anirian accent. Albeit far from refined."

A light sniff.

Her mind whirled on his words. What did he mean? She'd heard of the shadowy movement of these so-called rogue-dreadlords. While most would consider it secret information, Oraya had her resources to keep her informed on what was really happening at the Academy. And if this blond scoundrel was getting sloshed with Dyne, there were only a few outcomes as to why.

Those cold blue eyes of hers narrowed on the blond.

"Who are you and why would you warn me of any of this?"

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Wasn't tryin to fool ya." Zael gave a little nod of his head forward, toward the distant shouts of the men calling out one, two, three! "Had to fool the guy with the wagon."

Well, rough part number two was upon him. The implication of him drinking with Dyne was bad enough, and now honesty—which was the only way he might get any ounce of trust from Oraya—demanded that he be completely straight with her. Which meant giving his name. And, well, he didn't know just how widespread the news of Ganfarred was outside the military, but...fuck it, here goes nothing.

"Zael Castomir, and it's because Dyne doesn't give a damn who he hurts to make House Urahil bleed."

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

Oraya canted her head to the side and she swore she could hear Jerry's complaints and Tom's swearing as the sounds of the wagon being moved continued. Her lips pressed even thinner at his name.

Zael Castomir.

If the reports were to be believed, Zael was now one of Gilram's own. The Butcher of Ganfarred Keep. An up and coming initiate in his class. With a mouth on him worse than a sailor. Set to join the prestigious military only to suddenly turn. There were rumors as to why the sudden change.

1. He'd always been a spy of Gilram's.

2. He'd been offered considerable coin to turn.

3. Someone had threatened a rumored secret family he had stashed away somewhere. Or was it a group of concubines?

4. He was just a wild card.

Oraya didn't put much trust in rumors even as she weighed all the gossip in her mind. And of course all this could be a ruse. But why? If he was who he said he was, he could've killed her multiple times over by now. She was not like her siblings. She could not defend against magic with magic.

Her elegant fingers folded in her lap as she very calmly and diplomatically asked.

"Do you know where and when Belethor is going to attack or any other information of value?" Those frigid blue eyes of hers flickered to the carriage window. "Quickly, you do not have much time." Her men would be back soon. A part of her knew no matter the information unless she could come up with a plan, she and her men didn't stand a chance.

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Anywhere and anytime between here and Vel Acan. I don't know how Dyne caught wind of this, but he did," Zael said.

That was a matter for the House Urahil leadership to look into. Maybe Dyne paid somebody on the outside to do some snooping, maybe he still had a friend or two on the inside, but however it shook out, the fact was that right here, right now, Oraya was in terrible danger. Dyne wasn't specific on what his plan was with her, or with her siblings for that matter, but the imagination could conjure a whole host of nasty things.

Zael made like Oraya and gave a little glance outside the carriage window on his side of the interior as well. "That's the tricky thing, isn't it?" He looked back to her. "You tell me to get, I'm gone. Your men tell me to get, I'm gone just as fast. But you don't need me to tell you that, if me or somebody like me isn't here when Dyne finds you, they're dead men, and you yourself aren't gonna have a pleasant day."

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

It was one thing to give a friendly warning. It was another thing entirely to personally offer a measure of protection, which Oraya believed Zael to be doing. Her usually controlled facial features slipped into a glimpse of surprise.

"Zael Castomir. I wonder more and more about who you really are." The same could be said about her. But that was neither here nor there. She blinked and realizing she'd leaned a little closer to him; she sat back.

"I will not turn down any help you can provide." A small wrinkling of her nose as she'd almost repeated his basic language of 'get.' "We need a plan and we don't just need to stop Dyne. We need to kill him. And you cannot afford to be Zael Castomir around my men. That eyepatch and blond hair very much needing a cut, wash, and styling are a dead giveaway. If we can afford to be separated until the next small town, I think I can help you with a better disguise if you are amenable to a make-over."

 

[Zael Castomir]

Oraya's appraisal was more than he could have hoped for, and more than some folks who actually knew him would be charitable enough to grant him these days. Oraya could've slapped him, spit on him, shooed him out of the carriage and shouted at him as he scurried away, tail effectively tucked between his legs, but so long as she listened to him in some capacity then Zael was satisfied. Because what Dyne was planning just wasn't right; whatever grudge he had against House Urahil, Oraya, Odessa, fuck even Leander, none of them had anything to do with it other than havin' the last name which stoked his ire.

Her way of handling Zael's little...well, Zael problem, being himself, Rogue Dreadlord and Slayer of Ganfarred Keep that he now was, suited him just fine. So far as Zael could figure, it was either that, pretending to be someone else, or Oraya putting her skills of persuasion to the test by convincing her retinue why this was a good idea—this was certainly the cleaner of the two options.

Speaking of "clean," Oraya looked him over like he had been rolling around in a pigpen while awaiting the approach of her carriage. Yeah, sure, he had to go hiking through the woods for days through hostile Republic territory to even get here, had to go crawling around in those same woods to hide and lay in wait for her carriage after toasting the merchant's wagon wheels, but it wasn't that bad was it? Initiates and Dreadlords were always a little roughed up by travel. Zael pinched a lock of his hair between two fingers and gave it a brief glance when she mentioned it specifically. Oh come on now, he took care of it. Maybe not to an aristocrat's exacting standards, but care enough...though admittedly he hadn't given any thought to a cut since he walked out of Kimble's hideout.

"That'll do," Zael said, agreeing to the plan. "I'll shadow you. Not too close, but not too far, just in case. I don't know how you'll get some free time from your guards, but I'll bet you can think of somethin easy. We'll link up in the town, and you can help me with my..." How was it that Kristen had put it that one time? Ah yeah, "...presentation."

Zael grinned amiably.

"Fair plan?"

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

She may not understand it. But she wasn’t about to let help, when it came to her and some of her siblings’ lives, slip away. She’d half been prepared for a protest or even a violent outburst on Zael’s part at her suggestion. The smoldering bodies at Ganfarred Keep should’ve kept more caution in her tongue.

Oraya figured if she was soon about to lose her life, might as well be bold in the moments she had left.

And at least he understood, perhaps, where she was coming from and the importance of him being in disguise. And a smile. How strange.

A dip of her elegant chin in silent agreement. “The town that we’ll likely stop in for the night is not big. Wingfeather. There is a quant beauty parlor called, Bulgara’s Tusk.”

Not a typical Anirian name. But the nail work was on point.

“I’ll try to meet you there an hour after first light. Now go. I can hear Jerry’s cursing getting closer.”

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Wingfeather. Bulgara's Tusk. I'll find it. Be around it. All innocuous like."

Zael jerked his head and his gaze toward the window on the carriage door closest to him. Peered out. Judged it wasn't quite safe, but he had his hand on the door handle in preparation.

"Oraya?"

He glanced back to her.

"Thanks for givin me the time of day."

Then he looked out the window again, saw what counted as the best opportunity to slip away unseen, and opened the carriage door and shut it and disappeared back into the obscuring wilds from whence he came. Until Oraya's carriage arrived at Wingfeather, he'd be playing guardian angel from afar.

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

Without much further fanfare or fuss, Oraya and her dirty-mouthed guards arrived in Wingfeather with only the disgruntled offence of a wild horse or two who had to be shooed from their path. Good on her part, she exited the carriage and did not look like she was looking around for someone in particular. She and her guards were given separate rooms at a quant Inn, call the Broken Spoon.

It wasn't until the next morning when she exited that she saw one of her faithful guards again. And it was Jerry.

"Lady Oraya, where are y-."

"I have women's business to attend to in town at Bulgara's Tusk. You may accompany me but you are to wait outside the door." Oraya swept past him with as much authority in regality as if she was royalty.

Jerry stumbled to keep up. Poor, dear soul. "Ma'am. I really must insis-"

"Ma'am?!" Oraya spun around and stared at him coldly. "That title should be reserved for my mother if I still had one. Do I look that old to you?"

"N-n-o. I-I didn't mean anything by it ma'-I mean Lady." Jerry continued to sputter as Oraya turned as quickly, quite an impressive feat in the heels she was wearing, and took the steps out of the Inn's doors and toward that beauty shop. "It's just, the Captain will flog me if we let you out of our sight."

"I will deal with the Captain. You may wait outside the door. Unless you would like to discuss the monthly times of when a lady sheds blood?"

Jerry wheezed behind her and tripped.

"N-n-o."

"Very well, keep watch at the door and I will see you in a little bit."

 

[Zael Castomir]

Wingfeather was one of those little settlements that enjoyed being in the mighty shadow of Vel Anir city. Though it had yet to earn the distinction of "Vel" for some manner of merit, the town was nevertheless clean and tidy. Best of all it had no walls, so that made the task of entering town that much easier.

Oraya couldn't make it to Bulgara's Tusk on the day of, so Zael, not wanting to risk anything, had to make himself comfy outside the cozy confines of an inn. He found a spot outside of town, far enough away so that what nightly noise there was in the town could hardly grace his ears. A traveling cloak was part of his College Mage ensemble, fortunately enough, and so he sat down with his back to a tree, wrapped himself up in his cloak, let his head hang and slept.

One could say he slept with one eye open...but the saying kind of needed two for the arithmetic to work. Regardless, being in dangerous territory as he was, even in rest he kept a fair amount of alertness.

When the morning came, Zael waited by the parlor. He'd his hood up, of course, and had brushed locks of blonde hair over his eyepatch, and all this was helped by constantly looking down. In his hands he had a map, now a tome, now some parchment, a bunch of shit in a satchel for him to pretend study and pretend scrutinize like a man lost in thought, thinking of his next move, as he kept his eye out for Oraya.

And there she was. On her way.

One of her guards was with her, so Zael figured it was best if he wandered inside Bulgara's Tusk now; hopefully the man didn't insist on following Oraya everywhere, even inside the parlor. Zael just had to trust Oraya, trust that she either already did or would take care of that.

Inside the parlor, looking a bit out of place, Zael had an awkward moment or two because of it as he waited for the door to open up behind him, for Oraya to likewise enter.

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

The parlor owner was a rather large man with bright blue-dyed hair and beauty mole prominently on one chin. "Oh dear what has the gryph dragged in today?" He stood and it was clear that he took much care in his appearance, though not like the usual appearance of anyone in Vel Anir. Tuned to his own style.

He approached Zael, worried gaze looking the man up and down. And most likely, also checking him out.

That was when Oraya entered the shop, the bell at the front alerting those inside of her presence.

"Al. I see you've met my dear friend. Master Zinnsworth all the way from Elbion." Oraya approached, ever the elegant lady as ever and did a slow walk around Zael. Delicate fingers reached forward and smoothed some of the wrinkles in his robe, plucking a piece of invisible lint from his gown.

"Can you believe his carriage was set upon by bandits? He barely got out alive and they stole everything and left him in rather bad shape." Al began walking around Zael as well, shaking his head in sympathy. "Well you've come to the right place, Lady Oraya and as a long-term client you know I'll do everything I can."

Oraya paused in front of Zael, her pale blues locking with Zael's one good eye. "Yes of course. Haircut, new color, change of wardrobe for his status as a master professor all the way from Elbion. And if there's anything you can do about that eyepatch? Perhaps a simple beauty masking spell, you know I"ll spare no expense."

Al nodded all too eagerly and motioned Zael to one of the salon chairs.

"Of course, of course. Master Zinnsworth, what a traumatic experience you've had. You are in a safe space right now. Come, come."

 

[Zael Castomir]

What worked, worked. The whole story about him being a "Master Zinnsworth" was good enough for the blue-haired parlor owner with the wandering eyes, so it was good enough for Zael. He leaned into it.

"It was awful," Zael said, masking his rural accent. Hell, who'dda think that all that joking around with Everleigh, switching accents for a week, would come in real handy one day? Well, today was that day.

He continued on with his embellishments as he crossed the parlor floor and toward the motioned salon chair. "All I wanted to do was visit Oraya here, and what rotten luck! Tricky devils, those bandits, they knew what they were doing. They had something to shield themselves against my magic! Hopefully, one of your Anirian patrols or something will find them and handle them."

Finally taking a seat in the chair, making a show of being finnicky and particular with smoothing out his College robes, he said casually, "I have been meaning to get a haircut."

Not really, but Zael could tell an easy lie when circumstances demanded; he'd rather much grown into liking his longer style.

"But since I'm here, like Oraya said, the works. Ah, it'll feel good to freshen up!"

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

"How do you feel about being a redhead?" The man tutted over Master Zinnsworth, listening closely with very real sympathy. Oraya with her forever-poker face slid into another seat, plucking up one of the many gossip pamphlets laid out on a side table. An article about a Diemut-wine scandle. Another about finding a fourth, missing royal and another about a beast called a gryph.

Mostly Oraya skimmed, her noble gaze lifting every now and then to Zael.

He was being a rather good sport. Surprisingly so. Dirt and grime from afterlife knew how old were removed from his nails. They were trimmed and filed. His hair dyed and oh my, curled. He was given more noble-worthy clothes. And last but not least, he was offered a bangle for his wrist. On it was a beauty spell. It would require expensing some of his own magic into the inlaid gem to keep it up.

"But it'll last most the day. No one will notice your patch or your eye with this on. Just a simple beauty masking spell."

Oraya stood, putting the pamphlet back. Meanwhile, he faithful guard had gotten nervous on the other side and knocked. "Oh one moment, we are almost finished. And you'll never know who I ran into but a dear friend." Oraya's voice held notes of exasperation as if speaking to an impatient child. The guard murmured something on the other side she couldn't hear, nor did she care about hearing.

Snatching some coin from her hidden purse, she offered it to the shopkeep, turning to Zael.

"Well, now I think you can travel with us without worry about what the horrors of the road dealt you?"

 

[Zael Castomir]

Aw shit he was going to have to go with it all, wasn't he?

"I...am...ready for a change! Red's a fine color."

Aw fuck, first Kimble wrecks his one eye, pollutes the other with the lingering effect of his magic, and now this. What was he thinking? Kress, this was gonna be something else. Oraya might not laugh, because she knew him for all of about ten minutes, but what if Everleigh, or Gaage, or Edric, or Alistair, or Henk, what if any of them by some extraordinary chance saw him? Shit, Zael was primed to be a walking knee-slapper.

Better start coming up with some good jokes of his own. If ya can't beat 'em, join 'em and do better than 'em.

"Dashing," Zael said of himself, looking in the mirror, when all was said and done: his hair changed, his eye masked, his clothes swapped, the bangle on his wrist adding its own little glamor to tie everything all together.

Oraya paid for the service, and then after, as they were walking toward the door, they'd a little moment for Zael to murmur to her: "You come here often? I don't even know if you look like you."

He almost wanted to see if he could fudge any glamor Oraya herself might have on, see what she really looked like if that were the case. Who knew, maybe she had purple hair under there.

Oraya Urahil

 

[Oraya Urahil]

If he were to look he'd find nothing other than perfection. That and the smallest blip of a diamond nose ring which was usually small enough to hide with a flesh-colored stud. But for this trip she'd chosen glamor held within one of her many hairpins.

"Some of us are just born with it," Oraya gave a demure smile. One frigid blue eye offering Zael a rare Urahil wink as she whisked the door open. The agitated guard came to attention quickly, his eyes widening at 'Zael.'

"Um, Lady Oraya. I was about to come in there to check on you."

"Well it is good for all our sakes you did not or you would be fired." He definitely would not have been fired since it was most likely Felix who had hired them. Or her father. "This is Lord Zinnsworth. A good friend who will be traveling with us the rest of the way."

"Your father never said anything about-,"

"Are you questioning my word?"

"Well no, I-"

"Very good. See to it that his accommodations are taken care of along the way."

"Yes Lady Oraya." The guard gave Lord Zinnsworth another glance.