Private Tales Into the spiderweb

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

House Iskandar Villa; Alliria.


One would never suspect a trap to be laid in the most opulent of locales, a gilded cage, a spider web spun of the finest silk. Fit to lure and trap the most confident of birds in it's alluring, some might say insidious, grasp. This was not the purpose of the entire villa, of course, such extravagance and effort would never be put into plucking one misguided ne'er-do-well from the air. But a temporary conversion into such a thing, to bend the little bird's wings and perhaps put it to purpose? Most certainly. So it was that the efforts of one Alicia Blackbolt would be ruined before they truly began.

The opulence, nay, the obscene wealth of House Iskandar was far from a secret to any who traded in Allirian goods. A private fleet of their own mercantile vessels, multitudes of private vineyards, consideration more than once for the Council of Alliria, and more ostentatious displays besides. The mind boggles at the wealth one could plunder from even one of the house's villas or manors, pluck from it's vaults and treasuries, but alas for Alicia the very grass underfoot whispered of her incursion to the manor's owner. The wind sung, unheard to her senses, of her intent. Nature itself conspired against her and so at her approach a game was arranged, a trap set, the door to the gilded cage swung wide as the master of the house decided to turn the ambitions of a potential pest into something he could, potentially, make use of.

Alicia would find the villa more well-guarded than her sources had confided, though not by much, an extra patrolman or two in areas not detailed. Their armaments consisting of heavy crossbows and pavise shields, maces and enchanted gloves flickering with magic. Though this was not all that would reach Alicia's ears. Murmurings among the guards, of some sort of dagger, some sort of magical blade, was recently come to the villa. A marvel, they proclaimed, worth more than their yearly pay, and with their attention diverted Alicia could spy several points of ingress to her target.

Wide double doors leading into a study near to a private pond, ripe for creating distraction and diversion. A second story balcony from whence grew exotic flowers and a widespread tangle of shrubbery that, upon first glance, seemed to be unkempt and a sign of neglect, but was in reality finely tended and molded to give the villa a more naturalistic look. There was even a genuine pool on the ground level, one of the internal courtyards entirely devoted to it as a matter of comfort, with the gently sloping incline into and out of the pool all but leading into several internal doors to a series of kitchens, should one wish to impersonate a house servant.

In all Alicia would find this villa, though high defended, replete with options for burgling her way into it's depths. The only question that remained was.... what path would she choose?

Alicia Blackbolt ​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

Spoiler: Music

While she had scoped out the mansion in the daytime, wearing the non-descript uniform of a servant, she returned at night.

She preferred to work in the night. At night, the welcoming darkness shielded her from hostile eyes. At night, the sun couldn't expose the violent blisters and pockmarks that cracked the left side of her face.

The options for entry were manifold. Almost too many. The guards, though numerous and well-armed, had been relatively easy to slip past - so easy that she had even eavesdropped mumblings of an invaluable dagger. She knew nobles could be careless in their security measures, but it had been a while since she had seen it to this degree.

Well, all the worse for them. She would happily add a costly dagger to her collection.

Her choice means of break-in landed on the balcony. Elevation, she found, could often be better hiding than any shadow. Besides, in her experience, the lower floors often teemed with servants and guards, whereas the upper floors tended to accommodate more for the needs of privacy.

And so, it was only the half-moon, dressed in a scant scarf of clouds, that witnessed her silhouette skulk past the pool, making it for the stairs in the internal courtyard. The civilised approach was quickly abandoned, however, in favour of climbing up along the growth to the balcony with all the agility of an ape, making full use of every indentation and hand-hold.

She slipped over the balcony with a muted huff, facing the slim, teal windows. Squinting through the gap, nothing presented itself but a black void. Could be a bedroom or it could be a study. Still, worth the risk, at least over braving the lower floors. So far, her crossbow rested unused on her back, and she pulled out a much simpler tool. A thin crowbar. With this, she could gently pry the window open, her dirty fingertips taking the necessary time to work cautiously and quietly.

With a gentle click of the weak sash lock, the window yielded. The soft creak of her leather-covered arm followed the opening of the window, before she slipped over the sill.

At first, she was blind as a bat, standing stock still, so as to not betray her location. The room remained stubbornly dark, until her eyes gradually adjusted, finding herself in a most curious location . . .

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Spoiler

House Iskandar Villa Interior; Alliria


Alicia would find herself not in a true bedroom but something more akin to a study than somewhere tat someone would intentionally fall asleep in. Fine wooden tables, chairs, desks added a soft scent to the room along with the gentle aroma of paper from the countless books that lined the bookshelf over a singularly illuminated desk. A magical mote floating above an enchanted stand cast soft light over the desk and room as Alicia took her first tentative steps inside, purely an enchantment of convenience and in no way an indication she had been caught.

Across from this desk and standing upon a small, raised dais at the other end of the room looked to a table for alchemical and horticultural work. If the various alembics and sets of mortar and pestle were any indication. A few potions, glowing softly crimson in their flasks, would sit in a neat row upon the desk, while the only thing truly out of the ordinary would be what appeared to be a human skull that sat affixed atop the alchemy station. Attached not to any sort of clamp, not device, but instead it was interwoven with odd vines that seemed to slither and pulsate within the cranial cavity of the skull..... though to what end was not within Alicia's skillset to decipher.

All told the room was, relative to the rest of the villa, small and private. With only one door acting as an exit directly across from the balcony she had made her intrusion through. Though Alicia would be unhappy to learn that these aged, refined floorboards under her feet were more than happy to groan and creak if she mis stepped or had no way to soften her tread.

Alicia Blackbolt ​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

Alicia approached the alembics, curious. Her reflection warped and elongated in curved glass, shadowed face twisting within crimson containers.

Her understanding of alchemy was basic, at best. She knew just enough to get by with her own concoctions and how to employ them. But it seemed this lord indulged in more arcane pursuits than she had at first deemed.

Perhaps Gnurlie might have something to say about these potions. Could be worth something. She gingerly took one by its fat cork and secured it in a pouch with a fitting container.

In her search, she soon came upon the skull drowned in pulsing vines, its jaw open, frozen in a scream choked by living plant. It was as if the plant sucked energy from the hollow cavity of the cranium.

Disturbing, to say the least. She'd let that remain untouched.

Housebreaking could reveal the most curious features of a homeowner - the parts that people kept private, their darker secrets. This owner seemed to have a strange fondness for nature mingled with elegant marble and satin. But this laboratory set revealed a fascination with nature that went deeper than mere appearances. It seemed to her a rather predatory obsession, behind all the gilt and glamour.

She snatched a few other valuables - a golden candleholder here, a precious inkwell there, a silver-hefted quill . . . then decided to hurry up.

A creak left the floorboards. She froze, a ripple of panic going through her.

Old floorboards. The bane of any sneak. A small, muffled curse left her.

Her hand went to her quiver, opening it. There, her fingers found a ruffled and prickly parrot feather, pulling out a bolt with a dark-green ball for its arrow-head.

Distance here was no issue, so she could simply drop the moss-head to the floor and let its alchemy work. It flattened on impact and rippled a broad, thin film of soft, dark-green plant-matter over the floor, softening her stride.

With this, she tip-toed to the door, pressed her ear against it, watched for shadows below it, and once satisfied no one would be on the other side, she could creep out.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

House Iskandar Villa Interior; Alliria



The next door opened with the gentlest of clicks, the ornate knob turning without a single unprompted squeak, and no sound at all could be heard beyond. A single footstep, nay, a single glance inside made it rather obvious as to why no sound was heard. The only living things inside the room were not nobility, nor guards, but an alchemist or gardener's dream of a growing room. Plants of all sorts sat in dedicated rows, enchanted pots, or otherwise magically sustained conditions to facilitate their development.

Most notable of all were the thick, abundant vines replete with ripe grapes, no doubt of the stock House Iskandar used in the production of their many wines. These vines were given the width and breadth of the room to grow and wind their way. Intermingling with the other plants and all but webbing the ceiling with their existence. Indeed the room itself was moderately more humid than the tranquil study Alicia had found herself inside. A condition the plants seem to universally appreciate.

The vines were not the only foliage to produce anything either. On Alicia's left in their own small case some small flowers glowed with a blue-white light, lightly frosting the glass of their case from within and no doubt magically potent on their own. Down the center stretch of rows right before Alicia large, succulent mangos of all things weighed heavily on their plants, all but begging to be plucked and devoured. There was even, right beside Alicia to her right, a healthy Aloe plant whose nectar was famous for helping with sunburns and other damage to the skin.

Indeed if there was a plant on Arethil, magic or mundane, the chances seemed better than good Alicia could possibly find it here. The only issue was that due to the thick foliage no other door was plainly visible from where she stood.

Alicia Blackbolt ​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

Alicia frowned. For a couple of seconds, she simply sat there, observing the room, daring anyone to appear. When none did, she slowly straigthened to her full height, walking into the conservatory. Her black cloak trailed after her, unused crossbow and quiver competing for space on her back. She walked with a subtle grace belying her monstrous equipment, her feet tracing a narrow line, each footfall rolling from heel to toe with quiet steps.

She hadn't expected this. The more she traversed through this mansion, the more she was taken aback by the explosive growth of nature.

There was little option for hiding here, besides the foliage itself. She was also coming under the distinct impression that many of these upper-floor rooms remained omniously empty.

Something about this whole operation nagged her. Unable to put her finger on it, she still sensed something . . . off about all this. There should have been more obstacles to her intrusion, even for a sloppy household.

Still, no reason to go empty-handed. Her hand brushed over the small case of blue flowers, unnaturally dimmed with cold.

These flowers looked pristine. Even she had to acknowledge that. Or rather, they would fetch a fine price, with the right fence. Yes, that was it. Her eyes lingered a tad too long on them, before she slipped the case into her pack.

Eventually, she did find another exit. A curious door, not fashioned from wood or reinforced iron. Instead, it seemed an archway blocked by long, satin curtains of the same teal colour as the windows, teasingly translucent, almost showing what was beyond. Vines and growth encroached on this portal, as if clamouring to close it.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

House Iskandar Villa Interior; Alliria


As Alicia made her way deeper and deeper into the room, striding across flora-laden floors and frond-laden fixtures the cool glass case would yield to her dexterous intrusion with nothing by way of resistance. The chilled air and arcane frost of the flowers she sought was pleasantly cool to the touch and nestled into her pack with negligible weight. The entire atmosphere of the room would become heavier as she moved, the growth of plant-life more intense, vines taking up almost all available floor space beneath her feet, requiring her to walk across them to advance toward the satin curtain.

Her movements would disturb the vines and cause those hanging from the ceiling to sway and vibrate at the gentlest of nudges. Hanging in thick, coiled ropes Alicia's disturbances would cause a vine she swept past to come loose of it's fixture into the ceiling. Slapping down heavily over a shoulder, like the hand of some imperious guard who caught her red-handed in her burgling, and may have startled her just a bit. Nevertheless the vine was no guard, and could be shuffled off herself after her initial reaction, though she may well fall over if she jumped and lost her footing upon the thick vines underfoot.

Regardless of how startled, or not, Alicia had been by that singular vines another vine would detach from the ceiling and bring with itself a small tangle of smaller vines that landed right on the intrepid rogue's hooded head. Tangling in the fabric of her hood and mask, even possibly lancing into her hair to truly become stuck to her the main vine would, somehow, find itself winded about Alicia's waist. A thought, errant or not, perhaps, would also be possible: had the vines at her feet always been so tightly cinched about her ankles? Alicia would find movement difficult, indeed even taking a step impossible, before another vine fell down and.... Alicia could be certain her mind was no longer playing tricks on her as that third vine MOVED, coiling and wrapping the wrist of her dominant hand before pulling it straight upward while the vine around her waist would hoist her from the ground. The vines about her ankles tightening like lasso about her ankles before, with startling strength and quickness, another vine circled her throat like the chains of a slave master.

In all, Alicia would likely find only her non-dominant hand free, her ability to yell or breathe restricted, her legs bound at the ankles and her dominant hand being used along with them to suspend her body in the air. All the while the slow, methodical sound of footfalls from beyond the satin curtain approached.....

Alicia Blackbolt ​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

The first vine landing on her shoulder caused a startled jump and jitter from her, before she brushed it off her shoulder with an air of annoyance.

The second one, however, was cause for concern. She furiously attempted to shrug off the cascade of plant life, but as she doubled her efforts, so did the nature around her.

Finally, the vines animated all around her, and as her hand shot down to grasp her knife, verdant manacles shackled her wrist, arresting it an inch from the blade's sheath. Hidden forces raised her up, dangling her like a convict for the gallows, and the leash around her neck choked out her cry of despair.

Instead, a grating wheeze came from her throat, still struggling, still crabbing her fingers - this time with her other hand - towards her sheathed blade. Her vision tunnelled, her mind a pinprick of attention locked on a drifting fold of satin.

So this was how she was to die. Not from hempen fever or a guard's chicken slicer, but choked to death by a blasted plant. Her sole consolation was the fact that her fellow compatriots couldn't witness this embarrassing end.

Footsteps intruded upon her dwindling awareness. For a deluded moment, she imagined her father visiting her from beyond the veil, welcoming her home. But these steps were different from his trudging, weary labourer's march. Pointed and precise steps from fine shoes drew nearer.

She didn't even bother looking. A second wind came to her, clawing for release. She didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of watching her expire.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Spoiler: Petrus

The constricting vine's work would only become harsher by the moment as those ominous footsteps seem to match, nay set, the beat of Alicia's slowing heart. Thump by ominous thump would they draw closer as air stopped in her lungs, her pulse pounded in her ears, as her vision grew hazy and fingers began to numb the softest sound of that curtain being moved aside would drift through the air.

Until, as her consciousness teetered on the edge of expiring, a rough, thick hand would grip Alicia's chin and lift it. The vine about her throat finally relenting and allowing her to breathe as that hand imperiously lifted her chin until her back arched uncomfortably, bringing Alicia's scarred gaze up to the Patriarich of the House she had attempted to bugle from. His amber eyes weighing down on her like a judge's gavel as he tightened his grip on her chin and the vine that had once held her throat moved to bind her non-dominant hand behind her back.

"It seems my sources were correct."

Was all Petrus said as he turned Alicia's head back and forth, studying her impassively, as if she wasn't a person but instead a slab of meat or an animal at auction. Casual, absolute authority being exerted over the free-spirited rogue no doubt chaffing against her pride as he gave a low, contemplative hum.

"I believe I know just what to do with you....."

That ominous statement now hanging in the air the vines would begin to shift and adjust themselves to completely bind Alicia's arms behind her back and her ankles together before.... he would lift her. One arm beneath her knees and the other under her shoulders Alicia would be brought into a bridal carry and brought through the curtain by Petrus's own arms. He did not even restrict her ability to speak as he calmly strode into the next room, past the curtain, what appeared to be some sort of staircase to the lower floors but also large enough to include a sort of parlor or waiting room outside several other doors.

Petrus seemed to carry Alicia with ease and so he took the stairs with heavy, sure footfalls and did not even seem to consider that Alicia may try to escape as he asked without even glancing at the would-be thief.

"Have you eaten?"


Alicia Blackbolt ​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

Spoiler: Music

Until, as her consciousness teetered on the edge of expiring, a rough, thick hand would grip Alicia's chin and lift it. The vine about her throat finally relenting and allowing her to breathe as that hand imperiously lifted her chin until her back arched uncomfortably, bringing Alicia's scarred gaze up to the Patriarich of the House she had attempted to bugle from. His amber eyes weighing down on her like a judge's gavel as he tightened his grip on her chin and the vine that had once held her throat moved to bind her non-dominant hand behind her back.

"It seems my sources were correct."

Was all Petrus said as he turned Alicia's head back and forth, studying her impassively, as if she wasn't a person but instead a slab of meat or an animal at auction. Casual, absolute authority being exerted over the free-spirited rogue no doubt chaffing against her pride as he gave a low, contemplative hum.

"I believe I know just what to do with you....."

Barely had she refound her breath, before a merciless grip broke her snapping gasps, twisting her head this way and that. Alicia caught the cold eyes of the nobleman scrutinising her, dispassionate and cruel. As her senses caught up to her, her stomach knotted with new, unwelcome emotions. Gall at being inspected like some stringed puppet, and indeed, bruised pride at having this crusty ink-bleeder touching her face.

In all her thieving days, one measure of her worth had been the feeling of rising above all these rich bastards. By pealing their belongings and slipping off into the night, she could gain superiority over their oblivious wealth. She was better than them, in those moments.

But this? Nothing had even come close to this humiliation. And from a rich gull, to boot.

The cryptic words, spoken like he was talking at her like a prize artifact posted to his address, only increased her impotent fury.

I'll kill him, she managed to think. She didn't normally kill, if she could avoid it. It was unprofessional. It was messy and a right pain, too. But for him, she would make an exception. With him, she might even enjoy it. As soon as he turns his back . . . as soon as I get my hands free . . . I'll slice him like a trout in the wet market.

That ominous statement now hanging in the air the vines would begin to shift and adjust themselves to completely bind Alicia's arms behind her back and her ankles together before.... he would lift her.

A new sort of fear entered her rapidly beating heart. A fear of his touch, burning through her protective leathers, mixed with a healthy dose of revulsion. She could practically feel the bile rise up in her throat, in steady concord with his hands carrying her like a child for bed. Was this some sick nobleman's game, some horrid fantasy of his that he was living out?

Her wrists worked to free themselves, but the vines still held tight. With each squirm, each confirmation of imprisonment, her disgust rose. Perhaps she would rather have died than whatever he had in store for her.

"Have you eaten?"

She didn't reply, and the lack of a response hung in the air, much like her dead weight in his arms. She felt the downfall of each step, the motion shuddering up through her uncomfortably. If he dropped her here, she might well break her neck or roll down these steep stairs for a few steps. Perhaps a better fate for her, all things considered.

The smart thing would be to play along. Indulge him long enough to find some means of escape - and possibly revenge. Practically hog-tied, all Alicia had was the silver of her tongue and a few pretty words. But her choleric antipathy towards him had risen too much, like a boiling pot, for her to exchange any sort of civility.

As Petrus Iskandar would soon come to learn, there was a reason she wasn't even deemed copper-tongued in the Shallows. When the stakes were high, she spoke with action rather than words.

And so, this was her reply: Slamming her feet against the nearby wall, forcing her bound ankles to propel her knees upward - preferably to slam into his chin and break his jaw.

Shallows' courtesy had entered the marbled halls of Iskandar.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

The silence offered by his intrepid little thief was not at all surprising. He could imagine how her capture stung her misguided pride. Humiliated and ground down her ego. As well it should as he had designed his actions and words for just such a purpose. He also had expected her to try something to escape or, at the very least, lash out at him. What he had not expected for her to do so while walking down the stairs and that was why he had chosen to take them. Clearly she was not concerned with bodily hard as her knees rocketed upwards.

Alicia's strike would land almost as she wanted it, but not with as much force as she wished, her pushing off the wall with her legs had also had the effect of making Petrus stagger in the opposite direction of her feet and, thus, as his head swayed away from her knees they lost much of their kinetic force due to that inertia. Even so a quickly-forming red swell was left on Petrus's cheek. However the impact had caused his grip to tighten on reflex, thick fingers digging harshly into Alicia's legs and shoulder, perhaps bruising her even through her clothing, and also hinting at the unobvious physique of the nobleman in question.

Widening his stance to avoid falling and with a sharp motion of his eyes the vines around Alicia's wrists would extend down to meet the vines at her ankles and pull them taut, bringing her knees up and now arresting her legs freedom to extend fully. Almost turning her into a curled up package in his embrace as he sighed and continued down the steps. His tone still low but now much more severe.

"You know, I was going to offer to heal that horrid disfigurement of yours and put you in my employ.....talented people are so very difficult to find nowadays."

Pausing at the last section of the steps he shook his head and glared at her, the vines tearing off her mask and hood, as he met her eyes with his own. Exposing Alicia's countenance fully to him and no longer affording her the comfort of her anonymity. After that he made a point to extend his arms a bit and simply... drop her. Not in response to her kick, not out of instinct or without forethought, he simply dropped Alicia down the stairs and let her tumble those last seven steps.

Once Alicia came to a stop he would pace down the steps, footfalls heavy, before his booted heel came to rest before her face and if there was going to be any sympathy afforded to Alicia it died the moment she struck him. Raising his ringed hand to his cheek and channelling his magicks to heal the bruise Petrus would use the toe of his boot to forcibly lift Alicia's chin, making her look up at him, before glowering.

"Tell me. Do you think anyone will miss an errant thief who tried to burgle beyond her means? As I see it your fate is now in my hands, little dagger, and I will need an excellent reason not to make it something even more painful than a tumble down the stairs...."

That polished leather beneath her chin, smelling lightly of oil that cost more than Alicia had ever seen in her life, only pressed upward more fiercely into her chin as he stared into her eyes. Merciless, focused, and laced his hands behind his back as he awaited her answer.

Alicia Blackbolt​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

Pain - spine, tailbone, ankle, thigh. It throbbed and pulsed dully up through her. Bad, but not broken. She hadn't landed on her neck, at least.

Somehow, she still breathed. Luckily, she had suffered worse falls.

Now, however, with her hood and mask off, the full length of her unsightly blisters and boils crawled up her neck and marred the left side of her face. Black craters with yellow caps below white, ruined skin, like half of her had been cooked too long in the oven. Tousled, dark-brown hair failed to cover this glaring imperfection, spread below her like dark, liquid chocolate.

Those pointed footsteps came slowly down after her, and she attempted to roll around on her back and crawl away, though the vines made it difficult.

"You know, I was going to offer to heal that horrid disfigurement of yours and put you in my employ.....talented people are so very difficult to find nowadays."

Her eyes widened. He had to be lying. No one could heal her disease. Her father had tried, and failed. Even the arch rogue could only stave it off. It had to be a trick, a ruse to keep her interest.

What had he said about . . . Employ, though? Did he mean to *hire* her? No, that couldn't be. It was likely some obscure mockery, rather.

"Tell me. Do you think anyone will miss an errant thief who tried to burgle beyond her means? As I see it your fate is now in my hands, little dagger, and I will need an excellent reason not to make it something even more painful than a tumble down the stairs...."

Iron-grey eyes snapped up with the tip of the boot, finding an amber gaze, trapping her like a fly in crystal, her chin uncomfortably arched, scarred mouth quivering.

She knew he was right. Curse him, but he was. No one would come after her. No one would miss her. A tinge of sadness welled in her chest at this, but it was soon replaced with defiant anger. She refused to have her final moments be wriggling around the floor like a worm.

If she failed this job - which seemed inevitable at this point - she was dead anyway. She glanced up at this dark tower of a man, draped in black velvet with yellow trimmings, his doublet enwrapping his ramrod posture like a banner covering a cold, castle wall. A faintly receding hairline and a backward wave of dark hair hinted at his age, but the tiny wrinkles around his mouth seemed inscrutable. Did they belong to his fourth, fifth or even sixth decade?

She didn't know. But she saw in his gaze someone who was no stranger to pain - a deliverer and receiver of it. When he spoke of worse punishments, she believed him.

Words at first refused to release themselves from her scratchy and hoarse throat. But after licking her drying lips, she found them nonetheless.

"How about . . . you let me go . . ." She began, her half-lidded gaze lowering, addressing his shoes rather than him. "And you won't feel the sting of the prince prig of deals for the rest of your days?" She let her husky words hang for a spell, allowing them to sink in. "If you knew I'd come . . . then you must clock that Velin knows too."

Her gaze mounted as far as to his pronounced chin, selling the bluff as well as she could. Velin Deal had contacts among nobility, she knew, though she had not faintest inkling what his relations with them were in any detail. Come to think of it, perhaps he had made this nobleman aware, springing this trap for her. But hopefully, the name itself could work for her and elicit some reaction.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Petrus would idly humor Alicia's words before deciding to relish in his advantageous position. After all that knee to the face had hurt and even though he would lower his hand from his now-healed face, a taunt to Alicia in and of itself that his was healed and hers was not, he found the insipid little thief's gall grating. He would move his booted foot away from her chin, letting her head fall to the floor, before idly resting that same boot atop her head and press down into the floor. Using Alicia as a footrest but keeping most of his weight off of her. It was not TRULY to hurt her, only to humiliate her as much as possible.

"Considering your horrific face and rumors that had drifted to me of some trouble at our new cistern project you have been a PARTICULAR thorn in my side for more than just this visit."

There was a venom to his low, even tone that was not there before, a vague echo of actual anger from the composed nobleman as he ground his heel into the back of Alicia's head.

"As for-....."

He would pause, his usual level tone cutting off in a way that was utterly unnatural for his usually sure-spoken self and he would exhale slowly. Sinister inspiration striking him in that moment as he moved his foot off of Alicia's head. His voice becoming more contemplative as he murmured.

"....letting you go."

Hoisting Alicia up once more he would begin to walk with long, purposeful strides as the vines clamped down on Alicia heavily. Binding her body utterly as he made his way out of the villa and toward, of all things, the stables. Murmuring as much to himself as he was still speaking to Alicia in the cool night air.

"Yes that is exactly what I shall do."

Dropping Alicia unceremoniously among the horse droppings and hay Petrus would turn his attention to the subject of his sinister inspiration. A low-burning firepit wherein sat many branding irons as he idly picked one up, the end white-hot with his House's sigil for livestock, as he glared at Alicia from over the wisps of smoke and mused.

"I shall let you go. But even half a beautiful face is too good for you, worm. Instead I am going to take even that comfort away from you. To scar and mutilate the other side to match and ruin your thieving days evermore. ALL will know you on sight, from the briefest glimpse, the brand I leave on you enchanted to smolder eternally, to burn away any mask or covering you attempt to place over it."

Taking a menacing step forward he would idly twirl the branding iron in his fingers and hiss.

"Proof of your defeat known to all the world and, if you are not killed on sight by your so-called allies... left with only one place to crawl back to....."

This was, of course, all one very sinister threat. Meant to break Alicia and terrify her so that he could sift through the pieces and see what might be left of her.

Alicia Blackbolt​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

Genuine horror flashed in her eyes. He knew she had delved into the Aeon Cistern too?

This was not good.

The streets might have hardened her, but even a criminal feared a branding iron. She had never experienced such a burning, but had heard the pain to be almost unbearable. The soiled stables hardly concerned her at this point - her attention entirely fixed on the white-hot iron.

There had to be something else to this whole performance. Either that, or he simply relished the opportunity to torture her with his own hands. Her wriggling wrists hadn't found any release in the vines yet. She might have to break them to gain release, or find a sharp object nearby, though none presented themselves to her at the moment.

A tremble entered her speech, her voice so low as to almost not be heard. The darkness of this noble's temper seemed a gathering, black thundercloud, flashing gouts of sky-fire.

"What . . . what do you want from me?"

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Turning his attention to the smoldering end of the branding iron Petrus would consider for a long moment. idly rolling the cool metal between his fingers before he glanced up at her in time with her words. Amber eyes now lit to a near hellish red in the light of the branding iron as he inhaled slowly and stepped up to Alicia. Lifting the branding iron slowly he would plant a foot on her chest and, with surprisingly deft quickness, bring it down towards her face.....

Only for the white-hot end to spear the manure beside her and fill the air with an absolutely horrid stench as it bubbled and frothed a ghastly brown liquid right beside Alicia's head. Leaning down to stare into her eye he would then extend the hand not holding the branding iron, lay his thick, blunt palm against her scarred cheek, and bring just a hint of relief to her as he met her eyes and simply stated.

"I.... wish to do business."

A purely unnatural, magical sensation would begin to emanate over Alicia's scarred features. Not healing the scarring itself but undoubtedly taking the edge off the pain and discomfort they no doubt caused. Petrus's tone would now soften, intentionally, as he murmured.

"And I believe you will find what I can offer you in this moment is too valuable to ignore."

Moving off of Alicia he would toss the branding iron aside without a care into a trough, wave a hand to have the vines release her and he would offer her a hand. Amber eyes boring into her own he said nothing else but his expression was now grey, emotionless granite, inscrutable and unreadable but promising one thing: denial would not go well for Alicia.

Alicia Blackbolt​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

It had been a long while since Alicia had last been paralysed with indecision. When she had sat at her father's bedside and he had stopped breathing, his eyes refusing to open, no matter how much she shook him. When she had received her first beating at the hands of other urchins. When Velin Deal had offered her to become more than a simple pickpocket, his gloved hand outstretched with dapper invitation from a chair clad in shadows.

This was such a moment. From one, eternal blink to the next, she had winced and pressed her eyes closed, expecting the iron to pierce her cheek. Instead, it sizzled next to her, the smell grating her nostrils, and she squinted one eye open, daring to glance at it.

Then, a most curious phenomenon. The burning of her blisters, a common-place feeling she had taken for granted at this point, abated with his touch. The brief absence of it thundered against her consciousness. Like a constant ringing in one's ears suddenly lifting for silence, or a blind spot in one's sight crystallising into sharp focus, chronic pain turned temporarily into nothing.

She had forgotten what the absence of her burning skin felt like. Liberating. Pure.

Then, the vines soon followed suit. A hand reached down to her and she gripped it automatically, her thoughtless instinct and his strange mercy lifting her up.

She came face to face with the master of the house. She stood a good head lower than him, peering up at him, mouth gaping like an idiot.

Her initial thought of retribution gave way for sheer confusion.

What . . . had just happened?

Some wariness entered her as her mind gradually caught up. She took a single step back, uncertain whether to expect further punishment or not.

"Business . . ?"

What could she possibly offer this man? She didn't like where this was going, but at least, it was an improvement to her previous situation. Much as her dagger-hand might be twitching, she sensed it was too dangerous to strike. A more tempered approach then, and she might actually just make it out of this alive.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Hefting Alicia up with precious little effort, a physical show of dominance to add to the mental displays already given, Petrus would lace his hands behind his back and rather eerily become the picturesque, brusque businessman he always appeared to be. In stark contrast to Alicia's bewilderment and instability he may as well have been an immovable, eternal star that she had been pulled into the gravity of. His head inclining ever so gently as he echoed her uncertain question.

"Business."

Turning away from Alicia, whether a show of confident, arrogance, stupidity or all three, he showed his back to her before peering at her over a broad shoulder and intoned firmly.

"Come."

An answer was not awaited, it did not need to be, before he began to walk back toward the very same manor Alicia had just attempted to burgle. His every step measured, but not overly stiff, he was not marching as a soldier, but he seemed always to be striding with purpose. Like a dragon crashing it's way through a flimsy palisade so too did the world itself seem to part before the tall, wealthy and possibly somewhat insane man's will. Only once they were inside would he turn, scrutinize Alicia for a brief moment, before motioning to a small armoire and coat rack beside the door.

"Now that you are an official guest..."

There was a languid, but pointed, tone behind the words 'official guest' as he eyed Alicia.

".... armor, head coverings, weapons, you may leave them there. They will not be disturbed and you may recover them when you leave."

A brief pause.

"And despite your disfigurement your unmarred self is attractive enough. It would behoove you to attempt to leverage it as we negotiate, even if it proves unsuccessful."

A thin, near-amused smile played at his hard features.

"Even the Empress-Regent of Amol-Kalit found such an approach difficult but it never hurts to try."

Was that... a bit of dry humor? From this man? Possibly. Dry was almost an understatement as he said these things with such stony-faced casualness it highlighted how different their worlds were. He had likely had all sorts of the most attractive, most desired, courtesans and women of Alliria at once point attempt the same, so why did he recommend it to Alicia? Was it once again playing on her insecurity about her scarring? Even more terrifying was the possibility it may be genuine.

But one thing was certain: It was some sort of test, some sort of mind game, the only question that remained was whether Alicia could untangle the meaning.

Alicia Blackbolt​

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

When Petrus turned his back, the cutthroat within Alicia screamed. Now! Do it now! Slit his throat and whisk away!

Her hand, though coiled as if remembering the touch of a hilt, stayed. For there was another part within her that wished to speak. The opportunist, the survivor - the one she were before the mantle of a thief had been draped over her shoulders, like a heavy cloak belonging to some other owner.

None had been able to wipe away her disease. None but Velin had the power to curb it. But here . . . it seemed this one actually could affect it. Perhaps only symptomatically, but still, it was more progress than she'd ever made in a decade.

The sting of humilitation still burned. Horse-shit soiled her cloak, and the phantom feel of his boot on her head still pounded against her skull. Resentment roiled in her heart like a disturbed ocean.

But resentment had kept her alive this far. It was an uncomfortable feeling - but it was, at the very least, familiar. It had taught her that nothing ever came for free, and that everyone desired to demonstrate their dominance over others. The fact that this nobleman lived up to this lesson made his offer more likely to be true. He wasn't extending a hand from the goodness of his heart - no, he certainly had ulterior motives.

It was bizarre to walk through the house like a guest. As she followed him through the manor-house, suppressing her own instinct to stay low and hidden, she came to a realisation. Suddenly, the strange alembics, the unnatural vegetation, the overgrown skull - it all clicked into place. He was a student of magic and alchemy. As a noble, he could have all the leisure and resources needed to pursue such an arcane path. If she hadn't seen his private quarters with her own eyes, she would have doubted his knowledge. But clearly, he possessed such secrets. One of which she still carried in her pack - the frosted flowers in their beautiful case.

Alicia could work with this. So long as she played her cards right. Besides, none but the two of them knew of this hidden exchange. Once this was all said and done, perhaps she could forget this whole episode, like some unwelcome nightmare. And perhaps . . . perhaps a cure . . .

No. She didn't dare believe it. Even nursing the tiniest hope could be dangerous.

Hope was for the weak.

Only once they were inside would he turn, scrutinize Alicia for a brief moment, before motioning to a small armoire and coat rack beside the door.

"Now that you an official guest..."

There was a languid, but pointed, tone behind the words 'official guest' as he eyed Alicia.

".... armor, head coverings, weapons, you may leave them there. They will not be disturbed and you may recover them when you leave."

A brief pause.

Alicia didn't move in that pause. She stared at the armoire like it was a pit of vipers. Doffing her trusted equipment? She might as well start walking the streets naked. Her calle and pang ensured her protection, her barrier between the dangers of the night and her fragility.

"And despite your disfigurement your unmarred self is attractive enough. It would behoove you to attempt to leverage it as we negotiate, even if it proves unsuccessful."

A thin, near-amused smile played at his hard features.

"Even the Empress-Regent of Amol-Kalit found such an approach difficult but it never hurts to try."​

A grimace slashed through her features - unbidden, and the near opposite to what he probably had in mind. Attractive - a word only spoken to her in mockery. The idea of leveraging her looks seemed about as likely to her as sprouting wings and taking to the air. After a life-time of being called leper child, break-face and plague-born, she had long since abandoned notions of beauty, however symmetrical her face might have been. Owning a mirror and checking for herself was a luxury she could ill afford.

She frowned when he mentioned the Empress-Regent, peering at him. Now she was starting to doubt the truth of his words. Then she glanced back down the way they had come from. No guards in sight . . . Could she make a dash for it?

No. He was being far too blase about all this. She had no chance of escape. No doubt guards awaited her at every unseen corner. Guards - or some other magical trap. Even a fool had to realise by now that he had taken steps to prepare for her arrival. The spider web of his house might quiver and shake at her attempts at resistance, but never break.

Better to face the spider, then, than to tease his fangs as fleeing prey.

She looked back at the lord, wreathed in a slash of shadows and tenuous illumination. The corners of her mouth twisted downwards with equal parts disgruntlement and preparation. Then, her hand went up to her quiver, and unclasped the buckle that held it against her shoulder. She lowered the case of coloured bolts and placed it within the armoire, as the first of her items.

"What makes you think I'll fare any better than her, then?"

Though true to her thoughts, the question was designed to distract rather than to gain any useful information. She would rather not know the inner workings of this depraved nobleman - not yet, at least. What she did prioritise, however, was hiding her saw-toothed knife that rested in her boot, its hilt visible above the lace.

She turned sideways to him, unhooking her enhanced crossbow and closing its retractable limbs against its foregrip, then slinging off her dark and soiled cloak, placing both in a neat bundle in the armoire. All the while, she had kept the hilt of her knife facing away from him, counting on his eyes to be distracted by her other items or the tight-fitting leather and straps of her exposed thief garbs. She knelt down, taking off such a strap filled with vials of a gold-flecked liquid secured against her thigh and removed a smooth, black smokestick from a strap on her ankle, then re-tied the laces of her boots. Her voice took on an airy tone, alien to her regular rasp, musing to the floor:

"Her beauty rivals the sun, after all. You can't ask the lesser moon Pneria to match Issat, now can you?"

When she rose, her fingertips smoothly fished out the knife by its pommel. She kept standing with her side towards him, using her slim frame to hide the knife she had previously attempted to extricate for the vines, arms by her side. If he turned his back again, she might be able to stuff it behind her belts on her back. As a little insurance for what was to come.

Her words, though scholarly in tone, were stolen from more educated mouths. With as little propriety as she relinquished other trinkets, she had summoned a few overheard conversations to her memory, of people pontificating about the moons, the beauty of foreign regents and other such nonsense. To her, it was nothing but air-headed musings - but right now, such words could serve her like a borrowed tool.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Whether out of a profound sense of control over the situation or overconfidence in what obedience Alicia was showing to his wishes Petrus nonetheless stepped just around a corner, not quite out of sight, with his right arm and shoulder visible as a door creaked open and the nobleman retrieved something, murmured something seemingly to himself, before closing the door. How proud he must have been, how overconfident, to take his eyes off her so casually as she set about hiding her knife and he stepped back around the corner with a nefarious..... towel?

At Alicia's question of how he could think she would fair better than Medja the nobleman gave a low chuckle so unusual, so lacking in true humor, it seemed a mockery of anything resembling a laugh. The barest flicker of a smirk actually caused his hard features to deepen, for the barely-there wrinkles at his eyes and lips to intensify before he shook his head as Alicia quoted something far beyond her station. Petrus would consider for only a moment before responding.

"The Sun, brazen Issat, is indeed beautiful, blindingly so, but the Sun also knows of it's radiance and shares it freely. Wanton and unreserved."

Petrus would walk up to Alicia and, gazing down at the captured thief, he would offer her the towel. Those whiskey-amber eyes meeting her iron grey orbs without a hint of hesitation. Not a single drop of the nervous, coy or otherwise duplicitous glances those in her world usually operated by. Was it then more relieving to consider he could lie to her, deceive her, toy with her while openly staring into the windows to her soul? Only once Alicia took the towel, luxuriously soft and lightly scented of flowers, would he finish.

"But the Moon, wounded Pneria, she is more shy, more selective. Pock-marked and austere but with no less radiant a glow to anyone who can weather the night's dangers to gaze upon it."

Petrus would lace his hands behind his back, silently staring at Alicia for a single moment before he motioned around the same corner he stepped around, stepping to the side to allow her to pass him.

"Around the corner, second door on the right, you will find a heated bath. I will not have one of my guests smeared with, and smelling of, shit."

The towel was luxuriantly soft and woven of natural braided fibers to give it a plush, slightly springy texture meant to wick and absorb moisture exquisitely. But even in this seeming act of kindness Petrus couldn't help a jab at Alicia's pride, something to embarrass and unbalance the daring rogue.

"Once you are finished you are, of course, free to ask me to quote more poetry to you."

The humor was bone-dry and likely called into question whether any of the anger the nobleman had expressed in tormenting Alicia had simply been an act and whether or not it was more or less terrifying to think he could be at once so deceptive and truthful with his emotions to keep a woman like Alicia, raised in a world of secrets and subterfuge, guessing.

Should she take him up on his offer of a bath Alicia would find the room tiled and extravagantly furnished with a sizable tub, some arcane series of unseen spells causing the water within to steam pleasantly. There was a screen for privacy and changing and the room remained remarkably well ventilated so that the air did not become cloying from the steam. There was, however, nothing in the way of windows or alternative exits save the one door Petrus had indicated.

Alicia Blackbolt​