Private Tales The First Masque

[Erodin]

Outer Oban - The Lavasque Estate

"I did tell him there was an easier way of doing this, my Love." Erodin said, letting his chin rest in his hand as he leaned back on the plush bench of the carriage. His mask sitting besides him as he stared at his companion opposite him. Both of them wore clothes befitting that of nobility, no weapons visible, though he had a knife tucked away within his coat.

A sigh escaped him.

"We could have slaughtered the whole party in minutes, and the dead would have told me all we wanted." Between the two of them it wouldn't have taken long. In fact, they wouldn't have needed to be present at all. The Wights could have attended the task while he and Amelie sipped wine within the vineyards of the Estate. A pleasant evening celebrating under the stars, instead of one spent surrounded by gaggles of infuriatingly insipid nobles. "But, it seems our Archon is rather bent on 'not creating an incident'."

Erodin rolled his eyes. "I think he presumes that the Nobles of Oban might one day be an ally."

Not a terrible notion, the rich always did try to glom onto whatever power they could not, but the folly would be in assuming they would choose Gilram over the Great Houses of Vel Anir.

"Ah well, better a Masquerade than one of those terrible Operas." At least he wouldn't have to deal with some horrid woman screeching at the top of her lungs, never once had he managed to enjoy those.

The task was easy enough. Somewhere within the crowd tonight there was a man, not from Oban himself, who knew the location of a ring. They would not know if he carried it with him, nor if it would be half a world away, all that mattered was that he knew where it was. Which of course, meant Amelie was the perfect person to dig it out of him.

Of course, there was one other thing they would have to find out before the end of it all; what the ring actually did.

"I've never seen him so cagey." Erodin said, no small amount of amusement playing over his face. "He either doesn't know himself, or didn't want me to know."

 

[Amelie]

Hooves on pavement and the whining of carriage wheels served as the backing soundtrack for Erodin’s voice. They’d been apart for months while she dealt with her task in Urstholm, simply listening to him speak had been a far greater reward than anything their benefactor could’ve offered her.

If they had to suffer the company of high society while being dolled up in noble clothing that was a fine price to pay for the pair to no longer be separated.

”Allies? Or subjects in his grand, expansive, empire.” Joy painted her features as the quip left her tongue. She’d never much cared for Gilram, a man with far more ambition than sense. Then again, he’d also never trusted her very much.

Amelie presumed it was the whole mindreading around his most trusted lieutenants, or a simple uneasiness regarding the fact that Erodin and she were likely his most powerful followers, but whether it was Urstholm or Oban the archon never seemed keen on the idea of keeping her close by.

Fingers toyed with the delicate looking violet mask they’d gotten fashioned for her, ”an Obanese masquerade sounds heavenly after my last assignment,” she swore she stunk of hay and sulfur for a week after leaving the mining town, ”and the swill they called booze might as well have been piss when compared to Oban’s selection of wine.”

”And,” she gingerly placed the mask upon her lap, ”I rather enjoyed the last opera we attended.” Opera's lasted hours and listening to the ocean of idle thoughts while being next to him was a soothing experience for her. However, he didn’t have a magic that allowed him to drown out the pageantry of it all so she couldn’t fault him for his opinion.

Amelie laughed at the mention of the ring.

Depending upon what it did she was confident they’d return to the Archon they’d pledged loyalty to as heroes or with a convincing story as to why recovery of the trinket was impossible.

”Do you think it’s,” her lips tugged at her cheeks in a sly grin, ”you know, it?”

Gilram had been looking for something and the truth was no one, possibly not even the archon himself, knew precisely what it was.

Sure, she and Erodin had theories, pretty damn good ones, but the exact nature of his plan was a secret that only he knew. And he’d done an unbelievable job of limiting Amelie access to whatever was lurking inside of his head.

 

[Erodin]

Erodin chortled as she spoke of her time in Urstholm, head shaking in disbelief as she described the taste of their ale.

While Amelie had been in the little mining village, Erodin had been sent to sea. A task that he'd actually quite enjoyed.

He'd argued against sending her to Urstholm in the first place of course. Wanting her at his side even though it had been the right decision. Yet being so long away from her had been painful, and the oaf they stuck her with in that shit hole? A part of Erodin still loathed that he'd not been the one to kill him.

"Well." The rogue Dreadlord said, leaning forward and gently taking Amelie's hand. His lips pressing against the back of her hand. "I would sit through a dozen of them for you."

Though even a quick look into his mind would reveal that he would rather find a thousand other things to quiet her thoughts. A fact which he knew, and had known since the beginning of their time together. His thoughts were an open book to her, no secret, no thought he did not share. Never had he kept a single thing from her.

Drawing back he slowly let go of her hand. "In all honesty I couldn't say about the ring."

Erodin said, returning to the topic of the ring.

"He sent Leilwin and that new brat of his to Vel Draza for something." The ancient Archive was the habitat of many forgotten artifacts, though even most Dreadlords didn't know it. Erodin only did because of Amelie and her gifts. She kept no secrets from him either. "And before that Mae and the kids brought him some cup."

He did enjoy the wish granter, if only because she annoyed Gilram so much. "He is creating a collection, and what I can, is that I have quite the theory as to why."

Erodin said smugly as he leaned back on his plush bench.

 

[Amelie]

Were it not for the nearly hour-long session it had taken to apply the correct amount of makeup to her face Amelie would’ve pulled her partner in for an actual kiss but for now she settled for the peck against the flesh of her hand.

That self-control didn’t stop the twinkle in her eyes as he embraced her, though.

”Perhaps he wishes to become a curator rather than an emperor,” it was her first guess, said in jest.

She’d long ago made a rule for herself that she would rarely, if ever, invade Erodin’s thoughts. The few times she’d done it had been early on and his spoken words always held true. These days she only used the ability if they needed to communicate silently.

Musing on the news he relayed her, gods Urstholm had truly been a backwater assignment, she let a curious whistle escape betwixt her lips. ”Leilwin got saddled with the kid? Interesting…”

It wasn’t whom she would’ve chosen.

”I’d hear your theory but I still think a career change to museum curator is still the front runner,” a sigh came over her as the carriage kicked up a wayward pebble, ”for all of his idealized proclamations he sure enjoys keeping us out of the planning.”

Most of the archons she’d met were the same way.

As if they were above the need to explain anything, above needing to justify anything to mere Dreadlords. To his credit, the man they’d identified as the lesser of several evils was far more progressive than any of the other archons she’d met.

 

[Erodin]

Erodin scoffed. "I don't think he has the elegance for the position. Either one really."

Try as he might, Gilram simply didn't have the gentle caress of nobility. His strength was undeniable, the Archon's magic matched by few alive, and his words could sway crowds of peasants and simpletons well enough.

He was a populist, a powerful thing to be, but ill-suited for true rule. Or even conveying the importance of the pieces in a museum.

"I think, my darling, he is building himself a map." Erodin considered for a moment, then rephrased. "Or a compass."

Though it was much more difficult for him to gather information, he had over the years become quite good at it in his own sort of way. While Amelie could dig through someone's mind, Erodin had a knack for making just the right friend.

In this case it was that fool Ulrich, too loud for his own good. "It didn't occur to me until I found what he had me fetch at sea."

Erodi explained. "A dagger, but it wasn't the blade he was interested in."

"There was something in the hilt, a needle." His finger tapped against his cheek. "He doesn't know I found it of course, but It was where the things true magic lay."

All the items that had been taken were magic in some way, a few more than others, and yet Erodin couldn't help but believe there was a greater whole. Though there was no real way for them to tell if he was right, of course. Amelie had already said it; Gilram didn't trust them.

"He is weary, now more than ever." Not without good reason.

"I think it's why he prefers to send the children." Erodin mused. "They don’t even know the right questions to ask."

He said, shaking his head as he remembered a conversation he’d had with one of the little dullards. ”I swear, some of them have never even opened a book.”

 

[Amelie]

"A map? I was unaware he could read," the compass idea sounded far more likely for a brute like Gilram.

Listening intently she was reminded of just how resourceful Erodin could be. Even though he lacked the magic she had he made up with it through an irresistible charm that caused secrets to spill out of imbeciles. Not to mention a brain that was intelligent enough to identify the right imbeciles to build those relationships with in the first place.

She had nothing to offer as he spoke of the archon's plan or the magical quality of each little trinket he was after. Other than, "and what did the needle do?" Knowing that might've given them a clue about the ring they sought.

Her task of securing ore for him had been for an obvious purpose and it had the added benefit of keeping Amelie away from what appeared to be the Gilram's current, primary, goal. Once he finished speaking she finally added to the conversation. "A pack of useful idiots."

If the ones he'd recently recruited were as foolish as the two girls she'd met in Urstholm then calling them useful idiots might've been too generous. The Noel child thought of herself as being capable of greatness yet she'd only tapped a tiny fraction of her potential even though she'd graduated, and from what Amelie saw the recent graduate had no plan on how to change that. Mieri was even easier to break than her mentor had been. If only it were the old days, the academy would've purged both of them.

It was Erodin's other comment that she found far more interesting than whatever it was the archon did with his cadre of brats.

"Weary?" she'd only communicated with the man via letters the last few months, "you don't think he's," she did not speak the next words aloud, instead transmitting them as thoughts directly into her partner's head. You don't think he knows what we're up to, do you?

She wasn't going to risk the carriage driver or any other prying ears. It was too early, too soon, for the archon to be overly suspicious of them.

 

[Erodin]

He chuckled ever so slightly. As much as they derided Gilram for his inelegant nature, both of them understood the man was still powerful. Unlike many others though, they did not think that power was an excuse that made up for what they perceived as ill-planning.

"It was a wayfinder." Erodin explained about the needle. Amelie would of course be familiar with the class of item. Wayfinders were enchantments created specifically for, well, finding things. Usually one thing in particular. "Though, it didn't work."

Hence his theory.

The needle had really allowed him to put it all together, and it was why he was sure Gilram was building something. A map, or compass, made the most sense. Something that would lead the Archon somewhere.

As concern flickered over Amelie's features, his head only shook in answer. "Spies, infiltrators."

He spoke out loud, if only in case the Driver actually was listening. But in the same span his thoughts flickered through to Amelie.

I don't believe so. Erodin answered. But he is no fool either. He knows you could take his place.

Erodin looked at his beloved with pride, the words holding more truth for him than any god. Not placing himself on the throne, but only her.

As much as they made fun, Gilram had been a Dreadlord for longer than either of them had been alive. An Archon for nearly half of Erodin's career. The man was dangerous. "The only people he truly trusts are the blind fools."

He continued speaking out loud, his words provocative, though not at all damaging if they were reported somehow.

 

[Amelie]

A wayfinder was an interesting little tool to uncover and it was valuable to know that it didn't function properly. Not to mention brilliant on his part not to tip his hand that he'd discovered its true value to their leader.

But it still left the biggest question on the table. What the hell was Gilram looking for?

Relief washed over her as she exhaled upon reading Erodin's unspoken thought, exiting his mind as soon as she knew their quiet moment was concluded. Though he'd never complained of it she did her best not to violate the sanctity of his mind.

Although a rush of warmth washed over her at the praise. They'd always be equals, always have the same voice, but his insistence of ensuring she received the glory was a flattery she still enjoyed. It made some tactical sense too, it was far more difficult for an assassin's plot to work on someone who could read minds. And, beyond that, in many scenarios Amelie was a far bigger threat against a singular target even if Erodin's magic outpaced hers massively when faced with a great many threats at once.

They were like a perfectly balanced symphony of strength.

"We should press that to our advantage." Fools were only reliable for one thing, being fools.

Tell them a lie and they'll repeat it as truth.

Gilram used them because they didn't pose a threat to him, didn't pose any sort of challenge, and they held blind loyalty. But all of that could be exploited to disrupt, to sow discord, you just had to know which fools to lean on. Which lies to spread.

Their carriage rounded a corner and the driver called out, "be there soon my lord and lady."

She placed her mask upon her face and tied the silk fabric around her skull, the violet and white shades of the porcelain face-piece complimenting her billowy dress. "Find a few fools to feed Gilram with information that will get his attention off us," a sinister glee shone underneath her disguised face, "and onto someone more... disposable."

 

[Erodin]

"Perhaps Mae." The wish-giver was entertaining, but it would be funny to see Gilram turn on her though. The melt down alone would have been worth it, though he already knew it likely wouldn't work. "No."

Erodin said, waving his hand before Amelie could point out the obvious. "I know, he'll never believe it."

Even the Archon wasn't dumb enough for that. Mae was singularly devoted, trying to convince Gilram that she would betray him was all but impossible. There were better targets among the ranks of the rogues, those who at least had their own ambitions.

"Duncan." Erodin said. "Or maybe Ulrich."

Though the latter wasn't quite smart enough for it. "One of them will work well enough."

His hand waved again, dismissively, there would be time enough to formulate that plan. A hand ran through his hair, and he picked up the mask from besides himself on the bench. It was an ornate thing, resembling what the Tyrians called an 'oni'. Two jagged teeth and a grinning mouth featuring on it's face. Tying it into place, the carriage came to a stop.

"May I take your hand, my love?" Erodin asked, extending his palm towards Amelie, the door of the carriage opening to reveal a garden with a long red carpet cutting through it. The manor beyond lit with dozens upon dozens of lanterns and colored lights.

 

[Amelie]

Amelie actually giggled at the suggestion of Mae. The girl worshipped the ground their egotistical Archon walked upon and had no where near enough sense to realize he did not, and would not ever, reciprocate her childish feelings.

"Hm." A thumb pressed against her chin in thought. "Duncan is a good choice."

The man actually could be a thorn in their side in the future and she knew that Gilram's trust was a hard thing to earn. To put it bluntly, Duncan was one of those who was still "proving himself" just as the pair of them were. And while he didn't have the power Amelie or Erodin possessed he did have the brains to piece together a plot.

Unlike that dolt Ulrich or the singularly focused wish-granter.

Her hand draped downwards from her chin and into his grasp, "of course, darling." The problem with Oban was that, unlike Vel Anir, gender roles were firmly enforced. If they wished to give off the appearance that they were indeed a respected noble house then she'd have to play the role of a subservient waif for much of the evening.

Step one of that was allowing him to exit the carriage first and gingerly aid her descent down until her heels dug into the scarlet rug that ran through the manicured garden and into the palatial estate. She clung tightly to his hand as he led her forward, ensuring she never dared to walk in front of him while simultaneously preventing herself from falling behind.

Ushers at the doors asked Erodin for their overcoats, never once making eye contact with his lady, never once acknowledging her existence. They reached the entrance of the ballroom and a fabulously dressed attendant bowed and offered Erodin a glass of champagne before nodding. "Do you allow your lady to partake in alcohol, sir?"

She hated Oban. Even if she loved its wine.

 

[Erodin]

Behind his mask, a scowl pulled at Erodin's lips.

A part of him enjoyed the trappings of Obanese society. The regal architecture, the careful manner of dress, the interactions so very practiced and almost as exacting as a bout in a tournament. But he despised casual the disrespect, the indifference to his beloved wife who by all rights should have had these men kneeling at her feet.

He despised simple ideals such as this, particularly when they were lain onto Amelie.

For a brief moment he pictured himself slaughtering the attendant for his unknown insult, but before he reached for his dagger Erodin only leaned forward. His voice was low as he whispered in the man's ear. "I know full well the trappings of your culture, and so you have my forgiveness."

Erodin continued quietly.

"But treat my wife as an object again, and I'll flay the flesh from your bones." He reached out and gently plucked one glass of champagne from his tray. "Understand?"

The man's mouth lulled open, a stuttered answer forming on his tongue, but Erodin didn't let him speak. "Good, I'm glad you know. Please do ensure she is well taken care of tonight."

Gently, he patted the man twice on the cheek, before gingerly grabbing another glass and sending him on his way. The Attendant hurriedly stepped back into the party, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

He could not change the entire culture of Oban, and it was hardly the last slight which Amelie would endure this night. But there was something simplistic and satisfying in the knowledge that at least one attendant here tonight would understand the real measure of things.

 

[Amelie]

As soon as they had entered the manor she’d burrowed her way into the mind of the attendant. She could perceive every whisper Erodin spoke through the champagne-server’s mind, the tinge of fear, a millisecond of resistance, then back to fear. Even as her husband grabbed a glass for her she could hear the thoughts of terror rushing through the man’s head.

All of it made her heart swell, remembering all of the reasons she adored him.

”Thank you,” she said whilst sipping upon her champagne. It was the one thing the Obanese truly got right. ”We’ll likely suffer a few more of those idiotic sentiments tonight.”

The pair crashed through the doors into the grand ballroom. Various couples already danced about, an event adorned with pomp which included silken curtains, polished floors, and hors d’oeuvres that looked fit for kings.

However, the real issue was the sheer number of participants in attendance.

It would take them an hour, possibly longer, to make the rounds and have Amelie dig into every single patron’s thoughts. ”Oh, joy, there’s only a few hundred people here tonight.” She took another sip of her drink, allowing the bubbles to permeate her taste buds just a bit longer as she savored the liquid passing down her throat.

”The left side or the right side?” It was ultimately an arbitrary decision. They knew little of where the ring could be. Although towards their left lie the spread of cuisine as well as the various tables for those who tired of dancing. On the opposite end was the orchestra and the various couples already engaged in what she believed was known as the Elbionese Step, a popular dance among nobles who wished to appear “refined” without actually being so.

Amelie had already begun scanning the idle thoughts of those in their direct proximity. Although, as could be expected, she was coming up empty.

 

[Erodin]

"The left." Erodin said, spotting the table of food at the Nobles already gathered around it.

The path would let Amelie read those who were already tired of dancing with the added benefit of enjoying some actually decent food. If there was one thing that Oban could be praised for, it was their chefs. Men, because that was the way it was here, who had earned great renown not through battle but their work in the Kitchens.

A very notion that Erodin had once scoffed at, but now embraced whole heartedly.

It was through Amelie and his service to the Virak's that he had come to enjoy the finer things in life. The Great House having often treated them to many delights during their patronage. "We should share a dance later, my love."

Erodin commented idly, glancing over towards the ball room's lacquered floor as they began to move through the throng of people.

The conversations around them were about as inane as could be found. Some ladies gossiping about the dresses everyone was wearing, a few men speaking of potential war with Dornoch, some others bandying about trade with Alliria.

By the time they reached the table of elaborately decorated food, they would have heard nothing, though Amelie would have caught a slip of thought. Barely there, but flickering outward for just long enough. A scandalous thought about the foreign Prince in attendance tonight, and the very heavy rings around his hands and how they would feel upon ones skin.

Erodin, entirely ignorant of that thought, plucked up one of the small horderves, gingerly taking a bite from it.

 

[Amelie]

Amelie moved with Erodin towards the left side of the room.

Her magic worked its way into the ball slowly, like tipping a toe into a vast sea. When she was younger a room like this could be overwhelming, constant noise drowning out any concentration as thoughts were thrown at her from every direction.

But in her later teens she began to learn how to focus it down to a half dozen or so at a time.

Cycling through important tidbits and information while also maintaining conversation. ”I’d love nothing more than a dance,” a smile took her face while staring at Erodin, despite the rogue thought of a man judging his date’s appearance and a woman concerned that her bout with diarrhea was not yet over but that she could hopefully keep it all in for the duration of the ball.

That was usually how it went. People’s minds were their own shrines, safe from judgment. It was almost a desecration for Amelie to go routing around there.

Eventually, she picked up on some unusual information floating amongst multiple thought-trails regarding the prince and the gaudy rings he wore. One gentleman with a masque that looked to be made of gold led her gaze across the room where the prince stood with three other men.

As soon as she saw him she attempted to dig into his brain the way she had so many others only for a sharp pain to hit her. Amelie had experienced this sensation a few times, usually because of a magic nullifier, an enchanted object, or just a strange bit of magic that conflicted with her own such as her old mentor’s.

She played the pain off as if she were simply losing her footing and she clung tightly to her beloved’s arm while whispering, ”feedback,” their codeword for when the searing headache hit her.

A nudge of her chin in the direction of the four followed.

The fact that it had happened meant that the prince, or a member of his cohort, either had a talent that would make tonight more challenging or they had an item that blocked, at a minimum, mindreading. It was impossible to say what it was with so little information available to them.

”Perhaps we should find out more about this strange foreign prince,” another whisper right by his ear before she pulled away and released her grip. In a voice loud enough so that those around them could hear she exclaimed, ”my apologies, perhaps I’ve had too much to drink already, dear.”

 

[Erodin]

Erodin imperceptibly tensed as Amelie whispered in his ear. A frown pulling at his lips as his eyes flickered through the room. Almost instantly he searched for someone looking at them, seeing if the feedback Amelie was feeling had triggered something.

His fingers held gently to her as she diverted his gaze towards the four figures.

None of them spared the couple a second glance, though they could have been looking in the moment he'd searched the hall. A frown pulled at his lips, and he tried to identify the mans manner of dress. Clothes often being a giveaway.

After a moment he turned away, shifting as though he were guiding Amelie towards one of the tables. "Oh, darling. I fear its more the atmosphere. I'd have thought there would be more interesting company."

Erodin said the words loud enough for the people around them to hear, and he couldn't help but smile at the ripple of gossip that spread out from him. He needed to lay the ground work now.

"From the North, I would guess." The Rogue Dreadlord said as they walked, his voice lower now. "Neus, perhaps."

The two of them found a small table, not isolated but close enough to it. "Maybe I should make a new friend."

He proposed.

 

[Amelie]

A boisterous laugh followed Erodin’s statement of uninteresting company, riling the feathers of several attendees even further.

”Neus would make sense,” based on the styles he and his three companions wore it fit with Erodin’s guess. ”They’re too finely dressed to be from Vreen.”

Although one of the members of the prince’s entourage had the muscular physique to have fit in within the boisterous city in the north. Her guess was that he served as intimidation to dissuade potential attackers, the real power likely lie with the prince himself or one of his other two compatriots who appeared leaner.

A smile graced her features when he suggested making friends.

”Yes, I think we should both try to find out what we can.” There were a few rumors still floating around though she kept her mind far more guarded and focused after the feedback she suffered.

Placing her champagne flute down upon the table she gestured over towards a group of women sitting in a corner. ”I can go learn more about our foreign prince from a secondary source,” her grin deepened. Even from here she could hear the thoughts of the woman who’d served as a one-night stand for the foreigner.

”Be careful, love.” Amelie planted a gentle kiss upon his hand before rising and stalking over towards the table of gossiping noblewomen.

 

[Erodin]

"Aren't I always?" Erodin said with a broad smile, flexing his knuckles beneath her lips before slowly drawing himself back and away from her.

His shoulders squared, and with no real hesitation he quickly began to march back through the throng of party goers. Some of them actually looked his way, most likely wondering who in the hell he was to throw around insults at all.

All of them were ignored of course, instead he made a direct b-line through the party itself, walking with all the confidence of a King towards the foreign Prince and those around him. One of the men, Erodin noticed, was not partaking in the conversation at all. Instead he was simply standing there and watching, his eyes flickering to the Rogue Dreadlord as soon as he came close.

A guard then.

"Excuse me, Monsieur." Erodin called out as he stepped up to the man. "I couldn't help but notice the pattern of your armor."

The man at the center of the conversation glanced down, looking at the heavy breastplate that sat over his well cared for uniform. "From Neus, is it not?"

It was a guess, but with both him and Amelie's knowledge it was bound to be a good one. By how the man's face lit up, Erodin could tell how he'd fared before the man even spoke.

"Ah! A warrior among this rabble of finery! And with knowledge of our armors, how wonderful."​

Erodin smiled, quietly thankful for all those parties attended for House Virak.

"Of course! Who couldn't know the famed Ice Forged steel of Neus?" The rogue Dreadlord intoned, as though the very thought was impossible. A smile breaking his lips as he began to ingratiate himself.

 

[Amelie]

Although she stood first Amelie took her time moving towards the gathering of noblewomen. From across the room she kept one eye trained on her husband. It was the protective side in her coming out, a part of her that had only multiplied from their recent months apart.

Deep down she knew that If it came to it she would burn all of Arethil for him.

Once she saw the smile of the group of men from Neus her paranoia set itself aside. It wasn’t that she believed he couldn’t handle himself, she knew he could, it was the concern that they might be dealing with someone far more threatening than they initially had assumed. And if things went poorly she wasn’t going to waste a second to aid him.

”Ladies,” she said as she finally made her way to the group, ”mind if I join you?”

One or two of the noble ladies looked puzzled, a few others annoyed, and the dumbest of the bunch wore a welcoming grin. “Not at all madame,” the dumbest of them replied whilst Amelie already began to pull out a chair.

“You’re with the noble in the stark white hair?” A lady with tight blonde curls asked, “who is he?”

This was Oban, so of course his identity was far more important than hers. It was also likely that the table had been privy to Erodin’s earlier outbursts.

”Ser Gregoric of House Teli,” an especially wealthy house from Alliria, ”do any of you know whom he is speaking with? He said he had business with those men but, well, I am unfamiliar with them.”

A few giggles followed as eyes all darted to the woman who’s thoughts originally drew Amelie to this table.

“Janette knows,” one voice claimed.

A plump redhead chimed in, “Janette is very familiar with Lord Heraclea.”

”Oh, Janette,” her face contorted and faced the woman in question, ”please, tell me everything.”

It didn’t much matter if the girl shared what she’d previously gossiped about with the rest of the group. Her mind was now focusing on the previous night’s romp, making it easier for Amelie to focus in, burrow into the folds of her mind that formed memories. Eternal pictures seared into her subconscious that the mindreader could access.

The longer this topic permeated the conversation the more that she could uncover about their target.

 

[Erodin]

As both Amelie and Erodin found out, Lord Ivan Heraclea, or Prince Ivan as he was actually known, as quite the important figure.

A member of the Dumas of Neus, the good Prince was one of the twelve most powerful people in the northern territory. Located upon what they dubbed the isle of Rus, Neus was a fortress city surrounded by twelve smaller satellite cities, each ruled by one of the dozen Princes and their families. Politics, much like in Vel Anir, was a deadly game of friends and enemies.

Apparently the good Prince Ivan was here in Oban forming new trade partnerships, intending to bring some of the luxury and 'softness' of this Kingdom to his homeland.

"How fascinating." Erodin said, now sitting at a table with the Prince and his entourage. Two of whom were clearly bodyguards, the third of which seemed more a friend. Hardly a warrior that was for sure. The latter wore no rings, the Dreadlord noted, though the former did. "I must confess, My Prince, I know little of the culture in Neus."

The Prince laughed. "In that, you are not alone! We are a distant people to you, yes? What would you like to know"

Erodin smiled. "Your rings."

He motioned to the man's hands.

"I have never seen someone wear so many." If it hadn't been for the 'noise' Amelie felt around the man, Erodin would almost have thought he were a red-herring. The man was practically buried in jewelry. "Are they for something?"

The Prince took another long drag of his ale, and then smiled as he launched into an explanation.

"Of course! They are pieces of conquests, victories won in battle and in single combat." He extended his hand, showing Erodin just how different each piece actually was from the next. "In our culture, a defeated foe must give up one of his rings or have one forged for the victor."

Erodin mused for a moment. "And if they are dead?"

A grin spread across the Prince's face. "Then you must take what you are owed."

 

[Amelie]

“He never took a single one off?”

The table was now engulfed in gossip regarding Janette’s steamy adventure with Lord Ivan Heraclea. “No, not once! It was most peculiar,” Janette seemed to be reveling in the sudden attention.

Amelie had discovered that the table she’d chosen was a table filled with divorcees and widows. Fortunate enough to be from families understanding enough, or wealthy enough, to continue to financially support them despite their lack of a husband. A somewhat rare thing in Obanese culture, from what she understood.

Janette continued, “I think it’s part of some odd cultural habits in that savage land they call home.”

Several of the women whispered amongst themselves, one or two of them began to say slurs referring to northmen in their minds. Inappropriate for the dinner table but it was impossible to escape prejudice within a prejudiced head.

”Did he say anything about any of his rings in particular?”

A smirk colored the widow’s face. “Why? Are you looking for a night alone with him?”

Giggles, a few stray thoughts that questioned Amelie’s virtue, then silence as the mindreader stared with a blank expression. ”Curiosity, that’s all.”

Amelie ignored the rest of what the table said, she already had her answer from the memories burrowed within Janette’s brain. There was a ring he had bragged about, belonging to a particularly mighty warrior whom the prince had maimed in combat. Though, unfortunately, the woman had no clue what the thing looked like.

Back to square one, he could be wearing it or he may be storing our prize in a safe location. Of course, the table of women were proving less informative than Erodin’s new chums, a realization unknown to her. While her magic was certainly incredible at gleaning information this situation was proving that it could only really go so far.

”Excuse me ladies,” she said abruptly while rising for her chair and going to mingle with some of the other party goers who happened to be closer to her partner.

 

[Erodin]

The conversation continued for some time.

Though it turned mostly towards bragging than anything else. One moment Ivan would point to a ring and name the man whom he'd killed for it, and the next Erodin would regale the small group with a twisted version of some mission from years ago.

Even the bodyguards seemed to relax slightly, turning their attentions away from the Rogue Dreadlord and out at the party. Eventually, after another glass of champagne, the Prince stood up from the table and excused himself.

Begging Erodin's forgiveness, but saying that he had important matters to attend to before the end of the evening.

"Ah yes, and what is her name?" Another laugh echoed from the Prince's lips, and Erodin felt almost bad that he was mostly likely going to have to kill him. Almost.

He smiled, and the two of them parted ways. Not a few moments later Amelie slipped from the crowd, perching in the very seat that their target Prince had sat in just a few seconds ago. A waiter came by just enough for the Dreadlord to snatch another glass from the tray.

"I was right." Erodin purred, leaning in towards his wife with a smile. "He is from Neus, and I think he is most definitely carrying our ring."

His lips flickered to a frown. "Though I'm also almost entirely sure the fool has absolutely no idea what he actually has."

 

[Amelie]

Amelie stalked one or two other party-goers but was unable to gather anything else worth mentioning to Erodin. She eventually snaked her way close enough to them such that she could fall into the vacant chair previously inhabited by Ivan after the group departed.

”Shame that he’ll have to die purely due to ill-fate,” but such was life. A complicated web of blunders and bad luck.

She allowed the drink tray to pass her by, wishing to keep her senses honed.

”Any leads on the feedback?”

Why they’d have an object, or a mage, with the ability to block mindreading was beyond her comprehension. Oban treated its women the way it did because of concerns over magic. Neus wasn’t exactly known for its magic either.

Lips twisted as the gears turned and before Erodin could even answer she harkened her own guess. ”Perhaps it’s the artifact Gilram seeks.”

A test maybe? Perhaps the ring wasn’t just part of the ‘compass’ he was trying to build but had the added benefit of shielding his thoughts from Amelie. Additionally, it was possible that if they disposed of the prince and withheld the ring Gilram would learn of it.

Either the Archon would secure his head from the pair or he’d confirm where their loyalties lie.

”What next?” She’d brought a dagger, hidden beneath the layers of her dress, and they could assess the cause of her magic being blocked after their foes were slain. Judging by sight alone she didn’t think the two of them would have much of a challenge even if they didn’t have her magic available to her.

But perhaps he’d uncovered something that would give them cause for alarm.

 

[Erodin]

A frown touched Erodin's lips. "It's possible."

He was attempting to think of this strategically, not from their own point of view but Gilram's. The Archon had a plan, a grand strategy in place that would according to him lead to their success. Just how many pieces he needed for that plan no one could really guess.

"Maybe even likely." For a moment the smile dropped off of Erodin's face. "But this fool has collected things he has no understanding of."

The rogue Dreadlord explained. "The rings are things of conquest, won in battle or duels. He quite literally has over a dozen of them."

More than any man should wear, really. "Any of them could do anything, and that's not even to mention his guards."

Who also had rings, though not quite as many.

There were two meanings to that of course. The first being that they had no real idea which ring they were even looking for, and the other being that neither the Prince nor his bodyguards would exactly be pushovers. Erodin knew that they would win in the end of course, that was without question, but the fight would likely create some noise.

Slowly he leaned forward, grasping Amelie's hand and softly bringing her knuckles to his lips. For anyone else it would seem as though it were two lovers embracing once more in an overly flirtatious moment.

"We'll need to kill them all." He told her softly. "I think."

His lips brushed over her skin. "Or perhaps just the two Guards, and then take the Prince."

 

[Amelie]

A rush of relief washed over her, though she hid it well enough. Erodin was correct, their fearless leader was often a buffoon. If he knew what they sought he would’ve sent his party of loyal, moronic, children to retrieve it.

”So, good news, bad news,” she offered as he held her hand in his, ”this will be harder than we anticipated but we’re also dealing with imbeciles.”

While it was interesting that the people of Neus collected rings it also felt familiar. Men indulging in delusions of grandeur, collecting triumphs, displaying them for the world to see just how wonderful they were. In a lot of ways the Neusians weren’t all that different from the Archon they served.

Going out and seeking little prizes through personal, inconsequential, conquests.

It was disgusting. The mere thought caused her to struggle to smile even as Erodin moved closer and kissed her skin. Though that grin grew once she realized it had been a ploy to relay sensitive information. ”A hostage could be fun.”

So long since they’d last had fun. Breaking an individual to their core and realizing that the pair of them were better, smarter, and stronger for what they did. The amount of information they’d gained through this little game of leaving the last, most important, person alive for a time had proven invaluable.

The face of a blushing bride was borne upon her face as she leaned in and planted a kiss upon his cheek. ”Very well. We find a way into their suite, then take the guards out one at a time, cripple the prince.”

Amelie didn’t need to say anything else. He knew the next step involved taking the foreigner to some abandoned building or secluded back alley.

 

[Erodin]

Over the years the two of them had broken apart many missions that their betters thought impossible. Working together Erodin and Amelie had conquered entire cities on their own. Not only were their magics powerful, but the two Rogue Dreadlords were calm, patient, analytical, and intelligent.

There was a reason that Gilram feared them.

"Wonderful." Erodin said with a bright beaming smile, pulling back and away from Amelie. His hand squeezed hers for just a brief second, and then slowly he grasped the glass he had taken earlier.

A long sip was drained from the champagne, and he slowly pulled himself up.

As he did so a hand almost immediately stuck out, grasping the side of the table as though he were stumbling. "Ah.

He said, his voice filled with mirth.

"Perhaps the waiter spike my drink." Erodin said loudly, a few others turning their heads in interest. The two were hardly the talk of the town, but his earlier insult made his words now draw more than a few eyes. "Come along, my dear, I think I need some fresh air."

Meaning they needed time to find the idiot Prince's suite.