Private Tales Tit for tat

[Dante L Damasque]

---

Early Winter, 373
In the North Eastern Allir Reach,
The town of Viyantil, West of the Grand Lake Brullyrd

---

A silvery curtain of mist swirled about the streets of Viyantil, a cold that clung to a person and sank down into their bones. It was of no help then, that the grey sky seemed near eternal in its presence. Not a day had gone by where the sun had peeked through the shifting veil.

"Bloody hate this place," grunt a tall man, broad of shoulder and narrow eyed.

"I am no fan of it myself, dear Gunter," said the dark haired youth by the window. His breath fogged against the cold glass through which he peered out. "But, they say a treasure hides amidst these dreary streets,"

A half laugh from the old grey beard. "Is that what you young ones are calling it this day? A treasure,'

The young one's eyes turned to slits, his lips tight with lack of amusement.

The old guard's smile only widened. "Only a jest, young Master,'

"Yes. of course," he huffed. Forced himself to smile as he went back to looking through the foggy glass. "Only a jest,"

---

Down on the street level, one Rupert Longfellow skulked about the streets with all the grace of a three legged cat. In so much that, there was a smidge of natural grace too him, but, a clumsiness that spoke of unfortunate shortcomings. Where the cat had the very understandable excuse of having either lost a leg, or been born missing one, Rupert... well, just wasn't so graceful.

Still, this job was easy enough, right? Follow the mysterious woman through the town. Find out where she lays her head and... deliver a message.

Easy peasy.

Just so happens that he had found where she laid her head down, ramshackle ol place, on the side of town no proper lady had any business being in. But then, who was ol' Longfellow to judge? Nobody really. So he just tip toed his way on over to the door of the place, and, well. Did he just slip the message under the door now? Or knock on the door?

The person who'd hired him didn't quite say.

Rupert looked down at the slit beneath the door. Didn't look like a letter would pass through. He looked for windows and... nothing. Well. Suppose it didn't hurt to knock, right?

A rap of knuckles against the solid wooden door.

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

The muted glow of flickering lanterns cast elongated shadows, dancing in tandem with the subtle movements of the hooded woman as she traversed the desolate alleys of Viyantil. Evadne, wrapped in dark robes that clung to her lithe frame, moved with an eerie grace, her steps silent as whispers in the wind.

The freezing air did little to faze her; if anything, it seemed to embrace the darkness that enveloped her as she walked the boundary between shadow and dreary light. A sense of predatory awareness guided her through the labyrinthine streets, her sharp eyes discerning every nook and cranny and watching every creature that scurried out of her way.

She could feel the presence of the unwelcome follower, an inept specter attempting to match her elusive dance. His attempts at stealth were as feeble as a wounded animal, each misstep echoing in the stillness of the night. "Idiot." she murmured to herself, ensuring he continued to follow as she opened the door of the dingy little hideout, and slunk inside.

The knock on her door elicited a quiet snort of surprise, the rhythmic tap echoing through the room, a punctuation to the quiet symphony of Viyantil's clandestine secrets.

She opened the door with a deliberate slowness, her gaze meeting the messenger's with an intensity that transcended mere mortal scrutiny. Her hood cast a shadow over her features, concealing the subtle smirk that played on her lips, and the flickering candlelight reflected in her sharp, calculating eyes that seemed to pierce the soul.

"Can I help you?" she inquired, her voice a velvety whisper that cut through the frigid air. Her smile remained, a mask of charm concealing the predator beneath. In the dance of darkness and deceit, she awaited the next move, her mind already calculating the threads of fate as they wove around her.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

Like a knife through the gut, Rupert felt himself run through by the cold gaze that greeted him. Flesh turned taught with goose pimples. Come the voice though. Soft and inviting. Rupert remembered himself. Eased some as he steadied the uneasy tremble in his hands. Tongue and lips worked the dryness out of his mouth.

"I, uh... I've," he reached for something beneath his threadbare cloak, "A letter for you, miss,"

Hidden further away was a second soul. A woman. Cunning and competent. She was the insurance.

Should Evadne open the letter she would find a message, neatly scrawled there in.


Be careful.

One day, the past will come knocking. Now, I wish to make a proposal. A deal, that will benefit us both. Purposeful. Perhaps a tad pleasurable. Even if it may cause concern. Take the risk. If only to find out who you really are. Take back your destiny.

~ D.

Keen as her eyes were. Evadne would notice the heavy press of each letter that began a new sentence. ​

 

[Evadne]

Evadne's russet eyes followed Rupert's every move; the subtle play of emotions across his face, the fumbling retrieval of the letter from beneath his shabby cloak, and how the messenger's unease transformed into a tentative confidence, guided by the soft cadence of her voice. Her cold gaze persisted, a calculated scrutiny that gladly cut through the ragged layers of his composure.

There was another with him, too, her pulse much less erratic than the rather oafish man at her door and her scent far more pleasant. Her gaze swept beyond him, briefly, before she forced a smile that might once have been warm as she took the letter from him with a languid grace, her cold fingers brushing softly against his as she did so.

The parchment felt fragile in her hands, a vessel of secrets waiting to be unraveled. Her hooded gaze shifted from the letter to its carrier, a suspicious glint in her eyes. "For me, you say? How intriguing." she mused, her voice retaining its velvety quality as she cracked the seal. The moment she unfolded the parchment, her eyes scanned the words meticulously, a subtle arch of her brow betraying a mixture of amusement and disdain. The carefully penned code did not escape her notice.

A low, almost melodic chuckle tumbled from her lips, a sound that resonated with both amusement and a touch of pity. "Oh, how quaint," she remarked, her lips forming a sardonic smile. "It seems our mysterious benefactor has a taste for dramatics."

There was no warmth in her eyes, but the amusement lingered there, and a predatory glint flickered like a subtle flame as she acknowledged the intricacies of the web being woven around her. Folding the letter with deliberate care, she looked at the stranger once more.

"I shall reply at once... Why don't you come in, and you can return my response to this charming proposal?" she offered, stepping back and gesturing to the dimly lit interior of the room, the warmth of the candlelight thawing the coldness of her features somewhat.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

Rupert blinked. Gulped. Felt the gob of spit thick in his throat. But there was just, something about the lady who stood behind the door. Eyes aglow in such a fashion, that they disarmed whatever instinct was there in the back of his head screaming at him to run. Or maybe it was the smell that tickled his nose.

A thing unpersceptible to the waking mind. A thing of beasts. Predators and their prey. Like a cat to a mouse. So long as things were still. So long as the motions were soft and easy. Well. Why would he run?

It was not every day that such a beautiful woman invited ol' Longfellow into their place of stay. And well, the candle light looked warm. Its glow warmer around the gentle curves of her cheek.

Rupert's mouth moved with a lick of his lips. Again, his mouth felt sticky and thick with dryness. "Um, yes," he nod. "Yes, of course," not remembering that returning a message was never part of the deal. Rupert stepped in to the room, and laughed nervous like as the warmth wrapped around him. "Mighty cold outside, it is,"

The woman who watched from the distant cover remained just that. Distant. Why she had been asked to trail such a two bit knuckle dragger like Longfellow was an irksome mystery. But easy money was easy money.

She kept her eyes on the door. Careful not to look at anything beyond it. That wasn't what she was paid for. When Longfellow stepped in, she returned to her own cold shadow, pulled the silver pocket clock from its place, flipped open its clamshell, and jot down in her notes.

---

Quarter past the hour mark.
Longfellow enters the room.​

---

She put the clockwork contraption away, and moved to a new location. Sure to pull her hood down closer to her face.

​

 

[Evadne]

Evadne observed Rupert's hesitant entrance with a detached interest, her hooded gaze lingering on the interplay of nervousness and fascination dancing across his features. The gentle candlelight casting a flickering glow on his roughened features, yet the predatory glint in her eyes remained unyielding.

"The night air can be quite unforgiving," she recalled, her voice a velvety murmur that blended with the shadows. She barely remembered what cold felt like, or warmth for that matter. Such sensations had long since gone. "Sit, if you will."

Rupert, still caught in the web of her allure, found himself lowering into the worn leather chair, his movements hesitant yet compelled. Evadne circled him like a silent wraith, her hood casting a veil of mystery over her features. The scent that clung to the air intensified, a heady mixture of ancient magic and the subtle aroma of dark secrets.

She took a seat across from him, the flickering candles casting her pale face in an otherworldly light.
In a deliberate motion, she reached up and grasped the edge of her hood, pulling it back to reveal a cascade of crimson that spilled over her shoulders. The room seemed to drink in the sudden burst of colour, her vibrant hair a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to her presence. The candlelight caught in the strands, setting them alight.

"Now.." she smiled, "let's discuss the proposal you've brought to me," she said, her eyes locking onto his with a lingering intensity. He was likely a simple pawn with no real knowledge of the sender or their purpose, but whatever information he had, she wanted. "Who sent you following after a woman alone at such an hour?"

As Evadne leaned back in her chair, the predatory glint in her eyes seemed to intensify. The game had just begun, and Viyantil's misty night cradled the unfolding intrigue like a silent witness. "I assume you're not alone. Someone wished to know where I reside." her head tilted.

"You will tell me all that you know now, won't you?"

 

[Dante L Damasque]

A gulp. Longfellow's tongue wormed about his mouth. Just behind his teeth. His lips cracked open. A choked little sound. A cough. A breath came harder. His heart ticked up.

"Ma'am's, its, well," he laughed. A tight and strung thing. Pins and needles against glass. His fingers gripped against the worn leather of of his chair's arms. He tried to smile. A curl that turned to broken glass. "I was paid, you see,"

His head swirled as his mind tried to pluck the memory from the soup.

But coin had its own weight. Cross a customer. Well, that meant no more coin. Was worse when the coin was easy.

He laughed. Titter and sharp. Stopped. Suddenly aware of the beat of his own heart. Of the blood in his veins. And perhaps, of the danger he might be in.

He cleared his throat, and nod. "C-can't go and burn a man like that without any, re-recompense," a horrid grin.

 

[Evadne]

Evadne watched the man's feeble attempt at composure with a mixture of amusement and impatience. The scent of his fear mingled with that of the blood that clung to him. She could practically taste the desperation in the air.

Her crimson hair framed her face like a fiery halo as she leaned forward, her gaze piercing through the veil of falsehoods that shrouded him. "Paid, you say?" she echoed, her voice a velvet whisper that seemed to echo in the silence of the room. "A simple pawn in someone else's game, then." she smiled, her voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

At the sight of the ghastly grin that spread across the man's face, The predatory glint in her eyes intensified a a silent warning that lingered in the air like a barely concealed threat. "A pawn indeed, but remember, pawns have a choice in the game they play. You see, our benefactor knows what I am and the perilous position he's put you in, yet he sent you to me without warning.. Luckily for you, I'm a staunch believer in personal choice, and in second chances.." Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable pregnant with the weight of impending consequences.

"So, last chance.. Before I cause a fucking scene." she frowned, her sweet facade shattering.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

What greed born humor came from the man's gut was gone with the glint of horrid enchantment in the red of the woman's eyes. He shrunk back, a worm wriggled into its own skin. Gulped, hard and dry as dust.

"A, a scene?" he asked, his mind shattered as it tried to pick up the pieces. "P-please miss, I mean," he laughed, nervous as a rat, pressed into a corner.

His eyes darted left then right as he sank back into his chair. The weight of her words alone feeling like they pressed around him. Smothered him and made it all the more difficult to breath. "Even ol' Longfellow's got a reputation to keep," he muttered, smoothed the ruffles of his shirt with his long knobby fingers. Something to help keep his mind off things. Something to help him think. "Wait, just a tick," he said as he looked up at the woman again. "What'n you mean by, what you are?"

Gods. Was she a killer?

His eyes widened large. "Ok ok ok!" he stammered fast as his mouth would allow, hands raised up to shield him, his knees pulled up, curled close to his chest, pushed at the lip of his chair with his heels to push himself deeper into the old chair still. "Please, Miss, please, I'll tell you, I mean, what I know!" he nod nod. He lowered his hands some, like a frail portcullis, half dropped. "Just, please," he tittered. "Don't kill me,"

 

[Evadne]

Evadne's crimson eyes narrowed at the pathetic man's feeble attempts to placate her, his words dripping with desperation like venom from a wounded serpent. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of his fear, suffocating her senses with its cloying presence.

"You mistake me," she said, her voice laced with a cold edge that cut through the tension like a blade. "I have no interest in your meaningless reputation or your pitiful existence. What I seek is information, nothing more."

Her patience wore thin, a crack appearing in the facade of composed indifference she maintained. The time for games was over, and Rupert's trembling form served as a stark reminder of the fragile balance between predator and prey.

"Speak, then," she demanded, her voice commanding obedience like a whip cracking through the silence. "Tell me what you know, and I'll decide if it's worth sparing your life over. No more fucking stalling." she seethed through her teeth at him, the crimson in her eyes flaring with temper.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

A sound bubbled and brooked the last of his courage away. Rupert, wide eyed and bunched up as he shook behind his knees, looked almost a babe, fetal and weak. Wrinkled, and sallow, skin sagged from the round of his bones.

He bobbed his head in agreement.

"Y-yes, O-of course, I- I'll tell you what I know Miss- Ma'am, Lady-" he gulped. Loosened his grip from about his knees and settled in. "I- well, I spoke with a man. O-older gentleman. Down about the Rusty Rabbit, y-you know the one?"

A local tavern. Closer to the center of town, at the edge of the lowdowns and the betteroffs.

He nod. Sure in his hope that his words would see him freed. "He, he didn't give me a name. B-but he was a a broad old bastard. Chin like an anvil, and beard like salt and pepper," he licked his lips. Thirsty. "Oh! Oh! He was tall too!" he said, finger pointed up and thrilled. "I, well, He didn't give me no name, ma'am, didn't tell me where to meet after the job was done, simple work, really, simple work for good coin, that's all it was,"

He didn't ask with his voice. But his eyes begged the question. Was that enough to leave alive?

 

[Evadne]

A sharp sigh spilled from the redhead's chest and she pinched at the bridge of her nose, tired of the pathetic babbling and god-awful stench of the man currently cowering in her chair. He was useless, and she may have been hungry, but she was far pickier about who she drank from than the letter-writer had given her credit for. Bon-appetite indeed, what a fucking insult.

"Well. He didn't expect you to return with an answer, nor did he give me a time or place for such deals to be struck. So, my dear messenger." she said as she reached a hand to settle on his portly face, pinching at his cheek.

"You can leave. And you can tell him I said he can go fornicate with a hot iron poker.." she sneered, stepping back and opening the door, gesturing for him to be on his way.

"If he wants to threaten or bargain with me, he knows where I am."

 

[Dante L Damasque]

Rupert smoothed the tender hurt out of his cheek as he nod, nod, nod his head. He slunk out of his chair, like a skink come off his stone, and his large eyes looked for the exit.

"I won't be forgetten the kindness, ma'am, I won't" he assured as he hurried away and slunk out the door.
In the distance, a shadow melded to the wall, and there was the glint of silver as dwarven pocket clock came shut in its shell.
---

"Said, you knew were she was,"

Gunter nod. "Supposen we do," he drank from his flaggon, as the sounds of the sleepy tavrern knocked and rolled around them.

Laughs. Grumbles. Stories told at different tables that might as well have been worlds away.

"And Longfellow?" the greybeard asked the mercenary agent.

"Taken care of," she said with a cold finality.

Gunter gave another nod. "Nice and tidy then," he drained his cup, and let it clack against the grime-caked wood of their table. Reached down into his purse, and slapped a pair of gold coins down. "For the good work,"

The agent took the coins with a clean swipe. The two went their separate ways.

Gunter craned his neck, left, right, let it hang for some seconds. Let the kink get worked out.

He was getting too old for these little games.
---

"Let him live, did she?" Dante asked, safe in his chambers for the night. An expensive suite in the House of Rose and Thorne. "Suppose that does tell us a bit of something, doesn't it?"

Gunter laughed. "Tells us piss all, Young Master," the old guard gave back.

Dante's brow scrunched at the retort. His pale countenance, silvered by the moon's light refracted across the drink of fog that swirled outside. "Pardon?"

Gunter sighed. "Could be any number of reasons, Young Master,"

"I am well aware-"

"Meanin, not anything worth placing a stake on,"

Dante turned sharp towards the window. "No, but we have found her, have we not?"

Gunter grunt. "We have," his worry, stony and heavy across his features. "Only," a long breath pushed out from his nose. "No telling if she's found us in turn,"

Dante grinned. "That would be fun... wouldn't it?"

 

[Evadne]

She had indeed found them.

Evadne's skills in shadow magic made her an unrivaled tracker, blending seamlessly into the darkness, stalking her targets with the grace and silence of a born predator. She had trailed Rupert effortlessly, watching his demise with cold detachment. From there, she shadowed the mercenary, noting her conversation with the older man before following him, to the House of Rose and Thorn.

Now, she stood outside, cloaked in darkness, her russet eyes fixed on the illuminated window above. The flickering candlelight revealed two figures, the younger man at the window, and his grizzled companion. Evadne’s lips curved into a sly smile as she observed them, her head tilting slightly.

"Ah, there you are," she whispered to herself.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

"Fun isn't exactly what I would call it," the old guard grumbled, holding on to the silver blade he kept on his hip.

"Gunter," the young Damasque said coolly as rain started to pitter and patter against the panes of glass. He hint his head at just an angle. "Are you worried?"

A growl, muted in the old guard's throat. "Only a fool wouldn't be, Young Master," he said, eyes narrowed, and corners wrinkled with a sharpness.

"Then, I am glad I am no fool," he said with a porcaline smile.

"Hah, and what makes you so sure?"

"The quick of my pulse,"

Gunter shook his head. "Least you've enough sense for that then,"

A little laugh. "It would seem so,"

Even the best defenses had their faults. The room was latticed by sigils and wards. Subtle energies, woven and patterned across the doorway, and windows, showed themselves with the turn of a crystal, hung from the rafters. A candle on an end table, aligned with a glass lens that bent a thin beam of luminesce into the prism's technicolor heart.

Gone from sight with but a twist more from the stone.

Dante shift his gaze back to the streets. The pour came down.

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

The words of a dead language spilled quietly from her lips, the pendant she wore radiating a pleasant warmth against her chest, and her own shadow detached from her feet, slipping away like an ink spill. Evadne watched as it moved with purpose toward the building, disappearing inside with an almost sentient grace, carrying her senses along with it. Through the narrow gap beneath the door, it flowed like smoke.

Inside, the shadow gathered itself, slithering along the floor and climbing the legs of an armchair. The dark mass began to take shape, molding itself into a feminine form that draped languidly across the chair. Its presence was an elegant threat, the embodiment of Evadne’s power.

"Waiting for someone?" The shadow’s head tilted, its voice a whisper that seemed to seep into every corner of the room.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

Gunter took hold of the silver dagger at his hip. Jaw tight as he narrowed his gaze.

Dante raised a hand to stay the guard.

The lines of the crystal's lights moved, just so. Marked the space about the chair, but no where she had sat.

Gunter kept his scowl, but let go of the knife.

"No longer, it would seem," the mage looked to the shadow with a wild interest in his eyes. "Though the manner in which you've chosen to arrive," he said, and took a step closer to her.

The multi-colored light of the prism shift with the creaks and groans of crossbeams over head. The cold heavy rain against the glass, and the subtle knock of another step.

Dante's eyes trailed the shadow-work as a tailor might cloth. "That you can wield this form with such..." he came to a stop, just on the other side of one of the lines of light painted across the wood. "Control," he grinned. "The rumors do you no justice,"

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

The shadow seemed to breathe, though it required no air. Its chest rose and fell with exasperation, and though it had no eyes, its gaze clearly shifted, watching the younger man's movements, then again to the prism light. And then those eyes that were not there, narrowed.

"Well, given how elaborate your scheme to draw me in, you clearly enjoy theatrics," the shadow said, her arms folding as she leaned back into the chair. "What rumors would those be, exactly?"

The shadow mimicked Evadne's words as she stood outside the House of Rose and Thorn, seeing both inside and outside of their residence, hearing the outside patter of rain and shifting of branches, and the words, breaths, and pulses of the two men within.

Dante’s curiosity was palpable, his eyes alight with fascination. Such curiosities concerned her.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

Each rise and fall of the facsimile's form told the young Demasque just that much more. How it's head followed his movement.

Was it a familiar then?

Some form of incorporeal double.

What rumors...

Dante laughed. A sharp, thing, small and quiet as it was. "That you are a real talent, my lady," he leaned back, crossed his arms, let his hidden hand slip into his doublet. "With a fiendish appetite for trouble," he motioned towards the window with a small shift of his head.

Gunter nod, and stepped toward the window, narrowed his eyes as he peered out the rain mottled glass.

 

[Evadne]

The shadow’s head tilted slightly at Dante’s laughter, its eyes narrowing in a way that hinted at either consideration or scrutiny. The chest of the form rose and fell with a sharp huff, though no air escaped its lips.

"And what exactly is it that you want from me and my talents?" the shadow asked, boredom and veiled menace lacing its tone.

Outside, Evadne’s lips curled into a sardonic smile, the rest of her face concealed in the depths of her hood. She lifted a gloved hand and wriggled her fingertips in a silent, mocking 'hello' to the man in the window as the shadow's attention shifted to the older man also.

 

[Dante L Damasque]

Tired eyes narrowed. To better see through the glass. To let old eyes so used to hunting peer through the distortion of rain, mist and moonlit darkness.

Movement. Here and there. Or was it just the twitch of his eyelids? The strain of fatigue.

The old guard turned to look at the young scion. Jaw set like stone. It was a twitch of the old man's neck. A huff from his nose.

But Dante sat in his silence. Eyes on the shade. A cold tingle in his spine. Was it excitement? Fear?

His lips kept their curl. "You've heard of, the Bloodstone?" his mouth spread wide to show his teeth.