Fable - Ask What Wind Cannot Carry

[Dante L Damasque]

From Within the Eastern Study of Damasque Hold​

---

"Ah, You've arrived," came a voice from across the study.

The armored guard that had escorted the high risk courier through the estate looked the vagabond for hire over one last time. Grunt, and jut his chin toward the young master. "Go on then,"

The room was well lit, and handsomely appointed, plush and cushioned seats were set about, portraits of men and women that bore some resemblance to the young master hung about the walls.

"I figure, a man in your position would stand to make more by simply playing one side against the other," the young man who sat by the window said, with a confident smirk upon his lips. "Should a rival lord hire you to, well, poison my tea, or leave my brother a nasty surprise, now you know how to better make your way through our keep," his smirk vanished. "My brother's room is just down the hall, mind you, about sixty paces, then you hang a left," his eyes looked down at a map.

Stone chips marked the cartograph of the Valen, engraved with the sigils of the noble houses. Petty and Lordly all the same, across the marches and the baronies. The white dog of Belganon encroached upon the wilds, and the Pinkrose stood proud there beside it. All the while, Bellamy and Damasque sat couched at the rear. Lances ready to ride out. Or so the young scion of Damasque told himself.

"There is tension mounting between my House, and those to our East," he stated flatly. "My brother, seeks to ride out, and meet a raiding party that has scorched our fields," he waited for the courier to arrive at the table. "I am hoping, with your assistance," his smirk returned to crook his wormy lips, and his eyes rose up to meet the man he had invited into his home. "We can make my brother look the utter fool, while remedying this slight against our honored marchland,"

 

[Serçe]

The Damasquehold was about as ostentatious as one would expect from a house of its repute. His initial welcome wasn't warm but didn't stray into the realm of rudeness. If anything, his armed escort treated him with thinly-veiled indifference which actually threw the mage off somewhat. It was far easier to deal with someone who was openly hostile, intentions laid bare. Serce could appreciate the lack of formality or ceremony. He was simply guided to the study where he found the young scion of House Damasque waiting for him.

Serce proffered the standard bow as the lord began to speak. The mage wondered whether these were words of mere fancy or something more sinister. Nothing was ever direct with these nobles, though the mage admittedly was much the same in his own way. Clearly the scion did not lack in confidence, which suggested a certain measure of ambition as well. Likely the reason the mage was summoned in the first place.

"You're not wrong my Lord but the consequences to such games can often prove rather messy. After all, it's not a foregone conclusion that your client will prove a reliable or consistent ally." There was a glimmer of challenge in the mage's eyes. It was not uncommon for employers to close off loose ends, especially when the job strayed past the line of legality. Serce had been on the receiving end of such closures, barely surviving on a few occasions. He wasn't one to hold grudges but certain attempts needed answering. Most of his clients now at least thought twice before taking that particular route. "Let's just say that while my loyalty is temporarily bought, it is singular in nature."

He didn't know whether that would convince the young lord nor did he care if it hadn't. They were speaking matters of business; trust was often a tertiary concern at best. Serce took a step forward towards the table and gazed down at the map. While he wasn't intimately familiar with the politics of the March, he knew enough to glean the volatility of the area.

"What exactly did you have mind?" he said with a glance back up at Dante.


Dante L Damasque

 

[Dante L Damasque]

A small smile showed the young scion's pleasure. "A fine answer," he remarked, but gave little else.

"It is rumored that Baron Felwinter just became a grandfather," he watched the man's reaction sharply. "His lineage secure for another generation," his lips turned cruel. "But it is not the babe I am interested in, you see," he looked down at the map, and pointed to the white deer's skull upon the evergreen field. "It is his Wand of Eld, locked in the vaults of Hornhelm Keep,"

Serçe

 

[Serçe]

Serce's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the mention of a child. It was all too common in this world. Removing potential competitors to succession was a tale as old as time. Whatever his faults, the mage did not murder the young. Death was unavoidable in his line of work but he was no assassin. Serce did his best to maintain a neutral expression after the noble's admission. The mage suspected if this newborn was indeed an issue, the young lord of Damasque would not hesitate to remove the obstacle.

"The Vault is it?" muttered more to himself. He far preferred this than being on the Baron's person. Only way to confidently take something off a person's body is if they were a corpse. Thievery often had a romantic flair but it was often anything but. A simple knife in the dark and then away with the purse. Even a supremely clever mage such as himself had trouble with live targets.

"And the nature of Hornhelm's defenses?"

Dante L Damasque

 

[Dante L Damasque]

"Stiff," Dante cut quick. Eyes tired, his lips turned to flat line. Grim. "Well trained men at arms, sergeants, a proper knight or two," he listed, and each syllable seemed to weigh him down the more. Required more effort to utter out. He pushed forward the finely illustrated blueprints of Hornhelm. A proud smirk upon his lips. "As for the vault," he leaned over the map, and tap tapped a finger upon the scroll. "We have a way in,"

It was an old map. And it had cost him quite the purse to acquire. But if this all came together. A pittance for the payoff.

Serçe