A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogue

A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogue

Postby BetaFlame » Tue May 07, 2013 4:03 am

They had arrived. Of course they had insisted on keeping his weapon. Not that it mattered at the end of the day, of course. He leaned against a wall while they were waiting. Allowing Gloria and Woger to do the talking. Let them explain what they would. The spell he had worked on his brain was already improving his speech, something he played off as remembering his tutelage from a time past. He had answer questions for them, each time his grasp of the language improving.

Aleksei had been marked for death by the King of Rodel, and an assassin team sent forth. He did not know who was a part of the team, he only knew one name. Cashile of the Blue Fire. A demon of a man, he was terrible enough to be stripped of his rank and imprisoned. The price of his pardon was Aleksei's River's death. Mikael had not withheld anything. He knew because he was part of a movement to overthrow the current King. He had spies in the palace that were a part of his So-siath. A small group. No one in a group knew anyone outside the group, other than Mikael and his second (whom he would not name) who each knew the leader of one other group.

He found himself uncomfortable in his cloak now, leaning against the wall. Going unarmed into a place unknown. It made the hairs on his neck stand up. He lived a life of paranoia. Finally he looked at Gloria and quirked a brow, "Must be a very busy person, here."
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Rance » Tue May 07, 2013 4:49 am

"She is the Marshall," the seamstress said. "She is a very important person."

They had tied their animals out in front of the Meetinghouse. She had taken time with Caliir -- enough, perhaps, to make Ser Woger and Mikael question her hesitation ("If I do not feed my boy, he will get upset; I have got to chew the apple just like this," and while they were outside, minutes ago, she had painstakingly mashed hunks of the fruit in her mouth before feeding them to the toothless beast from her palm, "else he will start eating the wrong kind of leaves, and they will bind his hole right up. You see?"). The girl who played at being a dignitary -- could Mikael see the way her toes peeked out of the tip of her ragged boots? -- had not desired to interrupt the Marshall, but this--

This was essential. A threat on Messa River's life. Tidings brought by his fellow. It was far outside of her expertise, but now she bore it: the knowledge he had shared, a demon of a man, the overthrow of a king, and a Myrkener's blood for a contract of pardon. All of it so far beyond her understanding. Swoop-stitches and needle gauges were so much simpler. She much preferred Yes, I can mend that and Cherny, hold it just like this; now not too great a push or you will stab right into your finger, but a thimble -- no, a thimble detracts from your precision.

But now, in her modest schooling-dress, with her chin held high and a liberal amount of cinnamon sprinkled on her scalp, she stood with Ser Woger and the foreigner. She waited for the Marshall. The young fellow that had greeted them at the door had been given a note to pass to Marshall, quickly scribbled on scrap parchment while they waited. Dots of apple-foam dampened the paper, for her fingers had not yet dried from appeasing Caliir.

marshall,

it is glour'eya i am awaiting you, i do not mean to interrupt but i have a boy Roadelle man who says dreadful things i have told him it is best to speak to you, look at me being a very properly rettir, astablishing pease was my very first goal Woger will say i did it well


Now, though, she chewed on the edge of a finger, gnawed at the skin just to the left of the nail, tugging it with her teeth.

"She -- she is important. Maybe one day I will be like her. She is going to better understand all those things you talk about, Messa Rain.

"I would trust the Marshall with anything."
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Carnath-Emory » Wed May 22, 2013 9:15 am

All things considered, their timing could have been worse. It might have been morning, for instance, and then they'd have found themselves in the uncomfortable situation of a long wait in a very crowded foyer, surrounded by the steady to-and-fro of scribes and clerks and the couriers that scribes and clerks will sometimes hire, and the petitioners that scribes and clerks and councilors and constables will attract -

And the Militia, which attacks its training like a field ripe for harvest: scant moments before dawn and with dour-faced vigour. Even hours later they're still trickling in and out of the foyer, dun-coloured spots amidst the uniforms and occasional elegance of everyone else. Unlike the Constabulary, say, they do not wear uniforms; unlike the farm-hands they commonly resemble, they do not bother to hide their curiosity, if they're moved to it, nor their disdain if the moment seems like it ought to demand that. An odd cross-section of Myrken, this lot, grown capable under Renea Sundance's talented hands, and her reluctant replacement had wanted nothing but to continue steadily in that vein.

The pair that just passed by Gloria were toting heavy lumber upon their shoulders.

"Sera Wynsee."

The Marshall's own voice, shouted through the half-open door from which those two had issued.

"Come in," and only a moment after it someone else is leaning through that doorway to wave a beckoning hand in their direction: some short-haired fellow, scruffy with it and showing a remarkable lack of attention for the dirt his heavy boots have trampled all over the floor. But a beckons it is, and should these three feel no need to demure they'll soon find themselves in the Marshall's office, such as it is, and surrounded by tall cabinets, a motley handful of extra people and a map that spans half the length of one wall.

It's dismally low on detail.
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby BetaFlame » Thu May 23, 2013 8:38 am

His eyes are sharp. He was no Aleksei in the mind, but his master did not suffer a fool for a student. Details. He could see the way people deferred, and moved around the woman at the center of the organized chaos. This was their Marshall. Quiet eyes looked her over as he took his place to the side of the door. He was not interested in interrupting, so he would wait on his escort. This Gloria woman, that was so far in over her head he was surprised she could still see the light of day. He does take a moment to remove the heavy cloak, Rodellan cut much like his sword-brother's and lay it over his arm or give it to anyone that offers to take it with a nod of thanks.

Perhaps the most obvious difference between him and Aleksei.. Aleksei tried to hide what he was. A killer of men. Whereas Mikael had no such delusions of his station. Aleksei saw himself as a scholar, and Mikael was a warrior to his core. A solider and a general, and worse he was one fighting a war he knew, at the end, would not be won in his life time.

Despite being the same age as Aleksei, he wore his years less well. Crow's feet at his eyes, frown lines at the corners of his lips. All of it framed in blonde hair worn loose as if to shadow his features. If Ariane lifts her eyes to him he would meet her gaze and just give a slight not in greeting.
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Rance » Thu May 23, 2013 9:32 am

She was his escort, and upon the Marshall's summons, she did just that -- she stepped in first, though, heralding him as she had been properly instructed.

For all things in rhetoric, there were three points. Three elements. Three stages. A triplicate of procedure. All arguments must revolve around at least a trio of supporting details; all stories must have a beginning, middle, and end. All conversations an initiation, the discussion, and the closure. All letters a salutation, a body, and a valediction. Entering a room was no different.

(From the second edition of The Qualotys of Conversation: To Understand Lyfe through Discourse, on page twenty-seven, the steps of a formal introduction of one party to another:

First, initiate conversation so that neither party is at odds or subject to discomfort.

Secondly, if the visit is one of formal business, provide reasonable information so that a dialogue may begin at your behest, but do not be the conversation's fulcrum or a relay of messages unless translation is required.

Third, assure the peace, for at times opposing beliefs may inspire one party to disagree with the other.

She had not memorized the book, of course, had found a great deal of it boring, was even more grateful for the pages that had been ripped out by its previous owner, perhaps that they might be used better as papers to cleanse one's backside after a particularly ferocious movement.)

The seamstress bore the rumpled look of a girl that had been crushed all day at a desk too small for her wide frame. Yet, as she entered, she quartered both of them, swept into a courtesy to the Marshall, and -- despite the presence of various others who might have more pressing business -- said: "Messa Rain, this is Marshall Emory. A friend, my occasional employer, and -- and an astute judge of character. I should hope you afford her the same respect as you have given me."

She put her right heel in front of the toes of her left foot, then pivoted to face Mikael. There was a momentary glance given the Marshall, a girlish excitement trilling in her eyes -- do you see how well I'm learning, do you think the Proctor would be proud of how fine a job I am doing -- before she said, "Marshall, this is Messa Rain. I encountered him in -- in the woods on my return trip from Darkenhold. He brings with him some rather distressing news regarding the safety of Aleksei River. I thought it best to direct him to you. He has been relieved of -- of his weapons for now until you may confirm return of them to him."

She stood stiffly, hands clasped against one another in front of her belly, a passive stance she had put to almost nauseating practice in the chambers of Darkenhold, for to speak well one must stand well, comport themselves with authority and grace, and remember foremost their reverence--

She had interrupted. Her cheeks went hot.

"Oh. Oh," she said, and if one did not know any better, they might think she had pilfered a grace or two from Rhaena Olwak. "Would -- would any of you like some tea?"
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Carnath-Emory » Fri May 31, 2013 6:31 am

" - and if he knows there's no stipend for services, why do you imagine he's filling your ears with this talk?"

It's almost uniformed, the dark-haired thing presently leaning across the room's sole desk. Tall at the collar and fitted with an elegance that whispers of expense, this garment; it is all crisp militant lines and non-committal greys, and all of it slightly rumpled by her posture.

"Kearney, there's not . There's not going to be. You can tell Byrne that yourself, and you might add that I don't give two tugs on a dead dog for what - "

Gloria Wynsee's voice silences an entire office and draws no less than four rather startled stares.

Kearney, stout around the midsection and heavy at the shoulders, mildly blinks.

The world swings back into motion.

" - Proxenus One-Eye might or might not have implied at some point eight years ago." The free hand performs a gesture separating rhetor from Militia; the seamstress might not realise it, but the few lingering men of the Militia clearly do, easing back a pace from the woman and her attachment. "We accept volunteers, only volunteers, I will not have a man who's doing this for anything more but want, and as glad as I am to have Byrne, there are others who'll buy his talent and readily -

Yes. Please."

Towards Wynsee, that last, and presumably addressing the matter of tea, as she straightens from her desk.

" - if he's half as brilliant as he imagines to be. Mitchell." The lean thing slouching near the doorway. "That issue with the shoulder." The eyes are newly attentive, but the spine never quite sheds its lazy arch. "Tomorrow, two past noon. We'll see to it then, mn? Here," and even as the two are filing away she adds a third to their number: the scruffy fellow who'd beckoned them in, currently receiving a folded something into his hand. "Third on Weaver's - you remember? With my thanks," and it's not until all three of them have emptied from the room, not until the door's swung closed behind them, that she can turn her attention properly towards Wynsee and her foundling.

It is the tiniest hint of a grin, quirking bright and true at her mouth's corner, and it lasts until the moment that she sets thoughtful eyes upon the man from Rodel.

Of all the things Wynsee had written of, that was the part she'd been able to read.

"So. News. Glou'reya - if you would flip that latch?" A tilt of her chin towards the doors; her eyes, all the same, have not quite left Mikael's. "Now is the time for it, Rodel."
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby BetaFlame » Fri May 31, 2013 10:37 am

For Ariane, it might be like looking at an alternate world Aleksei. They trained under the same mentor, grew up together. He had the same lazy way of leaning against a wall that his sword brother did. But were Aleksei might look like a hunting dog at rest, Mikael looks more like a panther ready to spring at a moment. Unarmed and alone, he still projects an aura of absolute will and authority. No fear in him at all. His stark blue eyes remain fixed on this Marshall. As if to take quiet assessment of the woman that might hold his fate. His presence seems to foretell of violence.

The entire conversation is taken in as he translates in his head, the spell working its power over his brain. Reteaching the language of this place, the more he hears. A volunteer army? Ludicrous in his mind. All men should serve. When she finally gets to address him, he simply straightens from his place leaning on the wall, feet shifting out of habit to give better balance. "New, yes? This tongue is.. hard for me." Not like Aleksei. He was heavily accented, lilting and thick. "Aleksei was my.. my sword brother. Trained and raised as one. He took.. Master's place as the Knight. I took his place as the Rebel." Here he takes a moment to pause, considering the next words. "In a dual, I faked my death. Aleksei knows me dead, not alive. Necessary for my job that no one knew. I lead it." He didn't even think to define it, it was so much a part of him that he could refer to something as great as the faction attempting to overthrow the crown as simply "it".

"Many words, so you know. I get news of things the King does. I find out he sends assassins after Aleksei. I come to warn." Glove hands spread, palms up, "I am Mikael Rain, and.. I hope you can help."
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Rance » Fri May 31, 2013 7:04 pm

The latch upon the door was tended to; one did as the Marshall desired, after all, especially in chambers where mere words from the woman could disintegrate an entire council of men--

And the seamstress, she tried not to swell too greatly with pride that it had been at her behest that the Marshall had adjourned a council of men. No, do not look too long at the girl, a fourteen year-old rhetor whose excitement to be included in this matter of the State was almost bursting the bone-carved buttons of her dress.

If an office had a map, then surely it must have porcelain. She somehow acquired tea for them, albeit a cold and unsweetened helping of it. She did not remember how she did, nor where she had gotten it, too eager and earnest the seamstress was to listen to the Rodel man's story as he related it to Ariane. But there was a cup for both of them, filled too high to the brim from an impatient kettle.

(Cherny, the girl might later tell her brother, bubbling with excitement, you will not at all guess where I have been or what I have done! There was a flash of fantastic light -- crash! -- and there was a man within it, and his sword was fearsome. You see? But I have got a tongue on me, and I spoke to him very well, and you will not believe it at all, but you must, you should, for I was able to hear about a possible assassination, and the Marshall did not even ask me to leave!)

But when she spoke, she was calm, especially so; there was a part of her that was keen and attentive and responsive that she'd only recently discovered through Duquesne's teachings. She sought not to undermine the Marshall's authority, but only to add to the man's crumbled explanation.

"Ser Woger and I found him in the woods, Marshall Emory. He came by some means of bright light. A burst of it."

She still held the long-necked teapot, even spilled a trickle of it on her skirt. The seamstress paid the dribbling kettle-spout no attention.

"It is quite the same story he told us when we came across him. Though I should wonder why any man might wish to kill Messa River at all."

Though one thing was curious to the girl--

That perhaps it was all too clever, this tale, for while what he said could be true, it could also be a lie. What better way to facilitate an assassination than to first work oneself into the good graces of authority, thus making the grisly work to come much more convenient to perform.

(Cherny, she could only imagine telling the boy, you should have seen it; I was the most intelligent I'd ever been, I saw right through his ruse and the Marshall struck him down cold dead -- slice! -- and we found proof that Rain was the King's assassin, but I swear I am not going the way of sour milk, because like you said, I am a pretty good cheese. No, it was just intuition. I will even get a medal!)

But some budding rhetors understood when it was a better time to keep their mouths shut and enjoy their tea.
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Duquesne » Sat Jun 15, 2013 6:06 am

A silent bulk of a man, Woger waits at the edge of the Marshall's chamber and eyes its occupants with something of an empty gaze. One must not judge his mind empty, however, for it swims with ideas of dinner and what his wife had prepared for their chaotic lot.

Lamb roast, she said this morning, lamb roast with red potatoes, soda bread and raspberry tarts for after.

His stomach grumbles for something more than the jerky he ate while they rode into town. It was not enough, but it had sated a pressing hunger... and had left his teeth fraught with meaty strands stuck among them. He sucks a bicuspid, single-minded in his effort to free some jerky from there. In his distraction, a timid fart escapes... and afterward he shifts his stance, hoping his leathers would mask the event and quite possibly the smell. Fortunately, he stands apart from present company.

His attention fixes on Gloria's tea-dripping, the Marshall's watchful eyes, the Rain's capable posture. He kept the man's sword still, tucked safely beneath his arm. With his free hand, however, he fishes a pick from inside his cuff and probes for the meat in his teeth. This is how ordinary men pass time.
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Carnath-Emory » Sun Jun 16, 2013 4:48 pm

For Ariane, it is exactly like looking at a tall glass of cool, iced water. Quietly spoken, this one. Clearly unafraid. The temptation, of course, is to rattle him and see what comes of it, but this is an old, familiar tempt and easily resisted. She watches his eyes, sometimes, but mostly his posture - when she watches him at all, for her attention is divided between the three of them, and in this moment it's Wynsee who receives the most of it.

This, like a message, as deliberate as the man's louche slouch and the soft hiss-click of mechanisms beneath her sleeve.

"Magicking in the woods." The set of her mouth does not quite approve; still, a small, taut smile lingers at its corners. "Well. We expect this." Easing down into her seat then, a small motion of the hand serving to arrange loose pages into a single, innocuous pile. There's still the map on the wall, of course, but that hardly matters; it's not the important one, and details nothing that this man mightn't learn himself in an hour's casual wandering of Myrkentown streets.

"It's right that you should wonder, Glou'reya." If the Inquisitor had not explained certain things to the girl, and respository that she might be for so many of Myrken's stranger secrets, it would surprise the swordswoman all the same if he had. A glance for him then, this unexpected newcomer: 'Rain', he'd said, and she could easily spend hours on wondering at that. If a man is named for the thing which he embodies, then a person might consider, for instance, whether this one is the springtime shower which nourishes or the rainstorm which strips foliage from young branches, which swiftly floods...

Her eyes, at last, have set solely upon his own.

"Marshall Emory. Do not worry for your words; there is only one rhetor in this room." A small smile. "Turn your thoughts instead towards details, for if it's help that you want, then these are what you will provide."
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby BetaFlame » Mon Jun 17, 2013 3:08 am

Interesting. The gloves are tugged on his hands tighter as he listens to the woman. She interests him. If he hears the click of her bracer, he does not react to it. Her words flow through his ears as he translate their intent and meaning in his spellbound mind. "I did come through magic. It was, what is-- yes, poorly done. I did not intend to startle." He gestures at a chair in question, "Do you.. care?" Assuming there is no vast negative to his request he takes the chair.. and spins it around so the back is facing Ariane and his chest is leaning against his. Placing a nice thick piece of wood between them should she care to stab him.

Details, she wanted. He could provide them, but he didn't know what they knew about Aleksei. "I must ask, do you know about Aleksei.. and what Aleksei is in Rodel?" His eyes watch hers, then continues. "Aleksei took somethings from Rodel. First was a sword. An heirloom, national treasure. Used by one of the first Knights in freeing us from the Blood King. It is special, and powerful." There is a faint smirk here and one shoulder lifts in a shrug, "I'd rather they not have it, if we are honest. The second.. a power creature that was bound to him. When it died and Aleksei took on the other being.. well. The Sun King would like a replacement, and your Daemon would serve just as well." His words flow so much smoother the more he talks.. the more than magic works. The accent is still odd, though. Stress to the wrong syllable in the word even pausing in the wrong place in the sentence.

"Roland was dispatched to bring Aleksei back. He was not comfortable confronting Aleksei with innocents about. When he was here, Aleksei still had the Celestial.. if they had fought, they could have killed many my accident. Roland went home. The King praised him publicly for his forethought in sparing innocents the blade of the Forsaken One. Then secretly sent Cashile after Aleksei. Cashile was a Knight once, human once. He was not strong enough in the mind to beat the merging.. and the Demon inside took him over. The King told everyone he was dead, but he had just sealed him in the lowest levels of the Palace." He takes a breath here and pauses, swallowing to soothe his dry throat. "Cashile is a monster. More than anyone else that serves as Knight. He kills for pleasure. He is dangerous. He is escorted by three Knights as well. They are to bring Aleksei's head back to the King.. along with the Daemon inside him to Rodel. They intend to bind it to Aleksei's replacement."

He realizes how long he has been talking and stops. He waits here to see if the Marshall has further questions for him before he continues.
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Rance » Mon Jun 17, 2013 4:53 am

It is right you should wonder.

In Jernoah, one was not to praise gods exterior to the Nameless. She had seen men flayed before for it; she had watched as Sisters and Brothers gouged pinpoints of glass beneath offenders' thumbnails, hoping the pain and agony would force a man's tongue to cry out Nameless, Nameless!

An aid in convention with the Pursuit. A reminder of faith in droplets of blood.

Thus, perhaps it would be punishable, an offense of some insult in her homeland, that she looked upon the Marshall as some kind of idol. She would never say such a thing aloud, but the girl still holding the kettle of tea swelled with achievement at the Marshall's praise. She was a rhetor, too; Mikael, for his explanation, was a momentary blur of sound and spoken thought -- she wondered where Roadelle was located, and if -- in its blatant brutality -- it was some distant relative of Jernoah, an oft-obscured cousin where the Sun King reigned. Maybe a place stricken from Jernoan public tomes, crossed out with blackstone marks and willingly forgotten.

"Is this Cashile," the girl asked, emboldened in her involvement, "aware that Messa River resides here? Perhaps he is -- he is in hiding; I've not seen him in some time."

With kettle still clenched in her fist, she backed away, closer to Woger's side. The gruff fellow was an easing presence. She smiled up at him -- look at how well I'm doing, it seemed to say, as if the dangers of this once-man were only a distant prophecy. She might have offered Ser Woger a bit of tea, were they not wanting for another cup, were her nostrils not flaring, flexing, drawing in breath and--

While Rain and Emory spoke, she drove an elbow into Woger's rib, her grin (it threatened to bubble into laughter; she was no prude, not always) hidden behind the clasp of a gloved hand, and she asked:

"Did you--"

But some questions were easily enough answered; a cursory inspection of clog-bottoms for manure came up frightfully inconclusive.
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Duquesne » Mon Jun 17, 2013 9:59 am

It is the mystery that compels a man to look.

Fear of the unknown, or perhaps... a sick compulsion to confirm the nature of that which has caused him such inconvenience, even pain. To gaze on the bloody smear of the mosquito that bit or the turd that dared defy its own deliverance was, as argued among intellectuals, an innate directive imbedded in the mind of the human male.

Thus Woger took time to examine the jerky he dislodged from his teeth, squinting at it as if he were disappointed by its small size -- he was sure it was a tenderloin. Alas, it is but a string of flesh and it is deftly concealed in a moment's sleight of hand when Gloria approaches to stand beside him.

The man straightens his posture in her presence, restores that attentive glaze to his face and hooks a thumb behind the battered steal of his sword-belt buckle. But the girl notices his indiscretion -- his accident -- and the edges of his mouth suffer, lend themselves to a frown in an attempt to stifle his smile. And yet it glimmers in his eyes as he casts a quick glance down at her. "O'course not."

A blatant lie. Only a man without honor disowns the inglorious consequence of his latest meal.

"Aye," he grudgingly admits, and the frown continues its war.
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby Carnath-Emory » Mon Jun 17, 2013 2:51 pm

A narrow hand had waved the man's courtesy aside in silent permission; a moment after, it nudged the other teacup across the desk towards him.

"I know - some things. This 'power creature'," and something in the phrase has tugged at her mouth's corner; it does not quite yield its smile. "Some things of your Sun King, mn? Small things." And watches, and watches, because - is there not something to this one's eyes? But not the silent, thuggish hunger that would have seen him into chains. Not the cold cleverness which would have seen him dead. But something, all at odds stumbling earnestness of his words; it quietly whispers the truth of the title he'd spoken: Knight, Rebel, like chessboard pieces and thus so fitting with what she has been told of Rodel's cold orthodoxy that she must silently swallow back a dozen ready questions. Instead:

"I don't know your magickings." And I don't care to, she might have added - were it Aleksei, and unnecessarily. "I do not know their reach, nor their finesse. So: these assassins know - not guess, but know - that Aleksei is here, in Myrken Wood?" A nod towards Glou'reya, whose question this very much was. "As you did? Can they determine his exact location - within feet, within miles? This Cashile - "

The thin nose slightly wrinkles, and for a moment Mikael Rain becomes the recipient of a slightly accusing glance.

"This Cashile. He was sent at Aleksei before his journey to Myrken began? And if he is the Knight, and you the Rebel - this Cashile. What is he?"
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Re: A Seamstress, a Guard and the Marshall meet Rodel's Rogu

Postby BetaFlame » Mon Jun 17, 2013 3:25 pm

He takes the tea with a nod and takes a long drink from it, draining nearly half. Drinking quickly so that if he had to run, he would not be too thirsty. The questions flow past him and he considers, then nods. Oh, the Sun King knows Aleksei has been in Myrken. "Yes. He knows. He does not know if Aleksei is still here, because I'd like to think Aleksei would be crafty enough to run once Roland came looking. But if Aleksei is.. too tied here, then he will stay. Because Aleksei is a stubborn, sentimental fool at least half the time." There is a certain level of fondness to his statement, and more than a little truth. Aleksei suffers from a horrid condition. White Knight syndrome. Unfortunately, such things were usually fatal.

"Cashile was not sent directly here. Aleksei has made certain contacts, friends in other places. Cashile was to question them. I bypassed them, and came here myself. As to the time frame? No, Cashile was dispatched nearly three weeks ago. I would have come sooner, but I could not take the risk at the time." There is a small smile here, as he shakes his head. "But you are fortunate. Cashile cannot take a Gateway as I can, because he does not know how to form one. Its a Lost Art in Rodel, and one I guard with my life. There are ways, of course.. but they are not fast like I can do, and they request an Anchor--You do not care." He can read it in her face, so he just waves it away. There is something disturbing. He thought nothing of throwing away the lives of Aleksei's friends to warn Aleksei.. would he feel the same about those that Aleksei cared about here?

"Either way.. Cashile and his.. escort can travel quickly. Giesella, the Second Knight travels with them and she can grant flight to some around her. Terrain is no issue." He leans forward and watches Ariane's eyes for a moment, as if trying to peer into her very being to see how deep he can read her. There is likely more than he is saying so far, but he doesn't know how far he can trust them. If they prove false.. well. He will just have to kill them and burn the building down to be sure.
BetaFlame
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