The Prisoner [Fantasy Medieval RP; IC]

[Asarnur]

The OOC

Nestled into the side of Mount Azaron, on the mineral-rich island of Antir, is a place of great legend. A towering, quiet, pale grey stone castle watches over the mining town of Starkhaven, where people have forgotten the dangers of magic. Magic is everywhere, and it consumes all. It is the means by which the townspeople of Starkhaven mine their ore; Starkhaven healers use magic to do their work. Peace abounds on Antir, and trade thrives in the Starkhaven harbour. Everything is in order, as far as the townspeople know. The arrival of a strange man, now a prisoner in the Starkhaven prison, threatens to tear the very fabric of peace on Antir. Will this be the end of Starkhaven, and all of Antir?

Nicolas Sorrel
Starkhaven Jail

A great pain roared through Nicolas Sorrel's body, waking him from his sleep. It hadn't been a natural sleep, which caused Nicolas to feel uneasy. He looked around the room he was sat in, noticing that there were brick walls on all four sides. In front of him, there was a wooden door with a tiny slit, by which one might look in on whomever was within. Nicolas attempted then to move, but he was hindered. He looked down at his wrists, noticing that he was shackled to the floor. A sudden worry flooded Nicolas, compounded by yet another great pain forcing Nicolas to buckle like a man struck in the stomach. He let out a cry as he looked down at his hand, which seemed to be the source of the pain. There, on his left palm, there was a strange mark. It was not shaped in any particular way, like a gash cut into Nicolas by some magical blade. The mark seemed to give off a light, however the light was black. It was truly unlike anything that Nicolas had ever seen. He attempted to touch the mark with his other hand, but he was unable to. Then, a searing pain, more severe than the others, ripped out of his hand and through his entire body, causing him to temporarily lose consciousness. Then, immediately after he reawakened, the door to his cell flew open in a violent way.

In front of Nicolas stood a guard with a very serious demeanour. The man was built largely, and appeared to be very powerful. The coat of arms blazoned on the chestplate of the guard's armour depicted a bucking horse atop a gold and orange shield. It was not a coat of arms that Nicolas was familiar with. The guard approached Nicolas aggressively, grabbing the prisoner by the neck and lifted him from the ground. Nicolas was still shackled to the floor by the wrists, which made the contortion very uncomfortable. The brutish guard then spoke, his accent thick with both stupidity and rurality.

"Prisoner, it's about bloody time you've woken up. We waited for hours, but our damned mage cast his spell a bit too strong. We'll start this out easy." The guard threw Nicolas to the floor roughly, preparing to kick the prisoner whilst down. Then, yet again, the door flew open. This time, an older woman walked in, also wearing a guard uniform. She grabbed her fellow guardsman by the shoulder, stopping him from harming Nicolas. The woman spoke,

"Forgive my friend, please. I am Guards-woman Elizabeth Ryall. We do not intend to harm you, we only want to know the source of that mark on your palm. Our mage said that some sort of black magic radiates from it, but it seems to harm you more than it helps you. Do you know how to got that strange marking?"

Nicolas was confused, both by the kindness shown by the second guard, and by the allegation that there was black magic within him. He had never been able to learn magecraft, so it was a shock to him. He spoke with a mainland accent,

"I cannot remember where I had this mark. It does me a great deal of pain, Guard Ryall. I remember boarding a ship from my homeland, bound for Northwode. Then, my memory is black. Now, I am in a prison, and I do not know what I have done."

The guards continued to interrogate Nicolas, although it seemed more than genuine that the young man did not know how he received the black mark on his palm, nor how he arrived to Antir.

---

Duchess Katherine Mareys
Caer Azaron

Like most days, Katherine was sad. She walked the very edge of the high wall of Caer Azaron, looking down on the town of Starkhaven. It looked very small from the heights, but she knew otherwise. Katherine was so young, but power was thrust into her hands after the death of her father, the Duke Gaspard Mareys. Despite being trained in the arts of persuasion and diplomacy, Katherine didn't know how to properly deal with the Mayor of Starkhaven, nor the rest of the folk. She wanted so badly to make a good impression on the people, that they might again look up to her family name, but she doubted that Starkhaven would ever respect her. She was a shy girl, with a terribly poor position. So she stood on the edge of the life she knew, and the lives she wanted to know, and sulked. Not far behind her, as always, were her maidens, who made sure that Katherine's needs were attended to. It was a high-class lifestyle, but Katherine felt it meant nothing without the admiration of the people.

It was a very warm day, despite winter nearing. The sun was out, and shining brightly. It made it difficult for Katherine to look out at Starkhaven without squinting her eyes. The sky was perfectly clear, and birds took the opportunity to hunt creatures of the ground. Katherine looked onto the central part of Starkhaven, where the jail was located. She figured that at the moment, the strange foreigner being held there was being questioned by the guards. She had asked the mayor to be kind to the prisoner, but she doubted that the mayor had listened. She wondered so intently what the prisoner was doing in Starkhaven. She wondered even more intently why the prisoner bore a magical mark. She sighed, thinking on these things, taking a seat on the wall. It would be so easy for an assassin to push Katherine over the wall, but she wasn't respected enough even to be assassinated. It was hard on her soul, being known as a worthless figurehead, unfit to rule anything worth ruling.

[Rezua]

Caer Azaron

In her 17 years of life Vexalie Kriphira was about to do the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Above her loomed the balcony, her way into Caer Azaron. Her "war" in the village was proving fruitless. She couldn't get enough food from the market stealing, and her armor was easily spotted by guards. Since she was a half-elf, the elves she gave the supplies to were not very trusting of her, believing she might be a human spy, one who could ensnare them into indentured servitude. She was about to prove them wrong by stealing from Caer Azaron. And she wasn't stealing some petty candlestick that wouldn't be missed, she was going to steal the crown.

As Vex neared the looming structure she questioned her sanity. It's worth it, she told herself. She gripped the wall and began to climb. Her muscles ached instantly, her armor was heavy and her sword's sheathe kept hitting her thigh. She growled and swung her belt over her back so the sword stopped hitting her thigh. The wind blew in her tall ears but she ignored it. Finally, she got to the top and pulled herself up with all her might. She stood on the railing of the balcony, hair and cloak blowing in the wind. She might have looked like some prince who climbed a tower to safe a princess imprisoned in a tower like in story books. The next moment she fell forward, her body exhausted from the climb. As she breathed deeply she opened her eyes to see a human woman standing over her...the Duchess.

[The Blazing Aura]

Everyone looked up as one of the main doors to the Blind Raven Tavern slammed open, before quickly looking back down again as most recognized the man who walked in. Maxwell was tired, which wasn't saying much, people in his line of work rarely got to enjoy the luxury of a good nights sleep, but as normal sleep could wait for later, for now Maxwell had a job to do.

Or rather, he'd have a job to do after he dealt with some people. Still in his armor, and with his sword and shield strapped to his back, Maxwell wasn't going for the nice, peaceful and subtle look, not that his target table seemed to notice, the three men continuing to play with their cards despite the man walking towards them and the other people moving, mostly politely, out of his way.

"So, 'Lucky'," Maxwell's baritone permeated through the silence that had all but covered that area of the Tavern, "I hear you want me to pay you for the information you gave me on the Orwald Case"

"Well, yeah" Lucky got up from his chair and turned around, not realizing exactly how close Maxwell was, and consequently bumped into his armor. His two lackey's followed suit, one pawing at his belt, whilst the other was touching the hilt of a sword he'd left by his chair.

"I'll tell you what" Maxwell replied, reaching for his own weapons, "Since the information you gave me was worth nothing, that's exactly what I'll give you."

---

The fight, if one could call it that, was mercifully quick, and thankfully for Maxwell mostly bloodless which meant he didn't have to either spend time cleaning it up, or pay someone else to. He'd knocked Lucky out with a shield bash, and one of the lackey's had run then and there, the other tried to stand his ground, but a poorly wielded sword was no match for Maxwell, especially considering his opponent had no armor on, meaning that lackey number two would be sharing the same fate as his boss. It had cost Maxwell a favor or two, but a couple of people he 'knew' in the Warrens would make sure that Lucky would never tell other bad information, or indeed tell anyone else anything, ever again.

Sheathing his sword, he'd clean it up later, and strapping both it and his shield back onto his back, Maxwell walked towards the barman. "Put a pint on the tab, would you Casavir?"

The barman, Casavir, nodded. "He's in the same place as usual Caron. Just try not to get into a fight there too." Reaching down he pumped a pint into a slightly grubby tankard, putting it down on the bar.

Maxwell smiled slightly, before picking his pint and walking towards one of the many rooms that lay off of the main room of the Tavern. "I'll try, but Aribeth would get me before I even tried." He took a small swig, for the umpteenth time mulling over how anyone could make a beer taste so much like dirt,without having any gritty bits in it. Shaking his head and smiling to himself, he prepared to push open the small room that his employer had practically claimed as his own. It was time to meet The Storyteller...

[Asarnur]

Caer Azaron

In her 17 years of life Vexalie Kriphira was about to do the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Above her loomed the balcony, her way into Caer Azaron. Her "war" in the village was proving fruitless. She couldn't get enough food from the market stealing, and her armor was easily spotted by guards. Since she was a half-elf, the elves she gave the supplies to were not very trusting of her, believing she might be a human spy, one who could ensnare them into indentured servitude. She was about to prove them wrong by stealing from Caer Azaron. And she wasn't stealing some petty candlestick that wouldn't be missed, she was going to steal the crown.

As Vex neared the looming structure she questioned her sanity. It's worth it, she told herself. She gripped the wall and began to climb. Her muscles ached instantly, her armor was heavy and her sword's sheathe kept hitting her thigh. She growled and swung her belt over her back so the sword stopped hitting her thigh. The wind blew in her tall ears but she ignored it. Finally, she got to the top and pulled herself up with all her might. She stood on the railing of the balcony, hair and cloak blowing in the wind. She might have looked like some prince who climbed a tower to safe a princess imprisoned in a tower like in story books. The next moment she fell forward, her body exhausted from the climb. As she breathed deeply she opened her eyes to see a human woman standing over her...the Duchess.

Duchess Katherine

Duchess Katherine was getting uncomfortable in the heat of the Antiri sun, so she turned away from the wall in order to go inside. Her maids quickly moved to open the door for the Duchess, no matter how much Katherine hated being treated in such a way. She didn't like to feel like she was treated specially, despite her social position. Two of the three maids were elves, and the third was elf-blooded. Several of the Royal Guards took offense at the idea that a half-elf might be allowed near the Duchess, but Katherine truly did not care. She respected the elf-blooded, as they were forced to struggle each day to avoid being arrested simply because of how they were born. Although Katherine was a pure-blooded human, she felt the pain of several of her maids. Duchess Katherine decided that before she went inside, she would go to the edge of the balcony for one more look at the horizon. When she got to the edge, she was met with quite a fright. Over the rail of the balcony came a young, and rather well-equipped, elf-blooded girl.

Katherine cried out with shock, but did not react in a way that might get her killed. She calmed herself quickly, hearing her maids slowly closing the door behind her, making sure that the newcomer felt unthreatened, as well as no need to threaten. Katherine spoke to the elf-blooded intruder,

"This is Caer Azaron," said Katherine with nervousness clear in her voice. "I kindly ask that you keep your sword sheathed. I will offer you no resistance." She hoped to convince the intruder very early that there was to be no fighting on her balcony. "Who are you, and why have you come here?" The elf-blooded girl was young, likely several years younger than Katherine. The Duchess was nervous, but curiosity prevailed. "Before you reply, I'd love to congratulate you on managing to climb the great wall. None before have done so." Katherine hoped to set a light mood, in order to prevent any sort of violence from the girl.

[Rezua]

The half-elf stood slowly and, with a smile, put her belt back on her waist. With a mocking bow and smile she said "I am Lady Vexalie Kriphira, House of Bastard." She laughed and continued " You need not worry about my blade, I do not kill, unlike your kin. I learned to survive- and climb- from living on the street, because of your kin's actions. Your question about what I want and what I'm doing here are important. I can honestly say I don't know. I wanted to steal something important to prove my loyalty to the elves, my people, but your guards shall come soon. As for what I wish to gain...I can see my kin serving you, release them now. I will not allow my kin to serve yours while I live." Vex crossed her arms as of she actually was expected them to be released. "And while you're at it I'd like some money for my other kin, for repayment for the slavery they suffer." Vex showed no greed. She had asked for nothing for herself, instead, she risked her life on elves that scorned her. Vex's nervousness betrayed her as some sweat ran down her face. Im so dead! This is the Duchess! Vex thought.

[Finsternia]

Starkhaven Jail

Yuvenciel went to see this prisoner of theirs. Surely a Magister and a person of well renown such as him will never go unnoticed but today he wore the commoner's roughspun cloak and normal clothes instead of his normal regal ones. The retired Elven King walked amongst the numerous jail guards and the prisoners, some guards looking at him with suspicion, the prisoners shouted and spat at him. He continued ignoring the curses and pleads of freedom. He went to the Captain of the Guards.

"Where is this foreigner 'guest' of ours? I shall see him. Now." The Magister glared at the Captain as he spoke. Certainly the human Magister asked and persuaded him and the dwarf Magister to free the human, for his mark only does him more harm that it doing harm to others. Yet Yuvenciel knew better. He lived longer than most elves, having received the blessing of the Tree of Life. He knew he saw that mark elsewhere. He knew the capacity and power of that mark. Yet what he doesn't know is that what can it do and what it really is.

[Argentumurbem]

OOC: The night of whatever day the above are operating at.

The harbour was never truly quiet, even during the slowest months of winter. Merchants plying their trade, vendors offering up choice strips of rat, sailors falling in to every stack of crates as they moved from one pub to another, criminals trying to escape justice: there was enough activity around the high-masted sea-vessels to make the Guard's duty a perpetual one.

"Would ya ha'e us o'er night?"

"We will remain here until we catch them," went the reply, offering up no argument.

"Ano'er moon wi' nae drink," rasped a second of his patrol in pain. "Poor Tya will nae be happy wi' you." The you came out in an ooo, almost as if the guardsman was attempting to be a spirit of the deep resting place.

"Dyrell, take Satro and check out the Magnificent Swan. Thermes, you and Pod have the Twilight."

That left Egon, Hayper and Quintus himself. The best and worst of the guards.

"Le'm' guess," began Hayper, "me'n Egon stay poot?"

Hayper was the worst of the misfits put under Quintus's by far. With only eight months under his belt some would have given the prostitute's son the benefit of the doubt. He had been raised in one of the orphan houses ran by the Maker's ignorant worshipers, fed only enough to last the day and instructed only in the worthless scriptures of a false God. However that did not make up for his complete lack of ability. He could swing a sword well enough not to hurt himself or his comrades, he could read and write basic words - an uncommon feat among the regulars - but he could not match the speed of a tortoise on the street, nor could he instill the fear of the Mayor in the underclasses. As such, he was palmed off to Quintus' outfit.

"Not this time, unfortunately. You and Egon have the Wooden Saint."

The two men looked at each other, their lack of knowledge in regards to which ship that was painfully evident.

"It is the hulk over there," their commander informed them with a fist in the direction of the trader. "Blue sails, red wood, the golden bust of a child on its prow."

Egon was the latest recruit, taken straight off of the streets and draped in a cloak and chained by a code of honour. His allegiance to the guard was very much in question, with almost all of the street urchins in the pay of one gang or another. To have placed one within the very ranks was meant to be a statement by the Mayor: we will turn the city against you. Bold enough, if the guard were indeed some beacon of justice. But of course they had selected a youth whose abilities were limited to killing a man with as much grace as a butcher with a cleaver. If he had been taken from a better street, maybe the other guardsmen would have been able to rely on him in a fight. In such an event, he would not have joined Quintus.

With his six-man patrol given their jobs, Quintus settled on the empty table of a now-arrested vendor, his wares of stolen grain finding their way in to the guard storehouse - the rightful owner would never see it again. The moon was not out, leaving only faint candles and the lustful blaze of solitary torches to illuminate the wood-covered harbour. Draped in shadow, the swordmaster waited.

"They be on the Woo'en S'int," went the hiss.

Turning to face the voice, Quintus saw only a silhouette, black on black. "Is the man giving me this or has the snake decided to leave the grass?"

There was a high-pitched bark of laughter, the sound of an old kettle. "He pays me far too well t'turn 'im in."

Of course. Still, the confirmation made Quintus grind his teeth. "What does he want?" Quintus had gotten in too deep for money to buy what he needed.

"You gotta und'rstand tha' he likes these men," began the informant. "So 'e needs-"

"What does he want?" the guardsman snapped. "I will not listen to the lies from either of you for much longer."

"C'mman'er Tarrus."

Tarrus was a legend among the guardsmen - moreso than Quintus himself - having revitalized the force when it looked as if the city was about to descend in to anarchy. He was a man of the people in every sense of the word. He was from the streets, rising through the ranks only when the rare uncorrupted officer was able to force through promotion. It was he would reorganized the Guard so that the power and influence of nobles and the wealthy could not use it as their personal armies. The finances was operated by the Duchess herself - one of the only powers she retained - and pay was standardized across the board. This ensured that corrupted guardsmen could not actually spend any of the money they received under the table for fear of being caught. The punishment of such being nailed to a cross until dead, left to rot as a warning to others who would rot away the core of justice.

"I will not kill him." Tarrus was worth fifty criminal lieutenants, two hundred smuggling vessels and the head of criminal activity. That, and the killer would be hunted down with the full might of the guard. There would be such a lock-down on criminal activity that the gangs would have to resort to street battles in order to keep even a few crates of their produce out of the hands of the Guard.

"No no no," went the shadow. "You jus' need'o gee 'im alone." Quintus swore he saw a flash of yellowed teeth. "He wanna 'ill 'im 'imsel'."

Rising from the table, his destination the Wooden Saint, Quintus spat after the shadow. "Leave before I decide I want you as payment."

With that, Quintus drew his sword - a blade forged beneath the scorching sun of Plamya, its sole purpose to kill with unmatched elegance - and strode off towards the Wooden Saint. Bystanders fled at the sight of the unique weapon. There had only been a dozen wielders of such a weapon and their names were carved in the hearts of all of Antir: Sornay Batu, the Fire-Typhoon; Regulus the Thrice-Slain, a man who faced down the Elven Sentinels of Antir and survived; Darneus Yeron, Sornay's battle-born husband; Celsius Hae, the Shadow-walker; Paulinus Vain, the first truly foreign captain of the Guard; Berlain the Soothsayer; Typhus the Graceful; Octavus of Jyra; Numerius Sym, the Beast of Plamya; Kaeso Fett, the Warden; and finally, Herius Talebi, the Delkhii Storm, Quintus' father.

Upon reaching the trading vessel, Quintus acknowledged the bodies of his guardsmen with a mere glance. They were not worth the time he would have wasted checking what he already knew: the smugglers were here. Well, killers now. Like the doomed souls of Luna's faithful, the smugglers - eight in total - rose from out of the absolute black. Quintus, illuminated by the torchlight of the gangplank, grinned to himself. This was what life was about.

None of them wasted their energies with words. The smugglers, now terrified from their wanton assault on the guardsmen, knew that Quintus had bought them from their paymaster, coins in the never-ending battle between law and anarchy. They may have been the leading naval figureheads of the criminal underworld, eight pirate lords who had amassed a navy to rival that of the mainland royal fleets, but on Antir, in Starkhaven, they were merely a commodity to be sold.

Quintus led the fight, never giving up his initiative as his blade swooped and soared, opening up arteries and breaching throats as he danced around the foe. They wielded batons and daggers, armoured only by cloth and air. The challenge ceased when Quintus stepped on to the ship.

[Izzyshipper]

Andriel's fingers drummed on the table, her face a scowl which matched her feelings rather well. Archmage Silverblood had sent her to meet with Mayor Waleys's steward, the official had been rather lax when it came to paying his tithe for the Order's upkeep. Andriel had arrived the previous night, arse and back aching with the only comfort a suspiciously moist mattress in some godforsaken Inn. Her mood had not been improved by the hour wait the Mayor's steward had decided to subject her to.

She started slightly as the door opened, standing quickly she smiled frostily as Andall Hyen, the Steward of Starkhaven entered. "Magister Tannel," he said with a small nod, before sitting behind the vastness of his oak desk. "Steward Hyen, an unsurpassed pleasure," was Andriel's response, treating the man to a small bow before taking a seat. Her gaze burrowed into him - in all of Andriel's years in the halls and homes of the rich, she had always found the a Steward was often the opposite to his master. Thin, miserly Stewards often had large, generous nobles who spent far too much money - and vice versa. Mayor Wayleys was the only man in Antir she had met that had managed to find a Steward so much like himself. Steward Hyen was rather fat which was unfortunately accompanied with a red, flushed face and curly, black hair that made his face look rather piggish. No wonder the Mayor's coffers where running dry.

"Now, Magister, lets see if we can get this sorted out," Andall said, pouring her a measure of wine and himself a much larger one, Andriel took the goblet with thanks and took a small sip - noting the richness of the taste.

"Indeed, while I would be sorry to see the pleasures of Starkhaven left behind I must confess I would rather prefer this business was done swiftly," she replied smoothly, wincing as Hyenn smashed a hazelnut with a small hammer - Gods curse the man. "Unfortunately the Order has noticed for the last three years the Mayor has not paid his tithe - or it has been severely short. As one of the larger beneficiaries to the Order's protection we are surprised Starkhaven has been so lax with its finances in this regard, however we would be happy to collect it within the month."

The Steward looked a lot less comfortable, which gave Andriel a deep sense of satisfaction. "Ah, Magister, I had been meaning to write to the Order about the situation-" Andall began, causing Andriel to give him an icy smile.

"Of course, Steward, three years is hardly enough time to write a letter."

"Of course," he replied, his face reddening, "However the Mayor's finances have been rather tight at the moment, we really have none to spare - the Mayor's niece is to be married soon, she will need a dowry."

"Forgive me, I was unaware payment a tithe was considered to be "spare money"" Andriel replied, looking at he goblet for a moment, "My compliments on the wine, Steward, it's from Antana if I am not mistaken?"

The Steward smiled, "A fine taste you have Magister, you would be correct."

Andriel's eyebrows rose, "My, you have rather fine tastes. Fifteen gold a bottle, plus import tax and either the Mayor thinks very highly of me or this is one of his less expensive wines. I noticed as well your lord keeps candles burning during the day in the pantry - which was rather well stocked - which seems rather expensive. Indeed, the ring on your hand is a fine gift - I'm guessing around forty gold if I am any judge."

The Steward's face paled as Andriel stood, her nostrils flaring. "Perhaps you should consider what cuts in your own household could be made to accommodate your Lord's finances before snubbing the Order which has been so good to extend the deadline to three months. Should we expect the full payment by then?" Andall merely nodded, causing the corner of Andriel's lips to curl upward before turning on her heels and leaving.

~*~

Andriel had always rather hated Starkhaven, remembering her time as a girl serving the Priests of the Old Way, they had sometimes made the journey to preach and buy supplies. The smell of piss and filth was always in the air, the people bustled by rudely shoving those in their way, merchants and vendors following you down the street pushing questionable wares. Andriel had been rather presently surprised when she returned as a Magister that her black and red robes meant people treated her with much more respect. Still couldn't do much about the smell, sadly. Her nose crinkled as she approached the outskirts of the town square, although it wasn't enough to spoil her good mood inspired by her meeting.

Looking around she noticed a half-elf boy, barely older than ten, lying half-hidden in the shade of a large shop - begging bowl at his feet empty. Andriel felt a pang of sympathy, taking a small silver out her purse tossed it into his bowl, causing the young boy to look up and give her a smile.

"Cheers missus," he said, waving a grime-encrusted hand at her, causing her to give her first genuine smile of the day. She was about to turn and leave when he called out, "Your friend went the other way, Miss."

She turned confused, "Excuse me?"

The boy smiled, "An old Elf with the same robes as you, Miss, from the Order was heading to the prison a few moments ago, he had more gold on his though."

Andriel frowned - Archmage Yuvenciel? What on earth was he doing in Starkhaven? She had heard a prisoner had been taken the night before - she wondered why the Archmage of all people would be investigating. "Thanks," she said, throwing the boy another silver before changing direction towards the Prison. If the Archmage was here it was presumably serious - she had better see if her needed help.

A few moments later she arrived at the Prison, nodding to the Guard on duty. "Hello, could you inquire if the Archmage would be happy to receive Magister-Steward Andriel Tannel of the Order?"

[Finsternia]

The Captain of the Guards made him wait in the lobby. Yuvenciel hated waiting. He nearly blasted the Captain for saying that he should wait because they are still interrogating the Prisoner.

"I AM A MAGISTER! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO MAKE ME WAIT!" Yuvenciel shouted at the Captain but with no avail. The Captain, who is a tall man roped and bound with muscle, didn't flinched and said, "Even destroyers such as you must wait. Even you wretched magic users are not above the law." That ticked Yuvenciel's nerves. I AM THE LAW! OUR ORDER IS THE LAW IN THIS LAND! He was about to get escorted by two other guards when he just casually shook them off with a blast of telekinetic magic. "I KNOW THE WAY! DON'T TOUCH ME!" He strode off and remove his commoner's cloak and used magic to change his current clothes befit for his rank. Silver, gold and pure white were the colors of the Elven Magister. He grasped in his right hand a glowing staff of white wood, pulsing with power. He sat on a nearby stool which is where he was right now. About almost an hour.

Interrogating..... Pff. That is our job! He has a dark mark on his body! His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Andriel coming to him. "Child, what are you doing here? Has Aria sent you?" Andriel was the only mage in the Order that he liked. Perhaps because she wasn't as arrogant and ambitious as the others. He beaconed the Magister-Steward to come forward. Yuvenciel was more than 500 years old, due to the blessing of the Tree for the First Elves. Sadly, a few were left, including the Elven Royal Family. The other elves succumbed to the weight of time and aged as normal humans do. But not him. He looked what a normal elf would like at their early twenties. "I believe you know who I came for here." He said, staring at the human mage with green and golden eyes.

[Izzyshipper]

Andriel bowed, "Archmage," she greeted, "Aria did send me, though not for this matter. I was conducting some business for the Order with the Mayor, and I heard you where here. I thought I would see if you required any assistance, and judging that I distinctly heard the phrase "knife -eared bastard" as I walked past, I assume you have been making friends."

Andriel lips twitched, she rather liked Yuvenciel, however diplomacy was not his strong point. She made her way to the guard who was watching over them, a young lad of about seventeen. She have him a warm smile, "Excuse me, you seem an intelligent, handsome chap," she greeted, taking his hand and pressing some coin onto his palms, "And I am sure you don't wish to impede the Order in their business. Under the Ducal Decree of the year 3 A.D.G the Order has the right to investigate anyone imprisoned under suspicion of malicious sorcery - without hinderance. Now, why don't you let us through so we can leave you in peace?"

Not waiting for a response - always an overrated activity in Andriel's opinion - she gestured to the door,"Shall we, Archmage?"

[Finsternia]

Yuvenciel grasped his staff firmly and stood. "Thank you my dear." He strode to keep up with the human mage, stopping before one of the more rude guards. He slammed the tip of his staff into his stomach which was charged with electricity. The guard spasmed and lay unconscious on the marble floor. "That's what you get when you don't watch your words." He trampled the guard with his silver gilded boots, and went to Andriel's side.

"I believe this is about the payments that the Mayor haven't payed for the past years." Certainly that's also not the only thing when you talk about money. Starkhaven is also buried in debt with the Order. Starkhaven also owe a huge sum of money to the Elven Royal Family. Really, with the corruption of the nobles and officials the money of Starkhaven can be considered as hubris. "A pity really. I wonder what their excuses are this time. When I see that fat Mayor in the lobby of our embassy, I always say to myself, 'I think I need to pay my debts and taxes'. And they are thinking that they have rights over this foreigner prisoner!" He exclaimed as they stood over the opened door of the Prisoner's cell, already flanked by two guards, one was a kindly woman and one a man scowling. He tapped his staff on the floor impatiently. "I am sorry but we need to talk to the child."

[Argentumurbem]

*hating on the common people*

*hating on the rich people*

The young guard uttered some sort of protest as the two mages bypassed him, striking down one of his comrades as he refused to move for the elf. Torn between going to the side of his fellow guardsman, the youth dropped the coins he had been given, twisting and racing off to find the Captain. He would be able to deal with this.

The two guardsmen faced off against the two mages, batons at the ready. However, the two of them knew that the mages would have them on the ground before they could be detained. Weighing up her options, the woman half-turned her face to her companion.

We'll let 'em in, she decided. Nothing else we can do.

With that, the two guards followed the mages in to the dark room. There was no sunlight, no window to permit such a thing. In the center, laying in a ball of purple bruises and burn marks, was the prisoner. Cloaked in shadows, stood two interrogators, their half-naked bodies dripping with the sweat of their exertion.

What is going on? demanded the younger of the two.

The mages are going to have a go.

Better ready yersel', spat the man who followed from the outside. They fink this anover problem that needs 'em.

*being a hateful commoner*

The duchess frowned despite the rapid beating of her heart.

"These wonderful ladies are here because they want to be," she said, finding the hours of tutoring coming in handy. "I pay them well and they have lovely rooms within the palace. No one else would take them."

She had to swallow again, hard, to keep her heart from forcing itself out of her throat. What would she do? The maids were her friends, her confidants. They would protect her, surely?

"I can give you money," the Duchess continued quickly, needing to keep speaking. If she stopped, then there was a chance that she would not be able to continue. "But what slaves are you speaking about? Antir does not permit slaves."

[Finsternia]

*hating on the common people*

*hating on the rich people*

The young guard uttered some sort of protest as the two mages bypassed him, striking down one of his comrades as he refused to move for the elf. Torn between going to the side of his fellow guardsman, the youth dropped the coins he had been given, twisting and racing off to find the Captain. He would be able to deal with this.

The two guardsmen faced off against the two mages, batons at the ready. However, the two of them knew that the mages would have them on the ground before they could be detained. Weighing up her options, the woman half-turned her face to her companion.

We'll let 'em in, she decided. Nothing else we can do.

With that, the two guards followed the mages in to the dark room. There was no sunlight, no window to permit such a thing. In the center, laying in a ball of purple bruises and burn marks, was the prisoner. Cloaked in shadows, stood two interrogators, their half-naked bodies dripping with the sweat of their exertion.

What is going on? demanded the younger of the two.

The mages are going to have a go.

Better ready yersel', spat the man who followed from the outside. They fink this anover problem that needs 'em.

When they reached the cell where the Prisoner was kept, Yuvenciel regarded the sanitation of the place with disgust. Our cells in the Order are cleaner than their cleanest bedrooms. He tapped his staff impatiently. "Now, now, I've heard enough of the nonsense. Open the doors." One of the guards just grunted his annoyance and opened the cell for the Magister and Steward to come in. There a young man sat on the cold, damp and dusty stone floor which is somewhat in pain. "Did you even feed this child?" When the guard shook his head, he slammed his staff on the floor, bolts of magic travelling harmlessly on the floor but for effect only. "Just because he is a prisoner it doesn't mean that you will not feed him! Get him some bread now!" The guard went away and muttered something like pointy eared bastard. Yuvenciel kneeled in front the man. "I am Magister Yuvenciel of the Order. Perhaps you know why you are here?" Yuvenciel examined the man's hand where the mark pulsed once in awhile. "Do you know anything about this?" He said as he held the Prisoner's hand to his face.

[Rezua]

*hating on the common people*

*being a hateful commoner*

The duchess frowned despite the rapid beating of her heart.

"These wonderful ladies are here because they want to be," she said, finding the hours of tutoring coming in handy. "I pay them well and they have lovely rooms within the palace. No one else would take them."

She had to swallow again, hard, to keep her heart from forcing itself out of her throat. What would she do? The maids were her friends, her confidants. They would protect her, surely?

"I can give you money," the Duchess continued quickly, needing to keep speaking. If she stopped, then there was a chance that she would not be able to continue. "But what slaves are you speaking about? Antir does not permit slaves."
[/color]

Vexalie laughed "That's a good story. No elf really wants to serve humanity. Your kind is one of oppressors. As for not having slaves...how do you think I was conceived? Do you really think my mother was treated kindly, bought a ring or lived a happy married life? No! She was forced to please a human." She praticalty spat out "human". She contiuned "I was an indentured servant as my mother. My "father" killed her. He worked me like a slave. That is slavery in my book. When I was just 15 I was attacked by a noble's son. Luckily..." Her eyes fell on her sword. "Your kind excepts us to lay down and obey or serve. I will allow it no more. You are in charge of this land, now change it. Make it as equal as you claim it to be. Or one day...I'll make it equal."

The Duchess might now see the hunger in Vexalie's frame, the rust in her armor, the loneliness, the shame of being half-elf, of not fitting in, the desperate desire to fit in. For a family. This girl had somehow gotten it into her head that the elves would accept her into their family if she proved she could be great. To prove she wasn't a shameful elf-blooded rogue. In that moment Vexalie looked more helpless than the Duchess. She was misguided and confused, still young but no longer an innocent child. Her life had been tough and her struggle was becoming too much. She wanted change for herself and all like her.

[The Blazing Aura]

Maxwell stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind him, there was no real need for secrets knocks or anything like that, if someone burst into The Storyteller's room uninvited Aribeth would stop them before most could even react.

"I suppose that fight outside was necessary?" The Storyteller spoke from one corner of the room, his short stature alongside the lone lantern making it hard for Maxwell to pick out all his details, not that the mercenary needed to, at the moment Aribeth was resting by The Storyteller's side and that was enough for Maxwell to know he was speaking with the real Storyteller, many people had tried to impersonate him in the past, but Aribeth was unwilling to leave his side and it was easy to tell if one was simply imitating her or not.

"It was," Maxwell replied, "Much like the Orwald case was. Lucky sold us out." Maxwell stood by the door, not that his boss didn't like him sitting during they're meetings but rather that Maxwell preferred to stand, often citing it would allow him to react quicker if something were to happen.

"Understandable, and if I have heard correctly you put your favours to good use, neither will be able to tell tales again." The Storyteller smiled slightly.

Maxwell nodded, "so why'd you call me in? Bela in town?"

The Storyteller shook his head "'fraid not. I'm sure even you know by now of the 'guest' in the prisons."

Maxwell nodded, "Yeah, rumours are flying every which way about that."

"Indeed." The Storyteller said, "which is why I have a couple of unorthodox jobs for you."

"Unorthodox?" Maxwell questioned "What have you got set up for me this time?"

The Storyteller laughed "Nothing quite as unique as last time, that's for sure," the dwarf let out another chuckle as Maxwell muttered something under his breath. "I have two leads I want you to follow. First of all is the 'guest' himself. As I'm sure you know, everyone wants answers out of him, unfortunately that also means certain people in the Undercity, and by extension..."

"You." Maxwell finished off. "OK, so how am I going to succeed where, if the rumours are true, guards AND magisters can't?"

"Because you can offer him one thing they'll never give him." The Storyteller replied. "Freedom."

Maxwell shook his head, "is that before or after I've been made into a sponge by my ex-comrades?"

"Not right away of course" The Storyteller replied, "but plant the idea in his head, he will be interested by it I'm sure."

"And how exactly am I going to get in and out again?" Maxwell asked, "I'm not a rogue, I'm a warrior."

"You don't have to be." The Storyteller smiled, "Which brings me onto the second lead. There are multiple rumours floating around High Town of a half-elf with a sword."

"A sword?" Maxwell asked, "Not a Shiv or a Dagger?"

"No" The Storyteller said, "A nobleman's sword, whose is not known, most who see the sword unsheathed die before they can pass on knowledge of it."

"And you want me to what? Kill the half-elf due to bad business?" Maxwell asked, that was standard practice, which made Maxwell wonder why the dwarf had said this part was unorthodox.

"No, I want you to recruit the half-elf, one way or another," that meant foul play could be used, Maxwell thought "but she will be needed alive. She has gained access to many noble houses that were thought to be safe."

"So we plan on recruiting..." Maxwell stopped "She? A female? I thought they normally ended up near the docks or brothels?"

"Normally, yes, but this one is different. Besides the sword she carries, she can also apparently use it rather well."

"OK" Maxwell replied, he had no qualms working alongside a half-elf, being a mercenary didn't give you the privileges most humans in Starkhaven had. "So we recruit her, get her to infiltrate the prison, then bring me in, then we go to find the prisoner and hope he gives us answers? Why not get one of your contacts to do the dirty work?"

"Because I trust you to be a representative of me, and who would believe a half-elf noble-killer?"

"Point." Maxwell conceded, "So I assume I'll have the normal resources for this?"

The Storyteller nodded "Unfortunately so, I'd love to give you a hand, but there are still other jobs that need to be coordinated. That being said, if you need Aribeth, we'll be there."

Maxwell nodded in return, already turning around and heading for the door. "Alright then, I'd best get started."

[Argentumurbem]

*that Sera girl without the accent*

"I am most grieved to hear that," the duchess breathed, "that this rogue forced himself upon you and your mother." She caught herself before continuing down that road. It was evident that this half-elf before her was delocalised, with no home to call her own. Such people were known for their... troubles.

"Not all of... my kind... are like that." Tenderly, as if her words were dancing upon a frozen lake, the Duchess continued. "I can help you. I want to help you. But I also need your help to do so." She took a few steps towards the stranger upon her balcony. "Come, embrace me as a sister of change."

What am I doing? Even she had stunned herself, her maids paralyzed. Vulnerable. Defenseless. Duchess Kathrine offered the sword-wielding half-elf an open hug.

*being a sly little elf*

Nicolas initially flinched at the presence of the archmage, expecting another strike. The guards had ceased with any attempt of coercing information out of him by asking politely, resorting to tricking him in to believing that he was to be released, only for the chains to draped upon him. Now however, someone new had come.

"A mark," he began, his swelling lips moving slowly. "I have a..."

He was cut off by the surge of pain which accompanied the movement of his arm, watery eyes gazing blankly at the dark patch on his hand. "No, no I don't know what it is." He closed his eyes, expecting another blow. "I don't know."

The blow never arrived, however. Reopening his eyes, Nicolas looked up at the mage. "Do you know what happened to my friends?"

[Rezua]

*that Sera girl without the accent*

"I am most grieved to hear that," the duchess breathed, "that this rogue forced himself upon you and your mother." She caught herself before continuing down that road. It was evident that this half-elf before her was delocalised, with no home to call her own. Such people were known for their... troubles.

"Not all of... my kind... are like that." Tenderly, as if her words were dancing upon a frozen lake, the Duchess continued. "I can help you. I want to help you. But I also need your help to do so." She took a few steps towards the stranger upon her balcony. "Come, embrace me as a sister of change."

What am I doing? Even she had stunned herself, her maids paralyzed. Vulnerable. Defenseless. Duchess Kathrine offered the sword-wielding half-elf an open hug.

Vexalie was quite unprepared for the hug being offered to her. But she was annoyed, did this woman even listen to her story? "It was a different man who attacked me. Gods, did you even listen?!? Ugh! Whenever I talk to you people you never listen." Vexalie sighed heavily "But I do not doubt the serenity in your voice. Perhaps you want to help me but many others will not." Vex hesitated before quickly swapping her sword belt to her back. "If you try and grab my sword I will not show any hesitation in defending myself." She said. The half-elf stepped forward awkwardly and gave the Duchess a quick hug. Nothing drawn out, a simple embrace for a second or two. "Now that you've sealed the deal, with what I can only assume is how you do handshakes, how are you going to help my people?" Vexalie did not refer to herself, in order to help her she needed the elves to be cared for with respect.

[Finsternia]

*being a sly little elf*

Nicolas initially flinched at the presence of the archmage, expecting another strike. The guards had ceased with any attempt of coercing information out of him by asking politely, resorting to tricking him in to believing that he was to be released, only for the chains to draped upon him. Now however, someone new had come.

"A mark," he began, his swelling lips moving slowly. "I have a..."

He was cut off by the surge of pain which accompanied the movement of his arm, watery eyes gazing blankly at the dark patch on his hand. "No, no I don't know what it is." He closed his eyes, expecting another blow. "I don't know."

The blow never arrived, however. Reopening his eyes, Nicolas looked up at the mage. "Do you know what happened to my friends?"

"For your friends, I have no concern." He then placed a hand on the Prisoner's chest. "This will hurt, surely, but hold still." Bright golden light surged from Yuvenciel's body to Nicholas', healing his wounds completely. Yuvenciel inspected the wounds, the deepest cuts and worst are nearly okay. He then cleared his throat. "As what I can see with your clothes, manners, way of speaking and ornaments, you are clearly not a native of Antir." He then grabbed the chains, yanking Nicholas. "What brings you here in our humble island of Antir? And with a beautiful rune in your hand. Such an exquisite mark. Which reminds me of an ancient omen." He said the final words with his eyes burning with power.

[Argentumurbem]

*or maybe a fantasy Starbuck from the reimagined series?*

Leaving the embrace, Kathrine turned and stepped towards her maids, poised like three felines to rush to her side. "Senaya my dear, would you please go and bring me three small coin purses? Thank you." She almost asked the serving maid to be quick about it, but recalled that her visitor would most likely take offense to such a thing.

Turning back to face the elf, the young lady offered a tentative smile. "You said that you needed charity. I said I would provide. There will be more, but," she paused, glancing towards another servant. Stopping herself, Kathrine turned back round. "I cannot offer vast sums that I do not possess."

*eeeevvvvvvviiiiiillllllll*

There was pain, the mage did not lie about that. It was the scorching touch of ice, an immense pressure forcing itself outwards, stretching his skin and muscles and limbs. And then, as suddenly as it coursed through him, it was gone. And in its place: the same questions.

"I do not remember," he managed. "I was travelling to Northwode. I wanted to become a knight. And the mark. The mark." It was not causing him any pain at that moment. And yet, it was now that he was most adamant for it to go. "I do not know. I do not know."

[Rezua]

*or maybe a fantasy Starbuck from the reimagined series?*

Leaving the embrace, Kathrine turned and stepped towards her maids, poised like three felines to rush to her side. "Senaya my dear, would you please go and bring me three small coin purses? Thank you." She almost asked the serving maid to be quick about it, but recalled that her visitor would most likely take offense to such a thing.

Turning back to face the elf, the young lady offered a tentative smile. "You said that you needed charity. I said I would provide. There will be more, but," she paused, glancing towards another servant. Stopping herself, Kathrine turned back round. "I cannot offer vast sums that I do not possess."

Vex (completely unaware the Duchess had no power) said "That is all I ask for. Now...in order to keep myself and my kin protected I need you to order your guards to stand down if they stop an elf-blood with...unreasonable amounts of money for such a creature." Vex's eyes shore cunningly before adding "And I need you to make a proclamation. Elves, Dwarves and Elf-Bloods, or rather Half-Elves, are to be treated as any human would be. They must be allowed to have social mobility and the females of such spices must be released from lines of "work" that are...shall we say disgraceful and takes their dignity away."

Vex looked up seriously "I want my people to be treated better, I don't care what happens to me. So if you are going to try and avoid the deal...please take only my life. I do not wish to add to the suffering of my people. They are precious to me even if they do not care about me..."

Vex stretched and while doing so, her joints cracked, showing lack of rest and her stomach groaned in protest to move. She'd barely slept or eaten in several days. "Well, I think that's about it. If it's not too much to ask I would like to use the stairs...or at least a latter to climb down the wall. I don't want to have to climb down the way I got up...it's quite tiring."

[Aelosia]

It was a slow day so far.

The Archmage's entourage arrived to Starkhaven early in the morning, without doubt empowered by Magister's Yavenciel powerful and ancient magics. Daeliss had always wondered how it felt to be a mage and to have such unfettered, absolute power under your own control. She, for one and for Antir's sake, blessed the fact that she had been born without a single trace of magic ability on her frame. Things would be easier, for sure, but then, where would be life's challenge?

As the Archmage had gone to Center Town, directly, and had commanded Daeliss to hit High Town and check what the local gossip was. Daeliss had gone to the Golden Bear Tavern, and paid a rather large amount of silver for what seemed a lavish breakfast. Wherever gossip were, it wasn't on the Golden Bear. Just a handful of snotty nobles hanged in their perchs there, at least this early in the morning, and the locals seemed reserved enough as to not share anything of importance in the presence of a foreigner who could eavedrop them. Smart group, she thought, but useless so far.

Next would be hitting the more shady part of town, of course, but Daeliss wasn't stupid enough as to go there on her own. On one side, the Order's badge displayed on her cape brooch would perhaps scare away some educated miscreants, but others could be stupid enough as to try something against a well dressed elf foreigner. She decided to reunite with her Master and leave further investigation for later.

She knew where Archmage Yavenciel went, to meet whoever was in charge of this hamlet and then check on one important prisoner. So far, the elven Magelord had not shared why they were here, and what was so important about this prisoner. If the grumpy Old King hadn't told Daeliss, then it meant it was a private, magician affair. She planned to find out before they left Starkhaven for sure, but knew better than to ask her superior directly. Archmage Yavenciel's temper was short, and his ire explosive once the fuse was lit.

Her polished boots brought her to the Center Town, and all guard she encountered just nodded to her and left her pass through. Plenty of them had seen her arriving with the Archmage's entourage, and for the others, the displayed badge was enough sign that she was here on the Order's business. Daeliss smiled inwardly. Authority made things so easier sometimes. Perhaps even too easy. She knew she could had honeypotted the guards to let her pass, but with the badge it hadn't been needed so far.

Of course, authority ran dry once she reached the prison's gates. As it was intended. If the Guards would had let her inside the jail's walls without further questioning, it meant they were complete morons, and at least they seemed to retain some sort of working ethics. She was stopped and asked about her intentions on going inside. Slightly brushing her hair away as to call their attention upon the brooch resting on her chest, she imagined a complicate scheme of lies she could weave as to convince them to let her through. Perhaps she was a mourning relative of one of the detainees? She wondered how she could make that scheme work out before as usual, she decided to went with the truth.

"Archmage Yavenciel is awaiting me. I only answer to his summons", she said simply, knowing the Old King's name resonated with unequal power wherever they went. The guards fiddled, ordering her to wait until her claim was verified by someone on the inside. After a brief minute, during which Daeliss remained in a snotty silence, a guard wavered in and gestured to follow him. In the end, the jail guards had let her through, as long as she was escorted. Daeliss decided to avoid further arguing and followed her guide to the depths of Strakhaven's prison, also closely followed by another soldier behind her. It wasn't as she was willing to try anything funny, and was glad that at least they were being through with their work. She was truly Yavenciel's herald, but in fact she could be an impostor trying to sneak inside.

The guards led her to the door of a filthy, open cell where she could see the back of her benefactor and employer. The High Wizard seemed to be checking on something or someone crouching inside. Knowing better than to interrumpt the Archmage during his examination, she patiently waited until he realized she had arrived. With the extent of Yavenciel's powers, most likely he was aware of that fact as soon as she placed a foot inside the prison, so if he hasn't said anything, it meant his attention was into something else more important. To say anything was just to a way to attract the Archmage's known wrath, and Daeliss had remained as his adjutant for a year by the fact that she usually managed to slip being the target of his choleric tantrums.

She just took out the little package she had stuffed under her cloak and opened the bakery paper enveloping it a little. Inside was a small loaf of sweetened elven bread, filled with raspberry jam, one of Archmage Yavenciel's favourite treats that she had acquired on her way back from the Golden Bear. She hoped its smell would be enough as to call the supreme Wizard's attention.

[Finsternia]

*eeeevvvvvvviiiiiillllllll*

There was pain, the mage did not lie about that. It was the scorching touch of ice, an immense pressure forcing itself outwards, stretching his skin and muscles and limbs. And then, as suddenly as it coursed through him, it was gone. And in its place: the same questions.

"I do not remember," he managed. "I was travelling to Northwode. I wanted to become a knight. And the mark. The mark." It was not causing him any pain at that moment. And yet, it was now that he was most adamant for it to go. "I do not know. I do not know."

"You do not know?" And the staff went down on his stomach which is luckily not charged with magic. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW?!" The Archmage's voice thundered inside the cell and even reached the halls, which earned another shiver from the Prisoner. "Don't tell me that the mark you are bearing just puffed out of nothing while you are taking a nap!" He raised his staff, the light emanating from it turned darker and darker and the cell shook like there is an earthquake. He pointed the staff at the Prisoner's face, hazardous magic coiling and toiling around the tip. "THE. TRUTH. NOW."

Suddenly, his elven ears twitched and when he turned, he saw his apprentice. "Daeliss, my dear, what's the talk down the streets? I suppose you have something these pointy old ears want to hear." He scanned his apprentice and his eyes saw something that he can deem more important than a potentially massive destruction mark. "Are those elven raspberry buns?" His eyes widened and sparkled like a child's and snatched one and bit into the luscious bread. He indignifiedly wiped his mouth with his sleeves and shouted for a guard. "Where's the bread that I ordered?! The child is hungry! Even worse, WE are hungry!" He then waved at Nicholas. The guard rushed away and moments later another guard which is an old woman brought the tray. Yuvenciel and his companions then ate silently and he casually told the Prisoner. "Child, perhaps you might want to come with us after some of our errands in this town? Well, you'll have a better room than this," He proceeded to kick a nearby rat which burned instantly. "Hellhole. Of course, we will still be questioning you and to tell you the truth, there are others who are more merciless than I. Save that for later. Eat, eat. You are as skinny as a victim of a terrible plague."

[Argentumurbem]

*hehehe on the roof of the inn*

"I will let them know that I have distributed some wealth among those who need it," the Duchess promised. "However I cannot interfere with their duties if it means that they will allow thieves to wander freely." She would offer charity, but what could she do about the Guards? Their duty was to uphold the law. If an elf was obviously a thief then they would be detained. That was the way it had to be. To stand against that would be to invite concern she could not yet face.

"And I will make a proclamation." However, Kathrine was forced to refuse the last part. "I cannot cease the courtesans. Such a thing will invite bloodthirsty hordes upon you and your people as surely as if I had commanded a cull." She hated the words she said, but her heart beat drove her onwards. "There are some ills which have always been, and always will."

"Please, come take the stairs. I do not wish to see the palace walls replace them as a means of getting around this place." She said this with a smile, as if to offer some sort of humour.

*glorified delivery villain*

*that High Elf from Skyrim*

Nicolas went silent instantly. There was no use in claiming innocence. Of protesting ignorance. No, they would not - they could not - bring themselves to listen to his words. So, with nowhere to go, the prisoner went inside himself. Deep in to himself where a cave of warmth lingered still. His body latched on to the bread, his mouth working away at the hardness, ears not registering that he was being spoken to.

Shouts could be heard a little way off. The clatter of iron-shod boots upon rough slate sounded as a deep drum beat. Eight, twelve, maybe a hundred for all that would help. After a few seconds of this growing noise, a voice called out to the guard still outside, "Get out of my way!"

It was the Captain of the Guard.

Born a commoner, drawn from the periodic street sweeps in search of recruits, Reg ou Diller was the man widely credited for cracking down on the organised crime of the island. He, alongside such names as Commander Tarrus and Quintus Talebi were legends within and without the Guard. Something he knew fine well, and used to great effect.

"What is happening?"

"The elves wanna take 'im" snarled one of the guards, tired of their superiority and glad to see reinforcements arrive. im was accompanied with a sharp fingering in the vague direction of Nicolas.

"Wants to gives 'im a cozy beds," added a second. "Says this ones no goo'nuff."

Two more guards joined those four already within, restricting the space that there was. Out in the corridor, the telltale signs of a double column of more prison guards spoke volumes of the Captain's distrust of the mages. They were different. Different was bad.

"Well that won't be happening without the Mayor's express wishes," the Captain almost snarled. "We have permitted you to ask your questions but this man still remains to be tried."

[Rezua]

*hehehe on the roof of the inn*

"I will let them know that I have distributed some wealth among those who need it," the Duchess promised. "However I cannot interfere with their duties if it means that they will allow thieves to wander freely." She would offer charity, but what could she do about the Guards? Their duty was to uphold the law. If an elf was obviously a thief then they would be detained. That was the way it had to be. To stand against that would be to invite concern she could not yet face.

"And I will make a proclamation." However, Kathrine was forced to refuse the last part. "I cannot cease the courtesans. Such a thing will invite bloodthirsty hordes upon you and your people as surely as if I had commanded a cull." She hated the words she said, but her heart beat drove her onwards. "There are some ills which have always been, and always will."

"Please, come take the stairs. I do not wish to see the palace walls replace them as a means of getting around this place." She said this with a smile, as if to offer some sort of humour.

Vexalie's eyes flared with annoyance. This woman is so dense! Does she ever get out? "I wasn't asking you to allow thievery, I was asking you to make your soldiers not beat and kills us to steal the charity you've given. Don't try and say it doesn't happen. It does. I've seen a man punch an elven mother out cold so he can steal the small amount of money she had to feed her children. Luckily (Vex smiles in a sinister way) I was there to stop him before he got away with it. No permanent damage to his hand...a scratch or two." Vexalie's eyes now shone with a strange glow, not blood-lust, but something similar. "As for the "courtesans" let's be honest and use the real word. Slave. Used for the pleasure of rich, arrogant men. An elf is a person not a thing. If I were to round up human women and give them off to elven men to do with as they wished, do you know what kind of violence would happen? But what's an elf to you and your kin? Nay, if this cannot be promised to me, the freedom of my sisters, then we cannot have any form of mutual agreement between us."

Vex's eyes turned to glare at the elven servants "And you, will you serve these...people...when they enslave us. Ah...no...it's not that you like this woman, it's that you fear what the men would do to you if you did not serve...if you ended up as a courtesan. I can forgive this submissiveness if that is your reason."

[Aelosia]

Daeliss gave Yavenciel her best smile. The one she practiced everyday for fifteen minutes every morning in front of her hand held polished silver mirror. She was internally afraid that the Archmage would throw a fit when he found out she hadn't been able to eavesdrop anything during all morning, but as usual, her choice on sweets had saved the day as the Ancient's attention was quickly directed to the treat she was casually holding. Some days she wondered if she was just some sort of glorified dessert hunter for the most powerful entity this side of the endless ocean.

She just nodded before the peerless wizard came closer, grabbed as bun and started to munch happily. As daeliss had already had breakfast, paid with her own travelling allowance that came directly from Archmage's Yavenciel's pockets, she was more than happy to give all the buns to the ravening wizard saving none for herself. She knew everything went infinitely better when her boss was happy from a sugar rush than otherwise.

So this was the prisoner Yavenciel was so interested in. He seemed to be a normal human, rather under-nourished and in a sorry physical and hygienic state. Something the good old Magister seemed to be trying to fix, if one was to take his words true. Daeliss was more than aware than for all his blunt speaking, Yavenciel was more than capable to weave complicated spiderwebs all by himself. You didn't live five hundred years and gather so much power without hatching some witty schemes and spinning plenty of creative plots. In fact, if she could be capable of feeling pity anymore, she would pity the prisoner. She didn't know what he had done, but noone deserved to be stored in a rat's den as this cell. Even if the man was a murderer-kind of criminal, just quick removal by beheading seemed more practical, expedient and efficient.

The clatter of boots intensified in the narrowed hallway for a while, sensed by Daeliss' keen hearing way before the Guard presence in front of the cell almost doubled with three new additions. Two footsloggers and someone clad as an officer, soon joined by a veritable patrol that completely blocked the access. Right then, right now, Daeliss felt trapped. It was not a feeling she cherished. Something was steering the situation south quickly.

The short exchange of words between the Guards and his Captain alarmed her even further. She could sense the disdain of the men around her towards the elves. For a moment panic gripped her as she realized what could be starting in seconds unless someone intervened. Most beings would be scared of facing off a dozen or even more armed, trained and vicious men like the guards seemed to be. Not Daeliss, and not because she could fight them off, which probably she couldn't.

She was scared of Yavenciel

Igniting the Archmage's known short fuse was a bad idea, and in the close confines of the jail hallway, even worse. Daeliss knew that in these conditions, the term friendly fire could take a very literal meaning.

Think fast, she said to herself as the Captain finished speaking. If the Archmage patience exploded, plenty of things would join in the next few seconds, including poor, poor Daeliss.

A quick thought raced in some point of her mind, and she grabbed it as if it was the last floating log in the open ocean.

"None has said the prisoner won't be tried, Captain", said Daeliss in a soft voice, as matter-of-fact as she could manage, as professional as any lawmaker in a trial would speak. "Antir's Law clearly states that the Lay of the Land, and by extension its ruler, have priority in judging cases on its territory, so your Mayor is in full custody of the prisoner. Noone has challenged that, yet", she said, dismissing the complain of the Captain with a soft gesture, as if adding of course you are right to Reg. "The Archmage Yavenciel here just argued he wasn't kept in the best of conditions for proper interrogation according to the charges that have been presented against him. Because of course you have already pressed charges. A matter that of course will be brought to your Mayor to discuss once we meet with him shortly. Because we are going to meet him right away, Aren't we Captain? I mean, I guess your presence here means you have come here to escort us to the presence of the Mayor and the Duchess, Right?", added Daeliss with the same neutral tone she had used while issuing her argument, her emphasis on words open to everyone to note.

At this point, she turned to Yavenciel and put her best puppy eyes towards the Archmage with a look that pleaded Don't start it. Not here, not now, pretty please? as loud as she could without speaking.