Description

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"People like to talk when they are happy... Their truths might shock you."
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I N T R O D U C T I O N
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[ x G E N E R A L x I N F O R M A T I O N x ]

nicknames x››
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occupation x››xphae, scarlet siren, mithalvarin
female
one hundred and twenty three
half elf & half human
rinarwin
shadow courtesan

A P P E A R A N C E
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rich crimson
ice blue
pale ivory & freckled
5' 7"
slender yet voluptuous
157 lbs
Being a Shadow Courtesan, Phaedra can only be marked so much. Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder but the clientele the Courtesans attract tend to have more refined tastes. Centered upon her back, across her shoulder blades and down her spine is the tattoo of The Shadow Courtesans. Elegant silver iridescent elven markings encircle the tips of her fingers, often hidden beneath gloves. Feint to most eyes, these marks show Phaedra's station among the higher born in Rinarwin. Other than her markings and beauty marks, she only has one scar that runs vertically across her bottom lip, a trophy from an encounter with a client.

[ x D E S C R I P T I O N x ]
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People often say that confidence is an attractive quality. There is a fragile balance before it teeters toward arrogance and narcissism. Phaedra’s confidence is palpable whenever in her presence. She never lets her gaze falter nor her head downcast. She has an air about her that is said to be intimidating yet magnetic. Her gaze looks straight past the bullshit to the true person beneath. Phaedra’s entrancing demeanor makes most apprehensive, yet her come-hither smile beckons them closer.

Everything about her is a personification of a venus fly trap. Only a fool would say she looks innocent. Nothing about Phaedra gives off the air of naivety or purity. Her voice flows forth from her soft lips like velvet, each word a siren song. Although she has a way with words, her body does most of the talking. Her lips will say whatever they want, useful or not, while her body is seductive and a force like gravity. She moves with a fluidity and elegance, like a cat on the prowl, enticing yet ready to pounce.

Voluptuous unlike most elves, her curves mask the agile muscular physique beneath. By no means strong compared to some others, but she has enough muscle to hold her own. She was quick to mature at a young age, growing a substantial bosom and wider hips while the other girls still looked like little boys. Her form has always been fuller than the other elves. Although it is not much different than most humans' shape, they still enjoyed jesting about her size in comparison when living amongst the nobles in Raes Ulin. Now she carries herself with pride, unharmed by any mans’ words.

Phaedra is often underestimated only seen as a pretty face when a deadly predator lurks behind her facade. She is not particularly tall, standing at an average height but carries herself like she is untouchable. Undoubtedly she is a beauty, a rare gem among the elves with blood red locks that burn like fire amongst a sea of silver hair. Phaedra’s icy blue eyes nearly glow beneath the dark main, framed by her freckled porcelain skin.

Fragments of her old life break through her facade from her elven markings upon her fingers, to the occasional moments where she still carries herself like a noble when she thinks no one is looking. Phaedra was never able to neglect her hygiene like some of those born of lower status. Her long crimson hair nearly always smells of roses and is well kept, but never styled, letting it flow freely as it was intended.

But everything else about her she has fought to make as different as possible. Her smile comes off genuinely warm unlike the cold stares and vacant grins of the wealthy. Phaedra rejects most finery preferring to wear secondhand leathers from an old spinster down the street than the finest silks and rubies. Although her profession could have her staged as a wide variety of walks of life, when she truly gets to be herself she is quite plain. She could easily disappear in a crowd if she so willed it. Phaedra is a chameleon who often plays at a peacock.

P E R S O N A L I T Y
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To no surprise to anyone that knows Phaedra, she is nearly two entirely different people. There is the true part of her, remnants of the girl she was back in Raes Ulin before her life was flipped upside-down. But on top of that are layers, built up year after year as a shield or cacoon to protect her from the harshness of the world. Anymore her outward self has become more and more her true self as it is the face she most often wears in her line of work, only rarely allowing slivers of whats beyond shine through.

A seductress, first and foremost, Phaedra can ensnare most men and women. She is a natural flirt. There is a natural charm in the way she laughs, unknowingly engaging in brief, intimate physical contact such as touching someone’s arm or brushing knees. This is less known to her, that she has a charming and light air about her only magnified by her sweet genuine smile. But whenever Phaedra is on the prowl, she is fully aware of every thing she does from the sway of her hips, placement of her hands, sensuality in her voice and directness of her gaze. This is something that took her years to master from watching how the Courtesans worked, especially Veela.

Often referred to as a minx, she lives up to the reputation. Phaedra has a keen sense of empathy, she may not feel similarly to others but she can read their emotions through their face and body language like another would read books. She is cunning and attentive, using what she observes to better adapt herself to certain situations or people. She has a fluidity in transitioning herself to fit the mold of what is needed. Pretending to be something she isn’t for gain is something that comes natural to her, learned from a young age from being surrounded by selfish and manipulative nobles.

As the layers begin to peel away from her, it does take long for others to see how truly fierce of a woman she is. Phaedra has a sharp tongue and quick wit which can be seen as snarky or snide on some occasions. She is a no bullshit type of woman, laying things out the way they are or the way she sees them without sugar coating or softening the blow. Even with a longer life than some, life is still too short in her eyes to tip toe around for the sake of people pleasing. She can be feisty when others push her buttons, no longer allowing others mistreat her regardless of their titles or name. But also on a deeper level, her rough edges are a barrier to keep most at an arms length for fear of letting anyone too close.

Phaedra is a fairly damaged woman which has left her reluctant when it comes to trust and openness with others. It’s few and far between the number of people who have been genuine and cared about her, and those people have all gone. With their absence, Phae has closed herself off out of fear of losing someone she lets in or that person being used against her. This makes her come off as a hard nut to crack for she will divert conversations away from more personal matters, avoid giving decisive answers and push others away unintentionally. She can become prickly when prodded with personal situations she isn’t comfortable opening up for.

When she does allow herself to be unraveled, the woman inside isn’t farther complicated or heartless like some might assume. Phaedra, deep down, is quite simple. She is compassionate, exorbitantly so toward those who are seen as different such as herself. On a couple occasions since her time with The Shadow Courtesans she’s been known to take a similar soul under her wing just as Veela had with herself. Her heart aches for those discriminated against, especially the rare sprinklings of half-breeds throughout the kingdoms.

She isn’t scared of death but of un-fulfillment. Phaedra has gone through most of her life since leaving Raes Ulin keeping everyone at an arms length. And although she is proud of her accomplishments in The Shadow Courtesans, working her way up their ranks for decades, she still feels an empty pit in her gut when she lies awake in bed at night. Phaedra feels her old self chipping away, slowly, piece by piece and fears what will become of her life, if anything at all.

[ x F E A R S x ]

loneliness x››

murder x››

drowning x››

love x››x
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Being forced to face the cruelties of this world alone for long, the thought of having to continue to face it without a friend or companion to the end of her days frightens her to the core. Loneliness is a hunger that slowly grows bit by bit until it consumes a person. She doesn't want to die alone.
Contrary to what others believe, Phaedra trembles at the thought of having to kill another in cold blood. Logically, her mind has rationalized killing out of self defense. But even those lives weigh heavily on her conscious. She does not let this show, being quick to threaten another should the need arise. Luckily for her, the circumstance has not yet arisen for her to follow through with her threats.
A near death experience as a young child has left her scared. And although Phaedra is a strong swimmer, whenever she is thrown into waters to high to stand in she panics and all rational thought leaves her mind.
Compassion and love is a weakness, especially to those who follow immoral occupations. Often her fear of a loved one being used against her outweighs her fear of loneliness. An unfortunate balance where no matter how her life pans out, she cannot avoid them both.

[ x Q U I R K S x ]

boundaries x››

snark x››

tenses x››

flirt x››x
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She's quite funny and bordering on hypocritical when it comes to personal space. Phaedra has no qualms with getting up close and personal with or without their consent, usually out of intrigue or seduction, and occasionally in threatening circumstances. But unwelcome presences in her own personal space without permission will make her tense and potentially lash out, via word... or weapon.
Phaedra has a glib tongue. It is sharp and cuts through the bullshit. Her wit has the reflexes of a cat, and bites back whenever someone steps on her toes.
When faced with something she isn't prepared to handle, Phae tenses up and grows silent. It isn't often that things can take her by surprise, but when they do it blind sides her, leaving her frozen.
Even before joining the Courtesans, Phaedra has always been a pathological flirt. More often than not she has no idea she's doing it. But flirtation is different than seduction. One is a skill while the other is subconscious.

[ x L I K E S x ]

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Beauty, in all its shapes and sizes. In Phaedra's eyes attraction does not discriminate for gender or race. She fancies what she fancies, and it all delights her.
Alcohol. The wonders of dulling one's emotions.
Dancing, a simple pleasure in a shit world.
Intimacy in all its forms. Not necessarily sexual, but the closeness of another or the depth of a personal conversation.

[ x D I S L I K E S x ]

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Prejudices, plain and simple. A person should not be judged based on outward appearance but on their internal valor. Discrimination is distasteful even on the most beautiful lips.
Entitlement. Being born with a silver spoon up one's ass does not give them a divine right to be cruel to others.
Being outwitted. She hates it, but also secretly respects the accomplishment.
Most elves... They are everything Phaedra is trying to escape.

P R O F I C I E N C I E S
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xx[ x S K I L L S x ]

Asgarion Mithalvarin made sure that had the best tutors and training, this by extension included some physical as well. Dancing lessons, acrobatics and other things of the female sort. All boring in her opinion, but none the less it made her flexible, agile and light on her feet. She is quite and stealthy with her movements, able to avoid detection in most cases. But when faced with combat or a handsy drunk, Phaedra’s agility keeps her quick on her toes able to dodge most that comes at her.

Her proficiency with weapons is limited to knives and daggers, but with them she is highly skilled. It was a hobby of hers since a young age to spend her time alone in the stable, away from people, practicing throwing knives. With decades of practice, Phaedra has become quite the marksman with them. The daggers skill came later on with the help of Veela. Since Phae was already quick and agile, it didn’t take long for her to adjust her movements to compensate for a dagger in each hand.

Finding ways to exploit her speed and agility in a battle, she attacks or dodges. Phaedra knows nothing of defense or sword play to fight in a fair dual. Fighting in the shadows or an unexpected target is her safest bet. She is never found without a knife or dagger on her, but with one she could be deadly in the right circumstances.

[ x M A G I C x A F F I N I T Y x ]

Phaedra does not know much in the way of magic, nor does she particularly care to. There are a small handful of spells she has learned from her time in The Shadow Courtesans that aid her in her work, but that is it. These spells are illusionary based magic. She can disguise herself by changing her appearance from hair color, to more dramatic differences where she is unrecognizable. The greater the change the more focus it takes on her part. It is unknown, nor has she ever tried to impersonate someone else. It may be possible but the circumstance has yet to present itself. Other than that she can alter perceived reality of another person, but this is highly limited. Phaedra can only effect one person at a time and must be in physical contact with them. It takes a great deal of focus and depending on the duration of the spell of the level of the illusion, it can severely drain her.

[ x W E A K N E S S E S x ]

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Phaedra has muscles, but would not be considered muscular. She can hold her own on most accounts, but her strength alone is no match compared to others.
Unless it is a knife or dagger, she has little to know skill. She would have better chances fighting with an arrow than trying to be an archer and swords are too heavy and large for her to wield to great effect.
Over her years away from Raes Ulin, Phae has grown to have zero tolerance for most things. Her fuse is short and she tends to be quick to anger.
As a Courtesan, there are many times where things don't go as planned. Because of this, she has adapted to think on her toes. This has made her impulsive in many ways, preferring to make things up as she goes

E Q U I P M E N T
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Phaedra usually wears little to no armor. Being that she isn’t particularly strong, metal armor weighs her down and slows her movements exponentially. Instead she opts for more practical approach, wearing predominantly leathers. They don’t provide much protection, but they allow more flexibility and movement. Unlike metal armor, she can move about quietly and swiftly. So, where the metal would protect her in combat, the leathers allow her to dodge more effectively. Depending on the type of situations or combat, she may add minor metal plating to her shoulders, gauntlets and legs. But nothing too bulky or heavy.

[ x C L O T H I N G x ]

It’s difficult to pinpoint what exactly compromises Phaedra’s wardrobe when her occupation has her dawn different personas on a regular basis. What she wears could range from the rags of a kitchen wench, armor of a warrior all the way up to fine silks of the wealthiest nobles. But on the rare occasions where she has the opportunities to be her true authentic self, she tends to be fairly plain in comparison to her alter egos.

Still a Courtesan above anything else, Phaedra’s clothing accentuates her figure, regardless of being simple. She can be found often times in snug leather pants and knee high boots. A loose fitting tunic is her shirt of choice, breezy, non-constraining and comfortable, but hardly appropriate in the company of others. Phae will usually accent it with a basic leather corset and adorn herself in belts and fingerless gloves. Also, permitting the weather or job, she may wear a cloak.

Phaedra would prefer to avoid formal attire all together, but even in her profession that isn’t always an option. In her opinion, if she is going to do it then she’ll go all the way with it. Her gowns have tight bodices made of silk that fan out slowly from the hips. A cloak like shaw leaves her shoulders and neck exposed, but flows behind like a veil. And she accessorizes with ornate jewels and bobbles along her neck, in her crimson locks and even on the tips of her leaf shaped ears.

[ x I T E M S x ]

Unlike most others, Phaedra has a habit of traveling light. Aside from her weapons and a small leather pouch that rests on her hip, adhered to her belt, she carries nothing else. Inside the pouch she only keeps what she considers the basics: a coin purse for her gold, flint and steel (as to not dull her knives) and a flask of water.

[ x P R I M A R Y x W E A P O N x ]

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Fang & Talon
dual wield daggers
12 in
1.2 lbs each
Purchased from an Orcish war band, the daggers were a score from a successful raid. Their maker and precise origin is unknown other than they are elven made, and presumably come from Rinarwin. They’ve also been modified with leather for a better grip, smaller blades for the pommels and charms off the handle of personal significance. She also had a custom holster made that holds the daggers against the small of her back.

[ x S E C O N D A R Y x W E A P O N S x ]

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throwing knives - a dozen total, 6 six housed in a holster on each thigh
7 in
0.4 lbs each
Acquired by trading with a human vagrant merchant shortly after she left her home in Raes Ulin. Origin is unknown, but assumed to be of human make.

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assortment of knives & daggers
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Phaedra keeps several other blades on her person for convenience or back up. There is usually one in either boot, two or three small knives tucked under a strap on her corset, and two extra, lower quality throwing knives in her small pouch. All are of varying make and quality, often acquired in markets or stolen from targets while on the job.

H I S T O R Y
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xx[ x R E L A T I O N S x ]

Ravenna Mithalvarin x››

Asgarion Mithalvarin x››

Godric Blackwood x››

Veela Dalgaard x››x
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Phaedra's mother. Although she never met her because she died in child birth, Phaedra has heard the stories of her mother's great beauty and kind heart. On many occasions her own beauty has been to compared to that of her mother's. But she has nothing to even paint a picture of the woman in her head, only that her mother named her shortly before she died.
He is the black haired elf that Phaedra was lead to believe for many years of her life was her father. Instead he was nothing more than the arranged husband of her mother who wanted the perfect wife and an untarnished name.
A human sellsword, and Phaedra's father. She only got to meet him briefly before he met his untimely death, but she cherishes his memory above all others.
Her first friend, and the person who introduced her to The Shadow Courtesan's, Veela was like a sister to Phaedra. She many things from her. And after outliving Veela because of her part elvish genealogy, Phae has never been quite the same.

[ x O C C U P A T I O N x ]

Phaedra has been with The Shadow Courtesans for over fifty years. Introduced to this organization by her late friend, Veela, the Courtesans have been her life and family for many years. The Shadow is an organization of courtesans, people who sell their body for gold. But the services purchased go beyond just the basics of intimacy. Masters of disguise and deception, they work as spies and thieves. Contrary to popular belief, The Shadow Courtesans are not assassin nor sellswords. It is against The Shadow Courtesan code to kill unless out of self defense, and a majority of the courtesans would be utter shite in a combat. Most know the basics of self defense, for work purposes, and nothing more. The Courtesans may threaten lives on more than one occasion, but never follow through with said threats, unbeknownst to those outside of the organization. And those whom do kill in the name of The Shadow are ex-communicated with enough insurance that the secret workings of the organization aren’t divulged.

[ x O U T L O O K x O N x L I F E x ]

Bitter. Utterly bitter. Phaedra doesn’t put a high value on her own life. The world is shite with a horrible unbalanced hierarchy that ranks people based on their status, not their merits as a person. She detests this. Which is all the more reason why she loves and hates her profession. On the one had wealthy bastards pay her for their own sick gain. But, on the other hand, she gets the opportunity to be the tool in knocking pretensions pricks off their high horses.

[ x H I S T O R Y x ]

Elven nobility is strange. On the outside everything is elegant, untouched by time and pristine for centuries. But inside they look down their noses with disgust at those deemed unworthy by their own ungodly standards. Ravenna somehow managed to be a sapphire in a pool of diamonds amongst those nobles. A beauty amongst elves is a dime a dozen, but her beauty surpassed that. Many of the young noble Lords would queue outside her home, waiting for an audience with her to try and win her hand in marriage. She did not want an arrangement, but instead wanted to marry for love. Such things did not happen, but she fought her father tooth and nail for her happiness.

Although her father did not want to force her into anything, he was getting old and Ravenna was long past the age when most young Ladies wed. But what her father did not know was of the secret love she shared with her body guard, Godric. An honorable man, Godric was a human who worked for the The Hooded Company. One of the best swordsmen of his time, Ravenna’s father hired him to protect her and through their time together they fell in love. Ravenna had been able to turn away the numerous suitors until Asgarion called upon her father. He was as good of a Lord as the next noble. He came from a powerful family with a long and strong lineage. A suitable husband for any worthy Lady, but his eyes were set on her. He had tried for years to court her but to no avail. It is unknown what words were exchanged between Asgarion and Ravenna’s father, but when the raven haired elf left their home, a marriage was arranged.

The engagement didn’t last long, and in a fortnight they were married, luckily for Ravenna, for she was pregnant. As far as she knew Asgarion thought the child was his own, that was, until she gave birth. The pregnancy had numerous complications, which was unheard of for elves. Then when she went into childbirth, this only escalated. It is unknown what caused the complications, but those who knew the truth of Phaedra’s genealogy suspected it was due to her being a half breed. Then to everyone’s shock, Ravenna died on the birthing table after giving life to a leaf eared daughter with blood red hair. Asgarion was no simpleton and immediately knew the child was not his. But out of jealously and preservation of his own name, he banished Godric from Rinarwin and claimed the child as his own. In public, Asgarion played the part of doting father. But behind closed doors Phaedra was left to be raised by handmaidens, wet nurses and anyone else but him. Although Lord Mithalvarin claimed the child as his own, whispers still spread past Raes Ulin to the far stretches of Rinarwin.

As a child, the prejudices, discrimination and mistreatment baffled Phaedra. She tried nothing more than to be a kind, tender soul, but the Elves chewed her up and spat her back out. When school started, she would come home nearly every day in tears from the taunting of the other children. But with no comfort or compassion from her father, she had no choice but to accept the insults in silence, slowly and painfully building a thick skin. By the time she was in adolescence, Phaedra quickly grew to realize the differences between her and the other Elves. She matured faster and looked differently than everyone else. People she never met would whisper and point at her whenever she crossed their paths. And it didn’t take long for the whispers to reach her ears about the rumors of her illegitimacy. For years she didn’t believe them. Phaedra didn’t want to believe that her father, although cold, would lie to her for her entire life… And she was scared of the truth that she might not belong anywhere.

One night, a woman cloaked in black came to their home demanding the money was due to The Shadow from Asgarion. With all the gold she had stashed away, Phaedra was able to loosen the lips of the woman. Come to find out she was an envoy sent by The Shadow Courtesans to collect Asgarion’s blackmail money. Money… used to silence the truth from getting out about Phaedra’s true parentage. The woman’s client? None other than Godric Blackwood. Livid, Phaedra interrogated her “father” at knife point for the truth. When the secrets Phaedra had fought so hard to ignore came to fruition before her eyes she could no longer stand to remain in Raes Ulin. She took what gold she could and paid The Shadow Courtesan, Veela, to take her to Godric. They spent weeks on the road and on a ship, sailing across the sea to Stormgard. Through the journey, she found herself drawn to Veela, who was the first person Phaedra ever encountered that treated just like everyone else. By the time they reached the tavern where she was to meet Godric, the two had grown a strong friendship, bonding through tales of their lives prior to escaping their toxic home lives.

The moment Phaedra entered the tavern and Godric looked up, it was instant. He always knew about the child, although never allowed to meet her. Now a woman, he saw so much of her mother in her. He nearly over turned the table as he got up and crossed the room to embrace her. It was the best night of Phae’s life, getting to spend the evening learning about her mother while having a drink with her father and a new friend. But the happiness was short lived. In the morning, she awoke to find her father murdered in his sleep by a Black Dagger assassin, hired by Asgarion. Phaedra would have been blinded by the hunger for revenge if it weren’t for Veela. It took weeks for the woman to talk her down, but it was only when she explained her own tale of revenge that ended in bitter emptiness, that Phae finally listened. Veela gave her a proposition to become her apprentice with The Shadow Courtesans. Wanting nothing more to do with her old life or nobility, Phaedra gave up her titles and joined a new family.

So begins...

Phaedra Mithalvarin's Story

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#2019-03-26 17:04:12, as written by Quakernuts

This wasn’t the happy kind of ride to a tavern or inn that one would expect from a group that potentially prevented a catastrophe...well, another one. If anything, it felt more like a funeral procession as everyone more or less kept to themselves, with a few hushed conversations taking place as they continued on. All Callion knew was that he was tired and he had failed. Both Ragnar and Thomas were killed because he hadn’t been fast enough. He couldn’t claim to know them well, or even like them if he was being completely honest, but he had been trusted to bring them out and two of them died there. Callion’s hand had been glued to his chin as his other held his notebook, looking for any potential clues that could have made that entire scene easier, and naturally he found plenty. Had he re-written the ‘shield’ sigil from scratch to include an encapsulation appendage, it would have cut out a good portion of his time. He should have included the elvish word for ‘healing’ at the start, avoided the whole ‘sneezing’ episode he had managed to induce in one of the undead. Even from a more practical standpoint, they could have retreated from the town and come back when he had a spell ready...but he would have needed a live specimen to test it on. Callion’s eyes narrowed as yet another wave of exhaustion rolled over him. While he couldn’t claim that he had physically exerted himself as the others had, there was no denying that a mage’s magic was directly linked to their physical well being. Instead of gradually losing all of his stamina, it was like having it ripped from his body with a pitchfork. Still, sitting here and being sorry for himself wasn’t going to help anything at all, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could sleep on command this time around. So, placing his notebook in his bag and making sure he wouldn’t fall off his horse, he leant forward and closed his eyes.

Callion woke up every so often during the trip, mainly to readjust his position and make sure he wouldn’t fall off. It didn’t appear like he was missing anything, as everyone around him seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Callion didn’t truly bother waking up until they were within sight of the village, yawning as he checked to make sure he still had everything. It’s not that he didn’t trust the people around him to not steal his stuff, but more that it calmed his mind performing a routine. When they did finally arrive in front of a tavern/inn, Phaedra proceeded to hop down off her horse and instruct the others that she had to go it alone and about what to say to others regarding their current appearance. Callion narrowed his eyes, looking ready to object but felt like this was not a fight worth having. For at least a little bit, Callion was all battled out and he simply gave a gruff huff regarding the situation and lead his horse to some water and food while Phaedra handed off her satchel and moved to do whatever it was that she would do. Callion had his ideas, most of them involving cleavage and eye batting from the woman cat.

Getting his horse next to the stalls, along with everyone else, he tethered them up and hopped off the animal as it started to drink from the trough and get some well needed rest. Callion patted Reynaldo, the mighty beast giving a huff and exhaling through the nose as Callion fished through the bags to grab his essentials. His essentials were basically everything he had on the horse, practically walking away with a backpack’s worth of items as he double checked to make sure he was leaving nothing outside. When Phaedra did return, Callion was struggling with some scrolls by the looks of it, before giving an exasperated sigh and turning towards the half orc. “Tusks, do you mind assisting me?” Callion asked before shoving a bunch of scrolls into Garros’s arms. “Much obliged.” Callion stated, before listening to Phaedra talk about their accommodations. Honestly, so long as it wasn’t a sex dungeon, Callion couldn’t care less about it. He simply needed a place to reflect and refocus. The majority had survived, in no short part to his efforts, but they didn’t all make it. Callion wasn’t a perfectionist per say, but losing even a single life was a major setback. As they lead the horses into the stables for the night, his eyes never exited from the state of ‘driven resentment’ towards the situation.

They entered the tavern, and immediately the eyes on them were obvious. Why wouldn’t they be? They were disheveled, dirty, bloody and looking a little bit like some kind of hell had just washed over them. Not that it hadn’t, but still this level of attention was not something Callion liked when he didn’t do something amazing to deserve it. Even though he was carrying an absurd amount of stuff, Callion did his best to walk straight and tall, as if he had everything in control as he strode past the common rabble to the apparent barkeep. Phaedra motioned them up and Callion moved without complaint. He wasn’t the one who struck the deal, he wasn’t about to pay money out of his pocket to keep it. Following the instructions given, Callion was the first to arrive at the door and press inside. Immediately he knew this wasn’t a standard inn room, as it was far too tidy and elaborate. Phaedra had either done something to warrant the deluxe suite, or this was the inn owner’s own room. Callion noticed that there was only one bed and gave a huff. “I suppose a number of us are sleeping on the chairs, table, tub and floor.” Callion’s eyes narrowed. “How refreshing…” The sarcasm dripped off his words like venom, his outward demeanor obviously affected the events of today plus the rings under his eyes dictating his level of stress and exhaustion. Despite knowing he had slept on the trip here, he felt like he hadn’t gotten a wink. It was irritating to say the least.

Callion dumped his belongings off to the side against one of the walls. As he did so, Phaedra entered and produced clean clothes for them. Callion wandered over to the clothes presented and held up a shirt. Low quality, basically a rag and strings. Callion looked down at his own robe, and despite being dirty, was still made with quality. Callion looked over at Phaedra, feeling his irritable nature taking hold. “These rags co-” Callion interrupted himself when he saw her slumped against a wall, barely able to state that that was the best she could do. Callion paused, a sort of grimace on his face as he looked from her to the clothes, before folding the shirt and placing it on top again. “It will have to do.” Callion stated, a bit of resignation in his voice as his need to lash out at someone or something was once again left unfulfilled. “In the meantime, I suggest we get some sleep as soon as possible so we can wake, get refreshed and report back to the King.” Callion stated, looking at the bed which was big enough to hold two people if they scrunched together. A portion of him immediately wanted to covet the bed, but a thought entered his mind unbidden.

Beds are for winners.

“I will take the tub I su-” Callion said as he started walking towards the tub, only for the room to start spinning violently. Callion simply let out a very quiet phrase.

“Oh piss off.”

Callion’s form wobbled for a moment before he slumped to the floor with a rather large ‘Thud’. The silence that followed was only interrupted by the very slight snoring of the now prone Callion.

Callion awoke with a start in the tub, looking around and feeling rather than seeing the effects that sleeping in a tub had on his body. Everything was in pain and sore as he made to get up only to slide back down into the tub. His left arm was asleep, most likely slept on it by accident. It felt like lead trying to get it up on the side of the receptacle, sliding a couple of times and producing a slight ‘squeek’ as he attempted to remove himself from the most uncomfortable sleeping spot he could have possibly picked. At this point, he was certain the floor would have been better, and only he could be blamed for the choice since he voiced it. As he slid down for the third time, swears and curses entered his mind as he contemplating blowing the entire tub up. Instead he waited to regain feeling in his arm and was then finally able to pull himself up. He stepped out onto the room, taking a quick glance at the others. Garos was slumped over a chair, snoring away, with Phaedra on the opposite side doing practically the same thing...maybe with less snoring. Ceclia was sleeping on the bed, but Mara was nowhere to be seen. Callion raised an eyebrow, wondering if she was somehow hiding in this small room, getting on his hands and knees to look under the bed. The only thing that stared back at him was a small collection of dust, so he stood back up. Huh, odd. She’s a big girl though, if she had been taken by force we would have noticed it...this room is too small not to. Callion thought to himself as he wandered over to the fresh clothes that had been presented to the group. He didn’t like the idea of wearing any of this garbage, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, besides he only had to wear it long enough for him to clean his robe.

Still, that didn’t mean he was going to wear any more than he had to to be considered decent by societal standards. He grabbed some pants and went back behind the screen that the tub provided to quickly change. Once he had removed his robe and donned the threadbare pants, leaving his torso exposed, he carried his robe out of the room. Wandering through the hall to exit the building, it was clear that he had once again awoken to a very early morning, as it seemed to be completely abandoned. That suited him just fine, he would like a moment to himself to collect what he could...wait, this was real, right? This wasn’t him hallucinating again? Callion paused looked at everything around him, then down at his tattoos. With his fingers, he flicked his wrist and felt the slight sting vividly. Ok, this had to be real then, otherwise his subconscious would prevent him from hurting himself intentionally...right? Callion shook his head as he continued his trek. His feet took him outside the building via the back door and towards the stable to check on his horse. After all, an animal that would carry you on its back for miles must be treated with care and respect, and he should be able to clean his clothes there as well.

As he approached the stables, he saw that his horse, Reynaldo, was already awake. “Ah a creature of the rising sun, such as myself it would seem. At least yours is by choice though.” Callion stated, giving a sniff and an internal shrug to himself. He approached his horse, rubbing its face and listening to it vocalize a bit before returning to the task at hand. He had a simple spell, prestidigitation, that would allow him to clean his clothes. It didn’t give the feeling of having something hand washed don your person, but for now he simply wanted his robes back. He looked around for something to hang it off of, and it dawned on him suddenly that hanging it on anything in here would undue whatever he did. Not my smartest moment. Callion thought to himself as he held out his hand. Will, if you wouldn’t mind, I have need of your assistance. Callion mentally instructed and waited. There was a slight thud, a small crash, followed by more thuds at which point the feeling of annoyance filled Callion’s mind. What is it? Callion asked, wandering around the corner to see the front door of the inn rattling. Callion’s shoulders slumped, as he physically resisted the urge facepalm. It’s locked, go out the back door.. There was a slight pause before Callion heard a click and his staff flew out the door towards him. Landing with a hearty smack into his palm, Callion looked at the staff, then back at the now ajar door. “How did you...you don’t have any hands…” Callion stated, earning the feeling of a wicked humor entering his mind. Callion shook his head before wandering over to the inn, closing the door and wandering back. Upright. Callion ordered, and the staff floated in the air… only to have Callion’s robe draped over it.

The indignation and disgust floating from the staff was apparent but Callion just sighed as his hands glowed and the robe started to magically clean. “Shush, it’s fine, a little zombie blood never hurt anyone…” Callion paused. “Well, that’s inherently untrue, but still, shush.” It didn’t take long for Callion to finish, holding up the robe to inspect. It was clean, but it was that kind of ‘mechanically’ clean. It wouldn’t have the feel of freshly washed clothes, but it would do the job. As he was inspecting his robe, much to the obvious chagrin of his staff, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a foot in one of the hay bales within the stable. Looking over, he saw the slightly stirring figure of Mara, who had seemingly moved out to the stables in order to sleep...or care for them, or whatever her process was. “Ah, there you are farm girl, was almost worried you had been stolen away during the night by a rich prince or a desperate slaver.” Callion stated, returning to look at his robe and make sure he hadn’t missed any spot. “Had I known you were in here, I would have been slightly quieter, although one can hardly be blamed for believing someone to be sleeping with the equines." Callion stated as he continued to look over his robe. "The sun barely rises, you still have time to rest should you choose. The others have not stirred yet…” Callion looked at his staff, and he could practically feel the shrug coming from it. “I don’t think they have anyways.”

Callion avoided the most obvious conversation topic, mostly because he himself didn’t want to talk about it just yet. He wanted to feel normal for a moment, to regain his footing and approach the situation with a fresh face and clean clothes. “Regardless… Good Morning.”

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#2019-04-23 17:17:04, as written by mjolnir

Phaedra had barely settled herself in a slump on the floor in the small room, when Callion opened his irritatingly large mouth to complain about the state of the clothing she procured. She gave him a sharp sideways glance as he began to speak, but thankfully his words trailed off before he finished. She didn't see him doing any better. Phaedra spent nearly all of her coin to get them this room and those rags. Of course, it was too much for skirts to seem even remotely grateful.

A scoff escaped her lips when he fell to the floor with a loud thud that shook the ground beneath her. Then it was swiftly followed by loud snores. Phaedra nearly laughed out loud. Of course he was just as annoying asleep as he was awake. Mara, although small and quiet, was able to manage moving Callion into the tub. That was nice of her, Phae would have left him there... Although he probably would have woke with a crick in his neck that none of them would hear the end of.

She didn't move from her spot on the floor, letting her body rest as much as it could. Phaedra was exhausted. When was the last night she got a good night's sleep? When she was with her last target? No. She slipped out in the night. Her legs felt like the bones were taken from them, her arms too tired to lift. The others luckily had horses, but she traversed the country on foot which took her remaining energy from her. But Phaedra knew, no matter how tired she was, she wouldn't be able to sleep... or at least not for long, but she rested her eyes nonetheless. She only opened them slightly when she heard movement, and watched in silence as Mara slipped from their room.

The morning couldn't have arrived any slower. Phaedra's night was filled with images of the battle, the red shoe of her fallen comrade and stirring questions of the strangers she now was traveling with. Her stomach rumbled and groaned uncomfortably threatening to eat itself if she didn't find sustenance soon. Did she get any sleep? It didn't feel like it. Perhaps she slipped off into a light sleep, but she remembers being wide awake whenever the others began to stir. She wasn't in the mood to deal with socializing... Not yet. So, she kept her eyes closed trying to rest as best as she could until she had no choice but to rouse herself.

Phaedra paid no mind to the stirrings in the room, until quiet shifting moved closer to her. Under different circumstances she might have been tense, thinking that someone might have been trying to kill her. But she didn't feel that way, or maybe she was too tired to care. Then a gentle weight was placed upon her. A blanket? She inhaled softly as she slowly opened her eyes and found herself met by the orc. "Thanks," she said softly toward him with as best of a smile she could muster. "I don't think I got any sleep." She gave a weak chuckle, sitting up slightly.

A sheepish grin flicked the tip of the tusks from beneath Garos’ lips as he straightened back up. He puffed out a breath, “I figured. Ye’ still look pretty beat.” It was an observation, simple as that. He knuckled at his nose, and glanced back down to her. “Don’t think I did either.” The admonition came softer this time, though it sounded genuine enough by the slight bags underneath his ocher-eyes. They looked strange up close; ringed with black where the whites of a persons eye should be. Like a particularly dark night; a lighted cavern, pupils like lanterns in the dark. “Plenty of time for that, later, I think. When we get our barrings.”

She sat there for another minute or two, before she willed herself to stand. Gods was she stiff and sore. Phaedra stretched, nearly forgetting how filthy she was until she glanced down. She sighed, and grabbed the piece of clothing that remained on the table, not much caring what it was. A simple, oversized black tunic. Her pants were fine, and a quick scrub in water would fix her other clothing right up. She moved over to a corner of the room with her back toward Garos and began to unlace her corset. Once it was off, her tattered blouse nearly fell off her without even trying.

Phaedra didn't try to hide herself, she wasn't the bashful type. But she kept herself turned away to avoid making her company uncomfortable. Before she put on the fresh tunic, the large intricate marking of the Shadow Courtesans stood out predominately on her back against her pale skin. She slid her arms through the sleeves of the shirt and briefly glanced back toward Garos. "You're a half breed, right?" Phaedra pulled the tunic over her head and turned back to face him as she tucked the ends into her pants. "I mean no offense," she added with a gentle tone. "I have an eye for like people."

As unabashed as Phaedra was removing her clothes, it seemed to be the only time that Garos’ seemed entirely comfortable. Whether or not that was an indication to some sordid upbringing or questionable occupations was anyone’s guess. The expression on his face was even. Tempered, almost. Though, there was a slight flick of his eyebrow when she glanced over her shoulder. Maybe, a shadow of intrigue, before it was gone. She could hear him pad back across the room, bare-footed, and slip into the high-backed chair once more, where he folded one of his legs over his knee.

“Curious question for someone you’ve just met,” the statement held no malice, though there was a bit of humor there. A laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He rubbed his hand over his face, scrubbing past his mouth and jawline. To anyone else, he might’ve just looked off. A shoddy orc. A less-than-graceful elf. Not quite like one or another. Not a simple fit. “No offense taken, ya’ got a good eye.” His manner of speech felt more like an odd mix between a country bumpkin, and someone who spent too long in a dingy tavern. A pause, thoughtful this time. “Ma’s an orc, pa’s an elf. Weren’t the most popular couple ‘round.”

Hearing that one of those in their company wasn't much unlike herself felt... Nice. It was like a little piece of her barrier chipped away. Like Phaedra popped a string on her corset and could breathe easier, if only a little. She managed a soft smile. Not something she did often, but one that wasn't forced nor fake, but content in comfort. "So am I," she added quietly, almost as if she were afraid someone else might hear. So long she was trained to act like an elf and to hide the human tarnish from her blood. "A halfbreed. My mother was an elf, my father a human." She used pieces of her ruined blouse to clean off her boots and corset as best she could absent water or a brush. She began to put back on her corset, fastening the buckles, as she glanced back up toward Garos with a more playful smirk. "Get me drunk enough one night and we can exchange stories."

A laugh, this time. Deep-bellied as always. There was a sense that he didn’t talk about them much. Or else, no one had really cared to ask. He patted his own stomach as it gave an empty gurgle, as if to stifle it to no avail. He readjusted his slouched posture, and planted his hands on his knees. “Thanks again. For everything, y’know?”

Phaedra pulled out one of the empty chairs from the table and started to wipe down her boots. As she slid her left foot into the appropriate shoe, she froze upon hearing his words. No one had thanked her. She met Garos's gaze for a moment giving a subtle nod along with a hushed, "Of course." Before she finished putting on her boots. In the silence of the room, the rumbling of their stomachs was nearly deafening. Phaedra sighed looking toward the door. "I paid for food." She left her weapons in the room on the table, but grabbed one of her daggers and tucked it in her right boot. "I'll be back."

With a nod toward Garos, she exited the room and made her way down to the first floor of the tavern. The dwarf was already there, working behind the bar and helping the numerous refugees strewn about the place. "Ryland!" Phaedra called out to him, not caring what people turned to look at them. She was hungry, running on little sleep and irritable. She slammed her hand on the counter to make sure he looked at her. "I paid you for baths and food."

Ryland gave her a sharp glare, as he continue about his work while talking to her. "It's past dawn," he said, answering her own grievances with his. "There is a creek near by. There's your bath." He then grabbed dirty dishes and headed back toward the kitchen.

Phaedra pushed past a kitchen wench, moving around the bar and following after the dwarf. "We would have been out by dawn if you gave us what I paid you for."[/b] Ryland paid her no mind, and continued about his work. "Stubborn ass dwarf," she practically growled under her breath. She wasn't in the mood to argue. So, instead, she grabbed five bowls, filling them with what stew or soup was brewing over the hearth.

"Hey! You can't do that!" Some serving girl called to Phaedra as she made herself at home, getting the food they were promised.

Without a word, Phae pulled her knife from her boot and held it out in a silent warning. Ryland waved everyone out of the kitchen with a sigh. She made quick work putting the filled bowls on a tray. Phae also snagged up a loaf of bread, along with a flagon of ale and cups. "Phaedra you can't take all that."

"Are you going to stop me?" When he didn't stand in her way, nor try to stop her, she nodded her head, tossing her blade onto the tray. "That's what I thought." Phaedra took the tray in her left hand with her right index finger hooked around the handle of the flagon. "We'll be gone within the hour. But your favors with me have run out." She stopped in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder toward him. "You're lucky it was me and not another Courtesan. You know what will happen if another finds you."

She wasn't going to give him any advice nor stay around to tell him more. Ryland knew what he did was wrong when he betrayed the order years ago. It was only out of their past friendship that she didn't turn him in. Phaedra hurried her way back up to the room, the smell of the food driving her mad. She bumped open the door with her hip and set the tray on the table before looking toward Garos and Cecilia, who must have arrived while she was gone. "I don't know what it is. But it's food." She set the flagon down on the table. "And ale."

Phaedra couldn't wait any longer. She quickly took a seat in one of the chairs, grabbing a bowl of stew while also putting bowls in front of the other seats for Garos and Cecilia. She couldn't wait to pour the ale, or waste time with proper manners. Phae took up the bowl in her hands, pressing the brim to her lips and drank from it heavily. She only took a break when it was half gone to pour them both a large glass of ale. She made sure to rip the bread into five pieces before she ripped into her own and chased it with an entire glass of ale. It was then that Phaedra took a brief breather and toasted her glass against Garos's. "Cheers." She laughed weakly, but smiled... a genuine smile. Thank the Gods for food.

Garos, too, seemed to forget his manners when Phaedra brought the wooden bowls ladden with stew. Another gurgle sounded. Insistent. He ate as if it might’ve been the best meal he’d gotten in days. As if their little feast at the kingdom hadn’t happened at all. Or else, his appreciation for food stemmed from something else entirely. He’d eaten like this there, as well. Wolfing down his meal rather than enjoy it. He only seemed to look up from his bowl once it was completely empty. He scrapped the bottom of the bowl with his portion of bread and slumped a little further in his eat. The ale followed soon after.

A satiated sigh broke the silence, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Gods, that was good.”

"Help yourself to my share. I'm not particularly in the mood for food or drink anyways." Cecilia said as she took a seat at the table, pushing the bowl back in Phaedra's direction. There was a slight pause before Cecilia spoke again, "If you don't mind me inquiring, how did you come to know the dwarf downstairs? The two of you appear to be on familiar terms, at the very least."

With a mouthful of bread, Phaedra froze at the question. She quickly became self conscious about the manner in which she was eating. Did she really look so starved? Then again, when was the last time she ate? Before she was at the other village, no doubt. And she hadn't the faintest idea how long she was unconscious there. Phaedra swallowed her food, and took a drink of ale as she searched for the words. She could lie, that would be easier... But for some unknown reason, she told the truth. "I'm a Shadow Courtesan... If you haven't already connected those dots."

The orc seemed to perk up when Cecilia questioned Phaedra about how she was acquainted with the dwarf below. The tavern owner. And even more so when she’d said the words Shadow Courtesans. The telltale eyebrow quirk, his inquiring gaze flicking with something that resembled recognition. Though if he recognized the organization at all, he certainly didn’t add anything to imply he did. The peak in Garos's curiosity made her chuckle softly, a tired sort of laugh of someone exhausted but relieved at a lighthearted moment. She should be used to similar reactions by that point, but true enough, it wasn't something she often shared, especially with people she hardly knew.

Her gaze was fixated on her cup as her fingertip traced the brim. She was searching for a way to answer in truth, without breaking code. Although part of her knew that not much longer in this journey and she'd be in the same shoes as Ryland. Phaedra sighed softly as she looked up, first toward Garos then Cecilia. "So, is the dwarf, Ryland. Or... was. He broke our code and before it was handled accordingly, he left. We were friends, so we kept in touch... for a time. I didn't know if he'd still be here, but it was our best chance." Phaedra didn't know what else to say, or... what she could say. She instead finished the ale in her cup, sparing brief glances at the other two in her company.

Cecilia seemed more surprised that she had told the truth at all, but that look of surprise was quickly covered up with something more neutral, devoid of any sentiment. "Can't say that I've heard of them, but I'm also not too concerned with your organizational ties and whatever baggage they might bring, and I'm sure the others aren't too concerned either. When we all first met Thomas... one of the two who we'd lost in the village, he was dragged in like an animal in chains." A small smile had crossed her lips, as if she was reminiscing on the absurdity of the event. "I don't think any of us ever figured out why he was treated in such a way, but I can assure you the reason was nothing pleasant. Even still, he was beneficial to the team, and I don't see us treating you differently if the dealings of your organization are in any way similar to what was going on with him."

Phaedra leaned back in her seat, sliding the extra bowl of stew toward Garos but kept her gaze on Cecilia as she spoke. Garos was all too keen to dig into the second bowl of stew, letting them talk amongst themselves. It was rare meeting someone so cold or stoic. Reminded her of her false father and that connection sent a chill down her spine, which she quickly tried to mask by taking a large drink of ale. What little bit of her that seemed to open up earlier during her conversation with Garos threatened to lace itself back up. Phae was certain the words were meant to be seen as comfort? But she wasn't ashamed of her line of work. She set her cup back down on the table looking over toward the silver haired elf. "If you do not care about the means by which I know the dwarf, then why ask in the first place?" It was more of a rhetorical question, but Phaedra was confused by Cecilia's curiosity which was quickly covered by indifference. "I never much cared about others' thoughts towards me and my profession. Comes with the territory."

"It was only because this Ryland seemed more than a little reluctant to help us, and you seemed to have some sway in convincing him to let us stay. In that regard, I should thank you, otherwise we would've had to camp somewhere outside of town." Cecilia stood from the table, moving towards the bed to gather what seemed to be a small piece of parchment and a vial. "Regardless, there are more pressing matters to discuss, though we'll have to wait for our other companions to join us."

"Gold can sway anyone's mind, if there is enough of it." Phaedra downed what remained of her ale, then nodded her head toward Cecilia. "You're right. As much as I'd love to spend the day drinking with Garos," she said, giving him a flirty yet brief smile. Being even so bold as to give him a playful wink. A cough sounded, this time. Muffled by the bowl held to his lips. The first reaction of mild embarrassment. "We have maybe an hour before we've overstayed our welcome beyond what my purse can handle."

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#2019-04-30 16:18:00, as written by Quakernuts

Embarrassment was not something that came easily to Callion, mainly due to his own circumstances. Even when his pride demanded a flush of the face, he managed to push that feeling into something more productive, like vengeance or revenge. A petty demand of someone such as him, but it was better than floundering like some idiot or naive girl. So when Mara’s face seemed to flush with that exact sentiment of something he had long ago refused to feel again, he felt a rising lecture boil up into his throat before he stopped. Why did he feel the need to lecture a natural bodily reaction? An emotion? The teacher in him had come to the forefront for a moment before he shook himself of the feeling, continuing to prestidigitate his clothes before finally deeming them clean.

Mara had taken to brushing her horse, which in itself earned a comment from Callion. “I too love animals, dear girl.” Callion stated, slipping his robe over his body and giving a quick inspection. “But might it not be prudent to clean yourself up first? Presentation is the first freely given opinion after all.” Mara only momentarily paused her brushing in acknowledgment of his words. Before she could answer, Cecilia wandered into the stable. With a greeting, she then asked them to join her in the room with no small amount of foreboding foreshadowing. Callion gave a curt nod, watching her gather her things from her horse and leave for an overlong amount before Will bumped into his shoulder, a professional curiosity filling his mind.

“No clue Will, although she does seem the educated sort. She may have some insight as to what happened yesterday that we missed.” Callion muttered to the staff, earning a polite agreement. Callion brushed his robe once more, out of nervous habit rather than an actual need, before turning to Mara. “Well, it seems like there may not be time for a proper bath and cleaning of the attire, if you don’t mind.” Callion wandered over, beckoning her to stand. With little hesitation, Mara obeyed. “A simple spell, to clean the stains and smells.” Callion stated, placing his hand in front of Mara’s chest but not actually touching her as his palm started to glow. In a matter of seconds, her garments went from dirt covered hay filled frayed fabric to clean and presentable clothes. He realized where his hand was hovering, but once again, embarrassment was a foreign feeling to him...one might even include ‘shame’ in that list. His intention was purely practical. “Now then, shall we head to the room?”

Mara stared at him with somewhat vacant eyes. Usually, the chance to see magic used up close would excite her. Or she would become flustered by his closeness. Instead, she only nodded slowly, like a sleepwalker, and murmured a soft,

"Thank you..."

Callion wandered into the inn, Mara in tow, and entered the room. The smell of food was the first thing to hit his senses, quickly followed by the stench of mediocrity that was the stew. His eyes glanced to it, but honestly his hunger far surpassed his need to be slightly above average and he said nothing. Instead, he looked to the others, who had woken up and were already indulging in whatever there was. Garos was wolfing it down, Cecilia didn’t appear to want anything to eat and Phaedra was eating away as well. Callion took a seat at the table, his staff floating of its own accord to a spot along the wall as he deliberately chose a spot that was as far as he could get from the scornful woman. “I assume we have you to thank for the sustenance?” Callion asked, grabbing his bowl and adding a bit of stew to it as he glanced over at Phaedra. “Much obliged.” He stated in as neutral a tone as one could get. He dug into the food, noting its quality was less than what he typically enjoyed but having enough common sense to not say a word or give any indication of objection to it. Mara murmured another soft "Thank you" to Phae, before helping herself as well. Her eyes seemed unfocused as she slowly chewed. Mara only seemed to eat a few bites before seeming to forget food was even in front of her. She stared past Callion's shoulder with glassy eyes. Her mind clearly elsewhere.

After a few moments of getting something, anything really, into his stomach, he paused. His eyes peered over at Cecilia. “You have something that you wished to discuss.” Callion stated, not phrasing it as a question in any shape or form. Admittedly, he needed information and he wasn’t going to give the slightest opportunity for someone who had any of it to back out of something. “It would be best if we got right to it.” Callion stated, his tone heavy and his demeanor serious.

Mara jumped a little at the sound of his voice, startled back into blinking. She took another mouthful of the stew, but pushed it aside and looked to Cecilia, apparently not hungry. Garos, too, set aside his bowl, though his was clearly empty. He glanced in Mara's direction, mouth setting into a line. There was a knit to his brows. If the man at all had the ability to hide his emotions, he certainly never put it into play. Though, he maintained his silence, and swung his attention back to Cecilia, bobbing his head into a nod. The red head had long but finished her food and while the others sat and waited in a somber silence, she leaned forward to grab the flagon of wine and pour herself another drink. From the looks of things Phaedra needed liquid courage to help her through whatever Cecilia was going to lay on them.

Cecilia sat herself back down at the table, a piece of folded parchment and a vial in hand. "Needless to say, we have several issues. Not only are we down two people, but we also lack any definite knowledge on what truly occurred at the village, besides this small sample I managed to take amidst the chaos." She said matter-of-factly, holding up the small vial, which one could now see held a small piece of burnt wood that still glowed with the alien blue embers that they had seen at the village. Cecilia then gestured to the parchment in her hand, "I've made sure that the King will receive a detailed description of everything we encountered, but the main topic of this discussion is the mark that has found it's way into each of wrists."

"While I was attempting to preserve what was left of the bodies of Ragnar and Thomas, I noticed something that was... well, to call it worrisome would be an understatement." She stopped for a moment, seemingly trying to steel herself. "The mark was no longer on Ragnar's wrists. It wasn't on either of his wrists. I can't be sure about Thomas, since there wasn't much left of him to begin with, but I think it's safe to assume that the same could be said for him." Cecilia glanced at Callion, her green eyes hard and focused. "I'm sure that you will reach the same conclusion that I have."

Phaedra learned back in her seat, her index finger tapping quietly against the side of her cup. She appeared deep in thought with brows furrowed and pursed lips. After a long moment she parted her lips to sigh, then speak. “Do any of you actually know the meaning behind this?” The red head seemed frustrated at the events she had been thrown into over the past day. She huffed, visibly flustered at her own lack of knowledge at the situation, as she yanked up her sleeve and pulled the leather fingerless glove from her hand. Iridescent elven markings showed more predominantly around her fingertips without the distraction of the glove as she pointed at her fresh mark upon her wrist. “I touched some weird tablet... pass out and wake up to all of this. What’s going on?”

Callion listened to the both of them, but he personally hadn't seen the marks disappear. Still, Cecilia seemed like the inquisitive sort, and he couldn't disprove what she was stating. Naturally Phaedra did her best to get on his nerves, but he had more important matters to attend to than her complaints as he put his hands together and held them in front of his chin. "I didn't witness what you did Elf, but I have no reason to not trust your assessment nor discredit what you're saying. If what you saw was indeed the truth, that is a very startling revelation that could have any number of possibilities, nearly all of them horrible in some form or another. Quite intriguing." Callion stated as he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath through his nose as he realized that Phaedra would indeed be the most in the dark about all that was happening and considering she was marked herself, it was necessary to fill her in. "As for a quick explanation for the unwillingly ignorant, each and every one of us is marked with a magical... sign of sorts that I couldn't begin to explain that has us declared as the Heralds." Callion looked over at Phaedra. "If you had spent any time in a book at all, you would be aware that Heralds are noted through every major religion and belief system across Ambar, and almost universally believed to be the bringers of end times. We lucky individuals are the ones who now carry that stigma with us where-ever we go, as there doesn't appear to be any known way to eliminate the mark." Callion paused, looking over to Cecilia. "Well, there is one way apparently, but I'm in no rush to test it."

Callion closed his eyes for a moment, doing his best to run through his immense knowledge of all things literature. "The wording on nearly every religion and belief is similar. There are always 7 heralds.. .always 7. Never 6, never 8, 7." Callion opened his eyes, looking to everyone. "If this prophecy is the work of some great being capable of amazing magics, it would stand to reason that it would never allow there to be fewer. It could be that the marks simply moved on to others who were not as clinically disposed of." Callion uttered, his words cold but logical, not meaning insult but not putting any effort in to mask his thought process. Mara visibly flinched despite this "Either that, or killiing us is the simplest way to stop a prophecy that would end with an Armageddon. To which I would state that I do not like either of these conclusions I have put forth." Callion looked to the others for some kind of agreement or other idea to float forward as to what it could mean.

"For obvious reasons, I'm hesitant to believe that this is truly the mark of the seven Heralds, although I can't deny that the similarities are there. However, I do concur with you on one thought. I doubt that the mark would simply vanish into thin air, thus it's safe to say that it would've found another target to embed itself into." Cecilia shrugged, "Either way, this proves an issue, for if we are truly meant to die to avoid a possible catastrophe, that has unseemly consequences, and if the mark has embed itself into two others, then we have no indication of who or where these people might be. It's possible that the King could track them down as he did with the six of us, but who knows how long that might take, especially since we're not operating on a flexible time schedule."

The red headed woman sat upright in her chair, pushing her glass away as she began to speak. ”If this mark is as ominous as Skirts puts it, then I doubt anyone would be willing to step forward and admit they bear it.” She spoke toward Cecilia, not in a cold or rude manner but factual. It seemed as though Phaedra understood the gravity of finding the other marked individuals but crossing off ways it they could not find these others showed to be easier than finding solutions.

Phaedra then turned her attention toward Callion, her own annoyance plain to read. ”Plus, last I checked at least half of the people in Ambar do not know how to read. And of those whom do know literacy, how many of them spend their days nose deep in books rather than living their life?” She quirked a brow in a challenging manner while every word that slipped from her lips had a sharp bite to it. ”I apologize if my ignorance amuses you, Princess. But not all of us got a special invitation from the King in regards to their situation.” The woman held his gaze for a long moment before she snatched back up her glove. She slid her fingers back into it, then crossed her arms as she leaned back in her chair, turning her attention back to Cecilia.

Cecilia sat there, playing with a singular strand of hair as Phaedra snapped back at Callion, apparently zoned out as their argument continued. "Well, it was less of an invitation and more that they captured us, held us all against our will in guarded cells, and we waited for days until the King would finally talk to us, but anyways I digress..." She cleared her throat and sat upright once more. "There's not much left that I wanted to discuss. I simply felt you all deserved to know the situation. Besides, there's little we can do anyways until we inform the King."

Mara seemed to shrink smaller and smaller into the table as tensions rose. Her small fists clenched tightly and an expression between anger and nausea was visible on her pale face. Once Cecilia was finished, Mara spoke up.

"Either way... bickering among ourselves will serve no purpose..." Mara said, softly but with an edge that seemed unlike her. She looked at the table, rather than at those around the table. She stood suddenly, and with force enough to make the chair complain loudly against the floor. Mara appeared to swallow thickly, as if trying not to to be ill. "Excuse me... I need air..." And shakily, she headed for the door.

Callion watched her go, after getting yet another verbal tirade from a woman he would rather wish non-existence on than speak to again. He looked back down at his own hands, suddenly acutely aware of just how his life had led him to a rather detached way of dealing with death. He had seen people die time and time again, and sure the first few times were rough but eventually it just became a part of life, however sad it might be. Despite this, everything in him screamed to fight with Phaedra in whatever fashion she deemed necessary, but was overridden by the logic of the farm girl. There will be a time for petty insults later, when a plan has been laid. Callion looked up at Garos. "Mercenary, would you mind seeing to the girl? It appears her mind is still not quite at terms with what's happened in the past day, and I doubt the rest of us will be able to... dissuade her concerns as easily as you would." Callion stated, before turning his attention back towards Cecilia and simply ignoring the blatant insults and anger from the red head.

Garos had maintained his silence until then, far more comfortable absorbing their words rather than interrupting with his own. Besides, it wasn’t likely that he’d spent most of his life with a book to his nose, given his outward appearance, and the general bearings Callion had seen so far. Perhaps, that’s exactly why he kept quiet. He’d never confessed to knowing more than he did, and seemed to prefer listening rather than offering his own input. Tight-lipped, that one, even if he hid it behind a smile.

He nodded his head and rocked himself out of his chair, happy to oblige Callion’s request. There was a sense that he liked being given direction, rather than bite the bit that pulled. As if it were easier that way. He stopped at the doorway and leaned his shoulder against the threshold of the door, turning to regard them. His expression was thoughtful, “She’s right. No use bickerin’ now that we’re all in this together.” He swept his palm up, the familiar flash of the unusual mark on his wrist peeping up beneath his glove.

Phaedra slunk back in her seat, surprisingly having nothing to add to her usual venom. Her gaze followed Mara out of the room and similarly watched as Garos was instructed to go after her. By the look of her expression she seemed almost sorry for the way she acted. That was until she looked back toward Callion, and whatever softness that was in her face faded to an expression of stone, unamused and irritated. But thankfully no words escaped her annoying mouth.

Another pause, before Callion continued. “Garos,” he corrected softly, eyebrow quirking up. “We’ve got names, y’know.” Bereft of the chiding tone Phaedra often used with him. More like a reminder that it was important, at least to him. A grin followed suit as he dropped his hand and turned away. With that, soft footfalls could be heard retreating down the hallway, following after Mara.

Callion paused a moment as Garos reaffirmed his name to him, receiving a middling response from Callion. He knew their names of course, he just didn't feel a need to say them at every opportunity. Well, that and maybe it was a bit subconsciously pointing to his own life where he was only ever referred to as 'boy' or 'Priest'. Regardless, he carried on with the conversation. "The King is still our best bet, and while your concern over it actually being the mark are noted, until I see something else that dictates what it is, that is the basis I have to go on." Callion looked at the letter held by Cecilia. "We should include the part about our thoughts regarding the mark moving on to another individual, and ask him to start his search once again for others. We can then travel back, taking us a few days and giving him some time to send some informants into the winds for directions. Tell me elf, do you know the spell 'Sending'?" Callion asked, a simple but useful incantation that allowed messages and items to be sent quickly vast distances. It didn't eliminate the need for a postal service, as not everyone would have the ability to cast it nor would it allow for overly large letters or parcels, but it was useful in certain situations.

Cecilia scoffed, as if it was offensive to even ask if she knew such a base spell. "Of course. Although, I'd rather be there to hand him the letter myself and explain away any questions he might have, but I suppose I could send it, for the sake of expediency at the very least. You needn't worry about including our own thoughts on the mark moving to other individuals. I did so as soon as we arrived here." Cecilia added a few finishing touches to the letter before folding it back up. She then made a gesture that might've seemed insignificant to anyone not trained in magic, but Callion knew it well. A small sigil flashed in the air, before the letter that had previously been in Cecilia's hand vanished. Callion simply nodded and stood from his seat, having finished eating all that he was going to eat and gathering his things from around the room, what little he had.

"Then I suggest we get a move on. It will take us a few days to get back to the King, and I'd rather make as much time as possible." Once he had gathered his things, he made his way towards the door. "I'll be at the horses waiting for everyone." Callion stated, exiting the room and in short order running into Garos and Mara. "Letter's sent, we're heading back. Hurry up and gather your things." Callion stated as he moved past them, making his way towards the horses.

Setting

Ambar

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#2019-06-06 15:52:48, as written by Quakernuts

The early morning of the group departure was offset by the gloom produced by the unlikely band of adventurers, brought together by the whims of fate and forced to endure nothing short of a horrific first encounter. As they loaded their horses with their gear and whatever they could manage to ask/claim/swindle out of the innkeeper, they were off. The glaring eyes of a bridge burned staring holes into their back as they went. A steady pace, a quiet ride and even the most eccentric out of them all lost in thought. The group had barely any time, in relative terms, to fully come to grasp what they were dealing with. On top of this, while they had undoubtedly prevented an undead incursion, they knew nothing about what was happening or how to stop it. Some eyes darted back and forth, others stared ahead either out of concentration or a lack of awareness. It appeared that not a soul among them was looking forward to the talk with the King they were going to have, to admit their failure and worse yet, acknowledge their losses at the beginning of their journey.

Days went by, the group stopping every so often in order to camp and refresh themselves. Stretches, practicing, napping, reading, cooking and eating. Conversations were had between the group at intervals, with certain individuals ensuring they were never in the same small space or tent at any given time. Color slowly started to come back to the people as a sense of normalcy took over the time it took to get to the Castle. In a sense, peace had been returned to them, the vestiges of death a strong memory but just that, a memory. The losses were still felt, more acutely by others, but they were fading. Shock was wearing off and bodies were refilling with a sense of vitality. It was what they needed, and these few days where they were alone with each other and their own thoughts, able to piece things together by themselves and focus on what would help them most... This was a needed distraction.

Several days later, they arrived. The city of Fellmark, the capital of Stormgard came into view and the guardsmen at the walls and gates stood in a mixture of relaxed and stern positions. It looked like an average day, with nothing particularly happening during a time of peace that hadn't yet reached the ears of the others here in the city. At least, the guards did a good job of making it seem that way. As the group passed through the city gates, the guard captain appeared, his eyes peering over them with a knowing deepness to them. It seemed he realized something, both angry and saddened at the same time, but said nothing. Waving them through, they walked their horses through a city in the throes of mid day. People walked to and fro, market stalls hocked their wares, beggars begged and shoppers shopped. Kids ran through legs and alleys alike and the entire bustle of the city folk felt deafening after having been alone with nothing but each other on the road here. No one seemed to pay them any special mind, only doing the bare minimum to get out of the way of their horses. The group trotted along, eventually coming to the path leading to the King's Castle. The guards at this gate were far more alert, armed and armored. They stopped them as they approached, investigating their bags and noting their purpose. Upon giving all of that, they were lead inside, their horses stabled and their belongings held by the guards save for whatever they happened to be carrying upon their person at the time.

A small troupe lead them through the once familiar halls where the Heralds had spent some time sitting and waiting for judgement...well, save for one. The guards continued, marching them to a large door that was recognizable by most, and upon opening it, revealing the empty throne room. The large area where most of them had first been introduced to each other, and told of their purpose for the coming days. It seemed so long ago, but time has a weird way of taking things and putting them into different sets of context. There, the group was instructed to wait as the guards removed themselves from the room, closing the massive door behind them as they went. In awkward silence, save for maybe a couple of whispered comments from a couple, they waited. Unsure with what to do with themselves, it felt like ages before the King made his entrance next to the throne. Instead of sitting himself on the chair, overlooking them as people of royalty are want to do, he walked down the few stairs to stand in front of them. His eyes had heavy bags around them, indicating a lack of sleep from an unknown cause, but guesses were most likely to be accurate. He peered around them all, a certain sadness filling his form as he came to the same revelation that the guard captain undoubtedly had as well.

"I am noticing a distinct lack of... people here with you."

Mara stared down at her booted feet, trying not to let the swell of grief overwhelm her again. She had remembered to put on footwear before they entered the throne room. She was at least glad for that.

Phaedra lingered toward the back of the group, her gaze shifting about the room like a jumpy ally cat. Her left hand tightly clutched the worn strap of her satchel while her right twitched at her side. Although her face had the look of discomfort and distrust with a furrowed brow and sneer, her body told another tale. There wasn't much they knew about the woman aside from her sharp tongue and her ability to hold her own against a horde of undead. But it was like once they entered the castle a bit of some truth came to light. Phaedra didn't seem to carry herself like a commoner but instead stood with strong stature, with poise and the posture of someone who had be taught the proper way to carry oneself. If they didn't know any better... The redhead wasn't as common as she lead on to be.

Garos, on the other hand, shrunk against the King’s gaze. A pang of guilt pulled his features taut, he could feel the pull, even though he fought against it. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight had finally pressed itself down on him, he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. He made sure that he wasn't in the forefront, lingering towards the back of the group. He didn't plan to break the silence at all, and waited for someone else to answer the King’s question in their stead. What else did he have to say in this situation? He hadn't even wanted to come along in the first place, and now, the only question that burned in his gut involved Thomas and Ragnar. His gaze flitted towards Callion, in particular, and then, over towards Cecilia. He believed them better suited to explaining the circumstances of their return.

"They...didn't...." Mara's voice cracked in her distress. It were as if she felt suffocated by the silence, but she trailed off. Mara's complexion paled noticeably as she appeared to struggle for words. "We failed to...save them..." The King appeared to look at Mara, his eyes betraying a sense of sympathy and loss, but also containing years of having to learn the hard way that such emotions held no place with the leader of men, especially in times of need. He gave a sigh, rubbing his hand through his beard slightly as he took a moment to think about his words.

"This isn't your fault. I couldn't possibly believe that someone such as Ragnar would have allowed himself to be taken down in such a light fashion. The assassin, Thomas was it? I'll admit, I didn't know him well past his occupation and guard reports, but he didn't seem one to be taken lightly either." The King looked to the group. "You admitted this much in your letter, I had simply hoped that it was written in error, or maybe there was some sort of accident with the spell used to inform us. Two Herald's down... and according to your letter, we're no closer to an answer?" Callion was the one to speak up next.

"It was a powerful form of necromancy for certain." Callion stated, taking a step forward as to present himself as best as possible, although whether that was from pride or habit, it was hard to tell. "Someone of great skill and ability cast it, and seemingly caught the town unaware. The elf and I will continue to look into it, but I wouldn't hold out hope of anything spectacular revealing itself to us." The King looked over at Callion, taking in his words with little change to his posture, his silence indicating a deep sense of thought as he continued to absorb the information given.

"I see, just as you stated in your letter once again." One more pause, which at this point was starting to seem like the King was trying desperately to regain his breath at every opportunity. Instead, he seemed to regain some form of regality as he switched to the one giving the information and orders, his shoulders lifting and his voice carrying more than a hint of nobility speech. "While you were on your way, a new series of information made its way to my ears. With confirmation of your group and its status, I have no choice but to believe that the information is correct." The King motioned to the back and a robe wearing man, most likely some sort of page or messenger, stepped forward with another letter. "A cult of sorts, since I hesitate to use the term of 'Religion' when it comes to such a small following, has managed to reach out to me. They insist that they could have information that ties into the Heralds and the myths surrounding them. I've invited them here, and they should arrive tomorrow morning if they manage to stick to their schedule." The King looked to one of the men standing near the door and gave a nod. The soldier opened the door to reveal a few attendants stepping inside the room. "In the meantime, rooms have been prepared for you once again, although your freedom within the castle walls won't be as confining. You're welcome to walk the halls and explore the castle grounds as you wish, but I must ask you to remain here until we get to meet with this group of...Ist'nen they call themselves"

With another look, his eyes managed to pierce through the group and land on Phaedra. The red head seemed to keep her attention everywhere but the King, that was until he looked directly at her. "As for you young lady." At those words a slight smirk grew across her lips, like she knew a secret he didn't. "I don't believe we've ever met but the letter contained information as to the details surrounding you. I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this mess, but seeing as you are similarly marked as the others, I have no choice but to ask for your help in this matter as well. You will be greatly compensated for your troubles, as will all of you." There was a bit of a hollow ring to the King's words, as if he was reciting a speech or message he had said one too many times, but the contents of his words were clear.

Phaedra shrugged her shoulders slightly at the comment. "It doesn't seem I have a choice." By the look on her face, it didn't seem that the prospect of compensation amused her.

With another look, he peered towards the group as a whole. "Does anyone have any questions before we retire to our rooms?"

Mara stared at the floor, silent, and looking somewhat smaller than usual. It were as if the effort it took her to speak diminished her. Cecilia spoke for the first time since they'd arrived, her brows furrowed. "These Ist'nen that you speak of, how can you ensure that they mean well in their effort to aid us? It seems too coincidental that they would only offer to help now."

Garos shifted once more, uncomfortably. Leaning his weight to his other foot, before returning to the other. Sure, he had questions, and most of them were personal in nature, but he felt like Cecilia's should come first. There was too much information being tossed across the board. A cult? The Ist'nen? None of it made any sense to him, and it was all he could do but chew on the inside of his mouth, to keep himself from biting off a comment that might get him into a trouble. T'was the King they were talking to, after all. Still. He settled a hand on his hip, arched a thick eyebrow, and shifted his gaze from Cecilia to the King. The King nodded.

"You are right to be skeptical, but if I'm being entirely honest, this isn't the first time they reached out. In my hubris, I believed them to be delusional and ostentatious, and since I wanted to keep this mission quiet as long as possible, I refused them an audience." The King took a breath. "If I had not jumped to conclusions, their information might have been able to help you prevent some of the misfortunes we've had, but what's done is done." The King looked directly at Cecilia. "When they reached out the second time, it was a mere day after your letter had reached me, and they seemed to be well aware of Ragnar's and Thomas's fate. How, they didn't quite explain but they were correct regardless. This time I wasn't in any position to refuse, and with the benefit of hindsight, I'm hoping this decision will work out better than the last." The King was being particularly candid, but it wasn't exactly hard to see why. While he still managed to keep an air of respect around him, he was visibly exhausted and otherwise wanting something, anything, to pan out. "Were there any other questions?"

"Ragnar and Thomas," Garos's voice sounded unusual to him. Weaker. As if he'd exhaled their names aloud, in a rush. Breathless. It definitely didn't sound familiar, even though he'd been mentally preparing himself to voice the question. He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and cleared his throat. Tried again. "We left them back at the village, but we wanted them taken care of. Properly, y'know? Buried. Cece made sure they'd..." He dropped his hand back to his side, eyebrows furrowed. He finally found the King's eyes and held his gaze. "Ain't right to just leave them there."

Softly, a sob escaped the farm girl, as if Garos had unlatched a door she had closed on her grief with his word. Mara covered her mouth, silencing herself. She stared intently at the chamber floor. The King gave a slow nod. "Preparations have already been made to recover the bodies for a proper burial. They will be given the respect owed them." The King looked around a bit more and sensing that there wasn't going to be any more statements or questions, took a small breath and continued. "Alright, if that's everything then I suggest you get some rest. Should you have need, the assistants will fetch you any food you require, the baths are open to you and I would recommend taking the rest of the day to relax and recover from your ordeal. Tomorrow morning we will be back to business once the Ist'nen arrive." The King motioned to the guards near the entrance, who opened the doors. "The attendants will show you to your rooms. Do try to take care of yourselves while you can." The King then turned on his heel, heading back towards the door he had originally come through, the conversation over as the attendants waited near the door for everyone to make their way to their rooms.

Setting

Ambar

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#2019-06-22 01:03:45, as written by HeartfeltWords

Mara felt a sigh of relief escape her when the king finally dismissed them. Though time had passed since they'd left Ragnar and Thomas... the meat that had once been them, that is, each night Mara saw their mangled bodies in her dreams. For her part, she tried to keep busy during the day: riding ahead of the group so far that she could hardly see them on some occassions, or trailing far behind as she picked shapes out of the clouds drifting overhead.

Often, she had taken to wandering alone when they made camp. She would find new plants they could eat or use in medicines, make long braids of flower chains to wrap her horse's tail in, or come back dragging armfuls of firewood. Anything to stay busy. Mara had taken to resisting sleep until her eyes burned and played tricks on her. She tried not to let it show, but she was aware of the looks the others occasionally gave her. Some pity, some worry, some a combination of both, ocassional disapproval. She tried to put on her kindest smile when she caught these glances.

Mara couldn't find a smile for this moment though. She felt worn and somehow brittle. So instead, she took to old habits. Staring at her booted feet. They had deep scuffs and though she had cleaned them, she swore she could still see the stains the blood had left behind after the battle. Foe or fallen friend...she was not sure whose it was. She glanced up as the gaurds led them to familiar chambers. A small spark of something kindled in her...there were at least books here and food. The recollection comforted her. They passed a familiar area, with potted roses. The baths were here. Mara paused.

"A bath..." Mara mumbled, not to anyone in particular. "The baths are here. I will take one before I go to my chambers... if that is ok?" she said to the guard. The guard nodded and continued on his way.

Mara eyed the others near her bashfully. She felt strange when she realized she might be in that giant bath alone. She looked uncertainly at Cecilia, wanting to ask, but not sure the elf would appreciate her breach in class, instead she reached out a small hand to Phaedra's sleeve before the woman passed. "The baths here are very large and... well... well, last we were here I worried that if one were to go alone and fall asleep in there they'd surely drown." Mara looked up at Phae uncertainly, expression shy. "Well, what I mean is, if you're worried about that too, I wouldn't mind going with you to make sure you're safe. If you want..." Mara smiled shyly at the woman and gave a small glance in Cecelia's direction as well. Mara briefly, accidentally locked eyes with Garos, feeling her face get hot before she managed to stare at Phaedra's shoes. Garos seemed to like that idea, as he could be heard, rather than seen, in the foreground, bothering Callion, begging him to go to the baths, as well.

"So... would you like to go together?"

Phaedra gave a warm smile, not sympathetic or pitiful, but just friendly. Her hand gently gave Mara's shoulder a light pat as she nodded her head. "I'm dying for a bath." The redhead chuckled. "Let me just figure out which one of the cells is mine and drop off my things."

The woman pivoted on her heels, turning to face the closest guard. "Hey, Shiny," Phaedra said, giving a playful back handed pat to the man's chestplate. "Which one is mine?" The guard didn't say anything just pointed toward one of the doors. Her lips parted like the woman was about to say some witty response but instead she just sighed and trudged off to her assigned room.

It didn't seem to take Phaedra too long to do whatever she needed. When she emerged back out into the corridor, her bare feet padded along the floor as she moved toward Mara. She lost most of her encumberments, only seeming to remain in her trousers and the oversized tunic from the tavern for decency's sake. Phaedra never presented herself as the type of person who minded the idea of herself nor others in the nude. In her arms she held of ball of clothing, looking of high quality make similar to the clothes Mara received the last time she was here. The redhead didn't seem overly appreciative of the fine clothing due to them being balled up and under one of her arms. But fresh clothes are better than nothing.

When she returned to Mara's side, Phaedra held out three small ornate glass bottles. "I bring these with me wherever I go. Oils and perfume... They make baths divine and almost help me forget that I'm in some strange place, after a horrible day and alone." Her voiced seemed to trail off toward the end, but Phae quickly smiled and resumed her usual tone. "I think today is such a day."

Mara smiled at the woman's words. It appeared she hadn't bothered to drop anything off. Still standing in the same spot, sachel in hand. The farm girl gave a curious glance to the glass bottles, the contents seeming to prod her interest. Oils and perfumes were not too far off from ointments and elixers.

Mara looked to Cecilia, expression curious.

" If you would also like to join us, Miss Cecilia... I'm sure it would be a pleasure. We've had so little time to talk, but I understand if you would rather not." Mara said, trailing off. She still was unsure if the nobel elf just tolerated her or was perhaps just stand offish. To Mara, Cecilia always seemed cold, and as if she did not want to be bothered. Mara mostly tried to stay out from under her feet, obligingly. With a little polite smile in Cecilia's direction, Mara turned back to Phaedra and beamed warmly. She wasn't sure why, but just the idea of having company had lifted her spirits.

Cecilia seemed to have been lost in her own thoughts, and seemed startled whenever Mara spoke. A scowl crossed her face, but it was hard to tell whether or not it was directed at Mara, or something else entirely. Cecilia sighed, "I suppose I could join you..." There was reluctance that was palpable in her voice, as her eyes drifted off towards the door to her own chambers. "I will join you soon. There is something I must take care of first." With that said, Cecilia walked away, disappearing behind the door to her room.

Mara nodded, watching the elf go.

"It's this way." Mara said leading Phae towards the baths.

------------------

The scent of roses permeated the steam-laden air of the women's bath. As before, red velvet seats were scattered around the edge of the large hot pool. Sconses in the wall provided light, possibly magic in nature. Mara settled herself into one of the seats, setting down her sachel. Without the men, her bashfulness faded a bit. In no time at all she was disrobed, dirty clothes folded neatly beside the chair. As before, she was still the kind of thin that came with bodies used to hard labor and few meals..though a bit softened thanks to the party's regular rations. Her spine looked less pronounced, her ribs less angular. She was taut and tawny, browned in most places from working in the sun, save for her torso that was pale. Carefully, she untied her hair,letting it fall losely around her shoulders in a dark wavy ripple. It had grown, she noted, though the same could not be said for the parts most women wanted to grow. That was well enough for her though.

Mara lowered herself down into the warm pool carefully, settling on a ridge carved into the basin for sitting so the water came up to her chest. She sighed contentedly, grateful for the enveloping scent of the clean waters.

Phaedra set the clothing she carried on a chair before she began undressing. She carried herself in a way that her own nudity was as normal as standing before someone fully clothed. She didn't hurry over to the large bath like Mara instead lingering before a large mirror. The redhead seemed to turn slightly before her reflection, her gaze sizing up the view of herself. She had no idea the last time Phaedra was able to see her own reflection, but the look on her face said the sight was foreign.

The redhead was curvy in the ways Mara could only assume men appreciated it. And where she'd think a woman who looked like that might look at her own reflection with confidence, Phaedra's brows furrowed in thought and maybe even self consciousness. Her hands ran over her body, stopping over yellowing bruises or healing scabs, prodding at the remnants of the battle that marked her.

After another moment of staring at her own reflection, Phae sighed and turned from it. She grabbed the ornate glass bottles she brought with her, opening each to put a few drops into the bath. When the oils hit the surface the water seemed to shimmer and take on a feint pink hue. Phaedra finally entered the warm waters, sighing as she let her body sink deeper until she was completely submerged. A few seconds passed before she surfaced, brushing her soaked locks back from her face with a content smile.

"They must use magic to heat the waters...they're always perfect." Mara said looking to Phaedra.

Phaedra smiled as she ran her hands over the surface of the bath. The oils in the warm water made the iridescent markings around the tips of her fingers appear to shimmer. Her head slowly tilted back until it rested upon the edge of the bath, letting her eyes close. "There is nothing a wonderful bath can't sooth."

Mara gave a thin, almost distant smile. She wanted to agree, but couldn't closs her eyes, even in the comforting embrace of the bath, without seeing corpses behind her lids. Mara played with the waters with a hand, letting it ripple between her callused fingers.

"I am... only a farmer's daughter..." Mara said after a small quiet pause. She smiled and tipped her head as if indicating she assumed her low status was obvious. But the marks didn't seem to care if I could better weild a sword or a pitchfork and now I am here... forgive me if I ask too much, but what life have you known until now?" Mara asked softly, curiosity winning over her usual shy nature.

Phaedra's head lifted up from the edge of the bath, one of her eyes peeking open before the other, glancing toward Mara curiously. Her right hand flicked at the water's surface while her expression showed deep thought. Maybe she was conjuring up a lie, choosing her words carefully... Or maybe it was a shield of silence where the truth her history would not escape. After what seemed like ages, Phae sighed softly and asked, "Do you want the long or short version?"

Mara tilted her head, brow furrowed in thought. "If it pains you, you needn't tell it in any length. But... if you tell it, tell it with truth..." she said, green eyes unusually intense as they looked to Phae. Her expression was patient, but focused.

"I suppose you'd see through even my most ellaborate lies... Unlike some of those in our party," Phaedra replied with a weak laugh. It was apparent by her demeanor, the way her brows furrowed, how her gaze constantly changed focus and she shifted where she sat, that the topic was not a comfortable one. It was a long awkward silence before she finally met Mara's gaze. She gave a deep sigh before pushing off the sides of the bath, slowly bobbing her way out into the center of the bath, almost like the distance would make it easier to talk about.

"I knew it'd only be a matter of time before one of you asked... I don't know if I'd dare even humor the topic if Skirts or the Elf asked." Phaedra glanced toward the door, as if to check to make sure no one was entering and be sure they were alone. "I've only ever told my story to Veela."

Phaedra ran her hands along the surface of the water as she searched for words. With a sigh, she began, "I'm a half breed... If you didn't know. My mother was an Elven noble. My father... was her bodyguard. She married her betrothed quickly, to hide her pregnancy. She died giving birth to me and when I came into this world with hair like fire, Asgarion knew I wasn't his daughter. He banished my father and kept with the pretense... But he detested me. Elves aren't dumb, they could tell... They are vain creatures with a supriority complex to rival a King's. They... It... wasn't an easy life."

The redhead thumbed over her markings that decorated the tips of her fingers. "I found out the truth when a Shadow Courtesan arrived for Asgarion's payment. He was blackmailing my father for his silence. I left with the Courtesan, found my father, only to have him taken from me by morning. Murdered by an assassin hired by Asgarion... I then joined the Shadow Courtesans nearly a century ago and now I'm here." Phaedra concluded with a shrug but no eye contact, like she was trying to brush off her tale like it was nothing special or different.

Mara silently absorbed the woman's words. Unmoving, eyes sharply focused. This was a rare expression for her. Oddly intense, and usually only seen when she was engrossed in a book. When she sensed Phaedra's story was done, she nodded demurely. She didn't completely understand what a "Shadow Courtesan" was, but she did understand the story was painful for her new party member... and didn't press further.

"Thank you... for your story." Mara said softly, expression gentler. There was a certain twinge, a certain flinch, at the mention of "fathers" that she struggled to completely hide. It was clear, though their lives had been different, the farm girl felt a small connection there. She did not offer as detailed a story, and was surprised by the amount of detail Phaedra felt comfortable offering. Perhaps it was because she was of lower status than the red head?

"Fathers are often... difficult creatures... in my experience as well." Mara murmured softly, offering a somewhat sad smile. "I know you have only started your journey with us and I haven't been with them long either... but, I feel these people are all kind in their own way. Kinder than most I have met. So... I am glad you are with us now too." Mara said softly. She spoke as if speaking to a plant in the garden, warmly and with great gentleness. Yet, her eyes seemed to betray a sadness that her voice did not.

"Well, they haven't tried to kill me... yet." Phaedra laughed softly. Slowly her demeanor and presence shifted back to the way she normally presented herself to the others. Like a wall slowly raising itself back up, keeping the damaged and secret parts of herself hidden. She waded over the edge of the bath, grabbing a sponge and began to scrub the days of travel from her skin. "I just hope it's all worth it. It's only a matter of time before the Courtesans put a price on my head... A good one I'd imagine."

"Worth it or not, we are part of something bigger than ourselves now..." Mara gently scrubbed herself, eyes looking distant, determined. She turned to Phae with a firm expression in her green eyes. "I will work harder... I won't let anyone..." Mara's voice trembled slightly, her grip on the cloth she used tightening. She grit her teeth, frustrated with herself..and looked down into the water. She took a breath to steady herself. When she spoke again, her voice was soft again but steadier.

"I was never taught to fight. But I will learnand I will help protect you... and everyone..." Mara stood then, slipped from the water and began to towel off. Her eyes seemed far away.

Phaedra's motions slowed until she stood there in the bath, frozen holding the sponge to her collar bone as she listened. When Mara climbed out she didn't stop her. "You know... My father, my real father, was the first death I ever saw. I still have nightmares about it to this day. It sticks with you, never goes away. But you don't have to let the guilt consume you." The woman continued to wash herself, not in a rush to leave the bath like Mara was. "It's just as much their fault as our own... It might sound cold. But from what I've come to understand you all accepted the King's offer and knew what that could mean."

Mara froze, seeming to absorb this thought. The focus coning back to her eyes as she looked at Phaedra.

After a long moment, the woman moved through the warm water toward the edge of the bath that was closest to the windows. Her damp red locks covered a majority of an intricate rose tattoo upon her back as she looked out at the view. "But if that is your desire, I will not stop you." She then glanced back over her shoulder toward Mara, her expression serious showing a firmness of someone unwilling to back down or negotiate. "But I release you from your obligation to protect me. If I die, then that is my own doing and no one else's. I refuse to let my death torment you more than you torment yourself." With that said, Phaedra let herself sink down into the water. Her arms crossed on the edge of the baths with her chin rested upon the backs of her hands.

Mara sat, towel wrapped around her thin frame. She looked down at her pruney fingers, expression thoughtful.

"Obligation... is the wrong word." Mara said absently, rubbing her finger along the mark on her wrist. "Obligation was staying with my father on that farm. No matter what... he was family. I saw no choice. This is different. This... is protecting a choice I finally made for myself." Mara said, voice warm. She had only just recognized that now..going with this party had been:her choice. Hers. And that was somewhat... empowering.Mara smiled lopsidedly at Phae. But it was a real smile. Mara gingerly pulled a comb from her sachel and began to untangle the knot of her hair. Content with this new understanding.

Mara heard the door to the bath creak open as Cecilia slipped in, "Apologies for coming so late. I didn't expect to be preoccupied for that long." She seemed a little lighter as she disrobed, as if a heavy weight was lifted off her shoulders. Wasting no time slipping out of her clothes and into the warm waters of the bath, Cecilia let out a sigh of relief as she relaxed into the water. She looked at Mara with a warmth that was foreign to her usual off-putting demeanor. "I pray that you've been enjoying yourself."

Phaedra glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance when Cecilia entered. She gave the woman a nod of her head and a polite smile. "Oh we've been having a blast."

Mara's brows rose at Cecelia's demeanor, confused by the change. Still, she smiled back, brushing out her wet hair. "I am glad you could join us." Mara said warmly. She had thought the elf had only agreed to put her off, but never thought she would actually arrive. Mara found herself genuinely pleased to see her. Mara twirled a lock of her hair with a forefinger, absently braiding back her long tresses. She was unsure how to start a normal conversation with Cecilia though. They hardly ever spoke. Mara sighed, giving up on thinking too hard.

"Forgive me, but I'm so pleased. This whole time, I thought I was an eyesore to you, Miss Cecilia. I am happy that seemed to only be a misunderstanding on my part." Mara beamed brightly at the elf. Having finished her hair and now mainly dry, she began to search through her sachel for her old green dress. It wasn't pretty, but it was clean.

"Calling it a misunderstanding would be unfair to you, as I did behave in such a manner." she said, glancing into the water and avoiding any eye contact. "But I can assure you, it had nothing to do with my own perceptions of you and more—" She frowned, stopping herself short. "Never mind. It would be pointless to try and explain. Just understand that I never thought anything of the sort."

Mara pulled her dress over her head, frowning a little. She suspected it had to do with their class difference, but as to why Cecilia wouldn't confirm this, she couldn't say. Still, she wouldn't push. Instead she gave a small nod and a soft smile to indicate she understood the woman's point.

" I see.. .well... I am glad then." Mara said gathering her things. She smiled at the women.

"As it seems neither of you are in danger of drowning. I'll see myself out now. My better garments are in need of washing and... well. I'd like to settle some matters of my own as well. Perhaps I'll see you both for a meal later?" Mara said with a smile. This time seemed to have restored the farm girl's spirits somewhat. She even managed to make more eye contact than usual as she bid them farewell and left the chamber.

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