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Less Than a Whisper; Dragonfall Act 1
Tweet Topic Started: Jun 17 2017, 02:21 PM (588 Views)
Hydro Jun 17 2017, 02:21 PM Post #1
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The Telemachus Estate, Avenua Aeternas, Valencia, Fifth Age
0642 hours, January 6th 5,850 ATF



The Voice of the Master


Colour was all around. Vibrant drapes hung from vaulted ceilings that were themselves jewelled and gilded in intricate detail. Stained glass windows spilled light across mosaic floors of lapis and quartz. The grand hall stretched away in a way that seemed to defy perception, but the figure seated at the table was untroubled. A single innate understanding was fixed in his mind. He was home. Rich lacquered mahogany reflected the chandelier overhead in its varnished surface as delicate hands placed the first card on the table. The worn surface of the coarse paper was familiar beneath his fingertips.

Death.

At once the colour was gone. Shadow sucked the light from the windows, the draperies rotted and became moth-ridden where they hung. The mosaics faded and cracked and the gold leaf peeled from the rafters. Even the table was covered with dust, cobwebs clinging to the carpenter’s work. In that moment Gavelan was cold, but more than that the familiarity of the room was gone. He didn’t know where he was, a small man in an oversized hall that suddenly seemed hungry. Once more in consternation he reached for his tarot deck and overturned the next card.

Death.

There was only one death in the deck. A reading was only ever given to an individual and a person could only die once. The windows shattered around him, howling wind racing through a hall now coated in a fine layer of snow. The bone-deep chill of the grave seemed to creep from the walls that Gavelan could now see were lined with corpses. He was within his own tomb. In panic, he pulled once more from the deck.

Death.

The cards hid the floor and every one of them fell face up.

Death Death Death Death Death Death-

Gavelan struggled out of the fabric that was binding him. He had been embalmed alive, he was sure of it. Any moment now the coffin would be sealed above him, he had to get free, to tell them he was still alive. Slowly Hjalmar forced himself to draw a breath. The last remnants of the nightmare sloughed off him, though the bedsheets still coiled around him, stuck with cold sweat. A few blinks cleared his vision and let him make sense of his surroundings. Beyond the curtains of his four poster, the lavish furnishings of the chamber made themselves known and the timid first light of dawn crept around the heavy velvet curtains. Gavelan relaxed a little, it wasn’t home, he hadn’t been home in many years, but it was close enough.

Standing, Gavelan stumbled lethargically past a dresser covered in pigments and body-paints and slid onto a chair before a round table of teak. He pushed the unbidden recollection of a similar table from his dream to the back of his mind and shuffled the stack of cards that rested on the table. Six cards he drew from the top and placed face down for his most typical reading. The first would declare the protagonist, who would drive the motion of the day.

The Tower.

Hardly uncommon in Valencia, the tower could represent authority, sovereignty. It could represent aloofness, lofty ambition or vainglorious pride as well but in this context it was fairly easy to read. It was to be expected that the crown would respond, Gavelan had somewhat kicked the hornet’s nest the night before. That his pawn had not returned led him to believe that some retribution could be expected. The next two cards would build context.

The Jester, The Masquerade.

Gavelan nodded evenly. The Jester was a common enough card to represent himself, The Masquerade was a harder card to read though. It may have been to fix the cause of the animosity to be expressed, the Prince’s celebrations the night prior. It may just as easily have been the nature of the contest; people wearing masks, presenting themselves as someone who they were not. Given the circles Gavelan moved in it could be either. Lastly, three cards would outline the possible results.

The Ruins, The Jewel,

A frown creased Hjalmar’s brow; so there was opportunity to be had here as well, but opportunity for who? Such binary opposition between two cards, riches and ruination, was rare. It really did seem to suggest that all was about to be risked and that all could be won. Today was promising to be most interesting. Standing, Gavelan made his way to the window and drew back the curtains, letting light flood into the room and looking out towards the Timeless Keep. His enemies were so close. On an afterthought he turned back to the table where a single card remained face down. He didn’t need to turn it over to know what it would be, but nonetheless he flipped it to complete the reading.

“Death.”

The Dragons' Wing, Timeless Keep, Valencia, Fifth Age
0658 hours, January 6th 5,850 ATF



First Among the Five Dragons


The grey cat yawned and flicked his tail lazily across the documents piled upon the table. Harlan arched an eyebrow in disapproval, he had been awake all night sorting through documents pertaining to all the observable workings of a specific one of the city’s noble houses. The captive had been most forthcoming the previous evening, but when it boiled down to it he had precious little to impart that was concrete. House Telemachus, it seemed, had hosted a distant relative from Lynnestrum over the course of the new year, a painted man with ostentatious taste in fashion. Over the course of the weeks that he had remained, he had by degrees manipulated events such that their entire lives revolved around him, by which time they simply couldn’t leave. A telepath always made for a dangerous enemy, particularly one this powerful.

As the other dragons all trickled into the archon’s workshop one by one, many rubbing sleep from their eyes at the early start, Ser Whiskers found his paws and arched his back with another enormous yawn. “Oh so I’m the one who’s been burning the candle at both ends but you’re the one who needs a catnap?” In spite of the long hours Harlan was, overall, in good humour this morning. This was the first major lead that had been uncovered since the new year and with how severely the enemy seemed to have underestimated them it was Harlan’s hope that the threat could be ended with one single, decisive strike.
Ser Whiskers tilted his head towards the orc and gave a long suffering ‘mrrowwl?’
“I know you’re always here on time but what good is it if you’re half asleep?”
‘Meeeoow.’ The Fifth Dragon rolled onto his back and scratched his shoulders against the grain of the workbench.
“All right Ser Sourpuss, have it your way.” The cat purred and stretched once more across the tabletop, apparently intent on pursuing his interrupted siesta.

“As many of you will already be aware, last night we interrupted an attempt on the life of Her Royal Highness, First Princess Aennedra of Luxanium.” Harlan saw the recognition in most of the eyes around the table; Quentin and Katja had been there and there was only some doubt whether either had mentioned it to Saerelith. “In the process the perpetrator was apprehended, a lesser known gentleman with distant relations to House Telemachus. You may know them as a family well entrenched family of property owners with holdings across several different nations of Eurennas. It’s not House Telemachus that is the problem though, from what we’ve been able to piece together they have fallen under the influence of a powerful telepath. We have reason to believe that this telepath in turn has ties to ISAF.” Harlan paused a moment to let that sink in.

“I’m sure I don’t need to explain how imperative it is that we prevent this corruption from spreading any further. Now the reason we didn’t move as soon as this intelligence came to light is that with the size of the Telemachus Estate in Valencia there’s likely to be hundreds of people making up the staff as well as the family itself and we have no idea what the man we’re after looks like. There’s far too much risk that our quarry could slip away, go to ground and it could be months before we get another lead like this. That and recent events have presented us with a better opportunity than I could reasonably have hoped for to case the residence without creating too much noise.”

With perfect timing the shadow of a new arrival appeared in the doorway. “Dragons, I would like to introduce our asset within Valencia’s nobility: an agent of the Ravensguard and second to ourselves Prince Alyxandaer’s most reliable servant. Vincent Okia.”
Edited by Hydro, Jun 17 2017, 02:22 PM.
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Ariel Jun 19 2017, 03:55 PM Post #2
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The Red Dragon

Saerelith hated mornings. She had never been fond of them, and even as duty required regular adherence to schedules that had her awake at obscene hours of the day, she’d never truly become accustomed to it. She’d never be an early riser, not by choice, unlike some of the people with which she shared a title. Dragging herself out of bed with a groan, the Red donned an outfit completely unlike the frippery in which she attended last night’s formal event. Loose, dark trousers of rather coarse fabric were gathered and tucked into the tops of tanned deerskin boots that rose to nearly her knees, flat soles far more functional than the heels she regularly favored - even if they did make her feel rather short to be without. A cream blouse fit snugly beneath the cut of a fashionably cropped leather jacket, the fur lining of which helped to keep the chill of the Timeless Keep at bay. The effort of heating such a massive structure as the palace in the middle of the winter months was no doubt a feat of engineering genius, but it wasn’t infallible.

By the time she had made it to Harlan’s briefing room, not the first but far from the last entrant, she had acquired a cup of steaming liquid along the way from which rose tendrils of a fragrant, floral aroma. The Red offered the Green a friendly smile made small and demure by the sleepy weight still lidding her eyes before she took a seat from the few chairs arranged around the First Dragon’s desk, not about to be stuck standing for the entirety of the meeting. To Katja and Quentin, she gave a nod of acknowledgment, though the Everpresent White earned a narrowing of Saerelith’s bright eyes without doing anything in particular. Would they ever be friends? It was extremely unlikely and this suited her just fine. Quentin was a far less obnoxious partner, and the days on which she was paired with him were always much more pleasant than the snarky catfights her time with Katja often devolved into. There was just something wrong with that woman! The ability to confer with spirits was valuable, even if she did find Katja’s rendition of herself in spirit form extremely unsettling, and so she kept her tongue in check.

That there had been an attempt on one of the Last God’s grandchildren was not entirely a shock, though her brows rose with interested intrigue. The First Princess was still alive, for her death would have been mourned keenly and impossible to miss, and that meant they had successfully thwarted the strike. Was the utterance of the Last God’s name an intentional one, then? Had it been used to protect her, or to distract the assailant? The calamitous end to the night’s shindig had been infuriating at the time, but now it begged more questions than before. As Harlan continued speaking, Saerelith lifted the porcelain mug to her lips for a sip of the scalding tea. A telepath was a dangerous enemy, but nothing soured her mood like the confirmation ISAF was likely to have been involved. On her features, a scowl took root. “They’re getting bold,” she observed, speaking over the rim of her cup. “Too bold.”

Drawing their attention toward the door, Harlan began introducing a newcomer and her gaze slid lazily in that direction. Ravensguard? She’d not heard that term before, curiosity piqued. It was then that an all-too-familiar figure entered her vision, and even as the Green spoke his name aloud, Saerelith was on her feet again in a flash. She knew who he was, or at least she thought she did. What in the Last God’s name was he doing here? A servant of the crown second only to the Dragons like herself? WHAT?! Those flaming eyes were impossibly wide, fixed on him in the midst of a canvas on which fury had been painted in obvious hues. Her lips parted without sound, jaw working as if there were something she wanted to say, but either could not bring herself to do so or held back because of their audience. The cup of tea fell from her hands, forgotten until it shattered on the floor beside her. This had to be a joke at her expense, some cruel fiction meant to whip her into a frenzy. By the outrage present in her stiff posture alone, it was clear this realization was not one she had been anticipating, nor was it entirely pleasant to discover. If she had wanted to strangle him before, it was a beheading that her eyes promised this time.
Edited by Ariel, Jun 19 2017, 04:08 PM.
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Ternunda Hunter Jun 19 2017, 05:54 PM Post #3
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Shadow Stalker


Vincent hadn't a clue what he was called for… But, he knew well enough to prepare for anything when it came to Harlan. He dressed for battle, expecting to just have his handler’s company more than anyone else. Their meetings were always private as the actual nature of Vincent's work was always of confidential status. Perhaps if it were twenty years ago Vincent would be sprinting around his room, preparing… But it was second nature to him, now. He stopped fearing his work years ago. Harlan sent him out to take care of what he would not risk his Dragons for. So, bearing that in mind every time he went out eventually had him numb to it. Nothing seemed amiss. Harlan spoke to him in exactly the same manner he always did… Save one comment about it being a long day and to be well rested. How would this be any different? He couldn’t be sure.

He rolled out of bed, did a quick exercise routine to wake up, ate some eggs and fruit, bathed, and started the process of getting dressed. He would be dressed in everything necessary for him to operate as stealthily as possible in day or night. Cloak, hood, ring, gloves, daggers. As he pulled up his hood he thought about a certain set of fiery eyes and felt his heart burn. He hoped this would be an opportunity for him to speak with Harlan about his interest… his failure. Because his interest in Saerelith was a failure, indeed. It was dangerous for the both of them. But, it was too hard for him to regret it. He couldn't.

After Vincent stepped out of his home and locked it up, he began his act of shadowy gymnastics as he made his way to Harlan’s workshop. He could never trust carriage rides when work was involved. Not a soul needed to know where he was going.

The Shadow realized he'd left his house a little late as the sun was breaching the horizon upon his arrival. Shit. He will have my ass for being late. But, as he stepped in the door he heard Harlan speaking. To whom was his address? He moved silently through the building before nearing the entrance to the room… But, then he heard an introduction he never thought appropriate for himself. What was going on? Most reliable servant? Why was he being introduced as Ravensguard? Immediately, he was concerned.

Vincent paused at the doorway, a shadow of a man with a haunting hood concealing his features in a field of darkness that made, even in the daylight, the inside of his hood the emptiest of blacks. His cloak draped over his shoulders heavily only to end at the hem just above the tips of his black leather covered fingertips. But, he'd realized his name was called heartbeats ago and was forced to step forward into the low light. His right hand reached up to the hem of his hood but froze as he realized who else was in the room.

...Fuck.

He could already see the rage in her eyes.

After composing his face to be nothing but a professional blank slate he pushed his hood back with that frozen hand to reveal his face. Vincent set his jaw firm and swallowed hard, watching the Red Dragon’s cup of tea fall to the floor. He was ruined. Silent… and ruined.
Edited by Ternunda Hunter, Jun 19 2017, 05:54 PM.
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Quix56 Jun 22 2017, 04:47 PM Post #4
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The Sapphire Dragon


Early mornings meant nothing to Quentin, Blue Dragon of Valencia. Neither did late afternoons or tumultuous evenings. In fact time to him was a series of naps and fast forwarding to the next interesting event.
Because of this total regard of day and night cycle, Quentin was often late to Harlan’s meetings and today was no exception. Not that he was late, intact he had been here many hours prior, using Harlan’s workshop as his napping spot. When you can sleep when you want, you have to learn to sleep wherever you could too. And that meant putting up with the Green’s excessive talking-to-himself that had carried on through the early hours.
To give the illusion that he hadn't been sleeping behind a pile of paperwork the entire time, he made sure to hide behind the door so that when the first Dragon walked in, he stepped out and no one would be none the wiser. Like one of the crafty people from a who-done-it but without the being-caught-and-charged-for-murder bit
He exchanged a few minor pleasantries with Katja, but if she had said anything important he hadn't been listening. Truth be told he was still half asleep.

Harlan spoke aloud the events that had all previously unfolded for each of the occupants in the room - except Ser Whiskers who was probably chasing rats or something cat-natured - as if none of them had been paying attention.
He hadn't been paying attention, if he’d had his head screwed on he would have tested the poison himself, and probably danced with a few pretty girls - not necessarily at the same time.
Attack on the First Princess blah blah..
Powerful telepath blah blah.. Yes Harlan we were all there.. Tell us something we don’t know.
The something he didn't know was this Ravenguard thing. In fact the presence of something under Harlan’s gaze that he didn't know about with this spy network (which, let's be honest, involved him just asking people in the street if they'd seen anything dodgy) perked him up enough to really take in the newcomer enter the room.

He dressed as if colour itself was an offence. Like something out of a black and white film. But there was something odd about his expression. Anyone encountering Valencia’s Dragons all in a room would be shocked, or awed even, but his look had more horror and.. Shame than surprise. He hadn't noticed Saerelith stand up, but he did see her drop the teacup out of his peripheral vision and figured this would be an excellent time to-

”Freeze frame.”
In the moment between Vincent’s introduction and Saerelith’s ascent, Quentin used his powers to stop time.
Taking as long as he wanted, he pulled himself out of the chair he had been lounging in and circled the room the long way round. His chronomancy gave him plenty of time to collect his thoughts and observe what a casual watcher would only have mere seconds to see. The look on the Red Dragon’s face and Vincent’s expressive reply could easily be missed if, like Ser Whiskers, you were halfway through a yawn. You wouldn't believe the stuff I’ve missed by yawning.
He considered the teacup mere inches from the ground, and wasted no time in clambering on all fours to snatch it out of the air and unceremoniously drain the entire cup of liquid. Sighing pleasurably admiring the floral tones as they hit the back of his throat, he carefully repositioned the cup back into its falling trajectory, rotating it a little bit for maximum shatter potential. He’d easily added an extra digit onto the decibel count. Oh the joys of chronomancy!

His power gave him another rather unique ability, and that was being able to pull other people into the freeze frame. For his own safety he opted usually to only allow the person consciousness and an ability to talk back, and a few minor conveniences - like the illusion of breathing. (Not having to explain what was happening and why one couldn't breathe saved so much more time, not as much as literally stopping it but that's beside the point.) Everyone had to be back in their place before he could resume time. Not because of the rules of time, but because he was obsessively compulsive about these things.

He placed his hand on Saer and brought her into the frame, her fury almost audible in the closed silence of his time bubble.
”Reel those eyes back in girl, they're practically popping out your head! How are you even doing that?"
Quentin positioned himself between her and the offending article, but she still seemed to see straight through him. Saer wasn’t new to this so very little in the way of adjusting would need to occur.
She took a few moments of seething before she spoke."Quen.. answer me a question, would you? Let's say this man dies in the next few seconds... are you able to fix that?"
He instinctively turned to consider Vincent. It would he no great tragedy if he were to die - to him - but every man had family and people dear to him, how would it affect the others if he had to witness someone being barbequed? Katja wouldn't appreciate him going on about it all the time. You should have seen it! It was awesome! Oh yeah, you're sat right there.

”If you were going to kill him, I'd of already witnessed it, reversed it so it never happened and would be convincing you not to do it this time around - seeing as I'm just doing this out of my own amusement, this is either the first iteration of the loop or you just want to kill him, but don't actually follow it through."
Her reply was succinct and to the point.
So what you're telling me is: yes.”
Quentin let out an audible sigh, relishing in her short sightedness.
”There’s only one problem with that my dear: you simply wouldn't remember doing it.”
He mustered up his most apologetic look, but it wasn't a look he could pull off seriously so it looked more like he’d smelt something awful or realised he’d accidently wandered into a vastly underwhelming library. Seriously, what's the point if it's not at least three stories high and hiding more books than anyone could read in a lifetime?
”I could inform you of the immense pleasure it gave you, but unless you want to continue in the reality where he's ashes there's really no need.."

There was a thoughtful pause before a sigh of resignation.
He is lucky you are here, Quentin. As am I. Harlan might object to the burning down of his office, I suppose."

”Aah easily undone.” He let out laugh, before stopping dead and adding in most serious tones, ”His office takes about 16 seconds to really catch alight but then its nigh impossible to put out."

”That... that I will keep in mind. 16 seconds you said, hm?"

”Although, kill me and I can't give us a redo, so watch where you aim," Quentin smiled before adding, "if you decide to."

”You have nothing to fear from me. I promise."
With that he placed a hand on her shoulder and returned her to the silence.
He wondered what Vincent could have possibly done to warrant that level of hatred, and that’s when Quentin had an idea. Swiveling round, he literally ran over to the man, without pausing, he placed his hand on Vincent and brought him into the picture.
”Don't be alarmed, I've just frozen the room within the width of a second - just a quick question - are you two? Y'know" Quentin performed a rude gesture with his hands, ”Cause, that face is a picture, I'm guessing you just told her you were the mailman?"

Vincent took a deep breath as if reassuring himself he were still alive and functioning, his eyes roaming the room, a look of mild discomfort at the situation very present on his face.
”I--..” he paused, looking directly at Quentin, ”No. We’ve only just met.”
Quentin smiled, Only just met. Yeah, sounds legit.
He looked to Saerelith and back again, ”Dude, she literally looks like she’s about to flame-grill you alive, and even with my fancy time powers I can’t assure you she doesn’t.”
The man shook his head, his eyes peering over Quentin’s shoulder at the Red Dragon. He almost looked pained, but seemed to find what little resolve he could muster.
”We will have to see, then.”
Quentin instinctively stepped back a little. He wasn’t sure it was prompted by the man suddenly drawing himself up to a full height but it could have been. For a Dragon like Quentin, he wasn’t easily intimidated, but on a subconscious level, he couldn’t be so sure. He hadn’t considered what this Vincent character was capable of -- a blindsight admittedly -- but then, there was no indication that he knew what she was capable of either. The many potential timelines of him successfully surviving this encounter suddenly became slightly more… possible.
”Well.. you’ve met the lovely Red, and obviously you must know Greenie here,” with sheer disregard for personal space, he pointed directly into Harlan’s face, almost touching the orc’s nose with his fingertips. With this free hand he flung it out in the direction of Katja, “She’s the White, and I’m the Blue,” he returned to a more natural pose, before adding, “But if anyone asks you how you knew, you tell them Ser Whiskers,” he stepped aside to give the yawning feline centre stage, ”you tell them Ser Whiskers told you.”
Vincent’s face lit up with what could only be described as adoration - changing features that seemed hard pressed and sullen into softer and more gentle arrangements. He even bent at the knees as if honouring Ser Whiskers, which raised a brow from Quentin, he even went as far as to extend his hand towards the feline, but instead acquiesced, standing back up and nodding to Quentin in reply to his command.
Quentin couldn’t help but smile in response to the man’s complete change of posture.
”Yes, well, stand up straight, go back to not smiling and try not to look too horrified - or even try and look blank - and I’ll give you a loose guarantee I’ll find you the least lethal of possible outcomes, because I’m nice like that.”
Vincent’s entire posture changed straight back to uncomfortably blank - the look of a professional. He looked as though, whatever he did for a living, he was ready to do it and no matter how horrifying a task it was, his composure would remain unmoving.
Quentin touched his shoulder, returning him to frozen time. He considered how easily the man’s face had changed, and literally shuddered.
”I imagine you’re a barrel of laughs at children’s parties.”

Pulling himself away he looked to both of them. He didn't think Saer would follow through on her plight to burn him where he stood, and Quentin had helped them both come to terms with the shock within the confines of their own private moment with him. Feeling uneasy because of the nice thing he had done he saw no other option but to cause sorry mischief before resuming the boring meeting. His eyes fixed on Ser Whiskers and lit up maniacally.

Harlan would never see it coming, he would just lift the furry feline and reposition him onto his head.
..or he would, but he couldn't bring himself to even touch him. Despite being both frozen in time and halfway through a yawn, Quentin could not shake the feeling Ser Whiskers was watching him. Like a painting with the eyes cut out, or a blatant superstition. Quentin didn't like superstitions, they were silly and irrational, but strangely convincing.
”Maybe next time then, eh puss?”

When time resumed Quentin was lounging in his chair in precisely the same posture. A loud smash echoed the chamber and he smiled.

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Hydro Jun 24 2017, 10:34 AM Post #5
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First Among the Five Dragons


Harlan had not been completely in the dark about Saerelith and Vincent’s private liaisons, in fact the opportunity that he had spoken of moments before was tied to how recent publications had just placed that knowledge in the public space. The intensity of the red dragon’s response though caught even him unawares. A tense moment of silence passed in the time it took the Second Dragon’s teacup to travel from her hand to the ground, and a truly observant viewer might have noticed that the chime as it struck the marble and shattered into a dozen brilliant porcelain pieces was accompanied by no splash of fluid despite the red having barely touched it since arriving. Harlan however was not that observant viewer, lest he may also have noticed the faint luminescence fading from Quentin’s tattoos, or the way the Fourth Dragon’s silk fell in slightly different creases to how it had just a moment before. There were clues that made it easy to work out when the blue had done something if the observer knew what to look for and were staring right at him at the time; figuring out just what he was responsible for was a different ball game. The Earthen Dragon’s focus was fixed on the two belligerents though, so he was none the wiser.

The archon’s momentary hesitation was born from a sudden realisation that he didn’t have anywhere near as much information as he thought. What if the two of them had been seeing each other for much longer than he had realised? He had assumed that they had only met quite recently, but Vincent was damn good at moving throughout the city unseen, how long did that mean he could keep a routine clandestine rendezvous secret? Harlan didn’t think he’d ever known the shadowmancer to make a mistake, so did that mean months? Years? The abrupt revelation that he’d acted without adequate intelligence was flooring; Harlan had no way of knowing how wrathful the red dragon might have become. A million different excuses that could be made for Vincent crossed the green dragon’s mind, all of them discarded in an instant - trying to convince Saerelith that her anger was misplaced or unjustified would just be adding fuel to the fire, literally. This was something that the pair of them would to figure out between the two of them.

That wasn’t to say that Harlan wasn’t ready to intervene. He had already sidled around his desk near silently, his left arm free of the emerald cloak that normally covered it. Every ochre muscle was taut, the energy gathered beneath the skin wrought of more than sinew. Energy flowed along his forearm, faint hues of jade and oxidised copper distorting the air as he mastered the earth element with a grace and ease that was the birthright of those with the blood of the ascendants. There was no wrestling the primal forces of the arcane into the confines of engineered vessels and conduits, this was will made manifest. For all the gathered energy though, all that happened was a few loose chippings of slate skipping across the floor, which went eagerly pursued by Ser Whiskers. Harlan was ready in an instant to throw stone between the embittered pair, knowing full well that it would not be enough to contain the pyromancer’s flame given full force.

“Two manifestations,” the Earthen Dragon whispered, his traversal of the workshop having brought himself right next to Katja, “against Saer if she calls the flame.”



The White Dragon


Katja looked pointedly unimpressed by the figure appearing in the doorway. She’d seen Vincent before, even heard his name a couple of times, it was difficult not to with how often she had a spirit listening in the archon’s quarters. There wasn’t a great deal about the man that she could recall at a moment’s notice, and the word ‘Ravensguard’ was definitely one to bend her curiosity towards later, but then he just hadn’t really piqued her interest before. Vincent wasn’t a regular visitor to the Timeless Keep, not frequent enough in his reports to seem like a critical part of Harlan’s operation and he had come across as reliable and businesslike, he was just boring. She had her own informants, Quentin had his, and Harlan, it stood to reason, must have his own network as well, that didn’t mean that every one of them merited her attention.

He had her attention now though, if only for the delightful range of expressions the sight of him had brought to Saerelith’s face. She had gone from shock to betrayal to rage at a speed that would most empaths jealous - or rather it would if it had been controlled which in the red’s case it hardly ever was, that was part of what made her so much fun. You mean you didn’t know? the third dragon pulled a tight-lipped smile, enjoying the moment for all it was worth, Oh this is precious.

It was because of how closely she was studying the Second Dragon’s face that Katja noticed at once as some of the ferocious light left her eyes far too quickly. The grin left her face as she immediately looked to the Fourth Dragon, just in time to catch the last ghosts of lapis luminescence recede from the collar of his cloak. She drifted behind the chair where the chronomancer was comfortably reclining, letting one hand trail across his shoulder. ”Quen, you wouldn’t have done anything that would spoil the fun would you?” The disinterested tone she affected without ever really intending to probably made it seem less like an inquiry and more a sinister promise of consequence if he had.

Before Vandross could answer, the white dragon became aware of a grim presence to her left. “Two manifestations against Saer if she calls the flame.”
”And miss the fireworks?” Katja quipped, ”they were so pretty at the new year.” She knew Harlan couldn’t help but be reminded of her confrontation with Saerelith on the dais that he had called into the final moments of. Of course having realised that Quentin had taken all the time he needed to make sure that any intervention that was necessary had already been done, the third dragon was happy to let the archon stew for a few moments more, but she took some degree of sympathy as she leaned on the back of the blue dragon’s chair, idly running her fingers through Quentin's hair. ”You worry too much, greenie.”
Edited by Hydro, Jun 25 2017, 07:56 AM.
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Ariel Jun 25 2017, 03:50 AM Post #6
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The Red Dragon

Saerelith took a deep breath the moment she felt movement return to her, and the passage of time flowing properly once more allowed her lungs to fill. It was always an odd sensation to participate in the freeze that Quentin wove, consciousness awake while body remained in a state of pause. Nothing in the room moved but him, and the omnipotence of time manipulation had always being a source of admiration for the Red. The clever friend that he was, their private conversation had given her the perspective necessary to reign in her wrath. Oh, but how satisfying it would have been to torch it all, a sadistic thought reared its ugly head before immediate dismissal. The fire called to her, but doubt though onlookers may, Saerelith remained completely in control. Not today.

The teacup she had dropped lay in countless pieces at her feet, but even the terrific noise its destruction made was incapable of drawing her attention. Though Harlan moved at her back to join the White, registered as movement in her peripheral, Saer’s accusing eyes remained steady on Vincent. He was different now, she noted, garbed in a practical outfit entirely too becoming for her anger’s liking. There was nothing formal about it, no embellishments, though she was almost certain the shrouded effect his hood had produced before its removal was the product of impressive magitech. All in black and armed to the teeth, he certainly stood out in the small confines of the Green’s office, but she suspected that by the cover of night, the bastard would be invisible. And just what in the world were the Ravensguard?

Arms rose to fold beneath her bosom, feet shifted to a wider stance with the crackle of porcelain shards beneath her boot in a pose that seemed to radiate a promise of violence if she was opposed. The air in the room was uncomfortably warm almost as if in echo of her. “Both of you have a great deal of explaining to do.” Her voice was flat and implacable, directed in equal measure toward the man in the doorway and the First of the Five as evidenced by the glare she pinned Harlan with shortly thereafter. “And I will be damned if I am going to take no for an answer.”

It hurt, Accuser be damned, it hurt to discover she had been lied to again. Vincent had not spoken to her falsely, but this omission was not the first of its kind and Saerelith couldn’t avoid the gut-twisting result. Her anger and barely veiled resentment was a convenient facade for injured pride and uncharacteristic insecurity. She was never wrong about people, but it seemed as though she was wrong about this one at every turn. What else was he hiding from her? How many more of these unpleasant realizations was she going to have to bear the brunt of?

Without ceremony, the Red threw herself back down in her chair at a casual angle and crossed her legs to rest one knee against the seat’s arm, the very image of guarded. From that point forward, it was as if she refused to look at Vincent for all her eyes avoided him. Katja had been correct in her assessment, catty though her comments may have been, that Saerelith did not yet need restraining. “But let's be on with this,” she waved a hand toward the First’s desk and the contents spread thereupon, indicating for him to continue the debriefing. “I doubt you summoned us here because the mission could wait.”
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Ternunda Hunter Jun 25 2017, 02:18 PM Post #7
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Having the understanding that time was being manipulated and you were actively a part of an actual stutter in the flow of life where one could truly argue conversations held never took place was horribly unsettling. But, as Vincent felt the air fill his lungs, he was glad to know it was over and decided he’d be happy if he never had to go through it again. But, of course, he could only imagine all of the beautiful ways he would use it to work. Having the ability to stop time, move, and resume paired with shadow magic? He figured he’d be damned unstoppable at that point.
Oh, but to dream.

When he saw Saerelith move more than an inch he re-focused and grit his teeth as if he was expecting her to hurl a ball of fire in his direction that he would, undoubtedly, accept with closed eyes and a wide stance. Why? Why would he not just sink into the shadows to save his face from receiving a new, burning scar? A few reasons… The flames would glow with hurt and betrayal and Last God damn him, Vincent was a guilty man. Not to mention he had no idea if it was safe to even show he was a shadowmancer at that point. Harlan hadn’t given him any information, and being in the dark like that, always having to hide one’s ability often put them in situations they could get out of, sure.. If they didn’t mind revealing something they’d been hiding since they were just a child.

So, the Shadowmancer might have been relieved to see there were no flames barreling towards him, but he was still affected by that defensive cross of her arms. Well deserved of the proverbial cold shoulder from that boiling woman, Vincent took a moment to look up at Harlan. Last God, if a man could say anything with his eyes it would have been, “I fucked up.” And maybe even a little of, “Why didn’t you just ask…?” He wanted nothing more than to just spill the beans to Searelith in a way that was much more gentle than a meeting regarding work… That warranted whatever odd introduction he’d just received. But, it was too late then. He’d have to do his very best to mend the broken heart, but even he knew that too much scarring made the tissue to tough to stitch.

Vincent hadn’t a clue what to do at that point. He didn’t know what to do with his body. But, the man did his very best to hide his discomfort before resuming that uncomfortably blank face, crossing his own arms more defensively than anything, and he was glad to resume his silence rather than actually speak to anyone in the room. His brow lifted ever so slightly, at the end of Saerelith’s statement, in Harlan’s direction. So, why was he summoned? The scene reminded him a little too much of the vision he had when he was originally linked with the First Dragon. Too many faces staring at him with nothing but hatred in their eyes. Though, the fear associated with that scene was not felt in this particular situation. Most likely because of all the years he’d been working and alive. At the time he was just a boy, uncertain of what he was doing or where he was to go. He’d seen plenty since that time. Plenty more than he thought possible with such a small, still innocent mind.

The red from his vision came from the Lady Red Dragon herself… But the ceremonious introduction did little to settle Vincent’s stomach, admittedly weaker than he’d like it to have been after so many years. Every meeting he’d ever had since he left training was in private with the promise of death or confinement should everything go according to plan. Unless, of course, it was the Prince, Harlan, or...Now, apparently, the Dragons.




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Hydro Jun 26 2017, 05:47 PM Post #8
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Harlan wondered if Katja was aware of the disapproving glare he was shooting at the back of her head for the cavalier attitude she was displaying, if she did then she showed no sign. His control over the power he had summoned was faltering; evokers such as himself were adept at conjuring their craft and hurling it quickly, to hold such power uncast for any length of time was straining and required finesse that few could grasp. He was relieved, then, when Saerelith’s posture shifted into something less confrontational, and though her ultimatum gave him reason to pause - Harlan had his own set of secrets he was unwilling to share pertaining to the Ravensguard and why he had clearance to the knowledge that he had - he was willing to accept that compromise. The viridian light faded from his arm as he responded to Saerelith’s ill-tempered prompt and began speaking once more.

“Vincent, to bring you up to speed; a telepath with ties to ISAF has taken over House Telemachus, they attempted to assassinate the First Princess, we’re going to take them down.” From the look that Harlan caught on Quentin’s face, he judged that the Fourth was wondering why they couldn’t all have been given the abridged version in the first place. “Onwards to the opportunity, and why we’ve called in outside help. Vincent, Saerelith, your meeting with each other have not gone unnoticed.” The first paper that Harlan pulled from the stack on his desk was a news article dated the morning after the Grand Bazaar’s new year Reopening, scandalous headlines casting unduly familiar assertions about Valencia’s Second Dragons intentions towards this dashing rogue who the reporters were yet to dig up a name for, though his likeness was on the front page. “There’s also a publication that we seized from one Reliya Vayne, which she claims was headed for your desk anyway,” Harlan nodded towards Saerelith, “this really does paint quite a comprehensive picture, but don't worry, the pair of you didn't draw the most scandalous narration from the chronicler's quill, that honour was reserved for one Malacai Bartholomew Argon whom she spends a whole two paragraphs regaling us with critique on the attire and cleanliness of and- Oh my, 'silk and lace in volumes fit to flatter the most obese of walrus,' remind me not to get on this woman's bad side."

Harlan regained his composure and continued in a less jovial tone. ”What this means, Vincent, is that you are currently the most in-demand guest for every social function, gathering or theatrical performance - don’t ask me how I know that last one. The palace, having on short notice provided you with a new butler, has arranged for you to take breakfast with House Telemachus this morning. Given how our quarry has proven themselves pointedly hostile towards the royal line, I expect an acquaintance of the Second Dragon of Valencia will be too valuable a target to risk losing.” he paused a moment as he glanced at both Saerelith and Vincent. ”You both will go.” Harlan declared, ”you will either identify our target or put him to flight.

“The owners of a nearby estate are having the roof of their solar refitted - I’ve had an oversight officiality clear the builders from the site for the day under workplace safety concerns, giving us the use of it as a vantage point. We’ll have a good view of the Telemachus Estate and its gardens. The rest of us will be there on standby, and with Katja’s presence we’ll be able to shadow you every step of the way.”

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Ariel Jun 28 2017, 12:32 AM Post #9
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The Red Dragon

Saerelith had the decency to blush when Harlan announced he knew full well of the meetings between herself and Vincent, amber gaze flicked wide in a modicum of surprise. She had known the papers would mention something, but that it had blown into several articles worth their own page was unexpected. It was damnably difficult to determine just what the writers would fixate on; of course, it hadn’t been on their performance - it had been the bloody man on her arm! A particularly lascivious headline made the woman roll her eyes with a grimace. She spared a moment of annoyance when Reliya’s name came up and wondered as briefly how her records had been intercepted before reaching the Red’s office. The girl had been under strict orders not to speak of the incident, what had happened? As an aside, she made the mental note to contact her would-be scribe before the meeting she intended to schedule with Lord Argon. If Harlan had read the contents of her notes, he knew precisely what suspicions Saerelith had confronted Vincent with. Was this his way of lifting the curtain? Though she bristled in preparation of a chastising she felt was on the horizon, as Harlan continued, she began to relax against the back of her chair.

That Lord Argon was the next to be mentioned smothered the lingering coals of her anger, replaced by the twitch of a smile on her lips at the girl’s colorful imagery. Reliya was quite gifted with words, wasn’t she? Saer ducked her head to prop her cheekbone on an upturned palm as the expression of amusement grew, elbow braced atop the armrest. Yes, she most definitely had to speak with her employer about taking the girl into her service. She had a feeling the scribe would prove most useful, if she could be trusted to avoid letting her documents fall into the hands of other networks, that was.

As the plan was laid out before them, the Red’s expression flattened into careful neutrality, but the abruptness of the change ruined the unaffected air she attempted to display. Oh, the Last God had a particularly cruel sense of humor, didn’t he? Vincent, enigma that he was, had become inescapable now whether she liked it or not. She watched her own free hand, curling fingers reflexively into a fist. “A telepath? I’ve never had the chance to hunt one of those. How interesting...” The magitech gloves stuffed into the pockets of her jacket were a comforting weight, and capricious nymph that she was, she almost sounded excited. A new challenge lay ahead, finally after what felt like so long, there lay a worthy opponent on the field. It was far easier to focus on that, a convenient target toward which to direct her frustration. “They will not stay hidden for long. I’ll find the rat.”

Unfolding, the Second of Five took to her feet and inclined her head, first to Harlan and then to her comrades. She didn’t have the time for petty squabbles now, it was time to work. How much time had she to prepare for this endeavor? Probably little, but it would be necessary to blend in to hunt an assassin. Her own outfit was appropriate for the weather with time, at least. The jacket she’d borrowed from Vincent remained in her room, a reminder that morning to better equip herself against the chill in the air outside. Even as her mind drifted toward him, she turned to find the man remained in the doorway, the very image of Vincent’s evil twin by his shadowy kit. Her lips formed a line on her porcelain face, but with great effort, it was the only sign of her misgivings written on her features. She wouldn’t allow him to impede her, though he gave no resistance when she moved for the door and side-stepped to skirt by him. It was a painful thing to be near him despite all her bluster, and she was glad to be out into the hallway with his image at her back. She left them without a further word.

The walk to her room felt especially long that time, but she made the visit to her quarters quick. The Cloak of the Red Dragon was an easy choice, since the point of this endeavor was to flaunt Vincent’s association with the status this garment carried. Over her shoulders and clasped at her collar by a golden dragon’s head, the metallic sheen of its gossamer fabric was instantly recognizable, feathered in a cascade down her back. With a second look, Saer grabbed the dark jacket she owed Vincent and tucked it under one arm. Then out the door she went, pulling out the handfuls of her magitech gloves from the pockets in which they hid. Slipping the cuffs onto her fingers was like welcoming back the embrace of an old friend, the gemstone cores cool touchstones against her palms. It felt good to wear the gilded things, and she navigated the halls of the Timeless Keep with a new pep to her stride. She felt ready for anything now.

In no time at all, she’d reached the main courtyard and located the ride Harlan had arranged. Opening the door, relief flooded through her to be the first to enter the carriage. She took a seat in the far corner, closing the door in her wake. For a little while, at least, she had time to collect her thoughts in peace. Alone. By the time Vincent would join her, she wanted to be ready.
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Ternunda Hunter Jun 28 2017, 01:40 AM Post #10
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Vincent could count on a single hand how many times he’d failed as an agent of the Ravensguard. He could count on that same hand the amount of times he’d inconvenienced his handler by the same token; this case was, at least, not one of them. Becoming the fourth mark on his proverbial tally sheet, Saerelith sat there showing her shame while the Shadowmancer suffered it in the pit of his stomach. He maintained a blank, stern expression throughout the entirety of Harlan’s orders having come to terms with his misstep the night before and so quickly faced with it that very morning. He knew as soon as he stepped foot in the doorway that he’d stepped out of the shadows far too long for a woman far too bright. He would groan about his blunder, but he couldn’t… Even while she fumed at the sight of him. It was even cute. Endearing. And to hear her excitement at the events to come only amplified it, much to his irritation.

As she stepped past him, escaping the room, his eyes slid shut and he took a moment to appreciate the relief. Sure, her comrades were still there, but he really didn’t give a shit. And even still, he lingered as they filed out of the room, undoubtedly glancing at him with a wide range of curiosity, distrust, amusement, or just disinterest. He jumped on the opportunity to speak with his handler for a moment, expressing his frustration at just how the whole thing was handled. But, much to his chagrin, he was not given permission to write Saerelith in on everything. With that hope crushed, he was afforded the opportunity to consider just how ill prepared he truly was to tell the Second everything. Harlan knew more than anyone what Vincent had seen, done, and barely lived through. But, could he really bear to tell someone else about it after failing before? Hell, he still struggled to have difficult conversations with Harlan, through it all. But, he still thought he was doing better by the day; growing, breaking free of it all.

Regardless, with his intent to spill everything squashed, he set to focus on the upcoming mission. After too many experiences of showing up at the First’s office either ill-prepared because of poor communication or because he’d only just finished one mission to be sent off on another, he’d started leaving a change of fine clothes in the Dragon’s wardrobe. Whether it was something he realized or not was of little concern to the Ravensguard as he swiped them out of confinement and escaped to another room to change in. It was simple, but he assumed that’s what the hosts expected. A man hardly worthy of the Red Dragon… Which he wouldn’t really disagree with. But, he figured it was the best time to surprise them with the opposite of what they expected in wardrobe. Too often did men dress in outlandish apparel in a vain attempt to win some noble woman over. They always ended up embarrassing themselves rather than achieving their goals.

So, Vincent stepped out into the courtyard in a nice pair of black slacks, a pressed white dress shirt - minus the jacket because someone had it - and black loafers. He didn’t fail to miss his cologne, speckling his neck and wrists with just a couple drops of the fresh scent. Of course, he wore his magitech ring on his right finger, the thing never left him, and his hood, as much as he loved it, could stay where it was in Harlan’s office. Anything he would be doing that night was likely to be far from covert.

As he stepped up to the carriage and reached for the handle to the door, Vincent had to take in a deep, preparatory breath and steel his features. The ride would be difficult, that much was certain. They would either sit there in an uncomfortable silence while the two of them attempted to sort out what, exactly, they should say to one another… or, there would be the most comical version of arguing ever: whisper shouting.

With that lovely image in mind, the Shadowmancer pulled the door open and found the seat across from the Red Dragon, settling in quietly as he propped his left arm over the back of the seat and lifted his right ankle to rest on the knee not attached. He figured he looked relaxed as he picked a corner not occupied by the frustrating woman to watch. What could he possible find entertaining enough to occupy him in that corner for the entire ride? He hadn’t a clue. But, the alternative was looking at Saerelith the whole time. He could only assume it would be a mistake.
Edited by Ternunda Hunter, Jun 28 2017, 01:44 AM.
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