Post by Master Claramae St. Laurence on Jan 2, 2010 11:12:04 GMT -6
An Introduction, Demanding of an Introduction
It has been nearly four years since the Order of Black Talons in Ebony Hall came close to being eradicated. Never to be outdone, nor undone for this matter, the rebuilding has furnished many promising new recruits. From the tatters of other houses that did not survive Leviathin, those that fall on the sides of honor have found a new home. Also, those abroad on other missions now return home to what they've missed. Unknown to those save the heads of the house, the enigmatic Signore Dantae di Favino has returned from several years in the Mediterranean.
Claramae: Turas Lan, 1333. The jewel of the Aberdeenian crown, true heart of the Celtic Nations, at once the envy and thing detested among the Europeans on the continent. Still, those whom resided pon fair isle did not make off so poorly in the few years of the upstart's reign. Bustling city streets would surrender to the lamp lit glow of an evening under winter moon. What people did remain out sought a place to enter! Rich or poor, a hearth's crisp flames were calling to numb fingers clapping together for a bit of warmth. It was thus fortunate that the comely home on the now bustling streets twixt Bryante Row and the Cathedral was lacking in neither fire places, warm bricks, or fur. "Madame has returned with the Master Voltaire, come, let us not be slow about it." The thick Bavarian accent of Bromhield snapped commands with little mercy. The home was run with equal parts pragmatism, high expectation, and good sense. By the time threshold was crossed, requiste staff waited to accept cloak or glove. Vincere St. Laurence's hand reached up to tap a tiny tile in the Italian mosaic against the western wall, unveiling the path to her study. Outwardly it was all good brickwork and understated elegance. Inside was an entirely different affair. "We are expecting a guest, from the Mediterranean. Let us have chambers sutiable for a gentlemen, he is a man of quality. When he arrives direct him toward my study - the conventional route, Bromheilde. We can't have folk who have not been here for years getting trapped in the glass halls again. The last one whom thought themselves able to remember fell from the second floor when the panes moved." Sanguine velvet held the feminine in place, the black cincher about her waist the lot together. Through the passage with no trace of any sound, she'd await said visitor, trusting the staff would show him in properly. He was to be a Master here, afterall (d)
Dantae: Home away from home; it was an exhilaration he had been without for what seemed like years. Perhaps it had been years; the exact time remained a mystery simply due to the fact that his attention was on other things at the moment... or had been. When news reached his ears that he could finally returned to his home upon Skye Isle, Dantae was more than delighted. Of course, his returns were not without another purpose hinged to them; that the Italian dreaded. Howstrange, it was, that a son of Italy dared not to call her homeland. Affiliation with the proud country died many years ago. The white stallion panted and snorted loudly as the beast finally came to a sudden stop just outside the steps that led inside. He dismounted, quickly, and handed the reins to the nearest boy...or young lad that could pass for a stablehand. "See that he is fed, watered, and rested. I shall look for him on my return." He said, sternly, while eyes lifted to the doors. The fur wrap kept him warm on his long trip, but laid over layers of rich velvet in vibrantly dark colours of crimson, black, and embroidered golden threads. Boot heels clicked as long legs jogged up the incline and pushed the door open himself. Leather gloves were removed as he inquired where the Lady was; roaming halls was not something he had in mind. The cloak he wore under his fur wrap was not reliquished, not yet at least for he had only just come in from the cold. As any good servant would, Dantae was shown to the room where his anticipated hosts were occupying. When the door opened, a smug smirk curled a single corner of his mouth upward. "So here is where the mighty congrigate. Excellent guides, I must say for I have no desire, after such a long journey, to solve this labyrinth of a place you call home." The Italian commented, accent thick as gloves were tucked against the belt around his waist.
Claramae: "Once the talk of Paris, or the bastians in Italy. Perhaps, some still hide in Germany in castles of yore, but the sensible reside where one is always of use, where things never become too dull. Welcome again to Turas Lan, m'lord." Hazel eyes turned up from the downward placement of a stack of papers. The pen was deposited, the body lifted from a chair and a cursty executed that still left the young women of the home wondering how it was done. Dantae's return would mean something for the aspiring boys to ascertain. An almost Machavellian mind with a touch of Hades in his hands. Rare as it was, he actually conjured what equaled a 'smile'. A flicker of lips that was there for an instant before melting into passive calm. One might think them off to a party, for they matched without effort! Dark colors on both, the jet and gold upon the waist cinter. The blood-red dress, and the ornamentation of small golden flowers constucting the black veil over over the hair from crown to waist. "You may have the more extensive tour after you have taken a well-deserved rest from travel and labor. Your crossing was pleasant, I pray? The winter is horrid at sea." What drove the likes of the cultured to Turas Lan was its promise of the same, otherwise no one within a right mind would endure a Scottish winter. (d)
Dante: Welcome again indeed. He would have preferred to be home sooner than presently, but such came with the occupation; an occupation he chose willingly. Dantae half bowed in response to the greeting and when he straightened, eyes did glance about the room to have a more thorough look. Lips pressed together, tersely, but not in aggitation; they hid the weariness that such a long journey plagued his body with. But, he would not be a master of disguise if he had not the ability to hide it. As always, Claramae looked ornate and alluring in her yards of velvet and rich decour. "Thank you, Lady Claramae, it is good to be home." He answered, sincerely. Hands pushed the cloak back but not from his shoulders just yet as he decreased distance between them. "My crossing was unpleasantly long. Winter is a cruel mistress on land and sea." He replied, stopping mere inches from her. The grin upon his lips widened a bit as a hand rose to touch fingertips to her smooth chin; the same hand that connected to his hidden blade. With the flick of a wrist, he could pierce her throat; but the danger did not exist, not for Claramae. "Even more cruel than your intentions." Dantae mused before dropping his hand and moving to a vacant seat. He lowered his tall frame into the chair, enjoying its plush comfort to a rocking ship or saddle. "Has your hospitality been so lacking that you neglect to offer me wine or liquor of the sort? Tsk-tsk, Claramae; there goes the rumours of your exhalted perception." Dantae teased, leaning back in the chair.
Claramae: "Straight to the point, Senor? Was there not enough wine in Italy to satiate thy thirst? Hardly 'pon the stair a quarter hour passing. Hence vanish all the rumors of your self-control." The liberty of touch to face was matched with three right fingers lifting to tap that finger as if to scold him for being so quick to seek libation. Tit-for-tat was a dance that would mean the end for any other woman, or an audience with God for another man. The tip of the fingers could have found his wrist to snap it. Or if poison was the order of the day..but that was digression. Half shut eyes and a shake of head were the conclusion of the floor show. He went to sit while she manuvered acrossthe store to supply him with a rare vintage that grew better as it aged. It had been a gift for the Pope, or was, until its barer met an untimely end. Around the room, pieces of one residence and the next were settled side by side. A rather German tapestry on the West wall matched the colors of an Italian liner. French processional in painting paraded toward the split panel hunt. Dark shelves emerged out of the wallwork, seeming to have grown from the floor (Sorschal was fond of illusions, after all) filled with books in original language: Italian, German, French, Latin, Greek. Tucked amidst them were certainly a Gaelic volume or more. While the English breeding was undeniable, the (side of her that was Irish still found ways to be married to the world. She presented him the glass of wine before making one of lesser for herself. Slender digits moved at unusual pace even for a languid action. Dexterity was a hall-mark of the trade. "Terrible to travel, winter. Especially here abouts. Ah me, one makes due if one must with the cruel brunt of the season." Cruel as intention? What a shameless flatter! The years went by, allowing those within the order to become a bit more human at home. To this day, there were still only a few people allowed the liberty of touch, let alone privy to the use of name without reprimand. Terrible local custom, that. Ah well. (d)
Dantae: Bright eyes turned to Claramae, staring down; but even her words did nothing but coax a smile to his lips. "Would you expect me to be inebriated while on duty? I have had my fill of Italy's wine for many days to come." Dantae replied simply. Tapping fingers were ignored, but not unnoticed. As he sat, she retrieved the nectar he so sought. Claramae always kept well aged and delicious liquored stored away; after such a long trip, he deserved it. Once the beverage was presented, Dantae reached for it and plucked the goblet from her dainty fingers. Be it disrespect, boldness, or comfort he addressed her so coloquially, Dantae did not apologize for his actions or mannerisms; he never did. "We make due, but do not always enjoy what we must tolerate." He noted, and lifted his glass in a silent toast. Sure enough, the rim was placed to his lips and he took a hearty swallow. A soft sigh of content fell from parted lips as the rim was removed. Fine indeed; he expected nothing less from Claramae. "How have you been in my absence, Claramae? Missing me terribly I hope; you seemed to have been quite bored while I was away." Dantae chuckled and in a fewmore gulps, the glass was drained dry. "I imagine you've found something to occupy your time with...something wickedly deceptive and lethal?" He asked, turning eyes to her once more.
Claramae: "No, you know better. I do expect that you were wishing to be intoxicated while dealing with the slow portions of your progress. I remember certain areas from whence you came. It made Mass a place of high enertainment!" Claramae sat back in the chair she occupied but not with a lax spine. It held her head erect and her torso straight so it never failed to give her an appearance of unbroken youth. One could not escape the hand of time forever, but some met with the inevitable better than others! Pink lips were stained by a pattern of moisture from the wine. Once it was down again, the conversation could begin. "It has been no less of an adventure in your absence. You were missed, and you missed quite a few to-do's, but that was for the better. Aside from the foiling of plots against his lordship's state and reverting the eye of others from the royal family, there is the continual patronage of our trade. My ancestral home holds a sufficent area for training the gifted one finds in London. His Lordship has made it rather necessary to enter into a state of semi-retirement. My activites are far less active than they were, more consultation than direct self affilation. But, it is matched by being the Govenor of England. That, in and of itself, is thrilling. Now and again, there is something that requires a bit more...craft oriented finesse. Holding the former Plntaganet family ground is only partially popular." There would be no mention of occupational hazards, nor near decimation of all within the halls they sat. Nor of the old past of the two GrandMasters rearing itshead to finish what an old adversary had once started. This was polite business conversation! "My husband is the Commander of England, my brother an Inspector now. Sorschal has become quite popular with his skills in illusion and architecture, and he remains here while visiting London from time to time. I cross quite often." What marred was not seen, and only intimate proximity of the marriage variety presented it. Fading reminders of how some were killers for the sake of killing. Men or women with no honor, no value, other than the ultimate end. (d)
Dantae: And to that, a husky chuckle fell from him, truly tempting his humour. "Indeed, I did wish to be intoxicated, but could not due to the multifacet duties I was sent to achieve." He answered. Every purpose took time to achieve for care had to be taken to carry out the ultimate goals assigned to him. Silently, he listened to the tales that happened while he had been away, and though it seemed as if he had little interest in the matter, he was quite keen on what the Black Talon suffered. Much he had missed, apparently. Claramae was with husband, now, and a few more surprises in store. His eyebrow perked at that and he blinked once. "Married? Dear God, have you not killed him yet?" He mused, a cover. Eyes drifted to the goblet in his hand. "England must be foolish and dire in filling positions...for they want you as governor? Pity, I thought England boasted to be the cutting edge of reason and sophistication." To see her anywhere else seemed odd...he didn't want to see her anywhere else but here in the Black Talons...where she belonged. "Seems you have been busy." Dantae commented, loosely, before lifting his eyes to hers again. This time, he forced a smile. "My duties have been less liberal. I brought back with me letters, maps, and notes that our Grandmasters might find of particular use. I will simply say that I am glad to be in Skye, once more." For more reasons than he entailed, however.
Claramae: Not even a long, distinguished record of service could spare even the achieved Master the chance to look, even forced, into the glass for examination. Doubtless, Dante could recall a time in the middle of his deployment where word was sparse. A flood of letters became a trickle until the messenger he'd taken with him passed him a letter than seemed to suggest a ghost had crossed his path. Was one even stained in the palest tint of perspiration tinged blood?She pursed her lips, issuing a sigh as if to suggest killing one's husband was only methodical if it served a purpose. Let alone, most of such contacts were killed by mere infuation, only. One never found the Lady Laurence playing blushed bride and crying widow. Europe was not conquered by a blush with trembling thighs. Heavens no, she was not a 'sheet spy.' "No, and we have been wed for nearly five years. England is the bastian of a great many things, though we may be so pleblian to you, that you shan't e'er visit and behold the splendor of the rebuilt military, or the armory.." Tease for tease, Dante did enjoy sharp objects. He would enjoy, too, what was conocted in this very hall which outwardly everyone called 'Laurence House'. One did not say they were walking toward the Ebony Hall, afterall! She relaxed her face to allow a true expression to surface, understanding. If the death of a budding Order was at hand, he may not have faired any better. What they fought derived from places he'd stayed, places that while beautiful, turned out God-sanctioned evil. "I will call the Grand Masters together to review what you have found. You've done well, Master Dantae. What rest you will take, you well deserve. At least for now, the world shan't fall 'part upon you here." She finished her glass of wine while considering that while once, there was a Grand Master per continent, she'd apprenticed to a Grandmaster. He'd made an odd collective of his three chief apprentices, in a way tasking them all. One went rogue, and that left two. With the arrival of Dantae, and surely his work would give him just reward, twas on the verge of three of the most prolific assasins on one side of the world. After what occurred some years ago, after the rising and quieting of Leviathin, the others smartly left them alone. Would it always be that way? (d)
It has been nearly four years since the Order of Black Talons in Ebony Hall came close to being eradicated. Never to be outdone, nor undone for this matter, the rebuilding has furnished many promising new recruits. From the tatters of other houses that did not survive Leviathin, those that fall on the sides of honor have found a new home. Also, those abroad on other missions now return home to what they've missed. Unknown to those save the heads of the house, the enigmatic Signore Dantae di Favino has returned from several years in the Mediterranean.
Claramae: Turas Lan, 1333. The jewel of the Aberdeenian crown, true heart of the Celtic Nations, at once the envy and thing detested among the Europeans on the continent. Still, those whom resided pon fair isle did not make off so poorly in the few years of the upstart's reign. Bustling city streets would surrender to the lamp lit glow of an evening under winter moon. What people did remain out sought a place to enter! Rich or poor, a hearth's crisp flames were calling to numb fingers clapping together for a bit of warmth. It was thus fortunate that the comely home on the now bustling streets twixt Bryante Row and the Cathedral was lacking in neither fire places, warm bricks, or fur. "Madame has returned with the Master Voltaire, come, let us not be slow about it." The thick Bavarian accent of Bromhield snapped commands with little mercy. The home was run with equal parts pragmatism, high expectation, and good sense. By the time threshold was crossed, requiste staff waited to accept cloak or glove. Vincere St. Laurence's hand reached up to tap a tiny tile in the Italian mosaic against the western wall, unveiling the path to her study. Outwardly it was all good brickwork and understated elegance. Inside was an entirely different affair. "We are expecting a guest, from the Mediterranean. Let us have chambers sutiable for a gentlemen, he is a man of quality. When he arrives direct him toward my study - the conventional route, Bromheilde. We can't have folk who have not been here for years getting trapped in the glass halls again. The last one whom thought themselves able to remember fell from the second floor when the panes moved." Sanguine velvet held the feminine in place, the black cincher about her waist the lot together. Through the passage with no trace of any sound, she'd await said visitor, trusting the staff would show him in properly. He was to be a Master here, afterall (d)
Dantae: Home away from home; it was an exhilaration he had been without for what seemed like years. Perhaps it had been years; the exact time remained a mystery simply due to the fact that his attention was on other things at the moment... or had been. When news reached his ears that he could finally returned to his home upon Skye Isle, Dantae was more than delighted. Of course, his returns were not without another purpose hinged to them; that the Italian dreaded. Howstrange, it was, that a son of Italy dared not to call her homeland. Affiliation with the proud country died many years ago. The white stallion panted and snorted loudly as the beast finally came to a sudden stop just outside the steps that led inside. He dismounted, quickly, and handed the reins to the nearest boy...or young lad that could pass for a stablehand. "See that he is fed, watered, and rested. I shall look for him on my return." He said, sternly, while eyes lifted to the doors. The fur wrap kept him warm on his long trip, but laid over layers of rich velvet in vibrantly dark colours of crimson, black, and embroidered golden threads. Boot heels clicked as long legs jogged up the incline and pushed the door open himself. Leather gloves were removed as he inquired where the Lady was; roaming halls was not something he had in mind. The cloak he wore under his fur wrap was not reliquished, not yet at least for he had only just come in from the cold. As any good servant would, Dantae was shown to the room where his anticipated hosts were occupying. When the door opened, a smug smirk curled a single corner of his mouth upward. "So here is where the mighty congrigate. Excellent guides, I must say for I have no desire, after such a long journey, to solve this labyrinth of a place you call home." The Italian commented, accent thick as gloves were tucked against the belt around his waist.
Claramae: "Once the talk of Paris, or the bastians in Italy. Perhaps, some still hide in Germany in castles of yore, but the sensible reside where one is always of use, where things never become too dull. Welcome again to Turas Lan, m'lord." Hazel eyes turned up from the downward placement of a stack of papers. The pen was deposited, the body lifted from a chair and a cursty executed that still left the young women of the home wondering how it was done. Dantae's return would mean something for the aspiring boys to ascertain. An almost Machavellian mind with a touch of Hades in his hands. Rare as it was, he actually conjured what equaled a 'smile'. A flicker of lips that was there for an instant before melting into passive calm. One might think them off to a party, for they matched without effort! Dark colors on both, the jet and gold upon the waist cinter. The blood-red dress, and the ornamentation of small golden flowers constucting the black veil over over the hair from crown to waist. "You may have the more extensive tour after you have taken a well-deserved rest from travel and labor. Your crossing was pleasant, I pray? The winter is horrid at sea." What drove the likes of the cultured to Turas Lan was its promise of the same, otherwise no one within a right mind would endure a Scottish winter. (d)
Dante: Welcome again indeed. He would have preferred to be home sooner than presently, but such came with the occupation; an occupation he chose willingly. Dantae half bowed in response to the greeting and when he straightened, eyes did glance about the room to have a more thorough look. Lips pressed together, tersely, but not in aggitation; they hid the weariness that such a long journey plagued his body with. But, he would not be a master of disguise if he had not the ability to hide it. As always, Claramae looked ornate and alluring in her yards of velvet and rich decour. "Thank you, Lady Claramae, it is good to be home." He answered, sincerely. Hands pushed the cloak back but not from his shoulders just yet as he decreased distance between them. "My crossing was unpleasantly long. Winter is a cruel mistress on land and sea." He replied, stopping mere inches from her. The grin upon his lips widened a bit as a hand rose to touch fingertips to her smooth chin; the same hand that connected to his hidden blade. With the flick of a wrist, he could pierce her throat; but the danger did not exist, not for Claramae. "Even more cruel than your intentions." Dantae mused before dropping his hand and moving to a vacant seat. He lowered his tall frame into the chair, enjoying its plush comfort to a rocking ship or saddle. "Has your hospitality been so lacking that you neglect to offer me wine or liquor of the sort? Tsk-tsk, Claramae; there goes the rumours of your exhalted perception." Dantae teased, leaning back in the chair.
Claramae: "Straight to the point, Senor? Was there not enough wine in Italy to satiate thy thirst? Hardly 'pon the stair a quarter hour passing. Hence vanish all the rumors of your self-control." The liberty of touch to face was matched with three right fingers lifting to tap that finger as if to scold him for being so quick to seek libation. Tit-for-tat was a dance that would mean the end for any other woman, or an audience with God for another man. The tip of the fingers could have found his wrist to snap it. Or if poison was the order of the day..but that was digression. Half shut eyes and a shake of head were the conclusion of the floor show. He went to sit while she manuvered acrossthe store to supply him with a rare vintage that grew better as it aged. It had been a gift for the Pope, or was, until its barer met an untimely end. Around the room, pieces of one residence and the next were settled side by side. A rather German tapestry on the West wall matched the colors of an Italian liner. French processional in painting paraded toward the split panel hunt. Dark shelves emerged out of the wallwork, seeming to have grown from the floor (Sorschal was fond of illusions, after all) filled with books in original language: Italian, German, French, Latin, Greek. Tucked amidst them were certainly a Gaelic volume or more. While the English breeding was undeniable, the (side of her that was Irish still found ways to be married to the world. She presented him the glass of wine before making one of lesser for herself. Slender digits moved at unusual pace even for a languid action. Dexterity was a hall-mark of the trade. "Terrible to travel, winter. Especially here abouts. Ah me, one makes due if one must with the cruel brunt of the season." Cruel as intention? What a shameless flatter! The years went by, allowing those within the order to become a bit more human at home. To this day, there were still only a few people allowed the liberty of touch, let alone privy to the use of name without reprimand. Terrible local custom, that. Ah well. (d)
Dantae: Bright eyes turned to Claramae, staring down; but even her words did nothing but coax a smile to his lips. "Would you expect me to be inebriated while on duty? I have had my fill of Italy's wine for many days to come." Dantae replied simply. Tapping fingers were ignored, but not unnoticed. As he sat, she retrieved the nectar he so sought. Claramae always kept well aged and delicious liquored stored away; after such a long trip, he deserved it. Once the beverage was presented, Dantae reached for it and plucked the goblet from her dainty fingers. Be it disrespect, boldness, or comfort he addressed her so coloquially, Dantae did not apologize for his actions or mannerisms; he never did. "We make due, but do not always enjoy what we must tolerate." He noted, and lifted his glass in a silent toast. Sure enough, the rim was placed to his lips and he took a hearty swallow. A soft sigh of content fell from parted lips as the rim was removed. Fine indeed; he expected nothing less from Claramae. "How have you been in my absence, Claramae? Missing me terribly I hope; you seemed to have been quite bored while I was away." Dantae chuckled and in a fewmore gulps, the glass was drained dry. "I imagine you've found something to occupy your time with...something wickedly deceptive and lethal?" He asked, turning eyes to her once more.
Claramae: "No, you know better. I do expect that you were wishing to be intoxicated while dealing with the slow portions of your progress. I remember certain areas from whence you came. It made Mass a place of high enertainment!" Claramae sat back in the chair she occupied but not with a lax spine. It held her head erect and her torso straight so it never failed to give her an appearance of unbroken youth. One could not escape the hand of time forever, but some met with the inevitable better than others! Pink lips were stained by a pattern of moisture from the wine. Once it was down again, the conversation could begin. "It has been no less of an adventure in your absence. You were missed, and you missed quite a few to-do's, but that was for the better. Aside from the foiling of plots against his lordship's state and reverting the eye of others from the royal family, there is the continual patronage of our trade. My ancestral home holds a sufficent area for training the gifted one finds in London. His Lordship has made it rather necessary to enter into a state of semi-retirement. My activites are far less active than they were, more consultation than direct self affilation. But, it is matched by being the Govenor of England. That, in and of itself, is thrilling. Now and again, there is something that requires a bit more...craft oriented finesse. Holding the former Plntaganet family ground is only partially popular." There would be no mention of occupational hazards, nor near decimation of all within the halls they sat. Nor of the old past of the two GrandMasters rearing itshead to finish what an old adversary had once started. This was polite business conversation! "My husband is the Commander of England, my brother an Inspector now. Sorschal has become quite popular with his skills in illusion and architecture, and he remains here while visiting London from time to time. I cross quite often." What marred was not seen, and only intimate proximity of the marriage variety presented it. Fading reminders of how some were killers for the sake of killing. Men or women with no honor, no value, other than the ultimate end. (d)
Dantae: And to that, a husky chuckle fell from him, truly tempting his humour. "Indeed, I did wish to be intoxicated, but could not due to the multifacet duties I was sent to achieve." He answered. Every purpose took time to achieve for care had to be taken to carry out the ultimate goals assigned to him. Silently, he listened to the tales that happened while he had been away, and though it seemed as if he had little interest in the matter, he was quite keen on what the Black Talon suffered. Much he had missed, apparently. Claramae was with husband, now, and a few more surprises in store. His eyebrow perked at that and he blinked once. "Married? Dear God, have you not killed him yet?" He mused, a cover. Eyes drifted to the goblet in his hand. "England must be foolish and dire in filling positions...for they want you as governor? Pity, I thought England boasted to be the cutting edge of reason and sophistication." To see her anywhere else seemed odd...he didn't want to see her anywhere else but here in the Black Talons...where she belonged. "Seems you have been busy." Dantae commented, loosely, before lifting his eyes to hers again. This time, he forced a smile. "My duties have been less liberal. I brought back with me letters, maps, and notes that our Grandmasters might find of particular use. I will simply say that I am glad to be in Skye, once more." For more reasons than he entailed, however.
Claramae: Not even a long, distinguished record of service could spare even the achieved Master the chance to look, even forced, into the glass for examination. Doubtless, Dante could recall a time in the middle of his deployment where word was sparse. A flood of letters became a trickle until the messenger he'd taken with him passed him a letter than seemed to suggest a ghost had crossed his path. Was one even stained in the palest tint of perspiration tinged blood?She pursed her lips, issuing a sigh as if to suggest killing one's husband was only methodical if it served a purpose. Let alone, most of such contacts were killed by mere infuation, only. One never found the Lady Laurence playing blushed bride and crying widow. Europe was not conquered by a blush with trembling thighs. Heavens no, she was not a 'sheet spy.' "No, and we have been wed for nearly five years. England is the bastian of a great many things, though we may be so pleblian to you, that you shan't e'er visit and behold the splendor of the rebuilt military, or the armory.." Tease for tease, Dante did enjoy sharp objects. He would enjoy, too, what was conocted in this very hall which outwardly everyone called 'Laurence House'. One did not say they were walking toward the Ebony Hall, afterall! She relaxed her face to allow a true expression to surface, understanding. If the death of a budding Order was at hand, he may not have faired any better. What they fought derived from places he'd stayed, places that while beautiful, turned out God-sanctioned evil. "I will call the Grand Masters together to review what you have found. You've done well, Master Dantae. What rest you will take, you well deserve. At least for now, the world shan't fall 'part upon you here." She finished her glass of wine while considering that while once, there was a Grand Master per continent, she'd apprenticed to a Grandmaster. He'd made an odd collective of his three chief apprentices, in a way tasking them all. One went rogue, and that left two. With the arrival of Dantae, and surely his work would give him just reward, twas on the verge of three of the most prolific assasins on one side of the world. After what occurred some years ago, after the rising and quieting of Leviathin, the others smartly left them alone. Would it always be that way? (d)
