Let Your Mind Go..(1333)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Part I

-the following play includes mentions of prior and upcoming stories, though what is stated is only a character's assumptions only, not canon knowledge.-

Claramae: A winter's day tripped down from the adjoining rooftops of the streets before and aft of 'Laurence House'. Ha! The title was positively a good twist on venacular. Were that the stately building of stone and brick could be such a simple, noble household of one or more such noble dwellers than the world would have little to talk about in the more discrete circles with a silent basis for initiation. "Lady Voltaire," so said on this morning the Baroness Laurence to Voltaire's wife, "You needn't tax thyself with the lesser tasks. You should be as the head of the household wherein you touch nothing o'ermuch. Yet if you insist, I would not deny you seeing towards the needs of the noble within the household. Your eye, is also uncanny. What e'er you learn of our guest whom keeps the young lady's company, tell it. It is not their honesty I doubt, it is youth's folly that concerns me." They walked the hall side by side in perfect step, descending the staircase the same. "They will return later after audience with the High Lady. Erstwhile we have the pressing issue to decide what to lay upon the table for supper, and what the Lord Aberdeen has gotten us into now." (d)


Dante: Steadily, over the course of three years, the Italian was taking up permanent residency in Skye. Things came by boat to fill the contents of the house he had been so blessed to finally own upon the Winged Isle. What interested him the most was the fact that it was quite far from the states and cities that made up Italia. Unfortunately, his work prevented him from staying away from any long periods of time, but Dante had endured far longer in the country he had been birthed in. The duties of a Talon were neverending; but the prospect of work was always appealing and it certainly kept currency in his pocket. The Library of Ebony Hall became a close friend and kin to the Italian; with so much wealth of knowledge and wordly advice, Dante could not bear to stay away for too long. Over the course of the night, Dante found himself stuck in the Library, reading until the wax candle fizzled out by itself. Now, it was a new morning and a new day. He should be on his way back to his home, but Dante had no dire need to be anywhere--it seemed--but here in Ebony Hall. With all the parchment summonings, it might have saved him a trip just to remain here. However, Dante preferred his space for the many things he collected over the course of his life. A book remained held under arm as he paced down the halway; the ends of his richly coloured maroon, velvet robe rippled about his long legs as he walked. Of course, as blue eyes lifted, down the hall before him walked Claramae and the Lady Voltaire. Pausing in step, Dante smirked and watched the two women descend the stairs. "She doubts the folly of youth only until she finds some use for personal advantage." He commented in a dry tease before turning his eyes to the wife of Lord Voltaire. "Lady Voltaire, you look absolutely ravishing as always." He greeted, before eyes turned to Claramae. "Claramae, your company is always enchanting...quite the charmer bearing the flute." He added with a wry grin.

Claramae: "For the life of me, Lady Voltaire, why you and the Lord do not keep the house you rightly earned..yet remain here.." Whom would not, if allowed, carve a niche away from what made one famous if the work kept a litter of dead bodies? If your mind, so keen to the task, could have a little respite..wouldn't you go? Lady Voltaire only shook her head, able to wear her signature pair of twisted buns on the side of her head again, for both sides were at last even after the night of Carlotta's death three years ago. "Because, Maxamillion and I know where home is, Madame. We have been together these many years, all of us, and have no children of our own, nor shall. You and the others shall serve." Time fashioned the quiet Bavarian to open the mouth to reveal her accented English. The hands that could make light from chaos touched gentle on Claramae's, before both women turned to look out at the Signore, "You should have talk with this one too, he keeps a house for his things, Madame. But we keep him." Bromheilde descended, offering the Signore a curtsy before giving his cheek a kindly, matron's pat. Laughing in soft tones, Claramae followed with a soft shake of her head. The current fashion was to have it wound in ribbon of sort, an Italian and French enterprise that had gained great steam in Turas Lan among those who followed such, let alone keeping the braids and fashioned up-dos held in place with foreign trinkets. Her lot was much simpler, a series of braids had been fashioned into a bun whilst some soft, loose curls were over her right shoulder. "Always the charmer thyself, Signore. Did you spend the night in the library again?" (d)

Dante: Home remained the place you felt most comfortable; for a time that had been Italia for the native. However, over the course of time and events, Dante refused to call Italia home again. Presently, his newfounded home was Skye. It was a pleasant change of scenery and hopefully it would remain as such for a long time. The coy smile did not fall from his lips as the women descended and finally reached the ground he stood upon. Once again, the Lady Voltaire caught his attention. "Sometimes against my will, Lady Voltaire. I see you have no complaints of my presence." He teased, chuckling softly as she patted his cheek before following the line of sight to Claramae. "And with great pleasure, Claramae. How I spend my nights and the company I keep no longer remains your business. Pity." Lifting a free hand, fingers stroked the line of her jawbone. "But, my inquisitive dove, I have spent my night traveling the world without leaving the comfort of a chair." He replied, lowering his hand

Claramae: "Praise God. Otherwise thy words n' hand would have Lady Voltaire tossing some poor, unfortunate woman you'd bedded out into the streets. Whilst she kept you, of course. You are akin to the woman's favorite son." He was free with his touch leaving one to wonder if they were lover's once in a bygone era, or if there was something that lay unexpressed between them. No, it was nothing so overly romantic or sordid. She captured his fingers so as to slide her entire hand in his . She curtsied her good morrow, as was custom. "Inquisitive dove. That one is new, you must save it. It seems so much more sweeter than Madame Death, don't you think?" Once upon a great long while ago, Claramae would have had the name only by way of another, and the Signore would have been as kin. Once, she was no different than other women who made ready a wedding chest with things of a dowry -- Once. "I have been traveling to Morocco, Spain, and England in my reading though tis no where near as pleasurable as yours. On that subject, my lion, I envy you." (d)

Dante: A dark eyebrow arched upward. "Praise God, indeed. There is no love to rival that of the Lady Voltaire's. Do not be jealous that she smiles upon me more than you." Dante retorted with a grin. While Dante kept his private affairs rather private, some things never seemed to escape Claramae...or her teasing. Such was another reason to have his own home; distance was the best method to gain privacy among elite assassins and spies. Claramae's dainty--but deadly--fingers laced with his larger ones, causing Dante's grin to widen a bit. "Madame Death? Hardly. You are as harmless as a viper." Dante mused, knowing Claramae's capabilities and potential. However, when she confessed to envying him, Dante laughed softly. "Naturally, you would. You envy my freedom simply because your ankle bears the ball and chain...and my dear Claramae has forfeited the key." He replied, giving her hand a squeeze before lifting herknuckles to his lips and kissing it lightly

Claramae: "No pet, I am quite happy in my marriage. As you can see the Baron favors his women spirited and odd. He too comes and goes as necessary. Many years of knowing equates to a good many years of fruitful peace between us. As far as what else may be of a bind, even that has not proven to taxing until now. " Dante was allowed a great lot in his length of liberty with the woman! So she too, with him. "Walk with me awhile. I can no longer speak while sitting for I have sat to long and back is stiff," from a network of faded scars where some remained more visible, still more tender than others. Her spare hand rubbed gently along his shoulder before she allowed him to pick the direction in which they would walk. (d)

Dante: Dante pressed his lips together and simply dipped his bearded chin. Marriage. For some it was the epitome of bliss; for others it remained the invisible cage and collar that asphyxiated over time. Once upon a time he knew the peace of which Claramae spoke. Once upon a time...once. "Spirited and odd, he says? Then the man hardly does you justice in such description. Seems you have become his pet in the matter." Never did he fear touch, for not only was he Italian, but he never feared Claramae's wrath...perhaps among the few people that did. Still, if she detested his touch, Claramae knew how to speak and voice her mind. She never did, nor did he. "Then we shall walk, Claramae. I am partly surprised, however, that you managed to sit long enough to allow your elongated spine to stiffen." He teased, before looping her arm around his while still keeping her fingers twined with his. The action pulled her closer as they set to walk, and the direction was to the door that would lead them outside and into the castle's gardens for a bit of fresher air, despite the chilly seasons.

Claramae: Were it not for the calm in the aftermath of an adventure than she would have been far less social and greater removed. Once, Michael made an impression upon her and then forgot whom he was. Then again, he found he could not helpbut hold to her in Germany, nor could she not allow herself the rare luxury of complete acceptance. The pair had endured many things together, yet remained quite happy despite it all. Like Michael, or Sorschal, or those whom thesewalls called friend he never had to fear her hand come at him in wrath. Infact, like Sorschal, he was among those that had known her the longest. "Tis a short description. The Baron is quite tender, despite his life of military service, and recovered of some of his old culture, before the amnesia of years ago." The gardens were at once alongside the inner courtyard, and off in other areas for the Baroness favored horticulture. Naked trees would grow heavy with leaves and citrus come the warmer weather. Flowers stored off in hot houses would run rampant on these grounds. The interior courtyard served too when the stones opened or walls shifted to make one of the many training simulations. Now it was quite, happily plain. Merely a moistened floor. "For all of the limberness it still retains I fear it is not so hard these days. Even self imposed posture rankles with it after some hours. Still, the reason to sit so long was to make sense of all that is coming. As you have come here from Italia, so I wish nothing more than to retire my public posistion as Govenor and pass it to a successor, as his Lordship and I discussed upon first inception. This way I can come home. It seems there will not only be need to return, yet be two places at once. Again. My pass here will end sooner than I'd thought. I had only seen Adam at the New Year in England, and returned shortly after with France as the only concern. But now?" She shook her head. (d)

Tempus Matutinus: It was a rare luxury indeed, one Dante could not fault the woman in taking for herself. He did, or had in the past, but his luxe had long since slipped from his hands. Pray Claramae's happiness and rare acceptance last longer than his had. "And because it is short, it is poor. Not all things can be described so plainly; least of all one as complex as you, my dear Claramae." Dante noted as they moved down the hall and beyond the doors that led into the gardens beyond Ebony Hall. What remained bare now would soon be littered in vegetation and blossom into an array of colours across the spectrum. Dante was silent as he listened to his friend speak of her latest adventures, and Dante fought the urge to roll his eyes. Only Claramae would take so much upon her shoulders and spread herself amazingly thin without visible sign of wear or tear. "Perhaps you barter yourself far too much, Claramae. When has your concerns been concentrated to one spectrum? Never. Youre stamina amazes me, Claramae, but soon your elasticity will diminish and more than your delicate spine will become stiff." He said, blue eyes glancing around the reminants of the garden. "Sensibility is as elusive as the wind, my friend. You will never catch it, understand it, or govern it. Some things make no sense...not everything is meant to, unfortunately, for as imperfect humans we cannot understand all madnessin the eyes and hands of overs. Frankly, it gives me a headache and I prefer not to analyze it all; the answers you find are no clearer than the labyrinth they were discovered in. My thrist for solving enigmas is becoming quenched these days...though do not think my ambition for the Talons is stemmed. Not so, I say. I simply grow tired of trying to understand a world that has become, ultimately, incomprehensive." He said, blue eyes following the path ahead of them. Inwardly, he sighed

Janice: "Indeed, nothing so multi-faceted is ever done justice by shot remark. Though at times that short remark is just as refreshing in its novelty as it is for merely being, my sweet Dante. She replied as they moved into the open space that waited to receive them. The empty area received her sympathies, for if it had a moment's vanity in how adoring hands fashioned it, than it missed color. In the winter atmopshere, her sienna colored garments were vivid. Small raised portion of the sleeve was studded in pearl. Instead of flaring out, the sleeves fit the limb exactly, out to a pearl studded place on her wrist. The dress, with its high waistline where most traditional bodices went, was what made it Italian, as well as the flow of the skirts. "Tis a stamina grown weary of being abused. The govenrnance marked my semi-retirement from the active portions of our craft whilst making it so that a succssor might continue my place in obvious governance. I much rather my parliment much less direct. As it is, there has been a settled peace in England with the Mo'r Triath's incentives and my experience. We have quelled the uprising from time to time, for gold speaks louder than monarchy..tis the open trade they favor. Though now that will not be enough." She came to the root of it. "This is a puzzle you would not want to put together, nor I. France grows again in its disbelief that England will not want her unity, but former English property. Now that Valois has subjucated his natives, he looks at the country that once wronged him or so the wagging tongues of the French merchants and nobles away from court tell me. It grows worse. I have just received word that the She-Wolf of France, the King's former French Bride..once Queen of England...has somehow managed to marry the King of Spain, indeed the King of a Spain to come. They are as we speak uniting Aragon and Castille Crowns under mixture of arrangements, gold, and a little battle. As it is..Spain. With Isabelle the former Queen of Engald, and her son with Edward the rightful king, this is riling the old sympathizers. Wherein then you wnder if they will not try to install a Spanish regency. As it is the young Plantagenet heir, like his eldest sister, want none of their mother's intrigues anylonger. They are suitable members of the States but you can not hide that lineage. We are going to have to hide Edward the III, and his sister, Joan. I can not keep Edward in England anymore, they will tear the young man apart. So now..fathom you France, turned her eye on England. In England with the Mo'r Triath's incentives and my experience. We have quelled the uprising from time to time, for gold speaks louder than monarchy..tis the open trade they favor. Though now that will not be enough." She came to the root of it. "This is a puzzle you would not want to put together, nor I. France grows again in its disbelief that England will not want her unity, but former English property. Now that Valois has subjucated his natives, he looks at the country that once wronged him. It grows worse. I have just received word that the She-Wolf of France, the King's former French Bride..once Queen of England...has somehow managed to marry the King of Spain, indeed the king of spain. They are as we speak uniting Aragon and Castille Crowns under mixture of arrangements, gold, and a little battle. As it is..Spain. With Isabelle the former Queen of Engald, and her son with Edward the rightful king, this is riling the old sympathizers. Wherein then youwnder if they will not try to install a Spanish regency. As it is the young Plantagenet heir, like his eldest sister, want none of their mother's intrigues anylonger. They are suitable members of the States but you can not hide that lineage. We are going to have to hide Edward the III, and his sister, Joan. I can not keep Edward in England anymore, they will tear the young man apart. So now..fathom you France, turned her eye on England Spain, her eye thus turn. They will BOTH now turn to Skye...for herein the puzzle twists all the more. Janice's store was attacked for documents that she is translating for the Mo'r Triath into the Berber language of Morroco . A peaceful, open trade agreement. Well, the two within her shop found were spanish funded against the Berbers...you know how Europe detests anything Moor, let alone Spain. Well before the pair could be properly arrested.they were slain. No doubt another spanish plot. His Lordship seeks open trade Across the Pillars of Hercules, in Africa. Open trade across the waters. The Berber King is intent to give it to him upon what Janice has shown me, but aside from the girl's livlinhood literally upturned, she also brings with her a suitor. Of all the times...now he, too, is stuck within the lot. How are all of these connected? Well...This will place Morocco within the lot should Spain and France seek to make a jolly war with England and Skye, oh yes, and remember the auction so many years agone...well we have traced every prize that was large, tis bait, naturally. Well I have researched the winner of that prize. James duChere. A merchant of France. There is something entirely off about that one...if he is French than we are Arabic. At any rate he's holding the deeds to Lewis and Harris in his hands! They were supposed to beforgeries, and he should have been offed by now. They are not forgeries...somehow he has obtained authenticted copies of Adam's territory to either claim as his own or for France! Should they find that out..in either sense... " She sighed as she sat, a hand to her cheek, another against her chin in thought. "This upstart little nation is going to be staring down the barrel of Spanish and French arms. Spain and France! I am preparing for them at any given time..any one of them, to look first at England. Then all of them will be in the water for Lewis and Harris." (d)

Dante: To that, Dante gave an eyer oll but refrained from commenting. Nothing multiplicity in meaning ever deserved such a quaint reply, but Claramae seemed not to mind and even called it refreshing. Dante begged to differ, but he would not let his jaded perspective on the matter interfere. As they walked, they came to a clearing where their movement paused for a moment. In the clearing, Dante turned to Claramae as she spoke of more news of what transpired. It was never a dull moment, that was for certain. The Italian was silent as he listened to the woman speak of tidings far from fair. Ah yes, Spain and France; when they were not warring with each other, they turned to someone else and momentarily joined forces. That is, until they fought for scraps like ravenous dogs. Admist her information presentation, Claramae took a seat while Dante preferred to stand, making their height difference all the greater. Sighing softly, Dante rolled his eyes and crouched down in front of her. Lifting a hand, he pressed two fingers to flushed lips. "Claramae, my dear, take a deep breath. Your talk of war with Spain and France is making my head spin before the sun is high in the sky. Hush, for a moment, and take the time to speak of things other than what you have discovered among your duty to the Black Talons." He said, arching an eyebrow. "For your sake, and mine, try to set aside your discoveries for a little while. You bury your head too deeply and too often, sometimes, in your work. You'll run yourself ragged one of these days or your lips will run right off your sweet mouth." He teased, though was serious to some degree. Slowly, the Italian lowered his fingers from her lips and rose. Straightening, Dante took a deep breath, and with it the crisp air of the morning. At length, the tall Italian sat down beside Claramae. "Let us speak of friendly topics. For example, despite the frosty air, it is a beautiful day to enjoy. We shall enjoy it. It does not rain today...we shall enjoy that as well. You look radiant in that colour...well that I shall enjoy." He added with a light laugh.

Claramae: The Italian was perceptive, but the Italian was striving to ascertain the seperation between 'work' and the personal some had struck years ago. Two fingers pressed against her mouth while Claramae arched an eyebrow in complete silence at the gesture. The full, blushed objects were motionless. Brown eyes with a potent hazel injection were a live enough to continue telling the story without the necessity of words. Only when they went half closed did they go quiet too. Alas, it can not be helped, Signore. Our sovereign has stuck me entirely where I do not belong by virtue of profession nor sex, so it is done.. the thought thrummed up against her temples, but she didn't talk about it."Spring breaks early on this island, oft it starts before March..so perhaps we will have some blooms to go with our days. Today is not so frosty as it has been, nor wet. Why thank you for the compliment of color. Tis a new gown. As usual, you wear scarlet entirely better than other men. Let us also enjoy the expanding library, or some such adjoining area." She gave him a half smile, turning to look at the water fountain that still gave water from the mouths of lions and birds despite how cold it must be. (d)

Tempus Matutinus: And what a story it was becoming; Spain and France playing nice long enough to conquer more land and then fight over the remains. History, clearly, had a habit of repeating itself for humans were seemingly doomed to. Sad fate, it was. "With a little time and practice at the habit, it can be helped. If you do not care for where your Sovereign places you, then let those delicate lips of yours speak; I know you are far from shy when it comes to speaking your mind." Dante knew Claramae well enough. Blue eyes drifted over Claramae's form without effort to hide the fact that eyes roamed her frame openly. At the mention of his maroon velvet robe, he chuckled. "I enjoy the library every day I come here; perhaps you should more than you do. Fiction calls you, Claramae." He paused, leaning in while her eyes rested on the fountain; lips mere inches from the shell of her ear. "It lusts for your attention." The Italian purred softly, before pulling back and smirking. "The pitiful look does not suit you, Claramae; you look like a slapped crone. Hardly becoming." He mentioned, glancing down to the sleeves of his robe and straightening them

Claramae: "Oh hush, you wizzened Italian rake. Whilst one might become frustrated and exhibit such, tis hardly call to be a slapped crone. What bad form." She scolded him, rising from her place with a look of mock indignation. Besides, only he would articulate a thought in her head with such utter, stark aplumb. It was also not fashionable for a Lady of standing to swear, so it was just not done. "My being mute or loud has little to do with something is done and it must be finished. At any rate, you make a better set of ears than an open mouth. Silence suits you, dearheart. You should be a piece of Italian marble by the stairs." She was subject to his constant scrutiny for some number of years. Heaven knew, Claramae was a fetching prize for a female in the trade. She was neither a sheet-spy nor without enough scruples to be considered moral. An oyxmoron, yes, but viable here. Wher else did murderers attend Mass, make confession, and give to the church quite well with a devotion that rivaled others? Though it was strange to be married when a woman might breathe and kill her husband. "Fiction lusts for my attention..oh for heaven sakes, Dante." The moment of acquiesence to other things was cast off. Her form was in place, which perhaps was what he intended. Lord Aberdeen was trying to kill them. At least they might delay death with a little gratification. "Come, let us finish our walk and have wine." At least while she sighed or spoke long on a subject she didn't become a puddle of whimpering woman. She displayed visible annoyance more over than great upset. At least her face moved more in these later years. Once, you couldn't tell if the woman was happy even if you did know her! (d)

Dante: Claramae's response provoked a wry smile as eyes followed her rising form. Amused to no end, he watched the woman, shorter than he, feign the look of the insulted woman. A dry, husky chuckle fell from his lips as he sat, still. Bad form it might be, but Dante was highly amused by Claramae's reaction, faux or fact. The grin showed no signs of fading; on the contrary, it widened as she continued to suggest him a centerpiece of silence in the form of Italian marble. "By the stairs in which you so pass by? Perhaps one day my likeness shall be at the foot of your stairs in polished marble as center piece." He teased, before finally rising to his feet. Hands smoothed out the fabric of his robe and adjusted it over the gold vest covering a pale tunic tucked into black breeches. "It seems I have ruffled the feathers of my inquisitive dove; how shall I smooth them for you?" Dante baited, offering her his arm so they could continue their walk and indulge in wine.

Claramae: "Be pleasant and not a boar, sweeting, it not that hard to appease me. You know that. I won't ask you for a pretty bauble," Not that he had not furnished a few pieces as token gifts once upon a time that she still wore on special occasions, or that she sent him jeweled pins or some such things. The garden remained devoid of rain whilst somewhere in Scotland, it surely did so. God favored his forces against the hoardes of darkness, in so much at least that these children were more interesting than the mainland counterparts. Claramae never ceased to chuckle when Dante was around, be it their personal conversations or how he made Lady Voltaire treat him like her first born! "If your likeness is at the base of my stairs, I have entered hell. There is no other way to describe it. We will send for a priest straight away.We may well have scared the last one, poor sir of some years now is set to retire from his post. We shall have to have another begin all over again." Lady Voltaire awaited them at the entrance to the courtyard, tempting them in with a tray in her hands. Oh was that warmed wine? (d)

Dante: And Dante could not hide the chuckle that fell from parted lips. A boar? Him? Hardly! "My dear Claramae, I am always quite pleasant. Were I not, would I share in your company now? Of course not; you are far to meticulous to allow any sort of animal into your company." He retorted with a sly smirk. "You do not ask because you know I give to you freely." And he did send her expensive pieces as gifts just as she sent him lavished brooches and other jeweled artifacts. "The second circle of hell is reserved for those indulging in lust and pleasure; Perhaps we shall join Paris and Helen, or Cleopatra and Antony?" Lady Voltaire spoiled him, and Dante certainly did not detest it! She was a kind woman who he did well not to forget or fail to reward. Speaking of the woman, when they reach the entrace to the courtyard, there she stood with a tray of warm wine. Reaching for a glass, he handed one to Claramae and took the other for himself. "Dearest Lady Voltaire, your generosity and kindness humbles me. You heard not how cruel Claramae has been to be in the garden. Why, moments ago she compared my company to that of Hell. Cruelty, thy name is Claramae!" He teased, taking a quick sip of the wine.

Claramae: "Quite. Only the household cat is tolerable, A horse. You have fit yourself somewhere twixt the three for years, once you raise yourself up it is only a short distance down again." Tit for tat from one to the next, all in jest for if that were the case none would accept the others' gifts. Lady Voltaire tut-tutted, patting a hand on Dante's cheek again while Claramae rolled her eyes updward. "See, tis now the second rim of Hell already. The wine, please." The Lady grinned, passing Madame her goblet before insisting the pair come inside to the roaring fire within the library lest they catch colds. How old were they, again? At forty-five, Bromheilde surpassed them both to earn her matron's stance around them. "Tis the new year and we have had no supper to celebrate it. This is something we must remedy." (d)

Dante: All in jest, to be sure, for Dante was a hard man to insult for his temper was rather placid and well under lock and key. Besides, Claramae was a trusted friend; what truth would there be in her teasing? Such was why Dante could nothelp but find amusment in it. "And here I thought you missed me dreadfully over the three years. I am perfectly desolated now." The Italian remarked, before taking his wine. Lady Voltaire's affection to his cheek made the smile widen. "True beauty shines from within...Lady Voltaire how radiantly you shimmer." He purred, leaning in to press lips to her cheek in friendly gesture. Straightening, eyes turned to Claramae as she took the wine. Dante arched an eyebrow, but smirked wickedly. "Nay, my dear. Now you have entered the third rim of Hell with your appetite for drinking." Dante teased, before following the Lady inside and to the library. Both were plenty old enough to mind themselves, but age mattered not to the Lady Voltaire it seemed. "So we shall dine in Hell; quite a celebration indeed." His free arm curled around Claramae's waist and pulled her close. "Shall we toast to intoxication, then?" He whispered in her ear

Claramae: "You would be Lucifer himself if you were not already Dante, one who would be making such a documentation. Yes then, let us drink to inoxication, swimming in a splendid rose colored sea." She whispered back to him, kissing his cheek before lifting the cup in salute. He was right. The mind needed to release what it held into space for a short while. It would all come colliding back, perhaps in a sensible presentation. Lady Voltaire chuckled, "You flatter and for it you will stay for a light repast before supper. Staying up reading as you do, tsk! Strain your eyes, just as it strains the Madame's at all those letters to read. You must both school poor Janice before she harms herself blind before twenty and one." "Yes, Lady Voltaire, quite right. We will be sure to do that." The library was inviting with it's high fire place roaring in blazing oranges, reds. So, too, were the high backed, cushioned chairs. "If you are the woman's eldest son, Janice is her favorite niece. As she grows in age somehow, I think we will lessen." (d)

Dante: As entertaining as that thought might be, Dante was far too pious to be Lucifer himself. Morals and a conscious drove him toward right actions instead of teason and the deepest circles of Hell. But Wine was the water of truth when dosage increased. But, for now, it remained a fine indulgence. "How delightful." He whispered, smirking a bit more as her lips touched his cheek. The goblet was lifted in salute before a quick drink was consumed. Claramae focused too hard and too long on her mysteries; how her sanity remained in tact he would never know. But, he did know that she needed to ease her mind of the new worries her discoveries birthed. It would not leave, entirely, but putting it off for a time would do her mind good; that was something Dante was certain of. "Lady Voltaire, my reading is for my enjoyment and the ease of a tiresome day. I prefer to strain my eyes rather than strain my muse as Claramae does. Her company becomes borish and dry when all she speaks of is what new danger rests upon the doorstep of Skye. But, now, her lively spirit has returned and once again she is a tolerable addition to Ebony Hall." Janice being schooled by either would prove to amusing...and perhaps a tarnish to the Angel's innocence. "Claramae and I would be a poor influence on the Virgin Snow.." He muttered, downing the rest of his wine. Spotting a chair after lowering the glass,Dante pulled Claramae with him. As he sat, the Italian pulled her onto his knee. "Never. I refuse to be anything less than the affection of the Lady Voltaire. She would never disown her favoured Barone." He chuckled lightly

Claramae: "Oh isn'tit just." Claramae shared the same piety; to be in this vocation was to be a shadow in God's favor eradicating what would undo the good of the state that was served. One found it was better to take God with them or the hell-fire would be too close at the heel. Sanity was an operative term; high funcationality suited the likes of the Masters of Craft better for while they should be in corners collected of arms about the knees, they excelled in what should break them. Years ago, they all came quite close to oblivion. While she drank her wine, the trigectory to a chair beside Dante was off. Why in creation he pulled her upon his knee she'd never know. Did he never grow tired of her perching their? Bromheilde laughed with a thick, hearty sound. Shaking her head she wuld only now touch Claramae's cheek, "Madame has always been a very busy one. Her mind is for none to understand but we all reap great benefit of it." Affections from Brom was a jolly little contest between many in the house. It literaly took years to do, and God help you if you were upon her at the wrong day. "You do work too hard, Madame. You are far better when you do rest awhile, but we are still better for all her effots. She is industrious, and it is a good thing. Now La Bella is so young! You know how Lord Voltaire feels about her spoiling her eyesight. Do not let her do it too much on behalf of us. At the very least, you must light her home and shop better. Mistress Dora agrees with me, it is still too dark in rooms of study or work!" Claramae shook her head softly as Brom went about her other business. "Bromheilde nearly tore the men of the house to ribbons when she learned Janice had taken her induction as our Lady of Letters, that it was more than a pet name. She is a sweet girl. You will stay for supper, and we may both speak with her. Her mind could use a little cushioning. I have heard about the state of her poor shoppe." As meticulous with the library rooms here in Ebony hall she was, a personal store collection had taken the girl time to acrew, between both print and written forms. (d)

Dante: Just as any good Italian, Dante was Catholic, pious, despite the accumulation of sins he incurred with the occupation he kept. Still,he repented and tried to lead a moderately noble life; he wasn't a saint, after all. But thequestion in Claramae's head would have no answer; save it served purpose for distraction before her mind went wandering ba the two as Lady Voltaire patted Claramae's cheek. Chuckling, the Italian leaned back further in the plush chair. "A pity she does not reap her own benefits more often." Dante mentioned, glancing up and over to Claramae on his bent knee. She was right: Claramae did work too hard and did not take enough enjoyments and pleasure for herself. Faithful devotion drained its followers dry; Dante did not want to see such become of Claramae. Janice was a sweet girl...but very innocent in near every way. "And innocent. And and I both know what becomes of the innocent." They had a tendency to become blind victims of the tainted. An eyebrow arched, partly. "Oh, shall I now? Tsk, what mannerisms you have, Claramae. Ordering me to supper as you do. But as you wish, I shall stay for supper. But, Janice already seems to have acquired your habit of continuous work. Such is not becoming of a lady...especially one so young as her. More than her mind needs cushioning, though..." He replied with a sly smirkck to the details of Spain and France's unification to war against Skye and England. Blue eyes danced between the two as Lady Voltaire patted Claramae's cheek. Chuckling, the Italian leaned back further in the plush chair. "A pity she does not reap her own benefits more often." Dante mentioned, glancing up and over to Claramae on his bent knee. She was right: Claramae did work too hard and did not take enough enjoyments and pleasure for herself. Faithful devotion drained its followers dry; Dante did not want to see such become of Claramae. Janice was a sweet girl... but very innocent in near every way. "And innocent. And and I both know what becomes of the innocent." They had a tendency to become blind victims of the tainted. An eyebrow arched, partly. "Oh, shall I now? Tsk, what mannerisms you have, Claramae. Ordering me to supper as you do. But as you wish, I shall stay for supper. But, Janice already seems to have acquired your habit of continuous work. Such is not becoming of a lady...especially one so young as her. More than her mind needs cushioning, though..." He replied with a sly smirk.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Part II

Claramae: "You will see that I do, it seems your mission. Hell bent to complete, as well. But that is why Brom adores you so. You try to keep us with as much frivolity as if it were perpetual Carnivale." Brom's hands were abscent of both as she overtook her supper preperations. Erstwhile, Claramae remained cushioned twixt seat and Dante. She rose up her cup again to drink of it whilst the fire roared a welcome pitch to soften more of her thoughts. Ah, a devotee in all lengths to God, to the state. She planned to retire some years ago, but woe unto her. Ah well. At least if she were here, she may oversee the next generations of their kind. She might even take local assingment and be amused, "They stay as they are until they seek to renounce all their innocence. At least that is how La Bella stays. It is not only my habit, Dante, it was yours until only a pair of years ago. But she does have it I fear. Including famed ability to go for days without sleep. Oh and she refuses to be known as a lady unless it is bestowed of her without her father's baring or our patronage. " Claramae found it rather adorable, but would not admonish the girl her ethics.Frankly, it was also a matter of prudence. Lady Viscreed gained more note than Mistress. She would also never include Vittergaust with her name. Thank Goodness. "Yes, pet, I am ordering you to supper, to do battle with a knife and fork. Bromheilde has found a select amount of out of season hens and pheasent for supper. You know how much you adore how she has cook stuff them." Strangest lot on earth (d

Dante: His bearded chin lifted partly as blue eyes stared upward, resting on Claramae's lovely visage. "Indeed it is, Claramae. Your other friends are far too lenient and let you get away with such behaviour. I won't stand for you slaving and toiling longer than is necessary." He replied, simply. Claramae was right in her recollection that once upon a time he had been just as devoted as her to the Order...or at least an order before cominghere. He threw himself into it, forgetting himself and other obligations; he was too good at his job and it cost him far more than he wanted to lose. "It was my habit, and one I duly broke when I realized the derrimental effects it had. I learned; you and Janice have yet to learn that lesson. Pray it doesn't cost you as it did me." He answered, eyes shifting to the empty goblet in his other hand. However, when the subject turned to pheseants and hens, Dante's gaze drifted north. "I do adore her good graces. But, she knows how to keep a man begging for more.".

Claramae: "I think she is over half of the reason Voltaire remained around us so many years. She kept him well fed and happy. Tis the secret to a man's stomach so it is heard." For a noble woman oft orders such secrets while refraining sullying her hands with flour. This one preferred politics and blood instead. She took hold of the side of his face, gently guiding it to look at her as she caressed it. "Well then. With you on one hand, and Sorschal on the other, I shant become a bore then. " She pondered for a little "Tis a well learned lesson, Dante, only for some of us, the way from that place is longer. Years longer. So we take what we can, our humanity, our jests, our kinship." She had learned the lesson when it nearly paid itself in Michael's death, Sorschal's, so many noviates and apprentices. When in England it carved itself hard into her back, and nearly killed her again in Skye. Oh she learned. Only in that she was not able to release as she once had been. It was so close, and now this. She would have throttled Adam if she had no a deep respect for his wife, his country, and their own friendship. She had no intention of lying prostrate on English soil again. No thank you. She put her head against his shoulder. "I wonder whom else will join us for supper. Perhaps if we are so fortunate Janice's 'friend' might come. A few more as well. I do hope for all his galant and poetry he has a good sense to remain steadfast." (d)

Dante: A well cooked meal was one of the secrets that men adored; it transcended the ages but it took more than food to win some men over. "Amongmany, my dear Claramae; some men can be just as enimatic." He replied with a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. Her hand upon his face startled him, though he hid it well as that delicate hand guided his gaze toward her. He knew the length of time it took to learn such a lesson; the Italian found conclusion in the most unfortunate away. Lips pressed themselves together, near tersely, before he cleared his throat. "Oh, I have Claramae. I have taken much from it." Along with it a jaded perspective that seemed hard to correct. As Claramae placed her head upon his shoulder, the arm still around her waist rubbed her side idly. "There lies the mystery of it, then. We shall see who all comes to 'supper'. I'm absolutely 'ecstatic' to discover which friend of Janice arrives. Do you suppose it is Sir Lancelot? Or perhaps the Old King Priam?" He mused with a light chuckle as eyes glanced to the hearth blazing beyond. But a 'he'? Dante arched a brow. "A 'he'? My, my, this supper might prove to be thoroughly entertaining." In more ways than one, to be sure.

Claramae: "He reminds me quite of Sir Lancelot by way of chivalry,though it seems in such ways of men and women he is as green as she is. Oh, he is smitten. That much could be seen even as they arrived clear in the midst of the evening. It all sounds like one great book of poetics when he speaks, but at least he is cultured in that. I could not see the poor girl with anything less...." They spoke, they drank, they reclined. Three simple facets that eased the wear in her mind quite well. "Perhaps Jean-Claude will come down from his tower aways in the back to be settled with us at the table. Oh it will be so entertaining we might let ouselves laugh quite openly. If we aren't happily eating all the stuffed bird.I am surprised you haven't asked me to break out the chess board yet, sweetheart." No, he really wouldn't stand for her strain, would he? Oh he could be many things, of which his personal life was none of her affair, but memory served her adequetely enough. No one would judge him, as she wasn't judged. (d)

Dante: Hopefully the man had more chivalrous qualities of Lancelot and not others; Arthur's best knight was not known for his faithfulness or honour. A green man just as Janice? The thought seemed comical to the Italian as he wondered the age of this 'Lancelot'. "You must be wary of the cultured ones, though, because they are, in fact, cultured." He noted, though he was not one to judge openly. To an extent, everyone judged, but Dante would not condemn the man until they met. "Indeed...this shall be an entertaining supper. Jean-Claude come down from his tower? My, I believe Hell is getting a bit frigid." Dante mused with a slight grin. However, at the mention of a chess set, a smile widened on his lips at the memory it sparked. "Best save the chessboard for a more...secluded interlude." He replied. Claramae would have to try a bit harder for her strains to succeed.

Claramae:"You are such a tease. You know how I enjoy chess.." And how though taught to play it as a mental excersise, 3/4 of the Order loathed it save for the intense mentalists among them. It was a pity chess could not house more than two people at a time or she would have sat for hours playing sith Sorschal and Dante. Ah well. She was thoroughly unwound, and thankfully none had come to call. While she had a human, private face for those closer to her, this would have made some pass out as much as her ability to not move her face often did. "You are quite right. We shall thoroughly overlook him. I dare say it will be quite entertaining. A large supper, interesting attendees. Mmm. We are going to become cats sitting here. Silk and velvet clad cats. We should find something to do, before Bromheilde returns and tries to insist you take a woman to church again." Oh that was such a riot! Claramae had to excuse herselfto laugh unbidden as Bromheilde educated him on the virtues of an excellent woman, not some hanger-on. Oh she similiary beat Sorschal into submission, when would he take a bride? Certainly if the likes of them could be married he had no excuse! "We should also find the Lord and Lady Voltaire an anniversary present." She slid up from the place, brushing at the sienna shaded dress of heavy silk. (d)

Dante: Dante enjoyed a good game of chess as well; he was rather good at is as well. There remained only one person that could best him at the game...one one thus far. Dante chuckled and perked an eyebrow. "To you, dear Claramae. I know a great many things that you enjoy." Which was nothing short of the truth. Dante knew Claramae rather well these days. Cats? Dante chuckled a bit, though it died quickly when she mentioned Bromheilde trying to play Eros. The Italian groaned and shook his head. "I pray not; once was painful enough. She is a sweet woman, truly, but I need no education on the virtues of a good woman. I was married once, after all." Though that was many years ago. Years that were, sadly, gone. Dante had plenty of excuses to pull as to why he was not married; those excuses he tried to keep to himself. Thankfully, the topic didn't rest on his personal life for too long. "What don't they have already? I am running out of ideas what to give them for an anniversary gift. I shall ponder it, but come now, up, so I might refill my glass one more time before the Lady calls us for supper." He said, giving her rear a pat.

Danae: It had been a good day today for the Commander. Her brother had returned for a short while to spend time with his sister. It seemed with the distance put between them once again, that it brought a closeness between them unlike anyother before. Yes the two were close, but now... perhaps with both age and other circumstances, the already strong bond between brother and sister still grew in strength. The Commander had decided that after her visit, she should make her way to Ebony Hall.. and from there.. check in with her men. Once Majesty was taken by the stable keeper, she moved off and entered into the Hall. Unawares of what was taking place inside, she moved as if she were a woman with set determination. There were a few things she needed to pick up before making way to the barricks. However, on her way to her room, she thought she heard voices and rather than ignore them... she moved to better inspect them. Ah... it was Claramae and Dante... talking on something that was perhaps a sore subject for the Greek. Time seem to have been passing her by in that area and it left her feeling... not so hopeful. She almost decided to turn about and leave them to their conversation, but had she been spotted already? [d]

Kaelyn: ** Kae did not venture into th city often any more but there was a matter that needed to be taken care of and the person she sought would be found here. Kae was wearing her usual ranger garb... white tunic shirt, black leather pants and knee high boots. Pagan one of her Shadow Knights and personal guards had accompanied her to the city. He kept his strides slow enough that she could keep up yet not call to much attention that she could not see a damn thing. She was using as many of her senses she she could and he spoke to her quietly letting her know if something was in the way and how best to avoid the obsticle. The streets were crowded as they made their way to the Ebony hall where hersecond in command Danae it was she who the Elite Ranger was going to seek out.**

Claramae: "Of all your liberties, my posterior should not be among them, Dante. I am not a common harlot." She scolded him with some seriousness behind it this time, for indeed throughbred nobility was not one to have their rear ends smacked! She shook her head before speaking on the talk of more wine. Her cup was emtpy. Twas quite sad, really! Bromheilde did that on purpose to make them come out to seek it. As guests approached the doors (known to the staff of the hall long before the guests themselves, for it was such a place as that) the valets began to assemble themselves, a maid or two for the sake or presentation. Once the library door was open, silent foot stepped onto the floor in time to witness the litlte assembly. "Looks like we are to have some company, after all. Let us fetch more wine, perhaps some for our potential guest? Ah, thank you Miss Charlotte, for overseeing the door." Charlotte wasrumored to be of relation to the late Carlotta. If so, it was never spoken of (d)

Dante: Not quite as sore as it had been in the past, the topic still held some sensitivity. It became the reason for a jaded perspective that wasn't without its foundations. While Claramae knew pieces of the mysterious past Dante held, shedid not know entirely because he never delved into it. Her scolding had his eyebrow arch for a moment, before the Italian gave a roll of his eyes. "Honestly, when have I ever treated you as such? Never. Since when did you becoming acommon prudish woman?" He retorted, waiting for her to rise before he did the same. Blue eyes glanced to the door as it seemed they had company and were no longer alone. "Ebony Hall is a large place and home to many; we were bond tohave company at some point." He replied, smoothing the maroon velvet robe he wore. When the door was opened, eyes shifted to Danae. Ah yes, the Greek. He smile softlyand dipped his chin curtly to the woman. "Wine, indeed." He purred commented under his breath.

Danae: Damn... it seems the staff was catching on to Danae's sneaky ways and excellent ranger skills. Her moves were always so dead on, but then again, she hadn't been trying to avoid detection until the very last moment possible. With an introduction made by the staff... Danae stepped forward to eneter into the room. She wasn't dressed in her usual attire today. In fact, today she wore something much more... fashionable? Reasons would go unknown to the others for now, but today she wore a pair of black form fitting pants. (like riding pants) a long sleeve tunic in a crisp white with a wide black belf about her slender and shapely waist. It was angled do to the heavy wieght of her scimitar. The pair of black gloves remained on her hands and the leather matched that of her nice black boots. However, hair remained as usually with a braid or two to hold back the long dark strands of hair out of her icy blue eyes. Her cloak was removed and tossed over a chair. ``I apologize if I'm interrupting anything... it had not been my intentions.`` she said as a glass of wine was poured for her by one of the servants. Had Danae known what Dante mumbled under his breath, she likely would have shot him a glare. The ranger had heard another enter in behind her, but assumed it to be one of the novaites... thus her reason for not turning about to confirm her suspections. Danae, as well as the others would soon learn it was not one of the,, but another... the Elite Ranger Kaelyn whom Danae respected very much and had been helping as much as she could already with the ranger division, without over stepping her boundries of course. [d]

Kaelyn: ** After a few mis-stepsshe finally resorted to placing her hand on Pagan's arm " Just get me to Ebony Hall... before I make a fool out of myself before all these people." her tone light even though she hated that she had to depend on others for even the simplest task of getting from point A to point B. Upon entering the hall Pagan spoke to a servent " Please let the Ranger Commander Danae know that the Elite Ranger Dame Kaelyn wishes a word with her if she is available." his voice was deep and rich and heavy with his accent of both Scots and Arganian. Kae remained just behind him as if looking at a tapestry on the wall as he made the request on her behalf. Her left hand rested on the hilt of her sword... a common enough pose for the blond ranger with blue eyes and a dominating presence at times. Kae had not seen Danae in a while since just after the deaths of her children and husband when they were at the range for practice. Now it was with a different kind of heavy heart that she was again going to see her. How does one tell another that they are blind and especially when one had an important position to hold here in Skye? Kae kept unseeing eyes on the tapestry even as Pagan took his place at her side. Soon it would be done and she could be for home... time would tell how long this would last. Her senses were as acute as ever but when others lives were put into your care you needed to do what was best... and right now having Danae take command was best for the rangers and archers no matter how Kae felt about it.**

Claramae: "It might well be a side board setting in the library." She lifted her glass in greetings to Danae, whilst at the door another of her like was revealed. One ranger, and another ranger. A message to be delivered was one to be received no doubt. "Lady Ranger, you interrupt nothing. We were just discussing how good it would be to have a supper for we have not hosted one since the year became 1333. It is going to be well remedied this evening. You will join us, will you not? After the conclusion of your business, please extend the invitation to the other lady, and her companion. There is more than enough room to host a great many. Signore, will you give Miss Charlotte directions upon seeing to the comfort of the guests? I will refill our wines, see more is brought out?" A flat upturned palm waited to accept his wine glass. What was a show without sustinance? Forgive them; observations proved the most entertaining of others whom were not to be undone when one did so for a living. To watch things unfolded, beginning to end. Summarily, someone would come for Danae, being she was not far off from the door, to inform her of the guest she had to receive. With that to be done, the Lady of the Manor had to make sure there would be enough stuffed game birds, wine, and all other necessaries that indicate good noble housekeeping (d

Dante An interruption well placed, as far as he was concerned. Danae's presence provided the perfect excuse to refill his drink and give both Claramae and Dante added company. But it seemed Danae had company of her own, unexpected, but nonetheless urgent. "Just as Claramae says, your interruption is quite welcomed." The Italian commented, before Claramae continued. Blue eyes turned to Claramae and he arched a brow. Chuckled softly, he turned to Charlotte and gave her the directions so their new guest might be shown some measure of comfort before dinner. At length, his gaze turned to the others. "I'll take my refill with me for the moment, I shall return for supper. Ladies." He said, bowing curtly and slipping out of the library


Danae: Once the wine had been poured and offered to Danae by the servant... Danae's eyes looked from the servant, to the wine and then to Dante. She held his gaze for a long moment... and in that moment, they each had to know what the meaning of that gaze was. It was in referrence of Danae, wine, a night that started out in Dante's lap and well.. who knew what came afterward. That was for the ranger and the assassain to know... The announcment of Kaelyn and Pagan came and both thin dark brows arched as she turned to the servant that informed her. She looked back to Claramae for a moment. ``Supper... indeed.. but I'd like to know if it is of a formal setting or not. However, if you will both excuse me for a moment, I'mm needed elsewhere.`` She placed the glass of wine on a nearby table and stepped out into the hallway where both Kaelyn and Pagan awaited her. ``Good afternoon Elite Ranger... a nice surprise to see you.`` Danae was unware of Kaelyn current condiction, but as she studied her more closely, could sense something was off. [d]

Kaelyn: ** Kae was never one to back down from anything or let something keep her down long and she would not with this either. She had not gotten where she was by letting something stop her in anyway. The proud and stoic female warrior had earned things thae hard way and always would it seemed. It was not before Danae came out and greeted them... Kae turned toward the sound of her voice and looked as though she were looking at Danae. " Good day Danae... I hope I am not intruding but there is a matter which is urgent that I need to speak to you about." Kae's voice and body language gave no hint at the words about to come out of her mouth. " I neeed to you to assume command of the rangers and archers for a while... actually I am not sure for how long." Kae grew quiet. Pagan looked grim though he had nodded a greeting to Danae... and remained silent. Something akin to sadness flashed in the blue eyes of the tall blond ranger. Kae turned and was about to pace except she did not see the small table to her left and bumped it hard enough that the glass vase that was on it crashed to the floor. " Ahhh Bloody hell!" Kae cursed and closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Angered at her own stupidity for wanting to move and not being able to see where she was going.**

Claramae "Till supper, Signore." She canted her head to his bow, her eyes secretly thanking him from sparing her a day within the office as was often the case. Other tasks called, other manners of business but she lingered for a time to bare witness to what was occurring in the foyer. Lord Aberdeen demanded a great many things of his women, didn't he? For all of their troubles it would have been easier that he had a bevy of kept mistresses instead of the complete opposite. "That man is going to get us all killed," she reflected only to herself as she turned toward the rest of the house to follow in the footfalls of Lady Voltaire. Mark, she recalled the shattering vase,a case of injury. While Adam negotiated his agreements, those who upheld it were not whole. Indeed, she was going to have to return to England sooner rather than later. "Lady Bromheilde, there will be extra places at supper. Be generous with howmany you set. Extra wine as well, additional offerings of lesser in strength, as well as tea, cider. I can not account for how many shall be drinkers." (d)

Danae Danae stood before them both, arms coming to cross over her chest as she shifted the weight of her body from her right leg to her left. ``Intruding? Of course not.... I will always make time for you my friend.`` She paused a moment``What seems to be the problem?`` she asked. No sooner she had gave her inquiry, did Kaelyn make her request to over see the entire ranger and archer division. Both thin dark brows arched and when Kaelyn began to pace only to bumpinto the tale, Danae's arms dropped to her side and she stepped forward. A hand came to the Elite Ranger's shoulder. Softly, she spoke. Even though her voice was soft and kind, it still held the undertone of a Commander. ``Kaelyn...what has happened to you to have you seek me out and ask this of me? Even though I am honored by such a request... it troubles me to think that something has forced you to come to this decsion. That does not make it any less honorable nor desireable. I accept this of course even still... and will treat your men as if they were my own. Like family...`` [d]

Marius: Marius had returned to Ebony Hall, along with Lady Janice and Lord Voltaire. Janice was immediately whisked away to complete her translation. Lord Voltaire also retired to his own business. Marius was rather left betwist and between. He realized there were places here that he had no business prying into. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be here at all. All this spy and thief stuff; that was the province of his cousin Nicholas; he was the great spymaster. Marius was a warrior and one who knew he could command as well. That was his future path, or so he believed and was set upon it. And then the ransacking of Lady Janice's store and nothing was the same again. And here he was; rather lost and forlorn. (d)

Kaelyn: ** Kae took a deep slow breath just as Danae's hand came to rest on her shoulder. Turning to face Danae her eyes devoid of any expression as was her face. " Danae you are a good friend. Aye there is a specific reason that I am asking this of you....I ...I... am blind." she let out her breath in a soft whoosh like it was taking all her effort to keep composed as she spoke. " It happened during a fight when dirt and rocks were thrown in my face. I do notknow how long I will be this way and the men need a leader who can see.... not a blind fool." her loss of sight was taking its toll and it would show... though she was trying to hide it. " I am glad you feel that way and knew it you would treat them all as equals. Pagan, Phantom and Ademar will all be at your call should you need help with translating and such." taking two steps to the right she once more began pacing as Pagan cleared her a path.**

Claramae: "I will leave you to it, Lady Voltaire, the guests are gathering. No, please, let me. You are seeing to spoiling us completely rotten, we do not deserve you." No, how they didn't deserve the likes of Bromheilde to remain after the horror had personally touched her, but she remained as did they all. It would be odd to deduce which specific way Claramae had come from on the simple portent her feet, nor clothes, made much noise. The voice then would come from the absent right end of the foyer. "My Lady Rangers, please, you may avail yourself of a private room for your business if you need continue it. I am aghast you were left out so long. Dame Galanoes, Dame Urquhart-Raven. If you are not familiar with, please allow me to make the introduction of Sir Marius deBrabant. He comes to serve the Griffin, from Austria. He has taken up with the Lord General's ranks. Sir deBrabant, this is the Elite Ranger, Dame Kaelyn Urquhart-Raven and her second Commande Dame Danae Galanoes. They are higher yet in the same realms of service as yourself. " From a painting or the wall itself a member of the household could bleed into being. The sienna dress was in perfect contrast with the gray of the outer world. Herein, things were warmer, more colored. "Supper is not for sometime yet, but there shall be refreshments and a light repast served within the library. Miss Charlotte shall escort you." In these moments, Marius had received the most words from her to date. Till then, he'd only seen her for a fraction of a second in a darkened room."Of course, all of you are welcome to all that we have" (d)

Marius: Knowing how informal these people were and this very location, he did incline his head in respect to both ladies, who did indeed to be dressed for work in the field. Dame Kaelyn, I am honored to meet the High Ranger. I am a warrior myself and newly come to Skye. Dame Danae, I am also most pleased to meet the second in command of the Rangers; a most honorable and responsible position" Marius was not going to shortchange her with merely calling her second in command. He guessed that she had won her position the hard way. He was indeed pleased to meet them, but a bit surprised to meet them in Ebony Hall. But Skye was not like other European kingdoms; here some things were quite different. (d)

Danae: Danae awaited Kaelyn's reply... and once it was had, Danae felt the slight sinking of her heart within her chest. The grip ofher hand upon Kaelyn's shoulder would tighten slightly in a gentle friendly squeeze. ``I am sorry to hear: this Kaelyn... I truly am.`` she said as she let the Elite Ranger move away as she pleased. ``You may be blind, but you are no fool. Your men know this, I know this as well as many others. Focus on getting well and I will do my very best in taking over Command. Your men, as I said before, will be treated like my own. With respect and as family.`` She then glanced toPagan, giving him a nod as a silent thank you for the help he would no doubt be giving with the translations of things. When Claramae came into view, she nodded and replied. ``Thank you...but we are nearly finished here.`` Eyes shifted to the man at her side as introduction soon followed. ``A pleasure to meet you SirMarius. I'm sure the Lord General made a wise decision in taking you under his command.`` She knew Maahes was a man that knew how to choose wisely among men and trusted his judgement. As for the man to think she'd be shorthanded in pointing out her second in command, Danae took pride it it as if she were first in command. Titles meant very little to her however when it came right down to it in getting the job done. She had many titles in fact... so many she couldn't remember them all. Danae's eyes drifted back to Kaelyn... once their business was finished here, the Commander would have to go and inform her own men of the changes that were soon to follow. [d]

Kaelyn: ** Kae briefly patted Danae's hand as she took up her pacing. " Thank you my friend... it means more than I have words to express." Kae never missed a step in her pacing thanks to Pagan moving a few things. She stopped as Claramae spoke and turned slowly once more turned in the direction in which the voice came. " Aye, Lady Claramae we are almost done." she gave a soft smile. As introductions were made Kae gracefully nodded her head "Sir Marius, tis a pleasure to meet you. Please just call me Kae everyone does." she offered in a friendly voice. Kae reached out for the wall and laid her handon it and turned herself fully around so that the wall was not on her left and she was facing everyone. Would they be able to tell that she could not see them?? It really did not matter for it would be known to all soon enough." I hope you like it here in Skye. Maahes is an excellent leader and teacher.... listen and learn... and you will do well." it was said in a manner that would let him know that she herself had trained and learned from Maahes. It had been a long time since she had been around others besides her knights it was nice even though the reason that brought her here was not.**

Danae: As far as for Danae's reason being at Ebony Hall, he would soon learn she was a memebr of the Order. That she as under the command of both Claramae and Sorschal. Ebony Hall was her home. Not only was Danae the Commander, but she was a Red Talon of Avaria, A Black Talon of Skye, A Dame, and yes... she'd even been granted the title of Lady. There were many more they fell under each of those . Danae was a woman of many talents and skills as well as perculiar ways and habits. Icy blue hues watched each of those that surrounded her, her gaze lingering on Kaelyn. It was a sad sight to to see.. but she'd not let on to it and make the woman nfeel any worse than she already did. ``Right.. well.. all seems to be handled.. and so if you will all excuse me there are other matters I must now see to. Claramae... dinner, is it formal or informal? I ask because well... I'd like to attempt in dressing for it properly.`` This was whispered more or less in the woman's direction. Once an answer was had, a nod was granted to each person before the Commander was taking her leave after gathering her things.[d]

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Part III

Moire:Bitter cold... so cold that even the snowflakes that fell seemed frozen and suspended in the air along with the breath of the pair that were enconsed inside the coach that pulled onto the cobblestone street rounding a darkened corner.. the sound of the matched bays clipping along in the silent night... soon enough if one followed it would draw slower and then to a stop.. just before the house known as Laurence House... the coachman jumping down without so much as a sound, the breath of the matched bays steaming into the chilled air... a gold crested door would swing open, the coachman offering a hand to the occupants.. you must be wondering now.. what kind of person travels about at this time of night.. in this part of town... without a guard... perhaps someone who has no need of a gaurd... perhaps something worse.. than most nightmares... or perhaps someone who doesn't know any better.... a stranger... Slender gloved hands appeared.. ruffed in ermine of the darkest night.. followed by the lilth and long form of a stautesque woman.. beneath a hooded cowl.. to the side she would step as if waiting.. indeed she was.. for her other half.. theperfect match for her in everyway... Lucian.....(d)

Jean-Claude: He will wipe ever tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. (Revelation 7:15-17) Jean-Claude was a quiet man, one often lost in labyrinth found only in his mind. The workings of webs, the bounding of chains, he let himself be simply that. Yet, like the busy spider who worked so delicately each night to fulfill it's rightful place in the world, he could simply not gain in trap. His prey was not of a humble creature, nor was it in glorified beasts, but of the youthful minds of the future. Bright brilliant students sat before him, listening to the verses with content thoughts, and he lived in the moment of when those thoughts..became an idea. "Master Jean-Claude..will we not know you in heaven?" "Mon Cher, Think you so easy to forget? Of worlds gone lost of the morrow, that my face would be so important?" A hundred times had he lied, little white ones to give hope where even the word could not. "But, I shall doubt it..for who could forget this face." The scientist mused of the memory collecting it over pages weather worn and stained in the tower he now called home. The hour was at hand, the winds had shifted up the spiral stairs that would be his calling, and with book closed there too would he answer again, with cane in hand. Could you so easily forget me? (d

Claramae: Hail Mary, full of Grace. The Lord is with thee..Blessed ar thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.. were that God could forgive so easily. If he could, would he have need for his saints to intercess on humanbehalf? But one more rung in Jacob's ladder, but one more step on the stairway to heaven where return was promised if one but adhered to the sanctions of the Word. She leaned against one of the walls of the house, looking through one of Alexander's man-made looking glasses in the skyward glass-halls where on either side, it appeared to be only an arch fashioned of stone, whereindeed it was a walkway twixt one division of th ehouse and the other. Did youth wonder if God, too, forgave the residents of this hall? How pious they were, how devout! Fingertips fiddled with the suspended cross of gold at her throat. The Christ lay against a thick board of solid yellow gold whilst his pain was manifest in gemstones. Ruby, for his wounds at hand and feet. A silvered crown of thorns. A piece of black jet for the spear mark, indicating an emptiness. How did one hollow diety? With the thickness of the night, the outer torchlight was fit with its glass lamp casing. For the sheer amusement of it, she pulled one of the chords in her hall to set the rest of the house alight. "God said, let there be light." (d)

Lucian: Looks were always the deceiving factor in life. A quality that some were ignorant or overly cautious toward. An ill-begotten troupe undoubtedly brought suspicion if a crowd cared to watch their going-on, but what's to say it was nothing more than over observation? Ragged leather boots were far from silent, yet each step carried with it a soft thud. For those that watched him, because some people just loooove feet, his footfalls came with a regal grace to them though perhaps a bit too gentle for the taste of your everyday rugged man. He was far from the rugged stereotypical male, yet his attire certainly threw off the idea of whatever birthrights he could possibly possess. The brown cape and cowl was a wonderful deterrent from all forms of weather, and did well to conceal whatever he wanted hidden from prying eyes. A new sight to see, and a place to begin anew without the woes of their past to haunt them. His oak staff clicked upon the stone beneath their feet, and one hand removed itself from the cloak. The tattered leather glove fell into the hand of the coachman, and released with a well-deserved tip. Overpayment for a job well done, and truly a kind bounty for a man that had performed his job admirably. Just as the coachman bowed his head in thanks, so too did Lucian provide the same respect to this man. Their business now closed, for the time being, his arm crept within his cloak once again, only to creep out moments later and wrap about the torso of his beloved. Though the cowl proved useful in hiding his facial features from the world, words and appearance were unnecessary in their world of bitter-sweet romance. Just as he pulled her flush against him, so too did he lean into her from behind. His cloak covered only a slight portion of her body for a brief moment in time, long enough to rest his head upon her shoulder. A slight tug pulled her flush against him, then she was released and his head rose from her shoulder. Did he say anything? Not at all, then again, he didn't have to. (d)

Moire: Scowling at his overindulgence to driver a silent dissiproval of the coin that clinked in the mans hand.. " Hold yourself here until we return.. we will have need of you when we leave " her voice was deep and imbittered with a Balken brouge that she could not contain.. something old and ancient passed down through centuries of blood and birthright.. a disdain for those beneath her in station and yet she had taken one such as her Husband.. but then againhe had proven his worth.. an odd pair the two of them... tattered nobility exiled persucuted.. and yet she still held about her the mantle of her station... eyes that seemed to gleen and unholy green were veiled the moment he pulled her back agaisnt him.. a little purr of contentment passing her lips as his head rested against a velvet clad shouler, his breath hot and chilled at the same time.. agasint the coolness of her neck.. just below her ear where a golden teardrop dangled... " This is the place.. we should contact this.. Malkovich.. and be done with this business I grow weary of being without.." true to her nature she reviled being exiled and without her creature comforts her money.. her servants and most of all.. a place to call home... being tranisient was not... her cup of tea(d)

Jean-Claude: "And then there was light." He smiled from the frame of the door, where chambers met halls, and secrets met their end. A tall frame could never be without, it's decor though could rival that of any noble born. From scarlet silk, and French lace; Jean-Claude could have been King. "And God saw the light.." He whispered coming to stand beside Claramae in her hidden passage, watching the world from the inside out. His overcoat with all it's gold detail would not stand a chance against the elegant design of her gown, but it was matched well enough. Gloved hands came to fold informally behind him as he stood just from one shoulder, where shadow met the light. "Have you any suspicion of this night.." Any more then the last, or the one before that..or that..or that. He had been gone for months, and so very few knew he had returned, for all his life was lived now inside his tower. (d

Lucian: Such niceties were never her cup of tea, but it was one of his favorite pasttimes. Kindness went a long way, as did humility, but he wouldn't hold his breath waiting for Moire to acquire such a thing. The bittersweet fruits that carried them so far were not handled so well by his better half. Servants and riches were not as abundant as they were prior to their trip, but not all hope was lost. For now they settled in Lucian's prefer the world around them, and walking amongst the mighty and the meager without having the eyes of the populace cast down unto them."Don't worry, things will get better, I promise." As Lucian circled to the front, he did not go a full ence of blending in with the world around them, and walking amongst the mighty and the meager without having the eyes of the populace cast down unto them."Don't worry, things will get better, I promise." As Lucian circled to the front, he did not go a full circle but rather he stayed at the side. A hand extended to her, and a smile flashed her way while waiting, and praying, that this was a promise he could keep. (d)

Rosalind: It had been a very long time since she walked these halls. At the behest of her husband, she had put this life behind her. Though an occasional young member of court would visit Lady Inveryne during her season at the castle, and a scant few came to the chateau to learn what it was to summer at a great lady's residence. But, for the majority of the past few years, Rosalind had lived a singularly domestic life, watching her children grow, welcoming her husbandhome from sea, and letting the world pass her by. There were letters from former colleagues, letters from France, but she filed them away without a second glance, and chose her family over them all. This is how she had always dreamed it would be. This is what she had fought so hard for. Yet a recent letter made her realize she needed those contacts in France, and so it was she found herself walking these familiar halls, and looking for familiar faces. That was quite the task in this wonderland of mirrors and secret passages. Observant, cynical, and familiar enough with the place to know where most of them were, it was still quite possible to remain hidden, and she was growing all the more frustrated even if her pace was a slow, near sedate one, with the cane in one hand, and the letter pressed against her breast with the other. *

Moire: "Better keep your promises... or... I'll eat you " she smiled wickedly... somehow enough so to make a less substantial man shiver... then laughed.. nervouse perhaps.. who knew with her.. to the door of the abode she would go.. her hands tucked into her cape.. beneath is voluminouse folds anything could be hidden.. a blade... most likey... just her pocketbook.. Sharp rapping sounds upon the decorative knocker annouced their presecene as they waited.. breath chilled in the air... for someone to answer them.. " Can you guess what I want when we leave this place tonight?" the possiblities were endless...(d)

Claramae: "There are countless suspicions I have, Master d'Aquitaine. Countless supositions that lend themselves to a greater thing than bits of others. Of tonight? I only want supper. Don't you? Bromheilde has found us out of season game fowl, had them stuffed within an inch of their lives, and warmed the wine." He was a golden sun while she was a bit of sienna that took the color of him to reflect back. Across the folds of the Italian inspired court gown, infamy never looked so elegant. It was a woman who stood in the mirrored hall, not a killer at present. "Come, the distant mirror there. We have company gathering below, she is frustrated. There is another, outside..but let us go about the inside first. The outside will come, there in lay my evening's suspicion, my friend. There in it lay." In the hidden place, a half smirk was propped to the full grandeur of her smile before she was sucked away into the darkness from whence he came. (d)

Martin: He walked with a cane but that did not alter his good posture, gleaming sun tanned bald head and wide white teeth showing smile went well with his navy blue robes, those of a mature well-to-do merchant. Mart approached Ebony Hall with anticipation, for he had long admired the building back when it escaped damage in the time of fires. He had desired to see how it looked inside, to see how thick the walls were. Why it was and no other nearby still stood from those days. He admired it from the exterior; would it be so fine once inside. If buildings were women, the others. Buildings, Castles and walls. Those were the figures that rang his bells. " I hope I am not here ovesoon?" He inquired of one at the doorway. (d)

Jean-Claude: There was a catch in his heart, the face she wore had done that so often, but it was the sight of a beloved friend who would so pull him from the shadow in which he was born. The world could have been forgotten until she smiled, andit was so easy to see what had captured Peregrine so. "Rosalind.." His voice was a quiet call from the open door, and the pirate's wife would soon find him at her side. Formal titles had been shed from them years gone by, as he had once held her in her most raw state, and her daughter in the other hand. "It is good to see you.." His manners could have been forgotten had he not been beaten as a child, but how he wished to shed them free and shake such look from her eyes. His gloved hand came to lift her chin, perhaps one of the few she had to look up to. His words would slip into their native tongue, and in that he would welcome her, invite her, and see to it she was well tended for. The knock at the door would have him raise his eyes to a serf, who soon would answer the call, and welcome them into the hall. Eyes the color of coal would rise again to the Lady St. Laurence, questions that would dare her to enter Rosalind into any of the plot. It would be like dangling a fish above shark, like a virgin before vacant souls--how he still had nightmares of that night. (d)

Lucian: "Likewise, sweet lady." She seemed so sincere in her own promise, but he still maintained his smile so it had to be an inside joke....right? With her first steps beginning the symphony, his joined thereafter, and he offered her the lead in tonights meeting. There was no reason to take the reins when she obviously craved to be in charge this night. He took the much simpler task of following, but he did remain by her side. As the door was struck and the booming echo followed, his eyes departed the door to stare upon her while she strummed her question. All he could do was shake his head and maintain his smile in order to contain his laughter. "That's a trick question, and you know it. For tonight, I'll start with the simplest pleasures, and work my way up the great chain." (d)

Rosalind: Rosalind smiled. "Ah, Jean-Claude, you are too perceptive by half," she murmured in her Picardie-accented French. Parentage did not matter so much as where one was raised, and Rosalind was a child of Beauquesne, in the wilderness of the French frontier. She took his arm and gave him a kiss to either cheek. She was taller than most women, and had always considered herself of too great a height until she arrived in Skye, yet Jean-Claude was always the tallest. The kisses were more in the air than upon his cheek, which was fitting for her friend, who was not particularly of the flesh as other men were. Reserved, kindly, with an underlying monster beneath that she was all too happy to have fighting on her side than on the other, he had to know she adored her child's godfather, and her husband's best friend. She slid him the envelope. "He has told the MacKenzies Aldric will be fostering with him," Rosalind said quietly, knowing he would understand she spoke of Neil. She blinked, preserving her calm as she always did behind an alabaster mask. It was what had drawn the Order's eye to her in the first place. "I cannot refuse. You will ensure St. Laurence sees this? I ... could use her perspective." Or aide. Rosalind was too proud to say the words just then, but he would understand. "As luck would have it, have I not also stepped in upon some ... event?" *

Shaden Aramoire: A hot bath" she quipped as the door opened and a servant allowed them entrance from the cold.. a last look over her shoulder to make sure the coach would remain and they slipped inside the heavy door creaking closed behind them " We Seek an audience with Master Malokovic, we were told he resided here while in this city " sharp and to the point she saw no need in dealing with servants as if they were something more... icy green eyes too decor and seemed to catalog and anylyze each and everypart and piece.. then pin her gaze back onto the servant.. " Have we been deluded or will you stand and gawk all night.. go fetch someone with a tounge" her hand waved off the k in the decadent decor and seemed to catalog and anylyze each and everypart and piece.. then pin her gaze back onto the servant.. " Have we been deluded or will you stand and gawk all night.. go fetch someone with a tounge" her hand waved off the servant with annoyance.. as her nose wrinkled slighlty.. there was a tinge of death in this house.. subtle but.. noticiable... a wry smile as she looked over to her beloved and licked her lips soflty... " Well... what do you think of this place?"(d)

Vincent: - A sudden shock of oxygen filled his lungs as life came pouring through every inch of his flesh. Sitting up slowly, the scent of dirt and grass permeated his attire. Looking around, he found himself in an unknown land. A forest, perhaps? Vincent was not too sure. As sapphires came into focus, he attempted to find a central point of focus. Mouth was dry; mind was hazy. Standing slowly to his feet, attention moved around his surroundings A simple black tunic, leather pants, and a knee length trench coat adorned his body. Vaguely he noticed a structure in the distance. Attempting to recognize where he was, the young man was earned with failure. Sturdy boots struck down into the earth below him, as his pace was slow but steady. In due time he would find himself through the unknown and at this mysterious structure. Taking in a deep breath, Vincent would make his entrance. -

Claramae:She emerged after Jean-Claude, whom went to greet the Inveryne with boyish delight as to seeing an old friend. She too, canted her head while he ghost of a smile illuminated the winter white face save for the flush of wine stained cheeks. "Good evening, Lady. It is good to see you again." Black eyes met with browns. Did he not know how terribly she wished to be done of all civic necessity, to come home? It was an idle thought, for of course he didn't .To date, only a pair did. She'd had her laughter with Dante that day, now she wished company supper. "The servants would have come for me, m'lady. Welcome to Laurence House. You may take up your business with me, and to you, Sir Le Power, welcome. Supper is set to begin. All, old and new, are welcome. Tis a cold night." Not as cold as supposistion, though (d)

Martin: Was this an interior matching the stable, enduring outside of Ebony Hall? Was it simply smoke and mirrors but did the inside appear larger than possible, judging from the deminsions one could percieve from the street? The elderly man looked about for Mistress Lynch, as he had tell she resided in Ebony Hall, but he did not find her present. Instead he blended with the others and awaited his dinner and the conversation accompanying. (d)

Jean-Claude: His eyes would look down into her own, a vast pool of darkness, that burned with the fires of hell in that moment. "Do not tell, Peregrine..not yet." He whispered back, curling his arm to better support her hand, and tucking the letter away into his breast pocket. He knew the pirate would find the only answer death, but Jean-Claude would look around for a solution. He was not above asking Claramae himself, he knew of all the women on this Isle she could help. Over the years his body did heal, leaving away what old age had stole, and with it the return of a bit of...youth. He would leave his cane at the door. "Yes, we are having a dinner, you are just in time." The Frenchman would help her to a seat, and pour her some wine. His eyes would follow Claramae and the new guests as he stood just off the back of Rosie's chair. (d

Lucian: "I aim to please." She was all about business, which meant he could enjoy the all the good points this humble abode had to offer. He didn't need to dwell on all the technicalities, Moire had that taken care of. He kept to a slower pace, but made sure she didn't get too far ahead. While she offered the servants her unending kindness, he took to staring at her once again. She was a bundle of rainbows and teddy bears on a warm spring day. "It isn't bad, but I don't think you're getting your point across to the servants." Someone had to lighten the mood, but after thinking about it, he hoped he wouldn't regret telling her that. Fate smiled upon him when they were met by the Lady herself, and offered such an open invitation as well. He started to take a step forward, but stopped hesitated for the moment. He turned to Claramae and bowed his head, whilst waiting for Moire to once again take the lead. "Thank you very much." (d)

Claramae: "Merci," Rosalind said with succinct politeness as he let her into a chair. She would not have told Jean-Claude about Neil had she thought he would fly off and commit some act of unspeakable violence against the man, though this was the general consensus on how to solve the Neil Campbell problem. Jean-Claude was free to make Neil's life as miserable as a man could manage, but murder wasn't the right solution. Not yet. It was the same old justification she had made for Fearghus. There was a much darker reason why she had not shared its contents with Peregrine yet. She absently slid the backs of her fingers along her jaw, remembering another time, another life. But she quickly came back, with a charming smile for Claramae. "I hope I do not convenience you. I did not know that I would be interrupting social plans, you must certainly let me reciprocate soon, yes?" *

Moire:Dinner.. great the Scottish ate at such late hours.. no doubt it would be more horrid scottish food as well.. which would take hours before her query into Master Malkovics whereabouts could be laid to rest.. damm soiciatly niceitiesthat would demand them entertain the idea of dinner and smiles.. polite conversation.. how sick she was already of this place of traveling and being away from her beloved Romania... and yet here she was.. and finding Malkovic was ofsupreme importance.. a smile of beauty almost that would bring one to tears was pasted onto the aristocratic face as she met the Lady...in hopes of circumventing the need for endless prattle and dinner " If you would just... relay to me where I might find Master Malkovic.. I would .... we would not intrude upon your dinner hour.. it really is of timely import that we see him" benath the cold exterior she seethed at the though of banal converstaion over subpar offerings of Scottish gormets(d)

Vincent:- Sapphires came into focus as he took notice of the surroundings. It was overwhelming at first. Where had he stumbled upon? Searching his memories, everything was a cloud to him. An audible exhale passed from his powerful lungs while he tried to ascertain where he was. Thoughts were swimming as Vincent soaked in the features around him. Noticing a simple chair within a room his considered the "lobby",01:14 he brought himself to sit down upon it. Lowering his face into his ample hands, he needed a moment to gather himself. Hopefully, none of the patrons within in this place would be bothered by his prescence. - [ d ]

Claramae: "Master Malkovic is also partaking of supper, nor does he take business in the moments before or aft. If you wish, you may tell me whilst we are seated. I assure you, I am discrete." Would she then not be surprised by the game hens: and pheasents stuffed with raisins and spices of warmth to ward away the chill? Oh, how positively barbaric were they, of Scotland, no? The distinctly English woman lifted one eyebrow before it went back to rest against a placid face. Of the man in the chair, she wondered of how the doors were opening to so many thus. "Supper may help heal thy posistion, sir. I invite you as well." God would not save them without his series of tests it seemed. "Worry not over displacment Lady Rosalind, we wanted the company. Twixt yourself, Master d'Aquitaine, and the Sir LePower we lack not for familiarity. Perhaps tonight is the night sir, you may have all your wish of the house availed you. " (d)

Martin: He had high hopes for Haggis to be on the menu, for the cook at Lake Manor did not make that dish. Scones with wild berry jam, yes. Anything. He was starved. Aromas from the kitchen had him daydreaming of the possibilites. "I am surprised and pleased, Lady. You do know what I seek is to understand how this building is put up and why it stands when others do not. " his manner was polite and his voice tone moderate. (d)

Jean-Claude: "Belle. Please.." He would chide her like a child almost as he moved in behind her to straighten her hair. Rosalind was a simple woman, a beauty at that, but he did wish to return her to his shop to spoil her. Perhaps it had been too long since she held 'mature' company, "You are never trouble." He would take his seat, at the open end of the table, never wishing to be at the head, but was happy to have a seat at all! "Master Laurence, the prayer." Would it surprise them at all of the dearly devoted, that spoke out in praise to the Lord almighty, and then would dine in nights splendor of good company...and once finished go upstairs and completely contradict the bible? Funny man this one. No wonder his death had come twice now. "Amen." He would stand to help seat Claramae, a gentleman's task, but a devoted friends as well..he slid her the letter. (d

Lucian: This was between a rock and a hard place. Whether he maintained his silence, or spoke up, he was screwed one way or another. He took to his silence, but he did put his arm around Moire's body to provide some sort comfort to their situation. His head turned toward her, and his eyes met with her own. He kept to his silence, and only hoped she'd find the most peaceful solution to all this. Ironic really, that he was the pacifist and she was the violent one. (d)

Rosalind: "But you should still come, Claramae, it would be a pleasure to have you." Rosalind knew better than to lure her peers to the chateau on the pretense of meeting her darling children. Aldric was far more energetic than any child had a right to be, and Polly was her father's daughter. She had hopes, at least, for Aldric. The thought made her nearly laugh during the prayer, lifting her thoughts from the Campbells long enough to feel like herself for the first time since the letter arrived. After Rosalind crossed herself, she turned to Jean-Claude. "I am due for spring dresses as it is. Pere says to commission a wardrobe." He had, at least a season ago, and Rosalind had ignored him. She liked her practical dresses. She wasn't going to court during the winter months, and needed nothing more than riding skirts, tabards to wear about the house, and a few practical bodices and chemises to get through the colder, wetter weather of Scotland until she could wear the garments Jean-Claude had overseen the previous season. She ate, but she lifted her eyes to watch, inadvertently going through two cups of wine without even noticing. *

Moire: "Under the circumstances then how can we refuse such a kind offer" her words were perfectly polite to the Lady, and yet even a droll imbecile would note that Moire did not relish the though of dining with the plebleans.. of Turas Lan... as they listend to the blessing of the food she felt a familiar burning on her skin and grated her teeth.. hypocisity... at it's finest.. it seemed the food was well prepared but the evening dragged on with little to amuse her save the oddly tall dark and pale frenchman across from her... and her Lucian of course... one could never forget Lucian.. at her side.. as always...(d)

-summary forthcoming of scene's remainders-

[Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine]

Rosalind had been a member of this hall for many years before him, she did not need invitation. Yet, still how humble had she been the night fallen with the dinner. She had come with a letter in her hand. Had he not felt his heart in such a while, he would not have known it to break for her, heat for her. Rosalind, was not one to come for help, she hid her face for how many to see? The mark of her fallen husband across her face, so many nobles looked away, but it had been a pirate to ask? Jean-Claude had known her so long, that when it came to her children he wished to never see her go through what once was..again. Peregrine, was a good man who loved her dearly, she could have gone to him, but still she had walked the Ebony Hall in search of a savior. Politics were an open book to him, written as they went, he knew the rules. He knew Neil wished to foster Aldric, but did that mean to take him from her? Over his dead body. Through out the night he had filled her cup many times, for this very reason here. Down the hall in on of the many great rooms, they had found her a bed, and somewhere along the way the feet to carry her. It was mid afternoon of the following day before he would come to the room where she slept, slipping in quietly--he held a clean dress in his hands, and a plan on his mind. Crossing the floor to where she slept he would look down upon the sight, a lovely one. Jean-Claude was a painter of beauty adding petals to roses, and the soft simple silk gown he had picked would no doubt be a bit too fancy for her. However..it was his most simple. "Rosalind," The use of her first name was proof of how he felt himself a brother., but the softness in his voice would carry over to a deeper love, "My darling, it is time to wake up.." His gloved hand came to touch her cheek gently, and the maid would come to stand just off his shoulder. (d


They spent a long night drinking.  She heard his stories, he listened to hers.  Though few ever heard her heart, Jean-Claude was able to read between the lines, forging his way between the words until understanding coupled with innate knowledge of the workings of men made the reality of clan politics dawn upon him.  Rosalind was so rarely blunt, it took the haze of alcohol to urge the words forth.  She weaved just as her words did by the dawn's light, and fell into bed.  Though the room spun around her, she could not sleep.  Aldric was a bright seven-year-old, with a world of opportunities before him.  Yet his best chance was to lead Lamont.  Though he had no Lamont blood in his veins, the clan looked to him for their future.  Rosalind, too, felt he would make a good leader when the day came.  Part of his education would be fostering.  He would have to learn to be a man, to live independently of his parents, to practice the skills of husbandry so that he could see when his tacksman failed to care for the leather properly and his farmer cheated him out of taxes.  He would have to learn to talk civilly to men he disliked.  He would have to learn to survive poisonings and daggers, and as Colban feared, the more than occasional fistfight from a man who wished to prove himself against a fellow as big as Aldric would some day become.  It was enough to drive a mother mad, but at seven, he was much too young for any of that.  If she gave Neil an arbitrary figure, it would make her seem weak to the Lamonts, the Campbells, and all their neighbors.  If she refused outright, no reason given, they would think her petty and womanly.  If she accepted....  She wrapped her arms around her chest, the same line of thinking snaking slowly through a drunken, spinning room, until sleep finally took her.  The knock on the door was welcome relief from her dreams.  She turned onto her back and gave him a brief smile.  She came to Claramae for help, feeling as if she was betraying Peregrine, but she could make him understand.  Jean-Claude had assured her she would.  She was not proud, so much as very, very afraid.  "Oh, Jean-Claude, look at that color....  It is for a younger woman."  But she took the dress anyway, and ran her hands down its panels.  He spoiled her. *


"Oh come now. No, you are no spring chicken, but you are not an old hen either, Rosalind." He would chide her much the same, coming to seat himself in the master chair there under the window, his hand over his cane for support. "The way you have slept, and acted last night reminds me of my youth." A wild thing he was, staying up late in the hours and sleeping the day away."It is a good color on you." A soft pale pink, "Your daughter's favorite." He did spoil her, but he had gone through his share to allow it. "You were on the tables dancing.." He lied with a little jest as he listened to her change, rubbing his chin as he thought of the moment she came out. His plan worked around poison, treason, and plot; but what better way for a great man to die? "I should like to see you in brighter colors, something that is more fitting of your body." Her perfect French body. Though he was indeed a monster, he was in fact a man. (lol) He would never out right say it, but he did think her one of the most beautiful on the Isle. He loved Adelaide dearly, but line them up in a row..it would have been Rosalind he would have picked. Of course, he did doubt Rosalind would have ever made him as happy as Ada does. "I've come to talk to you about Aldric." Of course, she knew this, but he led into the conversation without trivial words between them. "I wish to know your thoughts on it.." He called again as breakfast was sat out for her..well lunch if she knew the time. (d

He of course chose a seat in direct sunlight.  Well, it was not so direct at this hour of the afternoon, but it was still too bright to look at him.  She shielded her gaze with a hand until she gave up, and spoke to him even though her words were aimed at the ceiling.  Her head was not pounding, her mouth was not dry, but the light was too bright and her stomach rumbled in want of food.  This was a woman who knew how to drink, though she drank copiously.  "I did no such thing. The pity with drinking, rather than opium, is I remember absolutely everything I do and say."  She tested the waters by sliding a little bit up along the bed, and shifting a pillow beside her as the afternoon meal was brought in.  She was glad for the large cup of tea and toast.  She would get to the rest eventually, but someone had seen fit to place a small jar of honey on the tray.  She added a little bit of both to the tea and toast.  She could imagine Jean-Claude in his younger days.  There were signs, growing by each day he was with his lover, of his youth.  In smiles, in jokes, she wished she knew whether he had always been this way, and she had just been unfamiliar with his ways, or if this was some sort of renaissance for her friend.  She could not imagine herself young, though.  Had she ever been?  She shook her head to clear the thought, spilling hair from what was left of yesterday's styling, and pushed it out of her eyes. "I see myself stuck with no way out.  It is impossible to refuse Neil.  The best I can do is allay him by naming a year in which I think it will be acceptable, or find another situation for him.  In the latter, however, I do not know any relatives I actually trust in his fostering.  He is too young.  Peregrine has taught him a few things well, but...."  She did not wish to finish that sentence.  She took a sip of tea instead. *

He would muse at the thought of Peregrine fostering the child, and shake his head. In Jean-Claude's youth all of them would have been surprised. Born of wealth, and prestige he had wanted of nothing. Ada had known only the last remains of the wildness in him, defying his father, turning away from the family name, to make one of his own. Really he was scandalous in his prime, more so then he was now. He threw caution into the wind then, but now thought out every move.However, the words that fell from his lips then had not been thought, nor would they be taken back, "Then I will do it." He sat forward, to prove to her how serious he was. "I have an established wealth," Now with having expanded his business to nearly 5 other country's. "Manners, and can hire him the best teachers. You tell that son of a bytch, no thank you, and that you have it covered." It was funny to hear them say words in a language far too romantic, and the anger in his voice sounded like a sigh. "It is not impossible, mon cher, but you are afraid to. You have good reason to fear that man, but is it not time to stand up to him?" His hand twisted over the ruby, as he came to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, "I could always poison him in his sleep, he has such a large head, think of how great it will be with my collection." (d

"Stand up to him?  With what army?" Rosalind asked soberly, looking to him despite the sunlight.  It was not so bad now, but her eyes ached to remain there, so they went back to her toast.  "What Domhnall did not throw away that day, Neil took from me.  It was a terrible time, yes.  And yes, I fear it happening again.  What mother does not?  Yet what stills my hand now is knowing that he is right.  Aldric must foster with a Scottish clan, if he is to lead one.  I ... thought about asking Kendrew and Liliana.  Their older ones are Aldric's age.  I thought, well, perhaps it would raise eyebrows, fostering Aldric so close to home.  But I realize I do not care very much.  I trust Kendrew with the boy's life.  Liliana is like a sister to me.  Kendrew is a Campbell."  It was a very good fit.  Even better was what occured to her after Jean-Claude's suggestion, one that made Rosalind smile despite her worries.  "I could think of no better tutor, friend, or odd uncle to help him.  If you were Scottish...." Rosalind began on a hopeful note, but then laughed.  "I would not like you quite so much.  So it is good that we are of the same country."  She wondered what Neil's head would look like exactly.  It must be so full of hot air, it would shrink horribly.  It was not the most horrific thing her imagination had come up with for Neil. *

Jean-Claude would make such a face, even on the small subject of being Scottish, "Bah. I could not even pretend." It would take him years to shed away the French accent, to replace it for the rough around the edges..whatever it was those barbarians spoke in. "I'm too clean." Sitting forward once again he would admire her, looking to her through understanding eyes, "Then perhaps it is best you ask Kendrew. He is a good man, and happens to be in a good army." With a little wave of his hand he would pass the subject, "I shall see what Claramae has to say, and you will stay until it is settled no?" He did wish her here, "I must show you what it is Apollonia is working on, at three mind you she can write her letters." He was amazed, "I know the subject is hard for you, Rosalind, and you have been through so much." He wished to be honest with her, "But you must collect yourself, and be willing to fight. I do not doubt your love for your family, but I fear for what you will do to yourself." He would look over to the door hearing footsteps as they went, "You must find yourself before you can continue in this life..I fear you keep yourself too closed, and in your home. If that is what you wish, then so be it, but now you come to fight Neil on this small matter to test him for bigger ones. Let us see how far this will go, but I shall have you know if it came down to leading a country by sword..Neil perhaps would best me, but let us see how far he gets with his letters." (d

She inhaled slowly and let it out.  "Wise counsel, Jean-Claude.  It is what I tell myself every day.  I know my family takes priority in every thing that I do.  That boy kept me alive when I had no desire to be so."  It was truth.  For Aldric, she breathed, until Peregrine gave her more to appreciate.  Then, she began to believe she could have even more, and somewhere in there, she'd come back to life.  It was nothing she particularly liked thinking about, so she rarely did, instead appreciating what she had in the moment, for the eventuality that it would go away.  It would change.  All things must.  "But I fought very hard for the stability in Argyle.  I know there is a balance.  I have a very difficult time seeing one, without Neil.  That is a conversation I must have with Kendrew.  He's no desire to lead a clan.  I do not know if that has changed since the war.  I just tremble to think of an Argyle without the Campbells.  My own men would say that would be like Paradise upon this earth, but the Campbells hold the peace, and we Lamonts, though once powerful, are no longer a balancing force.  Though I despise Neil, he must remain.  Though I would rather have nothing to do with the clans, Aldric must.  Perhaps I use my skill and knowledge to see him through unscathed."  She shook her head slowly.  "I like my home, Jean.  I know there is a great big world outside my front door.  I meet it when I go to represent Lamont at the clan assemblies and diplomatic meetings at the castle.  I relish my peace, even if it is at the expense of going unavenged a little longer."  A faint smile reappeared.  "I wish fighting was the answer." *

"Rosalind.." He stood then to close the distance between them, coming to sit beside her, he would touch her knee gently to let her know how deeply he did care. "So long as you know what you want, then I will follow you into battle." Of which he did not mean the kind of war. No, that was no place for a gentleman. "I do not think Kendrew would refuse you, but now I fear for Peregrine." Jean-Claude would think of his friend then, thinking of how hurt the poor pirate would be. "Should I tell him for you?" Though didn't they just have a fight about this? "He is your husband, and will stand behind you." No matter if it was Jean-Claude forcing him there. "I will think Neil to know he has a wake up call with that one, if he thinks he can push you around. Peregrine, nor I would stand for it, but..Pere will be less likely to let him live." He knew the pirate to be at his wits end with the man, unable to forgive him for what had happened to Rosalind before. "In all of our years together I have never known him to love as he does you. Many nights I listened to him be alone, and think out of someone like you. That is a fierce man when he wishes to be..and I pity Neil. Peregrine is very protective of you." He mused thinking of the night the poor patron of the Cat's Eye had made a rude comment about her, and Peregrine killed him on the spot. 'Fighting is not the answer, Rosalind, but fighting for what you believe in..that is key." He touched her arm with his hand, to let her know that this time she was not alone through this. This time would be very different then the last. (d

She caught his hand and held it lightly in her own.  "I will tell Peregrine.  Think of how angry he would be if he heard it from you and not his wife.  I just ....  Neil deserves to die.  It is hard to defend him."  She laughed at the irony of it all, and as worried as she was, she had a good sense of humor.  Some things could be laughed at, no matter how they reminded one of a painful past.  "I justified Fearghus with the same excuse I am giving Neil, and Peregrine will see right through it.  Perhaps I will just tell him I found a family to foster Aldric."Was it worth going into the politics?  Perhaps.  It depended on the hour how badly she wished Neil would pay, but in her more political mind, she supposed he must live.  Whether she told Peregrine the full truth or not, Neil would be incensed.  He knew the corner he was trying to back Rosalind into, and he had thought Rosalind would have to cave.  "This is my last escape," Rosalind said thoughtfully.  "He knew enough of my weaknesses to know I would have to foster Aldric with him.  He knows I do not trust him still.  He did not know I had a friend in Kendrew.  And you."  She had no doubt Jean-Claude would provide another alternative, even if those they had discussed fell through.  "So let us make a plan.  Let us determine what corner we wish to back Neil into, until we decide what is to be done with him.  I would like to see his power lessen.  There must be a way to disgrace him somehow.  Ah, I do not know yet, but there must be."  Peregrine would like to be involved in that, chasing quarry until he was allowed to play with Neil.  "I'll tell him everything.  I needed to hear what you and Claramae thought." *

"Let us see what Claramae has to say, I am sorry I have not spoken to her yet, but with last night.." He could remember Claramae on the night before, wondering what it was that held her so..quiet. "You go to your husband, tell him..tell him that you have told me, he will not be so quick to kill, not when there are answers yet. He knows my ways, he knows how cold they truly are..I will make that suffer," His honest word, the truth, leaning forward his hair would spill like dark shadows around his face, the spider came forth, "He will beg for mercy, and it will not come." (

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The Tour
(By the Writers of Martin lePower and Claramae Vincere-St Laurence)

"How nice of you to show me about the place." Construction was Martin lePower's life. He had traveled the world, walking the halls of ancient ruins in the Holy Land, Pyramids in Egypt and the stately columned aged stacks of block that was once Rome. More and these, he held in his memory. Now like a next lady he wanted to charm, he looked at this new love of his with stars in his eyes. Back at the fires, when so many structures were destroyed, he had walked along the cobblestone streets, coming to this one hall, still good and strong, amid the devastation. He had ached to see what it was like inside, to smell the air, how it circulated. What rooms were there to memorize for the nights in old age when memories were all he had left. The air of new love was in his heart and lungs now.

Dora Lynch, long acquainted with LePower, due to her previous service with his own daughter before she was wed, walked along with them both. Now she and her small sons lived in the Hall, for her current employ was as maid to Janice. " Sir, this is a fine place to dwell, why even me little Loomis here has come to think of this as home."

The tour began and in step with his guide, Martin walked into the first room, Dorie trailing after. The servant was proud that she too was a part of something this grand. Ebony Hall.

"It is my pleasure, M'lord. The father of the engineer captain is an esteemed, honored guest. It would be an honor to show you a true feat of both architecture, engineering, art, and science for all in are blended. Let us begin simply:" The Madame of the Household, one of the two Order Grandmasters, gave the old man a personal showing. If love was his aim? By the end of the evening he would forget he had loved before. Ebony Hall would be his muse from which all things began and ended. She would be his three Fates, his Flower from which nectar was sipped. One pale hand pressed upon what seemed a common tapestry. Instead, the cloth illusion depressed under her fingers! Three dancing women vanished, the stone would pull back. "Mistress Lynch, you may point out anything you find to be favored as well. We thank her oft, sir. Under her care our Mistress Viscreed has never wanted. With Mistress Lynch and her kin about, our hall has more youthful exuberance than oft it did before."

From the entrance foyer to the wide grand reception hall, through the tapestry they slipped up to walk a set of spiraling stairs. The way was lit. Did servants come to light the candles, covering them with glass to keep them steady or were they fed from a perpetual pot of oil? Flame didn't flicker nor waver in the wind. The stone seemed to cut some draft of the outer realm, for it was limited. Up, up the stairs they went "The house is four floored: The foundations, the street level, and two additional levels. How we make it seem as if it were only dual or tri leveled is by utilizing length versus height in the design. By extending to either side, and back, we are allowed far more space. The fourth story comes in with such additions as our risen laboratories, studies, private tower rooms, etcetera. But what will do here is walk a bridge just over the receiving hall. Like so.." Coming up the long, now carpeted hall, she stepped out on stone, the illusion being that outside all someone would see was a stone archway, while they were privy to mirrors in either direction to look out on! "One of our mirror halls, sir."

“Mirror in such dimensions! How my wife would love these reflectives.” He already knew the dark exterior of Ebony Hall was to deceive the eye, to appear smaller than it was. On the interior, the trick had been reversed, added onto with mirrors. And all is so clear and clean. He blinked back at the old man he saw before him in the looking glass surface. “Gad! Have you architects or magicians?” He chuckled as he looked onward into the hall.

Dora followed, casting her kind eye at the engineer’s father. “A bright hall, is it not, sir?” She found the lights a source of endless comfort, like little suns sparkling every hours of day and night. She was glad that her work was most confined to the care and company of Janice Viscreed, for cleaning this vast hall was an ongoing process. He sons had not wanted to live in the dark house, as they called Ebony Hall, but where Janice went, so Dora followed taking her sons, too. Liam and Loomis adjusted. Loomis had to be reminded not to spit out a high level window, ever, even if he saw his friends on the street below.

“Lamps like these are bright enough for reading at all hours. I like the thinking here.” There was much to learn and old Martin regretted he had few years left to him. "So, Lady with four floors for living, have you a lift or some device to make moving from one level to the other less work?" Elder lePower moved at a moderate walk, with the help of his walking stick. A stop now and then kept the pain in his right leg to a tolerable rate and gave him chance to take in all he saw, remembering every inch of it. "How are the acoustics? It seems so quiet in the mirror hall."


"Yes, and we feature an open courtyard one might see from all the levels, with our extended backgrounds. The house itself subsides into the foundations by way of shifting mechanisms that allow us to reform pathways of secret, from the ground unto the fourth, three of which as you know we live upon level." Such a thing would never be again! Claramae found that she relished the opportunity to speak with a learned man of age. The voice of experience was not to be disproved even if one was a grandmaster! There were things that Martin had done that she had not. Architects or magicians? The though was relished.

"Both. The architect is an illusionist." She grinned. "It is a bright hall though. The lights can be risen and lowered upon chords as well as hand lighting, it would take a great reserve. An oil keeps them to a near perpetual burn unless we bid them extinguish. That is quite ingenius, with an additive to the oil to increase brightness, but diminish some of the heat to decrease the potency should a fire occur. We move through the hall upon the hidden passages, the paths are permanent, some we may change as we deem fit. The archways, and oft our own feet. There are ways between certain rooms and levels that cut the distance by half." Dora Lynch had been shown the ways that would allow her to care for the Mistress Viscreed and her own sons with relative ease. No, the Lady was not expected to clean and if she did, she would be told such a task was beneath her. To care for a member was an act of great sacrifice and reverance, even if Janice was far simpler by nature.


"The acoustics are extraordinary if we have want for sound. But with the padding thicker in the weave of the carpets out feet are still. Of the marble floors, it is an experiment in hollowing the stone while funneling the sound into chambers. I am not sure how the Illusionist managed it so, but I am keep to mathematics so can imagine some formula. The walls, too, are fitted to absorb instead of disperse sound save in those rooms we again deem for the purpose."

"Sound. I have used the vibrations within slim tubes of water-filled porous stone set in hard rock walls to send warning if someone is undermining defense walls, during attack. It seems logical, the opposite can be done." Sound sent a fluttering in air, the vibrations from drums was an obvious fact. It had occurred to the lePower man that reasons for quiet chambers were for some kind of secret not to be overheard. Stone as a conductor. Air as a cushion.

"Ah, if only my daughter had married the Architect! " It came out of his lips like a sigh of regret. Oh, a weapons master was good for the family, too. Only, to Martin, and architect would have been better. "The only tricks of building I have been concentrating upon are for defense of black powder weapons. Thick walls alone will not do the trick, entirely. Then there is the added expense." Why was Ebony Hall constructed in this manner? Secret passages, illusions to disguise its true size and then the one thing he wondered most. " How does it defy fire as it did, when other buildings around burned to the ground and beyond?"

When Martin spoke of the fires, some three years ago, Dora had to give a second look at the man of intellect who lacked plain good sense, sending her a child instead of a certified midwife to aid in Loomis' birthing. She wondered, in her Dorie way, "Will this old man love this here Hall so much he will build it a child?" She imagined a building with the strength and mass of the LePower constructions and the tricks to the eye that Ebony had in profusion. Such a wonder would not only be safe, self lit but it would never cleaning. This made her laugh.

"Similar is the method to which things are heard through the foundation through the walls of the upper levels, the draining and filling of it in hollow chambers to muffle or to assist in transference of sound. Water dynamic plays a large principle in how things are able to shift at our leisure with the push of a stone key or the pull of a chord. Lubrication. There is also the utilizing of pulley and lever mechanisms, simple mechanics. Wheels." It was exhilarating to discuss with someone the intricacy of a thing that was on par with a love affair. If the Grandmasters ever had affairs beyond their respective pairings, it would be in discussing the house. Geometry, physics, architecture, chemistry, art - so many dynamics went into the construction! Like its residence, Ebony Hall was comprised of a vast many parts.

The Lady without the assistance of floor made no sound as she moved, not even her skirts rustled. To most it was unnerving, but she was impressed the man had so much a devotion to his questions he had no time to be frightened of her. In fact, she found LePower quite charming really. Men were easier to befriend than women, despite her place in a world run by men. Her intimate circle consisted of less of the fair sex, but alas, with such as him inside of it nothing could really be said to lack. With time, all things with time. If she showed the Engineer's father the heart of the dark network, she may well sit a table in open conversation with those such as Aramoire. Inveryne she had done so, and Darling once for many hours upon the narrow edge of a wall.

Next came the questions of marvel: Why was the hall as it was, and how did it survive the fire? "We are purveyors of secrets and dark art, My Lord. It only serves our home allows us to store and survive the same as we practice. So in telling you these things, I know your mouth will remain mum to the appropriate parties. A great many would seek to know what you do, but in a rarity of circumstance your presence is quite inspiriting. We rarely host such intelligence as can grasp the depth and breadth of a work of art. How did she survive the fires? The secret to that lays in the water, the ability of for the house to shift, and her true dimensions."

She turned a fluer de lis in the wall, it opening out to a winding stair. Leading them both ahead of her, this time she would take up the rear. "It was your lady, Mistress Lynch, who ran in along with a brave set of others, but it was she who knew the secrets enough. She came down below to direct the flow of the aquaduct and sea water to flood the foundations to prevent the fire from being able to touch, given it was rising from the under-dark itself, in the labryinth. She caused the foundation stone paths for the water to redirect themselves."

Would he love it so much to build her a twin? If he were able to be the father, the Grandmaster would fund the opening of a stubborn womb, for she had ideas where once Sorschal did. This man would lend them his, and together oh what dreams would come!