The Purging

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

{A cross-section of Secrets and Maps}
{Also the foundation for a future story of the Underdark, coming soon}

Jean-Claude: He was a man of medicine, a pedicure fortune at his finger tips; his age was apparent in his motions, but still his stance could not need any further correction. Of nobility? Of wealth? Of Madness, Jean-Claude was everything valor could buy, but there was no such reason inside his chest. "He has given us names.." He spoke out over the reception of dinner, holding between silk covered hands the single slip of paper. "I go in at dusk.." He spoke over the long marble surface of the table to eyes as bleak as the present sun--she did not shine so brightly in the cold winter months. For those who knew the scientist would worry for their sanity, before their safety for what kind of man strung the lower bowels of a man's intestine along his wall for pure pleasure? Not a soul would answer the call, their resources thin, and for this he was to go alone. "So it is decided." Many feared the Underdark, for spare of their lives they heard of the stories where the wicked played mercy with only the last breath. So many went in to not return, and from the passage ways this man was carved. The long coat touched the back of his knees as he pulled on the heavy fabric, and the collar of his blouse so perfectly turned down. He went alone. (d

Michael: There were many things that happened with the ignorant present; hidden amongst plain sight. Such deeds were as dark as night, sharing not the beauty of stars and heavens beyond, but the darkness where something sinister loomed. Michael always felt unsure about assignments like these, ones that required the secrecy of silence, ones that never occurred. The certainty of success was measured by loyalty, depth of pocket, and the weight of coin. Such things lay upon fickle chance, as if dancing upon the sharpened edge of s sword; there was no room for mistakes.-- Michael was present for this meeting. As was customary for the exchange, volunteers were never asked for, they only affirmed to the plans by producing a single short blade that was pressed into a block of wood. Voices were easy to track, but the sound of knife and wood? No one could trace those alligned that way. Glancing to Jean-Claude, Michael's gaze burned through him before he produced the blade, sticking it to the wood. No words were traded, for now the wait till dusk was all that remained.[d]

Claramae: "Dusk it is." Wicked pretense was going to wash the shine from the stars to leave a blue-black curtain along the skyline. Where the men spoke of going there would be no lanterns to guide them, fewer fine folk to extend a hand in goodness. Final fate wanted to be finished; she felt her string pulling tight as it wrapped around theirs. As if adorned for the funeral of victims, Madame Death wore heavy black silk. A creation of the Master d'Aquitaine, he had married the new Renassaince ideals with his own devotion to lace, embellishment. She rather enjoyed how the ascot of black silk touched by dark lace could hide her favorite stilleto in one place, while intricte pucker pinches at the waist did the trick for the rest. Of the unasked volunteer, the silent statement to remain behind hung thick in the air. It was impossible. Master Voltaire stood off behind her, a father watching his daughter dance with dangerous men on a far too dangerous dancefloor. Of course, this would not be what she went in, but a change of clothing was as easy to remedy as a change of scenery. "Dusk it is." (d)


Jean-Claude: "This will not be easy, Master Vincere..Madam Vincere, I wish you would stay at home." Though he knew his elegant dialect would match nothing against the brooding fortress of her mind. Claramae was hell bent on the results, but from the harsh surface of the split table, he could easily see the harsh reality was indeed her husband. "Dusk is in one hour." And came before there was chaos. The Lady Vincere was in fact done up in his delicacy, and with it his secrets for a society long from existence--his mind in the future. From under every fine bit of lace, or brushed silk there was infact a deadly weapon to be found. Trigger loaded cogs to turn to expel the fruits of his labor, and the destruction of their enemy. It was a masterpiece, but when it's master mind was nearing the age of 50..one did have to find other outs.

The Spanish: The Underdark was a gruesome place, where bottom feeders could find sanctuary under the smiling grin of the half turned moon; the sign at the entrance a warning. Here there are no laws..and none to enforce it should their be reason. It was known across nations for a haven to those lost, whose paths no matter how far they strayed could find their end, and sitting between it's walls were the remedies of a poisonous treason. Ship after ship brought them in, across darkening sea the guild of murder, whose eyes were set on the Ebony Hall, and with it's destruction..the Griffin Army. Terrorists who wished only to strike fear, knew best to start for the heart. If she fell so too would her house
NocturneSansFin: of cards. (d

Percival: Something dressed as black as the dark night stepped forward at the sound of Jean-Claude's voice. With the lack of light, only a brief glimmer was seen before something stuck out from the top of the block. The source of this came from a black gloved hand that belonged to a pale face Vizharen. Tall, narrow, and lanky, the butcher of Sleat appeared less intimidating in person, than by reputation. To counter the man's words, Percival spoke. "She is not going alone." He had affirmed, and now his arms crossed over his torso. Three brethren of the old fellowship, raising arms in unison again; Percival would not sit this one out.[d]

Michael: Michael left the meeting with an air of silent confidence. He had to change to something more fitting. Nasty waterways was hardly the route he traveled daily, but it was something required for the assignment to be a success. Stopping by the armory, he selected a small collection of trinkets to bring along. He felt the less he carried, the more apt he would be to adapt in the environment. Being that the case, his primary arm was the sword he forged his self. Of a new steel, it was lightweight while retaining great, durable strength. This sword was slid through the large ring upon his leather belt, and concealed by a thin layered coat that hung well past his knees. The last item he selected was a trinket from the fellowship with Talion Apollius. A hand crafter crossbow with a well made, durable buttstock that increased accuracy without challenging the integrity of bolts launched from it. Michael had used this weapon on many occasions; his skills in marksmanship legendary.-- Michael was among the first to land within the 'Under-Dark', his knees bending from the strain of the fall. Casually, the crossbow was lifted and panned about before stepping forward to allow someone else to follow him down.[d]

Moire: Amazingly enought the warning at the entrance would have only piqued her curiosity and made her salivate at the idea of such barbaric hidden places within the distance of the overly nice and proper world above ground in Turas Lan.. she found the existance in the capitol city, opressive, constrictive.. with all the goodness and mercy spread by the Galic Rennisance and the supurlative bounty granted it's people by the reign of the Griffen galling.. happiness coroded and ate away at the darkness, the light of the place making her uncomfortable in her own skin. She hated the city.. the rented townhouse, but it was her new life.. her and Lucians new life.. far away from where they had started.. When she had went to survey the Estate she was intrested in buying this day she had been pleasantly suprised at it's out of the way location, even more so that it boardered the sea cliffs on two sides, jutting out over the ocean a winding staircase leading down to a pebble covered beach. On her tour the housekeeper showed her the stone carved stairs , said to be carved by pirates and smuggles, she prattled on about the myths of caves and tunnels below.. all of this of course, only heightened Moire's intrest in the place.. it was after nightfall that she returned... finding her way down the staircase and into the caverens below.. it was here she intended to explore.. and see just what she was getting when she bought this estate.. how was she to know it connected into the famed Underdark.. or what evil lurked below.(d)

Jean-Claude: Peregrine had not been heard from, for nearly three days not a soul sought to find the place of the hidden, but the law was on the side of his beheading. His time had come, and for this Jean-Claude pushed forward. It was not his forte to be so deep in the earth's surface, or to ever reach the hells of the Underdark. Yet, there was a bit of pride in him as he watched the younger follow forward, Michael the most. He took lead so quickly, moving through the maze with his military mind rolling over every shadow...it was no wonder Skye had not swept up that soldier. "It is the Cat's Eye." He found himself pressing his back against the stone structure before it lead out into the roll of the night. The cross bow of his design a double, with magazine's clipped to either side, though in truth his aim was relentless it would only take one..Tucked under the highwayman's coat of his costume, Jean-Claude concealed a various assortment of weapons, and just so happened to write out his will the night before. His mixture had been taken, swung back with a single shot and already he felt the medication race his veins until his shoulder's shook, and spine flinched with the nervous system breaking down the components. Voltaire would come to touch the Frenchman's back, but Jean-Claude would only offer the man a smirk, nearly foaming at the mouth--wild. "It is alright." Mr. Hyde in the house.

Voltaire: The Lord Voltaire would move around Claramae to head way with Michael, finding the man setting up a perfect roll as one by one they would clear the path for the Masters to take their places. "Let us surround the building.." His aged eyes would find Percival, and motion for him to take to the roof. It would be an easy climb, for such a youth.

Jean-Claude: "There are always watchmen on the roof, scouts to warn of the fight..on this night, they have doubled." Jean-Claude motioned to the roof with his gloved hand seeing two poised gypsy's at either side. "They only carry one round, and then move inside, where the battle would best be kept, for once they reach outside all will be lost..they can hide so easy here." (d

Percival: Percival Vizharen did not visit the armory like the others. What the man carried beneath the confines of his cape was anyone's guess. He remained as he normally looked, elegant and of good fashionable taste. His cape obscured one side of his lanky frame, showing only the intricate rapier at his side. It was a fine make.-- He followed the others into the narrows of the underdark, his silence a confident affirmation to the uncanny skills he possesed. He received the command from the elder Master Voltaire and glanced up to see the sentries they spoke of. He turned to Michael, nodding his head in the direction of the men at the roof. Instead of the man shooting them himself, Michael tossed the crossbow over and Percival took careful aim. He fired twice, each bolt projected with near silence, and soaring until they struck each man in the heart. The bow was tossed back, and Percival casually made his way to the roof to find his entrance in.[d]

Moire: She used a tar pitch torch to guide he thru the maze, an inate sense of direction and small chalk marks hatched into the walls at every junction and turn.. it was not her first time in a place that was pitch black.. every step she took within the maze of the underdark led her more to the conclusion to buy the estate above.. the wind moved like a serpentine carryier of all things in tunnels like these.. in the air she could smell almost taste the underdark and all things within.. from miles away the sublte scents of cooking, smoking.. blood and bodies tinged the air... so these caverens were not isolated they connected into so much more.. intriguing.. she followed the stream of air.. that in turn led her to muffled voices..(d)

Michael: Michael had tossed his bow to Percival, trusting the man far more capable a shot than he let on. Michael liked to make his opponents suffer through incapacitating shots. Percival was the sort to chase quick deaths to achieve his goals. The crossbow was accepted back with both hands clamping over the fine finish. Weary eyes checked over the design for recent flaws with its use, but none had surfaced. Satisfied, Michael turned to regard Master Voltaire, motioning the man to his back while they prepared to surround the building as Master Vizharen worked.[d]

Jean-Claude: Over the rim of his silver frames he watched as Percival didn't miss, and was impressed greatly. cokeing back the pull of his own draw, the Scientist would follow them in. "Please spare the civilians." He spoke so careful when it came to the people indoors, and had it not been for their careful hands healing his own body perhaps he would have left them for dead. A motion then to proceed, "There are tunnels..I shall take the tunnels, it is means for escape." He would pull open the trap door that lead from the porch, and take a deep breath..this was going to be hard, but it must be done.

Men At Roof: There had been four of them, and now only two remained. The shot so deadly the sounds of the deaths behind him all but lost in the moment, had it not been for the warm splatter of the blood on his back he would have never known to turn. From the depths of hell Perival had returned, for this he knew well..but was this going to be his end? A blade was drawn, as well a small pistol to act as it's second..One shot, it's all that would be fired, but his aim was weak and his hands were shaking. "Go bac' tae' 'ell ye!" From one pirate to another, he fired.

The Spanish: Inside they were still lost on the subject of a fight, head first into their deck of cards, and the cheap ale all but on the floor at their feet. It was not until the gun fired would they even still their laughter. "To arms men.." A raspy voice came forth, "I got a feelin'" Quickly the motion inside would have most of them come done in their arms, but still many fell too drunk to care. (d

Percival: The shot had missed Percival, sparking off the roof aside from where his hand gripped the frame of the building itself. He groaned, pulling himself to his knees and straightening. The man that had intended to kill him with a pistol found the same regard taken in defense. A pistol, nicer in make, was pulled from the confines of the black cape and fired. The eruption was bright enough to luminate the curves of Percival's face as he grimaced. -- The second man that had been present with the other, whom Percival shot in the head, charged forth in honor of his fallen comrade. Percival intercepted the man before a blade could be pulled from the man's hip. This warrior's left arm was grabbed and pulled down while Percival's hip jutted out and connected with his mid-section. One fluid motion demostrated the means of which Percival always out manuevered opponents; this result had the man land harshly on his back facing up. His last image of the world was Percival's boot stomping down vertically until the spine had severed by means of violent force, cracking loudly. Percival turned, reloading the pistol while looking for a way in.[d]

Michael: Michael stepped forth then, his back leg taking post while the other hiked up before extending violently. The wood caved in around the handle of the door before it splintered open, its shape swinging inside banking right and colliding with the wall it was attached to. Before he even stepped in, Michael set to his prey. The first bolt was intended to kill a target stationed at the closest spot to the breached door. The second shot was intended for a man at the back of the room, but the trajectory of this bolt was altered by a hand that captured the front portion of Michael's weapon and forced it up. Michael had been walking through the door when this occured. Subsequently, this development halted his advance, and Master Voltaire's as well.[]d

Underdark Thug: The blood that ran then was of the same blood, mixing with the man of the other, both freed now form their mortal binds to find the fires of hell. Thank you Percival..you have set them free. The roof was clear, save for the shadow of one man who stood as motionless as the darkness that surrounded him. "Funny meeting you here." His voice broke the silence at the man's back, "Where is that woman you like to keep at your side? Finally lose that battle?" He spoke of who? The only one here that would know would be Percival, and perhaps Claramae. "She leave you, for the other..what a sad story." He cracked his knuckles then, the brute falling away from the darkness easily over 7 feet tall with shoulders like that of the Avarian mountains. "Killing for money this time..or pleasure..or both. You were always a sick man." His mind games could go on, but the fight pressed forward as he took an open swing muttering of how those children looked nothing like him anyway...


The Spanish: Suddenly the attack was clear, the line of sight in their eyes a fast rush as Michael and Voltaire came through the door. Stopped for now half ran half stood where they wished, over a dozen remaining. Flashes of light, the smell of sulfur rose from beneath the floor as the screams did fancy their lives end! A small series of attacks turned again towards Voltaire and Michael pressing them back onto the porch. Out the windows the civilians did run, their screams alerting the town. The windows would come alive with eyes and soon arrows would fire. (d

Percival: Percival was not bothered by taunts, and he had long since left the annoyance his past life had caused him. He knew his woman had slept with another man and bore their children instead of his own; Percival knew his decisions led to the deaths of hundreds for something as material as coin. Apathy was his key to bliss, and it was what drove him to continue his task of reloading the weapon nonchalantly. The man landed, and Percival glanced up, scrutiny behind his gaze. He calculated the height of the male, while taking into account the way his body moved for an attack. Having muscles was not a sure means to strengthen a universal weak spot in the human body, if anything it projected to an opponent how they were going to attack. Such was the case in this trade off. Percival had stayed stalwart while the man rushed him. The strike, avoided by a slight alter in position by way of dipping. The counter flashed from the home of a muzzle, and a lead ball was produced to strike the weight bearing knee of his opponent. This ensured paralysis while limiting movement. It also made strength an irrelevant factor in this fight. For now, Percival stepped back, out of reach and slowly reloaded the weapon again.[d]

Michael: Michael tore his weapon from the grasp of the man, then struck him across the face with it. The fight was overwhelming though, and he felt Voltaire tug on his collar, pulling him back as muzzle flashes lit the room up. Lead struck the walls, windows, tables and chairs. Michael had been an intended target, and was struck in the surprise trade off. Through his right shoulder, left thigh, and in the stomach. He was rendered in a fit of pain that made him hiss and fall back completely as arrows were freed from on lookers in nearby windows. Effectively pinned down, the group would get slaughtered in the cross fire. Michael's pain tolerance was being tested here, but his resolve was as tough as the sword he drew from his side. Still under the cover of the porch, Michael attempted to assist Voltaire in the fight that was quickly overwhelming even the older Master. Michael used a style that utilized his weight and strength. Taking a calculated step, his body completed a full circle dragging his sword along. The sharp edge connected with an intended opponent, and the momentum created by the masterful dosy-doe cut deep across the torso and made the man fall back into the crowd seeking admission to the fight through the main entrance. Body after body fell backward, and Michael charged forward to get to cover from the arrows reigning down outside the tavern.[d]

Claramae: Silent sentinel subtracted from the number of the enemy in the deep pits of the Labryinth. How poetic, how ironic that she was attired in the same shade as the shadows that rendered her unable to be seen, dealing death so true to the name fashioned around her. Madame de la Morte. Save the occasional pin-prick of light flash throwing her shadow on a wall, she as as nothing. Hits were doled, hits taken, but she felt nothing of it right now. Hardened by adrenaline, Claramae dug her fixed steel claws into a soft bank of clay between the bricks of a poor man's hovel. The scent of stale water was intense for even the aquaduct flow couldn't take it all away. She took to the walls like a damned spider. Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.. there were three heading toward an incline, trying to find an outlet to the places higher up than this one. Locking her feet under her, she pushed off the wall, landing on the one furthest to the right. "Aieee!" He screamed, causing confusion among his allies. They stumbled over one another, drawing their weapons, swiping out. One took a knick at knuckles of her hand, so the return swipe was sweet. Nailing her right hand into the back of the man she was on top of, the left waited for the precise moment the dark delivered him closer to her. She slit his throat, doubling over on him as the third kicked at her back. Claramae hissed to feel steel slice through another layer of leather to hit at her back. One more mark, one more brick in her proverbial wall. Funny, considering a brick is exactly what she wrapped her hand on. Rollling over to her back, she thunked it to crack the school, kicking a boot upward into the back of a leg, releasing the hidden blade there. No, it wouldn't be easy. But she sure as hell wouldn't make it easy for them. (d)

The Spanish: The man would soon find his footing undone, by a small slither of a man?? Ha! Another twist of the man's arm would find him under, but it was the sound of the loaded gun that would have his heart still. Of what did he intend to do with it? "Cowards fight with guns..someday the world will see this. You are a coward!" No doubt he would be shot in that moment, even though he held up mortal hands as if the gypsy's magic would work. Two hands to block the barrel, a fool's gamble to trust in a woman who wished to get your money for her charm!

Peregrine: There was an ancient art that came with time, fingers pulling back the draw of his bow and releasing a rain of fire upon the crowd. His aim was pure, like the pulse from his chest it heaved with each shot--motionless without thought he started the return, a single archer against 30, but soon all started to fall out into the open. Eyes the color of the ocean did not need to focus, nor set it's sights; Peregrine was looking through the eyes of experience. Whispers came with gasps as their King marched upon the battle field holding up his hands to draw the line of fire to a stand still. "You will not survive this night!" He called out to them all, his hair held back by the rag of his scarf, and his attire that of any seaborn sailor. "You will die, if not by their hands then my own!" One by one those soulless corpses of the Underdark started to pull back their own whispers of treason starting a fire that could not be stopped. It would leave them now the men from Spain. The fight an even trade, and with it the Spanish had their backs to the tunnels and archways of the hidden city.

Jean-Claude: The fight had carried well, but Claramae and he soon found the surface, 'Do not let them run' he spoke behind Vincere, in a voice that sounded more like it should belong to a ghost. The arrows had stopped for now, the Spanish were armed only with their swords, and even then they knew it wasn't enough. They ran. Through an urban jungle their feet swiftly carried them off down tunnels and dead ends, no doubt it was too deadly to chase. Peregrine would be first to follow, Jean-Claude not far behind him, 5 men remained and they were on the tails of 2, finding the dead end a swift surprise, but as the man turned he would be met with a wicked smirk.

The Spanish: The man felt himself shake all over as the cold air of the night pulled away to the pitch black, and here he would stop. His twisted heart racing in his chest, as he moved to catch his breath and find a place to spring an attack.

Voltaire: "Get him!" Voltaire shouted, motioning for Michael and Claramae to move together, while he took off in the direction of the other. (d



Percival: Percival took his time with his new victim, slowly pacing before him as he sought to rectify his defeat by a lack of honor on Percival's side. Percival reacted accordingly, finishing the task of loading the pistol before shooting the man's other knee. Then, he stood on both of them, as they bled out upon the soles of his boots. There was a candid smile on the pale faced murderer as he studied the man's face, twisted in pain. "I came upon a revelation.." Percival said, his tone casual as he nonchalantly began to reload. "Mind you, this is not something I stumble upon often, so you should listen." His smile faded, his right foot twisting to cause a substantial amount of pain while he sought the words to use. "It came to me when I was attempting to classify you; this.." He gestured wide with both hands, signifying the whole area. "You hide in the sewers thinking what exactly? Your unlawful ways and murders would not reverbrate upon the strings of fate? Then, you fight a man..me.." His hand bent at the wrist, calling upon himself with a tone of foppish narcissism. "..and call me a coward for using an instrument you and your kind use vehemently. Irony, I say." He stomped his other foot upon the knee, chuckling. "However, I find myself disgusted. It's the smell of this place I think. And everytime I take a breath, I feel that I've somehow been infected with the rot, with your disease. So imagine me the herb, to a long decaying wound in need of mending, and you.. you're the pus milking from the scab I intend to wash away." He pulled the hammer back, chuckling as he aimed the pistol forth. "And you thought me intimidated, Avarian. Ha! I've f**ked more intimidating things than you.." Click-BOOM! The man's brains spread in a circle from behind his skull as the lead explosion struck the male's cranium.[d]

Michael: Michael was in combat with two males. Two of the five intending to escape. Voltaire was wrestling with the fifth, all accounted for. Michael side-stepped to avoid one strike, and elbowed the other male before moving to attack the one who missed. Swords clattered with bright sparks and he shoved the man's back toward Claramae, while turning to intercept his other attacker whom recovered.[d]

Claramae: She took off in the same direction as Michael .Soon, his combat was even leveled. Two upon two. The men were scattered and pulled apart. Some great plan they'd had to infiltrate the city, to unravel the works of the High Lord, and in the last destroy them came to this piss-poor ended where they died in the city's social excrement. In the run she'd slid the hard, nearly boned cases over the claws on her hands so they became like two weights. The man stumbled, trying to turn around so he had his barings. Back shown was dangerous, but his face would prove no better. For several minutes the pair went at it with swords and hands. Desperation to live gave the Spaniard fuel to prove a meritable match. "You aren't from the muck of this world, so tell me, what is it to die where yo ushould not?" He snarled, swiping at her counter clockwise. She barely moved back, her side swung out too far and he pushed her hard into the wall. "Who says it will be me?" He countered. She managed to knock the sword from his grasp, and land her hard punch to break a jaw. He cried out, falling on his knees only to find the end of a barrel between his eyes. "I do. From London, with love." A pity he couldn't claim diplomatic immunity, but then most countries didn't have their own Govenors who belonged on the execution squad. Percival's matched pair of pistols were never far, and in special occasions they did come to form their pair again. Ah, her brother certainly did know the better presents to give her. (d)


Jean-Claude: Jean-Claude held up his hand to still the pirate, the one last motion of the man upon his back would be to stare vacantly out into the heavens, and the Spanish prayer of forgiveness enough to justify keeping him alive. "I wish this one alive." The vacant eyes of the Scientist met the man, and his face did cant with a smile. Always in the night did his eyes look solid black, but with the jet strands falling about his shoulders the Spaniard would have thought himself upon his back looking up to a reaper, some angel of mercy indeed. "One alive, for every hundred killed..gives me something to keep my books fresh." A twisted man would have a new face to add to his collection, and the silk covered hand would come to finger through the man's hair, a new wig perhaps. "See to it he is bound, Peregrine..return him to the streets, and if I were you I would not show my face." The pirate gave a nod, and soon the darkness would pull back around him. The fight was finished for now, at least on his end. (d

Percival: Percival kicked out the glass from the roof, and watched as the weak shards spread wide below in thin specks. He followed their path, landing below with a crunching noise, the glass rebelling against the soles of his boots. His knees bent to take on his weight, but straightened as he gained his bearing. At his side, a trusty arm given by none other than Kuriel Se'Vant was pulled from the security of a sheath, the long and intricate blade glimmering in the light provided by the nearby hearth, still lit from the earlier festivities. Percival looked about the room filled with dead, his expression twisted with a perpetual scowl that seemed to surface when death dealing was about. He casually walked amongst the large tavern room, looking for any that lived, but came to no such success. This irritation was visible when he stepped through the entrance to exit the establishment. His sword was hiked up with the bend of his elbow then shoved home in the sheath in one familiar motion. "Countless dead, and still, it was not enough to quench the thirst of our Baron. Tell me, sister, why is it we keep a brute like your husband about during delicate negotiations like these?" His hands raised wide, indicating the scene of destruction that lay in his wake. To add to his insult, even a pillar gave way to the tavern then, the front porch caving in as the roof collapsed with a loud clatter. "I am told we deal with information, but when it comes to collecting it.. everyone is dead, and where do we find ourselves?" Up beat tone of voice, clearly scolding. "Back where we started. This was elementary, my Lord Vincere, and somehow.. you still manage to f**k it up. Now that has to be a talent." Clapping with a curt nod.[d]

Michael: Michael Vincere was knelt before a defeated man, his sword's tip pressed into the stone holding his shoulders and torso upright, so he might look upon the others around him. Michael was clearly beaten, bleeding, and out of breath, his expression a pained one. Percival's annoying tone only added to the fire of irritation that was slowly building underneath. It fueled it enough for Michael to stand, and pull the sword up, facing him. "We were sent here to kill, Percival. Not collect. There was no angle to be gained here, only death. So stow your insubordination, please. I lack the patience to deal with you, or your condescending quips."[d]

Claramae: "Gentlemen, behave. Our duty has been done first, and to the second we are still with a plentiful source of information. A crippled Spaniard lays in prison, as well as two Templars that Mistress Viscreed has uncovered. We are not wtihout our living sources to be beaten or finessed." Frankly, the amount of dead mullified the touch of barbarism in her. If Michael took a heft in the portions, huzzah. He was a Baron with a very finite, simple sense of being. "Shall we begin our move elsewhere? No, we may not put fire to the place lest it catch the whole of the under-dark, the last time it occurred it was quite an inconvience to the hall." She passed her brother, fingers caressing his arm before she caught her husband's arm, moving it over her neck to be a support for him. (d)

Percival: "Very well. I will still my tongue for now, but know I am unhappy with these inadequate results." He replied, letting his arm be claimed. "--We-- are better than --this.--" Said simply as he scoffed at the display before moving on.

Michael: "Percival. Shut up."[d]

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

"Any... friend of .. my friend.. is friend by me. .. ..You have fought enough fight this night Sir."

Peregrine: Peregrine had found his fate twisted, turned through the world without end. He could not go home, he could not stay in the Underdark, and half the city was looking for a man now wanted. There was a price on his head, of nearly 2,000 on his head, and even that stung. The road to the Valley was long and dark, but the light at the end always made him feel welcome. He missed Eirian, the children she shared with his brother, but even he worried of what she would say. Would she be so quick to turn him away? Afraid that the wrath of the Griffin Army would come to her doorstep? Within his hands he still carried the sword, fresh from the fight, blood stained across it's blade as it drug behind him in the snow. There was a wildness to him, that couldn't be tamed by any desire, of body of flesh..of blood, but he needed rest. None were on this road at night, not that he could see, but with the concussion still blazing behind his eyes even the trees moved like soldiers. (d

Balian: The slow near hypnotic drop of heavy hooves packing the earth tormented the night skyline. Breaking the darkness the silhouette of the pale horsed rider came into scope. The long white cloak of the rider blanketing the stallion. He couldn't recall the last time he found his way down this road, or the valley of the stars. Icy blues searched the horizon for answers that just seemed to miss him but something continued to drive him further ahead. His right hand crept down to run down the length of the stallions kneck while a hard huff exhaled the beast in frustration. Then it was the figure of a man came before him on the path ahead. His head tilt just a little under his hood before he drew back the reigns to slow the horse. [d]

Peregrine: "f**k." The only word he could manage out of his sickness, lost from delusions, and torn. He was frozen, but his body felt nothing. Yet still there was enough might to curl his fingers around the hilt of his blade. It was so rare he carried such weapons, but tonight the pirate was armed to the teeth. This was what happens when half of the world wants your head. His breaths came in short bursts from the bruised ribs a man named Vincere had given him, but that pretty boy face could hardly be made out. Had Balian ever known him? Perhaps. As the knight drew closer he felt himself straighten his back, lift the edge of his blade from the ground and dare him to press forward. They wouldn't take him alive. The wind through the trees could swear to him this was not right, voices long forgotten could challenge this moment of weakness, but he was here for blood. If this was all that stood between him and Eirian, life would carry on so easy. (d

Balian: His brow lift ever so slightly. A lifetime of battle had instincts rule his actions more so then he would like at times. Observations took hold of the pirates change in posture. The whitening of knuckles gripping the hilt. He wanted a fight? The horse continued to carry him forward. Maybe it was they knew one another but it was hardly that Balian knew himself these days let alone could tell a friend from a foe. The mans first gesture to aggression had the Knight throwing back his heels, exposing golden spurs to the flanks of the stallion while his left hand ripped upward, cause for the nameless sword to rocket upward from into his palm. That sweet soundfull melody of justice played forward from the cool steel as it spun forward in his palm to a salute before his eyes towards his would be adversary of the hour. [d]

Peregrine: Peregrine would drop the sword slowly staring the man on, before pulling off his back the double loaded cross bow that had been modified just for his hands. The magazines on either side carried a small shift in darts, and just below the trigger the initials of 'J.C.'. It had been a past time once before, from elegant hands of life, to the rush of death. The horse was in a charge, and he would never bring it down..but the man atop. "Get off that you s.o.b. and fight me like a man!" Wasn't fair you know. One, two, three, they were fired upon the pair of riders now..were there two? He leapt from the line of the swing at the last minute, having never known how far he had come to death now twice in one night. "That it??" The bow would be tossed, and Peregrine would push up his sleeves. "All you got? You.." He charged then on foot. (d

Balian: As he drew close enough Balians weight shift back in the saddle only to roll off the back of the horse to land with a stumble forward just in time to have the sound of the crossbow unleashing fill his ears. The first dart was quickly deflected with a flick of the nameless sword only to have the second dart slam into his thigh. The low unforgettable rumble of a snarl parted his lips while the third dart whistled past his ear. His momentum never slowed with that spin, and just as the crossbow was tossed aside and the pirate charged Balian spun his steel backward once more and brought the flat side of the blade downward to collect the pirates blade in a clash of metal on metal. "I'm just warming up." Holding his blade locked with the pirates he snapped his head forward to drive his own brow into the pirates in a hard crack to break them free from one another. "Careful for what you wish for Sir." [d]

Peregrine: "I've been at it all night." If Balian couldn't tell. This was like taking out yesterday's laundry, though the speed of the Knight did see him back. The fight was flawless down to the defense. This man was not after his head. For certainly he would have had it. "That's..what..they.." He spoke between thrusts, and slashes. "About smaller men." Peregrine wasn't the tallest of men, never was, but what he lacked in size..."I can go all night." Ask his wife, or the mistress he keeps. How funny the world was to look up to someone to talk them down, but when their swords locked and the hit came across his head once more; the Pirate stumbled back. A big part of him could see estate on the hill, through those trees were his family. How shameful would it be to speak of an older brother that would avenge his death? He had been struck once during the day to have his eyes flash bright lights behind them, but now all of the world was spinning. He dropped his sword and held up his hand, a finger to have the man hold. He was going to melt some of the snow with yesterday's lunch. "You got a name?" Leave it to Pere to be the one to shoot first ask questions later. "So I can put it on your tombstone?" The pirate leaned forward to brace himself on his knees. (d

Balian: "Mm." He licked his lips and brought the sword upward once more, aimed outward as if to pay no mind to the pirate while he stared down the length of the blade, examining it for dents or scratches though in truth his attention had not yet left the pirate. Even the dart protruding his thigh seemed to go ignored and just when the pirate dropped his sword Balian brought his own blade forward once more. Icy blues fixed back on the man as he leaned forward. "It appears you already have gone all night friend... None of this I can argue of." He took another solid step forward and then another only to haul back his heavy left arm. His fingers coiled up into a ball not a moment before that closed first collected the pirates chin. His sword spun forward once more to bring the edge of the blade to his kneck only pausing before it would claim flesh. Though he had hoped the man was done. He had no warrant for his life, no need to spill blood without cause. On the contrary he was beginning to like the man. All except for the dart he gifted to his thigh. He would pause then, holding the blade to the pirates throat, concious or not he would bow his head slightly to the pirate before his deep tone carried. "Lord Balian Windsor.. " [d]

Peregrine: "I'm..just..trying to go..Hope." Eirian's daughter. Would all he could manage before hitting the ground, the tattered fabric of his shirt open over his chest to reveal the tattoo over his heart. It was his wife's name, somewhere in the design. Rosalind. Would that ring any bells? The night had drawn around them to a close, and Lord Balian the victor once more. A strange turn of events, indeed! There was much to be said on a man who could not kill the wounded, and that made Balian a better man then this pirate. However, perhaps that life was what he was trying to escape. (d

Balian: The fall of the pirate had a soft breath exhale his lips. The sword was quickly jerked back and stabbed downward with blind perfect percision to find its sheath against his hip. The parting of the shirt and reveal of the tattoo had his head tilt just a little before he would chuckle. "Of course.. .. Have it no other way Lord then to play with me and lay a test before mea? Eh?" He eyed the heavens a moment. What if he had killed the pirate? A man baring Rosalinds named inked into his flesh? Surely this would have harmed someone he care for himself no? He shook his head and could only lower to a knee before the man before he tucked his arms under the pirate and cringed while he lift him back from the ground and into his arms. "Any... friend of .. my friend.. is friend by me. .. ..You have fought enough fight this night Sir." Balian whistled over his shoulder while he carried the pirate the rest of the birth toward the house in the distance, his white stallion trotting up from behind just as they reached the house only to have a hard boot collect the door in an attempt to knock at it and draw attention. "Eirian?..... I found something on the road.. Ere?.. .. ..Eirian?." Knock, knock, knock. [d]

[Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius]

"There is an angel at my door. Do I answer?"

A hush had come to the Valley, which was not an unusual thing. If you are not alien to the silence you find the beauty in the state of being where nothing is done or said. Slowly, oh so slowly, God opened up his box of delights for the waiting ear. Birdsong. Water's movement. Wind through the beginnings of grass, still infantile, on the meadows. The contrast between the scene of heaven on earth was nothing like the hell to which a man was fleeing from. Another delivered him unto heaven's embrace with a strange use of hand; in fact, it would be a foot kicking the great doors of the estate only after one of the soldiers on patrol had recognized the vagabond in the arms of an old native hero.

The household was slumbering, save for those who had habit of keeping the moon company. Eirian's face rivaled the celestial body, in both luminescene and absence of color Sapphire looked up at the stage the moon was in, only for it to be hidden in strands of ebony. None could doubt the beauty of the moon or the ability it had to endure forever until God deemed otherwise. So was the Lady of the Valley the same way. Poetry could be less circumstpect in the reason that Peregrine was brought to her though.

"What is going on.."


She said the word before the first foot fell on the door by the room she inhabited. At this hour it should have been the Steward's wife who would answer, admonishing the late night audience seekers for the Lady too, needed her rest. Instead, Eirian captured Balian's attention no doubt as she looked down to the man in his arms. "I do not need to know, merely bring him in. I knew it was him, though it was not you I expected Sir Windsor." The reason for the late upkeep too came from what she saw on the face of the moon that no one else cared to, or was capable of seeing. "This way, my husband's brother must not be left wanting."

That was a good question. What did Peregrine want?

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

"He has turned them to us..lead them here." Whispers started across the floor of hall, the once great church that had been a way of hope, but now the very demons it swore to defend against invaded their steps across the floor. The fires had nearly left her to nothing, the wooden ceiling gone, but the stone structure remained. Fires burned very hotly in it's core, and lit the underside of what did remain of the support beams. It was an enchanting sight that seemed almost perfect for the Underdark as the world fell away and the darkened night seemed to only promise of death. They were wild, the lot of them, but the ringleader of the vacant circus was a man tall, broad, and very outspoken. His name was Baltzar, and lived up to it greatly. Nearing his golden age this man had seen many battles, the long angled scar across his face could have been hidden well with the age, but it stood out crossing his brow and ending near the tip of his lips. His hair was black, the trademark of his heritage, and falling sharply in dirty strings around his shoulders. "There are too many of us to let this happen." He spoke out, raising his voice to be heard, and the entire floor fell silent. "This is where we make our last stand."Momma Fortuna sat on the round perch of a once glorious tree, cut down after the fires had destroyed it. She kept her feet grounded, the very feel of the world seeping in through the roots. She listened then, as they spoke of treason, and the death of a beloved son. (d


Adelaide:

Genna fell asleep as Ada walked down into the dark, her way sparsely lit by torches.  She knew these paths well, the labyrinthine passages that she had combed to treat those too afraid of the light to seek treatment at her store, but no less deserving of such treatment.  She was known here, treated as one of their own in many respects, though she would climb the stairs and return to her shop at the end of the night.  How many knew of Genna's father had never occurred to Ada; none here ever asked.  Perhaps, she thought as she walked slowly toward her destination, having the time to ruminate, none had ever had need to ask.  She paused a moment to drop a kiss to that dark head, savoring the smell of the herbs she used in the cleansing wash, and then continued onward until she arrived at the meeting place.  She settled Genna down on her lap, who repositioned her thumb to her mouth, but did not wake.  The pub was a dark, seedy place, but it was empty.  Despite the dirt, grime, and all around desperate air of the place, it lacked the humor of the Cat's Eye, and only an old drunk nursed his ale at the bar. She kept her back to the wall as a force of habit, and kept an eye to both exits.  Yet as time kept ticking by, and the delegate failed to show, it seemed prudent to leave sooner rather than later.  It was only compounded by the sound of the rear door clicking shut. *


Carmen:

She watched her enter, watched as she came to take her seat, and the cat's grin could only help itself across her face. The dark eyes of the midnight woman would settle onto Ada, a constant thorn in her side, and she would press from her post to slide in behind the much shorter woman. "Look look what the sea has turned up..fish. Mmm, Ada you smell like a river rat." She came to slide in beside the woman, eyeing her hat and her sparkling shoes. Somehow, she always pulled it off.

Momma Fortuna:

From across the way Momma's eyes watched the motion between the ladies, and the voice that boomed of the Captain soon captured her attention as well. "It is time we take it back." The voices of the room all agreed in unison, their words very concerned as for the how, but their faith came with the downfall of the empire.

Carmen: "Do you know how they'll do it?" She whispered leaning in to run her fingers through the curls of her sleeping child, "Make it quick and painless?" Did Ada know what they were speaking of? "Your nomination no doubt will be a perfect way to forget."

Momma Fortuna:

"We must find a way to fish him out..draw him from hiding." "He's the devil! He'll kill us all.""Not if we get to him first!" (d


Adelaide:

Her boots were of new leather, and folded so perfectly about her calves, they made Ada infinitely happy.  She always adored a good pair of boots, particularly those with reinforced toes that might be very good for kicking ... rocks.  Or whores.  Her dark eyes moved upward across Carmen's face.  "What are you talking about?" Ada asked, shifting Genna to the other side with enough abrupt force that Genna woke up, and sensing her mother's unseen tension, glared at Carmen for the disturbance.  She never bothered to remove her thumb from her mouth, and her other hand buried itself in her dark curls.  "You speak lies, my dear," Ada said in a casual tone, sliding from her chair and standing up.  It was most definitely time to leave.  "I do not smell like a river rat.  Let us say my accomodations are slightly more legitimate than your own?  I also," she sniffed vaguely, "do not smell like borrowed perfume attempting to mask last night's earned coin."  In French, the only language Genna deemed worth verbalizing, she added to her daughter, "I believe it is time to bid adieu to current company."  Genna's dark eyes looked -- at least, to Ada -- a bit accusatory before heavy lids fell shut.  Her heart twisted a bit at that.  Even angry, Jean would have watched Genna for a few moments.  There was no reason to bring her here save pride, which she was certain she had an abundance of. *


Carmen:

Her eyes drank in the sight before her, the way Ada drew away from her. It was not her style, and this she knew well..but all changed with the threat of a child. "Tonight we plot on how to kill our king. Do you think it would be best quick and painless? I don't." If Carmen had her way, she'd see them all dead. "There is only one problem..and you know this. You and your daughter know he can't be found when you need him the most." She would smirk, her red lips nearly the color of blood.

"He has gone into the forest! We can not draw him out!" One voice called out, while the Captain listened with thought, plotting his way through the holes that were created in the wake of his disappearance.

Carmen waited for it to hit Ada, for it to sink in, to let her figure out what her being here was about. "What of his heart!" She called out and all the eyes fell then upon Carmen.

"No..then we will get the attention of the army. We can not take his wife..or his child. The children are linked to a clan..we must not."

"I do not mean his wife and child..but there is one other who shares his blood." She took Ada's wrist and pulled her up, raising her arm to draw the attention to her."


Baltzar:

The Captain would smirk placing his hands on his hips, as he came to face Ada. "His whore? Adelaide..go home. Carmen, she's nothing anymore. When is the last time you two spent time together hmm? He's forgotten about you, like he's forgotten about us." Baltzar's eyes were kind when he spoke to Ada, he adored her, and wouldn't see any harm come to her unless the reason was dire.


Momma

"But that it is his child." Momma's voice broke into the silence that fell, and all faces turned to stare openly to the woman holding the sleeping baby.

Baltzar:

Captain would raise a brow, looking then from the old woman to Ada. "No..we know very well who keeps her company at night, and she is lucky he is not our target. Jean-Claude has his weight here."

Momma

"Look..look at her eyes." When Momma spoke they all listened, and it would be then the Captain would narrow his eyes upon the child,

Baltzar:

"Bring her to me." (d

Adelaide:

Ada whipped her hand away from Carmen, and was about to haul it back and smack the nearest cheek when the captain spoke.  She let her hand fall back, wrapping it tightly around her daughter's body.  She started sliding back, away from the pub door, when Momma spoke.  Ada's heart nearly stilled, somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.  For nearly three years, she had never given a commitment one way or another who had fathered the child.  Let the gossips claim it was Jean-Claude's.  Those who had need of the knowledge knew.  "Lay a hand upon my child, and you will regret it," she offered mildly, though she felt blood draining from her extremities, wishing her heart to begin beating once more, though it seemed sluggish with fear.  Momma, and none else, would see the fires crackling behind Ada, small forked tongues and sparks that flickered among her dark curls, fading away in a red-gold glow that promised despair to those who touched the witch of Embrun.  Old rage crackled in her voice, though far too few would hear it.  And far too many would see her as the petite apothecary who tended the diseases of whores and infections of sailors, Jean-Claude's kept woman whose only value was in the ageless beauty granted by her long-gone mother.  Her dark eyes rested on Momma.  There was no cause to explain who her father was.  They would believe the old woman, no matter how they loved Ada.  "You will not touch my child.  If you love him, you will not do this to him.  You cannot." *

Baltzar:

The Captain would wave his hand, and men would come to either side of the petite frame, and he would close in closer reaching out to touch the curls of the sleeping child. Ada had no where to go. "This can go two ways, Ada.." His voice a wicked hiss as he smiled down to the child, "You can come between me and this take over, and I will kill everyone you love. Or you can let me borrow your child..We know him to care about Genna..It all makes sense..She has a settlement. Her name is on the list of the safe. Her name carved into the tree." What a beautiful child. "All along we have had the secret under us, and have never known." How long had this plot lasted? Ada's arms would be taken then pulled back, and the forced from her arms into his own. However, he was quick to hand Genna off to Carmen who was simply thrilled, and would rock the two year old. "You would be wise to keep quiet about this. Such a shameful death would come if the church ever found out about your lover..either of them." Genna started crying, screaming for her mother reaching out then with large tears falling over the round of her cheeks, and it could have broke his heart had he one. "We don't love in the Underdark, Adelaide..you know this. Take the child! Hang her in the trees. Let her cries be heard over the valley. It will draw him out." (d

Adelaide:

"Do not threaten me," she hissed, stumbling into the captain's arms.  She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, for a moment, resembling what they thought her to be.  There was a look of sheer brilliance upon her skin, as if someone had lowered a torch beneath her face, the red-gold glow warming the flesh.  While it did not touch her own, the heat flashed across the captain's bare skin wherever he touched her, and radiated through the fabric of his clothing, singeing hairs in a staggering wave of stink.  Were it not the middle of the night, one would think he'd stood out on the beach unprotected from the sun's rays for hours upon end, or stuck his body too close to the fire.  It was enough to break free.  She bounded forward, and though she was tempted to send a punch to Momma's face, her heart was with that little girl and none other.  She drew her foot back and brought it forward with all the power she could muster, burying her toe in Carmen's knee.  Her child's screams were terrifying, but as long as she screamed, she breathed.  While Carmen stumbled forward, she grabbed Genna and retreated for the back door of the inn.  She didn't have much time, but if she could put at least one door between herself and the others, perhaps she had a chance. Perhaps it might be a few more seconds to keep Genna alive.  She tried the knob, but Carmen must have locked it behind her.  With a very profane sentence in Embrun-accented French, she hitched Genna in one arm, balanced upon an ample hip, and turned her shoulder toward the door.  It would have bee comical if it was not so desperate, Ada's eyes capturing real fire this time when she turned to look back at the damage she'd left in her wake. *

Baltzar:

There was more then fire there, the burn felt of passions as well as pain, but how could one tell the difference in times like this. The panther was on the rise, and he saw it in her determination. Genna was the world to this woman, how could any man not give a damn. He did burn, but Carmen's cries went muffled by his orders to have them all back. The wake was closed between he and Ada, and his hand came to rise like a joust he pressed her back. He forced her shoulder back to the door, the damage done indeed. His shadow would reach her first, but it was the back of his hand that struck her to be the first real contact. "You stupid whore! There is no way to get around this." His hand came around to finger through her curls grabbing tightly to pull her from the exit. "I would have let you walk away!" Genna was pulled from her again, by a woman's hands this time, one none knew, but she could not stand to watch to allow Genna to watch this anymore. Captain, would force Ada down pushing her with all his weight to fall where she landed. "You do not, go behind me. THIS is why I shall rule here!" He spoke out to the room, "What HE missed. THIS is what will get us through the future. I will not take pity." He was blind now with his rage, defied on his first night. "Tie her to the gates." He barked to the woman who now held Genna, but his attention returned to Adelaide. (d


Adelaide:

Ada stiffened as the shadow fell before her.  She pressed Genna's head to her lips, the dark curls soft against her face.  She knew Genna was crying.  Somewhere, she heard the child screaming.  Yet it all fell quiet when the captain approached, grabbed Genna from her, and smacked her hard enough that she really did go temporarily deaf, blinking stupidly as he grabbed her hair and shoved her down.  His weight squeezed the air from her lungs, and for more than a moment, she saw stars flickering in the massive dark spot where the captain should have been.  She hissed a curse, drawing her knee up, but the new, heavy black skirts with the warm honey pleats were not conducive to street fighting, only slowing the jerking reaction as she tried to knee him in the groin.  The motion was enough that she was able to swallow some air, which she used to scream her daughter's name until her voice petered out in a ragged burst of sound.

Rosalind:

The Underdark was not a place Rosalind generally went, and certainly, never went unaccompanied.  The footsteps of the Lamonts were solid beside her, until she raised a hand to still them.  "There," she whispered, "did you hear that?"  The clansmen stopped, unconsciously letting their knees loosen, keeping a wide and atheletic stance to accept whatever trouble came their way like the born soldiers they were.  Not a gesture of affection, but rather of guiding, she rested a hand on the bicep of Collum, a rather squat young man with the misfortune of his father's perpetually scowling face, and moved them into the back alley. 

Callum

"It is very quiet," Callum muttered in Inveryne's ear, his hand moving to the dirk sheathed at his thigh.  He drew it, and briefly examined the single sharp edge, culminating in a wicked point.  Only nine inches, it was not an excessively large blade, but like Rosalind's stiletto, one of a singular purpose.

Rosalind:

"yes," Rosalind said softly, the word a gentle sigh of air through her lips as she canted her head down the side street.  They would come from behind, sliding through the shadows, watching, observing.  That is, until they heard the piercing shriek of a name that rang with familiarity.  Then they ran, even Inveryne, whose gait was awkward but sure, utilizing what strength she possessed in the left to compensate for the twisted right, her cane stabilizing her stride as the two Lamonts coursed just far enough ahead to break whatever danger lurked around the corner, but never out of range of Rosalind. *


Balztar:

Genna was beyond cries, her entire body shook to where she made sounds that could have one fear for their clothing, she would gag. Captain, would be so quick to turn again. Her hit had come up short, the the fire in her eyes enough to keep forever this moment. Every King needed a Queen, and he would have Ada in seconds. A kick would shuffle the dirt from the floor, the dried wine, and crumbled mess from dinner across her face. "Tie them both up, if that doesn't get him to come out, BURN his ship, BURN the house. Kill his wife, kill his whore. Bring him out." There were laws. Captain couldn't take Pere's place unless it was handed, or the pirate was killed. Where Ada was on the floor, he would bend to meet her eyes, pin her hands with his boots until her fingers were flattened beneath the leather. "You listen to me well..witch. You go find him. You use your whore ways to get him here. Or I'll tear the heart out of your princess. You sniffle one word to any guard, I'll make sure it's painful." He would apply pressure on the parts he trapped her with, until he felt sure the crunch of a bone would be heard. "We have no souls here. You forget. You can't turn on us. He can't turn on us. The only punishment is death." (d


Adelaide:

Ada turned her head aside and coughed violently at the dirt and mess spattered against her.  She lifted her gaze to rest calmly upon his, and felt the pressure come down upon the small bone beneath her littlest finger.  "I have had very little to do with him for three years.  He has his own family."  There was a whimper and then a sharp yelp of pain as she felt that small bone build up pressure, and then snap so easily, she could visualize the break easily in her mind.  "My daughter hasn't done anything to you.  Please.  She hasn't done -- " She pressed her eyes shut.  "She is innocent.  Use me."

Rosalind:

"That will not be necessary," Rosalind offered from the shadows revealed when the door to the pub swung open.  "I doubt you have seen my husband?" she asked Captain, arching a single brow, but not waiting to hear his response.  As the two Lamont men darted forward into the tavern, Rosalind swung her hands out wide and brought them crashing down on either ear, the noise of the clap so loud, and the force upon his eardrums so violent, it would instantly stun him no matter their difference in height.  When he was doubled over, she succeeded where Ada failed, whipping her knee upward through the slight bulk of her skirts until it connected with the softness of his groin.  Peregrine, wherever he was, would wish this man alive, so the stiletto remained in its hidden sheath.  But her fingers jabbed him hard enough he would wish she had killed him, finding the artery in his neck as easily as if he had marked it with paint for her convenience. *

Baltzar:

Many ran from the room, like sands through fingers they escaped the exits, but it was the Captain who found himself victim. He fell back with the kick, his ears burned from her slap and the bile crept up in the back of his neck with her strike. Stumbling back he took a deep breath, the cries of the child suddenly the only thing he heard. Wild rolling eyes roamed then for the little girl, and the knife was drawn. He would kill her there, and the woman who held her turned away to only have her shoulders thrown back and they both would tumble to the ground. The blade would sink heavily in the first object, his rage clear and the cries of Genna's protector came first as blood rushed over the blade. He was wild with it, slicing through her skin, but even now she struggled to protect the child. (d


Adelaide:

Ada easily found her feet, though perhaps, were Genna's life not at stake, she would have noticed how she seemed to swim through the world.  Broken bones did not hurt so badly once snapped, the release of pressure perhaps the most rewarding sensation, despite the burst of pain that rapidly faded into soreness.  She felt none of it as she glided past Rosalind after the captain, and launched herself into the air.  She was not a large woman.  She did not weigh much.  But coming from his side, and after the attack Rosalind gave him that would have knocked unconscious any lesser man, it would be enough to throw him off his feet.  It was her turn to be on top, her elbow thrust up under his chin.

Rosalind:

As Ada and the man rolled away, Rosalind stepped in and swept Genna from the arms of the woman.  It was an easy feat, with so much blood pouring from the woman's body.  Rosalind turned the child quickly, running her hands down that tiny body, ensuring herself that the deep red pooling upon the floor was not Genevieve's.  She held the girl close to her body as the Lamonts closed in, pulling Ada from the body of the captain while lowering their swords to his throat.  Genna seemed quite capable of yelling once more, and it was on the second sustained shriek that Rosalind shifted the little girl from her arms to Ada's, and they wordlessly stared together at the captain on the floor, pinned where he was by two swords pointed at his neck. *

Baltzar:

"You can't stop this." He spit, the blood from his own lip, a bite of his own teeth when he hit the ground. "I'll have one of his kin. We'll get our revenge. Drag both you whores to hell." He stilled his mouth then as the swords were pressed against his flesh. Around him now just at his behind there was enough men to pool with their own blades drawn. It was a show down, but the aged gypsy would be the first to rise.

Momma:

"Let them go. A message they can give. I know where he is..I have known all along. If he wishes this not to reach the lands, or blood to spill he'll turn it over." Momma took Rosalind's eyes first, before moving into Ada's. "This is not over." Her long fingers rose to point with all to the child, "But this..this child is..she must not know this pain." Her hand came to touch her chest then, feeling the heart beneath it break as Genna's did. "She is an important key." The Gypsy around her gave nods of the head, lowering their swords first.With that the room was empty, save for the Captain who was still under hold of the men, but the rest all filed out for the night. The event over for now. (d

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

Adelaide:

The room emptied out quickly, leaving Ada and Rosalind alone with Genevieve.  Ada stepped away from the other woman and went to calm her daughter down, soothing those large, wracking sobs with little hisses of air, bouncing her as well as she could in one arm, and walking slowly from one wall to another.  They would not be harmed again tonight, not with the two Lamont guards, and cease-fire called by Momma.  She did not feel safe, but there was no need to move quickly just yet.  And her daughter was frightened beyond sound, her head buried against Ada's shoulder, her body tight with terror.  It broke Ada's heart, but she was not capable of feeling much just then. Finally, Genna's tears stopped flowing, and she fell asleep, thumb stuck in her mouth once again.  She turned back to face Rosalind, who seemed embroiled in a conversation with the Lamont men about what to do with the captain on the floor.  They'd since tied him up and sheathed their swords.  Ada walked back to the crowd and looked to Rosalind.  Did she know?  How could she not?  She was angry with Peregrine for not discussing this with her, but what right did she have?  Rosalind was his wife.  Ada was the other woman.  Not accustomed to feeling jealous, much less ashamed of those she chose to love, she did feel uneasy around Rosalind.  Certainly, a woman of the court would know the gossip.


Rosalind:

Rosalind's face remained as still as a death mask, watching the room very carefully.  It was obvious now that Peregrine was nowhere to be found in the Underdark, and Momma would be an unreliable source if Rosalind wished to follow her husband into the forests.  She did wish to, very much, but not if drawing him out meant destroying whatever plans he might be laying.  She placed her hand to her chin and thought quietly as the Lamonts spoke, her eyes occasionally lifting to Ada and her daughter.  She had not questioned Peregrine when he had gone off into the woods that night.  She had not questioned him when he returned, either, so long as his heart knew its home.  Their courtship had been a strange one.  She had been afraid for so long, and he had been more than half wild.  When they knew they could not be apart, they were well past the point of discussing their relationship.  Peregrine, she could somehow forgive.  Hypocritically, she had a more difficult time forgiving Ada, who had pretended to be his friend, yet never had she seen her husband so destroyed as when he dreamed of a child by another woman, and felt his place elsewhere.  Until now.  Ada had made no claims on Peregrine.  She was as diplomatic as any courtier, and respectful of a relationship that preceded her place in Peregrine's heart.  Peregrine was, every day, becoming a man he was proud to look at in the mirror.  Did it matter if a part of his heart belonged to a little girl?  She could not begrudge Genevieve that relationship with her father, no matter her feelings regarding Adelaide.  It was a start, was it not?  Rosalind spoke a few quiet words to the Lamonts, and when she looked back to Adelaide, had found the woman at her side.  Their difference in height was comical, but they had other things in common, both in physical appearances and of the heart.  "Let us escort you home to Jean-Claude," Rosalind said.  "The men will find a place to store the ... gentleman."  She glanced down at the man on the floor.  She'd torn a sleeve free from her garment and shoved the balled fabric into the man's mouth.  He merely glared up at Inveryne, which made her smile faintly.  "Here, let me hold her, ah?  Your hand looks painful."


Adelaide:

Tension she had been holding her own body released at Rosalind's words.  They were so very formal, but not everyone spoke with the eloquence -- or lack thereof -- as a Parisian street urchin.  She glanced down at her hand after handing Genna off and whimpered.  Her hand was nearly twice its usual size. *

Julian:

Jean-Claude had stepped out for the night, lost in his world of work Julian had been the fool to take his place. A man of only 21 years had found himself a seat by the fire, where he should have been working. There were tickets to fill, and orders to be finished..yet all he could care was the latest gossip from England. The world of courtly matters would have never been there for his taking had he not been able to seat himself along side the Frenchman. It was of the courtier's generosity did he take advantage, and now found himself a way in. He was to be master apprentice to either trade, but would find himself drawn more on the side of fitting; Blood nearly did him in.Two sides to every coin, he had hated the foundation of this place, as he knew it not to be Jean's first passion. How many times had the blood from his third story lab spilled onto the silk storage? Thankful for the day when all had moved out, and he was left free run of the shop; Yet now he watched it fall. He should have been working, and often would skip all together on anything of the sort. Do not forget our guest..The kind words of the Scientist found the inner workings of his memory as his own pale eyes lifted to the stairs. Was she even still up there? Did she not have a husband? Would it matter. She was beautiful, no man could deny but was she just another project? Somewhere in the midst of the night he found himself wanting to draw into the door, press it back just to take a peek of what was forbidden. Women like that were not as open about their bodies like Ada, therefore he desired to see it all the more. Pale eyes passed then to the window, filtering out through the glass with vibrant attempt to even see if the witch was home. (d

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

Fittings were a normal part of courtly life when one was constantly being told that they must dress to their station. So it was of little surprise that she would be found this day at the Master's hand while being told to stand thusly, or hold still in such a fashion. His pins were sharp, his eyes more so. Little comfort could be taken in the task at hand, but the constantly chatter from Mrs. Harper made it all harken back to another time when she had been fitted for another occasion. Coming to Skye, then her marriage. Now, all she wished for was not to look like a  nun! Jean-Claude certainly had some sort of image as to what he wished of her but for her merit she hadn't a clue as to what that might be. Stock still for the fourth time in ten minutes, she held her arms outward while standing in nothing but a chemise. It was fine, with a bit of embroidery that Mrs. Harper assured her was fetching, though Ana-Catalina couldn't be sure since she rarely gave her undergarments a second thought. "Do you think perhaps we could try something as bold as the Lady Adelaide wore?" She couldn't help the glint of a smile that cast of her lips as she regarded the Master Clothier with gray eyes that held a bit of levity within them. (d

Adelaide:

Ada went to find Rosalind's cane as well as her hat, which must have fallen from her head in the rough handling of earlier.  The hat, surprisingly, was not as dirty as the rest of Ada, and she placed it upon her head at a defiantly jaunty angle.  Cradling her injured hand beneath her breasts, she handed Rosalind the cane and kept pace of the woman through the Underdark.  It was cold and damp, no weather she wished to be abroad in, but Ada was astounded at how strict and measured Rosalind's stride was.  She was a woman who never flinched.  She never revealed what she was thinking.  Ada, however, revealed her every thought in her wide dark eyes, particularly when upset.  She inhaled and exhaled deeply a few times to calm herself, and eventually, they left the Underdark and emerged in the night time air.  Today had been a challenging one.  A nomination to a fantastic seat, which might lead to a rise in status that Ada had actually earned on her own merits -- but a fight with Jean-Claude that now felt so silly, she wanted to cry. Not that crying would make him appear any faster, she thought, glancing down the street and shaking her head slowly.  Rosalind, inexorable, never broke her stride, but turned them all down the next corner until they saw the glowing lamps within Jean-Claude's corner shop, not far from where the shop with the blue door and shutters stood, dark and forlorn without its residents upstairs.  Ada went up to the door, but it was Rosalind who gave her a look that was impossible to translate, and raised her cane to knock upon the wood with its head. *

Jean-Claude:

Any man would be such a fool to not live in the moments like this, and perhaps the false mask he wore of this choice of career could have been easily worn by any male with the idea, Jean-Claude had seen nearly every woman's undergarments on the Isle. Would they think him so strange then? He would have had Julian do it, or perhaps even the lady, but when it came to such small detail he wanted it to be perfect. In his experiments he was the same, until everything was perfect and flawless would he even keep the idea of perhaps he was not mad. A somber motion of his hand would gently touch her bare ankle if only to have her stance widen, and though there was nothing written across his face of perfect precision he felt him flush on the inside. The tape would be drawn up around her then to measure the length of her leg.Her words however would sooth the heat rushing to his chest, and find even a small hint of a smile around that shadowed face. "Let us not go there. Please, I beg you. I have one Prima Donna in my life, I need not another." Though..it would be three between his Godchildren, and Adelaide. "Mon Chatte," His pet name for her, meaning she-cat, my she-cat, "Is very stuck in her ideas, and has been all her life." He had known her for most of it, would that give away his age? Standing then, he would roll the ribbon marked in ink measured perfectly and give the notion to Harper so that she could throw the robe over her shoulders. "But I would change only this about her..promise." He mused at the idea, of how it was a fight to get Genna clean, he could only wonder what poor Ada's parents went through. When the Lady Harper would robe the Princess, Jean-Claude would come to her shoulder to catch her eyes in her reflection as his hands went to free the long dark tresses from their prisoner robe. Gently he pulled them out to let them fall again, and the skin under his gloves would ache to truly feel what was beneath. "Do not be so worried..all will come together." Meaning her wardrobe or her life?

Julian:

The knock would break his thoughts, but somewhere in the pits of his stomach would he know..though..Ada wouldn't knock. Standing quickly, he would come to answer seeing the Lady on the other side, the darkness about her like a black veil as even on this night the lamps did little good. "Your husband isn't here, Rosalind, I'm sorry. We've not seen him for weeks." And with that he would start to close the door until he saw the shadows of the rest, "What do you want?" Ada? That was shadow across her face was it not? "Your pimp get upset?" He asked her in a dry tone, opening the door to let them in. "He wishes not to be bothered, so you will take your business with me." (d

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

It was those innocuous touches that drew her to correct her stance with a slight sigh passing her lips. "It was simply a passing thought." Her apology was murmured in the way a student might to appease a teacher. Though well used to being handled by such close trades she did not so much as flinch as her hair was drawn through the Master's fingers. It reminded her in a bittersweet way that her husband had once done so. "She is a woman unlike any other." Rather than question, she stated as she had envied her on such a deep, female level that she was surprised Jean-Claude hadn't seen it? She had wanted that confidence, that joie de vivre that the woman seemed to wrap around her like a rich cloak. It was rather like being a small twinkling star next to the vibrant moon in Ana-Catalina's opinion. Lips quirked once more as she turned her head just a little so that she could regard the Master Clothier. "Do you truly think you can find out how far deeply laid my uncle's game is? I ... worry." More than worry, she was all but petrified but wouldn't let it show. What princess worth her salt would? Stock still those argent eyes scrutinized Jean-Claude. "Do you love her very much?" It was a quiet question, one that she longed to be assured of by another. (d

Rosalind:

"Ah, Julian, good evening," Rosalind said politely, inclining her head.  She listened very carefully to what he had to say, shifting Genna ever so slightly upon her hip so as not to rouse the child, whose day had been far longer than any of theirs.  She raised her cane when he made to shut the door, the head making a solid, satisfying thunk upon the wood.  "You will not shut the door in my face, Julian.  You will address me as you address any of the peers. It is a mark of a tailor of the court, or of any merchant who hopes to gain the favor of the peerage, to give proper respect to his betters. I am the Princess of Corsica, Duchess of Auvergne, and at the very least of my honorifics, the Lady Inveryne. Any of these shall suffice; my Christian name shall not. As for the Lady Adelaide -- "

Adelaide:

"Stuff it, Julian."  She raised her hand, curling the fingers under, and punched him square across the jaw.  It would not be his howls that would alert Jean-Claude he had company however, but Ada's.  She grabbed her dominant hand, curled over it, and shouted the most obscene reference to aubergines and pigs and Julian's mother that she could come up with, which promptly roused Genevieve --

Rosalind:

"Your hand, my dear," Rosalind said belatedly, bouncing Genna helplessly as she watched Ada scuttle away into the depths of Jean-Claude's shop, looking in retreat as though she was pressing her lips together to prevent further outbursts.  Rosalind rested her cane against the door, and chose the moment to covertly cross herself, before picking up the cane again and nudging Julian's prone body with it. *

Jean-Claude:

"Mon Cher..There are many things you do not know about me. If any on this Isle, it is I." The truth, this world she was standing in now was nothing compared to the other. Where politics laced thickly with religious efforts, and the wild hairs of a madman found him in the strangest of places. She knew nothing of the man beneath the mask he wore, or even of the past that held him captive under his own disguise. Gloved hands came to touch her shoulders gently squeezing still captivated by the reflection even though the flesh was beneath him. In many ways the woman across from him was more real, then the one just under his finger tips, for all could be whatever they wished in a mirror's reflection.He had thought her request of what Adelaide wore, a jest at first, but the sigh did take him back. Perhaps he would throw her something of a bit more thought into the mix, but never the hat. Oh no, the hat simply would go, at least of that nature. "I love too much." He spoke not of simply Adelaide, but of a passionate pull of his own person. "I have deep seeded passions, that are in my work as you can tell." His trade was flawless. Jean-Claude would start to walk then around the room, "Adelaide is my.." He stopped hearing the sound of her voice, carry through the halls. The cry to chill him, and suddenly the word ..world. Could no longer be found as he turned to make a quick pass through the halls.

Julian:

Julian would take the hit, and would want to return it; even carrying through with the motions but not connecting. He wished her dead, for reasons of his own but he did wish her dead! Yet suddenly the floor felt more inviting.

Jean-Claude:

He would be down the stairs before she would make it up, and into the open space he moved her like a dance to the fire; the motions just as graceful as delicate hands came to cup her chin. "Mon chatte..what has happened?" Black eyes passed from Ada to Rosalind, then to the stairs where no doubt the Princess would soon follow. "Julian.." Julian was on the floor, and he would turn begging eyes to Rosalind. "Please..the bag by the window upstairs by the chair." His medical case, or at least the proper tools for them, what he did with them was nothing of healing. He started in French, quiet careful French to ask her where it hurt, what had happened, and what who. (d

Rosalind:

"Please do not bother with him, he is not worth the time," Rosalind said, her voice an unusual drawl as she tended to agree with Adelaide in this instance.  However, she did as he asked, and went to find the bag, climbing up the stairs in her usual stately, if uneven, gait.  She took Genna with her, hoping she could calm the child by taking her away from Julian's body, but it seemed distance from her mother only made those shrieks turn from alarm to air raid level.

Adelaide:

Ada decided, no matter how cool Rosalind was, she loved that woman.  She stopped biting her lip long enough to smile admirably at the woman's retreating backside.  Well, there was more to admire than just her backside, she supposed.  It was a step in the right direction, no?  She cleared her throat and looked back to Jean-Claude.  The night showed on her face when she stepped toward him into the light.  Covered in tavern dirt and grime, but with the clean hat of the chevalier cokeed upon her head, she was certain she looked a sight.  Her cheek had the imprint of a rather large hand upon it, and her injured hand had come back to rest beneath her breasts, the little finger jutting out at a very strange angle now that the supporting bone had snapped.  She held the hand out to Jean-Claude when he asked, and gritted her teeth at the slightest touch.  The stupid bone would have to be reset, and she offered another very helpful curse involving cucumbers this time as she dragged up a chair and took a seat.  She explained about meeting the delegate, the angry mob looking for Peregrine in the Underdark, and how she had gotten caught amidst it, save Rosalind and her men also happened to be looking for Peregrine.  "By the way, where is he?" Ada asked, hoping Jean-Claude would at least offer her some wine before he moved the bone back and wrapped her hand up.  She fell quiet for a long moment, and then went into detail about the fight, what the Captain had said.  And Momma. *

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

All seemed well and good until they heard the sounds of what could have only been a woman beyond distressed and into livid. Ana-Catalina had once heard that Juana of Spain was like that, yet she had never actually heard such a feat until now. It was ... rather impressive, and she put each and every curse to memory for use at a later date. She might have been a princess, but there had been a time when in private she had sworn rather colorfully if only to make her husband laugh. Following on the trail of Jean-Claude's footsteps she all but toppled over to see the Lady Rosalind, and the rather sorry condition that the Lady Adelaide was now in. "Sweet Christ." It was her fingers! They looked absolutely hideous and it took her a few moments to find the courage to stomach the sight of them. Cheeks blanched of color while gray eyes seemed to go even paler beneath the hood of dark lashes that veiled them. "Where is whom, Lady Adelaide?" Her words came out in a harsh whisper, her throat suddenly dry. If the Lady Rosalind's presence was any indication, she already knew the answer to her own stupid question. Clearing her throat, she tried to become as unobstrusive as possible. Julian however drew her gaze, as he seemed to have developed a rather nasty look on his face. "Did you ... Lady Adelaide, did you strike him?" More impressed than mollified she seemed to find her color then as she pulled her robe tighter about her. (d

Jean-Claude:

His fingers came to his lips to muffle his gasp, the shock of the sight nothing new to him, but it was on the hands of a creature far too precious for such pain. "Adelaide..it will need to be reset." He knew this without touching though his fingers slowly did turn her wrist enough to see the swelling did end there. He started checking the other bones in her hand, and had there been any other in the room perhaps they would have thought is strange the tailor knew of where a hand's bone did end to join the wrist. A very dark pull captured his features then, and his voice sounded more of a hiss, "Tell me this man is still alive." The Lamonts had him yes? "Peregrine is with his brother." He growled lowly turning a small look over to Rosalind, and her guard. His hands were trembling and the Lady Harper would come with a cold wet rag to help with the pain, but Jean-Claude felt himself grow ill. Had their been color to his face it would have washed away.

Peregrin:

Rosalind would come to the room, the vast open space outlined by windows, and the one that was open would be the only to carry any sort of shadow. Genna's cries could break a man's heart, but as her father stepped from the open space she could perhaps be tamed. His cheeks were red from the run in the cold, but all fell together when he took Genna from Rosie to pull the child against his chest and fall to his knees as he rocked her. The air from his lungs could hardly find it's way for simple worry he would be too late. His hand snaked through the dark curls of the child and he pressed his cheek against her temple, perhaps he would as well start to cry. He looked a mess, but wasn't he always? Though his concussion was well over the bruise from the nasty hit had been enough. He spoke to her in words that were not English, or any language known upon the isle, but somewhere in the back his mind he knew Genna would understand. My child, do not cry..nothing can harm you here. Still he rocked carefully, his shoulders shook with the worry all setting in at once. He loved this child dearly.


Adelaide:

She carefully removed her hat with her uninjured hand, and set it aside on the table.  She covered one of his hands, and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "It will grow inflamed if you do not.  It would never heal properly, and I need my hands for my work, hmm?"  She told herself it would be brief pain.  Once it was set, it would hurt less, and in a few weeks, she would be able to use the hand again.  Of course, she knew resetting it would be painful like none other, and so did Jean-Claude, but she was optimistic, smiling even as she asked him to uncork a bottle of wine she found nearby, and then took a long drink.  She wasn't going anywhere tonight.  Had she told him she managed to burn the captain before he threw her onto the floor?  No?  That was an interesting detail he might like to know.  "And I am not tired at all from it," she added, and then fell quiet again.  At that moment, Ana-Catalina descended the stairs.  Ada gave her a brief wave.  "The lady from the restaurant.  Of course I remember, my dear.  And yes, he has had it coming for a very long time," Ada replied to the last query, her eyes narrowing as they rested on Julian, who still wasn't moving.  She almost felt sympathy for him, but quashed that emotion almost immediately.  "I am not a whore."  She looked to Jean-Claude for confirmation, but of course -- the only thing confirmed now was that Ada and wine still did not mix particularly well.  She took another swig.

Rosalind:

Rosalind set her cane down, and joined Peregrine by the window, awkwardly sliding to the floor with her leg out to the side, an arm around her husband's shoulders as he rocked his daughter to sleep again.  She was quiet, wishing to say so much, but now was not the time.  If this had been Polly....  If it had been Polly....  Might it be their daughter next time?  She felt like hitting Peregrine for disappearing so long without word, but instead, she settled a little closer to him, and remained at his side. *


Peregrin:

"I betrayed them Rosalind." He whispered looking to his wife. "I gave them names inside the hallow." The circle of ground that was safe, where he protected those who came inside. "I gave them to Claramae, you..Jean-Claude. They'll stop at nothing. Where is the baby? Where are our children? Please tell me they are in the castle." His eyes got big, as he rose not ready to give Genna up just yet. "They'll kill them. You. We can't go home." He spoke all at once, listening to Ada's voice. She was ok. He did not wish the fight to continue, but this would be his last. Be it in death or victory, Peregrine was done with the Underdark. He kissed Genna on the temple then inhaling the very scent of her, while she fell asleep in his arms. "I won't stop." He knew he had reached his limits, but somewhere he was tipping over. He'd kill every last one of them, men, women, children. It would matter very little.

Jean-Claude:

Taking the uncorked bottle from her he too would take a swig, having sworn it mostly off the familiar taste was welcome. "Ada..please. Be still." Without warning he would set it, without the mind to think it through the deed was done with a single snap, and the cold cloth was fast to wrap around it. It was dangerous how well he knew of the body, to think of beauty on the outside, but his true desire was for what was in. Such a sick man, indeed! "No. You are not a whore, but none of you will be sleeping here tonight. We will all be going to the Hall." (d

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

So much went on all at once that it was nearly theatrical in the wayward princess' mind. Adelaide and Jean-Claude seemed caught up in their own small world, and with the appearance of Peregrine only made it all that much more hard to take in. "Quite." It was all she could say in those hushed tones as she watched, fascinated now with Jean-Claude dealt with Adelaide's damaged hand. It gave her a moment's pause as she studied his movements, and the fact that both of them had large quantities of wine in them now. Perhaps it was necessary to drink before one practiced healing? Curious now she set aside her unease at the sight of Adelaide's fingers to watch closely. "Is there aught else with medicines that you know?" It might help her to know this, not just that he could sew clothing well. (d


Rosalind:

"I took them to my old suite at the castle," Rosalind said.  She could think of nowhere else to leave them for the night, not with such a long journey back.  Unsure of what condition she would find Peregrine, she had assumed she might need the suite again.  Did he want to go to Ada?  She wondered what he felt, and worried at how petty she felt at that moment, when there were so many larger issues to deal with.  There was a brief scream downstairs, and Rosalind jumped.  She put a hand over her mouth, but in the moment, realized what must have happened and let the hand fall again.  "Ada ... might not have made it, had I not been worried about where you were," Rosalind said, her voice softening from its usual hardness.  "And yes, he is still alive," she answered his next obvious question.  "He broke one of her fingers, which might have healed cleanly on its own, but then she punched out Julian."  Was that a smile of satisfaction?  Yes, it certainly was. Who knew but Pere what a bloodthirsty woman he'd married? 

Adelaide:

"No, but it helps with the pain," Ada was able to say before Jean set her hand.  At first, she wasn't certain whether she wished to pass out or rid herself of the wine she'd just consumed.  Then she decided on the latter, and was barely able to make it to the bucket containing ashes Julian had yet to put out even after managing to finally clean the hearth.  When her stomach had finally calmed, when she had wiped her mouth, and taken a small amount of the herbal mouthwash left in a decanter upon the mantle -- Julian would have no use for such luxuries, it had been a gift to Jean-Claude when she made her last batch -- she returned to her seat and let him wrap the hand.  "Thank you," she said briefly, looking at Jean-Claude.  He did not look well at all.  "I think the rest is just bruising," she added, watching Ana-Catalina's gaze settle on the hand.  "I only heard one pop."  It looked nasty, though.  She wondered how she hadn't felt it before.  Surely, one should feel that sort of pain well before punching Julian halfway into nex week.  "I just took supplies to the Order, Jean.  There is plenty there, if you would like to use them."  Ada was not usually so strong, but she also had little idea where her daughter was, and would not rest until Jean said they were wherever they were going tonight. *

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

Jean-Claude:

Silence had fallen over the city, the candles lit the backs of the windows casting an eerie yet warm light upon a world that was so cold. Winter would not let up, pulling the very essence of the frost covered world to shiver even in the wake of the nights events. The dark side of the moon had never seemed so close, as it's half smile seemed to frown. The world had gone crazy, but for now there was a calm peace. Genna was asleep, though still she shivered from the events still playing somewhere in her dreams, and it broke his heart; this master trade-smith who could hardly sleep. Of all that was right in the world Genevieve had known, and now she tasted her first bit of the wicked world. Jean-Claude found himself undone, rattled to the core as suddenly the cage he had been so happily content in had been shaken. In his flight, he had found the one weak branch of their tree, and even in the safety of the hall could he not rest. Away from his tower, there was the west wing where the various rooms all alined in order to suit the many who called it home; even for such a short time. The living space was joined, by water rooms between each bedroom, but it was the drawing room where he made his bedding, pooling over the possibilities to get out of this mess. Ada's daughter slept with her head in his lap, his overcoat as her blanket and the fire at their side--a pirate asleep at their feet. (d


Rosalind:

Rosalind couldn't sleep.  She tried, but it would not come.  Rather than tossing anxiously in the bed Jean-Claude afforded her, she rose, donned a robe thick enough to fight off the drafts that pervaded even Ebony Hall, and took her cane for a walk.  She was quiet as she slipped out, and her eyes did not linger on the trio sleeping around the sofa, but rather kept straight ahead into the darkness of the corridors.  Her routine for so many years had been to walk castle corridors until she was too exhausted to think. She did so now, letting her mind comb through all that had finally demanded acknowledgement, and finding its own peace at last.  Peregrine should have told her, Rosalind decided at last.  He should have said something.  Of Ada, of their child, of the Underdark.  She was no fragile creature who would break at the slightest jostling of her world.  She would not break with one more disappointment.  And it was a disappointment -- but not an insurmountable one.  For her own reasons, it was very difficult to be angry.  She rested a hand upon the door leading to Jean-Claude's rooms, feeling the cool wood and the grain pressing into her skin.  She was about to enter, when she heard a slight clearing of the throat from behind.


Adelaide:

"I do not know how they sleep," Ada said, a frown in her voice.  She did not mean to startle Rosalind, and was glad when the woman turned slowly, rather than startling around.  Too much excitement had happened already this evening.  It was bad for the digestion.  She nodded over her shoulder, indicating for Rosalind to follow.  They needed to speak, Ada thought.  There was much to be said.  She set a slow pace, but was startled to find Rosalind wished to move more quickly, and spend up to keep abreast of the much taller woman.  Their shared language came more naturally than English, and Ada had the sensation that Rosalind almost appreciated the excuse not to speak English.  "Merci," Ada said after a moment.  "For tonight."

Rosalind:

Rosalind had no desire to speak, really, but she could understand that Ada would.  Jean-Claude often said she was chatty, but if he suffered a witch to live, so might Rosalind.  "You're welcome."  What else could be said that was not already obvious?  Rosalind's natural state was silence, and to this she reverted, having little idea how uncomfortable it made the petite woman beside her. *

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

It was a night for haunting the halls, and it was an occupation that she had taken to in order to ensure that in the morning she was still breathing. Rather that disrobe, she wore still her gown to ward off the chill that crept from the walls. It might as well should have been imagined, that chill but she rubbed her hands against her arms while wandering from her room toward the greater living area where she nearly stumbled over the master clothier, a child and the man she knew now to be Lady Rosalinds husband. It was odd to see them there, the trio of souls that weren't quite sure where they were going but still it was a comforting sight if Ana-Catalina knew anything of comfort. "I beg your pardon." Her voice was little more than a whisper as she regarded Jean-Claude with wide eyes of silver. It wasn't everyday that one ended their evening in a fashion such as this but then again, she was growing steadily used to having her days and nights unravel into the out of the ordinary. Careful not to disturb the sleeping child, she more or less crept forward. Children were always a bit intimidating but at least with this one past out she could investigate without worry. (d


Jean-Claude:

There was a comfort having them all under one roof, if only for a night and suddenly the idea of the large estate just on the row sounded more appealing; at least it would have more character, color, freedom. The Ebony Hall was guarded like a lie, but in fact it was simply the pure secret of it's nature. For now it simply was an establishment, but with changing walls, smoke and mirrors soon it would be a maze. His tower was on the far left, overlooking the city, and from it's height it held sights of the sea. Yet, it was not open for the public, nor would he allow any of this room to venture close to the stairs. Their doom could be met, from simply one mistake, for when the lantern outside was red none should even dare knock.His latest project was explosive and already the mousy maid who came to call found herself unable to hear for the boom that shook the foundation. He was experimenting with combustion, finding what made the heavy powder spark as it did for canons, and perfecting it's formula; a silly fool that woman. The voices in the hall, but it was the small quiet   sound of the Italian Princess did he offer a very tired smile. "Good Evening," he spoke in a quiet yet warm voice, feeling guilty for not even considering her emotions. The words of begging wanted to leave his lips, ask of her forgiveness for his manners (or lack there of) and how he had almost forgotten her. "Is there something I can do for you?" His hands full with one across the back of the sleeping child, and the other holding the stem of the glass half full now from the bit of wine to sooth the soul. "I have locked you away.." He smiled, the shadows making it appear for an instance there was nothing there but a shallow empty skull with eyes as black as coal. "Princess, forgive me for keeping you so. My world has been shaken." Of all on the Isle perhaps this one before him would understand the most. His eyes fell to the pirate who slept before the fire, noting how thin he seemed, how on edge even in his rest, but there wasn't a knife hilt in his hand. Jean-Claude felt guilty then, he should have kept better eye on his friend. (d

Adelaide:

Though she had often tried, she wore her heart on her sleeve.  What she thought, she said.  She was chatty.  Not everything she said had meaning, but she did like to be heard.  Ada could even understand women like Rosalind, who were so used to being unheard, they only spoke when certain they had an audience.  Well, she was an audience.  She wanted Rosalind to speak.  At first, she had wanted Rosalind to yell at her.  As the years passed, however, a few words would have been nice.  Unnecessary, yes -- Ada would always be the other woman.  But nice.  She clutched her hand protectively to her stomach, but said nothing as she waited for Rosalind to speak, feeling a draft feather the hair at the back of her neck, and absently drawing her uninjured hand to it, pressing down upon the skin until the sensation had passed.


Rosalind:

Rosalind was quiet for a very long time, but her jaw worked under that set expression.  The time for yelling had come and gone.  She was no longer so angry as to shout anything rash.  And if bold words were to be spoken, her husband deserved them more than this woman, who had been keeping very careful distance for three years, despite a right to demand help of Peregrine.  What a curious woman, this Ada.  She let out the breath she was holding very slowly and finally broke her silence.  "I ... want my husband to know his other daughter," she said, her words cool at first, but warming at the end, as her usual tight control weakened.  "He should not fear my temper or hurt."

Adelaide:

"But you are hurt?"  It was a small statement, rising at the end, as Ada lifted her head to Rosalind.  She was gratified to see the slight twitch of Rosalind's head.  No.  Rosalind inclined her head, and having said all she was capable of saying, turned back and pushed open the door to where her family lay sleeping.  Ada, however, hung back.  It was her turn to comb the hallways in search of inner answers. *

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

She was not sure she agreed with his statement of being locked away, but she understood all too well that he was not quite feeling his surest footing. He was right in his assumption that she would understand how he felt. Skirting around them she seemed markedy ill at ease with the situation if only for a moment, those precious few seconds it took for her to compose herself as Rosalind came in. She was but a bit player here on this stage, so she tried her hardest to appear as unobtrusive as possible. Yet, there was a tugging there in her heart for Jean-Claude. "One must shore their defenses if they expect a siege. This is but a set back, I am certain." Or at least, so she hoped. And that hope for them was clearly evident in the fervor of gray eyes. It was all she had ever wanted of her own life, and it had been so close in her grasp that when it was taken away everything else seemed irrelevant. Strange that it was not only she, a fugitive princess that could want for something so simple, yet so hard to grasp. (d

Jean-Claude:

The words came in through the halls caught him, he knew the voices one like a song to his heart, the other the melody; but he worried even then. This night went deeper for the pair of them, the trio should Rosalind's husband return from the dead sleep. It was a moment of unity, of realization, and in this he was disappointed Adelaide did not follow through the doors. Pinned by her daughter, he gave in on the chase if only to take a deep breath. "It amazes me, Ma petite, that I am out of practice." She knew very little of him, how could she have known the past. His life upon a pirate ship, under the watchful eye of the Roman church, and even in trials with the Lord.Yet there was an amusement that washed over his face at the very idea of another adventure, and this was what kept him going--putting everything back together again. It made him feel needed, appreciated, and young even if it wore at a seemingly ageless face. "A day in the life no?" He smiled extending his hand to offer her the seat next to him before returning it to Genna's back, and brushing through her dark curls. "I should put her in her room, but I am not certain I am ready to let her go." He mused rubbing her back, and she sighed against the touch. Rosalind came into the room then like a breath of fresh air even in the moment of darkness, she always seemed to carry that ultimate calm. A fierce creature that one, "He is gone from this world, and I am not certain I could move him if I wished. Rosalind, have you met the Lady Ana-Catalina?" Her formal tittle falling away for the moment, a great sign of his exhaustion. (d

Rosalind:

"Yes, indeed I have, though it was some time ago," Rosalind said, her face already rearranged back into her perfect calm.  It was such a flawless face, one genuinely believed she felt as she looked.  Nothing escaped those hazel eyes of hers that she did not mean, and her lips were ever in a perfect line, no twitch of amusement to be found unless she wished it.  Her life had been lived in the public eye since the moment she left her husband's boat and set foot on Scotland.  Their home in France had been too remote for any but the Scottish prisoners the king sent to her father. "My lady, it is a pleasure to make your reacquaintance."  She inclined her head politely, and set her cane against a wall, taking a seat where she could keep an eye on the child in Jean's arms, while allowing her lame leg to fall straight out, her robe covering all skin, of course, and settling in wind-less billows in an elegant fashion.She thought about her Lamont men back at the castle.  She thought about the Captain's bound and tied body.  And even Julian, the poor lad, though he'd had it coming.  She was quite tired of people calling her by her Christian name without leave, though she did not tend to stab them as Claramae did when offended.  "Then let us not move him.  I do not know where he has been, nor what he has done, but when he sleeps like that, I do believe his body requires it."  She lifted a brow as she studied her husband.  God preserve that man.  She was too curious about what had caused all of this, though she was certain her slow-burning anger would rise eventually.  Give her an excuse.  Rosalind only required a spark. *

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

Ana-Catalina expected nothing less of the woman who had once been lady's maid to the Duchess of Skye. It was perhaps the reason why she had felt so comfortable once upon a time in her company, because she was as proprietary as any Italian. Manners were something that she could certainly do with, even when in familiar company. "Lady Lamont, it is indeed a pleasure to see you hale." Hale, but not well. At least not was all it should have been if as Peregrine had said, he had not seen his wife in some time. Given that, she found herself with the immediate desire to fidget in place though she stayed the notion by curling her toes tightly against the bottoms of her feet inside her shoes."He does indeed seem to sleep the sleep of one who has not recently closed his eyes to rest overmuch." But what could she know of such things? Swallowing against any further observation that would no doubt warrant speculation, her fingers crossed themselves, buried into her lap and the skirts there. "A day in the life indeed." Murmuring while trying to further disappear into the furniture. (d

Peregrin:

Their voices passed over his dreams calling him back from the world as it all fell away, and the vivid images soon faded to the other side of his closed eyes. The fire was what pulled him, closed the space now between dead and alive; only to have him turn to face it. The heat burned at his face until he finally came alive and eyes opened as he raised his neck to look about. A deep intake of air pushed his chest, as the fire lit the back of his now wild curls. Like a cat he stretched in his rise only to find himself seated at his wife's feet. Arms went around her legs and he pressed his cheek against her thigh. Peregrine wanted nothing more then to go home, to see Honey and Aldric; and be done with the Underdark all together.His hand came to cup the back of her bad leg brushing his thumb across the skin there under her robe as he went around the room with his gaze counting faces. Raising his face once more he narrowed his eyes to make out the images there. Genna..check, Jean-Claude check, Ana-Catalina, meow, and his wife. "Where is Ada?" The deep tone rumbled from his chest as he tried to pull together this thoughts, but as his eyes found that of his wife he would take a deep breath and press his forehead to her thigh. He had so much to tell her, and wasn't sure where to start.

Jean-Claude:

"The Lady Lamont, is the mother to my other God Daughter, Apollonia who is indeed every bit the only rays of sunshine I shall ever need." He smiled thinking of the darling Honey, whose nickname came with the craving her father had to seek in the midst of the night. "They both keep me very busy." The kind he liked to be, but Honey held such a place in his heart, right next to Genna. Though, Honey surprisingly didn't get as dirty, therefore was a bit more favored. A darker mask fell over him as he watched the pirate wake, ready to hear of it himself though he worried of the company they kept. Would she ever wish to be pulled in on such a task? The Underdark was a ruin now, and fighting to get it's feet back. There would be much blood. (d

Rosalind:

Rosalind touched her husband's shoulder.  Though she was not the most empathic, and had good reason to be furious with Peregrine, she never was capable of turning him away.  She let the backs of her fingers slide over his hair.  In private, they would find a place to start, and Rosalind would listen.  For now, there were easier questions to answer.  "We met in the hall just a moment ago.  It seems neither of us was able to find sleep.  I suppose she will be back shortly."  Rosalind did not know, but it was her best guess.  Perhaps Jean-Claude could supply an answer, even if he had not heard the conversation.  He must know of what Ada needed to hear from Rosalind. "I regret I lost touch with many friends over the past three years.  Peregrine and I moved away from the court, to a chateau on lands rewarded me for service to the isle.  My son can chase dragons and wave swords around to his heart's content without running anyone down in the effort.  Apollonia and I can gather seashells on the shore while we wait for her father to come home."  She smiled distantly, but drew her eyes back to Ana-Catalina.  "After such a life as mine, living far from the ideal, it has been a bit like Paradise.  I could see never leaving there again, though I do find a part of me lusts for the inanities of court.  There is order there."Wistful?  Perhaps a bit, but Rosalind didn't tend to dwell on things.  She had enough inanity in her own clan to replace whatever she missed of the daily events in Bess's service.

Adelaide:

Ada did indeed need the time to think, though it was not so difficult coming to a decision as it had been for Rosalind.  Peregrine and Jean-Claude had been telling her for a very long time Rosalind would wish to have her company, though that first Yuletide celebration had been the height of awkward for the apothecary, who had been pregnant with Rosalind's husband's child at the time.  She flushed slightly thinking about it, but put it behind her, and did one more circuit of the hallways until that flush had disappeared.  Ada was never embarrassed about whom her heart chose.  It defeats the purpose of love, Ada claimed.  There was no shame in loving.  She glanced down at her hand as she walked and frowned at it.  It was throbbing for attention beneath the tight wrappings, and she wished very much to go find wherever the Lamont men had deposited the Captain's body to go break one of his bones.  The recent memory of punching out Julian seemed to satisfy the urge, and she went down to the first level to meet the carriage she had summoned.  Hanging from the outside were men in Argyle colors, trews keeping their usually bare legs warm in this weather.  Inside, was the nanny who had been summoned to the old Lamont suite in the castle to look after Aldric and Polly.  She emerged with the three-year-old hitched on one hip, and the sleepy Aldric stumbling out of the carriage and nearly face-planting, if one of the Lamont men had not grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.  "Steady, boy," he muttered, and Aldric groggily apologized.  Ada accepted the child from the nanny, and hustled Aldric inside.  Perhaps she was one of the Hall's servants,
but Aldric was too sleepy to question who Ada was, and Polly was snoring faintly with her mouth hanging open.  She nudged the door open with her hip, and sent Aldric in first, though she followed shortly behind. *

Ana-Catalina:[/b]

Her cheeks flushed as she regarded Rosalind with eyes shielded just so by dark lashes before they moved toward her husband, then back to Jean-Claude. "Distance and life have a way of getting between one and their friends." It was all she could say on the subject given how she had tried for months, sending out letters to those who had been friendly for advice, for help. It was only later that she had learned that all those desperate letters had be rerouted from her small world in Lithuania to Italy, rather than the noble courts of the world. "Order and intrigue, if they suit one's stomach." There was all that and more.Turning then toward the sight of even more children, her brows rose high up on her forehead. She was ... uneasy around them and found that perhaps retreat might have been the better course of action. Rising from her seat, she nodded to each of those gathered. "Perhaps it is my turn now to roam a bit. If you'll excuse me?" Sweat broke over her palms but she forbid herself from wiping them along her skirts like a common maid. The four of them, minus the children had much to discuss, and none of them would need her input as limited as it would be anways. (d


Jean-Claude:

Jean-Claude would watch as Ana would retreat, intrigued in the change, but there was very little that did not capture him about that woman. He enjoyed her company dearly, and could not help but feel his heart ache for her to have some sort of peace. Her time was coming, for this he was certain and he could feel it on the wind though there was indeed a deep heavy storm that seemed to loom over the memory of her name as he watched her fade, but under the cloud that bit of hope-- "Mon Chatte.." He smiled, stuck or he would have stood to greet her, check on her hand, her face..her heart, as she brought with her the sun. Peregrine would open his arms to take the son of his wife, until his attention was turned upon Jean's words, "Put them to bed, Peregrine." Suddenly he worried if perhaps the castle was not where they should all be, and would find a way to speak the Lady of the Isle. His eyes fell on Ada once more, with a motion to Genna and the glass of wine forgotten would be left on the table as he handled the tip of his cane to ease himself up; careful not to have her head fall too swiftly upon the stuffed seat. "She will sleep now ok.." Once he was standing he did not have need of the cane, and took the sleeping babe into his arms very easily, almost afraid to break her.

Peregrin:

Happy to see them all pass through the door he welcomed Aldric, he would worry between his teeth his lip in thought of Rosalind seeing Ada with their daughter. What had he missed? A lot. "We are going to stay here tonight?" He had slept so soundly, and had not even realized he had fallen. "A slumber party eh?" He brushed the blonde hair of the son out of his eyes and smiled. "You can see my ship from the rooms here." All of them seemed to face the shore--was a wonder. (d

Rosalind:

Rosalind took her daughter from Ada with a faint smile of appreciation before turning to her son.  "Did you enjoy your evening with Anne?" she asked Aldric, who was so sleepy, he had a stunned look stuck on his face that reminded her very much of his natural father.  Not much of her had gone into the making of this boy, Rosalind thought wryly, knowing it to be a lie when personalities and not physicalities were compared.  She placed a kiss to Aldric's forehead, and turned her gaze on Polly.  She was sound asleep, having closed her mouth since transferring arms, ignorant as her father was when fast asleep of the world around her.  Such blessings -- Rosalind had always been a light sleeper.  "I think it is wiser to stay tonight.  I could not imagine getting them back in the carriage and up to the rooms.  I trust the safety of the Hall," Rosalind replied to Pere.  He had missed a lot, but nothing that could not be recounted later.  For now, Jean-Claude was right.  It was important to get them to bed, and Rosalind gathered up her family to do just that.

Adelaide:

"Jean."  She would place a bet that never before in his life had he had anyone to speak his name with such warmth and affection as she did.  She crossed the room, and holding her injured hand out so that it would not be crushed, hugged him.  For a moment, it felt best to keep her face pressed up against the fabric of his shirt, but when the door shut on Rosalind and Peregrine's family, she lifted her face and offered a slightly amused look.  "That woman never ceases to amaze me.  She certainly is something precious."  And that was that.  Ada gently kissed Jean-Claude's lips and then went to settle beside her daughter. One of her dark curls fell between Ada's fingers, and she moved it slowly between index and thumb, affectionately looking down at her little girl.  It had been too close tonight.  In the quiet of the room, Ada choked back a sob, but recovered just as quickly.  "I do not think I will sleep tonight, my love, but I will be miserable knowing I have kept you awake." *

Peregrin:

"I'm a fugitive here too." He spoke quietly, keeping next to his wife. "You are welcome here..I am not." But with Claramae off in her own world, and the rest busy with the task at hand perhaps they would not notice. "It is safe here, but safer at the castle..after tonight, you need to stay there." Meaning he wouldn't be with her, as the tension was already enough to tear them apart. Perhaps, it was time for him to give up this hope they would ever truly work, but Lord how he loved her so. He had so much to tell her, that it really took him for a spin at how long she had been out of the loop.

Jean-Claude:

He laughed lightly, knowing only Ada to compare Rosalind and the word Precious, and welcomed her embrace; the laugh whispering across her temple as he placed a gentle kiss there. It had indeed been too close. "You have not kept me awake, Adelaide." He closed his eyes as he wasn't ready to let her go, "If anything it will be how sick I feel over this entire night." He was dizzy with thinking of it, and his stomach turned with the idea he could have lost them both. He came to rest on the other side of her, pulling her back against him to hold her in this time of her suffering. Her small sob, or the hidden nature of it could have broke him into a thousand pieces with all the world shattering down around them. "Let it go, my love." He whispered brushing a hand through her hair before settling his arm around her stomach. "Release it..this fear, the regret..You did everything you could, and it is over now. The victory here in our arms." His words were very calm, knowing well she was not one to harbor such emotion for very long, but tonight she held back for his sake. "I'm here now...let it go." He spoke for them both as he closed his eyes nuzzling the back of her hair before pressing his cheek to the crown of her head waiting for her exhale; he would take the force of the blow if only she would let him. (d

Rosalind:

She couldn't stand all the missing days between them.  Weeks spent at sea, she knew were a part of his profession.  It was what kept him sane, what made him happy, and what made homecomings so much more special.  This was different.  He was wanted by both worlds.  If Ada was correct, even his forest may have turned against him, with his gypsies willing to hold his child hostage against him.  Or worse.  What if it had been Polly tonight?  Or Aldric?  She put a hand to her forehead and shook her head slowly.  "Just ... stay here tonight, Pere.  Let us figure it out in the morning.  You need sleep.  I want my family together one night."

Adelaide:

She wasn't going to cry.  She rarely did.  But at his caress, feeling him solid behind her, she did let go.  They were not loud tears.  She was quiet, sniffling at the end, wiping fat beads of moisture from her cheeks with her sleeves.  The bath she had taken had removed the stench of the tavern floor, and clean clothes had gone a long way toward feeling human again, but she kept seeing that pool of blood on the floor, and her daughter so still in the woman's arms.  They had come too close.  She turned into Jean-Claude and held him as tightly as she could with her one arm, gaining her breath back through deep inhalations through her nose, and expelling it with deliberate care through her mouth.  For once, getting into trouble had very little with anything she had done in a past life.  For that, she was somewhat grateful.  Her mistakes in years past should not rise again to harm her daughter, whose only crime was being born.  She had a headache now, and perhaps the idea of sleep did not seem so terrible, if only she could stop staring at her daughter, still checking for any signs of harm.  Were they safe here?  They certainly were not in her shop, the woods, or any of the places she would naturally think to go. *

Peregrin:

I can't stay here tonight, Rosalind." Though Aldric half asleep already protested. "Claramae's husband wants to.." He let his words fall away not wanting Aldric to hear, Polly was dead to the world. Putting the boy on the bed he would draw back the covers for him to join his sister, and soon Aldric would be lost from the world as well. Moving around to the other side he would offer his hand to help Rosalind up to the taller bed, the step already out for her.I've got to go figure out what is going on, whose on my side, who isn't. They nearly killed her..because of me. I can't sleep, I can't eat, hell I can't even think." It was clear he wasn't, but there was a deep desire to stay. "I broke the code..as their King." For lack of better title, "That's a punishment of death, you don't turn your backs on people who would happily stab you anyway." A cut throat world. "They won't want the attention from the royals, so the castle is the safest place. Here too." but the castle more so.

Jean-Claude:

They would sleep there if it meant keeping them all close. Jean-Claude was very strict when it came to Genna staying in her bed, he wished not to have her so spoiled as Ada had her, but tonight he wouldn't let them go anywhere else. Tonight, he would curl her between them and hold them both against him. It was all he could do to comfort her by offering her his hands, against her shoulders down her arms, brushing her cheeks. There was enough of him to wish the world away at any moment so that he could simply have her all to himself. "It will all work out, our love will make her forget. This will simply be a memory we must block out. Nothing but the best, perhaps a trip to London in the spring, let her pick a pony, white to keep, a sister to play with now." Had they reached that point? Her and Rosalind? (d

Rosalind:

"Then stay.  If they want you," Rosalind said, sounding mildly cross, "they will have to come through me."  She sat down on the bed, but he was a fool if he thought she would climb under the covers to sleep.  She sat precisely where he'd placed her, and gazed at him in that startlingly direct way she had.  "Where will you go, Peregrine?  If not here, if not the chateau, the forest, the Underdark?  The seas are stormy in the winter, and though you are a fine sailor, even you know it to be death to sail out now.  I have been made a widow twice in my life.  Though you have an unusual propensity for staying alive despite certain doom, I do worry that you will make it back to me.  The night is nearly over as it is.  A few hours.  A few hours of uninterrupted sleep, and you may disappear again, but give me a few hours at least."

Why should he doubt her ability to comprehend danger?  It barely fazed Rosalind.  Not a stupid woman by any stretch, nor one prone to making rash decisions based upon her emotions, she knew his life was in jeopardy by staying.  But the unknowable future that waited for him outside of her vantage, she could not help him if he left.  She was still angry with him.  She wanted to make a scene, if it weren't for their children asleep in the nearby bed.  But she would not have been so furious if she did not care about him so very deeply.

Adelaide:

"I do not know about Rosalind," Ada murmured, settling against him with a sigh of relief.  She felt as if she had loved Jean-Claude her entire life, and moments such as this only deepened the feeling.  He kept her strong.  He made her a better person.  He truly was the iron to her silk, for all she had punched out Julian tonight.  She smiled at the memory, lifting her uninjured hand to stroke Genna's hair.  "But it will be better, after tonight, between us.  I think ... she forgives us.  I think London is a very good idea, too.  I have never been there."  She would do anything for Genna.  Some place new sounded good to Ada, especially if the some place new was far, far from the old bat who claimed truce.  Ada knew there was no such thing between them, not since that conversation long ago.  Momma's worries were for nothing.  She would have murdered Ada's child for nothing.  No, Ada would take nothing back of that night.  There was no shame in how Genna came into being.  It had all worked out, despite the griefs that seemed likely to topple them all over at the time.  "Things are going to change," Ada whispered.  "I do not know how, but I feel it in the wind.  And I love you more than words can properly express, mon grand."

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

Peregrine:

Much had been to do in the way of the Underdark; pressing lives on the edge of reason to only fall back again into the madness. Peregrine had been lost for nearly three days, rumors spilling onto the streets if any knew where to find them. The right stone, the dark corner in a tavern, or even the dirty alley where even the sun dare not mention. "It is a beautiful story really," So spoke a woman on her way through the halls of the castle, "The Lady Inveryne, how she keeps so close to him." Fantasies had always run wild on the back of a man's promise of warm weather, and tropical waters; but it was how he carried the warmth of the sun in his smile that captured so many. "I would think her mad." Another chimed in with the passing of the door that held their princess in the tower. The night was not far, but the apartments faced the sea did they not? The moon always the brightest in the sky just where he left it each evening. The night fell quickly against the horizon lighting the backs of the trees with the pale light of the moon. The fires had all but burned out in the hills, where the wildness went to play; the threat very real as it crept up around the city. There was to be a war, a battle like none other on the front of Skye, and under the very noses of the royals. It was a lot to ask it of Rosalind, but Bess could not know; none could know. However, little did she know her husband was in the midst of politics much like her own, and as he made his way through the window--his attire was certain. He wore his hair back, slicked past his ears and wore only one rich deep shade of black. "Rosie?" He called out, but his voice nearly couldn't reach through the high collar of his wool coat. (d

Rosalind:

Aldric was, in all honesty, very happy to be back in the castle.  There were boys his own age here, and he ran screaming like a hooligan through the corridors, waving his wooden sword and using all the delightful curse words that both his fathers, natural or otherwise, had let slip within earshot over the past seven years.  Only once had he been dragged into the clan meeting room by his ear, an irate groomsman muttering something about the mess of dung he was now meant to clean up when Aldric and his band managed to knock over a wheelbarrow full of the stuff.  Rosalind was quite tempted to tell the groomsman he had a brand new apprentice to shadow him for the day, but she would not inflict such a punishment on the fellow.  And Aldric would never be able to lift a shovel full of horse dung more than once or twice. With a sigh, she introduced Aldric to his one-day supporters, putting him in a chair and forcing him into the tedium that was her life.  Under heavy escort, they returned to the old Lamont suites.  She was always surprised at how small they seemed now, when once they had been quite large.  Her possessions had been well-maintained over the years, as she occasionally slept here, and even Sax lounged by the fire, somewhat mellowed with time, but unusually attached to Rosalind no matter how she attempted to offend him.  She picked up the altarcloth she was working on and put the finishing stitches upon the Virgin's veil when she heard her husband climbing through the window.  Her eyes slid sideways toward him, noting his unusual appearance, and she deliberately stabbed her needle into the cloth and set it aside.  "Peregrine." *

Peregrine:

The stab did not go unnoticed, but Pere was in fact no fool. There had been many moments to him that wished to lead her from that sewing basket, perhaps now would be the time? His eyes came to find her own as he made his way around to face her, blocking her from the fire and even Sax could have thrown his ears back and growled--had he not looked up. "Keeping her safe for me?" He bent to scratch the mutt's ears before moving to his wife bending to kiss her cheek, before taking a kneel at her feet. Silence fell over him in the moment, looking up at her--wondering. "Rosalind." He mimicked her dry tone, the lack of character it held, and the stone quiet way even your name could send chills to chase your spine. She was not pleased. He waited for the moment of either of them to break as the silence fell around them then in perfect timing. "Where are my children?" He always broke first keeping the conversation light, and took note of how they all seemed to be out; perhaps already asleep. (d

Rosalind:

Rosalind let her fingers brush over the smooth linen of the cloth.  She stood up and folded the long cloth as she went, taking care not to crease along Mary's face.  She placed it in her sewing basket for the next day's sewing.  Though it seemed boring to him, he would be surprised at how freely the women spoke when there were no men about.  She learned most of the isle's gossip through their wagging tongues, and whatever they did not speak during sewing, had a way of coming out during the evening meals.  None mentioned her husband, which she supposed was a blessing.  She took her same seat and glanced down at him.  It disturbed her when he sat like that, but she forced herself to calm down, like some bristling animal smoothing its fur."They are in bed.  Polly was quite busy today, and if Aldric is seen by any of the castle help, he'll likely be thrown in a prison cell."  He was used to running wild at the chateau.  She could not blame him much, feeling confined by the routine here already, as much as she sometimes found it a welcome relief.  "Polly's been asleep for some time, you would not wake her up if you went to check on her.  Aldric is likely waiting for an excuse to jump out of bed, but I rather like it quiet at the moment."  She was quiet then, in that very careful deliberate way of hers, as if she had taken a deep breath and was holding it in out of sheer spite.  Finally, she released it, in the form of a question as dry as the wine she preferred.  "Where have you been?" *

Peregrine:

Every time he stepped foot inside this room he thought of the years gone, when he had first held her. In the bed of her fallen husband everything seemed so right in the world with this woman in his arms. He had been busy, though it did not show. He seemed rested well driven, and even centered; but perhaps he was simply just well at hiding his unease around the whole subject. "I've been with Jean-Claude, can you tell?" He motioned down the small little details in the uniform outfit, that kept best in hiding. He could be  one with the night as the shadows blended well onto the fabric. Down the hall his eyes went to pass the longing to hear their steps, and the ache in his heart set in.He missed them all so dearly, that as he gathered her hand he closed his eyes with his kiss to her knuckle. Standing then he didn't want to release her but once the time had come he let her hand fall back to her lap. His hands came to collect around the base of his neck as he stretched, walking in the motion of already itching to return outside. Nights like this could not keep him, not if he wished it, but here he had his wife. "We're thinking the best thing for me to do is to run.Somewhere far. Away from Skye." He would not continue on the subject, until they were alone, but there was enough there to let her know it wouldn't venture very far from the truth--without her. "Do you..feel like walking in the gardens with me?" He asked out of no where, his behavior strange though perhaps somewhere there was a romantic gentleman underneath all that roughness. (d

Rosalind:

"I can tell nothing of where you've been," Rosalind said flatly.  She detested being angry with him.  He had told her what had happened.  Where he could stay was nowhere she would go, and nowhere the children would be safe.  Though she sympathized with the necessity for him to be away, it was difficult to be on her own with the children, and she did not know where the threats were coming from, much less if he was safe.  She knew nothing.  It was irritating in the extreme to be so cut off from very simple answers, particularly when Polly kept asking where her father was.  "I do," she said to his question, and rose to her feet again.  She went to find a shawl thick enough for the evening chill, and wrapped it around her shoulders and head.  "Away from Skye?"  She blinked.  She had a duchy in Auvergne if he cared to deal with Philip's imperialistic tendencies, which she was certain without even asking that he did not.  If he went anywhere, it would not be to France. *

Peregrine:

"Here." He said quietly offering his hands to help her into her wrap, as if he knew her anger could be found upon her brow though it was always in her shoulders could he tell her true emotions. Hands went to have the thick fabric to press over the slender frame of his wife, before his palms would squeeze either to settle the warmth in. Fixing her hair so that it wasn't all captured by the scarf he smiled as he came around to face her, taking her hand within his own. Peregrine never offered her his arm, though tonight he did not lace his fingers with hers, but in fact did curl her hand within the bend of his arm. Pulling the door behind them, the pace would start then rather slow as the castle seemed too eerie to take without caution."Yes..Jean-Claude is already having the course set for China, somewhere in the midst to hide, but I'm not afraid." The night opened up around them, with the melting winter hardly meeting with the spring's pressure, and falling back into the memory of colder days. Soon the garden would come to life again, but already the buds started to sprout; the fresh make of Springtime there waiting for the unveiling of the sun. Words were there on the edge of his lips, unspoken worries and regrets that even here in the garden he could not open to her. "I just..Love, how are you?" A subject change very dear to his heart as he crossed his gaze to study her face--as if it would be the last time. (d

Rosalind:

They walked slowly, and for every footstep, Rosalind wished he would say something.  She wanted this to be over, for them to return to the chateau.  There was no happily ever after there, but there was a story she was profoundly happy to be part of.  They reached the garden, the brisk air hitting Rosalind in the face with enough chill to make her catch her breath.  She lowered the cloth of her shawl across her mouth to warm up, but soon enough, he brought her to a halt.  "China?  You would go to China?"  She arched a brow, but was far from amused."I am not well, Pere.  I miss my home.  I miss my husband.  Living like this, not knowing where you are, it is unexceptable.  I do not know what I am doing, nor what to expect.  I went into the Underdark to look for you!  Do you know what might have happened to me?  Because you could not send me so much as a note?"  She threw her hands up into the air in a Gallic gesture of utter frustration, then folded her arms across her chest, burying them in the fabric of the shawl. "You go missing.  What am I to do, when I do not know where you are?  Are you well, are you breathing?  As your wife, these are things I would like to know."  She glared at him. *

Peregrine:

"Well don't." He sounded right back, taking the matter of the same tone though letting it ride just a little longer on the quiet side. "You don't go down there. I told you from the very first time we met, I wasn't a good man. Don't you start realizing this now." He turned on her then, motioning towards the sea. "I'm missing shipments, my crew. I miss you, our children. Hell I even miss Colban." Truth held fast to those words, as he thought of the man. Funny one that one. "JC is a mess, and now your going to get angry at me?" Words of a true gentleman. "Rosalind. STOP it." He narrowed his eyes on her, closing the small space between them."Do you think I want this? I've NEVER asked for this, not once. Don't you start now. Are you that surprised by China?" He did all his dealings there it seemed. His arms soon came to cross over his chest, as he squared his feet with his shoulders. "As my wife you'll go wherever I so choose, isn't that how your court is run? This law that binds you to me." He held up his ring finger where the gold band had not once moved, not even to be polished. She put it there, she would take it off. "I'm man. So pack your bags, just in case." (d

Rosalind:

"You nearly burned down all of Turas Lan when I went missing three years ago," she said calmly, though her eyes were anything but.  Her point made, she let him stew on that.  She had no ammunition to hurl at him, no cruel words she wished to use.  They were in a terrible situation, where neither was right and no one was wrong.  He had his reasons just as she did for feeling frustrated, yet even this reasonability fled as he held up his ring finger.  She felt like tearing it off.  Not the ring -- his finger. "How long did you wait before you began searching?  One day?  Two?  Did you come to the castle?  Trace all my steps?  I heard nothing from you for days, Peregrine, and you had no shipments coming in.  I saw you shot, I saw you stabbed, I saw you burned.  One of these days, you are going to run out of lives, and where will I be?  What will happen to me?  To our children?  I will raise no hysterics about my situation, but these are the realities.  They are your obligations.  When you went missing, I went looking.  As for that contract between us, the hell I will stay on a ship for more than few hours with an invitation like that." Opium frightened her nearly as much as the sea.  Fathomless depths were nothing to the fathomless terrors that visited her as the sweet syrup waned, and her ghosts returned.  Fearghus was never so troubling to her heart as seeing Domhnall's face, twisted in confusion and betrayal.  She had never made it right with her first husband.  He'd died believing her a traitor.  She straightened her posture.  "I will put up a fight, and I will lose.  That is how it will be.  I need be no sorceress to see the end of our marriage long before you take that ring off." *

Peregrine:

A very real dark look crossed his eyes in memory of the anticipation that pulled him both directions, and out of pure rage did he speak--not at her, but of the memory they took her, "I'd burn this whole god damned country for you." It burned him, "I'd pierce the hearts of a hundred thousand men who so dare to cross your face, I'd kill him again. I've earned the right to be your husband, but I worked just as hard to hate you, as I did for you to love me. I didn't ask for you. I didn't want you in my life. I was to kill you remember? You ask too much, when you ask this." For him to tell her, where he was when half the time he didn't even know."If you are looking for a way out Rosalind, fine. A little note here, and there to tell you where I am can be deadly; would you want me to lie? Tell you I'm underground when in fact I'm right under your nose? Would you have gone to look for Domhnall? When he told you to stay put?" He would have doubted it very much. "I'm not telling you, Rosalind, I'm asking you. For the sake of our children, one of us must survive." He spoke the truth, as the entire world below was shifting with the change of power, the only punishment for his crime death; his head would be along side Adam's father. "I've got a lot of obligations, but they came first." Now she did, and with that he gave a heavy sigh. "I really don't need this right now." He wanted to turn from her, run back into the night, but even that didn't feel right. He didn't belong there. "So..what do we do?" (d

Rosalind:

"I was not asking for details.  I was asking to know that you were safe."  She felt like rolling her eyes at him, but kept the gesture in check, instead gazing hard at him.  "Think you, I do not know how it could jeopardize your safety if you feel obligated to send me a letter wherever you may be?  I am no fool.  I do not ask much from you, Pere.  But at least, let me sleep a night through without seeing your corpse, too, in my dreams.  I've enough of them as it is, most on my hands.  I would expect that a feeling you are familiar with.  As for Domhnall, he never asked me to stay put.  He never told me where to go or not to go.  I was never a factor in his world. Do you know what it is to scream at a wall?"  She lifted a brow in query, then lowered it.  "I have come far enough in my life, and know my heart well enough, to know there is far more difference between you and Domhnall than the fact that you both put a ring on my finger and shared my bed.  You do not need this right now?"  She laughed mirthlessly.  "Whoever does?  Certainly not I.  Discovering you missing for so long, but that Ana-Catalina knew you quite well from your stay with Eirian -- in all that time, you did not have paper and quill?  I do not begrudge you a profession, Peregrine.  It has done me quite well." She rolled her shoulders absently, stretching out her taut upper back, and then settled her arms back beneath her breasts.  "Think how you felt when I disappeared.  Wonder how I must feel, then, and tell me my anger is not justified."  Or go to China.  She cared, very much, but she could not pin him down.  Nor could she follow him. *

Peregrine:

"Empty promises, broken dreams. I've heard it all before." He started off on subjects not at hand, but not far from it. "You want a letter? That's all?" He smiled, going quiet then with a small shuffle of his feet, "On the desk by the window at home are a hundred all for you. A new one everyday, since the moment I met you." It was how he kept his journal, letters to her. "Is that not enough to prove to you I'm coming home? I love you too much to leave you. In death, or by sea." He took her hand the air having nearly frozen the flesh below his fingers, but he brought it to his lips. "I'm not going to leave you here, Rosalind. I'm not that selfish anymore. No one is going to let you fall behind, or be without me." He felt so selfish saying that, but as it left his lips he understood so much more. She had been through so much, that it nearly tore him in two thinking of how she suffered at night. The cold air could have easily been missed when he drew her in, but he wondered if the shivers were not from the air alone. He didn't have a pet name for her, but the switching of languages could have found the intimacy his words lacked as the French fell so naturally. "After this it will all be over.."He kissed her cheek, "I've said it too many times, but this time I mean it." He didn't like thinking of when she was taken, and the shiver that pulled his skin tight over his forearms could have acted as proof; but she was right. "I don't want to think about when you were gone.." (d

Rosalind:

"I need to know that you're safe," she whispered, clutching his hand in her own.  She felt his flesh warm within hers, her own hands being safe from the cold in the folds of her shawl.  "Or I worry too much, and it is not fair."  They were the only words she felt like saying after he'd finished speaking, drawing closer to him and wrapping her other arm around him.  They had had such a hard journey together, and her own journey could euphemistically be called rocky.  No, she wasn't what he had asked for, but she was what he got, and being apart was hell on them both.  How many times did they need to separate before he learned this?  She hoped no more, she could not do it on her own again.  She kissed his neck, and drew her lips up to his cheek, returning the kiss he'd given her. "You always mean it," she said, sounding more amused than accusatory.  "We are victims caught in the tides of Fate, powerless against her pull, yes?  No.  I believe you.  I worry about you, too.  It is so cold at night, and what happened in the Underdark -- they would murder that child....  They would harm her, to see you suffer.  A child, Peregrine, who has done nothing but have the audacity to live."  She blinked, glad he couldn't see the wetness pool in her eyes, though why, she had little idea.  Prideful, arrogant woman that she was, the idea of admitting she'd reconciled with Ada was a step too far too soon for Rosalind. *

Peregrine:

His hand came up to tangle in the back of her hair, finger the edge of her spine until it found homage there at the back of her skull--pressing her, holding her; letting her rest her head against him. "They would hurt you too." The word had come by way of a bird, the cry out onto the night; this was how he knew of Genna. His heart had stopped and he rushed from the estate without thinking or understanding. Tightening his hold on her, if possible he let his arms raise higher to shield her shoulders further. "I was so proud of you." The truth, "If it wasn't for you, they would both be dead."