Birds of a feather...die together - Chyril 27th - Open

[Gutter Rat]

OOC: My apologies - she didn't tell the guards exactly where to send you either. Yes, someone intercepted you in the hallway before too much nosing around and pointed you in the right direction, Arnholt, since she may have been *nudge* kind enough to tell an interior guard where to send you once you had arrived, if you showed. Right, Cal?

[Callara]

Callara had gotten up when she heard the man walking through the palace. Her notes left on the table beside her she stood in the middle of the library as the man entered. She was going to have to get some more people in her employ. Someone to catch people at the door before they started wandering aimlessly throughout the palace.

"There was no need to change on my account," he greeted the achadhiel dryly. "Though I must admit you look fetching. Speaking of which..." and Arnholt hefted the boxed fish briefly. "Since I've fetched dinner, perhaps you'll grace me with your name." Cool and businesslike, now, his tone belying his playful words.

"It seems you found your way well enough. I wondered if you would. Let us find another place to sit and eat."

She walked past the man and led him to the sitting room, with a short detour past the kitchen for some silverware and plates. The room was smaller than the dining hall and felt like a better place to sit and talk with just the two of them. She walked in as if she owned the place and sat down in one of the chairs across from the door, pointing at the chair opposite her own. A table provided space to place the food.

"Since you fetched dinner, perhaps I should." She smiled. "My name is Callara. As you can tell I'm a little shorthanded at the moment, so we'll have to do without the courtesies of the court for the time being. Then again, this meal does not really warrant such pleasantries, wether or not present company does remains to be seen."

Her words carried her apprehension as she watched the man carefully. She decided to play this openly, to see how this one would react, and how useful he might prove to be. "So, what is the name of the man who takes orders from blade swinging strangers and shows up at dark mansions without knowing what to expect? And what measure of desperation warrants such careless behaviour? This city has seen death come to people who were a lot more careful than yourself."

She watched him and waited to see what he would do. The food was of secondary importance, as was the information she required. First she wanted to know what would possess a man to heed her orders without any measure of mindcrafting. Those men were the confident kind, and confident men could prove to be dangerous to her cause.

Or useful.

[Arnholt]

Arnholt had tagged along behind with watchful eyes, unobtrusively checking out the layout of the place and looking for any more guards who might be around. As they arrived at the sitting room, he leaned his staff casually next to the chair that Callara had indicated for him, and set down the boxed fish on the table. He was already spearing his own share on a fork and depositing it onto his plate as the caretaker introduced herself as he'd requested. Of course he'd thrown back his hood again, as well. Callara's last comment elicited a dry laugh.

"I'll admit I had my doubts," he said. "But the set-up here looks legit. I figure there'd be a lot of questions asked if a guy like me turned up dead in a fancy place like this." He smiled at her pleasantly. "The name I gave at the gate is Bram. Last name Beacon. And I am a monk of our Lord, Dominicus." Or close enough. "So as long as we're talking carelessness and danger," he went on, "As a man of God, I suppose it's my duty to warn you against inviting strange men into your home. Especially men that you know are armed. And with your nearest guard nowhere in sight." Arnholt cut a piece of fish as he spoke, popping it into his mouth thoughtfully. "They checked out my carry-out box at the gate, you know. Like they thought I might be carrying in poison. But they didn't bother checking me for weapons, such as the dagger at my belt."

He guessed that this Callara had to be pretty hot shit with a knife herself. Else why would a woman so aware of the risks have invited him here to dine with her alone? Granted, if she wanted him dead, it was unlikely he'd ever get out of here alive. The guards would cut him down even if she did not. But by the same token, that would hardly have saved her just now if he had come here intent on murder. Which lead him to wonder just what else she had up her sleeves. Why was she acting like she had his number so much better than he had hers?

"Well, enough with such unpleasant imaginings," he said at last. "We didn't meet like this to kill each other. I came because I thought maybe we could help each other." Arnholt drew his dagger casually, without rising from his seat, and fiddled idly with the blade for a moment. "I guess you have some idea, now, what sort of a monk I am. And from what I saw of you before, I can't help but feel you and I have... a connection. Common interests, maybe. Perhaps even a similarity of spirit." He slid the dagger away again, meeting Callara's eye. "Of course, I could be wrong. What do you think?"

[Callara]

Callara laughed as she took a portion of the fish on her plate herself and cut off a small piece. She turned the knife with the food on it a few times before she bit into it and chewed, contemplating this monk. He certainly wasn't like any monk she had ever seen and the words he picked reminded her more of a random thug than a clergyman. His aura reflected confidence, his words a measure of street smarts no monk could ever hope to posess.

"Well, if you were truly a monk, which I doubt at this point, you certainly aren't of any religion I've seen practiced. A Dominican would not even bother looking at me, a mere achadhiel heretic. As far as similarity of spirit is concerned, I doubt your spirit comes even remotely close to mine."

She grinned as her thoughts delved into herself towards the dark being that resided within her. Her eyes saw the man's blood coarsing through his body, his heart pounding in his chest. Doubt displayed in his aura, most likely about what she herself was all about.

"But yes, I do believe we share similar views. I think there are certainly things you can do for me, and I for you even. You however have yet to prove you're anything beyond a helpful errand boy. You seem to think we are kindred spirits. Gods know why. We both enjoy playing with knives, that means nothing to me. What makes you think I would take you on with anything resembling equal footing, rather than the food supplier you have shown yourself to be?"

She was pushing him, watching his aura carefully to observe any changes in his mood. The spirit within hoped he would get angry, the hand holding the fish knife hovering closely to her other hand, in case he decided to make any sudden moves.

[Arnholt]

"Well, if you were truly a monk, which I doubt at this point, you certainly aren't of any religion I've seen practiced. A Dominican would not even bother looking at me, a mere achadhiel heretic. As far as similarity of spirit is concerned, I doubt your spirit comes even remotely close to mine."

Arnholt coughed at that, ducking his head briefly and raising a fist to his lips to hide his smile. There had been a brief flash of satisfaction in his eyes at that. A 'mere' achadhiel heretic was exactly the sort of person that this monk was looking for. When he raised his head again, his face showed a complete lack of dismay over having been challenged in such a manner.

"You might be surprised," was all that he said. "Indeed you might."

When Callara began her little speech about errand boys and equal footing, the cultist leaned back in his seat for a moment, plainly amused... but also a little bit mystified. Just when he thought he had a read on the woman, she started pulling this oddball crap. He wasn't sure, any more, whether she was understanding him, either. She clearly hadn't understood the flash lingo he'd tried out on her before. Otherwise she'd know he had already offered his services to her as a hired blade and inquired as to whether she was forming a gang. Surely, the cant here in Roque couldn't be that different from King's Court, that she'd miss his point completely in such a way. She must be a civilian, then. Not a part of the underworld like he'd half-expected.

So if she wasn't a crook, just what the hell was she talking about? She couldn't be any typical noble-born conspirator like in the stories he'd heard about, either. Otherwise she wouldn't likely have hinted that he could be anything more than a hireling.

"Equal footing?" Arnholt mused at last. "Me, a mere monk whose legitimacy you don't even believe in... wanting to be on equal footing with you, the high and mighty Caretaker of the Summer Palace? I don't recall suggesting a partnership. Funny that you'd bring it up, though." He leaned back in over his fish, and began stuffing it down with the haste he had learned from his youth on the streets, where the availability of food tended to be fleeting at best. "Point of fact, lady," he said between bites, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. And clearly you didn't understand what I was saying, either. So let me be blunt. When I met you on the street, shaking down old men and flashing your knife like a crazy woman, I had you pegged for a thief and a murderer. I thought maybe I could save your soul."

He flashed a hard smirk at her with that, as if he was kidding. But of course he wasn't. Not in the least.

"Failing that," he went on, "I figured maybe a woman like you could put me in touch with the local underworld chieftains. Now I'm guessing you can't, since you don't know thief lingo from a hole in your head, and I find out I gotta be as subtle as a brick flung through a window for you to know what I can offer besides fish. In case you still missed it, I wasn't always a monk. I used to be a blade. That means I'd beat up or kill people that my employers didn't like," he explained patiently. "Ordinarily I like to be more circumspect about things like that. But apparently I wasn't being clear enough. And since you start off with talking about how I might wind up dead around here, I doubt much of what I'm saying will shock you, anyhow."

His own share of the meal mostly demolished by now, Arnholt crossed knife and fork over his plate, quite neatly. "And that's my story. Most of it. There is more I could bring to the table, so to speak. But since I showed you some of my hand, maybe it's time we discussed what use you are. You act like you're Empress of the Thousand Isles, Callara, but from where I sit you don't seem to be in charge of anything but an empty house and few enough guards I can count 'em on one hand and still hold a cup of tea. Let's be clear: I don't need you. Like I said, I like your... spirit. But so far I haven't seen anything to justify your acting like I oughta kiss your ass if I want in on this."

[Callara]

OOC: All the actions taken in this post require mod supervision. How much of the magic will work is upto them, if nothing else it will be a well acted bluff, because Cal for all intents and purposes believes fully she will succeed.

"You talk too much."

She slit the fish knife across her index finger and pointed at the ranting fool, releasing droplets of blood onto the ground.

GET UP

Her mind focussed with a clarity she had only exerted a few times before. Mostly in training with Ushuaia. She was not angry with this one, all he had done was display all he was and had to her without her doing a single thing to ask for it. As far as she had been concerned, he had been just another peasant showing off his bragging rights, but if he was truly what he said he was, she would need to act or else it would be her head on the chopping block.

So she drew on the blood, the energy of the kill. She called it from deep below, looking far less impressive in her commoners garb as she might have in her dark clothes, but still. She got up slowly as her mind commanded the man to stand, pulling at his life's essence, the blood within him.

DEATH...PAIN...TURMOIL...

She opened her eyes, her focus on the man's heart. It had worked before, so why not now. She reached inside and drew on the spirit within to make the blood churn, rage, rush through every inch of the man's body. The energy of which no doubt reaching his head and his organs first of all. All the while thoughts of death and fear feeding the beast within to lash out in blue waves of magic at the mind and body of this one in front of her.

FEAR...

"Let me make one thing crystal clear "Bram". As far as you're concerned I am the bloody Empress of the Thousand Isles. And by the gods when I am done I might yet be. You do not come into my home and threaten me. I am not some common thug you can use for your own poverish means."

She stepped in close, keeping focus on the blood. She did not want to push it too far. Even though a huge part of her wanted to see this creature die, she worked hard to keep the magic in check, to make sure his heart wouldn't cave in under the strain. Not yet. She leaned in, her face now close to his and whispered...

"This city is but a stepping stone and you are a pebble beneath it. If you came here seeking a killer, you found one. But never presume me a common street thug...again..."

And with that she janked the spirit back into it's cage with all the power she had, attempting as much grace and composure as she could muster while containing the savage creature within herself from destroying life all together. She spoke to it, soothing it, while at the same time taking her seat again.

"This one might yet be of use. He said it himself. He is a blade, or was. He knows the streets, he can kill for us. Let's not destroy him yet, not yet, no no..."

[Arnholt]

OOC: I debated with myself for quite a while about whether to post a reaction post, or wait for the mod ruling first. I'm not sure what protocol would dictate. Finally I decided to go ahead and post, since Arnholt wouldn't just remain standing there unless he was fully paralyzed, and let Gutter Rat decide what all seems reasonable.

"You talk too much."

"I'm a man of the cloth," Arnholt answered blandly. "It's what we--"

His words trailed off as Callara unexpectedly slashed open his finger. Granted, he had decided by now that the woman was most definitely crazy, but this was psychotic even from her. Naturally the cultist was not prepared for what happened next. A strangled noise sounded in Arnholt's throat as he clutched at his chest, certain at first that he was having a heart attack. Or that the fish had been poisoned, but by her, not by him. But in the end, even for a man as ignorant of magic as Arnholt, the waves of dark power Callara was throwing at him were difficult to misinterpret. He rose, jerkily, to his feet... possibly because the power compelled him to do so... or possibly just because that was the natural reaction to being suddenly attacked in a stranger's home.

DEATH...PAIN...TURMOIL...

Indeed. But those would not be the entire run of emotions in the room. When faced with what seemed to be certain death, the typical reaction from any living thing was flight... or fight. Arnholt was a fighter. He didn't especially care for being pushed around. And so the overwhelming response from him to all the stress that he was under was... RAGE. The cultist's lips drew back in an almost animalistic snarl as he held Callara's stare, even while struggling to remain upright under the force of the attack. As if from very far away, he could 'hear' Lorenzo's voice echoing through the corridors of his mind.

"We all know Righteous. Long before we ever hear her name, we know her.

Yes. Yes, I know Her.

Cast your mind back, Arnholt, to the first time you learned about the... wrongness in the world."

I remember. When I was a kicked out of my home as a boy...

"Do you remember how it made you feel? How does it make you feel now?"

"Pissed... off," Arnholt wheezed, his eyes narrowing slightly, even as they remained fixed on Callara. That's what he'd said then. That's how he felt at the moment, too.

"The fire in your heart – that is the Righteous within you.”

Oh, yes. He could feel it. A fire that could not be extinguished. Burning hotter than ever, now. The Spirit of Justice, and Revenge... Righteous was there.

Not physically present, certainly, in the sense that he or Callara was. Even the Goddess's power remained mostly locked away in the Nether, for now. But without question, She was with him in spirit. Cherish Her, that She will speak to you with Her voice. The compulsion that afflicted Arnholt told him to "get up." It said nothing about what he ought to be doing with his hands. She will give you purpose. Little by little, fighting for control all the way, Arnholt's fingers curled again around the hilt of his dagger. She will give you the strength... Slowly, very slowly, he began drawing the blade from its sheath, the movement hidden under the folds of his cloak as he stood. ...and courage needed... Arnholt ignored the agony the magic was inflicting as best he could. The words of the Goddess running through his mind without cease. ...to cleanse this world of its wickedness. Incredible. In her confidence, Callara was actually approaching him. She was coming within arm's reach!

Arnholt was wound up tight as a spring by the time Callara had reined the magic back in. He was not likely to be in any shape to go bounding across the room and overpower her, no. But since she'd drawn actually close enough to put her face right by his face... well. Even with his legs trembling with the effort holding himself upright, even shaking in every limb, it ought not to come as a total surprise that Callara might wind up with the sharp point of his dagger pressing rather firmly into her belly, inviting her to make even the slightest move so that he could go on to disembowel her. He'd do it even if he had to seize hold of her and lean on her support, not much caring if he might push the blade in accidently. Possibly Callara could finish him off before he could her. Possibly the opposite was also true.

"You are Empress of Nothing," Arnholt ground out. "Least of all to me." Shakily he reached his free hand under his collar, pulling slowly and with the utmost care on its chain until the Eye of Righteous hung outside his cloak. "Still..." he growled. "If you know... what this is... you may see... what we could accomplish.... together..."

[Gutter Rat]

OOC: GREAT interactions, guys… Gripping and makes me want to grab my popcorn. One small thing though – please help me out by ‘attempting’ fewer complex items per post for all our sakes. I’m still fresh at modding and want to neither short-change you, negate half your posts, or ‘Monty Hall” it, giving you everything without much challenge, k? Also, the piling of actions makes us assume that action A succeeded so that action B could happen.

That being said… *holds up fist between the both of you and rings bell, dropping his fist and stepping back * “Let’s get it on!”

Callara managed to slice the finger deep enough to raise blood to the surface, but not hard enough to do any great harm, her warning completed as desired. Her magical attack, however, presented a small problem or two for, although her desire to harm him was strong, Callara’s recent success at the random destruction of a few birds had come with a price. Magic was quite like a muscle in the aspect that to achieve power, one must expend power, and her orinthicide had been the metaphysical equivalent of her magick running a fifteen kilometer marathon and the sudden expectation of her to have it sprint for three more in order to seize Arnholt’s heart was just a bit outside of its capabilities. Callara needed rest – she needed food – and Arnholt found himself gripped not with a heart attack but something akin to fierce heartburn which can often present with the same symptoms.

Arnholt would feel his chest seize, a burning behind his sternum coupled with the distinct taste of acidic bile and the natural fear that something was amiss within his own body. He tried to pull the blade out subtly, which was is possible while under the guise of clutching at ones chest, but his body was overriding his conscious mind as the pain came in flashes, mounting and falling, his fingers wanting to clutch at his heart more than at his weapon, the dagger soon finding itself gripped only by gravity as it clattered to the floor.

The amulet, however was found easily by him – easier so when Callara called off her attack. Within a few flickers, Arnholt’s pain would subside, allowing him to regain full control over his tremors.

[Callara]

Callara sat down with a content smile on her face, leaving the seizing Arnholt in pain for a few more flickers, watching the blade drop to the floor, watching him extract a rather foreign and dark looking pendant from beneath his clothing. Apparently he assumed she might know what it was, which said to her he at least got the message she had been trying to convey subconciously.

His concious mind was still fighting, which was a trait she could appreciate. Even when faced with her magic, forced to buckle under the strain of her mind alone, he defied her and called her bluff, even daring to pull a knife on her, however futile.

And then there was the amulet. It did not ring a bell on any level, and Callara had been one to read quite a lot, especially after leaving her home and pursuing her magic. Her father's faith in K'tan had never much appealed to her and so she had read up on other religions, finding the contemplative, logical approach of the god Aurelius to be quite fitting to her state of mind at that time.

Yet now she was faced with a dual-sided blade. Her own magic was based on controlling fierce and deadly emotion. A darkness she had embraced based on her will to destroy those in her past. It had been a decision based on instinct, rather than logic. Yet it had been logic that had kept her able to control and build on the blood magic within her.

And then there was the amulet...

As she sat, calling back the blood and taking a breath of her own, followed by her wiping off the blood from her hand with a napkin, she spoke while locking stares with Arnholt again, ready to lash out with magic should he come at her with that blade.
"You are right. I am empress of nothing. But that may very well change. You are also right I can not accomplish this alone. You are the first of few to stand in my way and challenge me like this. I can't help but admire your style. This city has caused me to alter my views of reality greatly in past moons. I have great plans for it, and after that for my own home city. Obtaining the palace was the first step, gathering an army will be the second."

She paused briefly, shooting a glance at the amulet.

"You seem to think that amulet somehow factors into the equation. I don't know what it is, but perhaps you will enlighten me."

[Arnholt]

Arnholt knelt... but only to pick up the fallen blade. He returned it to its sheath with a very final click that suggested he would have been just as happy to slip it between Callara's ribs instead. He paused a moment to collect his staff, as well, leaning on it casually as he turned to face the caretaker again. Sorceress, he thought. Witch. And also another word that rhymed with witch, but started with a different letter. But what a discovery! He and Righteous might have many uses for such a one. Bruised feelings hardly entered into it.

The cultists eyes remained cold as he returned Callara's gaze, stalking forward again until he was just out of arm's reach.

"Enlighten you?" he asked. Well. Why the hell not? "Perhaps I might. If you are prepared to listen." Arnholt lifted the red jewel between two fingers, lifting it as gently as a baby (though one wouldn't usually dangle a baby from a chain). "This is the Eye of Righteous," the cultist told Callara flatly. "A symbol of my faith. Not in Dominicus, no. This is a relic of my true God. The Goddess Righteous. She who was worshipped as the Goddess of Justice long ago... and still is. But She has been imprisoned in the Nether for a thousand yahren, ever since Her followers of old were all butchered by the servants of the One God." He smiled tightly. "She is a daemoness, Callara. The Daemon-Goddess, if you will. One day Her voice will be heard across nations and She will rise again."

Arnholt's voice rang with fierce conviction. Never mind that he was pretty sure he was throwing pearls before swine. The words had to be said, and if this wasn't the time and the place to say them, then when? And where? He had to begin somewhere. Even if Callara scoffed at his words, as did not seem unlikely, she could still be of use. If he could convert her to Righteousness, excellent. Otherwise... well. She wouldn't need to believe in the Goddess to desire Her power. She would not need to believe in order to serve his Goddess's needs.

"She left Her followers instructions," Arnholt said flatly. "Plans directing how to build a shrine to Her. Incantations for summoning and binding daemons. Even the key, I think, to one day summoning Herself." He tilted his head to one side slightly, considering Callara coolly. "Perhaps in time you, too, will accept Her truth."

[Callara]

"This city draws on the most insane people."

Truly, as she sat there and listened to the explanation of Arnholt she really wondered how anyone who was so very very candid to a complete stranger ever survived as long as he had. If all of what he said was true, and judging from his aura he sure believed it was, he would have been dead a long time ago for all the right reasons. Heresy was something that the people in this city frowned upon. More so the nobility ofcourse since most of them came from King's Court. Anyone spouting stories of demons was either a total nut job or begging for an early grave.

"Or...a zealot."

And from what she had witnessed and heard this man ticked a lot of the boxes for claiming that title. Now, she had never been a devout follower of anything, let alone crazy enough about something to go about spouting gibberish on a street corner about it like this man seemed nigh doing.

In any case, information was power and she had a lot on him. She sensed his anger towards her, but his words were clearly bent on the man's own agenda of getting this shrine into being. The blood within her gave her power beyond anything, maybe even beyond that of a demon. Surely not beyond that of a god...

She was not strong enough to try and find out, and she was really not ready to join in on some cultist's fantasy of world domination, she had her own fantasies. As he finished she looked up at the man now standing before her, placing her fingertips together under her chin as she contemplated her own tale.

"Three moons or so ago, this city was bathed in blood. A mage held the city in a grasp of fear and death. A grasp that was broken by the doing of three others. The mage was destroyed, but the blood remained. Now two of the others seek to destroy it's remnants. The third seeks to wield it's power."

Callara knew she might have a powerful ally here. One that might aid her as she might aid him. The demoness' magic did not truly interest her yet, but the notion of such beings under his command intrigued her.

"This palace belongs to the king of the Western Kingdom, for now. The living epitomy of the Dominican faith. If you seek to construct such a relic, where better than within the walls of a house, shielded from the outside world by those that seek to defend the Dominican faith? The irony alone is astounding."

She laughed.

"I'm offering you help. Your story intrigues me. You will get my help in building that relic. In return you will tell me of this demoness of yours and perhaps aid me in a few matters of my own when the time comes. I believe...in the end...it will serve both our causes."

[Arnholt]

If Callara had been able to read thoughts as well as she could auras, she might have been surprised to find Arnholt's thoughts a mirror of her own. She knew he was a killer, he knew the same of her. She knew he was a cultist, he knew that she was a dark sorceress, as well as a self-professed heretic. He had offered a brief description of Righteous. She had shared with him her crazed dreams of world domination. She had outlined her plans to him, including the next step she intended to take. She had as much as admitted that there were two mages in this city who wanted to destroy her, and tied the source of her power to a recent tragedy: interesting threads of information that he might easily pursue on his own now. She had offered to let him build a shrine to his Daemon-Goddess in her house, which ought to be amusing for her to try and explain to the authorities if and when they showed up and found it.

And she thought she was wiser than he? Just as well that Arnholt couldn't read Callara's thoughts, either. He might just have laughed in her face.

Callara would fail. Arnholt had little doubt about that. A woman like her would make enemies by the score, by virtue of her incredible arrogance and her near-complete lack of social graces. Eventually one of those would bring her down. Hell, he sort of wanted to kill her, himself, and he barely knew her. But of course there was too much to be gained from cooperation. Callara saw, as he did, that a Oneist bastion would be a fine location for Righteous' shrine. Likewise, the foolish ambitions of an insane sorceress would make a fine mask for his own plans. When Callara was ground under the wheels of fate and history, the forces of 'light' in Roque would suppose that the threat was over, the darkness vanquished. And Arnholt would be long gone by then, laughing all the way.

And if Callara succeeded? Unlikely. Extremely unlikely. But if she did, Arnholt would have been at her side very nearly from the beginning. Who knew? Their alliance might even work out as nicely as the sorceress claimed to suppose it would. The Goddess knew, Arnholt had little to lose right now, and much to gain either way. With a smile of chilly satisfaction, he slid the Eye away again, back under his shirt. Alliance? Why not? How long that lasted would depend on how tolerable Callara managed to be, and whether her competence matched her rhetoric.

"Stranger things have happened," was his reply. And then, "I'll need to look around the house. Find a place suitable to my needs. And I'll need money, to buy the tools and materials necessary to construct Her shrine. I'll tell you what you like of Righteous, in due time. I do have one question, though. While all of this is going on... what do you propose to tell your guards I'm doing here?" Granted, Arnholt had his own ideas about how to deal with that question. But he was quite interested in Callara's own thought on the matter of how to maintain secrecy.

[Callara]

"That is quite simple. They know I have requested aid to help around here, maintaining the palace and providing food and other requirements of life. Your arrival here has added to that illusion quite nicely and will be explained as me hiring you to see to the day to day purchasing on behalf of the palace. That also gives you a proper alibi to haul things in and out of here at leasure."

Arnholt might well be correct. The blood had made Callara arrogant and power hungry. Something she did not actively see herself. It was as much a part of her now as the breath she drew or the thoughts that crossed her mind. She did not possess much of any social skills, but she did consider a lot of factors in carefully. This man was dangerous, and their alliance a very brittle one at best.

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

From the flicker they had met, plans had formed in her mind. Plans that would aid her in establishing what she wanted for herself. There was nothing that tied this one to her, something she would have to remedy at some point.

"There is money available from the palace funds that can be used to accomodate some of what you might require. There is not much though so whatever expensive materials you need will have to be bought or gathered otherwise."

She paused a flicker.

"Let's be straight, now that this is settled. I don't trust you and you don't trust me. This building is as much mine as it is yours so what you do with it when you are here I leave to you. It is however the best cover in the entire city for what you and I might hope to accomplish and we'd both do best to keep it as such."

Contemplating momentarily what he required, she nodded. "There are three places you can not use to build your shrine. The library, the servant's wing and the arboretum. Those are either used by me or frequented by guards and other personel far too often." She omitted to mention the presence of Sun in the arboretum. "Aside from that there may be one tiny hitch in this palace staying the useful hide-away it is now. And that is the arrival of a replacement Caretaker. She is due to arrive from King's Court in five days and will have to be dealt with. You mentioned you're good at talking street. Perhaps you can use that ability to rustle up some people to make sure she never arrives at these gates."

Callara stood up.

"You will do well to leave. Return tomorrow at tradetide and I will show you around the palace and the grounds. Then we can talk more about what it is you need exactly..."

She was catering. She was providing this man with all the things he might possibly need to fulfill his plans and she as yet would get nothing out of it. Then again, the way he was now he was of little use anyway. If her plans to convert the Roques to her side failed, she'd have to come up with a different strategy to take over Roque. An army of demons might just be the leverage she needed then.

"And who says he will be the one controlling them..."

[Arnholt]

"That is quite simple. They know I have requested aid to help around here, maintaining the palace and providing food and other requirements of life. Your arrival here has added to that illusion quite nicely and will be explained as me hiring you to see to the day to day purchasing on behalf of the palace. That also gives you a proper alibi to haul things in and out of here at leasure."

Arnholt bent his head in acceptance, but added, "With one small but necessary clarification. I'm here, specifically, to aid in the construction of a palace chapel. Or the renovation of the old chapel, if there's a chapel here already."

If Callara thought about it for a moment, the reason for that should be fairly clear. She would probably take a clue from his habit of identifying himself as a monk or holy man-- a designation which her guards already had in writing. More importantly, and as Arnholt would explain if needed, the lie of creating a chapel would help to explain some of the more esoteric things he needed to do in order to build Righteous' shrine. Perhaps, if their shaky alliance held up, he could even manage to disguise Righteous' shrine so that it looked like a chapel. In any case, the deception could lend Callara a share of the same camouflage that he himself enjoyed as Bram Beacon. She might find it easier to avert suspicion if people took her for a devout Oneist instead of just a crazed hermit.

The cultist shot Callara a jaded look as she went on, just to let her know she wasn't fooling anyone, but he said nothing aloud and just nodded agreeably as the sorceress explained what she was offering at present. He had to admit that her offer was a generous one, if one overlooked the strings attached. Anyway, he did like Accommodating Callara better than he did Raving Bitch Callara, however disingenuous her present attitude. For his part he was willing to keep things civil. If they managed to keep it going long enough, he reflected cynically, together they might yet prove a greater danger to the world than they presently did to each other.

Despite his best intentions, Arnholt did give a faint snort of amusement when she mentioned the impending arrival of the real caretaker. "I'll look into it," was what he said. Making contact with the local underworld would be useful in itself, whatever else developed.

"You will do well to leave. Return tomorrow at tradetide and I will show you around the palace and the grounds. Then we can talk more about what it is you need exactly..."

"Good night, Callara," Arnholt said, not coldly, but without much warmth. And added archly, "Righteous keep you. I will remember you in my prayers."

Arnholt walked out of the house with the end of his staff rapping rhythmically on the ground before him as he walked, as usual... but otherwise in complete silence. He put on a thoughtful and troubled look as he passed the guards (it wasn't much of a stretch at the moment) and trooped off quietly into the night. He was some distance from the Summer Palace when his confident grin finally began to show, a flash of white teeth in the darkness under his hood.

Five days until the replacement caretaker... the true caretaker... arrives in the city. He certainly would be kept busy in that time. Designing and building Righteous' shrine. Making contact with the insular Roque underworld. Pursuing certain private affairs that Callara needn't really worry about. Deciding, once and for all, whether the sorceress was going to be worth his while in the long term, or whether the threat she posed outweighed the benefits. All in all it was a rather tall order. But then, a whole hell of a lot can happen in five days, can't it.

"Heh." The barest hint of a chuckle escaped him. The cultist was whistling a spritely Oneist battle hymn as he disappeared into the darkness of the city.

(Exeunt Arnholt.)

[Gutter Rat]

The guards at the gate wished Brother Beacon a safe journey, taking note of his tales of returning, if he had told any, to pass along to their fellow guardians. Whomever the Caretaker wished to have helping her was fine and it made most, if not all, of them glad that she had chosen a Oneist to help work the Summer Palace back into its former glory and not some damned Pan or Mother worshipers. With politics the way they currently were in Roque, the sight of a monk leaving the Palace was an omen of good tidings to come.

Inside the palace, as well, another celebrated glad tidings as it floated cautiously into the room where Callara sat and whisked over to her glowing brightly.

You're here... You'rehereyou'rehereyour'rehere...

The ball bounced around in mid-air like a puppy wagging its entire being as a tail.

Missedyoumissedyoumissedyou...yes...yes...

Callara may have had her doubts about Arnholt, but there was no way she could doubt that her odd little pet was happy to have her home.

[Callara]

Hey Sun, good to see you...

Callara couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm of the little sprite. Even though the room had been filled with mistrust before, it seemed to light up now that Arnholt had left and Sun entered, zooming at her with it's usual exhuberance.

Missed you too.

She got up and started to clean up the remnants of the dinner she had had, after which she retired back to the library to jot down a few more notes on the past eveningtide. Her magical skill was improving fractions at a time, but there was improvement. Could not let anything be missed by an oversight later on.

As she wrote and toyed a bit with the little orb of astral light she considered what she had gotten herself into. Arnholt, Bram, had yet to prove an ally. Still, she was confident enough she could keep him at arm's length should he prove to be a problem. If his stories about that demoness were true, there could be some real potential in keeping his little operation close.

[Gutter Rat]

The exuberant ball of light barely had a chance to reply when a knock sounded upon the library door, followed by the slowly emerging face of a guard as he let himself in looking for Callara. The wisp ducked under the table quickly. “Pardon the intrusion, madam, but this package arrived for you just as your company was leaving. The courier insisted that we open the box to verify its contents, but not to touch them, so everything is as it is…” he rattled off, carrying in a small box.

“Oddly enough, madam…” he continued as he delivered the package, removing the lid to reveal its contents. “…there was a package in here for your recently departed guest. It was as if the sender knew that he would be here. I was instructed by the messenger, however, that you were to give it to him and I was not to try to chase him down.” The guard shrugged and turned to leave, if dismissed.

Within the box, there lay two smaller boxes, each marked with a name – Caretaker and Brother Beacon, respectively – and each was sealed with a wax signet that Callara could not readily identify. The only other item in the box was a note which read “Only open your own.”

[Callara]

"We were overheard!"

It was the only logical conclusion. When she and Beacon had spoken at the market they must have been overheard, apparently by someone who knew the monk as his name was mentioned and hers was not. She had only said she had been the Caretaker and aside from him she had not mentioned it to anyone else.

"The idiot has someone following him. This could jeopardise everything!"

"Thank you." She replied to the guard, these thoughts occuring behind a carefully composed mask, as if nothing strange had occured. Her acting skill was poor however so some sign of her worries must have passed over her face at least at the start. Callara would be sure to have a word with mister Beacon upon his return. "Can you tell me anything about who delivered it?"

While speaking she took the box out which had her name on it. She turned it over a few times, gently. It seemed odd that someone would have a package delivered at the manor at this hour AFTER Beacon had left, while leaving instructions for her not to open the other package. "As if they want to test me..." Involuntarily she shot a glance around, attempting to sense if there were any blood-filled lifeforms around that might be spying on her. Paranoia kicked in as she took out her knife and broke the seal, opening the lid slowly.

[Gutter Rat]

The guard had, indeed, noted the look of concern on her face but wrote it off as a typical reaction to a strange package. As he had confessed, he had worn the same expression when it was delivered. When Callara asked about the messenger, he shook his head slowly. “It was a child, no more than eleven or twelve yahren, probably either the child of the sender or just some random kid pulled from the streets and given instructions.” He speculated, feeling a bit ill-at-ease for having to hand her a dead end. As there was really nothing more to give, save for a physical description of the boy which he quickly appended in summary form, the man lapsed into silence and allowed her to peruse the box’s contents.

Within the box, there was another letter, sealed with the same wax insignia, and three chess pieces carved from marble – a pawn, a knight, and a queen. The letter read as follows:

Callara Connarial,

At this flicker, you are probably looking at every door, windowpane, nook, and shadow with suspicion. This is a good thing. Suspicion is healthy and a tool to be used as any other, especially now. To answer your worries, yes, we have been watching you and those with whom you speak. Consider it an interview that you were not wittingly a part of.

Times can, and do, change. If you are interested in being a part of that change, choose which part you wish to play and choose it carefully. When you have made your descision, go to the Goose and order a drink. Pay for it with your descision by dropping the selected piece into the drink. The bartender will instruct you from there.

There was no signature on the letter, save for the same signet drawn in ink with a post-script below it.

As you already know, you are not to open the box marked for your companion. If you are in alliance with him, give him the box. If you are not, deliver the large box with his package still within to your guards and a courier will be by to check if there is anything to be picked up. Remember, suspicion is only healthy in small doses.

Within the box, the pieces awaited her attention. Within the room, so did the guard who had delivered the package.

[Callara]

Callara read the note with a growing measure of surprise on her face. Whoever had sent the message seemed to know everything about her. A fact she did not take kindly to in the slightest.

"But how..."

She took the second box out of the package. "You can go, I will see to this one." Callara waited until the guard had left before leaving the library herself and walking up to her room with both boxes in her hands. One opened and one closed.

As far as she could remember she had only given her full name once while in the city, and that had been when she entered through the gates at the dockside. Back before she knew what she knew now. Back before she had become what she had become after the storms. It was a hard thought to fathom that someone had been watching her from the moment she had stepped off of the ship that had taken her in from Kislovan, up until this very night. That would mean there were forces at work in this city she had not taken into account before. Forces she could not ignore, if they truly were that omnipresent.

Once in her room she sat down on her bed and thought over the message in the note. "The ordacity...To presume to know me as well as they think they do..." She played around with the three chess pieces, wondering what to do with them. Her first instinct was to go with the queen, as that was the only role she would see herself play in any scenario. Yet the way this was put forth made her realise that whoever wanted her to play, wanted to do so on their terms.

Not something she was very keen on.

She placed the box and the three pieces on her night stand and decided to check on her clothing. It would have to dry if she were to wear it the next day. She hung it by the fireplace before returning to her bedroom and retired for the gravetide. Though not before hiding the second box away in her dresser behind some clothes. She was ordered to give it to Beacon, true enough. But she hated orders and besides, they had not stipulated WHEN it was to be given...

Tomorrow she would have to pay a little visit to the inn before her training...

[Gutter Rat]

Skilled, locked, and archived.