A Trail of Shed Skin

[Taelian Edevane]

14th of Searing, Year 120

"They're here. I know they are."

"Eleanor..."

"We've been following their trail for days now, but they don't know it. And last track we found, it was fresh. Hours ago. They can't have gone from the town that quickly -- at some point, they need to let up."

"Why do you even need this, El? We know they're Dranoch -- Helena, at least. We have enough information to call it conclusively. There's no need for..."

"Taelian," the woman nearly hissed, her lips morphing into a grimace. "This is what we need for our certainty. With this, we can continue knowing for sure. And perhaps we can use the information we receive -- living or dead -- to persuade others. This is the casus belli to our cause. With it, we can be certain we are on the right side of history."

He frowned. There was something about this entire series of events that perturbed him. Every interaction, every piece of the puzzle, had only managed to make the full picture clearer... but more ominous. He began to realize that Westweald, and Helena, were larger threats than they had originally envisioned. It was no mere manager of a trade port -- but a vixen at the head of an empire of deception and subversion.

The two of them approached the town on horseback. Taelian was dressed far more regal than his peer; he wore his black-dyed satin jacket, his slim satin pants of the same color, with his half-cape draped over his shoulder. Silk boots, well groomed hair, skin clear of grime or dirt. And a poise he'd never known before the Covenant. The Siltori man looked something like a noble now; the courtier Eloise had made him, while Eleanor still cast a brutish and dejected shadow. She remained one with their grim homeland. The younger of them, though -- he had tried to change.

Both of them were warriors, though. That was clear. Ard Fuil was strapped at his side, and all the daggers one could imagine, hanging from his belt wrapped in their sheaths. They almost looked like ornaments; they weren't.

"You should fraternize with the Lordlings. Whoever runs this place. I still don't understand shit about this nation," the woman spat.

"It's all built around Kinships. I'll explain it to you some other time," he said, glancing upward. He caught a glint of what appeared to be a central building -- an estate, of sorts, robust in size. "I'll head there. You're going to the tavern, right, El?"

"Yeah," she said. "Duedrop, it's called. Meet me when you're done with the leaders of this place. What are you going to tell them? Iulide's courtier, or--"

"That I'm a member of the Covenant," he quickly answered. "They're headquartered right south of Grimholdt, and have significant influence in this region. I'm no longer an understudy, so I can start to use my weight. I have their emblem."

"Right," she said, motioning for her horse to resume movement. They parted ways, though Taelian wouldn't gallop through town the way she did. By the entrance to Loras he found a stable, and left his horse in the enclosure, going the rest of the way on foot -- at least at first. The town's manor came into view in the northern sector of the town, surrounded by walls like the location's exterior. Taelian opened a portal, the natural aether of the area before him coalescing into a node that appeared to look much like a vortex of wind. The other side formed before the estate, and cutting a few minutes from his journey the mage hastily stepped through. Upon emerging, he kept his posture and form, though he looked up to capture the full image of the manor. It was large; the architecture was immaculate. In some ways, it betrayed the typical style of Atinorin estates, though he enjoyed the difference. He'd not seen many places like it.

The entrance appeared to be open, and in fact there were a collection of fraternizing parents and children in the foyer and the central hall. He frowned, uncertain of where to find the leaders of the locale, or someone who could direct him. He understood that he would eventually need to speak with whoever was in charge of incoming merchant traffic, but he would need clearance for the information he was seeking. Time was short; he needed to cut the fat and get it before they moved on. If the merchants even still remained.

[Milana]

It was a beautiful day. The sun was bright, but the heat of the day had not yet reached its peak. What's more, the walls that surrounded the manor cast a shadow across the small garden area where Milana was currently. Though there were very few trees on the Manor grounds, there were a number of a few small gardens scattered around the grounds. Each of these were connected to the Manor proper by stone pathways, smooth enough that Milana had no issues reaching the areas despite her condition. Today was a day of rest, somewhat at least. The last several days had been eventful, and the Town often required a lot of the Vassal both mentally and physically. Master Dillinger had wanted her to attend a lecture today, but thankfully he had relented with Milana had begged feeling ill. It also helped that Sarah had a glare that belonged to a woman twice her age. It made Milana smile as she remembered the old man's normally jolly features shrink in on themselves when presented by the young girl's fierce expression.

"Would you like anything to eat lady Milana?" Sarah asked. The young woman was an ever-present shadow to the young noble, in some ways closer to her than even Strous. Her brown hair and simple features gave the handmaid a rather plain look, but somehow when the girl smiled those features lit up and seemed to tighten her beauty several-fold. She was smiling now, looking at the summer buds that were just beginning to show signs of blooming.

Milana shook her head, adjusting the folds of her green dress around herself as she straightened slightly, "Not right now Sarah, but thank you." Today Milana wore a simple green sundress, the fabric light, and breathable, but it still was traced with subtle patterns of brown and gold along the dress itself and down the sleeves. It was long enough to hide her slippered feet. Her hair was done in a loose braid that fell over one shoulder, and for whatever reason Sarah that morning had felt the need to tie a matching green ribbon into the locks. The ribbon she now fingered idly was made of a soft material, possibly cotton from the texture, but it somehow felt out of place to the person wearing it.

Looking back toward the manor Milana smiled as she saw the children there, gathering for the day's lessons. When she had first suggested utilizing the manor for such a purpose she had received quite a bit of resistance from her father, and even her Aunt. Now though, looking at the smiling faces of the kids, Milana knew it was the right choice. Closing her eyes Milana rested her head back against the back of her chair, sighing softly as she felt the warmth of the soon flood over her. The chair itself was far more comfortable than it had any right to be. Made entirely of wood it was polished to a smooth and shiny finish, etched and illustrated with designs that gave it an almost artistic quality. The back was high, and the fabric of the seat and back were a soft and sturdy material that was a dark green that also matched her dress today. Odd that was... And for the first time, Milana thought she might know why Sarah so often dressed her in green.

"Milana." Sarah's voice came as a whisper, close to Milana's ear. There was an odd note in her tone, and a slight shiver passed through her spine at her next words, "There is a man who... just appeared inside the estates."

Opening her eyes Milana looked back toward the manor, and now where there was once empty grass there stood a man well dressed in black. That in and of itself was odd, but the garments seemed slightly... out of place. Her eyes traced the man up and down, and even from the distance, she could tell he was tall... unusually tall. A Jastai?

"Sarah, go and fetch Edwin. It seems we have a guest." A faint glitter at his waist made Milana pause before she said in a forced calm voice, "Fetch Strous as well."

"Lady Milana, I shouldn't leave you here alone." The woman said, speaking with a tone that seemed to suggest she might refuse. Milana, however, would have none of that today.

"Fetch them." Milana said again, her voice firmer even as she grasped her wheels and began to push herself up onto the path leading to the Manor, "And be quick."

Looking as if she still wished to protest, Sarah moved quickly down the path past Milana heading straight toward the Manor. As she passed the man she would spare him a brief glance, brows knitted together with a hardened expression before moving quickly away. Shaking her head Milana pushed herself up the stone path until she was on level with the man, though there was still some distance between them.

"Excuse me, sir." she called, hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair as she did her best to look in control, "I do not believe we have met. What brings you here to the Terras Estates?"

[Taelian Edevane]

Though the initial reaction to him had been somewhat muted, or so he thought, the commotion around his entrance quickly spread. It became evident that complex portal-work wasn't an everyday occurrence in places like this; he had become accustomed to the everyday presence of the arcane, working and living within Melitene, but it wasn't the same for others. A woman urgently passed him with a stark look on her face, and what he read as an almost-evasion of any eye contact. Though he wasn't particularly good at reading people, or their body language. Eloise's scoldings on that front were constant.

What he was met with after the woman passed was something of far greater interest to him. Ascending toward him from one of the estate's stone paths was a girl, or rather a woman -- likely somewhere near him in age -- pushing herself along the paved terrace with... a wheelchair. It was a tool he'd only ever seen a few times before now. In Sil-Elaine, someone like that... a cripple, they would've died. They would've been left to die. In the outer world, where food and resources were far more abundant, some of them at least got to live.

She wore green, almost matte in shade across her body. In that regard, she was a more arboreal mirror to his sheer black. Judging by the quality of her attire, he did surmise that it was possible that she was the lady of the manor, or one of them. Her clothes weren't on the level of royalty, but they were suitable for a local noble, the kin of Atinaw's equivalent of a baron or mayor. He'd acquainted himself with enough of them since becoming a courtier to one of the nation's Finla.

He supposed he was glad he'd met with them. He wouldn't have known how to speak, otherwise -- how to introduce himself. What his manners were. What words to shy away from, and which to use among the gilded class. The court had not only offered him insight into the native tongue, but into the etiquette of Atinaw; the delicate framework of its society. He only hoped that his glimmer of knowledge, largely veiled behind the curtain of a lingual barrier, would be enough to get Eleanor what she wanted.

"Hello," he began with. It was as good an introduction as any. "We haven't met, no. I am Taelian Ela'Rannoch, a brother of the Covenant. Have you heard of us? Our leader, Eloise, serves as one of the main advisers to the Finla of Grimholdt. I'm certain you must be aware of our reach."

He smiled faintly. Taelian had little interest in small talk or pleasantries -- some things about him had failed to change regardless of the efforts of Eloise. Instead, his introduction and its purpose were clear: he was informing her of whatever vague conception of institutional power that he held. In an indirect way, it was almost a threatening introduction. The usage of his connection to Eloise, and by extension the Finla, to grant himself some form of legitimacy. Who knew his own influence? Perhaps if he was displeased, the Finla herself would hear of that displeasure. The possibilities were broad and vague, disguised by details unknown to the Terras.

"I've come here on an important endeavor: I believe merchants from the Westweald Trading Company -- and I'm certain you've heard of them -- have recently entered Loras with a sensitive shipment, which may still remain here along with the merchants themselves. The nature of this cargo is of extreme importance to me, and to Atinaw as a whole. I would like for Loras to close its gates, and for this town's administration to assist in tracking the merchants and their shipment. I understand it is a difficult request to fulfill with vague information, but I am afraid I cannot elaborate."

To do so would be to make an accusation -- one that he was not yet prepared to levy. Not so publicly, and not so early. Even once evidence was acquired, it could be dismissed as circumstantial or manipulated; Westweald had significant influence over the economic sector of Kamdin and Grimholdt, and he was aware of how that influence might dislodge his own prerogatives.

He needed the woman's compliance. Nothing more. His expression was flat, enough to appear unsettling. Or at least cold.

[Milana]

He was tall, tall enough that he made her father look small in comparison, and compared to him Milana knew she must look like a doll. A closer inspection of his clothing revealed they were of fine quality, and the weapons at his waist were carried with a nonchalant ease that even someone untrained like her could tell he knew how to use them. Her eyes drifted to his pointed ears, pausing there before taking his ashen locks and elven features. Then she locked her eyes with his, just as he offered a smile and a greeting. What she saw there, in those pale eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

He sees me as nothing. Milana realized, eyes widening slightly before glancing away. What may have simply been suspicions were all but confirmed by the words he spoke. Dropping the names of the Covenant, and mentioning a higher connection to the Finla... She was a simple girl, but even she could tell a veiled threat when she heard one.

Milana resisted the urge to clench her fist as she looked back up at the man as he finished, meeting his flat expression and fighting down the nagging dread in her stomach. Right then and there Milana knew... he could kill her without a second thought.

"I... see." the words came slowly, almost thoughtfully as Milana rested a hand on one cheek and tilted her head as if in thought. Her eyes wandered up and down him once more before a voice from the manner called her attention.

"Lady Milana," An older, well dressed man was walking toward them down the path. He wore a fine suit of blue, pressed and immaculate. His hair was brushed back from his forehead, and the beard and mustache was well trimmed with streaks of black in the whiskers. Light blue eyes looked at Taelian for only a moment before the man stopped before Milana and offered a short bow, "You called for me?"

"Ah Edwin, thank you for coming." Milana said, thinking quickly, "We have a guest, Taelian Ela'Rannoch." She nodded at Taelian and smiled apologetically, "You will have to forgive me, I am afraid I do not know what title to call you by." Edwin had straightened by the time MIlana looked back, and she waved a hand at the Manor, "Let us go to my study for some tea and a short talk. It sounds like our guest has rather important business to discuss."

"As you wish my lady." Edwin said, offering her and Taelian a bow once more before walking behind MIlana's chair and taking the handles. To Taelian he said, "If you would, please follow me."

As they began walking up the short path Milana took the brief silence to collect herself. Her hands rested lightly in her lap, eyes lost in thought. The entrance to the Manor was now clear of all people, the parents having left and the children collected in the main hall to begin their lessons. Suddenly Milana felt a sense of relief seeing the children away from the yard. She did not know why, but this Taelian gave her an odd feeling. His bearing, the look in his eyes when he saw her, she recognized that look. She had seen it many times before. How he used his words like a slow acting poison, and they had only just met. Thinking of it she glanced at the man again and quickly away lest she show her uneasiness. What could she do? Did he really know the Finla? MIlana had never heard of this Eloise before, but that was not unexpected given how small Loras was. Traders came and went, but few spent any amount of time here as they made their way quickly to either Grimholdt or Kamdin. The prospects of shutting the towns gates though was no small matter. Surely he must realize what a blow that would cause to her town, and its reputation? Something like this could cripple them, especially if Westweald Trading was involved.

Then again, Milana thought with a bitter taste in her mouth, Something tells me this man would burn down this entire town to get what he wants. It was a precarious situation.

As they past the threshold into the Manor a new man was there, waiting just beyond the doorway. Tall with a scarred face, Strous was the picture of an intimidating war veteran. He wore his usual leathers, with the broadsword strapped to his back. All good quality, but nothing flashy. As they past he would only give Taelian a sidelong look before replacing Edwin behind the wheelchair, pushing her the remaining distance to the study just to the right of the main hall. Sarah stood there now, hands at her waist clutching her skirts as she bowed slightly before opening the door, allowing everyone to pass through.

"Please, make yourself at home." Milana said as she was wheeled around the small couch at the entryway, directly toward a simple wooden table with two chairs on one side. Strous wheeled his master around to the other side of the table facing the entryway before stepping back, hands behind his back in a relaxed if alert position.

Milana tapped the table twice, looking at Sarah and smiling at the obviously stressed maid comfortingly, "Sarah please prepare us some tea, the Refari blend if we have any left. And ask Greta if she has any more of this mornings rum bread for our guest."

What did she need to do? What could she do? Rather... What would her aunt do? Milana waved at the chair before her as Sarah bowed and left, closing the door behind her. Then, resting back and absently touching the end of the ribbon in her hair with one hand she smiled at Taelian, a small smile that was tired and pulled at the dark circles under her eyes. Her voice was softer now, "While we wait for our refreshments, perhaps you could fill me in on just what this Covenant of yours is? I am afraid, simple as I am, I am not aware of all that goes on outside of my walls so please provide me as much detail as you can."

The plan clicked into place. Would it be enough?

[Taelian Edevane]

The girl was perceptive. They were shortly engaged in a visual exchange -- one where she recognized his coldness, and his intentions, and one where he recognized her recognition. This exchange was only broken by the arrival of another addition to the mix, an older and well-dressed man named Edwin, who - by his own words - offered Taelian the crippled woman's name.

Lady Milana. So she was the Lady of the estate, or at least one of them. Taelian faintly smiled as his suspicions were confirmed, even if it was obvious by now. These local lords, he had noticed, didn't act with the same level of bureaucracy as the Finla, who would hide themselves behind eight levels of clearance before one could hold private court with them. He was fortunate that he got to meet her so soon, even if he could tell his vibrant personality had failed to charm her.

"Title... hm," he began to ponder. Taelian looked absently towards one wing of the manner, thinking on the query. "I am a courtier of Finla Iulide's, though I am not a noble myself. But... I am a Knight in another country, Sil-Elaine. You may address me as Ser Rannoch if you wish." It was appropriate, he thought. If there was any title he held, 'Ser' was close enough to it, though members of the Black Remedy often referred to one another by their rank, or simply their name. And commoners -- well, they were the Knights of a revolution. Any deference to them was treason.

Whatever the case, after the Siltori briefly offered her his 'title', she proposed that they relocate to her study for tea. It was a common political strategy in order to contain information, though he was highly conscious of their time constraints. He hoped Milana would not dance around the subject once he complied to her condition.

"Of course," he flatly replied. "Whatever would make you feel more at ease."

The moments that came after flowed fairly quickly in his own mind. Taelian remained observant of his surroundings, wary of any potential collusion with Westweald. Perhaps due to that wariness he paid little attention to Milana herself, instead focusing - with Spatial Perception active - on scanning his environment, and picking out every morphing detail. Though the man attempted to contain his own unease, his frequent stray looks and hawkish focus betrayed any sense of detachment he might've wished to project.

Another member of the estate -- likely a bodyguard or even a member of their retinue -- stood by the doorway of the manor, a taller and more weathered looking man, though not by age but rather battle and experience. He wondered if this was all a part of some orchestrated display, perhaps a deterrence not to lay any arms against the Lady of the estate. His glance at the man never became anything more than that, and he quickly averted his attention back to his surroundings, and to the handles of Milana's wheelchair as she was pushed along her route.

Finally, they arrived at the study. Taelian supposed he didn't mind the hospitality -- he was fairly hungry, and thirsty. They had been on the road for a while, and Eleanor refused to let up and stop for any meals. She complained of how she spoke too little Kokalath to eat anywhere else but at home, or by a campfire. It took her too much time to communicate with others, and she despised the judgment. Taelian, on the other hand, had been invited to a Lord's study to be given - likely - whatever he wished. He briefly grinned at the distinction there, perhaps due to his competitive nature, though he was aware of how such a sudden expression may be perceived.

Milana began to speak again. It appeared their business was finally going to proceed, though as she spoke a certain key statements caught his attention. 'As simple as she was'... 'as much detail as he could'. His brow rose.

"No... that will be alright. I cannot delay, and this business has taken much of my time already. If you wish to know about the Covenant, there are libraries in the city with information on our group. I am not a crier of my organization, its purpose, or its deeds. Now..." he took a breath. "Are you aware of the traffic of visitors you receive from Westweald? I have been told by my friends that it is a consequential number, considering it is a naval trading company. They always bring with them large, veiled cargo. While the city's ships and their cargo are investigated before departure by the board managing the docks, land transit between Kamdin and Grimholdt isn't so managed. Places like this are sure to receive some of the less... subdued items of these traders. That's why I'm here, at least. I am investigating the contents of these shipments, because I believe some of them may be of public interest to Grimholdt. The particular shipment I am looking to pin down is one holding much more significant notoriety."

Taelian offered the woman a cautious look, his eyes slightly narrowing. He proceeded to take a seat on one of the study's chairs, becoming more her equal for a moment.

"You brought me to this study, I suppose, for its seclusion. The limited proliferation of any knowledge shared here. As such, I will inform you of what I am looking to discover in these crates: unconscious human beings, drugged by magical reagents. By this time, the traders from Westweald must surely be aware that I am here. If you will not close the gates of Loras, you must at least have your guards stop and inspect their cargo as they leave the city. It is not an unreasonable expectation -- particularly in this time of escalating conflict. After all, Hopsfel was attacked by vagabonds not a fortnight ago. An escalation of alertness is not unwarranted."

He tried to appeal to her reasoning. Whatever the case, and whatever the impact on Loras, he didn't care. But he was well aware of the absurdity of his request, and so he would eagerly accept a compromise so long as his objective could be fulfilled.

[Milana]

This wasn't going exactly as she had hoped. He dodged the perhaps overly obvious delay method, and silently she wondered if she had been a bit too forward with its presentation. She closed her eyes briefly, relaxing her shoulders as she listened to the man speak. It wasn't as if she did not recognize the urgency, but she had been taught that things were very rarely what they appeared. A man, well dressed and claiming vague connections with powers that be, that could call her and her family to justice? What's more, it seemed odd to Milana that it would have been her that met him first. Could he have planned that out as well, and if so what did that mean exactly? Were his words actually true?

An image of Taelian's face just moments before flashed through her mind and her eyes popped open, alert once more to the danger that sat just across the table from her. As she listened she rested her hands on the desk in front of her, fingers relaxed though she did absently tap the gem of a ring on her right ring finger. Milana schooled her expressions, doing as her aunt had taught her and using the moment here to take a breath and step back mentally. She needed to understand his motive, and more importantly, she had to figure out if what he was saying was the truth... or some sort of elaborate lie.

When Taelian had finished Milana would study him for a long few moments, roaming over his body, his hair, lingering for a moment at his eyes before glancing down to examine the man's hands. Then, without preamble Milana reached down and opened a drawer under the desk, pulling from it an inkwell, quill, and 2 sheets of parchment. She also pulled out what appeared to be a ledger of some sort, a series of numbers and calculations there but this she set off to the side before closing the drawer once more.

"Ser Rannoch, what you say is troubling to me." she said slowly, dipping the quill in the ink to begin scratching a few short notes onto one of the pieces of parchment. It was just two lines, written quickly before Milana whisked the paper up and blue softly on the ink, drying it before folding it neatly with two creases. She wrote three words on the front before handing the letter back to Strous, who accepted it, read the words on the front before casually walking around the desk and out of the study.

"You were partially right." Milana said, her focus returning to Taelian as her hands pulled the ledger in front of her, "I asked you to join me here in part for the privacy, but the other part is a bit more mundane. As you can see," she motioned to the chair, "I have rather delicate sensibilities, and I cannot spend too much time in the heat for health reasons. It is for a similar reason that I am afraid I will be unable to visit the city any time soon, if at all." She smiled ruefully and looked down at the ledger, "For this reason, I had hoped you could alieve me of some of my ignorance for the purpose of our talks here."

She flipped a page on the ledger, scanning it as well before continuing, "Ser Rannoch, are you by chance familiar with what is required to keep a town such as Loras operational?" It was a rhetorical question, but she would give him time to answer if he wished before continuing, "Loras has a population of roughly 300, perhaps a small number in the eyes of the Covenant, but to me each and every one of that 300 has a name, a family and lives that they wish to live, peacefully." The words were said casually, but unintentionally there was a note of passion there that Milana could not repress. She nodded once and laid the ledger down, finger on a particular number, "Let us for now make a few simple assumptions of the people in Loras. Let us assume they all live reasonably well, good but certainly not in luxury. As we are primarily agricultural in nature we can also assume a reasonable average daily wage of 600 farthings for each." Milana smiled again, tapping the ledger, "Granted, in reality, this number is on the low side as we have a number of true experts and masters so those wages would be increased in kind, but for now 600 will do. That number comes out to be a total of 55,200 farthings per person for the entire last season of Glade, that times the 300 citizens equate to 16,560,000 farthings that Loras has to produce in order to provide its citizens with the means to pay their debts, upkeep their businesses, provide for their families, etcetera. "

Here again, Milana paused before continuing, "Loras also provides assistance for the costs of living, this amount being added to or accounted in some way within the wages of its citizens. Again we assume each citizen lives good lives, with some above and below, but that still come out to be an expense of roughly 3,000,000 farthings. Now let us take, say, a blacksmith. Let us assume he makes on the low end 55,200 farthings as we discussed previously, for illustration purposes. Now let's say something happens and he suddenly must replace his entire smithy, an action which will cost approximately 70,000 farthings to replace completely. Loras must also have enough funds in its coffers to make up that difference in 14,800 farthings in the event he is unable to acquire the appropriate loan, or perhaps cannot afford to due to the interest rates. Loras takes on that risk, but not as a kindness but because that single blacksmith represents a person who provides a necessary service to the town and likely has done so for years, as has his father and his father before that."

Another pause as Milana looked into Taelian's eyes, looking to see if he was following this line of reasoning, "We account for these costs in a variety of ways, but one of the primary methods that Loras uses to survives is through its trade and imports between Grimholdt and Kamdin. Westweald Trading Company, in particular, can bring in easily 750,000 farthings in a single day, which represents 4% of our town's entire seasonal expenses." She pressed her open palm against the pages of the ledger, giving Taelian a pointed look, "I tell you all of this so that you understand what it is you are asking from me. You are telling me that I must close Loras' gates, potentially losing a significant portion of our income which could affect the livelihood of my people, and at the same time risk angering and insulting the honor of the company which represents approximately 13% of our seasonal budget. All of this," Milana was frowning now as she tapped her finger on the desk, "You are asking from me while I have no proof that anything that you say is true, no proof that these connections of yours exist, and the only thing I can tell for certain is that you could kill me on the spot for not bending to your will. All of this does little to persuade me, Ser Rannoch, to even consider what it is you are asking."

As they were talking Strous had returned, followed closely by Sarah who now carried a tray with a pot of tea, two cups, and a small loaf of brown bread that smelled fresh from the oven. Strous took his position behind Milana once more, while Sarah set the tray down and placed a steaming cup of tea in front of both Milana and Taelian. She then began cutting the bread, smothering it in butter, and placing a small place before each of them with a piece. Milana smiled graciously at Sarah as she accepted her tea. For a moment she forgot about Taelian, about their conversation, about the potential for human trafficking in her own town. She put aside her worries, her doubts, her uncertainties as to the taste of the warm liquid filled her with the scent of raspberries and earthy undertones. It felt like a fire was collecting in her stomach as she drank, and she didn't even notice the slight tremble in her fingers as she placed the cup down and smiled at Taelian once more.

"Tell me Ser Rannoch, how do you like the Tea?"

[Taelian Edevane]

The mage nodded quietly along as she began to speak. She spoke first of her condition -- how the privacy was not only to contain information, but also due to the obvious frailty from which she suffered. In some way Taelian empathized with her; he was also a cripple of sorts, but rather than any such condition affecting his physical body, it had seeped into his soul from the Black Sigil and the Beacon. But that was not important at the moment, and he understood that there were truly few parallels between them. As she made clear to him very quickly, he did not know much about running a town. He did not know much about budgeting, managing a ledger, managing provisions, rations, examining long-term prospects for growth and prosperity; he had no grasp of logistics or finance beyond the personal sphere. While Taelian was a wealthy man, at least compared to the average Atinorin, he had acquired that wealth largely through the value of individual power.

So -- as she spoke, while she did make everything clear enough for him to follow and understand, his expression perhaps portrayed little interest. He had never held any deep significance towards matters like coin; they were often, to him, used to justify the status quo. But the future they faced -- while anomalous and striking to those without knowledge on it -- was far more precarious than the temporary mismanagement of a seasonal budget. They looked towards oppression. Dranoch had begun to seep into their nation, and if a trade company already in the hands of one of those fiends needed to collapse, then it was necessary.

Of course, all of this was difficult to verbalize. There was a disparity between them -- their knowledge on the affairs which they represented; the threat of the Dranoch, and the logistics of the nobility. But there was also another disparity, one he was perfectly content to levy.

She said her piece. Stated clearly his failure to persuade her -- and even mentioned the threat which he seemed to pose. Then, she asked for his opinion on her tea. Taelian glanced down to the small table before him, upon which sat a cup with heat rising from the pooled liquid. He stared at her expressionlessly as he had throughout much of their meeting, and replied curtly. "I haven't had any."

And now, he thought, was his time for his own piece -- one that did not need to persuade her. One that he could speak equally impassioned about, even as a Famished.

"Do you know what a Dranoch is?" he asked her. In many ways, his own words began similarly to hers; he offered her the opportunity to reply. But the truth was, even if she had vaguely heard of the word, she had no understanding of what it really meant. Beyond insignificant details, myths, irrational conceptions of what they were. "There are almost none outside of Sil-Elaine, which is where I am from. But that is changing -- and it is through an active effort for it to change. The Dranoch operate... almost like a hive; they seek, together, a greater goal. They follow the will of their Lady, Gratiana of Silfanore. The ruler of the nation which I am from, which has been plunged into hundreds of years of repression and despair. And so, even Dranoch who are very far away such as the ones in Atinaw, still serve and cooperate with their Lady. They spread these... hidden cells all throughout the country, a few in each city, and quickly they are capable of morphing a population by corrupting members of it one by one. You may believe this process to be gradual -- it is not. One Botchling, their young ones, can have an adverse impact on their locale far beyond their regular reach. They can infect others, they tend to kill without inhibition, and they spread disorder and fear to an extent that can quickly become crippling."

He clasped his hands together atop his knees, slightly bent forward as he looked to the woman. His eyes were narrowed, sharp, cold -- he was disenchanted by their back-and-forth, their discussion. The practicality of it all. It meant nothing to him.

"You want proof? Certainly. In Grimholdt, I recently slaughtered a family of Dranoch known as the Joseph's. They were employees of Westweald -- and all of them were Dranoch. Their modus operandi largely revolved around killing dockworkers, the homeless, aging laborers and Grimholdt's drug-addicted in order to achieve a higher status. Dranoch evolve, you see, as they kill. And as they killed more and more of their opposition in Grimholdt, Westweald began to advertise the safety of their own employees; how their laborers, shipwrights and dockworkers had been much less affected by the slew of murders than those of other companies. And so they gained an increasing monopoly. The evidence was blatant enough that my group and I ambushed and murdered the Joseph's as they went on a family outing, and unsurprisingly the murders in Grimholdt have effectively ceased."

He frowned, but did not pause over-long. "Dranoch often begin their excursions by killing society's unwanted; the homeless, the impoverished, the addicted, the abusive, the deformed, the crippled. But as they grow and evolve, and as they normalize their own disorder, they grow to be able to expand. And eventually you have what we have now in Kamdin -- a similar phenomena to what was occurring in Grimholdt, but on a wider scale. There is a reason Westweald has gotten so large: through terror, intimidation, and violence. And there is a reason it is largely insulated from these events: because it is perpetrating them. But this is not a matter of mere local crime. If unchecked, the Dranoch are capable of toppling societies. It has already happened in Sil-Elaine, and while it was amidst a moment of extreme vulnerability, it could easily be replicated elsewhere. A small town like this... three hundred people, you said? It would only take a single Dranoch infiltrating it to replace the entire population in a matter of months. Replace, and kill the rest."

Taelian sat straighter. He sighed. "You are asking for proof, but you are denying me the chance to give it to you. If you want it, then you will have it, but only if you allow me to obtain it. I am not asking you to close your gates anymore; I want you to stop outgoing merchants and allow me to inspect their cargo. If you allow me to do this, you will have your proof by nightfall," he said. It was, effectively, a promise.

"And -- I have no interest in killing you. I became a mage, and a powerful one at that, to serve the people of Sil-Elaine. And now... to serve those who fall victim to the undying. I will not attack you, but I will get what I want here. Whatever actions I must take."

[Milana]

Milana frowned at Taelian's curt reply. She eyed the cup of tea, taking her own up and sipping it slowly. She did not say anything, but there was a note of displeasure in her posture. Even Sarah the made looked disgruntled, holding the tray in front of her like a shield between her and the man.

"I have never heard of a... Drannoch?" Milana tried the odd word, frowning deeper still as she found she could not quite say it with the same elegance as the man. It seemed to be a word better suited to whatever tongue he spoke fluently, the accent resting behind each of his words adding a different sort of connotation she couldn't match. Behind her, however, Strous shifted. Milana glanced back but the man was focusing on Taelian now.

While Taelian continued to talk Milana finished her first cup of tea, setting the cup down and allowing Sarah to refill it before returning to her thoughtful sips. What this man talked about seemed outrageous, tall tales from a land far far away. These Drannoch sounded more akin to stories to frighten children than actual creatures to be feared, yet still... She watched the man's eyes as he spoke. His expressions were cold, but the eyes would always reveal more. What she saw there was more passion than the Ser Rannoch had expressed to her all day. That alone gave her pause and kept her from dismissing his words entirely.

Though she didn't show it, some of what he spoke rang of truth to the ears of the noble. Certain instances in Grimholdt that had spread here to Loras, the tendencies of Westeald to be overly strict, some would say cruel even. She had always written those accounts off to general corruption, but this story painted some seemingly innocuous accounts in a much different light. Still, she held her silence until he at last finished and she slowly set her cup down. She eyed him for a moment before glancing down at the ledger, and then at the sigil ring on her left index finger. That single ring marked her for who and what she was. It was so small, a simple thing of metal with no gems or extra adornments at all. Yet right now it felt so heavy that she almost struggled to reach for the inkwell and quill.

"You will get what you want here." Milana repeated softly, dipping her quill and beginning to scratch out a note on the parchment, "Ser Rannoch, I believe I have an understanding of your beliefs now, and perhaps I can somewhat see where your urgency comes from. As such I will offer a small bit of advice. Mind you do not speak so frankly with others of my station. They may take your words as a slight to their honor, and as I am sure you are aware in Atinaw a person's honor is akin to their life." She signed the parchment with a flourish, blowing on it slightly before handing it to the confused looking Handmaid, "See that my father receives this letter. Should anything happen to me he and my brothers will take the proper steps."

Signaling Strous with a hand the man nodded once, taking his place behind her chair once more and beginning to push her toward the door, "Come then Ser Rannoch. We will go to the South Gates and see if your stories are true. They will already be expecting us."

[Taelian Edevane]

You will get what you want here.

The tension in his brow relaxed -- in his whole face, really. Taelian felt himself, for the brief spell of a moment, able to calm. Though he waited for her to elaborate further on what that meant; the nobility often played verbal tricks, games of rhetoric. They enjoyed twisting their own words, and the words of others. It appeared from early on that she was committed to those words, though, as she spoke of his urgency. She offered him advice in how he spoke to others of her class in the future. It was, perhaps, useful advice considering he was a courtier to a much more powerful Lord... but it was not advice he intended to take. Taelian had little respect for class or birthright. He had become a mage specifically to strike down Sil-Elaine's ruling elite. The honor, the sensibilities of the Ladies and Lords... they mattered nothing to him. If they wished to find retribution for perceived slights, he wasn't overly concerned.

And perhaps that was foolish. Eloise would certainly caution him the same way as Milana, and they were both almost certainly correct. But Eloise viewed the world as the immaculate set of a show, and each action she took was scripted and narrated to produce a certain result in her audience. Taelian did not live that way.

She spoke again, asking that a letter be sent to her father. Taelian was partially suspicious, but overall not incredibly perturbed. He had never felt threatened or unsafe, and while it was not impossible that Milana would attempt to politically maneuver around him, it wasn't of great concern to him either. As she had confessed . . . he would get his way.

Strous began to push her chair towards the door. Taelian rose after her, and shortly after she beckoned, referring to him by the one title he had offered her. He nodded, and as the woman left the room, the mage promptly opened a Window through magic. He peered through the hastily constructed Lychgate, surveying Eleanor's room. The silver-haired woman was focused, drafting a letter as she occasionally peaked towards the town's quiet street. "Eleanor," he whispered. "Patrol the parameter of the town. I've gotten the Lady to institute checks on outgoing valuables. I'll be at the south gate if you need me."

The Window shortly after closed. Taelian followed Milana out of the room, looking to her and Strous as they led the way.

[Althalos]

XP Awarded - 8
Collaboration: Yes
Magic Experience: N/A
Injuries/Ailments: N/A
Awarded Lore:

Taelian:
Tactics: Approaching from two different angles
Logistics: Weighing known costs with unknown dangers
Intimidation: Leveraging proxy-authority to threaten others
Intimidation: Issuing a threat
Intimidation: Power can naturally intimidate, without intention
Negotiation: Lessening the extremity of a demand
Negotiation: Using leverage to get your way
Business: Running a town
Business: Macro-economics
Business: Trade routes


Milana
Business: Running a town
Business: Macro-economics
Business: Trade routes
Business: Adjusting plans on the fly

Negotiation: Bending expectations
Negotiation: Using Mathematics for Impact
Negotiation: Working under pressure
Negotiation: Diverting attention

Bonus Lore for Milana
Politics - When to know you're being threatened with political connections

Comments - What a great and highly charged thread! No fighting or anything of that nature, but there was still a lot of tension in the meeting between Milana and Taelion. He really turns into quite the punk when he's on business, looks like. I felt bad for poor Milana being bullied like that in her own home, but I really adored her retort involving all of the economics of Loras and the math behind it. Love economics, so that really appealed to me on a deep level. Wonderful job, ya'll.

Loot: N/A