Poleaxes, Daggers, Assassins, Oh My! (Angster)

[Elloria]

(OOC: "This is in Itas, the native language of Raiden/Genji/etc." Pretty much anything in just italics, sans color, is a native 'Itas' word.)

Raiden strode through Teirm’s massive marketplace. His eyes continuously darted around the market, seeking enemies he felt were there but he had yet to see. He paused in a stall to look at some useless trinkets briefly before moving on. Rikuto and a young slave girl followed just behind him, each leading several pack animals laden with various goods. Rikuto’s brows were furrowed very slightly as they weaved through the crowds with Raiden. She, like her fellow guards, was deeply concerned for her companion. Even Kazan-sama had noticed that the stoic assassin wasn't his usual quiet, indulgent self. Raiden knew of their concern. He acknowledged that it was for good reason. But he couldn't bring himself to reassure them that he was all right. Such a thing could not possibly exist after an encounter with Malandra.

He visibly shivered as the thought of her crossed his mind. Rikuto reached out and gently tapped his shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. He turned around and looked up at the taller woman. She jerked her hand back quickly. “What?” he snapped. Her eyes dropped to the ground and she shuffled her feet sheepishly. “You have not been yourself, Raiden-oppa,” she said, her voice rough and low. “Always skittish and ever looking for a threat to fight. Or worse, completely unobservant. That is not your way. I...we...worry about you. That is all.” Raiden let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair. ‘So they’re going to call me out on it.’ He turned from Rikuto and resumed walking without uttering a word. ‘I have absolutely no intention of discussing it without a direct order from Kazan-sama. Not yet, at least. I need to sift through the mission...make sense of it all...it’s too soon.’

Lost in his thoughts, Raiden did not at first notice a commotion up ahead. He really just wanted to return to the Citadel at this point. They had retrieved everything Kazan-sama had requested. What further need did they have to remain? It wasn't until Rikuto grabbed his shoulder to jerk him out of the way that he realized anything was amiss. And even then, all he initially saw was a brief blur followed by a larger blur. He turned with a frown. “Someone is being chased,” Rikuto remarked casually. “Shall we pursue?” Once more, Raiden made no response. He simply took off. Rikuto pulled her poleaxe from the pack of one animal, instructed the slave girl to stay put and took off after him.

[Angmor]

During the time when he had been the heir to the wealthy Vortain house, Teiris had never been much of a traveler. Very rarely would he leave the city walls of the Tears, and even then only in the company of his uncle to learn some lesson or another. While his books had given him a keen grasp of Alagaesia’s geography, he had not actually seen any of it himself. The result had been summed up quite succinctly Rygier Tahn, his erstwhile owner: “You’re smart, boy. But you’re just information-rich, experience-poor.”
In the months since his escape, however, he had quickly remedied that fact. His feet had grown tough and callused from walking, and he had traversed thousands of miles, ranging from the Aroughs to the small villages in the south, across the Silent Plains, and very nearly the entire western half of Broddring in general. He had slept in barns, ditches, caves, and under the open stars. He had killed three men, wounded six more, and outran more than he knew. He had slowly but surely been driven north, whether by encounters with the Hand, or the need to find work. Finally, his travels had brought him as far as Teirm, the fabled trading-city by the sea.
I think I can now say that I’m no longer inexperienced. He thought to himself as he wove his way through the crowded plaza. In fact, I can safely say that I’m the most experienced person I know.

And he was gaining knowledge all the time. He had already learned much since he had entered the city two weeks ago. Sailor’s knots, fisherman’s terms, even a few techniques for thievery, all made available to him by the virtue of his perfect recall. A few more days watching the market, and he would have collected enough of the technique to attempt pickpocketing, which appeared to by the primary pastime for the many homeless youths of the city. Teiris frowned as he thought it, dodging out of the way of a moving cart. There was a time when the very thought of thievery would have disgusted him to the core.
Always remember Teiris, you are a Vorthain. Echoed the voice of his uncle out of the storehouse of his memories. And that means that what you have, you've earned.
Now, all he could think about was how it could bolster his flagging supply of coin. In his travels, he had managed to amass a fair amount, but this was fast being depleted. The supply of food he had bought, which was now weighing down the knapsack on his back, had cost him dearly, and the rent at the cheap inn where he was staying would cost even more. He had managed to secure short-term employment at the docks, but his income there was not enough to support him completely, and he was slowly eating into his savings. He would need to find a new source of coin, and he would need to find it soon. If that required breaking a trained value, then so be it.
I guess that's the thing about experience, He decided, banishing the rest of his doubt. It changes you.

After finally making his way through the congested streets, he turned off into a less traveled street and stepped through a low, dark doorway.
The Hound and Hare was not very well marked for an inn. Intentionally so. The place seemed specifically designed for people trying to avoid any kind of official attention, Teiris suspected that half the clientele at the bar every night were thieves and murders or worse. He had even discovered that the back door that he had just entered was used far more frequently than the front door which held the sign. That had told him a lot about the place when he had been looking for someone to stay. Naturally, the interior was suitably shabby. Every glass was dirty, every wine and ale cheap and strong, and every wooden surface dirty and scarred. Teiris did not even want to spare a thought as to what was under the layer of straw covering the floor. The less he knew about that, the better. As he made his way through the common room, the innkeeper looked up at him, nodding to him wordlessly before going back to polishing the wooden beakers with a greasy rag. Teiris had discovered that so long as he paid his dues on time, he never had to speak with the staff, who appeared quite content to take his money and not ask any questions. He was grateful for this, and was perfectly inclined not to speak as he mounted the stairs to his room.
He had quickly grown used to Teirm's particular brand of architecture. While it seemed that every building was made of stone, that did not always speak for the inside. The Hound and Hare was little more than a hollow square tower of stone, with all of the additional floors made of wooden planking laid over solid crossbeams embedded in the wall. The stairs ran in a spiral up the other walls, leaving a hollow shaft up the center, with the rooms themselves being little more than partitioned closets on the platform. Anywhere else, Teiris would have called it an elaborate treehouse. In Teirm, it was known as cheap accommodation. Though cramped, his room was far more comfortable than a doorway or a gutter, and it only cost him two copper crowns a day.

Of course, even that was a sore blow to his budget. It would have been far easier to support himself on a farm or a tiny village somewhere, and he knew it.
So why did you stay? He asked himself. Why don't you get out of here? When he had first entered the city, it had been mostly to investigate the possibility of sailing away to another country, where he would be out of reach of the Hand, at least for a while. But he had quickly discovered that this would be almost impossible. He did not have nearly enough coin to commission passage, and unlike most of the stories he had read, most ship captains would not hesitate to throw a stowaway overboard the instant he was found. Leaving Alagaesia was not in the cards for him. After that, he no longer had any kind of plan, and yet he had still stayed. He realized now that he had missed the crowded, bustling, noisy confines of a large city. The buildings towering over him provided a comforting boundary to the world, and the constant presence of people made him feel safely anonymous. He could lose his pursuers here, and he could live some semblance of a life. All he wanted was to be left alone to live, and it seemed that Teirm might be a good place to do it, so long as he was careful and kept a low profile. Despite this rationale, a quiet, insistent voice told him that he was deluding himself.
Who are you fooling? It told him. The Hand will find you again. And you'll have to uproot and start all over again. What's the point in trying?
Teiris knew it was true, but what else was he to do? The only other option was to lie down and die, or fight back. He was too determined to live for the first option, and the second was synonymous to suicide. What could one man do, against what sometimes seemed like half the world arrayed against him?
They will find you. His instincts still whispered.
Maybe. He answered it. But not yet.

Finally, Teiris reached the third floor of the building where his room resided. He sighed, reaching for his key...
And stopped.
He had visited this door many times over his stay. It looked exactly the same as it always did, except for one important difference. Every time he went out, he would stick a small scrap of parchment between the door and the doorframe, in order to warn him if anyone had entered the room before he returned.
The parchment now lay on the floor at his feet.
Even as all the alarming implications filtered through is mind, the door flew open from the inside, revealing a human shape. Teiris spun around and ran, not even sparing a glance before he was pelting back the way he came. The lack of hesitation was what saved him. A knife whistled past his shoulder and struck the wall beside him with a clang. Teiris didn't look back as his feet flew down the steps, leaping the last four steps of a flight.
Damn it! How did they find me already? How did they find me?
The situation was even worse than usual. This was not some lone bounty-hunter looking for a quick score. When his door had open, Teiris had been able to catch a glimpse of the occupants. It had been less than a second, but his eidetic memory allowed him to process the image even as he fled. Standing behind the man throwing the knife was standing what was more or less his worst nightmare:
A Paladin of the Hand had come.

As Teiris reached the balcony above the common room, he vaulted neatly over the rail, falling the last ten feet to the straw-covered floor. In a move he had learned from a waif-child in Aroughs, he channeled the momentum of his fall into a forward roll, dissipating the impact across his body and allowing him to recover quickly. The wide-eyed innkeeper sped by in a rush before he was bursting out the front door and into the streets, drawing some curious glances as he set a direction and tore off down the street. He did not have to look to know that his pursuers were not far behind. Paladins especially were always in top physical condition, as the First Circle of the Voyage demanded. His only favor was that very few Paladins could use magic, or he would have been caught already. Teiris kept running, weaving as best he could through the thick crowds.
I have to get off these main roads. He determined, swerving suddenly into a narrow alley. He could not afford to have this chase noticed by the city garrison, or he would be taken from one frying pan and into another. Luckily, there were other options. He had memorized enough of the city layout that he knew a path to the docks. From there, he could find a hiding place where none could find him. With this plan in mind, he almost didn't notice another hard-looking man pivoting out of a doorway ahead, maneuvering to intercept him. He swore, swerving around another corner. As he did, he very nearly collided with another man. Teiris stumbled, only to miss as the man's companion pulled him out of the way. Teiris did not stop to apologize, stumbling to get his feet under him again and make up for lost time. He could somehow feel his pursuers close behind him, almost like a breath down his neck. Gritting his teeth, he put on a burst of speed, turning down another narrow alley. Looking ahead, his heart leapt with joy. He could see the city’s western gate before him, barely two-hundred yards away. He could make it!
Just then, he felt as if something seized his legs, pinning them together like a vice. Completely taken by surprise, he fell hard, tumbling painfully to a stop on the cobbles.

Teiris lay on his back, slightly dazed.
What? What in the gods name was that?
Before he could think about it, he saw one of his pursuers bearing down on him, swinging a heavy club. On a rush of adrenaline, he rolled out of the way, retaliating with a kick to the side of the man's head. Whatever force had pinned his legs was inexplicably gone. Confused but determined, he leapt nimbly to his feet, ripping the dagger from its sheath on the back of his belt and assuming a defensive stance as he summoned what little training he had.
Keep the blade up, stay light on your feet, look for openings...
By then, the man had recovered from his blow. Apparently he had learned his lesson in attacking rashly, and circled cautious distance. Teiris knew he had no time to waste. Any second, the paladin and the knife-thrower might catch up. The thought added speed to his arm as he feinted right with his dagger. The man of course countered easily, moving to parry with his club... And leaving him wide open on the left as Teiris smashed his fist against his jaw.
Remember, most opponents will become fixated on the blade. Remember that it's not your only weapon.
Sensing the end, Teiris leapt forward, aiming a lunge into the man's gut...

"Malthinae!"

Without warning, Teiris felt his muscles seize up, seemingly entrapped by the same invisible force that had stopped him in the first place. He struggled frantically, with absolutely no effect. He was paralyzed from the neck down, and there was nothing he could do about it.
"Well, how was that so hard?" Said a rich baritone from behind him. As it did, two men stepped into view, joining the third. One was the knife-thrower.
The other was quite obviously the Paladin.
With someone of Teiris' abilities, they were never too hard to spot. The requirement of every Paladin was that they master the First Circle, gaining unrivaled control over their bodies. They were marked most often by their flawless, almost artificially beautiful faces and perfectly toned forms. This example was no different, except for one detail. This one, apparently, could use magic.
"I'm not sure why there has been so much trouble getting you back," The Paladin said, smiling broadly. "But I'm glad that I was the one to finally do it. The Prophet will be very pleased with me. Very pleased indeed."
At the mention of the hated Prophet, Teiris felt his anger flare, drowning out all of his fear. If he was going to go back there, back to her, he would do so causing the most trouble he could. Snarling, he spat into the Paladin's perfect face. The man drew back, clearly annoyed. "Oh, you'll pay for that." Drawing a dagger, he leaned in close enough for Teiris to feel the breath against his face. "You already have plenty of scars on you. Let's see how many more I can give you before we get back to the Cathedral..."

[/blockquote]

Mm, not my best work. But it was still fun.

[Elloria]

Raiden darted through the crowds, weaving and dodging as he tried to keep his target in sight. There was something painfully familiar about the trio that was currently in hot pursuit of someone. He just couldn't place his finger on what was familiar. And that frightened him more than he cared to admit. The fright lent him speed enough to keep pace. Not far behind him, he could hear the sounds of Rikuto’s passage - people shouting, quiet thuds as people fell when she pushed them out of the way. She wasn’t as agile as the rest, but she certainly made up for it in her brute strength. Raiden felt a small measure of comfort knowing that she was beside him. If he couldn’t have Hiroshi with him, Rikuto wasn’t a bad second choice. But that wasn’t enough to quell the panic that chilled his blood when he lost sight of the group for a brief moment. He skidded to a halt at the entrance of a narrow alley, peering down it. He had to find them and now.

At first he couldn't see much in the shadows but he could hear something up ahead. By the sound if it, two people were struggling. And nearly silent shuffling not far ahead indicated that at least one more was waiting for the altercation to complete. So he slipped into the alley silently and with great care. Rikuto miraculously managed to follow his example and didn’t appear to give away their presence. How she managed stealth whilst carrying the large poleaxe was beyond him. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. And then he heard it. "Malthinae!" He halted instantly, his hands moving to his back and pulling two of his balanced knives from their sheaths. Without hesitation, he filled his mind with the image of a blinding blizzard - his personal defense against mental intrusion. Like the other guards and Kazan-sama, Raiden had been instructed in mental defense after arriving in Teirm. Itasus lacked magic-wielders, so it became necessary to pick up the skill once in Alagaesia to better defend Kazan-sama. He continued to slink forward now that his throwing knives were ready, with Rikuto just behind him. "Well, how was that so hard?" Raiden paused again. There was now less than a dozen feet separating him from the group he had followed here. It was easier to see them now - one man wielding a heavy club, another that didn't appear to have any weapons though his stance was one Raiden recognized as that of a fellow knife thrower....and a much taller, imposing figure. It was this one that had spoken and the voice chilled him even further. It was the same voice that had spoken that word of magic. "I'm not sure why there has been so much trouble getting you back. But I'm glad that I was the one to finally do it. The Prophet will be very pleased with me. Very pleased indeed."

‘The Prophet? Then he must be a...what were they called? Paladins, I think. What are Ramakrishna’s people doing in Teirm? This cannot possibly end well. I...They have to die.’ He twisted slightly to look at Rikuto, who stood beside him. He mouthed to her, “When I throw my first knife, take out the tall man with as hard a blow as possible.” She nodded shortly and settled into a running stance, poleaxe held firmly in both hands. As Raiden stood straight and prepared to throw, he hesitated. The sound of someone spitting piqued his curiosity. Whoever it was clearly shared Raiden's hatred - if not fear - of Malandra. "Oh, you'll pay for that." A dagger appeared in the Paladin's hand as he leaned close to whoever he currently had bound. "You already have plenty of scars on you. Let's see how many more I can give you before we get back to the Cathedral..."

That was all it took. Raiden's arms crossed before his chest, then sprang forward one after the other. The knives flew from his hands. A moment after the first knife was thrown, Rikuto charged forward. The man to the Paladin’s right dropped like a stone, the knife embedded in the center of the back of his neck. The man on the left was yelling and grabbing at his arm. ‘Damn. Too low and too far to the right.’ He yanked a third throwing knife off his back with his right hand and jerked the misericorde out of its sheath with his left. The shaft of Rikuto’s poleaxe whipped up and crashed into the Paladin's head with a sickening crack. He, too, dropped but Raiden wasn’t sure that would last long. Fortunately, Rikuto was also dissatisfied with the blow she had landed. She continued to slam the butt of the poleaxe into the man’s forehead, as if willing it to crack like an egg.The third man was still standing, but had backed away and turned to start running. He didn't get far as Raiden threw his third knife at the man’s leg, pulling him down. He sprinted towards his victim as Rikuto finally stopped attacking the Paladin. Without a pause, Raiden leapt upon the man and slit his neck with the misericorde. He stood shakily as the blood splashed over him. He remained unmoving for several moments until Rikuto's coarse voice broke through his revery.

“The second man is dead. The tall one is bleeding out and will likely cause us no further trouble. Come take a look at who they were chasing.” He turned slowly. Rikuto held her poleaxe pointed at a young man, perhaps no more than twenty years old. He moved towards them to get a better look at the man. His eyes flitted over the body before him and his mind spun rapidly. ‘Shabby clothes...face gaunt from hunger and exhaustion...body hardened from constant travel...skin scarred and pale-turned-tan...hair raggedly cut. Running from a Paladin.’ Raiden squatted beside the man and pointed the bloody blade of the misericorde at him. “Give me one very good reason why I should not kill you for bringing Malandra Ramakrishna’s people into my lord’s city,” he said, his voice refined, deep and accented.

(OOC: I started and it was like verbal diarrhea. XD)

[Angmor]

Teiris braced himself, not even bothering to struggle. He had already been in this situation many times before. It had happened every day in the Cathedral undercroft.
Just relax, He told himself. Just relax, just relax, just relax…
The vulnerable skin of his face crawled, the knife descending closer and closer… His throat tightening with fear, he shut his eyes, waiting for the lines of fire to be carved into his flesh…
Just then, several things seemed to happen almost at once. There was a metallic whistling sound from somewhere to his right, followed by a pair of pained screams. Teiris’ eyes snapped open in surprise, just in time to watch the man with the club collapse like a broken marionette, a glittering object in his neck. The second of the Paladin’s lackey clutched a bloodied arm, howling. Even as the man turned to run, there were two blurs of motion, too fast for his eyes to track. There was a chickenbone crack, and suddenly the spell that held him in place was gone, dropping him in a dazed heap on the cobbles.
A strange, oddly dressed woman stood over him, pointing a large polearm of some kind meaningfully at his neck…
There was a second scream from further down the alley, suddenly subsiding into a gurgle.
Then silence.

Teiris lay there, trying to get his labored breathing under control as he processed this strange new development. As far as he knew, he had no friends in the entire world. Between his eidetic memory and her unusual manner of dress, movement, and features, he could be quite sure that he had never laid eyes on the woman before. Besides, the blade to his neck and the hard eyes behind it hardly spoke of any good will.
No. Just because they killed my enemies does not make them my friends.
Finally, the woman spoke, the tip of the weapon not wavering a fraction as she glanced over her shoulder. The language spoken was completely foreign to him. Lyrical, and yet conversely harsh and commanding. After a moment, another man stepped into view, gazing down at him with, large, warm brown eyes that somehow managed to remain as cold as stone. Teiris knew immediately that he was being studied and assessed by a keen observation, even as he himself observed his rescuer and possible new threat. The man’s face was what caught his immediate attention. Unlike any other face that Teiris had ever seen, the man’s features were smoother and rounder, less defined as one feature seemed to flow seamlessly into another. His clothing was also foreign, a loose, long-sleeved garment that concealed any outline or definition of his body. And
yet, the man’s flowing, economical movements clearly communicated a sense of power and precision, perfected by long training. This was supported by the presence of a spatter of fresh blood across the otherwise pristine cloth, and the fact that all of his pursuers had been slaughtered in a matter of seconds. As Teiris completed his examination, the man crouched down beside him, extending a small, delicate hand. The threatening polearm was joined in tandem by a small, lethally thin blade.
“Give me one very good reason why I should not kill you for bringing Malandra Ramakrishna’s people into my lord’s city,” the man said suddenly, speaking in a clear, if slightly accented iteration of the common tongue.

Teiris blew out a cautious breath, forcing himself to relax before he blurted something stupid. He carefully summoned the memory of his uncle’s many training sessions, teaching him in the art of negotiation.
Easy, boy. Take your time. Consider what you’re about to say. Victory is usually afforded to the calmest head at the table. Always make sure it’s you.
“I could give you quite a few reasons, actually.” He stated finally, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Not antagonizing, but not submissive either. For some reason, with the pair of hard faces staring down at him, he felt that looking weak and vulnerable would not be the correct tact. “But I’m afraid that would take some time to relate. To make a long story short, if you hate the name of the Prophet, then you and I have something in common.”

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Raiden’s hand never wavered as he patiently waited for an answer. Admittedly, this wasn’t the best place to be conducting this interrogation. But he wasn’t about to risk bringing an unknown into the Citadel for a more thorough questioning if the person in question was a potential threat. And anything involving Ramakrishna was dangerous beyond all measure. “I could give you quite a few reasons, actually.” Raiden quirked an eyebrow as the man finally responded. It wasn’t quite what he was expecting - the neutral tone, attempting to be unthreatening yet strong at the same time. It was a wise move, really. Never show weakness when faced with a possible enemy. Stick to the shadowy gray area between weakness and intimidation. “But I’m afraid that would take some time to relate. To make a long story short, if you hate the name of the Prophet, then you and I have something in common.” Raiden wasn't certain how satisfying he really found that answer. His hand inched forward until the misericorde just barely touched the man's neck. Would it be wiser to simply kill the man and leave it at that? Surely Ramakrishna would have no need to send more people to Teirm if he did. It would be so easy. Just thrust forward and jerk the blade to one side, slitting the jugular. He was sorely tempted, but one thought stopped him. ‘What if he has useful information on what Ramakrishna is doing? I learned next to nothing whilst I was there. At least...nothing that I can remember.’

“Do you wish to kill him, oppa?” Rikuto's rough voice jolted Raiden from his thoughts and he pulled the knife back. He wiped the thin blade clean on his shirt, then slipped it under the waist of his trousers back into its sheath and rose from his squat. Rikuto remained unmoving as he slipped back into the shadows and moved back to his victim. He pulled his knives from the man's arm and leg, wiping each one clean before sliding them into the concealed sheaths on his back. He frisked the man and found six daggers - which he pocketed, sheaths and all, before rising. He moved back into view and side-stepped Rikuto to wrench his third blade from the man's neck. Again, he cleaned it and slipped it into its concealed sheath. He searched this man as well, but found little of interest besides the club he had wielded. He rose again. “No,” he finally answered. “Go find the girl and our pack animals. It has been long enough for me to worry about their state of affairs. Bring them here and then we will deal with this.” Rikuto nodded and lowered her poleaxe. She trotted past Raiden and out the alley. As she went, he moved back over to the man and squatted once more. His hands disappeared inside his sleeves, then reappeared holding a katakiriha in each. He gazed steadily at the man before him, the blades trained on him as Raiden waited for Rikuto’s return. “What is your name?”

(OOC: If you click the link, scroll down to Suguta Tantō and katakiriha is second from the bottom.)

[Angmor]

Teiris knew immediately that he had not been emphatic enough with his answer. Physically, nothing changed, but some subliminal shift in the atmosphere told him that he had not spoken correctly, and he was back in very serious trouble.
A moment later, he no longer even needed to guess. The man’s features didn’t change, but the thin blade he holding began to inch its way, slowly, menacingly closer.
Oh gods, he’s going to kill me…
He had felt it before, the sickening, slippery feeling in his gut as he knew he was about to die. The old tightness of his throat as his skin prickled in anticipation of the blade. It was all too similar to his ‘sessions’ at the Citadel, about to be carved up by a grim-faced Paladin, supervised by a smiling Oracle.
”Don’t worry, boy! This won’t hurt a bit…”
He struggled uselessly against his restraints as the knife drew closer, glittering a demonic red in the torchlight. The restraints, of course, were designed for that. Struggling never worked, and it would never work. But he struggled anyway, if only just to distract himself from what was about to happen.
“Well, at least it won’t hurt for me. I suppose it would hurt you a great deal…”
His struggles ceased as his teeth clamped together to hold in a scream of agony as the blade finally met the skin of his arm, carving a line of fire into the flesh…
He would have struggled now, but the man’s backup woman with the polearm assured such a gesture to be useless. An instant later, the man’s blade was caressing his skin, close enough for him to feel it grow tighter with each beat of his pulse. The slightest motion, and his prominent vein would be punctured, resulting in a quick, messy, and very final death.

Teiris shut his eyes, clenched his teeth and held his breathe, devoting his entire being to holding himself absolutely still. After a moment, he wondered what was taking so long. Did the man simply enjoy watching his prey lie scared and helpless before finishing them? It wouldn’t really surprise him. He had seen quite a few with such appetites. But then, this man hadn’t struck him quite that way. In everything he had seen so far, this one was cool, calculating, and methodical. Such men did not usually get to be so by letting their prey squirm on the hook before reeling them in. That when it hit him, the man wasn’t waiting to do it. He was deciding.
“Do you wish to kill him, Oppa? The woman asked, seeming to bore out the assumption. A second later, it was confirmed as the blade withdrew from his neck. Opening his eyes cautiously, Teiris found the crouching over him, cleaning the thin knife on the clean sleeve his already bloodied-tunic before slipping it behind his back and straightening up to look down on him with the exact same enigmatic expression he had been wearing on Teiris’ first sight of him. His face hadn’t moved, not a fraction. After that, the man walked calmly away. Teiris tried to follow with his eyes, but a meaningful jab of the polearm let him know that it would be within his best interest to stay right where he was. Resigning himself to wait patiently, he listened as sounds of rustling cloth and soft clinks of metal drifted from further down the alley, just out of his sight. Finally, accompanied by more of the alien tongue Teiris had heard before, he returned, speaking to the woman. She nodded, withdrew the polearm from his neck, and disappeared.

Despite himself, Teiris blew out a relieved breath. They weren’t going to kill him. At least, not yet. Whether or not that would continue would probably all be up to him. Suppressing a grimace, he raised himself on his elbows, taking stock of his injuries. His back and left shoulder ached from his fall. His face also felt bruised and bloodied, which of course his grimace hadn’t helped. His left hand also throbbed in sympathy with his pulse, but that was to be expected. Punching someone had always surprised him with how painful it could be on the giving end, as well as the receiving. But that looked to be the extent of it. All in all, it could have been a lot worse. As he finished his brief inspection, the man sidled over and crouched before him again, a pair of short, heavy blades appearing in his hands as if by magic. So, not off the hook quite yet.
“What is your name?” The man asked, as calmly as ordering dinner.
Immediately, Teiris was blindsided by a dilemma. Did he give his real name, or try to bluff his way out with an alias?
Gods Teiris, you’re only thinking of this now? Get your head in the game!
Hoping his emotionless eyes would hide his deliberation, he considered. His real name would definitely be easier. He knew from research and experience that it was simply easier just to tell the truth. And yet, the name he had been given at birth currently had a hefty bounty on it. It was really only a miracle that the man hadn’t seen his face and the scar on his neck and thought back to the wanted posters at the city gate. And he said something about working for a ‘his lord’… The count of Teirm? Definitely not someone he wanted on his tail. No, he would have to bluff.
Then you had better come up with a story, He told himself. And fast. And from the looks of this guy, it’d better be a damn good one.

“My name is Solus Tiernan,” He said, keeping his tone as calm as he could. “Formerly a scribe in the service of the Cathedral, and devout follower of the Goddess Nyx.” It could just about work. He knew enough about the Voyage from his talks with Myrei to put on a show of devotion if he needed. But in this sort of game, he needed to get off the defensive as quickly as he could. He cast back in his memory for the Count’s name…
“You work for the Count? Felix Lantieri?”

[/Blockquote]

[Elloria]

Raiden almost laughed aloud when the man hesitated, clearly reluctant to reveal his name. As if the Itasan needed more confirmation that this man was a fugitive. His captive's eyes gave nothing away, so Raiden allowed his own gaze to sweep over the figure before him. Little had changed since his previous inspection, but his eyes lingered on an odd scar on the man's neck. He felt as though he should recognize it, but where he might have seen it escaped his memory. His eyes flicked back up as his captive finally answered. “My name is Solus Tiernan. Formerly a scribe in the service of the Cathedral, and devout follower of the Goddess Nyx.” Raiden gave no indication as to whether he believed this or not. It was possible...just highly unlikely. Ramakrishna wouldn't send a damn Paladin to retrieve a missing scribe. Aforementioned Paladin had also made it abundantly clear from his actions that this Solus Tiernan - if that was his real name - had escaped from whatever fate had befallen him in the Cathedral...and the Prophet was not pleased about that. But why not admit to it? What measures had the thrice-cursed whore of the Tears taken to ensure such behavior? ‘Perhaps he is exactly what he says he is and he simply made some mistake upon leaving the Cathedral that angered Ramakrishna. It is not...completely unfeasible.’

“You work for the Count? Felix Lantieri?” All thought that Solus might be telling the truth was blown aside. Raiden's eyes immediately hardened. He quickly shifted his stance so that he knelt on his left knee and his right leg extended slightly behind him, bringing him mere inches from ‘Solus.’ The katakiriha in both hands were at the man's throat, resting lightly on either side. “I do not take kindly to deception,” he murmured. “No scribe would believe that Felix still rules Teirm when he has been dead for ten years.”

‘By my hand, no less.’

“His son, my lord Genji, rules this city. Perhaps you should brush up on your history before attempting to bluff me.” Raiden ran one blade lightly back and forth across the side of Solus' neck - far enough to prevent it from breaking skin, but close enough to cause lethal damage in an instant. His eyes remained fixed on the dead, grey orbs sunken into Solus' face. ‘Perhaps it would be wiser to kill him. Ramakrishna seeks him, he has no qualms lying about it, and who knows what else.’ Behind him, he heard the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones. “Oppa?” Raiden sighed and shifted back to his original position. “I will let the matter go for now, Solus,” he said silkily, placing particular emphasis on the man's supposed name. He rose and deftly returned the katakiriha to their hidden arm-sheaths.“However, I have no intention of allowing you to leave.” He held a hand out to Solus. “If you truly despise the Prophet, you need as many allies as you can find Solus. And if you are wise, you will not make an enemy of me.”

[Angmor]

Well Teiris old friend, He thought to himself. You're off to a wonderful start. A few more lies like that, and you'll never need to worry about another ever again...
So, the Count had done him the discourtesy of dying some ten years earlier. He supposed it wasn't all that surprising, considering that he had only heard the name from a single conversation with his uncle some twelve years ago. His uncle had called him a pompous, narrow-minded bastard. Now it seemed, someone else ruled here, someone that Teiris knew even less about.
"His son, my lord Genji, rules this city." The man said, as if picking up on the thought. "Perhaps you should brush up on your history before attempting to bluff me."
Aye, Teiris thought. Good advice. I'll make sure to do that...

Before any kind of response or excuse could pass his lips, the man moved one of the blades in a slow, exaggerated stroking motion across his neck, making all the hair there stand up. For several seconds, his life hovered in the balance between his own capacity to keep still and the steadiness of the man's hand. Teiris waited, hearing only the pounding of his pulse as he watched the flickering of indecision behind the man's eyes. He found that he was not particularly concerned. He had seen enough of the man's expertise to see that if the man truly wanted to kill him, he would already be dead. Teiris still had a bit of leeway there. He would just have to be very careful how he used it. Finally, the moment was broken by the sound of approaching hooves, as well as the returning voice of the woman with the polearm. "Oppa?"
The man glanced up and nodded, relieving the pressure on Teiris' neck.
"I'll let the matter go for now, Solus." The man said as smoothly as ever, the stressed alias clearly communicating that he wasn't going to buy a word of it. The twin blades vanished just as deftly as they had appeared, leaving the man's hand empty and extended in a silent offer to help him up.
"However, I have no intention of allowing you to leave. If you truly despise the Prophet, you'll need as many allies as you can find, Solus." The man's eyes grew suddenly intense, lending weight to his next statement. "And if you are wise, you will not make an enemy of me."
Teiris sighed inwardly. How many times had he heard that one before? Three times, significantly. He had heard the same ultimatum from gang leaders, as he roamed as a beggar on the streets of the Tears. He had heard it from Araseth, the Forest Spirit of the Spine, when she had also found him injured and alone in her domain, deciding whether he would live or die. And most of all, if not in so many words, the Hand had extended him the same offer, when he was under their care in the Cathedral. In practice, it was simple. Teiris didn't want to make an enemy of anyone. He was perfectly content to leave everyone alone to live, and that others would merely do the same. But the inherent problem with that philosophy was that everyone had a different definition of what an 'enemy' was. For the gangs of the Tears, it had been anyone who looked at them the wrong way, or didn't show the proper amount of deference as they roamed past. For Araseth, the very fact that he was human made him hers, and only his injuries had moved her compassion long enough to prove otherwise. And with the Hand, as he'd learn, their enemies included anyone that could not be counted as a friend.
As much as he wanted to be wise and remain on the man's good side, how could he even know what that meant? And worse, how could he know if some past action hadn't already counted against him?
I certain don't wish to become your enemy, He thought, But how do I know that I haven't already?

Of course, he couldn't say that out loud. There was a game to be played here, and he had played it before. The problem was that it was always a different game, and the rules could only be discovered as he played. But, with nothing less than his life hanging in the balance, he was determined to win. If he played long enough, he knew, he could turn the tables and get them to play his game.
"I have never been counted with any great wisdom, but I have enough to know that I will never become your enemy." He said, firmly taking the man's proffered hand. "I am at your command."

[/blockquote]

I know, rather small. I have more that I can add, if I didn't give you anything to go on.

[Elloria]

Raiden kept his face unreadable once more as Solus gripped his hand firmly. He helped the man to his feet silently, then just scrutinized him for a moment. He was certain the wheels in Solus' mind had been turning rapidly whilst considering Raiden's words. The man had not struck the assassin as unintelligent by any means. He had felt the intent, observant gaze of the man and believed very little passed Solus' attention unnoticed. That could prove interesting and useful later on if they ever needed to strike against Ramakrishna. And Raiden was certain it would one day come to that. But that was a matter for another day. He stepped to the left and turned to gesture in the direction that Rikuto's voice had come from. His entire posture suggested quite clearly he had no intentions of letting Solus out of his sight. Not until they had reached Rikuto, in any case.

As the man moved towards Rikuto, Raiden grabbed one of the Paladin’s arms and followed a short distance behind Solus. Soon enough, Rikuto came into view at the edge of the alley. She had replaced her poleaxe on one of the pack animals and held her sanjiegun firmly in hand. Just behind her, the slave girl held the reins of the half dozen pack animals they had brought to market. Four of the animals were more heavily laden with their wares. Raiden gave the tall woman a small smile - she had guessed his thoughts so clearly. He moved past Solus, saying, “Get on the pony.” He dragged the Paladin’s body over to the other unladen animal - a large mule Raiden had affectionately named Mashan - and carefully hefted the body onto the mule. He pulled a blanket from a pack and covered the Paladin with it, then lashed it all securely to the mule. Satisfied, he ensure that Solus was on the pony before taking its reins and leading the group out of the alley.

The trip to the Citadel passed in silence, though there were more than a few stares and whispers along the way. And of course, Rikuto tried to speak with him but an icy look quickly ended her efforts. But at last, they arrived and Raiden felt relief sweep through him. “Rikuto, keep an eye on this Solus individual until I return with Kazan-sama,” he said as he started up the steps of the Citadel. “He will want to interrogate the man. I am sure of it.”

“But oppa -”

Raiden paused and looked at her coldly. “Whatever it is, Rikuto, I’m certain you can handle it. You are no more a child than I and what threat could that scraggly man-boy pose to you? He is merely an Alagaesian. You are a product of the finest masters at the Academy. But if it would make you feel better, I can send Mami and Hiroshi down to help?” Rikuto shuffled her feet slightly, then shook her head curtly. Raiden knew he had spoken harshly and had undoubtedly wounded the woman's pride, but he was in no mood for foolishness. So he left her in the courtyard to deal with Solus as he hunted for Kazan-sama.

[Angmor]

Teiris suppressed a grimace as he was helped to his feet, his injuries protesting loudly that the ground had actually been quite comfortable, thank you very much. Teiris ignored it, suddenly very conscious of the wide-open alley before him. All he had to do was clear thirty feet, turn the corner, and then melt into the crowd of the eastern gate. They would never find him amid the endlessly twisty docks and shanties that dotted the waterline, populated by the low-life scum that seemed to collect in such places. But the man’s cool, searching gaze immediately withered the thought. He had most likely prepared for such a scenario before allowing him up. In his place, Teiris would have done the same. No, it was foolish to attempt an escape where he would have to leap over the same bodies that had been sent there by the man’s throwing knives. But he would bide his time, and he would find a way out of this, he was determined.
That’s right Teiris, it’s just a single lone youth with few skills and even less experience against the entire might of the Count of Teirm. But you’ll at least have the element of surprise. No one would ever expect someone to bet on odds like that.

Finally, the man seemed finished with his appraising glance, gesturing toward the opposite end of the alley where his companions awaited. Suddenly remembering, Teiris bent quickly to pick up his scarf. It had come loose during the frantic chase through the streets, and had finally fallen from him when the Paladin had tripped him. He made a note to tie it tighter from then on. Not that the thing would have provided much protection against the man’s blades, but it would have been nice to…
Unexpectedly, as he picked up the scarf, he found his fingers had also closed around something small and hard, probably a shard of broken paving stone that had been lying beneath the cloth. Heading off the surprise before it could reach his face, he stood up normally, casually shaking off the city grime from the garment for good measure.
First asset, a pebble. It might even be sharp. You’re off to a mighty fine start, here. He thought sardonically to himself. Still, he kept the pebble, nestled neatly within the scarf’s weave as he moved where the man indicated. He decided not to replace the covering while the man’s gaze bored into his back, lest he wonder just why his prisoner might want his neck covered. Instead, he threw it nonchalantly over his shoulder as he stepped out of the alleyway. The sight that greeted him was about the last thing that he had expected. Standing in the street before him was a small procession of ponies, the kind that nobles favored for carrying supplies during visits to the market. And it looked as if the man and his subordinates had indeed been doing some shopping. Two of the ponies seemed less laden than the others, however. That probably meant that…
“Get on the pony.” The man said, his tone leaving little room for argument. Whatever room was left was taken up by a meaningful glance from the man’s lady friend, the one so handy with polearms. It appeared as if she had replaced that weapon for one even more exotic; a collection of three hardwood rods, about the length of her forearm, bound together end to end by short lengths of chain. It could have been an advanced map-making tool for all he knew, but the way she hefted it clearly communicated that it was some sort of weapon. Not particularly inclined to see a demonstration of how it worked, Teiris silently did as he was told, mounting the pony in single, smooth motion. It was an odd feeling. He hadn’t mounted a beast for many years, not since he had been the heir-apparent for his uncle. He’d had a fine stallion then, stabled on the lakeside estate outside the city. His uncle had been teaching to ride, among many other things.
”Remember boy, the horse is the one doing the work. You are merely guiding him where you need to go. It’s a partnership, based on mutual respect. Sometimes partnership is necessary to get what you want. But you have to be ready to terminate that partnership the instant it’s of no more used to you. Don’t lock your knees!”
From his perch, he turned to see his captor strapping the body of the Paladin to the other unladen beast. There could only be a few reasons for doing that, and none of them were good for him. It had the ring of someone gathering the evidence for a case…
Before he could think too much more on the subject, the man circled around and took his own pony’s reins, starting the whole party moving back toward the wider streets and reputable homes. So, that was his game. From atop the pony, his perch made it harder for him to jump off and run away, the elevation making him vulnerable to the man’s aim before he could even fully dismount. He was stuck, again.
Well, He thought to himself, forcing himself to stay calm, You have between here and wherever they’re taking you to spin up some kind of story that will hold water for at least a little while. Get started.

As the journey progressed, it became clear that they were not taking him somewhere dark and out of the way in order to beat the truth out of him. As they passed closer and closer to the center of the city, the buildings grew steadily taller and better appointed, the crowd better dressed and more haughty. There were a few confused stares, but most often the interest was confined only to casual glances. Still, the attention worried him. Perched atop the pony, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized him. The first opportunity when no eyes were directly on him, he quickly retied his scarf around his neck, wrapping it tight to disguise the bulge. The pebble was pressed against the hollow of his throat, directly against his hook-shaped scar, safe until he could think of an appropriate use for it.
The journey passed in silence, except for on incident where the woman attempted to speak to the man in that same alien tongue. She was firmly repulsed by a hard stare before she could finish. Teiris noted this, noticing for the first time that there seemed to be a tension between the two. Perhaps that might also be something he could use. Throughout the trip, he also tried to make eye-contact with the servant girl walking demurely beside them. Unlike his captors, she was clearly Alagaesian in origin, someone who might be able to understand his situation. This was a lost cause from the start, however, as the girl never once looked up, her eyes firmly rooted to the pavement before her like the good, quiet servant she obviously was. No help there. Disappointed, Teiris settled in to wait, turning over fragments of ideas and possibilities in his head.
Thus occupied, he almost didn’t notice the party stopping about the last place he had been expecting;
The Citadel of Teirm.

Teiris blew out a slow, calming breath through his nose. Ok, that shoots down a few possibilities… Just keep biding that time. That’s at least something you still have.
He took careful note as the man and woman exchanged words, wishing desperately that he knew what was being said. But even with his ignorance, it was easy to see the attitudes behind the words. The woman was uncertain and concerned about something, and the man quickly and sharply rebuffed it, turning on his heel and marching through the citadel gates, his loose clothing flowing around him. The woman watched after him, the frown plain on her smooth features. Seeing the possibility of an opening, Teiris spoke up. “That sounded a bit harsh. Is he alright?”
The woman’s dark eyes flashed to his as if noticing him for the first time.
“He is simply tired. It is none of your concern.” Her voice in the common tongue was husky, almost masculine in its gruffness. And yet, it still carried the same soft, lyrical quality the man’s accent did. Teiris shrugged in reply.
“My life is in his hands. I would say that I have every right to be concerned. Are you sure it’s just tired? There seems something else there, something behind the eyes…”
“Yes, it is only fatigue. There is much on his mind.”
He knew that he was about to venture out onto a rather flimsy limb, but he decided to press anyway. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Being the right hand man of someone like the Count of the city, so close to that much power… It must grate on the soul sometimes, especially if someone else made him a better offer…”
The woman’s eyes grew instantly hard, her grip tightening on the odd weapon in her hands. “You know nothing of our loyalty, and you know nothing of Raiden-oppa.”
Teiris raised his hands submissively. Even with the anger, he now had a name; Raiden. “You’re right, I don’t know anything. Just taking a stab in the dark. I’ve been meaning to ask, where are you both from?” He asked, changing tack. Immediately, the woman’s back straightened just slightly.
“We hail from the land of Itasus, across the sea. I proudly represent the honor of the Ishinomori clan.”
Itasus.
The name sent a jolt of electricity down Teiris’ spine. He knew of that land and its people from his uncle’s stories. His grandfather had traveled there as a child, back when the Vorthain business had spanned continents. Tierce had always been impressed by his grandfather’s tales of a proud, clan-divided culture of savage, yet honorable warriors, speaking very highly of the land’s cultural sensibility for art, music and science. To see two such people standing here on the soil of Alagaesia, in service to an Alagaesian count…
“His son, my lord Genji, rules this city. Perhaps you should brush up on your history before attempting to bluff me.”
Genji…
That to was a very Itasan name as well. Could that mean the Count himself was also Itasan? It had to. No other explanation made sense.
Despite the situation, Teiris smiled inwardly, remembering the words of his uncle.
Never turn down knowledge, boy. Knowledge is the root of power.
Teiris now possessed a little power. Nothing more than the smallest of seeds, but it hopefully prove to be enough.

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

(OOC: Mami is 5‘10 and Hiroshi is 5‘6.)

“Raiden-oppa! What in the name of Yawata no Kami happened to you?”

Raiden paid little head to Mami’s outburst, save to distractedly pull off his top shirt. He simply pushed past her into the west wing of the Citadel. He knew that if she was here, then so was Kazan-sama. And his master was all he was interested in. Mami had just arrived at the door and Hiroshi had been several steps behind her, which meant his master was probably still upstairs. So, ignoring their calls, he took the stairs two at a time. He had only gone up a single flight, however, when Genji came into view. For a moment, he was distracted by what he was seeing. He had not helped Kazan-sama dress today and so he was startled to find the count in a traditional kimono. It was of a deep navy blue. Along the hem of the kimono were wavy strips of lighter blue fabric made to mimic a stream’s current. On the right hand side a flowering cherry tree stood beside the water while a few of the light pink blossoms fell to the stream or floated along the current. The pale green obi was decorated with free-floating white cherry blossoms and on each sleeve were miniature dragons in the style of his lord’s tattoo - the red dragon of the Kazan clan. Though very desperately tempted to drag his lord off to some room and...deflower the man in as many delightful ways as he could think of, Raiden forced his libido aside for the moment. He would debauch his lord later. “Kazan-sama!”

Genji looked up from the papers he had been reading, flicking his hair from his face as he did so. He really needed a haircut by now - it was already falling past his shoulders and starting to get into his eyes more than usual. And now that Raiden was back, he could have his locks snipped. But even at the thought of finally removing the source of irritation, his brows turned down in a slight frown at the sight of his guard. First of all, Raiden was currently lacking his usual overshirt, leaving his entire weapon supply exposed. That alone was abnormal enough. But the man’s face held a certain anxious excitement in it that worried the Count. It was the same look that had been present when Genji had tried debriefing him on his mission to the Tears of Leona. That certainly hadn’t ended well. He closed his eyes, sighed, then opened them and looked Raiden in the eye. “You do not usually cause me trouble, Raiden.” He gestured towards the shirt clutched in his guard’s hand. He noted with a slight twinge of worry - which he would never admit to - that there were stains on it. And they looked suspiciously like blood. “So why do I feel that you bring me unpleasant news?”

Raiden grimaced slightly. He heard the irritation in his master’s voice and for a moment wished he hadn’t returned with Solus. He had been causing Kazan-sama nothing but trouble since returning from the cursed realm of Ramakrishna. He had no desire to add to it further. Yet the decision could not be taken back now and this could prove important in the long run. So he took a deep, calming breath and said, “Rikuto and I found a man in Teirm today being chased by a Paladin.” Genji’s stiffened stance immediately told him that he had been correct in his choice. “We disposed of Ramakrishna’s people, but I took the man captive. He claims to be a mere scribe, but his ignorance of the city and your rulership quickly exposed that as a lie. I felt you would find that worth investigating personally.[/b][/i][/color]”

Genji gave a short nod. Folding the papers, he tucked them into the wide obi before he carefully placed his hands into the sleeve opposite each other - resting his arms against his abdomen - and swept past his guard. Raiden swiftly followed, still clutching his stained shirt. They made their way down the stairs, picking up Mami and Hiroshi as they left the west wing. The women made no comment, though both looked curiously at Raiden. They walked in silence, the only sounds to greet them the quiet brush of zori on stone and an occasional greeting from a passing servant or slave. Eventually, the group reached the entry to the Citadel and stepped out onto the steps leading down to the courtyard. Sure enough, there stood Rikuto beside a pony astride which was a rather emaciated looking individual. He drifted nonchalantly down the steps and approached the two. Behind him, Mami fingered her bullwhip while Hiroshi held her crossbow firmly in both hands aimed slightly to the left of the man astride the pony. Raiden hovered much closer to his lord, the dozen blades on his thighs, arms and trunk glinting in the sunlight. Genji gestured for the man to dismount from the pony. After he had done so, Genji took a step closer. His cold, disdainful gaze took in every detail of the creature before him from the tattered clothes and sickly appearance to the wiry muscles and deadened eyes. He frowned slightly once more. This boy looked familiar. Brusquely, he asked, “What is your name, boy?”

[Angmor]

While it was one thing to have a seed of power, Teiris figured it would do little good unless he figured out a way to live long enough for it to sprout. Any moment now, he would be led to see the ruler of a powerful trade city, who would then want some kind of story from him. His first instinct, as it was for almost everyone, was to tell the truth. But for some reason, his good sense balked at this. He simply didn’t know enough about the Count and his desires. If he knew, would he even choose to help? And even if he did, was even he powerful enough to hold back the Hand? From what he had seen, Teiris doubted it. He could rely on no one to protect him, except himself. And besides, all of those scenarios were contingent on the Count actually believing the story. What if he was a by-the-book type? Teiris was officially a wanted murderer, after all. What was to stop him being clapped in irons the minute they learned his real name? The trouble was that thrice-cursed wanted poster, always dogging his steps, always filling his interactions with others with fear and suspicion. If the Count chose to hear the name Teiris Vorthain and nothing more, then he would be thrown in prison. The only thing worse than that thought was the knowledge that his stay would not be long. No, the truth was too dangerous. He had to think of something else.

As they waited, Teiris did not question Rikuto any further, instead concentrating on keeping his face blank. Behind that mask, his mind worked feverishly, visualizing, developing and swiftly discarding possibilities as quickly as thumbing through the pages of a book. It only took seconds for him to despair of it. There was just nothing that was even remotely believable that would encompass everything that needed to be explained. As he was deciding to give up, however, something flashed involuntarily behind his eyes; a wiseman’s phrase from what had become the storehouse of every word from every book that Teiris had ever read.
The strongest lie is the one tempered with truth.
Of course. It was so simple. He couldn’t tell the truth, but he could tell some of the truth. A story that was mostly true, except with anything that would hurt his chances for freedom isolated and replaced with a lie. His name and early history, mostly. Anything that would so much as hint at the name Vorthain. And of course, the reason the Hand wanted him back so badly, his eidetic memory. That needed to remain a secret at all costs. His hope restored, he set to work, hurriedly fabricating a different life on the foundation of his own.
He was so absorbed in the task that he actually jumped when the doors to the Citadel finally parted, shuddering slowly open. And there, descending the steps toward him, was a sight unlike any had ever seen before. For a single blind second, he took it to be a procession of nobles that was heading into the city by coincidence. But, there was no doubt. He was the center of attention here. Raiden had returned, and he had brought the Count of Teirm with him.

Even if there was only one other man in the group, the Count would not be difficult to spot. One glance at the man’s attire, and Teiris was immediately plunged into razor-sharp recollections of his uncle’s stories, of exotic places and proud people, of alien ways and ancient traditions. Despite the astounding detail and splendor of the garment, however, he found his gaze being drawn to the part of the pattern that seemed to be out of place; a stylized rendering of a coiling red serpent. Something told him it was important, but he could not lay a finger on what. He dismissed it, turning his attention on the man himself, hurriedly taking in the details as they drew closer. He was somewhat similar to Raiden in size and build, and possessed the same smoothness of face that he was coming to believe was the norm for Itasan natives. His face however was slightly less rounded, and his hair longer and darker. And peeking from beneath the lustrous strands of that hair were a pair of sea-green eyes that immediately caused a prickle of fear in Teiris’ stomach. There was no warmth or recognition of humanity in those eyes, just a brutal, piercing evaluation. Pinned under the gaze, Teiris felt as if he was being appraised, in the exact same way one might a horse, or a new dagger. He could count on no sympathy here.
Finally, the man stopped, gesturing elegantly for him to dismount. As his boots touched the cobbles, Teiris realized that he had never even thought to disobey. Although, the second pair of flanking bodyguards might have helped. While they looked quite unique from the Ishinomori clan member, both women carried the same purposeful expression and taught-wire sense of alertness, fingering their respective weapons. Teiris immediately got the idea that he would have a bullwhip mark across his neck perhaps half a second after receiving a crossbow bolt to the eye if he so much as took a step in the Count’s direction, so he thought it prudent to remain as still as possible. The Count glided forward, scorching him with his gaze. Teiris wondered how it was possible for the man to be a few inches shorter than he, and yet tower over him with his presence. With the proximity, Teiris thought there might have been a flicker of doubt across the man’s features, although it was probably his imagination.
“What is your name?” The man said finally, his tone making it clear he was not in the mood for games. Coming from such a foreign face, Teiris was a bit surprised at the total lack of accent. He spoke the common tongue like a native. He recovered quickly, however, and unlike the last time the question had been posed to him, answered without hesitation.
“Solus Tiernan, my lord,” He said with a small, courtly bow. When it had come time to choose his first alias, he had remembered from his books the word solus, meaning ‘one’ or ‘alone’ in a language used by the desert tribes. He had thought it appropriate. “Yes, that is actually my name,” He went on, risking a fractional glance at Raiden. “But as I’m sure your second has already told you, I am not truly a scribe. Please, forgive my lies. The truth is much more complicated than that, and I feared what it might do. There are many who wish my death, and the more who know my story, the harder it is to evade them.” He waited, his eyes slightly downcast in the normal manner of respect of a peasant before a noble.In his mind, he could visualize the chess-board that he and his uncle had worn smooth with their matches. With his words, he had moved the first piece. Now, if he could just stave off checkmate long enough, he would find a way to win.

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Genji questioningly raised a slender eyebrow as Solus Tiernan spoke. He followed the man’s slight glance at Raiden, meeting his guard’s eyes before flicking his gaze back. Genji hadn’t missed the significance. Tiernan was expecting contention from the assassin, which Raiden would have delightedly provided. But the Count did not need to hear and his guard instinctively knew that. Regardless, the most vexing point of this whole affair was the damned familiarity of the disgusting wretch before him. If Tiernan had truly been a scribe from the Tears, that might have explained it. But he had just admitted that it was a lie. And that undoubtedly meant that the man had been somewhere completely out of touch with the civilized world for at least ten years. Perhaps he had been out in the wilderness? That would explain the wiry muscles. But his skin…it looked as though it had only recently acquired color. Bed-ridden, perhaps? He knew his own father had been quite out of the loop near the end of his life, completely shut away in the west wing.

“Hmm…” He stared steadily at Tiernan. Was the man a disowned noble’s son? Perhaps he had been a little too friendly with the elves? No, that made no sense. The man was being chased by Ramakrishna. If nothing else, Genji knew that whore was persistent, deadly, and ambitious. And absolutely nothing connected to her was insignificant. He could almost feel Raiden quivering beside him, though he could not say what caused such a reaction in his assassin. More intriguing was the reaction that Rikuto was giving the Count. Standing just behind Tiernan’s field of vision, she was eyeing the man harshly and shaking her head slightly with each word that had left his lips. Now he would never say that Rikuto was particularly clever – she was of average intelligence and had basically no wit whatsoever beyond what she needed to survive. Like the rest of her clan, she was built for battle and little else. That was why the Fukakawa – Mami’s clan – had so easily twisted the Ishinomori to its will. Still…Rikuto had her moments of intuition or intelligence or whatever. On the rare occasion when she felt she had something insightful to offer to a discussion, it unfailingly had some relevance. Even if it was just to point out how easily a fool could shatter a person’s well-laid plans. He would have to question her about it later.

He leaned in close to Tiernan, causing all four guards to tense up. Staring straight into Tiernan’s eyes, Genji murmured, “What could you have possibly done to anger Ramakrishna so greatly that she would send her bootlicking Paladins after you?” He leaned back and laughed coldly. “Did you kill some precious pet of hers?”

[Angmor]

Teiris was sure that the Count’s intense scrutiny was a sign, he just wasn’t sure if it was a good one or a bad one. If it was good, then the Count just preferred to examine anyone he met. If it was bad, it would mean he wasn’t buying a word of the story. Either way, Teiris dared not look away as the man’s eyes bored into him as if the truth would be revealed if he just looked hard enough. Even with the proximity, Teiris could read little from the man’s pale green eyes, as the man seemed to possess the same rigid self-control that all political figures seemed to make their own. Teiris hid his frustration well, taking comfort in the fact that he could now play that game as well, courtesy of the Oracles.

It had been nearly a week after his escape from the Cathedral before he noticed that there had also been an external sign of his ‘transformation’. He had pale blue eyes, once. His father’s eyes, the servants said, although never when they thought he was listening. Only after examining his reflection in a stream did he finally discover they had been lost, replaced with the dead gray flint he carried today. At first, he had felt even more violated. Not only had the Oracles altered his mind, they had stolen a trait that had defined him. Since then, however, he had come to discover their use. If his eyes had been a window to his soul, then blood magic had covered that window with steel. His eyes were a wall, a shield behind which he could hide his true thoughts and emotions, beyond the light where no one could see. And as he had quickly learned, that lack of feeling was disturbing for most. A mere hard glance was enough to make most criminals and street-toughs think twice about giving him trouble, sending them ambling away with mutterings of ‘uncanny’ or ‘ghost-eyes.’ And now, under the piercing gaze of one of the most powerful men in Alagaesia, Teiris remained confident in the thought that, while he couldn’t read anything from the Count, the Count couldn’t read anything from him, either. So long as he governed his face, his eyes would not betray him.

Finally, the man’s scrutiny reached its height as he leaned in close, close enough for Teiris to feel the tension emenating from the bodyguards around him, crackling across his skin like a blast of frigid air. Visualizing all of the weapons that were probably a heartbeat away from turning that interval into his last, he remained rigidly still, all the while not daring to remove his gaze from the Count’s.
“What could you have possibly done to anger Ramakrishna so greatly that she would send her bootlicking Paladins after you?” He asked softly, almost as if he was speaking to himself.
Teiris waited, not daring to breathe…
Finally, the Count withdrew with a cold laugh, one that probably had less to do with mirth than with disgust. Either way, it had the effect of breaking the tension. Teiris immediately felt the atmosphere around him relax, like a bowstring retracted before the killing shot. “Did you kill some precious pet of hers?” The Count asked derisively, outwardly unaware or uncaring about the situation he had just caused. Inwardly, Teiris breathed a sigh of relief. Either they were deciding to buy his story for now, or they were simply giving him plenty of rope with which to hang himself. Either way, he had a chance. Rope, after all, was useful for much more than just a hanging. And he had also learned something. While any political figure would be aware of the Prophet and her means of exacting vengeance, the tone of the Count’s final comment indicated somewhat more familiarity. Past dealings with Ramakrishna, perhaps? Teiris decided he would probe that line of inquiry, just to see what he could uncover. “If you know the Prophet, my lord, you will know that life is the cheapest of commodities in her eyes,” He answered evenly. “If I were to deprive her of something so paltry, she would merely have it replaced. Stealing, however, is a much more grievous offense.”

[/blockquote]

[Elloria]

Genji tilted his head slightly. “I know the Harlot about as well as any nobleman forced to interact with her,” he replied evenly. “I find her to be a prime example of how odious and impious this continent is. But that is neither here nor there, is it?” His gaze slipped above and past Tiernan. No, Genji’s personal opinion of the self-proclaimed Prophet had little to do with the immediate issue. What should he do with the man before him? The man claimed to have essentially stolen something of great import to Ramakrishna. Important enough for her to deem it necessary to send Paladins in search of Tiernan in order to retrieve this item. The question was whether the item was physical or merely information. Either one would be incredibly valuable to the Count.

But would it be worth bringing the Harlot’s wrath down upon Teirm?

Raiden, sensing his lord’s indecision, took a step closer to Genji. “Kazan-sama…if nothing else, we might be able to use him to negotiate something with Ramakrishna.” When Genji turned to look up at the taller Itasan, Raiden continued. “If he has taken something of value from the Prophet, then she would undoubtedly be willing to sacrifice much to regain it. And there is still the Paladin’s body on Mashan.[/i][/color]”

Genji frowned, glancing at the mule. “You failed to mention a Paladin’s body when you arrived earlier.[/b][/i][/color]” His tone was cold and perhaps a little infuriated. What other surprises was his assassin going to toss his way? “Tch. A double-edged katana if ever I saw one,” Genji drawled, tone still cold. “Who’s to say she would not simply strike at us to obtain what she seeks? She certainly felt no qualms sending Paladins into my city, spitting upon my sovereignty in order to capture this man.” He waved at Tiernan dismissively. “What good is such a stance to me?”

“Kazan-sama, I believe that Raiden-oppa is probably correct.[/i]” Genji turned slightly to face tiny Hiroshi. As always, her tone was all business and calculations. He expected nothing less. “She clearly is nearly desperate to regain what this…Solus Tiernan…has taken. Although whatever it is is undoubtedly dangerous, I cannot help but feel it will prove more beneficial in the long run to keep him here.[/b][/i]”

“Hmph.” Genji looked back at Tiernan. Two of his guards advised keeping him. Mami would not particularly care one way or another – being his personal brown-noser, she rarely dismissed his decisions or thoughts. And Rikuto…she did not seem happy with the turn of the conversation. But that hardly mattered. “Hiroshi. Speak with the house slaves. Tell them to prepare a room on the eleventh floor of the North wing. Then select eight guards you feel are most trustworthy to keep an eye on him. Twenty-four hour surveillance in three-hour, two-man shifts.[/i][/color]” Hiroshi immediately departed, trotting up the steps and disappearing through the doors. “Mami, Rikuto, you will take the Paladin’s body to the dungeons where we can examine it later today. When you’ve finished with that, bring Raiden a clean shirt and trousers.[/i][/color]” Rikuto nodded, clearly displeased but holding her tongue for the moment. She unlashed the body from the mule and, taking care to keep it covered, pulled it off Mashan. Mami moved over to help her wrap the body up and then haul it into the Citadel. Genji watched it all dispassionately, snorting quietly at Rikuto’s expression as the women left. “While we wait for that room to be set up…” Genji looked at Raiden and leveled a slender finger at the assassin. “You will keep an eye on this man until then. If you must break his limbs to keep him here, then do so. Otherwise, be your usual ‘solicitous’ self. I merely do not wish to see or hear anything more about this situation until he is put somewhere out of sight. Understood?” With a nod from Raiden, Genji turned and swept back up the steps, disappearing through the doors just like his three guards.

Raiden watched for a moment as his lord mounted the steps before turning back to Tiernan. “Are you hungry?” he asked politely. If he had to play babysitter, he might as well do it well.

[Angmor]

So, one line of inquiry had turned up dry. The Count only knew enough of Ramakrishna to have developed a healthy loathing. He knew nothing of the woman’s true depths of depravity. Even so, Teiris did not take it as a total loss. He noted with interest that the Count had used the word impious in his description of Alagaesia. That was a rather specific term, describing an irreverence or disregard for spirituality. Was the Count a religious type? Teiris would be surprised, but stranger things had happened. He filed the fact away for later, under the mental archive marked Genji Lantieri
As he was thinking this, Raiden took a step forward to speak foreign words into his master’s ear. For the first time, Teiris noticed consciously that the bodyguard had removed his outer layer of clothing, revealing the weapons he carried beneath. By the gods, he’s a walking armory under there, He thought, his eyes flickering over the staggering array of blades and other, more exotic instruments for causing pain.
“Tch. A double-edged katana if ever I saw one,” The Count finally said in the common tongue, snapping Teiris back into the present. “Who’s to say she would not simply strike at us to obtain what she seeks? She certainly felt no qualms sending Paladins into my city, spitting upon my sovereignty in order to capture this man. What good is such a stance to me?” He waved a well-heeled hand in Teiris’ face, an obvious dismissal. It was a telling gesture. Even more, the Count was talking as if he wasn’t even there, and he noticed the presence of an accent that had not been there before. Teiris smiled inwardly. It would seem that his scruffy appearance had worked in his favor. Obviously, the Count was better used to dealing with fawning sycophants, and had lumped him into the category of ‘those beneath notice,’ and did not think of him as someone capable of listening and learning. That would be extremely useful in the future. In the meantime, Teiris dedicated himself to doing just that; listening and learning.

Of course, his efforts were somewhat thwarted by the fact that the following discussion was almost entirely in Itas. By the smattering of words such as Paladin and even his own alias, the subject was fairly obvious. But, all of the foreign countenances around him were difficult to read, and the body language did not give him much of a glimpse into the details. He listened anyway, a part of him fascinated by the alien words. Finally, the Count seemed to finish giving orders, The two remaining female guards snapped to, moving to the body of the Paladin slumped on the back of the mule. As they carried the man’s earthly remains, the woman Rikuto shot him a look, this one very easy to read.
She knows something.
Teiris swallowed, unable to help the chill of fear running down his back.
But, it seemed the Count had given her opinion little credence. Teiris calmed himself. He was in no danger there. Yet.
“While we wait for that room to be set up…” The Count pronounced, turning to the taller Itasan, “You will keep an eye on this man until then. If you must break his limbs to keep him here, then do so.” More Itasan words. “I merely do not wish to see or hear anything more about this situation until he is put somewhere out of sight. Understood?” Barely waiting for Raiden’s affirmative nod, he turned away, gliding back up the steps and out of sight, leaving captor and prisoner alone.

Teiris blew out a cautious breath of relief. Well, considering the more likely outcomes of the situation, he was managing to beat the odds so far. At the very least, he seemed to have caught the Count at a good time, meaning when he was busy with other pressing matters. At the very least, it seemed that he had earned a respite. All the better to brush up on the story he would have to spin later, and seal the holes in his backstory…
“Are you hungry?”
Teiris blinked. At first he thought that Raiden was joking, but the guileless expression said that he was in earnest. Teiris found it hard to reconcile it with the stone-masked assassin holding blades to his neck shortly before. It seemed a few words from his lord was enough to tame the man. Brought back to the question, Teiris thought back to the satchel of supplies he had dropped in the middle of the Paladin’s pursuit. A shame, he had paid good money for that, and it had almost certainly been picked up by now. Ah well, at least some street waif or beggar would eat well tonight. Whether or not he would remained to be seen.
“Yes, a bit,” He confessed. “I was just giving thought to a late breakfast when that Paladin barged in.”

[/blockquote]

An awful lot of words in order to say very little. I can add more, if you direct me on Raiden's next move.

[Elloria]

“Very well, then.” Raiden gestured towards the Citadel, following Tiernan as the man ascended the steps and entered the foyer. He hardly spared a glance for the sweeping marble staircase with its mahogany railings shined to a warm glow, nor for the checkered white and dark blue marble floors polished until it gleamed beneath the sun’s rays filtering in from the open doors behind them. He felt a little disdain at the handful of statues scattered about – sculptures of women in various styles of clothing that both intrigued and disgusted his sensibilities, courtesy of Kazan-sama’s father – as well as the delicate vases on pedestals by on either side of the stairs. He paused only to sniff at the new cuttings from the garden some slave had thoughtfully placed on a table to the left of the Citadel’s doors. Even as he delighted in the fresh scents of rose and bachelor’s button, two Alagaesian guards closed the doors with a resounding boom. Raiden immediately straightened up, looking at the doors with a slight frown that was nonetheless noticeable. He hadn’t liked the finality of that sound. It was disturbingly familiar.

With a slight shake of his head, he gestured for Tiernan to walk beside him as he headed to the right of the stairs. “What did you have in mind for your meal?” he asked as he led the way through the winding corridors to the north wing. “You may have just about anything you desire. My lord's kitchens and cellars are well-stocked”

[Angmor]

Teiris noticed the space between his shoulder blades tingling slightly as he turned it toward Raiden, leading the way up the steps. Purely his imagination, but he couldn’t help it. He had read enough books where prisoners were simply killed where they stood, saving the trouble of room, board and guard. He walked with his senses taut, listening for the whisper of a descending knife. Luckily, it never came. As they stepped into the foyer, Teiris glanced around, his eyes quickly cataloging the details. He immediately identified the most relevant of them to be the floor. As he glanced at the alternating dark and light of the tile, he could see a fair reflection of his own image looking up at him out of the polished expanse. No, they would not kill him here. Far too messy. There would be no way to get the blood out of all the cracks between the tiles.
Just then, the hall shook with a resounding boom, causing him to jump slightly as he turned around. The doors had shut, sealing him inside.

Teiris swallowed his nervousness, but was unable to banish it completely. He was trapped. Like before. The doors of the Cathedral had even made a similar noise when they shut, like a funeral drum commending a soul to hell.
Well, you escaped hell once before. What’s one more time?
For the first time, he noticed that his captor was similarly affected by the sound. Teiris was just in time to watch the flicker of a frown across the man’s sculpted features, there for barely a second before settling back behind the mask with a slight shake of the head. Without missing a beat, he turned away, gesturing for Teiris to follow. His fear now tinged with fascination, Teiris obeyed, falling into step beside the man.
Well, that was interesting, He thought to himself, watching Raiden out of the corner of his eye but saying nothing. Either his imagination was acting up, or there was something here. There was plenty of evidence to support the latter, now that he thought about it. Rikuto’s careful words and glances, the Count’s surprise at the announcement… While Teiris didn’t know the man enough to be certain, it would seem that Raiden was acting strangely.

“What did you have in mind for your meal?”

Teiris blinked, the question catching him squarely off guard. At first he suspected a joke, but the man’s face was just as patently serious as the threats of death from less than an hour before. “You may have just about anything you desire. My lord's kitchens and cellars are well-stocked.”
Teiris suppressed a chuckle, so far was the question any from the context of the moment. While his stomach clamored for attention, food was actually the last thing on his mind. Although, he supposed it was a good question. “I’ve been on the road for a long time,” He answered after a moment. “Many months spent on a meager budget. I haven’t had much beside bread, meat, and fruit. Not since…”
the kitchens in the house of his old master, helping to prepare a bountiful meal in celebration of the winter solstice. The care-lined face of Rygier Tahn flashed behind his eyes, smiling that jolly, slightly mysterious smile that he knew so well.
"Come and join us, Teiris." He said warmly, his deceptively gruff voice echoing out of the second room. "I won't having you eating the scraps after we've finished stuffing our faces. You deserve this bounty just as much as we do. Tonight, you're family."
Teiris shook aside the unwanted memory, consciously banishing it from his mind. Now was not the time for relieving the past, or very well might not have a future. “…Not for a while.” He said quickly, hoping to recover more gracefully than he felt. “What would you recommend? I don’t even know what a well-stocked cellar would have in it anymore.”

[/blockquote]

I am SO sorry this is so late. My life is going through some interesting changes at the moment. I won't say I promise, but I don't think this will become a pattern.

[Elloria]

Raiden raised an eyebrow as Solus made a slight slip. Something had surfaced in the man’s mind – something he clearly didn’t wish to remember. The question was whether it was a more recent experience or something further in the past. He supposed his curiosity would have to remain unsatisfied for the moment. Interrogation wasn’t really his area of expertise – Mami, with her oft-silvery tongue, was better suited to it.

“What would you recommend? I don’t even know what a well-stocked cellar would have in it anymore.”

He blinked. The man didn’t know what a well-stocked cellar contained? He gave a small snort before stopping beside a door. “I would recommend whatever Crystal has readily available.” He pulled it open to reveal a large, noisy kitchen. By the large cooking hearth in the far left corner, several cooks were busy with pots of all sizes while two cooks were tending to six roasting ducks over the central fire pit. Some young slaves were chopping vegetables on a large table just behind the fire pit. Still others were taking care of the beehive oven. He motioned for Solus to enter before following. Occasionally, the cooks would shout to the slaves and several would scurry off to the cellars on the right or the pantry just beside it. Some dashed through the exterior door beside the cutting table, which led to the kitchen gardens. The activity paused as the slaves and servants glanced at Raiden and Solus.

“Quit yer lazin’ about! Count Lantieri’s got an early dinner, if y’all happen to recall and we’re only ’alf done!” The chaos resumed as a tall, husky woman stepped out of the pantry and dumped some spices onto the cutting table. She turned and eyed the pair of men – giving Raiden a particularly close examination – before walking over to them. Her eyes shifted to Solus for a moment before returning to Raiden. He worked to suppress a shudder. He wouldn’t mind her attention if it wasn’t so blatantly obvious what she wanted – and that he was not interested in such a large female. He could have cringed at the huskiness in her voice as she asked, “What can I do ya for, Lord Raiden?”

Instead, he smiled at her. “Well, my lord wishes for this man to be fed.” His voice fell into the deeply accented, lilting tone he always used with her. The words were far harder to understand, but she just drank it in. “Except…he is not quite sure what he desires. I am certain you have something to tempt him with. You are…quite talented.” She brightened up instantly. “’Course I do!” She turned back towards the slaves. “Gregory!” A small boy popped his head up from behind the cutting table and looked at Crystal, his eyes wide. “Make yerself useful fer once. Grab a bowl o’ that rice stew and put some sliced pork, turnips, and them weird little fruits our count’s so fond of.” He did as she asked, darting around the kitchen until he had everything mixed into the bowl and a spoon to accompany it. Meanwhile, Crystal had taken a pitcher and cup out to the garden, returning with the pitcher full of fresh well water. Everything was set on a tray and Gregory stood before the two men, his eyes bright and cheerful as he smiled at them. “There ya are,” Crystal said. “You’re welcome to eat here, but I’m sure you’d rather eat somewhere cooler. Let me know how it is, Lord Raiden?”

He smiled at her again and bowed low. “Of course, Crystal-san.” Gesturing towards Gregory and Solus, Raiden led the way back out of the kitchen and through the halls. Gregory, meanwhile, simply stared at Solus as they walked. In a few moments, they were entering a small but well-appointed dining room. The floor was the same blue-white checked marble. The table and chairs were all made from lightly colored cherry wood, polished to the same warm glow as the mahogany rails from the entry. Small openings set high in the wall were unshuttered, allowing sunlight to stream in and cast the room in a hazy golden light. Raiden motioned for Gregory to set the tray down on the far side of the table and for Solus to sit there. He remained standing.

(Sorry it's so late. Annnnd...IDK. Tell me if you need anything else in this post to go off of.)

[Angmor]

The sights and sounds of the kitchen brought back memories, most of them fairly happy ones. His uncle's house had possessed a kitchen like this, although not quite as large or well-appointed. After his studies, a much younger Teiris would often come down and steal some morsel left to cool, thinking himself very clever when he snatched the treat without anyone noticing. Of course, he knew now that the kitchen servants had always known what he was up to, but they had never said a word. Now of course, his reception in this kitchen was much different.

As Raiden gestured him into the room, all activity ceased for several moments as every eye turned to him. Teiris held his ground, calmly meeting every pair of eyes in turn. Most that he met looked away, some in fear, others in embarrassment, but all with curiosity. Teiris knew exactly what he was doing. Now that he had been seen and made an impression, word of his presence would spread far and wide. Kings and emperors throughout history sometimes spent entire lifetimes trying to set up a reliable intelligence network, while their slaves had already created one behind their backs. Servant gossip traveled faster than horses, and soon half the city would know that a mysterious youth with dead eyes had entered the Citadel of the Count. This would come with its own advantages and disadvantages. While he didn't necessarily want so many to know of him, they would also not know who he was or why he was here. That confusion would send wild speculations spreading like wildfire, creating fear and distrust.
Fear was something he could use.

"Quit yer lazin’ about! Count Lantieri’s got an early dinner, if y’all happen to recall and we’re only ’alf done!"
The spell broken, the servants darted back to their work, the clamor rising back to normal pitch. But tongues would still be wagging in the servant's quarters this night. Satisfied, Teiris turned his attention to the approaching woman, keeping his face blank.
She was, in his experience, about one might expect from a house matron. She was tall, thick, powerfully built, strong enough to deliver a solid cuff across the ear of a servant who stepped out of line. Which was interesting, considering how her manner softened instantly in sight of Teiris’ captor.
“What can I do ya for, Lord Raiden?”
Teiris turned his attention away, listening with half an ear. His memory would take down the conversation anyway, so that he could just recall it later. Instead, taking advantage of Raiden's fractional distraction, he turned his attention to the layout of the room itself. There was another thing that Teiris knew about kitchens. After all, he had been a slave once. He had spent many years living, working, and sleeping in such a place. From that he knew that where there were kitchens, there were kitchen gardens. Where there was a kitchen garden, there was a door to the outside. He located it a second later, a simple wooden door standing open, allowing in the outside light and air with a soft smell of herbs and spices. Unfortunately, he was standing at such an extreme angle that he could not get a glimpse out. Hiding a frown, he brought his eyes back to the matter at hand just as Raiden finished speaking. The woman brightened instantly, exposing a set of crooked front teeth.
“’Course I do! Gregory!”

Rather comically, a head appeared over the lip of the cutting table, like a small rodent poking its snout out of its den.
“Make yerself useful fer once. Grab a bowl o’ that rice stew and put some sliced pork, turnips, and them weird little fruits our count’s so fond of.”
Teiris barely noticed the description of what he was about to eat, absorbed instead with the boy's movements as he did what he was bid. To carry forward the simile of a rodent, the child moved with the speed and agility of a squirrel, darting this way and that, expertly dodging the cooks and servants as he collected the needed food. Before long, a tray had been assembled in front of him, held by the child with a disarmingly infectious smile. Teiris felt his own mouth quirking upward at the corners.
“There ya are,” The matron said. “You’re welcome to eat here, but I’m sure you’d rather eat somewhere cooler." She smiled, and Teiris thought he could detect veiled desire in her glance. "Let me know how it is, Lord Raiden?”
Raiden, apparently, liked to leave his options open.
“Of course, Crystal-san.”
With that, he gestured for them to leave, leading back through the door. Seeing his chance, Teiris casually stepped aside to allow him passage, at the same time sneaking a glance out the garden door. It wasn't much of a look. A quarter of a second at maximum before he fell into line beyond his guard, with the slave coming in behind with the tray. But it was enough. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he summoned the memory of that glance, examining it in his mind. In his recollection, he could see the garden stretching several yards, complete with neatly planted and labelled plots of herbs and vegetables. More importantly, he could see that the garden was connected to the citadel by an encircling eight-foot wall.
He opened his eyes, smiling inwardly. An eight-foot wall he could handle. He had a way out.

As Raiden led them through the vast corridors, Teiris took a moment to marvel at his own ingenuity. Even a month ago, he would have never thought he could scheme and plot like this. He was a boy, not even fully a man, plucked by chance out of the world he belonged. He was supposed to be at home, reading his books and fretting over his next dinner engagement and wondering about an arranged marriage. And here he was, plotting to escape the clutches of a Count.
Even more, that he believed that he could do it.
A foolish notion perhaps, considering the forces arrayed against him. On their way through the corridor, he passed several guard patrols, and Raiden still strode confidently ahead, his back and sides still arrayed with implements of death. But the idea persisted. The Count's inattention, Raiden's distraction, the servant's gossip, even Crystal's unrequited lust all added up to the glimmering of a plan. Teiris was sure that he had everything he needed to escape, he just needed some time to piece together exactly how.

Several minutes later, Teiris was seating himself at the foot of the long table, the servant setting the tray of food before him. Up until that moment, Teiris had not really been thinking about his body. He was still raw and sore from his ideal, and his bruised face still throbbed in the background, but he could ignore that. Being hungry had been more a rule rather than an exception in the past months, and he had grown used to that, as well. It was only when the aroma of the steaming rice stew reached his nostrils that he realized that yes, he was actually very hungry. All thoughts of planning and schemes fleeing his mind, he seized the spoon and began to eat with enthusiasm. Disused to hot meals, the food felt wonderful in his mouth, filling his stomach with a pleasant warmth. Although he wouldn't have minded it tasting like pig slop, the stew was excellent. Mostly savory, but the odd shriveled fruit providing the perfect sweet counterpoint.

It was only after the bowl was half empty that he began to slow down enough to notice that the boy was still there, regarding him with wide eyes. Sensing something odd, Teiris paused in his meal, turning his gaze on the child experimentally. Curiously, the boy didn't flinch or turn away, merely continuing to look him straight in the eyes with guileless curiosity, his small hands motionless at his sides.
Suddenly interested, Teiris smiled. "How old are you, Gregory?" He asked, remembering the name Crystal had mentioned.

[/blockquote]

Eh... Not my best. I think we've just reached that slow period. I also wasn't sure if Gregory was NPC status or not, so let me know if the powerplaying wasn't correct.