[u][b]Kron-Nesis
The Capital City of Tarantis
Southern Gate Watchhouse[/b][/u]

Hecuba shivered in the warm confines of the guardhouse, studiously examining the rough flagstone floor so she could at least pretend she was not aware of the lecherous looks the Sergeant and his men whenever they passed by. She had not really anticipated being cloistered like this. While she had been standing in line she had seen more than a dozen people in front of her who had been cleared to move through the city gates, even without any documentation. She wasn't sure why the Captain had even had her set aside like this as opposed to letting her enter the city normally so she could present her invitation to the Royal Guards at the palace proper.

Well. Not [i]entirely[/i] sure. The looks he had given her and the occasional muttered promises - threats really - from the sergeant made it clear they thought the letter was a fake and that they intended to take full advantage of the predicament. That the letter was genuine was a cold comfort to her, given all the things that could go wrong. Maybe the runner would fall into a ditch or get pulled into an alleyway and robbed. Or maybe it would reach the palace and get sorted onto a mail shelf where it would would remain for weeks before getting opening while she was left to the tender mercies of the guardsmen. Or maybe it would actually get delivered but the Court Mage had died the previous day and his replacement knew nothing about the matter.

Or, perhaps more realistically, the runner had taken the letter just out of sight before shredding it, giving the guards all the pretense they needed. Kron-Nesis was a long way from Ithell, and if anything were to happen to her the worst that the Grand Observatory would do would be to send a strongly worded letter of complaint. 

And although she was anxious about what the guards might do to her, she was more worried about what they might do with her belongings - particularly the carboy and its contents, or the marbles of enchanted pitchblende. If the guards started messing with them, the former would be...particularly compromising, the latter would be catastrophic and most assuredly get them and her killed. All in all, this complication was as unwelcome as it had been unforeseen. 

Her fears were thankfully alleviated with the arrival of a scantily-clad beastkin from the palace. The guards had gawked and stared in equal parts disbelief and disappointment. At first it looked like the sergeant was going to object - who did this [i]beastkin whore[/i] think she was, barging into the guardhouse like that? But his mouth snapped shut when he saw the emblem of the Court Wizard on the surface of her collar and heard her announce her arrival from the palace. Hecuba felt a surge of relief and practically skipped after the beastkin messenger as they led her out of the guardhouse, and beamed excitedly at her surroundings as she was led through the streets of the capital. It was still immensely tacky and gaudy to her eyes, but a near-brush with misfortune had a way of aggrandizing how one perceived their surroundings after the fact.

...But only for a moment. Less than a block later, Hecuba noticed all the stares and murmurs the two of them were getting as they walked down the streets, and her face perceptibly reddened as she realized what they were saying. She was used to the same accusations being muttered about her back at the Grand Observatory, but those were spread by singularly malicious rivals and jealous apprentices. Here, she was suddenly being judged by [i]complete strangers[/i] due to her exotic appearance in conjunction with her proximal presence to her scandalously dressed guide. It was an altogether different twist of the unpleasantness she usually had to deal with, if not faintly worse since she could not even run away in [i]this[/i] circumstance! What if somebody tried to proposition them in the street? Was this beastkin women [i]really[/i] even a messenger from the palace, let alone an assistant of the Court Wizard? Hecuba did recognize the emblem on the collar, but [i]why[/i] would anybody with this women's profession dress like [i]that[/i] during the regular course of business? Hecuba had seen enough tribal beastkin to know some of them genuinely dressed like that, but civilized city beastfolk - like seen in the cities of the island of Kelnore and elsewhere - wore more conventional garments.

After nearly half an hour of uncomfortable walking later, during which time Hecuba had occupied herself by consciously endeavoring not to grind her teeth together due to some of the catcalls she and the beastkin messenger had received - they arrived at the palace. The royal guardsmen at the front gates let them both in without any issue, but Hecuba was immediately tipped off that something was off when the palace staff kept throwing the both of them askew glances and odd looks as the messenger gave her a tour of the palace interior. [i]They[/i] were clearly not familiar with her guide - perhaps she was new? Hecuba was halfway tempted at multiple junctures to stop the tour so she could abandon this [i]strange woman[/i] and look for anybody else to show her the way to the Court Wizard, but at the same time she recognized that despite the [i]irregularities[/i], the women had gotten her inside the palace, her collar had the emblem of the Court Wizard, and she actually seemed to know what she was talking about. Hecuba's receipt of the beastkin's anecdotes and historical references went largely undigested as she simply strove to understand what exactly the deal with her was. Her inflection seemed regularly, but her eyes looked a little glassy and unfocused.

Eventually they arrived at the Court Mage's chambers.
 
[quote=Firh Wystan Auleaus Caliean Aibek Sirroc, Court Wizard of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis]"Aaahhh...Miss Personal Assistant; what can I do for you? I hope that my servant gave you the proper tour on the way here. Marvellous collar I must say. My own invention. Eliminates any resistance and eventually makes the wearer want it themselves, removing the need them to wear it. Truly amazing don't you think? But where are my manners. I'm Firh Wystan Auleaus Caliean Aibek Sirroc, Court Wizard of the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis, but most just call me Sirro."[/quote]
"Oh my goodness!" Hecuba exclaimed, hunching over and exhaling deeply. "So [i]that's[/i] why!" She exclaimed with equal overtones of realization and relief. She then realized where she was and who she was speaking with and hurriedly corrected her posture before returning Sirroc's bow with one of her own, ending it with a stylized flourish customary in the lands of the Court of Stars - touching the lower half of her chin with her left hand whilst raising her right arm and making the arcane gesture of the starcaller. "I am Hecuba Amaranth, apprentice at the Grand Observatory of Ithell and personal assistant to High Astronomer Ormoneric. May Dawn's Law favor you, Wizard."

[quote=Sirroc]"I must say we don't see too many Halflings, or perhaps more distant, with your particular looks around here. Perhaps an older bloodline..Hmmm...Would you care to leave me with a blood sample? It would be interesting to see what I can find in there. Oh yes, I'm sorry. Your visit. How much has the old codger told you about the visit?"[/quote]
"I am afraid I have been instructed not to offer any substance of my own vigor for any particular purpose during our endeavors, my lord." Hecuba offered apologetically. "As for our arrangement, the High Astronomer has fully informed me as to most of our purposes here, save of course for his scheduled audience with his Grand Majesty of course. He apologizes profusely for having to request the King reschedule, but the agents of the Archclericy are singularly unreasonable. As I suspect you know." She smiled at Sirroc conspiratorially. "In fact, he even told me a little about this [i]compulsory[/i] magical experiment of yours, back when he arranged to have certain texts from the Grand Archives shipped to you. The results are very good! Even knowing that you were working on it, I had no idea your assistant was being controlled until you told me just now. Her eyes are a little dull, but there were no other residual signs of influence that other forms of indoctrination might create. " She paused emphatically for a moment as she moved to open a satchel hanging from her shoulder just under her traveling cloak, and fetched her tines and the striking rod for them.

"Although I must say, dressed the way she is, I am afraid certain members of the palace staff and the commoners who saw us may conclude this women is your [i]chatelaine[/i]. One moment please..." Hecuba then raised the tines and struck across both of its prongs with the accompanying rod, filling the room with the clear purity of its reverberating tone. Hecuba craned an ear in the direction of Sirroc's unwilling assistant.

"Hm. I see. That's a very [i]recent[/i] enchantment on the collar, isn't it?" She remarked. "Is that why she's dressed like that? I thought I was going crazy, thinking she was wearing that of her own volition in broad daylight!"

[quote=Sirroc, some time earlier that day.]"Perfect..finally succeeded.."[/quote]
"Is the enchantment a work in progress? Its coherency seems pretty tenuous. It almost came unraveled when I dowsed it just now. Err." Hecuba momentarily looked embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I got a little over-eager. But uh...you claim eventually the enchantment will allow her to serve you without the need for the collar? Have you even had time to test the long-term effects of the enchantment to be certain there are no attenuating effects?" After a brief pause while she looked at the Court Wizard expectantly, she suddenly seemed to realize who she was speaking too a second time. Her face flushed as she realized she might have offended her with her presumptions.

"My apologies, my lord. The work is yours, not mine, and I imagine you are much more intimately familiar with its workings than I am. I should not have been so forward. Perhaps we should discuss a matter I have actually been fully entrusted with." She hurriedly put her tines and rod away as she spoke, her expression clearly embarrassed. 

"As you already know from prior correspondence, the High Astronomer is in need of large quantities of Black Blood of the Earth. Such large quantities and in such specific cuts, in fact, that we have given up entirely on natural harvests and have turned to getting the necessary circuits [i]cast[/i] using molds. We considered consignment with the Darakeene Prot-" She caught herself from making yet another faux-pas at the last moment, stopping in the middle of her sentence and starting again. "with the Darakeene REBELS due to their clear expertise in such matters, but the High Astronomer was concerned that they might object to such procedures due to cultural and traditional values concerning the living blood of the earth. I was informed that the Kingdom's pursuit of such an investment would necessarily be contingent upon matters of discussion between the High Astronomer and his Grand Majesty that I am not aware of, but that you would be willing to assist us with some of the geomantic uncertainties due to the potential for personal mutual benefits, apart from any agreement made with the Grand Kingdom proper. If you are still interested, we would of course need a purpose for the very first Black Blood matrix ritual performed in known history - and as this is [i]your[/i] home region, the High Astronomer will naturally defer to your own preference and seniority."

[hider=A Brief Recollection]The Black Blood of the Earth was an obvious academic reference to volcanic Obsidian, the frozen remnant of lava-flows (academically referred to in turn as the Blood of the Earth, as well as by most Dwarven cultures). One of the many proposals and topics of discourse between Ormoneric and the Court Wizard concerned the arrangement of matrices of Black Blood as material components of ritual circles. The benefits were evident enough - a stable Black Blood ritual matrix would have channeling throughput efficiency and arcane amelioration several orders of magnitude greater than any other known physical material short of Divine Ichor. It would even exceed the arcane utility of materials such as Kelnore Slade, the metal from which the Dark Knight's weapon and armor were made.

The tricky part, of course, would be arranging obsidian - a notoriously tricky substance - into a stable ritual matrix in the desired configuration. Mages had been trying and failing for millenia to come up with workable piecemeal configurations using obsidian powder, chips, and totems with varying degrees of success that inevitably still fell short of expectations. Cutting natural slabs of obsidian in such intricate patternings, in addition to being outrageously expensive and prone to disastrous failure, would still have left one with an incoherent channeling path due to the manner in which obsidian naturally cleaved when cut. But if one could [i]cast[/i] obsidian in the needed shapes using a pre-made mold with foundry-grade precision...[/hider]

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[u][b]Elsewhere...[/b][/u]

Nalon Tret - Nailtooth - veteran of the Sixth Division of the Grand Army of Kron-Nesis turned brigand and confidence-man, grimly tossed a dreg of meat into the campfire and took a deep swig out of his canteen, only slightly spiked with ale. This would probably be the last chance he had for a proper sit-down and rest for a long while. When it had just been ambushing nobs on roads there was usually time and safety with which to celebrate properly at the nearest tavern their blood money, either stolen or made by pawning stolen items. Now they were at the point of no return. Surrounded by the enemy at every angle, and they would be on the move soon, heading towards the Aemonvale.

Andromache still expected to carry out her will. She expected many things. Having been an infantryman in her section back when she had still been a Sergeant, the idea of carrying out the impossible did not cause him to balk. No, like any good soldier, he was simply annoyed over how exhausting the ordeal would be and how much running around it would entail. He was practically going to have to be in two places at once at every hour of every day in order to cover everything that needed covering, and that was even without assuming that the Grand Marshal and the attending nobility were not about to ream through their entire retinue with steely-eyed focus and watchfulness to root the band out.

As he glumly dwelt on the future of misery that awaited them, Trennor - a lad who audaciously claimed that he was eighteen summers old when Nailtooth was fairly certain his balls had not even dropped yet - came up to the fire looking as exhausted as Nalon imagined he was going to be when this was all said and done. He sat on one of the stools at the opposite side of the fire, clenching the sides with both hands nervously as he stared into the flames. Remembering what had transpired earlier, Nailtooth said nothing and idly poked at the wood in the campfire with a stick, waiting for the boy to speak first.

"Hey Tret. How do..." Trennor began, then paused. His face was equal parts bleary and terrified. He did not resume.

After waiting a minute, Nailtooth finally spoke up. "You know, before you came along, nobody else other than Andromache actually had the guts to brand any of the nobs we tuckered." He voice was low and stated matter-of-factly, as though he were speaking of the weather. Trennor visibly flinched, the grip of his hands tightening until his fingers were white.

"Nobody." Nailtooth repeated. "She would always do it herself, like you saw the time before. Never asked anybody else to do it for her. But somebody else always could have. She's never minded anybody else handling the iron, or even brandishing it. One time, a ways back, a fellow even tried to intimidate one of the fuckers when we had 'em pinned down. Had it floating over their chest when Andromache came up and started doing her thing. When the time came, he couldn't do it, it had just been bluster. Once she finished he just...drew it back and handed it to her."

"Not..." Trennor began haltingly. "...Not even you?"

"Not even me. Sort of been going out of my way to avoid being too close to that action." Nailtooth admitted, his voice slow and even. "I believe just about everything Andromach has told us. But nobody gets by on just faith, Tren. There is a boundary between what a man can accept, what a man can want, and what a man can actually do." He tipped the stick he had been prodding at the fire with so that it fell headlong into the flames. Several minutes of silence stretched out between the two, Trennor looking sick as he rocked lightly back and forth on his stool while Nailtooth simply weighed his canteen in one hand. Eventually, Nailtooth spoke up again.

"You were never in the army like you said you were, Tren." He stated. Trennor did not attempt to correct him. "So you probably got caught up in this [i]on principle[/i]. You got her message. Well boy, let me tell you. Lot of people agree with the [i]principle[/i] of things like Kings and Wars, killing other people for a cause and dying for it. Because of course they do, as long as they only have to say it and not do it. Anybody whose fought in the frontlines has felt what you're feeling right now. That sort of awning sensation of disgust and dread, not just with yourself but with the entire universe. Like you're standing on top of a bottomless chasm, and you're not sure whether you want to throw yourself or the entire world down it just because of how fucked up [i]everything[/i] is." He took in an airy breath. Trennor was staring at him like he was a wizard, with eyes wider than the full moon.

"Right now, you're feeling uncertain. Just know, you're not the first. There was another man with us, around two full moons ago, name of Feldis. Now Feldis, he was...he was really good with words. Natural speechifying type, probably would have done well for himself if he'd been a priest. Nobody was ever more behind what Andromache was doing than he was. Not an hour of the day would go by where he wouldn't parrot somethin' she'd said or be telling the rest of us why and how she was right about everything. Was pretty damn annoying actually, but necessity makes for annoying bedfellows." He raised his canteen and took another brief swig from it, mulling over his words for a moment.

"He left us the very night after a hit. He was all gung-ho up until the moment he watched Andromache break that nob's arms with her mace, so hard you could heard the bones getting shred into bits. He couldn't even get up to the knife, the moment she took out the dagger he just split. Couldn't bear the mere [i]thought[/i] of what she was about to do. Found him sobbing underneath a tree. Begged us to forgive him, said he just couldn't live with all the anguish we were doing to others. Pleaded with us not to kill him, said he still knew we were in the right, that he was just a coward."

Nailtooth finally looked up over the fire, straight at Trennor.

"You could leave right now. I wouldn't say a thing. Nobody would say a damn thing. Because we've all been exactly where you've been right now. And it ain't such a bad thing to not want to be here. It's ugly, bloody work. A whole lot of bad and misery coming out of it, and the only good that will ever come of it is going to be [i]in principle[/i]. And Andromache's word ain't nice or good. It's hard, and a whole lot of bad will probably come out of it more'n anything else. So while you're asking yourself what the hell you're doing during the night, wondering if it's all worth it..." Nailtooth fetched the cap for his canteen and screwed it back on casually as he spoke. "Ask yourself if the principle on its own could be better than what we have now. Just ask any king or priest." Nailtooth got up, brushing off his legs as he did as he gave one last look at Trennor.

"Nothing important ever got decided without a war, and no cause ever got around unless you had steel behind your words." He turned and began to walk off. "You take the watch, boy. If you're not here by the time next shift gets in, they'll just assume I was just being lazy."