[center][b][h3]College of Whispers: One Day Earlier[/h3][/b][/center] In the deep recesses of The College of Whispers, Cinnar Ashwing worked diligently. He was surrounded by glass tubes, each filled with a different coloured liquid that moved along as the heat from crucibles was reduced or increased. These colours would eventually drip into a large beaker, the chemicals mixing and combining until a completely new mixture was formed. Cinnar poured this beaker into yet another, less filled beaker. It bubbled, hissed, frothing nearly to the top. He almost covered the beaker with an airtight seal spell, but the liquid began to recede. He sipped it. His skin hardened. He shook his hand, "Barkskin?" This was a distraction. In another basement workshop, was a forge, where the local blacksmith, Thorulf Jafelson, worked diligently on brass rings. He had to work on those rings but...he thought of his son, Uthane, trapped in the confines of the Imperial Prison, left to rot. He needed clarity. He needed a distraction. He had to think before he acted. Hours later, he retrieved the rings. Stepping to the side of his workshop he opened the thick, black chest Havfyg had delivered earlier. He shuddered. Thirty five black soul gems. Four rings. An enchanted engraving tool, which, as he reached to touch it, felt ice cold. It got no warmer as he held it. He took one of the rings, setting it on the desk. Then a black soul gem. Then another. There was a piece of paper in the middle of the gems, which he unfurled. It told him what he had to do, the ritual he had to commit himself to. First, each ring must be engraved with the engraving tool. The symbols were SEAL, KEEP, KILL, ORDER, MIND, INTENT in draconic. As he etched, a pale green light poured from the etchings. As each etching completed, the symbols disappeared as the metal seemed to repair itself. Cinnar rubbed his finger along the edge of the brass ring. It was completely smooth. The next part was more straightforward, but horrifying in its implications. Havfyg had sent him thirty five. These were likely the souls of political dissidents, though he wasn't sure that would account for the amount. About six black gems he rested next to the rings and one by one, their souls were used to charge the rings. --- Cinnar arrived at the door of the quarters of a Breton mage, Sachine Wickfield. He knocked three times. A man opened, a huge, muscular, scarred Orc, decidedly not a member of the College of Whispers. He had a blanket wrapped around his waist. Cinnar tensed, then seeing that Sachine, was laying in the bed, covering herself, he regained some confidence. "I'm here to speak with Sachine, sorry to interrup-" the Orc put a finger to Cinnars lips. The Orc said, "No talk. Get back to lovemaking." He took the letter out of Sachine's unprotesting hands, "Important?" Cinnar nodded. Then The Orc closed the door. Murdragh Dragon-Slayer brought the letter to Sachine. Sachine complained, purring, "Was that Cinnar?" Murdragh snorted, "Small knife ears? Quaking in boots? Weak?" Sachine rolled her eyes, "I wouldn't say that." She gently plucked the letter from Murdraghs hands. It appeared blank as she opened it, but with a wave of her hand, words began to form, "Of course, he's terrible at magical cipher." "What does it say?" "Oh, well, I can't really say...let's just say, Havfygs making a play." She waved her hand again, small lights formed, and the words disappeared, "But, can you deliver the letter for me tomorrow? I'm going to be rather busy. Faria Arius is apparently paranoid the Synod are infiltrating the College. She's right, of course, but these recent murders...well, it's definitely against their modus operandi." She pushed the letter inside the drawer of her dresser. Murdragh nodded, "I do not care about the details of your college." He considered this might sound harsh, so he added, "My sweetest lilyflower. I will deliver the letter. Shall we continue with..." he gestured towards where his genitalia would be. Sachine laughed, gesturing down the length of her body, a impish smile crossing her face, "By all means." --- Cinnar was surprised that Sachine had snuck in a outsider to the College of Whispers. One could be accused of being a Synod plant, sent to The Imperial Court and likely summarily executed when they couldn't prove that you [i]weren't[/i] acting against the state. You'd be given some honors for your sacrifice, but you'd still be dead. Cinnar played along, even knowing that as a Altmer he had next to no rights if he didn't continue working for the Imperial Empire. But, he did some good. At least he hoped he did. He entered the Botonarium, a glass roofed structure of The College of Whispers. It was filled with fauna from all over Tamriel, with vivid hues of blue, purple, and green being primarily present. In the center of all this, was a single, massive, Hist Tree. Glass tubes jabbed into the bark along where one would normally draw sap and these tubes snaked into holes in the floor, leading likely to a dispensery unit in the lower basement. The purpose of this was to mass produce Hist Sap, according to Zalay Salkatanat. Zalay had been an Ashlander before he was found by Imperial scouts looking for magical ability. He'd been taken from his home, but otherwise treated well, and actually seemed to be flourishing under the College of Whispers influence. His family had been allowed to move to the Imperial City, though the special treatment had ended there. His research had focused primarily on the physiological and mental effects of Hist, given to Argonians and not. He'd also been attempting to modify the tree itself, a issue that, much like the Caro debacle of decades past, had smoothed over when progress had been shown in creating telepath's. The experiment went like this. Two people, one Argonian, one not, were placed in two separate rooms and given the same Hist Sap. The Argonian was in the safe room. The other was placed in a small room that slowly had gas leaking in. The other was often your typical thief, thug, or other lesser offs. The Argonian would attempt to help, through their thoughts alone, the poor unfortunate soul in the other room, with solving the puzzle. The first thirty five attempts had been failures. Strictly speaking, the non-Argonian typically ended up convulsing on the floor and dying far before the toxins actually affected them. A few cases heard a thought, but not from the Argonian itself but the Hist Tree. When asked what commands it had given, the Argonian who had acted as a translator had screamed, holding his head. The Hist Tree, over the years, had gone mad. There was no help for it. Cinnar had spoken against treating a sentient creature in such a way, even if it were a tree, but his voice had remained unheard and there was evidence Zalay's research would soon come to bear the fruits of his labor. He located Zalay, who wore bright white robes in contrast to his dark coloring. Zalay spoke without turning, holding a tome, "Ah, Cinnar. Here to chastise me again about my ethics?" Cinnar said, "No, no. I actually have need of your sap." Zalay rose his brows, "For what purpose?" "You remember that favor you owe me?" Cinnar hoped this would appeal to Zalays sense of honor. Zalay stiffened, then turned around. After a few moments, he said, "So no questions asked?" "No questions." Zalay sighed, retrieving a thick silver key from his robes. "I expect this returned when you are done." Cinnar grinned, "No problems." --- In his workshop, he found all of the rings still waiting. A vial of Hist sap in his hands, he cast a spell on the liquid that would hopefully elongate its effects. Then, he rubbed the liquid along the interior of each and every ring. The first part of his plan was finished. Now all he had to do was wait.