Neil had leaped like a cat, grabbing the lip of the hole and hoping to the gods it didn't break further. If it had, there was no guarantee he wouldn't tumble into the trapdoor hole a meter or two behind them. Luckily, he found purchase and hauled himself up. Far from the muscular hero, Neil had the lithe strength of a unscrupulous knave and it served him well. Once he was up in the cellar, and it was indeed a cellar, he glanced around and held his breath. 

The wine cellar had racks upon racks of dark bottles of prime vintage, dimly lit by torches on the walls far from any glass or the neatly piled barrels on the south end. Little ferns were arrayed along the walkways, giving the room a tropical, coastal quality that was given a stylish finish with finely wrought paintings of warm colors. Neil wanted to whistle appreciatively, but he kept himself quiet. As he turned, his heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he saw movement, but to his relief he saw it was a small rat, the rodent scuttling across the floor with a chitter, disappearing into a hole in the stone. 

Neil placed a hand on his chest and exhaled, still on his ass on the stone floor. Accompanying the silence, he could hear laughter and the low thrum of discussion. Not a meeting or a singular conversation, but a crowd. Now that he had a moment, he noticed much of the wine was missing from the racks around him. 

Calliope cleared her throat impatiently, the sound oddly echoing from the tomb below. Neil grimaced and crawled over to the collapsed floor, whispering an apology to her and holding his hand out for her to take. She took it, and he lifted her up, helping to pull her onto the floor. For a sorceress with class, she didn't complain about getting dirty. He guessed murder and skulduggery made her a bit less nitpicky on a bit of dirt on her clothes. In the low light, her hair was as black as the abyss. Neil noticed a small gesture of her hand, a stiletto locked in her fingers as she looked around with a sharp, hawkish gaze that nothing could escape from. 

"What now?" Neil whispered.

Footsteps. They didn't come from outside of the room, either. They were from across the chamber. Damn, had someone heard? Calliope peered down the walkway of the racks that framed their location, and ordered Neil to hide. He hesitated for a brief moment, unsure of what she was going to do, but he did it with only a facetious "as you wish, your grace" and hopped behind some of the casks and an iron distillery. Too late, Neil realized, there were two sets of footsteps and not one. But Calliope hadn't fled, or even cast a spell to hide herself or the hole. She tugged at a string on her bodice and flitted with her hair a bit, and to Neil's amazement she transformed from profession to salacious with but a few touches. 

"Need that bloody book," Calliope whispered under her breath. Neil thought the comment it curious, completely out of the loop as to what Inganok or [i]Kor Kalen’s Workings[/i] was. 

Two Therman guards turned the corner, their tabards the gaudy brown and red of the lord's house. Conical helmets with opened visors donned their heads, and they brandished wicked billhooks more suitable for gutting horses than fighting would-be thieves, not that they wouldn't be an effective weapon if push came to shove. The men looked as if they had expected something, but not her. The taller one hefted his weapon in an attempt to intimidate, but the other pushed the weapon down, staring. Looking back, Neil saw Calliope lounging like a call girl, her body faced towards Neil as she downed a bottle of Balcet champagne like it was a draught of rum. Seemingly noticing the men, the woman pushed off the barrel she she had rested along, the movement granting the guards a good look at the bounce of her chest, Calliope's top having been gently lowered to give a hint of what lay beneath. She had worn practical trousers for the job, but they hugged her strong legs more prominently than early, which Neil couldn't begin to guess if this was magically done or not. He hadn't seen or heard a spell. The woman's dark hair was lightly tousled, giving it an appealing, disheveled look.

Despite this performance, there was something off about her. Calliope was stunning, but there was a quality about her that screamed danger. Watching her work was like seeing the sinuous movements of an intricately patterned viper, or a venomous, multi-colored spider traipsing along a web. Enchanting, but raptorial. Neil had been intimidated since the beginning, the difference was, Neil was very self aware he was a daredevil in life and romantic interests. These guards weren't crazy like the thief, they were merely ignorant, which made him feel a modicum of pity for them. 

"My lady, what are you doing back here?" The shorter one asked cautiously. 

"Did you cause this floor to cave in?" The other demanded. 

"What, that?" Calliope glanced at the hole in the old mortar and stone, as if this was the first time she had ever noticed it. She turned back to them with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you want to ask about some old, rotten floor? What are your names, hmm?" 

"Grant." 
"Jon." 

They spoke in unison, and then looked at one another with jealousy. But it was when they looked at one another's eyes that they took hold of their wits for a brief moment. Perhaps it was seeing their partner there in full guardsmen regalia. Neil could see Calliope sauntering around the hole to get closer to them, a knife carefully concealed behind her hand. Perhaps using magic here might be dangerous, or 'loud' to other mages? Or perhaps her only quick, quiet spells could kill one and not two? Idly, he thought of the possibility she simply liked the feel of stabbing better. Who knew with assassins? 

"Answer the question, my lady. Lord Therman's stash is not just for anyone. There's plenty of drink in the grand hall." Grant, the short one, began. His mustache wriggled like a caterpillar as she chewed on what had to be tobacco.

"Is lord Therman there?" She asked, her interest piqued. 

"No," Jon spoke up quickly, subconsciously hoping to garner her approval. "He should return soon though, if you'd like to be escorted." 

"She will be escorted when she has answered our question." Grant told him sternly. "She does not even look as if she was at the party."

"Well if she's underdressed, then I really need to change," Neil said, having crept up behind the two. He had a stabbing dagger, but he didn't want to draw blood where it could be found. Nor could he reliably knock them out. Instead, he opting for a third option. The men leaped in surprise, but couldn't turn fast enough. Neil promptly shouldered them when they were off-balance, using determination and a swift trip to send them both careening into the hole. Yells rose up for a mere second, but the two clanged together and fell heavily and ferociously into the gloom. Only Neil had expected to hear groaning, or an end to the yelling. It was only getting more faint. Neil crept to the edge of the hole and squinted, seeing the last glint of their armor as they fell into the trap the undead minotaur had fallen into. Their screams still echoed as the moments crept on, and Neil bared his teeth to show he felt he made an 'oopsie.' 

"I'm not used to being the distraction, but good job. Less messy this way," Calliope applauded him with a casual air, taking another drink of the bottle. Neil didn't feel like correcting her, so he took the compliment. 

"Hey, how come you don't get all seductive with me?" He asked. She tossed him the wine bottle in a daring, uncaring throw. Neil caught it easily with one hand, looking at her questioningly. 

"You haven't earned it," She said, fixing her hair. "Yet." 

A haughty laugh drifted into the storage area, followed by a giggle. Calliope and Neil glanced at the direction of the source in unison, then back at one another. The sorceress moved like a panther, gliding to her feet and sinking into the shadows as Neil knelt and peeked through one of the racks, glad half the rack was empty from whatever get-together was happening. He couldn't see the corridor that fed into the main hall or ballroom, but it gave him visibility of the northern side of the chamber. In stumbled a servant woman, a tight bodice hugging her curves like a glove. She was playfully grabbed by a man who was clearly an aristocrat, wearing an expensive vest with wings that accentuated the shoulders, and a belt of brass and gold, supported by stylish dark trousers. 

Guardsmen Grant and Jon's yells had drifted to nothingness, but there was still the matter of the hole and needing to hide, right? If there was a party, this was going to keep happening until they killed everyone or were discovered, unless Calliope had a plan. In Neil's vision, the woman tip toed down one of the walkways, the man chasing after her in a way that looked so unbecoming of a noble aristocrat, it made the thief cringe. He saw the belt fly into view, clattering to the ground. Neil turned to the right, expecting to see the two lovebirds skittering across any second. To his surprise, he saw Calliope there. He turned around and then back to her, bewildered on how she had teleported! 

"Where did you go, my little sweet?" A heavily accented voice called. Neil couldn't tell if it was Vrettonian or Dre Costan, or one of the smaller provinces with peculiar speech and even stranger dishes. The serving wench bounded into view, her smile broad and suggestive, and her eyes far from innocent. 

And then she was gone. 

Neil blinked, stared, and then rubbed his eyes. He didn't know what he just saw. The woman passed by Calliope, and then both were just...gone. Neil felt his breathing falter for a moment. He knew full well he wasn't on the menu, and in fact had killed himself during one attempt and survived another from her, but he felt both unsettled and intimidated. 

What a woman.

"Madam, are you here?" The man called, still chuckling wryly. He was next into the walkway, and instead of the shapely woman, he saw Neil, dirty and somewhat smelling like a sewer. The two stared at one another like two dogs across a fence, alert and frozen. Neil pursed his lips when he saw the man go from surprise to pain, an unseen force tightening around his throat. Neil knew because he literally saw his throat shrinking, the noble's face turning blue. Red veins appeared in his eyes, and with a quick unceremonious [i]snap[/i], he fell to the ground dead. Neil looked around, and then slowly walked over to him. To his left, Calliope walked out of another walkway. Or...he thought it was her. She did not look like herself, or the wench that had been plucked out of existence. 

"Change into his clothes. We don't have much time." She said.