Reaper — Roleplayer Guild

3 Months Ago, Vespa

Morana was watching upon the scene before her with great interest. A gang of thugs had been rounded up by the guards, tied and sitting in a circle on the ground out in the street while the rest watched on. She was invisible, hidden in the basement of the tavern. She had made her lodging there, unknown to anyone but the tavern keeper. She had been using it to observe and infiltrate the smuggling ring for weeks, establishing their operations and gathering enough intelligence to get them arrested. The gruff, burly man who owned the place had offered to let her stay indefinitely as long as she needed it, as repayment for saving his daughter from a pair of slavers.

It had happened by pure chance, she was in a brothel, on the pretext of being a patron to eavesdrop on the loose tongues that gathered in such places. She noticed a pair of men disappearing into the back room and followed suit, after bribing the madame of the place. She found the poor girl there, and rescued her after putting the slavers down. In exchange, she was given free room and board in the basement, since there was nowhere else in the tavern that was as discreet or inaccessible to other guests. The small slit opened up into the street and let air in was her vantage point from which she spotted the smugglers.

It was easy enough gathering the information she needed - those men were smart enough to use an apothecary to cover their real operations, but also left the place unguarded so as to avoid drawing attention. It meant the Raven could simply fly in and roost without anyone thinking to put an arrow in the unwelcome bird. She left the job of rounding them up to the guards, but they bore the colours of the People's Army - and they were different in that they were offering water and treating the smugglers with respect, albeit extremely strict and ready to draw their swords if the criminals tried anything.

One of the smugglers spat at the guard, and the young man in armour raised a steel-encased fist to smack the thug, but was stopped by the man beside him. There was no way she could hear what he said, but the shake of his head and careful reading of his lips told Morana the gist of the man's words. "They're criminals, but they're still citizens in our charge. Spit can't hurt you. Let it go."

Soldiers who treated common folk - criminals - with respect? Morana had always heard of this Republic they wanted to form, but she was skeptical. They were inferior in arms and influence, plus a woman in her line of work didn't have the luxury of believing everything she was told. The tempting feast is served with cups of poison, the saying went in her world. If something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. She'd need to look into this Sir Grey a little more.

Two Months Ago, Sir Grey's Bedchamber

Morana was reclined in Sir Grey's bed, reading a book from his personal collection when he walked in the door. Surprised crossed his face and he was ready to yell for the guards, but the spy gestured at his feet, where she had laid her daggers, bow, and quiver. "If I wanted you dead, I would have shot you through the doors on your way up the stairs and be gone before your body hit the landing below." She remarked, sighing and putting the book aside. "I'm here with an offer."

A Month Ago, Vespar

"I don't trust this Raven." Some commander barked, with a few voices of agreement behind him. "She is a woman who claims to be able to get information our best scouts and rangers themselves are unable to verify, who suggests we resort to dishonourable means and fight our battles!"

Morana was already in the room, well behind these men, but they had failed to notice her because she moved without noise Well, there was the fact that she wasn't encased in steel that clinked and made a din with each step. She slowly proceeded to the front of the room and silence fell when the men who objected her efforts in their war noticed her walking right past them. She seated herself on the war table, where their precious maps and charts were laid out, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, as if she were reclining on her own lawn.

"If you men are silenced by a mere woman just because she heard your complaints about her, I doubt you have the mettle to face your enemies." Raven retorted softly, gently, as if she wasn't delivering a barbed insult to their pride. "If you men are so proud that you will not face the facts, then I am afraid your war is already lost." She turned her head around to glance at the map on the table and waved an arm over it.

"I see a lot more pieces denoting the enemy troops than our own. I see them in better positions than our own." It was a simple statement of fact, and to prove her point, she pointed at the pin that marked Vespar. "You might be able to hold one city if the walls hold... for how long? How long before the food and medicine runs out? How long before dead - soldiers and civilians - pile up in the streets and spread a plague?"

"We have loyal men with strong conviction, they're worth ten enemy soldiers!" Someone argued. Morana sighed. It would take some time to prove her point.

"They might be, in a straight fight with the right conditions. How long does conviction fill a man's stomach, I wonder? They need only surround the city and starve us out." She refuted. Zealots were harder to convince than fools. "That's only considering the Valarians we're fighting. After this country is done tearing itself apart, how will you stop Valeal from marching in and finishing what we started ourselves? This isn't a war for the right to rule, this is war for survival. You can crush the enemies of Lord Theron and Myres, but will the remaining scraps be enough to hold Valeal back?"

"You think we're not-"

"Oh, I know you are aware of this, which is why I must ask the obvious - if you'll end up losing anyway in a fair fight, what other choice do you have?" She met the gaze of the commander who was adamantly protesting her involvement earlier. "What is your honour and pride worth if it damns the people you're fighting for? I am not asking you do raze cities or blackmail the enemy into submission, though those are fairly easy ways to break the enemy spirit. I am proposing you use the strength of your enemy against him."

She picked up the piece that represented Lord Theron. "Theron's troops are either regulars fighting under his bannermen, or mercenaries and peasants who are fighting in the vanguard. The former will likely remain a threat, but the latter is a fickle weapon. They are expected to die for no reward, treated with no respect and fight for three reasons - coin, food, and because they had no other choice. If one can convince these men they would be better served fighting for you - that if they picked the right moment, they could join you and be welcomed as equals or at the very least, leave the battle, Theron's strength will be much weaker when he fights you. He has a Valeal at his back to worry about, and diminishing his force's ability to fight will force him to decide who is the bigger threat."

Two weeks ago

Morana had finished her preparations and left Vespar to start her work. She had convinced the commanders who disagreed with her methods that they need her for the moment, even if they just thought her a necessary evil. It wasn't difficult to blend in with Lord Theron's army - there was one sure place a woman with her beauty and skills would never be noticed, and that was travelling with the "camp followers", women who accompanied the army for the sake of providing "morale" for the men. They traveled with the supply caravan, which was in the center of the formation. That meant it was lightly guarded once she avoided the main fighting force around it. That was simple enough, under the cover of night and waiting for the men to get busy whoring, gambling, drinking or some combination of the three.

A week ago

There was an outrage among the vanguard when they heard there would be less food for them. Their food stores had been greatly compromised by vermin and mold. Morana would not have been able to hide her smug grin were she not a spy by profession. All she really had to do was to bat a few eyelashes at the quartermaster and he let her sneak some food away from the stores every night. She used the opportunity to douse them in water to get rid of the salt they used to preserve the food. All there was left to do was wait for nature to do its work for her.

Four days ago

She actually played the part of camp follower tonight. She was tipping more ale into the glass of a man who belonged in the vanguard while he raged on about how poorly the vanguard were treated. "They expect us to die for them, but they don't feed us properly and those blasted regulars think they can get first pick of wine and women because they ride under some fancy colours! Well, who do they think is going to die for them if we up and leave eh? Only their blasted coin and food keeping us here."

Her dress was half open from the top and she leaned closer to run a finger across the man's cheek. "I heard Sir Grey's men get treated better, some of the other vanguard are going to join them behind the walls once they get close enough." She whispered innocently, seeding ideas in the man's head. "I heard there's going to be some feast for the regulars in a couple of nights, and they'll be leaving the supplies to the vanguard to guard."

Common sense would see through the lie straightaway, but funny things happened to man while he was drunk. Morana had repeated the same thing to a different man every night, and as long as enough people started whispering, the rumour would become truth soon enough.

Two days ago

Morana walked up to the regulars guarding the tent where the coin chests were held. She was dressed like a camp follower again, with her breasts almost spilling out and the hemline barely covering her thighs. "Go away, woman, we're on watch." The first guard snapped gruffly.

"Oh, but one of the girls made a wager with me, you see." Morana leaned in closer acting shy and worried she might get caught whispering her next words. "She didn't believe me when I said I could take two men at once. She said if I managed to convince you boys to help me prove it, she'd join in herself. I mean to make her eat her words."

It was such an obvious lie she half-expected them to point their spears at her, but they shared a glance as she lifted up the hem of her dress ever so slightly to tease them. That momentary distraction was all she needed. From a concealed pocket in her dress she fished out a fistful of sleeping powder in each hand and threw it in their faces, making them cough as they inhaled it. They cursed and advanced on her, but were knocked out before they could even take a second step.

"Sweet dreams." She giggled, as she watched the vanguard approaching. Well, they'd soon be raiding the treasury and she no reason be in the vicinity for them to identify her. Her red hair and facial features were hidden by a layer of dry mud and some rouge. The woman they'd be accusing of knocking them out would look very different from the real Morana.

Now came the hardest part. She was technically only here to spread dissent and sabotage Lord Theron's forces enough to encourage desertion from the vanguard and hopefully steer them towards Vespar's aid, but since she was here, she decided she might as well seek a greater challenge for herself.

One Night Ago

If there was one thing Morana learned about men in power, it was that they were willing to believe two things - people were obligated to obey them, and that women were interested in them. The latter was true for most men, but it was so much easier to convince nobles of the same. All it took was to plot her route around the camp each night to ensure she ran into one of Lord Theron's bannermen, and giggle as she passed them, playing the shy maiden.

It didn't take her long to gauge who among them were most easily swayed - she made sure that her routes all lead to the river, and whichever bannerman followed her there was her target. To his credit, he waited to be rid of his personal guard before wandering towards the river hoping to see her. She purposed came around a tethered horse and bumped into him, dropping a bucket of water and wetting both their clothes before feigning worry that she had offended him and pleading for him to be understanding. At least he tried to muster up the manners to try and charm her. She had anticipated the more aggressive, demanding approach, but he played the gentleman, asking her name and offering to let her dry off in his tent.

That had been three nights ago, and she rejected his advances that night and every day after, pretending to be tempted but afraid of "tarnishing his name", or being attacked by the other girls because she dared to move on a noble. She had finally caved earlier that day, agreeing to meet him at night in his tent in exchange for his discretion.

Things were fairly easy once they were in his tent, she acted nervous and he offered her wine, pouring some for himself. It wasn't difficult to gradually act bolder, as if the wine was removing her inhibitions, while discreetly ensuring he drank more than she did. Once he was sufficiently intoxicated and distracted by her sitting in his lap, she started spiking his wine with a potion that herbalists used to help the sick sleep. His idea of a seduction was to cover her neck breasts in honey and slowly lick it off her, which made it easier when his vision was blocked.

The only real complication was getting him to the bed to ensure he lay down and fell asleep. She didn't have any qualms about sleeping with her marks after seducing them, but she was covered in the sticky residue of dried honey and his drunkenness did little to put her in the mood. She straddled his hips as he lay back, pretending to tease and draw out the evening, but when his breathing slowed and evened out and she was sure he was asleep, she got off the bedding and went to search through the tent for information. She copied down the information on a separate parchment, securing it in a leather band around her thigh when she done.

The stolen information hidden under her skirt, Morana ran out of the tent, still giggling and acting as if she was leaving hurriedly to hide the fact that she had just been in the tent of a nobleman. The soldiers around her didn't even give her a second look. She skirted around to the outer edge of the camp, where the horses were tethered, and ran towards one of the younger squires, acting terrified.

"Please, help me! Some of the men in the vanguard were talking about some gold they had stolen from the treasury and they spotted me, they mean to kill me to cover up their crime! Please, you must tell Lord Theron!" The squire was so taken in by her fear and the news regarding the thieves that he rushed off without a word. That would cause enough of a commotion within the camp that she could get away.

It took her fifteen minutes to get to the small clearing where she had hidden her gear in the hollow of a dead tree, and get back in her leather armour. Riders would be patrolling the woods soon looking for deserters and thieves, she would have to make haste before they caught up with her. Hopefully, Doyle didn't forget to send one of his scouts out to the arranged rendezvous point with a fresh horse.

Present day

Morana rode through the gates of Vespar leisurely, as if there wasn't an army marching up to the city. The scout who had provided her with the horse had returned once his job was done, but she had insisted to wait a day to ensure her efforts bore fruit. She spotted some deserters breaking rank throughout the day, circling away from the main force and heading towards Vespar (she hoped, at least)

She arrived at where Doyle was speaking to some sellsword. From the caked mud on his boots and the dirt on him, she guessed he was one of the deserters. She caught the tail-end of the conversation and had to admire the guy's bravado. She had to make the same speech to them herself, albeit with a different goal in mind. He seemed capable enough to back his boasts, at least.

"So, tell me about Lord Theron's army." Doyle inquired of the mercenary, as Morana stopped beside the stranger, half-sitting and half-leaning on the table, smirking.

"I can do better, I can show you Lord Theron's army." She fished out her stolen intelligence and passed it to Doyle, who sighed and took it with look of resignation in his face. "Sorry to steal your thunder, but you can feel free to corroborate my information and fill in the gaps if I left any... or got the wrong information." She was confident neither would happen.

"I appreciate the work, Raven, but your job was to spread dissent among Lord Theron's troops and convince them to join us, not risk getting caught stealing information." Doyle protested irritably, clearly impressed by her work but frustrated it was her who managed it.

"I like delivering more than I promised." The redhead teased, pressing two fingers to her lips and blowing a teasing kiss in the sour soldier's face. "Gives you idiots more reason to keep me around."

She turned back to the mercenary. "Go on, say your piece, I want to see if my intelligence was solid. It'd be waste to endure that fool's humiliating attempt at seduction only to be fed bad information."

Name: Morana "Raven" Ithildin

Gender: Female

Age: 24

Appearance:

Homeland: Valaria

Race: Human

Spells: None
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Bio:

Morana was but a child when the war against Malfear took her parents. She was just one of many poor children to be orphaned during the war, but there were only so many people willing to take them in or places where they could find refuge and shelter. Morana found neither. Instead, she was captured by slavers and sold to a whorehouse. She remembered feeling relieved at first, trading shackles for a large mansion that seemed lavish and luxurious. She had thought some nobleman had purchased her off the slavers and she was free, or at least all she had was a life as a servant.

It wasn't until she learned the true intention of her purchase did life take a drastic turn. She was young, but that was how that particular brothel operated. They took in girls at a young age, trained them to be courtesans and paramours - women who could take on any role and charm any man. The Velvet Room was infamous for catering to the perverse tastes of the nobility. It was the wealthy and powerful who paid good coin to de-flower a girl, and the appeal of a woman who was willing to say and do anything you wanted was worth a lot to them. She taught to read and write, to play the lute and sing, to paint and dance. She was made to clean room while the older, mature girls were servicing their clients to de-sensitize her.

Once she was old enough to start growing curves, that was when the real training in the art started. At least, that's what the madame in charge of the Velvet Room called it. Morana was taught what was expected of her while she was with a client and how to do it. By this point, years had passed and she had long ago lost all sense of propriety about such things. It was the only life she had and it was made abundantly clear to her that escape was useless. She had food, clothing, shelter and a bed here - even if they stank of the men she was expected entertain. Her life was forfeit if she tried to escape.

If her parents had taught her anything about the sanctity of her body before their deaths, she no longer remembered such lessons. Her first client was a refined gentleman, if a little old. He paid a handsome sum to be the first man to have her and all Morana could really remember of that night was how much wine he had made her drink before having his way with her. Well enough that she didn't remember - she awoke the next morning to find her dress torn and bruises on her wrist. According to the other girls, she was lucky that was all she suffered.

So began her life as a courtesan, telling men what they wanted to hear and stroking their egos for coin. In time, a few were so enamored with her that they would exclusively seek her out and her alone when they visited the brothel. She was never told to expect them to show her any affection, nor did she have any notion of what romance was - in truth, that was hardly what she would have called it even if she did. They spilled their secrets and lives to her with each visit, and while Morana thought they were just emptying their burdens onto her, a forgettable face, she soon came to realise the value of what she had heard.

It came two years into her time as a courtesan - one night the client who entered her room was not a man but a woman. She was surprised, to say the least, but had heard that such things occasionally happened. It was a strange night for other reasons as well - her client had paid coin to be the one doing to seducing. Morana had had no experience with women prior, but soon she was eager to have the woman visit. Jolaine, the woman offered her name on her third visit, and their conversations grew longer each time she called. It wasn't long before Jolain started paying to have Morana for entire nights, and the woman's intent became clear.

Jolain was a spy, and she had approached Morana for the sake of finding out what her other clients had confided in her. Morana was smitten by now, and when Jolain offered her a life away from the brothel, a life that she could spend with a woman who loved her, and filled with excitement and intrigue. While Morana continued working at the brothel, selling secrets to Jolaine whenever she came to share the bed, her new mentor would teach her how to fight, how to manipulate and coerce information out of someone, how to wield a dagger if she needed to kill... How to poison a man, how to plan the hunt like a viper, sneaking into the bed of her prey to silence them while they slept.

On her twenty-first birthday, Morana was made a free woman at last. Jolaine had bought her freedom from the Velvet Room and took her in as a partner. The two soon established a system where Morana would seduce their targets, distracting them while Jolaine stole letters, information and secrets from their home. Some times Morana would simply walk out with the papers tucked underneath her dress the next morning. When they were paid to kill, Jolaine always made sure Morana's target was guilty of some crime - it was easier to kill the guilty who deserved death.

That would eventually form Morana's moral code. She was discovered one night by a chamberlain after she had silenced a guard captain, and the alarms rang immediately. She managed to evade capture but found no trace of her lover and mentor afterward. A day passed before she realized the truth - her mentor had been killed that same night, covering her escape. It turned out they had been fed false information, in an attempt to capture and kill them both. Someone must have wanted whatever information they had, and Morana regretted not sensing something was amiss. Jolaine had trained her better than that.

Her mentor now dead, Morana worked alone. Soon, she built a name for herself - "Raven". The underbelly of society knew her only by that name, and most believed she was a ghost story. Nobody wanted to believe that a lone woman was cunning or skilled enough to bring down slaver rings and cartels on her own. Nobody wanted to admit that they might have unknowingly gave her the information she needed when they hired that wench in the tavern, or chatted up that lady strolling along the pier. The guards knew, as well, that if they ever needed help finding criminals, all they had to do was post a bulletin and a letter would reach them the next morning.

To this day, only the Raven herself knows the true motivation for her actions - to find the one responsible for her lover's death.

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