DCC: Spellblade

Megan settled back to select her class. She'd already decided to remain human; she liked her body as it was. Plus, all her best fighting moves were practiced for her being this shape and size, and gaining a few ability points here or there wasn't going to change much. No, she'd discussed it with the other students and the general consensus was that they were going to remain human. None of them had asked Mr. Grey or Ms. Mills, and neither of their teachers had asked them either. She suspected that Mr. Grey was simply leaving them to make their own choices, while Ms. Mills was... probably exercising considerable restraint by not sharing an opinion. Two very different approaches, but they worked together when it counted and that had carried them all through so far. 

The dungeon offered a very wide selection, but it had selected a Top Three for her, as it apparently did for everyone else.

Flexible Specialist
Master melee combat at relatively close range, disarm or trip up opponents, and slash up opponents with whips, lashes, rope-darts, or flails. Use those same skills to tame wild beasts and possibly opponents as well. Adds the Disarm, Dodge, and Trip skills at +2 from existing skills, and generally pull off some Zorro-level shit by way of a +3 to Acrobatics skill and a +4 to Two-Weapon Fighting. 

She considered that, but only for a moment. It looked to be almost pure melee, and she was fighting with a mix of melee and magic. She wanted something more versatile than that. 

Spellblade
(blade not required) Mix melee and magic, and make them work together. Add one additional weapon at skill level 4, an unarmed fighting style also at level 4, and extend the range on your existing targeted spells. Learn to deflect incoming spells, starting with a level 3 ranking, and bind your existing spells to your melee attacks. Includes a free membership in the Spell of the Month club.

Okay, that sounded much better. Even the first two levels -- the so-called tutorials -- had convinced her that she needed to find a balance between having a focus and retaining enough versatility to survive. The Youth Unleashed was a large enough group that they could afford to specialize, but it was still within limits. The dungeon seemed just determined to pick that kind of setup apart. So they specialized, but cautiously -- making sure they could still take care of themselves, as well as each other. 

She looked at the third recommendation. 

Battlemage
Focus on attack, defense, and counterspells while retaining the ability to hold your own in direct, physical combat: +4 to Light, Medium, and Heavy Armor skills, Sword and Greatsword skills, +3 to Shape Spell and Extend Spell skills, and access to the Battle Spell Book Club.

She didn't need that. It was more magic than she was using, and the melee was obviously intended to be a fallback once the magics were exhausted. No, this wasn't really even a question. She selected the entry for Spellblade and locked it in. 

DCC: Night Elves

Hey, Tourmaline? 

Tourmaline Jones switched her attention from the menu in front of her, to the message from Damian Petr, who was maybe her boyfriend now. She wasn't entirely sure, and she didn't think he was, either. The Dungeon hadn't left them a lot of time to talk about it. But as they were drifting off to sleep the previous night, she'd asked him to let her know what he was choosing for a race, if he could. Hey, Damian. How's it coming?

I think I'm going to go with Night Elf for my race. Good stats, works well with what I'm doing, and looks pretty cool. You have that one available?

Tourmaline found it in her Top Three Recommended Races. Yes. One of my top three, according to the Dungeon. 

Mine, too. He hesitated, then sent, You know if you take it, we'll still be at risk of... 

I know. We'll just have use protection if we ever get that far. It's a good thing you keep getting those Perv boxes. She knew, all right. Omar the Djinn had told them: Crawler races couldn't crossbreed under normal circumstances. But if both of them became Night Elves, it should keep the possibility open. 

Not that she had any intention of having a baby. She wasn't even sure about having sex, honestly, even with Damian. Part of what had drawn her to him was that he was bold, direct, and outspoken where she was nervous, cautious, and quiet. On top of that, she was fifteen, and trapped with a bunch of her schoolmates in a dungeon that was trying very hard to kill them. But if they somehow survived all this and managed to reach adulthood, she thought Damian was the one she was most likely to want to have children with. They balanced each other out.

Night Elf, she decided, and made the selection. She just caught of glimpse of Damian confirming Night Elf before the world faded out around her.

Behind again...

This past weekend was a lot. Fun, enjoyable, but just a bunch of things going on. Which means, among other things, that it basically burned through the time I'd normally use to write stuff for the Blog o' Doom here and schedule it to go up. And, like, I knew this event was coming, I just hadn't realized it was coming Now until it landed on us. We also did our early voting -- which Firstborn drove back to town for and Secondborn kept insisting that she should vote in, even though she's still a minor. (I explained to her that no, we didn't do things like that; you only do voting fraud if you're a Republican.) Crotchstomper was so happy to see Firstborn that he nearly jumped up in front of me and lived up to his name. 

So. 

Yesterday wound up being a sick day, which then turned into a dealing-with-automobiles-that-don't-want-to-cooperate day, which then turned into an okay-I-got-that-much-done-go-home-eat-and-collapse day. Meanwhile I've been stuffy as hell, to the point where I'm wondering if I picked up a cold or something worse. (I am up to date on my shots, at least.) Today is my usual Work From Home day, but I've warned people that I'm taking it easy and may be a little slow to respond. 

We've passed the one-year anniversary of my Dad's death -- a while back, actually -- which was, y'know, fun. (NARRATOR VOICE: It was not fun.) Not sure how I feel about this. Dad's wife... my Stepmother, I guess? ...is still pretty raw about it, but no surprise there. (I went over on Friday and helped her set up a new work computer; the screen on the old one is in the process of dying and basically isn't showing the left half anymore.) 

All in all, there've been some frustrations, some definite rewards, and a certain amount of work that I hope will ease back off soon. Keep the faith, friends: it never rains but that it pours, but the storm does pass on eventually.

RoH: Aftermath of a Duel

Remant cleaned his blade on Sir Dominic's cloak, then sheathed it and came back over to his Steward. For a moment, he just stopped to study Talaric Reville; then he nodded. "Talaric Reville?"

 The undead former Viscount Durzen nodded. "Firstborn of his father, and now grown into an honorable man." He sounded proud. 

Remant sighed. "I wish this could have been otherwise," he told the young man -- who was younger than him, despite how much they looked the same age. 

Talaric swallowed. "I wish my father had dealt with you honorably," he said, "or merely conceded his ambitions."

Remant nodded. "You are your father's heir, now. Are you prepared for that?"

"Of course not," said Talaric. "First of all, it's at the King's discretion. Second, while you've slain most of his... loyalty-before-honor soldiers, I'll still have to sort out the rest. Third, somewhere in there I'll have to negotiate an advantageous marriage, and I have no idea how to even begin with that."

Remant laughed. "I'll recommend you to the king," he said, and watched as the younger man's eyes widened. "If you need help with some of the... troops... talk to Dirimant, here. He has experience that I simply don't, and seems inclined to help you."

The dead man nodded. "Indeed I am. If you had been born ten years earlier, I would have pressed for a match with my daughter, and much of this might have been avoided. As it stands, despite your father's... mistakes... I am still prepared to consider you a family friend. You would be welcome at the manor, and I can help you with the more troublesome remnants of your father's legacy."

Talaric swallowed. "Thank you, Sir. I am..." He looked at Remant. "You're certain you can have the king pass the knighthood on to me?" He shook his head. "I'm not even sure I want it."

Remant chuckled. "That's a very good place to approach it from." 

RoH: The Duel

Sir Dominic Reville rode into the dueling ground just as the sun was brightening the far horizon, and swung down off his horse with an easy movement. He'd brought only a single retainer, a younger man who might have been his son. 

"Hmph," he said, and Remant decided that was his moment to step out of the trees. 

"Ah," he said. "Sir Knight."

"You did show up," Reville growled, as his companion dismounted as well. "Will your Second discuss terms with my Second?" 

Remant had spent nearly an hour discussing that the previous evening; what with one thing and another, he was very glad that he could get by on half as much sleep as most Vanil did. "Certainly," he called back, and smiled as Dirimant Acklin stepped out behind him. 

"I'm very disappointed in you, old friend," the former Viscount said. "Treachery? Theft? Hardly worthy of a man of your renown."

The knight actually hesitated, and his companion -- son? -- flinched. Then Reville said, "You think any noble deserves their position? No. We get it because we are strong enough to take it."

"We accept that authority as a trust," said Dirimant, "and we try to do our best by the people we rule, because their prosperity is our prosperity, and ours is theirs."

"Enough," said Reville. "I will not be lectured by a dead man. Set the terms, and let us have this done."

The younger man came forward, and Dirimant Acklin stepped forward to meet him. "Talaric Reville," he said by way of greeting. "It's been a few years. I'm glad to see you again, though the circumstances could be better."

"They could be much better," Talaric said. "You should flee."

Sir Dominic locked eyes with Remant. "I can't believe even you would be so foolish as to bring him here with you." Then he shouted, "Take them!" and drew his sword. 

Remant sighed and came forward, stopped beside the former Viscount Durzen. "Betrayal," he said, "negates the formalities. Still, for the record, I will accept only one set of conditions: to the death, no quarter asked and none given."

Talaric Reville nodded. "Accepted," he said, and stepped aside.

"What?" howled Sir Dominic. 

Remant drew his blade and started forward. "Come, now. This is either a duel, in which case I shall limit myself to weapons, or else you forfeit your honor and flee, and I hunt you down like the dog you are."

It seemed Sir Dominic wasn't entirely a coward; he came forward, putting his shield in front of him and sword above his shoulder. Remant recognized the technique; it was a solid, cautious approach, especially against an unarmored opponent such as Remant appeared to be. Despite the shield, Sir Dominic had disdained armor, though he'd clearly been expecting his troops to step in and resolve the matter.  

The man was an experienced fighter. It took two passes for Remant to nick his sword-arm, another to open a wound on the side of his calf as Remant passed by. 

"Stop toying with me," growled the knight. 

"I'm not," Remant told him. "You're skilled, and the enchantments on that sword and shield are impressive." He took a step back. "But no, you aren't worth toying with."

He came in precisely, slapping a thrust from the sword aside and tearing it from the knight's grip, then twisted in past the shield and sank the tip of his own blade into Sir Dominic Reville's heart. The man regarded him with a faint look of surprise. 

Remant raised a foot and kicked him off the tip of his blade. Sir Dominic hit the ground on his back, sword skidding away, the life gone out of him. 

"Honorless," Remant pronounced quietly. 

Valthor: Elvish Warship For The Taking

If there was one thing Valthor enjoyed about sailing with pirates, it was their flexibility. Naval ships and merchantmen had very strict rules, procedures, and loyalties. Pirates, on the other hand, would cheerfully flee an engagement if it seemed to be going badly. Alternatively, if they were overmatched and knew it in advance, they felt free to set up ambushes, deploy dirty tricks, or wait for reinforcements rather than risking their ships. It was a perspective that he legitimately understood.

Which was, in a way, how he found himself fighting his way up through the decks of a Seravandrian sloop, the same one that had tried to hunt them down a few weeks earlier. It wasn't just that the Captain wanted to warn the wood elves away from the ring of islands and the lands beyond them; he wanted to take the ship for the pirates, and Valthor was entirely in favor of that as well. On top of that, his lover Kiela was part of the group that would be clearing the top decks and possibly fighting their way down, and if it got past them the warship was likely to take its frustrations out on Sneaksail Bay. Valthor needed both of them intact. 

 Sure, there was fire and chaos and a certain danger of gunpowder kegs spontaneously exploding, but that was what kept the job interesting. The cannoneers were easy prey, but the guards on the upper decks were more formidable. And the challenge was to take the ship while still keeping it intact, which was considerably harder than just sinking it. 

If they succeeded, there would be a new warship available to the pirates -- along with the cannons, powder, and shot. There would be Elvish officers that they could ransom. And Sneaksail Bay would hopefully be grateful enough to help them get to their next goal: mermaids tears.  

Remant: Pre-Dawn Preparations

It was still dark, but things were stirring on the western edge of the city walls. This area was mostly thornwoods, which was why it still remained wild aside from the dueling grounds. Thornwood trees were covered in inches-long spikes, nearly too tough to saw, and too knotted to be any use for woodworking. A light mist hovered just above the ground, and Remant's eyes picked out figures waiting near the trees: one, two, three, four, five, six. 

Sir Reville falls back on his favored tactics. He wondered just how much of the man's fame and fortune had been built on such methods. The knight himself wasn't here yet; he would need to make an entrance closer to dawn, so as not to arouse suspicion. 

Remant sighed, and slipped between the trees. There were times when he wished... but no, that would have been too much, even for him. He was swift and silent enough to do this as he'd been taught, direct and personal and with as much honor as his would-be ambushers would offer him. 

The first man died silently, and Remant eased the body down so that it lay in the leaves, behind the nearest of the thornwoods. 

The second man died with an arrow through the throat, and Remant brought himself forward in time to catch him and make sure he hit the ground gently as well. 

The third man was looking everywhere around him, and Remant would have thought that he'd heard something except that he hadn't called out a warning. After a long moment of observation, Remant concluded that the man was simply scared. He certainly was when Remant pushed the point of his dagger against the small of the man's back. "Say anything and you're dead. Make a noise and you're dead. You have one chance to slip away and go home, and this is it. Nod if you want to live." 

There was a brief pause, and then the man nodded. 

Remant tugged him gently around until they were facing each other, then nodded back towards the city. "Go silent. Go slow. And thank your gods for this blessing."

The man nodded, swallowed, then unbuckled his sword-belt and handed it to Remant. When he started away through the woods, well... it wasn't silent, but he chose his steps with care and it wasn't loud, either. Good enough.  

The remaining three were waiting silently, and died equally silently. Remant looked around but didn't see a sign of any more. He circled back around to the far side of the field, opposite the narrow cart-track that led from the city to the dueling grounds -- duels were still legal here, it seemed, and sometimes they had an audience -- to wait. 

RoH: Mansions and Masters

There were servants waiting when the carriage pulled up, and the nearest stepped up to hand Lariza Sundarin down from the carriage. 

"Thank you, Guillame," she said as she stepped onto the cobbled drive.  

"Will you be requiring your luggage, m'lady?" asked another servant. 

"Not this time, Auren." She smiled, and he flushed and ducked his head. The servants were, Remant observed, as pleased and familiar with her as they were with the former Viscount... who had appeared at the door, beside his butler. "I'm here to talk to my father, and say goodbye to you and the rest of the servants. I won't be staying overnight."

Remant didn't know any of the servants' names, but it was obvious he'd have to learn them. That would take time that -- thanks to his deal with king -- he wouldn't have for a while, but fortunately he'd have the former Viscount to keep things in order while he was gone.  

She turned towards the main door and approached, then rushed up and hugged her father.

"My daughter," Dirimant Acklin said. 

"I'm so sorry for letting Valeria throw killers at you. My husband and I need to leave town, and I didn't know what else to do." 

He pulled her close. "The young man has reminded me that I should not have put you in that position. I do apologize."

Remant turned away as she burst into tears. He wasn't, and couldn't be, a part of this. The... footman? ...strolled over to him stopped a few respectful feet away and asked, "Will you permit me to speak above my station? I'm sure there will be an announcement, but we're all desperate to hear how it went."

"I'm sure," Remant chuckled. "It's only your livelihoods, after all. So yes, there will be an announcement, but in the meantime you may reassure the entire staff that your jobs are secure. I am now the Viscount Durzen, and I am immediately appointing your former lord as my Steward. Nobody needs depart unless they wish it, and if they do then I will see them off with a letter of recommendation and a gratuity for their work." He hesitated, then added. "I have a rendezvous with Sir Reville scheduled for dawn tomorrow, and then I'll need to make sure everything is arranged fairly quickly -- I have business out of town that may keep me away for several months."

"I see, m'lord," Guillame said smoothly. "That is... most fortunate."

RoH: Moving Forward

"May I come back with you?" asked Lariza. 

They were standing outside the solicitor's office. Remant was reasonably confident that Valeria would file the paperwork for the purchase correctly; he'd informed her that he'd check on it before she received her fee, and she was going to need that fee. "Of course," he said. "I'm sure your father would be glad to see you before you depart."

She nodded. "That," she said, "and I'd like to say goodbye to the estate -- and the servants. I grew up there, after all. So you're essentially leaving everything in place, but taking a few rooms for yourself?"

Remant nodded. "I don't need anything more, but I've been appointed the Viscount Durzen and I can appoint your father as my Steward, since he can't be Viscount himself. That will settle income for the estate, and he can represent me when I'm away -- probably better than I can represent myself."

Lariza laughed. "That is... not a solution that Valeria and I ever considered."

Remant shrugged. "And it frees you up to move to... Foringelt, was it?"

"Yes indeed. Like everywhere else, it's still recovering from the war, but this will leave me with a comfortable fortune and get me out of the way of the politics shaping up here in Capital. I wish I'd known the true state of affairs before now, but... how did you get my father to talk to you? I was told he'd murdered a dozen or so hired mercenaries who tried to pry him out."

"Same way I dealt with Sir Reville," Remant shrugged. "I didn't die."

She laughed again, more gently. "You seem very good at that." She nodded at her carriage. "Shall we?"

RoH: A Simple Purchase of Property

Valeria A'Maris went pale when Remant entered the room. Her secretary had tried to keep him out, and was currently sitting paralyzed at his desk. The stairs hadn't been guarded, which was just as well. He had resisted the urge to kick the door open, and come in quietly instead. 

The tableau before him was revealing. Valeria was behind her desk, and the two seats in front of it were occupied by a Vanil woman in her mid-thirties in a lovely silk dress and a Vanil man in his late forties or early fifties, wearing a very respectable outfit which included a long coat and a dress sword. 

Remant dropped the four swords he'd taken from his attackers beside the man's chair, then leaned down and slapped him across the cheek. "Is the old dueling ground at the edge of the city still open?" he asked. "West, just beyond the walls?"

The man glared up at him. "Yes."

"Good. Then I'll see you there at dawn."

"You have no right--" 

Remant shrugged. "We could pursue this in a court of law if you prefer. The witnesses were very clear with the Watch about who started the fight and who tried to avoid it. And your men were very clear about who sent them."

The knight's face turned red. "What have you done with my men?" 

"Get out of my chair, and go find out."

"Valeria?" asked the woman. "What is happening? You told me..."

Valeria shook her head just as Remant straightened. "And you," he said, "were the only one who knew I'd be visiting that particular temple. So we're going to complete this sale, and then you're going to be looking for another career. When word of this gets out at court, nobody will trust you with their dealings."

"Valeria?"

Remant paused, gathered himself, and then turned to look at her. "You must be Lariza... Acklin?" 

She shook her head. "No longer. Lariza Sundarin, as of... well, quite a few years ago. May I ask who you are?"

Remant nodded, and watched as Sir Dominic Reville rose from his chair and moved hesitantly out of the room. "I go by Remant," he said. 

"Ah," she said. "Like the legendary hero."

He sniffed, amused. "I'm not so legendary," he said. "But I worked out a deal with your father and brought it to your solicitor yesterday. It's more money than Sir Reville would have paid, and doesn't require me to kill your father, regardless of what he's become."

"Oh?" she asked. She sounded... well, more interested than anything else.

He nodded. "Unfortunately, I mentioned where I would be retrieving the funds to Valeria, and she sent word to Sir Reville, who set four of his armsmen to assault me and take the letter of credit, essentially allowing him to purchase the property without drawing on his own funds."

Lariza considered that for the better part of a minute. "And what happened to his men?"

Remant dropped into the chair and glanced down at the swords on the floor. "Nothing good."

She shook her head. "I should have known, when he increased his offer. He was my father's friend, and kind to me when I was a child, but..." she looked at Valeria A'Maris. "And you. I trusted you." She sighed. "Get the contract out -- and there had better be nothing amiss. I assure you I will be reading the whole thing." 

Music: Try Jesus

 Tobe Nwigwe:

RoH: Another Ambush

Remant was well outside of the Temple of Rilique and the square in front of it, and heading down the street towards Solicitor A'Maris's office when two men stepped out of an alley in front of him. Their coats were heavier than they should be -- likely brigandine -- and they wore swords and had scarves covering the lower halves of their faces. 

He stopped and glanced back, seeing two more men coming up behind him. With a sigh, he spoke a Word and removed himself to the far end of the street. He almost managed to melt into the crowd, but someone behind him was exceptionally observant; there were shouts, and the rapid pounding of feet. Here at mid-morning, the street was only lightly crowded; still, there were a few shouts of protest as the men raced after him. 

It would be simple enough to remove himself further, but Remant was starting to get irritated. This couldn't be an accident; they were too persistent, and too sure of their target. No, these four had been sent. 

So he stood and waited, not even drawing his sword until they came closer. All four had blades out now, and Remant extended his empty left hand as he targeted the closest one. The bolt of magical force took him in the right kneecap and sent him face first into the cobbled street, causing the man behind him to stumble and forcing the other two to maneuver around him. 

Remant voided a clumsy stroke from the stumbling man, and stabbed him the bicep, twisting his blade before he pulled it back out and kicked the man into one of his companions. The man's sword hit the ground with a clatter, and the armored plates of his brigandine coat did nothing to prevent Remant's point from doing its work. 

The next man came in more carefully, and Remant smiled. No mere ruffians, these; they were armsmen, and well-trained. People were beginning to shout as Remant slid in past the man's attack, caught his sword-arm at the wrist, and punched him in the face -- once, twice, a third time -- with the abbreviated basket hilt on his sword. The armsman dropped like a rock. 

The first one was just starting to stir; the second had sunk down against the wall of a cobbler's shop, clutching at his arm in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. The last one had started forward, eyes blazing with visible hatred even with the lower half of his face covered by his scarf. 

"Are you sure?" asked Remant. "I haven't killed any of you yet, and I'd hate for you to be the first."

The man didn't answer; he just stalked closer, moving from angle to angle with his blade. 

"You're going to lose a hand," Remant warned him. 

He came in anyway, and Remant dropped back, keeping him at a distance and feeling him out. The man was good, trained and experienced both, doing his best to close in without over-extending himself. If all four of them had come at him at once, Remant might have been in trouble. 

There we go. This was someone who customarily fought with a shield, but hadn't brought one along because it would be too obvious on the street. A side-sword was one thing, and a coat of brigandine was close enough to a leather coat not to attract too much attention, but a shield would have been another matter altogether. 

Remant shifted to attacking his right side, forcing him to shift his stance and parry cross-body, then came in and twisted, cutting down. 

The man's blade hit the ground, his hand still attached to it. He screamed, clutching at his stump, and Remant sighed, reached into a belt pouch, and pulled out a bit of cord. "Stay still," he said, as he looped it tight around the forearm, then used a moment of conjured flame to cauterize the wound. 

The man passed out.

The first man had come to his feet and was trying to flee, but his knee wouldn't support him and all he could do was hop while dragging it behind him. Remant cleaned his blade on the unconscious man's shirt, stood, and strode after him. 

RoH: Business with the Temple

"Your pardon, good sir," said the priest -- or possibly priestess; with the shorn hair, he couldn't be entirely sure. "Only those with business in the Temple may bypass the line."

"Good morning," Remant said, forcing himself to smile. "As it happens, I do have business with the Temple. Some years ago, I deposited some valuables with the Temple of Rilique in distant Sandovar, and I need to pull a letter of credit against that deposit."

The priest(ess) nodded. "Ah, I see. Very well, come with me." 

She led him into the Temple, making an almost immediate left out of the antechamber, and led him over to a row of desks, where another, older priest looked up. "Ah, Lesh. And a bit of new business, I see." 

She nodded. "He says he needs to make a withdrawal."

"I see. And your name, sir?"

"Remant." 

"And have you a token for your deposit?"

Remant nodded and fished the small coin out of his pouch.  

"A moment then, goodman Remant." The older priest rose from his desk and disappeared back into a sort of library, its walls lined with shelf upon shelf of identical books. He returned after a couple of minutes, carrying one of them, then opened it and began flipping through it. "Ah," he said after a moment. "Here you are. Yes, a deposit -- just at the end of the war. And in a rather large amount, at that. Very well. We can provide a letter of credit, or with a few days we could pull the sum together in coins. How much would you care to withdraw?"

"Six thousand," Remant told him, "as a letter of credit."

"Easily done," said the priest. He pulled a sheet of parchment out of the desk, filled in the critical sections but left the line for who the credit was to be issued to blank. He had Remant sign it as well, then made a notation in the book, and then on a scroll on his desk. 

"I thank you," Remant said, taking the letter of credit and rising from his chair. "A good day to you both."

"Likewise," said the older man, sliding the token back over to him. Remant bent down, took it, and followed the young priest(ess) out of the Temple. 

Music: Tear The World Down

We Are The Fallen: 

RoH: A Bargain

When Remant left the palace, he had a signet ring and a scroll proclaiming him the new Viscount Durzen -- which would likely anger Sir Dominic Reville, but that was a problem he could address later. He had what he needed for tonight, and could visit the temple in the morning; it shouldn't take long to collect the letter of credit. 

He'd taken a room in a rather squalid inn that charged either by the hour or by the week, and then used a variety of Expulsion spells to make sure the room was fit for habitation. He'd leave them in place when he departed; anybody staying there henceforth could count on being cured of most diseases, rid of pests and parasites, and  incidentally free of hauntings and other visitations. The bed wasn't comfortable, but he'd spent enough time sleeping on a thin mat laid atop stone or worse that he barely noticed. He sealed the door, laid himself down, and fell into the contemplative replacement for sleep that he'd learned from his Santu. 

The night passed uneventfully, and he rose in the morning, dressed himself, and paid the innkeeper another week's rent. He left his pack behind, and went to visit the temple. 

The Church of Rilique was a sprawling stone complex of connected buildings, with a line of petitioners in front of the main door. As the god of money and success, Rilique had become very popular among those rebuilding -- or profiteering -- in the wake of the war. The success of its priesthood had grown in no small part from their role as bankers, creating reliable ways to store money and providers of loans and investments with reasonable risks. 

Remant had opened an account with them when the weight of his captured treasures had surpassed the capacity of his magical storage. He should have found better things to do with them, he thought, but by the end of the war he wasn't even sure what money was worth anymore. You couldn't eat it; you couldn't fight with it.  In the twelve years since, it had returned to being a way of exchanging things and measuring how much was available of what, but... No, he still didn't really understand it. 

That wouldn't keep him from using it.

He bypassed the line and came up the temple steps, only to be stopped at the entrance by a priest.   

Music: In Plain Sight

 Winter In Eden:

Valthor: Kiela in Action

Kiela waited with the rest of the boarding party at the top of the stone pillar. She knew the drill: the explosions would be the signal. Valthor and his companions would board the ship from below, using whatever holes the mines had made, and work to disable the forward cannons. She was part of the group that would be dropping onto the deck, and trying to do the same from above.

She was ready for this. The shivering in her body was just anticipation, definitely not fear. No, she was going to go down there and do her best to keep the damned elves away from her lover. The captain wanted this galleon, and she could see why: it was huge, well-armed, and would be a boon for the admiral as well as a great loss for the  Seravandrian command. 

She checked her cutlass, but it was still sheathed at her waist, right where she'd left it. The same for her daggers. Her bow was slung across her back, ready to use, and her armor was still in place. She resisted the urge to adjust it. She was ready, damn it. The galleon was coming closer...

That's a cursed lot of ship, she thought, and then the explosions began.

She moved before she could think about it. 

Valthor: Shipboard Drama

"I saw you talking to Vikke," Kiela said. "I don't need to worry, do I?"

Valthor shook his head. "Not at all," he said simply. "I caught her in a friendly mood, but I'm already with you and she's causing more than enough drama already. She's frustrated, and looking for ways to further advance herself -- personally, politically, I don't think she much cares how. It worries me, because it's likely putting the rest of the crew in an awkward position."

"You don't need to tell me," Kiela said. "We're all happier now that we got some loot from that sloop and that merchantman, so it's harder for her to stir up trouble, but..."

Outside of the small, hidden enclosure in the cargo bay, someone cleared their throat. "Are ye decent?"

Valthor actually looked down to check, but yes -- they were both still clothed. "We're fine," he said. 

"Siman, is that you?" asked Kiela. 

"Aye. Meself and Tamra." 

"Come on back, then," she said. 

Siman was a human, tall, lean, and dark-featured. He came around the boxes, and Tamra followed, holding his hand. She was a sea elf, like the captain, equally comfortable on land or water. She smiled at Kiela, nodded to Valthor. "Gossiping?" she asked. 

"After a fashion," Valthor admitted, nodding back to her and Siman.

"We were talking about Vikke," Kiela said quietly. 

"Stirring things up," Siman said, sounding vaguely disgusted. "Trouble between her and the captain, I reckon."

Valthor shook his head. "She's... impatient. Bored. Frustrated, and causing drama because of it."

Kiela nodded at that, and Tamra shook her head -- in disapproval, not disagreement. "She wouldn't be satisfied if she was Captain herself," the sea elf said. "Fame and fortune all the way. Wants the glory, but not the responsibility. She might get it, too."

Valthor nodded. "I counseled her to patience, but I doubt she'll listen."

"Ye tried, though," said Siman. "Good on ye for it."

"Listen," Kiela said. "I think we're absolutely killing the mood. Why don't we leave you two to find it again? I think Valthor and I have sorted out everything we needed to sort."

Valthor nodded. 

Siman frowned thoughtfully. "If you're sure. We didn't mean tae interrupt ye, either."

"It's fine," Kiela said firmly. "We first met in the baths, you know? Might be time for nice, hot water." 

RoH: Quid Pro Quo

"So," asked the king. "What sort of favor did you have in mind?" They were all four sitting at the table, and the servants -- who, in Remant's experience, always knew more than they should -- had appeared with two additional plates and goblets, the plates containing a spicy noodle dish and the goblets a very good white wine. 

Remant sipped the wine, then swallowed. "I need you to appoint me Viscount Durzen."

"Oh?" asked Dorrin. "I was aware of the Viscount's incomplete demise, and the struggle over his estate and title, but since nobody had brought it to my attention formally I was waiting to see how the family handled it."

"So far as I can tell, they made a few demands and then started hiring mercenaries to go and kill the dead man. That was where I got involved; I was looking for work."

Queen Lorraine frowned. "You know you needn't do that, yes? You could live here, and we would keep you..." 

"I know," Remant said gently. "It keeps me occupied, and my mind off my memories. In any case, I was able to meet with the former Viscount -- without being killed -- and I noted several interesting things. First, the servants still worked the estate. Nobody had fled, nobody seemed concerned that their employer was no longer among the living. Second, Dirimant himself seemed primarily interested in being left alone to continue his work, pay his people, and generally go about his business. So instead of killing him, I decided to buy the estate from his daughter -- who, I'm told, wishes to leave the city for more favorable climes -- claim a wing for myself, and leave the rest of it to the former Viscount and his servants"

"Ah," said the king. "At which point you'd... what? Appoint Dirimant as your Steward, and leave him in charge of making decisions, watching the finances, and representing you at Court when you were traveling elsewhere?"

"Pretty much," Remant admitted. "The man clearly knows what he's doing, the servants adore him, and he's both magically adept and extremely knowledgeable. I'd hate to lose a resource like that."

"As would I," remarked Isabelle, studying Remant more closely. 

"...Very well," said King Dorrin, after exchanging a long look with his wife. "I have a few misgivings, but... as it happens, I have a favor I need to ask of you as well."

RoH: An Audience With The King

The dining room was small, meant for private meals, and tucked away well back within the palace. It contained only two occupants, sitting side by side at a table that likely wouldn't have seated more the four people comfortably. The painting on the far wall showed the former queen, Raquel the Just, who had courted scandal and very nearly been deposed for dissolving the high courts and turning even noble disputes over to the commons. 

"Your majesties?" asked Isabelle. "I beg your pardon, but I believe you know this man."

The King rose immediately. "Indeed I do." He came around the table, and the Queen was close behind him. "He was introduced to me as a young squire, and then returned to assist the kingdom with a... small problem, while you were still an apprentice."

Isabelle hesitated as the king came forward and hugged Remant; then the queen came forward and kissed him twice, once on each cheek. 

Remant flushed. The last few years had aged them both -- hair streaked with silver, lines around the eyes and at the corners of their mouths -- but Dorrin still looked to be in fighting trim, and Lorraine was still slender and beautiful. He was out of practice with any sort of intimacy these days, even between old friends. And those are the only kind I have left. 

"You haven't aged a bit," the king observed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that."

Remant shrugged. "I don't know whether to call it a blessing or a curse." 

Queen Lorraine smiled at that. "Both those things can be true," she said gently. 

Remant found himself smiling -- genuinely smiling -- for the first time in a very long while. 

"Isabelle, it's up to you whether to stay or go. I assume you know who this is?"

"He is Remant, then," she said. "I didn't think he could be much of anyone else."

King Dorrin nodded. "Keep that to yourself, if you would." He turned back to Remant. "And you! What brings you to our table? I assume this isn't a social visit -- you were never much for those, even before you disappeared into the wilderness." 

"It should be," he admitted. "It should have been the first thing I did. But you're correct. I'm here because I need a favor."