The Birth of (Yet More) Espionage

Wildcat Haven - 


 * ''Generally referred to as the "Old Quarter" by those that inhabit Crown's Refuge, the south-eastern region of the freehold - known as Wildcat Haven - is where the independent city deep within the northern Wildlands all began. Although not central, the original wooden home of Talus Kahar XIV still stands as a monument within the south-western area of the region, dedicated to all that the late Emperor of another realm sought to accomplish.


 * ''Wide avenues and smooth-cobbled streets are the order of the day within the "Old Quarter", with the entire sector having been given over to various warehouses and service buildings. Thus it is here that one can find the local bath house (popular with the Syladris), the main Tavern (popular with the Humans), a small collection of Inns, a handful of trade stores, a number of warehouses and grain silos, and a myriad of other buildings and facilities dedicated to the logistical side of running a freehold like Crown's Refuge.


 * ''Although it shares much in common with Wolfbane's Row to the north, Wildcat Haven lacks the compact lattice of buildings and streets in favor of open spaces and breathing room, making it equally suitable for either Human or Syladris to traverse. Also unlike Wolfsbane's Row, more have been taken into consideration regarding the physical nature of the Syladris themselves, with most (if not all) buildings and services offering entrances, furniture, and enough space for anyone to take full advantage of what's on offer.


 * ''Avenues lead back to and from their respective pathways towards the north and west, while the perpetual elegance that is Tempest Spire ascends towards the heavens in the northwest.

Zia's standing in the cold, rain soaking her hair and the cloak she holds tight about her shoulders, but she hardly seems to be in a mood to notice--or care--as she wanders along the street.

Taran - hooded and cloaked - leaves the tavern as he parts company with another Wildlander with a wave. Looking around with a rather speculative air, he frowns as he sees Ziavri. He makes his way toward her with an appreciable approximation of his usual long strides. "Zia...what is this? Are you well?"

Sopping wet, Sandrim walks in from the north, not even bothering with a hood as he makes his way through city paths.

Zia glances up as Taran appears, smiling faintly, though there's a certain worried look about her. "It's rain. I... will be all right. Fastheld is *depressing* these days." She grimaces. "You're walking better. You are well?" The sound of Sandrim's footsteps draws her attention away for a moment, and she offers the mage a nod and a bit of a wave.

Taran smiles a bit. "Getting better. As I have been walking the streets anyway for the sake of exercise, I have been putting it to as good a use as I may. But - the rain is cold and will be moreso. Perhaps we three should best speak indoors in the warm?"

"Keep to the left," Sandrim says to the two as he turns around. Two quick hops that way, a twist to the right. You should get back to my house dry enough if you follow me."

Cocking her head, slightly amused at Sandrim's dancing down the street, Zia nods agreement to that plan. "Aye... why not?" She waits a moment for Taran to join her before following along after Sandrim.

Zia smiles, folding her arms and tucking her cloak a little tighter about her shoulders--but mostly quiet for now.

Taran frowns a bit. "The investment in a leather cloak is very much worth the expense," he says mildly. "Tis only a pity Alainne is gone. In, in."

Sandrim nods his agreement, pushing open the door. "Come on, now."

Greenhouse - 


 * ''A strange front room for any dwelling, this greenhouse is put together to feel quite welcoming, if a little odorous. Tall walls surround the large, hexagonal room, made of sturdy birch, allowing for privacy and plenty of space overhead, and spanning the tops of these walls is a glass ceiling, supported by a wooden honeycomb lattice which casts its shadows over the floor. The ground itself is separated into four quadrants by a pebble path running through the greenhouse, cruciform in shape. Vegetable gardens fill three of these quadrants, all supporting healthy patches throughout the year, while the fourth quadrant is a small, grass-covered hump, with a wooden table at its top.


 * ''Four doors leave this greenhouse, one at each end of the paths, to a bedroom, a kitchen, a bath, and the exit to the street opposite the bed. By the street exit are a few racks and chests, filled with gardening tools and materials.

Zia follows inside, looking a little apologetic as cloak and clothing proceed to drop all over Sandrim's floor. "Aye." She nods to Taran. "I'll track one down, one of these days..." Soaked as she is, and as indifferent as she seemed to the rain when outside, she doesn't seem to mind the cover of Sandrim's home in the least as they step inside.

Taran finds a hook for his own cloak, and then another over a different patch of earth for Zia's. "The beauty of his design is, you never have to mop."

The rain drums on the glass ceiling as Sandrim makes for a third hook, not really caring above the cloaks or clothes watering his gardens. "That's one definite advantage, yes."

Zia smiles, slipping out of her cloak and hanging it up. Drip, drip, drip. Making a face at it, she tugs the (slightly tattered) sleeves of her blouse further down over her wrists. "I think that officially makes it genius, right there," she notes wryly.

Taran laughs quietly at that, and says, "Now what were you two wandering in the rain for in the first place?" He grins at Sandrim. "Without even a cloak." Sandrim gives Taran an innocent look as he starts to make his way for the table. "Fun."

Zia grins. "Why do I ever wander? You make wool sound like paper--it *is* good to some extent, you know." She considers it, adding, "I bet I could probably wring about a week's worth of drinking water out of it, if I needed to. No waterskins required." Even if she does look a bit like a prune at the moment.

Taran laughs. "Sandrim forgot his cloak. And wool is quite waterproof until it isn't, and then it is a *sponge*, unfortunately. We should get a fire going." He pauses. "I...am likely going to have to beg forgiveness from the both of you again. I have been meddling."

Sandrim raises an eyebrow at Taran. "Meddling how?" he asks. "And I'm not sure we can all fit back in my bedroom."

Zia lifts an eyebrow at that, the corners of her mouth rising in half a smile. "Oh? What have you done this time, and have you broken anything yet doing it?"

Taran spreads his hands. "I've been talking to people. This city...has been slowly forgetting itself, I feel, since the Annexation. So new to everything it changes easily, but what was best in it would make it stronger now." He shrugs. "I've been talking to people about...looking out for each other. Stepping up the Blood Guard patrols if possible, if there are volunteers that can be trusted. Talking to mages that I know about looking out for each other so that the agents of the Church have a harder time making them disappear....and to everyone about the missing children. This city used to have the strongest sense of community I have ever seen...I've been trying to wake it up again."

Sandrim considers that. "That's actually a good idea," he says. "And on a related note, we need to have a look inside Northreach."

Zia nods to Taran. "Aye. Can't hurt anything." She almost looks relieved, actually. She gives a like nod to Sandrim. "Aye..." A thoughtful pause. "The gates will be watched--North Gate probably less heavily than the main city gate, but still watched. And if they don't open North Gate, nobody's getting in, watched or not." She hms. "They'll need supplies, eventually. That will mean opening a gate somewhere."

Taran nods. "And from their view, the North gate is wiser. No forces from the Houses could come at them from that direction." He pauses, then looks to Sandrim. "...They likely do not know of the hideaway the wildlanders keep, either."

"Probably not," Sandrim agrees. "But more importantly, Kael and other mages might be trapped in there."

Zia sighs. "The vanished mages... I don't know that they trapped them somewhere," she says quietly. "They only recently captured Northreach. But... whatever's going on in there, knowing can only be useful. Northreach... seems like a strange place to go for, no?" She looks to Taran, tilting her head. "Hideaway." Both a question and not. "Where is it?"

"A converted burrow, not too far from the gate," says Taran. "I do not know who first turned it into a sort of open shelter, but it's reasonably hidden and can be stocked with supplies if need be. Plus, of course, being out of the weather. Kael would not be trapped in Northreach - he can shapeshift, and fly away under cover of night easily. Others may be though. And even if he is not trapped, he may require help to do whatever he is in there to do."

Sandrim nods to Taran. "Mostly... it has me worried about Meian. She'll charge the gates herself to get him out."

Zia nods, slowly. "Kael *could* be there," she muses. "Aye, he can shapeshift... but there are drugs, poisons, that can prevent that. He must be awake, and more or less coherent, aye?" She shakes her head. "I don't think he is. Northreach is a good choice for them. It would have to be in the North--that's where the Keep is. Road's End is full of old soldiers. Wedgecrest and Aegisport are both susceptible to attack by sea. Lionsgate is well guarded, but it's also much bigger than Northreach--more people to keep under control--and farther away. Same with Elkmont and East Leg, only without the added benefit of being surrounded by untamed and dangerous forests." The gears are turning as she restates current knowledge. "Northreach is already walled from the times when the mages were kept there. Two gates--one to the Wildlands, one to the rest of Fastheld. They're thinking strategically. That means that whatever project they intend to have Northreach for, it must be long-term. They want to keep it for awhile." She sighs. "I don't suppose either of you would happen to have a suit or two of golden armor stashed away in your closets?"

Taran shakes his head. "She above all should know that if he is in there it is because he chooses to be. Northreach simply does not have the *capacity* to hold a mage of his caliber against his will. I believe I can speak with authority on that point. But she is right in that he may need help, and refuse to leave until whatever he is there to do is done. Regardless of risk."

Sandrim nods. "You know, knowing them, whatever they are there to do might just be... free the city single-handedly."

"We hope," Zia adds. "Either way, we can't help them if we don't know what they need us to do--which still poses the problem of getting *in* to Northreach. I can look for Meian in Fastheld, then at least we'll know if we'll be looking for Kael once we get in. After that... What do we know of how the Church plans to attack? Of their strategy?"

Taran spreads his hands. "If events serve...they will use guile where they can. Woo the hearts of their former faithful back to them, and capture from within rather than resorting to direct assault." He considers this in silence a while. "...It may be a personal consideration that leads me to believe it, but I think they would take Darkwater if they can. It is from a certain viewpoint an ideal target. Ruled for long by a mage at least *tried* for corruption - perhaps enough in their eyes - and known to be unscrupulous, employing less-than-honorable servants...fairly near Sun's Keep I think? - but also, the guardian of the riverways. If they can take and hold it, they cleanse a stain of Shadow *and* have a quiet way into many cities that cannot be thoroughly guarded."

"They'd still have to pass through Hawk's Aerie," Sandrim says with a frown. "I don't know how amenable that township is...." He looks to the two. "Taran, we should try to bring all the mages we can back this way. Well, the ones we wish to protect. And... while we might try to protect Thayndor's keep, can't we just try having him lead a charge on Sun's Keep?"

"Phrased properly, he *might* be convinced to do it," Zia muses. "But he is out of favor with his house, under the new Duchy. At least, I would guess so. The Deepers have been disbanded, and who knows what he's got left in the way of forces within Darkwater. Sun's Keep... is quite the fortress, aye? He wouldn't go on a suicide mission, whatever the cajoling--too smart for that--and even if he did, his chances of success would be low. If he were to join forces, maybe..." She hms. "But it might at least put him on the alert. He could defend his own keep, probably. And denying the Church access to the waterways is something, at least." She considers Taran thoughtfully, pursing her lips. "If one were to join the Church's cause, then, and seek them at Northreach, say, for their teachings..." She smiles faintly. "Or a disease."

Taran blinks. "I cannot but think I would be wanted dead," he says quietly. "I am a mage, without mark, imprisoned and who escaped imprisonment through shadow in the city they now hold. I would be fortunate indeed if they have forgotten all that, if I have been quiet enough for them to forget it, but I would not stake my life on it. The body they dropped at the gates of Light's Reach was far more discreet than I. You speak of yourself?"

Sandrim nods slowly. "She makes the most sense... though I could get out the easiest," he says.

Zia nods. "Aye. I am not a mage, and I am not well-known, either." Pause. "My niece has fallen ill with the disease. It's not like I don't know what it looks like, what it does to a person. It would at least get me in. I also know Kael. If he is in there, he would recognize me... and I'm sure would understand why I'd be there. He trusts me, I think."

Taran shakes his head. "You have been only marginally more discreet than I," he points out to Sandrim. "Flying wagons of water, explosives on acarits...anyone in this city knows your nature as they know mine." He nods to Zia. "You are the only choice for such a task. But take both our runes with you? Once you are in we can come to you...and perhaps hide." He frowns a bit. "...If I bleach my hair white it may never forgive me, but with my eyes I might be mistaken for Sunkissed..." He sounds dubious.

Sandrim shakes his hiead. "I'll be... Road's End," he says. "That's where I'll head."

Zia grins at Taran, tilting her head to the side as if trying to visualize him with white hair. "You could bleach your hair for fun, if you'd like... but I think you'd have to take a bath in salt... or steel filings... or something else shiny before they mistook you for a Sunkissed. And then they'd call you a miracle, because I think you'd *still* look like Taran." She shakes her head. "If I make it in, I'll make sure neither of you get caught getting me out again."

Taran grins at Zia. "Aaactually...there's this little recipe for combining ground talc with very small amounts of powdered silver. It leaves a faint but noticeable sparkle on the skin. Nothing like Griedan's glow however. And..aye. I doubt I can disguise myself as anything but myself, without Shadow's aid. I am simply not made for it." He tilts his head at Sandrim. "What will you do there?"

Sandrim shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "Wait."

Zia smirks. "Mm. Sparkly Taran running around. As intriguing as it is, I don't know that it'd do any good." She turns to Sandrim, tilting her head to the side. "But there *is* something specific in Road's End, which would make it a good place to wait. It is the hanged mage?" She seems somewhat doubtful of that.

Taran blinks. "Hanged mage?" he asks, distracted, making his response to Zia somewhat absent. "No no. Not sparkly Taran. But perhaps, sparkly Zia."

"I'd go with normal-looking everyone," Sandrim says dryly. "But yes, a mage was hanged there. But also partly for father."

Zia smiles a bit. "You don't think it'd blow my cover a bit if I came in pretending I could glow in the dark?" She shakes her head, consider Sandrim, and nods. "Aye. That I can believe. You seem to be worrying far more over this dead mage than the last one, 's all."

"Road's End is his home," says Taran, somewhat reserved. "How the city reacts...his family is far more likely to be affected."

Sandrim nods slightly. "Yeah," he says softly. "I have that to think of."

"Aye." Zia nods her understanding. "Then... good luck. I will do what I can--starting with finding Meian."

Taran sighs. "Well. I suppose I can go with Sandrim and perhaps be more productive than hiding somewhere in Northreach until needed."

Sandrim tilts his head at Taran, then smirks. "It would be interesting, introducing you to dad."

"To Fastheld?" Zia looks a little surprised. "I thought you were in the middle of meddling here?"

Taran blinks. "I am one man, not a community...if the city truly needs me to poke it every day and direct efforts then it truly *has* gone native. It is the will of the whole that needed waking and I will do that until I go, and resume it on my return..." he actually looks worried. "Do you really think apathy has settled in so far?"

Sandrim shakes his head firmly. "Not even close," he says.

Zia considers, her gaze drifting to the window as if she can read the answer there--even though the view is restricted mostly to a dark and empty street. "No. I don't think they are that apathetic. But you seem to think what you've been doing has helped, aye?"

Taran laughs quietly. "I have no idea, my dear," he admits. "It helps *me* feel less useless. And I have not been chided for stating the obvious as to a child, which many of the citizens are *more* than ready to do. But whether my suggestions will mean anything I do not know. The city was at peace before this started, at peace since the Amnesty. I will not know until it wakes, what mood the city will wake in."

"Mm," Sandrim says with a frown. "I'm going to bed. Take care."

Zia watches Sandrim leave with a faint frown, before looking back to Taran. "I'd about decided you'd never again willingly set foot in Fastheld," she admits.

Taran turns that pale-eyed attention on Zia. "Sandrim is the best friend I have ever had," he says simply. "There is nothing he could ask that I would not give - and more, owe him, for all he has given me since our meeting. You...are very special to me. I could say the words to you, but I think it would be cruel to; such words negate the neutrality you prize. Nontheless, the truth is there; for your sake also I will do what is needed, whatever it is, and not consider my own preferences as being of account."

Zia sighs. "Then you go for Sandrim and I," she concludes simply. "If they need you here, Taran, don't hesitate to take me out of that equation--aye? I will be fine, and a rune will work just as well over long distances." She glances towards the door Sandrim just vanished through. "But him? I really don't know much about his family... but I get the impression having you there may be a help to him."

"I am sorry," says Taran quietly. "I cannot claim much nobility. The Refuge ...I try because I love what it was and it should be able to withstand these invasions if it wanted to. Fastheld...aye, for the two of you. Is that wrong?"

"No," Zia says softly. "Don't apologize, it's just... I don't know. I don't want you to feel some sort of *need* to go to Fastheld, where you already avoid, for my sake. For Sandrim, that is one thing. But not for me." She sighs.

Taran frowns. "Zia...I need to ask you why that should be so. Why Sandrim and not you."

"Because Sandrim is not me," Zia says softly. "And I am."

"And you are somehow less worthy of my concern?" asks Taran curiously.

Zia considers. "Am I?"

Taran shakes his head. "No. You are not less worthy of anything. But I do not love Sandrim. Not in the truest definition of the word. Nor does he love me, any longer. It is, perhaps, a unique sort of friendship...but it is not love."

"Sandrim may need you," Zia says quietly. "Those in the Refuge may need you. When it is time for me to 'join the Church', I can have nothing more of you than your rune--and that only if I'm lucky."

Taran considers this in silence for a bit. "Zia...I frightened you badly, didn't I. Do you do this, at all, to guard yourself from me?"

Zia draws a breath. "Aye, you scared me," she says. "I didn't--don't--want to lose you. But it didn't come entirely as a surprise, either. You're the sparrowhawk, and I'm more of a kite, after all." That may not entirely answer the question--or even finish her answer--but she lets it hang there for the moment.

Taran nods slightly. "You feel it is not wise to love what will frighten you...what you can only lose. Is that it?"

Zia shakes her head, slowly. "No. Not really. Nothing is stable. Nothing can be counted on to be there always. Life usually gets in the way. But..." She hesitates. "I am not yet certain I am anything more to you than an afternoon lover, and that is not a game I like to play, whether I'm a Friend as well or not."

Taran again is silent for a while before answering. "Do you want to know what you are to me, in terms as specific as those I use for Sandrim?" he asks. His tone suggests that she may have reasons not to.

Zia leans against the wall and folds her arms across her chest, chin lifting slightly as if bracing herself. "I want the truth, whatever that may be."

Taran seems to need to brace himself as well. "...I love you, and I am in love with you," he says carefully. "Your presence makes me happier even when we are discussing the end of the world. I wish that I could protect you and I know why I cannot. I trust your judgment on what needs to be done in Fastheld and I trust your ability to do it well. I would help you with it if you wished. And I enjoy showing you my own world as well."

This recital over, he sits quite still, watching her carefully.

Zia listens quietly, eyes closed, arms still tightly folded about her. "You mean that?" she asks, softly, and without opening her eyes. It doesn't really sound like doubt... but like she needs confirmation anyway. "Do you?"

Taran nods, with a wry sort of laugh. "Zia...about many things I might dissemble, but not this. It would hurt too much. There are many greater blessings in life than to be loved by a fool." Zia smiles a little, and opens her eyes. "I don't know about that," she says softly. "What would I trade it for? Money? Power? The solitude and pure neutrality I've sought for so long?" She shakes her head, and extends her hand towards him.

"Neutrality is a hard state to maintain," Taran nods, holding out his own hand to take hers. "I did not want to compromise yours without permission. Well I have learned that love must often step back when other matters hold precedence."

Zia folds her fingers around his, clasping the offered hand perhaps a little more tightly than is absolutely necessary. "And it is a lonely state. It's good to have at least a few Friends. And loves."

Taran laughs, grinning now. "Aye. We prize what we have; it is too rare not to."

Zia smiles, and nods. "Aye," she says simply.

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