Scales and All

Palace Road


 * ''A curving ribbon of rough reddish-gray cobblestones leads from the Lightholder Bridge, past a muddy path that angles down toward the gurgling Lightholder River, and up the slope of Caryas Hill in roundabout fashion marking its approach to the highest point in the realm of Fastheld: the majestic keep, wherein dwells Emperor Zolor Zahir.

"A bit more touchy after the lock down now, are they?" Sniffs a miffed duchess atop her horse as they slow from a gallop into a brisk walk in retreat from the palace gates. A striking embodiment of the Mikin colors they make - an ebony horse with white starburst bearing a rider draped in red and black. "No official seal, no entry. Perhaps next time I shall even melt the wax before their eyes..." A little shiver silence Rowena's grumblings for a moment and she takes the time to adjust her cloak about her person. Umbrus doesn't seem to share in her irritation. In fact, he seems to be enjoying the cool night air, or so sayeth the extra lift in his step and occasional toss of his head. "Well, I don't see what you're so contented about. You didn't even get to visit with the mares."

Thundering hooves approach behind the Mikin; another rider engages in much the same activity as Rowena, sending up plumes of frosted earth as his horse slows a few paces ahead of Umbrus.

"Perhaps they haven't heard," the rider's voice, familiar, calls from atop Springtail. "That Duchess Rowena Mikin governs an entire Noble House. Or perhaps they're pretending not to." The young Paso Fino hops from foot to foot impatiently as its violet-cloaked rider straightens in the saddle. "We've a habit of meeting on roadsides, Your Grace. I hope you don't get the impression I follow you about." Springtail circles as his rider lifts a hand to pull back his hood; shadows play across Thayndor Zahir's face in the many-mooned night.

Umbrus snorts indignantly as his dust is covered by that of another and exhibits the same impatience to race ahead of the new arrival. Rowena's hands tighthen over the reins and she pulls them taut, perhaps more so than necessary, demanding that the horse stay still and clear of the path. She offers the fellow traveler a sidelong glance from the roadside, brows arching in greeting while her lips contemplate the likes of a smile. "I suppose the days of warmer, personal relationships with the crown are at an end," she muses dryly, then at last offers him a direct nod and placates her lips with more lively a note. "Or maybe the case rests that it is I who follow *you* about, Count Zahir." The death grip on the reins eases just slightly and Umbrus lurches a step or two onto the road, bowing his head with careful inspection to the other paso fino's side.

"True," Thayndor replies. "If it's any consolation, I didn't get much farther than you. It took a little coin to get one of the lesser scribes to run down to the Tavern and find me when the Emperor sees fit to hold court." His lips twist into a wicked grin. "To get an audience I'll have to scramble up at a moment's notice, I'm afraid. Short of the longer and more bureaucratic process of scheduling such things."

The Zahir turns Springtail, backing the horse up a step or two. "May I ask what brings you to the Palace tonight? I've heard your latest abode is somewhat out of the way." That wicked smile loses some of its edge. "It must be some interesting business to draw you back here."

Haste can be seen off in the distance moving at a fair trot up Caryas Hill. Its rider, Lucius Nepos, wears his customary wolfskin cloak slung over common clothes as he bounces up and down on the Palace Road.

"I intended to seek lodging in that which used to be my old home away from home...the Bronze Hall. I'd hoped to catch His Majesty if he'd time the following morn to inform him that the healer who tended those in the Keep stricken with plague had awakened from her long slumber. Should he wish to make any inquiries about the plagues origin or theories as to *how* it seeped beyond the /strict/ decree outlined in the tomes of the Royal Healer....he may now ask her. If, of course, he had the concern to do so himself. I already have, but I would offer him the chance nonetheless." Smile faded into a straight, neutral line, Rowena leans back slightly in the saddle, resting her lower back against the bags. "I'll be content to sleep in the Inn, however. Lest I'm forced to listen to another whore being bedded in the adjacent room."

"Interesting," Thayndor says, scratching his chin with one hand while holding the reins with the other. "I will not wait at the Emperor's beck and call until sunrise, myself, and plan to return home to Darkwater at some point. The journey is short by water. I'd offer you use of the guest quarters, and your usual attendant staff quarters as well, but without a boat Darkwater is somewhat isolated and I find most people hesitant to accept my hospitality for fear of the distance." He grins, easing Springtail into a walk down to the Tavern. "You could always rent the rooms on either side of you at the Tavern, to keep them empty. In the meantime, however, if you're willing to talk, I would like to hear what you had to say about the plague, and any other new developments in medicine you have developed. And what news you may have of the Forest District; I've not been south of the Market in months."

From Haste's saddle, Lucius Nepos rides on closer to Thayndor and Rowena, intoning a nod of the head to them both. Such is really all he can do on horseback, anyways. "Your Graces. I hope the night finds you well, but I've a tight schedule to keep and I bid you a good evening." Without waiting for approval he nods his head again, then spurs Haste quickly uphill. Haste speeds off at a gallop toward the Uphill.

"Lucius..." Rowena calls after him, hand lifted in both greeting and farewell. Turning her focus slowly back to Thayndor, she shifts her weight on Umbrus' back and nods her agreement. "To show to you the new 'developments' would be more beneficial to you than my words...but most of my work is done not in the Hall of Healing, but in a quieter place, in the depths of Mikin Wood. I assure you I am capable of speaking plenty about it, moreso perhaps than you'd care to hear. And so...permit me to suggest a warmer place to converse?"

"Your Grace," Thayndor begins, "You've only to name it."

Some time later ...

Tribunal Plaza


 * ''Paved in a remarkable white shade of black-flecked marble amidst the general flagstones of a more sullen cinereal and copper tones, and flanked on all sides by the high stone battlements of the Tribunal's curtain wall, the Tribunal Plaza is a majestic place indeed.


 * ''Suitable for either high-profile meetings or casually chasing the hours away in equal measure, the plaza has been designed to be fitting enough for even an Emperor to consider being more than enough to respect them. It features five fountains arranged in an "X" formation, with four smaller founts remaining arranged around a large central attraction that dominates the plaza with an unmatched authority all of its own, cast in a glistening tone of black stone, with the four smaller counterparts set in white. Suffice to say, the steady hiss of water jets is a constant theme of this tranquil setting.


 * ''Two large and symmetrical buildings rest to either side of the plaza; those being the Hall of Healing to the North, and the Museum of Artifacts to the south. The architecture of both of these structures is remarkable to say the least, with each featuring graceful arches, dazzling windows, and beautifully ornate pillars to name but a few. The main gatehouse that leads back out of the Imperial Tribunal rests to the west.


 * ''Yet the most dominating feature of the plaze remains the Imperial Tribunal itself, the great white hall that rests to the east, elevated above the rest of the region upon its very own raised and stepped foundation. Like a great and terrible temple does it dominate the landscape, accessible only by ascending an avenue of red-paved steps up towards the main doors; themselves hidden behind proud support pillars under a shadowy ingress.


 * ''The stepped approach itself is not without ornamentation, for upon either side of that flight of stairs stand two colossal statues: That of Sirion Starkhorn to the left, and Ulfell Lomasa to the right. A third statue stands at the very top of the stairs, cast in the immortal image of Emperor Talus Kahar. Three statues of three legends: The Tribunal.

"And that's when I decided it would be best to use the tower for my study as opposed to the Mastery," Ends the too-long tale of why Rowena favored the second level of an already isolated tower where the few hands that did exist could not spill the nettle juice into the tingleleaf. With a polite nod and smile to the Tribunal guards that flank the entrance, she pushes the doors open and gestures for him to proceed ahead of her into the hall. "So you see why it'd be nigh impossible to keep too many things in order here where there's so little room..."

"Of course," Thayndor replies, giving Rowena his rapt attention the entire way -- or at least doing a job of faking it that would make any Zahir mother beam with pride. "I have a similar liking for selective seclusion. Darkwater is close to everything by water, so I can reach whoever I wish as I wish. But save a select few, nobody is very fond of travel by boat, so my visitors are only those who I invite and in most cases transport myself. Thus I am in touch without being at risk of being bothered." He grins. "And your work requires less ... proximity to the hub of things."

Rowena heads into Main Hall. Rowena has left.

Main Hall


 * ''Illusions of the mind's eye can lead those entering the hall for the first time that it expands into the reach of eternity. Time seems even to cease its existence, as the lack of windows numbs the body's circadian rhythm. Mighty pillars of stone file down the length in pairs like the ribs of some giant beast. The shadows overhead hide their meeting with the ceiling. Torches held by iron talons are secured to every other pillar as well as alternating spaces between.


 * ''Over the entry way is a particular item of interest. Crossed like a display of arms rests not a pair of swords, but a stalk of sage and slender twig of birch. The healer's display is mounted onto a piece of wood, shaped to be a shield. After calling attention to this oddity, one's mind might register what the senses have already detected - a faint waft of lavender scents the hall's air. Its source remains unseen, oils burning silently to fuel the torches. As the lavender had ordered, a sense of calm is invoked here.


 * ''The dull, gray stone floor is livened by a burbling fountain about ten paces from the entrance. It is circular in shape, the blue marble stacked to a fairly shallow height of two feet. Inside, a black falcon crest is shaped on the fountain's bottom. The eyes are formed from sparkling blue gems, piercing with an upward stare through the rippling waters.


 * ''At the very end of the hall, a biinwood door leads to an exit. Hidden between two pillars, another door leads to the unknown. Two sentries guard the entrance.

"Parts do require it...but the more scholarly bits do favor seclusion. You can see why I was in no hurry to abandon the wildlands." And in they step, met with tickling wafts of lavender smoke from the entry sconces and the merry burbling of the fountain. Gliding over the solemnly colored floor with the ease of one who is home, Rowena leads her guest towards the darkness between two pillars. And lo, there is a door. "I'll admit that my travels aboard your vessel did not cause me as much misery as I anticipated they would. The river was most merciful."

Thayndor Zahir chuckles as he passes between the pillars to the hidden door. "She isn't always so kind, and my people have alternated between fighting and cajoling with her for most of their lives. But if you were giving thought to purchasing a yacht and acquiring some staff to crew it, I would say you could get comfortably acquainted with such travel a few weeks before Greening. Just when the moons realign and the cold snaps." He looks around. "Still, it looks as if you put this place to good use."

"Many hands have gone into tending this building," Rowena humbly notes with a murmur, reaching out to pull on the door's ornate handle. "And we did own a yacht, once..." A gentle creak bids them entry and so Rowena slips into the darkness first, bracing it open with a hand for him to follow.

Healer's Passage


 * ''Slipped between the flare of torch-wielding pillars, a biinwood door leads to this passageway's access. The space is narrow and leads to two stone stairs and a second doorway.


 * ''Engraved on this door is a pair of hands, cupping within some sort of herbal/floral arrangement. Beneath it is inscribed:

 "Patient are the hands that turn away the enemy unseen,  For wield they not the sword but rather leaves of green."

Thayndor Zahir follows Rowena into the passageway and closes the door with the quiet touch of a man well accustomed to taking secret ways. He looks forward to the door at the far end of the passage curiously. "You prefer to work in private, I see."

A light chuckle lofts in Rowena's wake as she breezes down the corridor, hands searching for something on her person. "I prefer to sleep with privacy, as do the other healers that tend this hall. Our study must function as a living quarter." Something small and silver glints sharply in the light as she steps to the door's foot and presses her ear to the wood. Silence. Satisfied, she procures the key and opens the latch to the healer's chamber. "Safety is quite the priority here."

Healer's Chamber


 * ''Drawn away from the often chaotic scene of the hall of healing, this chamber denotes an air of peace to its seclusion. It is circular in shape and very spacious. A large mud bear rug is sprawled in the center of the room. Candles in talon-shaped sconces litter the walls to provide lighting.


 * ''On the northward side, to the general left of the doorway, is a somewhat small biinwood desk and chair. Ink and quill rest dutifully in the corner while a packet of parchment is strewn across the top. Every so often, a breeze through the crack in the wooden shutters will rustle them, as well as the bundled herbs that hang above from rafters. Mounted on the wall alongside the desk is a shelving arrangement to give the illusion that the desk is set into a little alcove. Scrolls and texts are stacked in some meticulous order on some of the shelves. On others, bundles of instruments and supplies rest.


 * ''A large hearth sits in the southward wall, heating the chamber when need be. Hanging from iron stands are several kettles, buckets, and other mixing wares. Towards the east, across from the door, three slender, biinwood beds are lined in a row to accommodate the healing staff. Rich, crimson sheets of cotton are tucked neatly in. A thick, woven blanket is folded neatly at the end of each. Also at the foot of each bed are small, birch chests. To the immediate right of the doorway is a large, biinwood wardrobe. In the space off to the side, there is a wash basin and chamber pot which is emptied frequently.

"You fear for your safety here?" Thayndor asks, voice quiet. He stops to read the inscription on the door before following Rowena inside.

Rowena pauses just inside the doorway, rustling with something atop the desk. A few wisps of a sweet-smelling herb are pulled from a parchment packet. "It is not the safety of our bodies for which we fear," Gently, she fans them over the candle flame until they become engulfed. "But for the substances which would do a great deal of harm should they be unleashed into more malevolant hands." To punctuate her point, back turned for modesty's sake, she drops the key back into place...where it lands, nestled with security between corset and flesh. The smoke turns a faint color of pink for a few seconds as the herbs crumple and burn. Rowena removes her cloak there, draping it over the chair. "Make yourself as comfortable as you might...and what is it I shall tell you of first?"

"Mm. I'd imagine many of my own cousins would kill for a chance to raid your stock of herbs." Thayndor sniffs the air, curious, as he walks to a chair; his eyes remain locked on Rowena's hands and the burning incense. "I expect I should be honored you've allowed me inside. Scales and all." He grins, impish, as he eases himself into the chair, sitting on it backwards with his forearms on its high back. "Might I ask what it is you're burning? From there, I suppose it would best to hear that which is most important for me to know."

"Every mongoose knows well how to handle a snake, and thus I've little to dread from you," Rowena counters slyly, crossing the room to the hearth. "Mikin orchid. Before the weather turned foul, I gathered and dried quite the quantity. We were successful in potting them for a time, too, but...well, it suffices to say that my Zareef is no longer permitted to scamper within these walls." Hovering near the flames, she bends to inspect the contents of a tea kettle. A poke from a wooden spoon jostles the contents and stirs aroma to her nose. She reaches for a wooden cup. "Most important now, you say? Well, I suppose that would depend on what it is you consider important. You inquired about the plague. Shall I begin there?"

Thayndor Zahir laughs softly at Rowena's retort. "Fair enough," he says. "I would be flattered if you would honor me with your understanding of the plague. I've heard some theory and some disturbing rumor, but none from lips as learned as your own."

"Mind you all I know of it is from the accounts I was given upon my return. Even after we received word of Talus' passing, it was weeks before we stood in the shadow of the Aegis." Disclaimer given, Rowena casts him a quick glance and lifts the kettle from its roost with a steady hand. A sable stream trickles into the cup. "The greatest consensus I hear is that it began in the Shadow District. Dark Pox spreads easily from flesh to flesh and so any contaminated corpses that were not burned may have been responsible for passing it along to individuals healthy enough to flee the gate before it was locked down. It was like wildfire from there. Despite the strict guarding of the Palace, His Majesty and a few other souls within fell very ill." Rehearsing it as though from a text, she finishes with "the healers still able to travel did best they could, but it would not be contained." There's a slight shift in her tone now, voice dropping into a more hushed murmur. "Of course it was quick to disipate after His Late Majesty died. His son was but barely a babe and therefore had also a poor constitution...and yet he suffer not a single pock."

"Seems a mite odd, that. Doesn't it?" Thayndor asks, tilting his head. His tone is musing, brow furrowed, as if he was working this out in his head. "I've seen you fight Wildling venom with herbs and compounds. In fact, wage such a battle in my very veins. My knowledge of poisons and disease is limited, but I won't pretend to be naive." He smirks and repeats, quietly, "Scales and all. I understand such things tend to follow rules, behaviors. Such as the transfer from flesh to flesh you just mentioned. Why would this disease not follow that logic?"

"Well..." Rowena ventures, resting the kettle back into its nook and taking a tentative sip before turning her back to the flames to face him. The warm glow behind her produces quite the illusion that the same heat rises from her own skin. "Flesh to flesh comes in a variety of forms. Flesh to water to flesh, body fluids...those handling the infected whether they be dead or alive are put at great risk." She abandons her hearth-side station in favor of perching on the foot of a bed. "The rumors address the other, less natural form of contamination. I paid visit to the shell of a town left in the Shadow district, where it all began. The homes had been burned but a tree remained, scarred with the carved warnings and eerie farewells of those who either perished or escaped to cleaner ground. So many dead, with strength it spread, and yet it then halted with such...ease." Pausing, she lets her words linger over the lip of her cup and studies his expression with knowing eyes. "If it were more than a cruel coincidence that after these events transpired Lord Zolor ascended the throne via coup, I am certain that Serath would not have permitted him to draw breath in their last meeting. Therefore...I will cast my faith as blindly as the next citizen into the trusting of His Majesty's innocence in the matter. There is no way to prove either case, at least not by means our simple hands can perform."

When a viper smiles, there's no way of telling whether it's hungry or just happy to see you. Thayndor isn't smiling; his brows are knit, as if still puzzling through the causality of the situation. "That the one event followed the other does not a crime and a culprit make. Nor does Serath allowing Zolor to live exonerate him of responsibility," Thayndor says at last.

At the edge of the firelight, half his face is cast in light and the other in shadow, flickering. Combined with the smoothness of his movements as he shifts his weight it's hard to tell exactly where the shadowed half of his body disappears into the background. "Now, you see, we move from the realm of a healer's hands to a serpent's mind. And the question floating in my own is this: Zolor is a powerful man, but how would he be capable of beginning and ending an illness in such a fashion? Illnesses obey rules and having predictable behaviors, such as not stopping just because a new Emperor sits on the throne. Without placing guilt or innocence on the Emperor's shoulders, we must ask: did he have the power to control a plague? Because that is clearly the only way he could be responsible for such a thing."

"And therein lies the question, does it not?" Rowena murmurs, face having turned to guarded stone. Still, it is a smoothly polished stone at that and shows no hardened lines of resistence. She takes a long, silent sip of the tea and lets her eyes drift from focus, resting upon a fang-bearing nightslider skull atop a shelf. "I've not had the opportunity to see his face since the Palace turned away visitors. I am most curious..." Her vacant stare refreshes itself with a lashful blink and narrows keenly in on the serpent's mounted skull. She'd arranged those bones herself...something must catch her eye, for she rises from the bed and meanders towards it. "I suppose those who have seen his face would be more fit to answer that question. Even still...I've learned that shadow's kiss does not always bring death but rather the plentiful opposite."

"You've come to know some nature of a Shadow power," Thayndor divines, eyes still on her movements. The deliberate nature of his tone leaves no doubt that his choice of words was no mistake.

"I once prided myself on knowing a great many things..." Rowena indulges him slowly, ending her wandering at the base of the shelf. Looking up, she squints one eye closed. "Only to find that very little of those things I knew were of truth. Truth as far as the Church would tell...but not genuine truth." The remainder of the tea becomes gulped and cup cast aside with the utmost poise to the floor. Straightening out, the duchess stretches a scarlet sleeve upwards and, balanced on her toes, slides a slender vial free from between the prison of fangs. Her hand trembles just barely as it lowers, bringing the hidden treasure to rest against her bosom. "Shadow healed what I could not - what no man or woman of even better talent than I could have that fateful night in Crown's Refuge. And it came from the tiny hand of an even tinier girl. Not all that is dark is wicked. And not all that is glorious is benevolent."

"And nothing is ever as it first appears," Thayndor adds slowly, eyes narrowing as Rowena pulls the vial from the serpent's mouth. "What have you there?"

Rowena sinks back onto the bed nearest the shelves, feet drawn up neatly to one side. She cradles the vial between her fingertips, turning it over to watch the greenish black liquid slosh lazily within. With each slosh, a thick, membranous glob slides to and fro. "One of my many souvenirs. There are two distinct breeds of wildling...and two very distinct breeds of venom. We discovered in an unfortunate way that antidotes to the green toxin will not alleviate the suffering of the black wildling sting."

The vial falls still now, the gland settling the the bottom. "It was in that moment of utter hopelessness that a little creature, so very helpless at her young age, made right what the 'lings had made wrong. And the men lived on to fight again."

"I see," Thayndor says, rising slowly. "I must confess, Your Grace, that although I asked you questions, I was not ignorant to the answers. I too have heard this story: Zolor Zahir, Emperor, possessing a fey ability to tip the balance between life and death."

Thayndor steps from half-darkness into firelight and now the shadows play within the crags of his young but weathered face rather than bisect it neatly in twain. "I believe there's more to the story you aren't telling me. Or that you believe there is more and cannot yet trust me enough to tell it." One hand lingers in the darkness, resting on the back of the chair.

"There are many stories, Count," Rowena replies softly, eyeing the hand that remains shrouded in darkness. Rising with a push to the bed, she lets her hand brush by the leather sheath in assurance before craning upwards to return the vial to its home. "So you must be specific in your questioning. The little girl I spoke of was simply just that. A little girl. Do I believe that Lord Zolor holds the power and the will to tip the realm from balance and bring ruin to all? Nay. There are those who still hold yet the true Light in their hearts and in their hands." Her hand retracts from the shelf. "If it is simple facts you come seeking, then let me tell to you my findings of plant life and game beast in the world beyond the Aegis. Unfortunately though, those specimens remain safely away in Sheltered Flame Keep."

"If they are safe perhaps it is not unfortunate that they are there," Thayndor replies, smooth. "It's true. Facts are simple. But truth never is. And I find myself increasingly more preoccupied with the latter than the former." His mouth twitches in and out of a smile, watching Rowena's hands and watching Rowena watch his own. "Perhaps it's my ancestral fondness for intrigue, manifesting itself in a strange way." The shadowed hand returns to light; he turns it over in front of his face, watching pools of darkness form in his palm and then disappear again. Meditating.

"And I suppose like medicine truth is best received in small doses."

Both hands fall to his sides; he bows. "I'm afraid I've been reticent in accomplishing what I claimed I would do: attend the Emperor's willingness for an audience at the Keep. I had best return to the Crossroads and see if there is any hope of attending court tonight or tomorrow; probably the latter." His tone fades from the seriousness of charged words to the light lilt of harmless -- or mostly harmless -- smalltalk. "My search for the night won't end until I find a bed, and likely that won't be until after the sun begins to rise. Doubtless I've also kept you awake." With a bow, he steps backwards into shadow. "Thank you for the company, Your Grace. And the conversation." White teeth reflect the firelight while the rest of his face appears to give none of it back. "Perhaps another time."

''Return to Season 5 (2007)