Helping Hand

"Weren't no one else, your lordship. Only thing worth having o' Ol' Otto is his helping hand," says Otto before the combination of head injury and excitement cause him to fall out.

Atop Whitehaven, Gefrey Seamel frowns. "Skittered?" he asks, to no one in particular, before turning for the guards. "Get this man inside," he orders. "Then I want a patrol of the town. Encourage people to stay indoors tonight, especially any mages that yet remain, understood?" He turns to look at Thayndor, smiling grimly. "A precaution. It seems everything that comes here is out after either the mages or the sunkissed."

With a grunt, Thayndor steps forward to catch Otto before he falls. "I know what he's speaking of. A trinket, a novelty he carries with him. Perhaps it is of greater value than we thought. Your men will leave him alone; he's one of mine." The Zahir nods to Shar. "Come with me. We'll take him to our suite. And after I leave --" Thayndor's brow falls. "-- Guard him." He inhales and makes a face. "Ugh. And if he wakes, get him to bathe." Thayndor moves to shamble off with Otto on his shoulder. "If you'll excuse me."

Atop Whitehaven, Gefrey Seamel nods slightly to Thayndor, frowning. "I would like to speak with you, after you return," he says. "This thing, it is a potential threat to Northreach in its entirety. I wish to know what, exactly, it is he has that is a problem, if you would be so gracious as to tell." The Seamel is trying his best to sound polite, but there is definitely some strain there.

Gefrey Seamel dismounts from Whitehaven. Gefrey Seamel has arrived.

"I'm afraid you are confused, Lord Gefrey," Thayndor says, pausing in his carriage of the unconscious man. "It is not what my man has that is the problem. It is the creature that apparently wants to get it -- if, indeed, that is the issue at all. Do not confuse the two, and leave me to care for my internal matters myself. Anything I find there that threatens you or yours will be removed from Seamel lands, else you will be notified." The Zahir straightens, even as he supports Otto -- perhaps hinting at more strength than might be predicted in his narrow frame. "I hope I have made myself clear."

"And I will make myself clear," Gefrey says firmly. "I am quite aware that the creature is a threat, there is no confusion there. And I am quite aware that creatures which sound similar to the one he has seen, so far as he described it, are looking for an item that is, supposedly, linked to these gargoyles. And as long as House Seamel is hosting these mages and is responsible for their safety, if that item is what I believe it is, then it is, I do believe, our business." He narrows his eyes. "I ask for /some/ cooperation, Milord Zahir. This is all I ask."

"We're all after the same goal, Lord Gefrey," Thayndor replies, returning to his work. "Let me set him under guard in a bunk and we shall talk." Gefrey Seamel lets out a slow breath. "Thank you," he says, more subdued now. "Thank you, I'll let you be with him."

Time passes, and Thayndor returns outside, wiping his hands on the tassets of his armor. "Now then," he says, returning to Gefrey. "You made it sound as if you know something I don't. Can we speak here, or must we seek more private quarters?"

Gefrey Seamel nods over to the west. "More private quarters," he says, "but not mine. We go to visit the Lady Celeste. She knows more about these creatures than me, I will admit, and we have done some work together to investigate them, and the item they seek."

"Very well." The Zahir lifts the cowl of his cloak. "It's a good night for a walk. Take me to her."

Gefrey Seamel nods, then starts walking off to the west. "I saw her earlier," he remarks, idly. "She was speaking with a man I didn't recognize. Hopefully she will still be in her home."

Gefrey Seamel walks up to the door of Celeste's townhouse, and knocks.

Thayndor Zahir follows, frowning, cowl drawn up.

Gefrey Seamel nods as the door opens. "Let's be in, then," he says. Gefrey Seamel heads into Celeste Mikin's Townhouse. Gefrey Seamel has left.

Celeste Mikin's Townhouse

Redwood paneling lines the entryway of the townhouse with a white marble floor with black veining. Just to the side of the door is a small open-top stand that has been carved into the shape of a sunburst, rays scalloping along the top to accept swords, maces and bows. Stairs lead up to an airy landing, which consists of two rooms.

The main room is draped in emerald curtains along the walls, hiding away the doorway into the kitchen. Beyond the emerald drapes is a simple kitchen with a pot-bellied stove to one wall. Oak-stained cupboards have been paired off to a simple table and burgundy cushioned chairs. In the main room, rich burgundy chairs and a couch of the same hue face a rounded, riverstone hearth with a makeshift spit resting across its flames. The white marbled and black-veined floors have been carried over to the common room's floors. Emerald dyed rugs have been cast about the floors to save toes against frigid nights.

Syton stands from his seat near the fire, fresh glass of wine in his hand. Slowly he turns his back to the fire and his eyes to Celeste. "A laudable attempt, Celeste. Perhaps I can actually be of some help to you the next time." Smiling slightly, he takes a sip from his glass.

Celeste stands just inside the doorway to see who has come calling. Not that she stands in the way for Thayndor and Gefrey to enter. "I will keep that in mind, Master Temple," she calls back.

Gefrey Seamel walks in just in front of Thayndor, dressed in his chainmail and cloak. He gives Celeste a respectful nod as he enters. "Lady Celeste," he greets, then looks over to Temple. "Master. Greetings. Mm. This is going to sound painfully obvious, but we have something we would wish to discuss."

Thayndor Zahir strides in after Gefrey, loosening his cloak as he goes. "Indeed, Lady," he says. "I believe we have the opportunity for that chat we keep talking about." He smirks, and inclines his head. "Thank you both, by the way, for tending to my man earlier. It is appreciated."

Syton lowers his glass from his lips and bows briefly to each of the noblemen. "Count Darkwater. My Lord whose name I do not know. Light's greetings to you both." He straightens and nods to Thayndor. "Lady Celeste did the heavy lifting, my Lord, but it was my pleasure to do what I could." Looking between the three nobles, he simply takes another sip of his wine.

"He may need more assistance," Celeste offers and closes the door behind the noblemen. She casts a quick glance to Syton and then rests her gaze to Gefrey. "I will gather more glasses, please make yourself at home."

"He just may," Gefrey says with a small grimace, making his way to a seat. "Baron Gefrey Seamel," he introduces to Syton with a nod, before looking to Celeste. "Ahh, there is no need for any drinks for me, though the Count Zahir may decide differently." He taps a hand on his knee. "Otto Stonefish was attacked outside of Northreach, today, by a creature that spoke to him in a strange voice, spat a substance that won't come off of his axe, and then skittered away."

"I could do for a drink," Thayndor admits, nodding. He steps further into the small townhouse, turning a full circle that billows his cloak, before resting his eyes first on Celeste and then on Gefrey.

"Lord Gefrey tells me that you have been doing some research into an item and a breed of creature that seeks it. He says this concerns the gargoyles that have been after us -- by us, m'lady, I mean you and me personally." Thayndor smirks, glancing at Temple. "If the present company is appropriate for it, I would appreciate if you would do me one more favor today and apprise me of what you've found. It may concern old Master Stonefish, you see, but I'd like to reserve judgment until I hear what you've found."

Celeste nods and ducks behind a curtain. She resurfaces a few minutes later with two glasses, whether the Seamel is wanting a drink. It seems she's anticipating a few things. "Alright," she sighs and takes a few more moments to pour out a glass for herself and then one for Thayndor. "They're called acarits and it is rather involved. Did he say what color it was when he spit at him? And can you tell me if he is touched by light or shadow."

"You may consider me a fly on the wall, to the degree that you will tolerate such pests." Syton interjects softly. Standing beside the fireplace, he smiles among the gathered and takes a sip of his wine. "Otherwise, I shall listen in as long as my Lady permits."

"The goo was green," Gefrey says, folding his hands in his lap. "And perhaps Lord Zahir could tell if the man is Touched or Kissed - I could not myself. From what I have gathered, the acarit was after a trinket on Master Stonefish's person." He raises an eyebrow at Celeste. "And if they're tracking it down... the Ingress, perhaps? If we could get a description of it."

"Yes, I've heard the word "acarit" many times before and know what they are. The goo -- some of which stuck to his arm -- was indeed green. As far as I know, he's touched by neither, and it fled when he offered to fight it. Thank you." Thayndor accepts the glass of wine, taking a drink as he moves to the hearth. "But tell me, please, because I believe it's important -- gargoyles hunt souls. What is it that the acarits are after? What is this 'Ingress?'"

"The gargoyles hunt -us-, my lordships. Those who are either touched by light or shadow. They are then fed to an altar," explains Celeste. "I believe that it helps to animate them for when it was damaged, they seemed affected."

She glances over to Syton and waves him towards one of the chairs and settles into one of her own. "Stay," is all she says before continuing. "Currently, those of the Refuge have been trying to hunt down these creatures. What is the item that your man had, my lordship? Best that we share all our knowledge and maybe we can find a few answers between the two of us."

All Syton says is "Thank you, my Lady." He sips on his wine and listens to the nobles, but contributes nothing further at the moment.

Gefrey Seamel frowns. "As far as why it is important, an acarit spoke to one at the Refuge, and told them the Ingress of Sorentir would be needed to stop these gargoyles." He licks his lips. "Every time a gargoyle is destroyed, they apparently take a new mage or cleric to form another. To keep their numbers steady - sixteen at each temple, I believe it was."

Thayndor Zahir's shoulders fall and he shakes his head. "You repeated something I just said," Thayndor says, tone mildly irritated. He takes a drink of wine and looks at Celeste from over his shoulder. "These are all things I have heard many times before. I know what the -gargoyles- hunt. But what is it that the -acarits- are after? Please answer my question, so I know if my man is in danger." He turns again to face the pair. "What is this 'Ingress' you mention? Who was Sorentir?"

"The gargoyles and the acarits are linked, my lordship," explains Celeste. "Sixteen to a temple?" She looks over to Gefrey sharply. "I had not realized that it was that." Her gaze sliding back to Thayndor. "Do forgive me if I repeat what others say but when you try and explain that its a fool's errand to destroy one creature to be overrun by five more. You tend to wish to see that all the facts are on the table, if you will. As to you man, I cannot answer that question honestly, my lordship. What is this item he holds... a necklace, bracelet? Have you with it so that I may see it? If I may look upon it, then perhaps I will have a better understanding of what we are dealing with."

"Ingress is a portal or doorway," Gefrey says. "That is what the word means. Supposedly, I am guessing, an item that will act as a doorway. Sorentir was a trickster demi-god from a long time ago."

"You both give me little credit for command of the language, but thank you for answering my questions." The Zahir chuckles, lapsing into silence as he takes a drink of wine. "I see." Another pause. "Yes, you've answered my questions well enough. But tell me one other thing, if you will. Was there a specific statement as to how this item was to help defeat the Gargoyles?"

"My lordship, may we speak privately for a moment?" Celeste requests and nods towards a far doorway. Not the one to the kitchen but perhaps another room of the house. "Please."

Gefrey Seamel frowns to himself, but nods acquiescence, folding his hands in his lap as he waits.

"Very well." The Zahir takes another sip of wine, and moves to follow Celeste.

Celeste Mikin heads into Celeste Mikin's Townhouse - Bedroom. Celeste Mikin has left.

Celeste Mikin's Townhouse - Bedroom

The bedroom has been designed as the occupant was to be cradled among the stars. Ceilings have been stained a dark blue and the artist in question has given small spatterings of make-shift stars. Walls have been draped in curtains of deep royal blue with streaks of silver. White marble floors continue throughout the room and give the impression of walking on clouds, while plush rugs of light blue have been scattered about the room to save against chilly nights. A large four-poster bed rests against the right wall with a series wooden wardrobe and shelves to the along the left. Small tables of darkly-stained oak rests on either side of the bed, providing a resting place for a small jewelry box and bushes. Large broad windows open out onto the gardens of the park district and providing its occupants one of the coveted views of Northreach.

Celeste leads the way into the bed room and closes the door as the Zahir enters. "Thayndor," she sighs." Forgive my familiarity, but I've tried to talk one man from trying to ride to his death and I respect you. This item, why won't you show it me?"

"Because I don't have it," Thayndor replies, brow falling as he follows her into the room. "Because I don't know if it is what you think it is and because I don't see the point. You can't even describe the artifact that's been mentioned, can't even approach mention of its intended purpose. All those things being true, why should I waste the time? When I learn something new that you need to know, I will tell you of it. I shan't waste my time or yours by covering old ground or by fostering wild speculation -- time is our most precious commodity these days." He tilts his head. "Do you have other questions?"

Celeste steps away and wanders over to the bed. She looks to Thayndor and then nods to the other side of the bed. "Give me a few moments, my lord," she says in that same patient calm and pulls out a backpack. Soon follows a device that is tossed on the bed. "That was sold as the Ingress of Sorentir. and no I don't believe it to be the artifact but the man knew too much of a topic that kept Lord Gefrey and myself cloistered to a library for two days. As to pictures of the artifact... there are none, nor a mention of a -Ingress of Sorentir-, but two separate meanings."

Celeste Mikin drops: The Ingress Of Sorentir

Scraps of well-weathered canvas and leather thongs cover this diamond wooden frame. The cloth seems old and burnt in places, and talismanic beads and feathers are collected along the complex pattern of leather straps over the surface. At the base of the relic, a metallic twine-like material has been knotted, extending for several feet with scraps of parchment attached-- Each tab bears a strange inked character unknown to the modern Fastheldian language.

"Ingress, the word, and Sorentir, the ancient trickster demi-god," Thayndor adds, tone distracted as he looks at the object, picks it up, turns it over in his hands. "Go on."

"The man who sold this to me said that it was owned by a scourge. But I can date Sorentir back to one of your great ancestors, my lord," she explains and steps about the bed to join him. "He was worshiped as a god and even developed a cult. But the man said the item could make portals... and had been used by the wildlings." She looks up to search the Zahir's face. "Do you now understand why I had to keep it out of sight?"

"Of course. An item that makes portals, you say. Well. It seems the Acarit would be better off looking among the Dark Wildlings for such a thing, all things considered, hm?" Thayndor smiles mirthlessly. "And its instrumentality in the destruction of the gargoyles remains undescribed."

"The gargoyles are animated by an altar. I..." Celeste looks away sheepishly. "That was the reason for my stay in the Refuge. When I was able to damage it, three of the beasts nearly brought me home to the Light. If it had not been for Master Firelight and the others..." She shrugs her shoulders and then settles on the edge of the bed to continue watching. "Thayndor, I tried to explain about these creatures. That somehow suck the life from us to animate these gargoyles. But to kill a gargoyle means another one of us to take its place."

"Right. But what does the Ingress have to do with this, Celeste?" Thayndor asks. "How does it cease this process? Or does it ward them away?"

"It is what they -want-. That they will leave us in peace," she explains. "But when your enemy seeks such power, it is best to hold it and understand its ramifications before handing it over. As I said, I intend to return to the libraries and see if I can find more information."

"But it was an acarit seeking the thing, not a gargoyle," Thayndor replies. He shakes his head. "Speak to no one else of this. See to it that Gefrey does the same. Else the Regent barters again with that which is not his to give." He turns. "Thank you for the hospitality, Lady Celeste. I believe I must meet one other tonight before my duties are done for the evening."

"Thayndor, I would only ask that you include me in your studies. I have offered what I can though I will offer you one correction," Celeste says with a faint smile. "Do not think of them separate. The gargoyles are the creatures of the acarits and do their bidding. They are one and the same in the threat they bear."

"Right, Celeste -- you are right in your evaluation of gargoyle and acarit, save that I believe the acarits are merely a higher order of henchman to a still more sophisticated intellect," Thayndor says, pausing. He turns to look over his shoulder. "I believe that it may shortly be necessary to go to that temple with tentacles of blood, and trust me," he says, chuckling, "I will not be going there without you if I can help it." The Zahir bows. "Thank you, again. And for the wine." he lifts his glass and finishes it. "If you'll excuse me."

"Light go with you, Thayndor," Celeste says, offering him a warm smile.

"And also with you." Thayndor inclines his head, then steals out of the room.

Celeste Mikin's Townhouse

Redwood paneling lines the entryway of the townhouse with a white marble floor with black veining. Just to the side of the door is a small open-top stand that has been carved into the shape of a sunburst, rays scalloping along the top to accept swords, maces and bows. Stairs lead up to an airy landing, which consists of two rooms.

The main room is draped in emerald curtains along the walls, hiding away the doorway into the kitchen. Beyond the emerald drapes is a simple kitchen with a pot-bellied stove to one wall. Oak-stained cupboards have been paired off to a simple table and burgundy cushioned chairs. In the main room, rich burgundy chairs and a couch of the same hue face a rounded, riverstone hearth with a makeshift spit resting across its flames. The white marbled and black-veined floors have been carried over to the common room's floors. Emerald dyed rugs have been cast about the floors to save toes against frigid nights.

Thayndor Zahir passes out of the bedroom, tightening his cloak with one hand as if making ready to leave. "Lord Gefrey, Master Temple," he begins, inclining his head. "I have another visit to pay before the night is over, and the moons have already reached their apex." He continues to the small table next to the door and sets his wineglass down there. "Thank you both, again, for your help this day -- your various help. If you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I must depart for now."

"Acarits, gargoyles, and the Ingress of Sorentir..." Syton sighs and shakes his head, then looks contemplatively to his empty wine glass. "I don't know who Sorentir is or where he's ingressing from, but I'm inclined to keep him as ungressed as possible."

"Light's blessings, your Grace," Syton adds with a bow of his head to Thayndor.

Gefrey Seamel nods over to Thayndor. "Do take care," he says, before frowning himself. "I should think I agree with you, Master Temple, and should likely be on my way as well. I need to see if Master Thatcher will have completed any work, by now."

"Thank you, Lord Gefrey. Light keep you both," Thayndor says, moving for the door.

Celeste steps from the room shortly later and seeks out the bottle and her own wine glass. She places one empty already there and looks back to Temple and Gefrey. "Forgive my... Light go with you, Lord Gefrey," she cuts off her own words.

'Some time later ...'

Northreach Constabulary

When an outsider commits an offense against the property or person of a member of House Seamel or other landed citizen of Northreach, or when two Seamel kinfolk cannot settle a dispute through negotiations, their issues are brought before the constabulary. It is the constable's role to hear the facts involved in a dispute, to question the accused, the aggrieved and any available witness, and then to make a ruling.

This chamber, contained within a structure of quarried gray stone, has a raised biinwood platform where the Constable sits in judgment, chairs for witnesses, two holding cells for prisoners, and four long pews for members of the public to assemble and observe the proceedings.

Duhnen is seated in one of the public pews in the room, looking over a white bladed knife. Aside from he, a clerk and guard are on duty, both quietly shooting the breeze.

Thayndor Zahir is a dark narrow figure passing quietly into the constabulary from outside, securing the door behind him. He removes his cowl and faces the room.

The clerk and guard glance upward at the entry for a moment, before both turning back down to regard some parchment or another the clerk is gesturing at. Duhnen remains where he is.

Duhnen Seamel

Deep brown hair, the color of the earth, grows in slight curls from atop Duhnen's head. It is cut short, extending just below his ears. He stands fairly tall, a good 5'11, with a well toned physique of one who is no stranger to physical labor. His face is angular, eyes of brown and thick eyebrows resting atop a narrow nose. Lips which seem to rest in a slight smirk sit above a clean shaven pointed chin. He seems to spend much of his time outside, as evidenced by skin tanned a light bronze, and the speckling of freckles on his cheeks. A thin ribbon scar, the color of fair pink, runs along his chin. A good estimation of his age would reside somewhere in the early twentys or late teens.

He wears the bronze mail of the Order of the Bronze Rider, armor of shimmering reddish-gold. The bronze armor bears delicate intalgio of leaves and vines across the cuirass and pauldrons, as well as ornamental lines run of gold and obsidian, and upon the highest lame of the pauldrons, a set, milky onyx is carved in the shape of a horse head, carefully polished to appear smooth to the touch. Fastened about his neck is a hooded cloak of deep amethyst, the lower third of it emblazed with the gold insignia of the Imperial Crown. Strapped to his waist is a light scabbard.

Thayndor Zahir moves towards the pews and the man in them who wears the cloak of an Imperial Knight. He shuffles quietly into the pews and sits directly behind Duhnen, just to his left. "Would that be the Duke Seamel?" He asks, voice composed, quiet -- undoubtedly Thayndor's.

"It is," Duhnen confirms with a small nod upon being addressed. "Would that be someone who doesn't sign his letters? I assumed it was you, however. I'm afraid I'm not quite familiar with your seal."

"I'd figured my seal was sufficient," Thayndor replies. "But really, it was not intended to begin a correspondence, so I suppose it wasn't really necessary to sign, either." There's a pause. "I've yet more news." "Please," Duhnen invites with another nod, turning the knife over to regard the other side of of the blade.

"If you find the Acarit King, could you please tell him to leave my men alone," Thayndor says quietly, mildly. "I believe it was one of them that attacked a retainer of mine. Seemed to think my man had something of value. Said, we'll have it, no matter what. But my man drew his axe and made to put up a fight and it -- what were his exact words -- 'skittered away.' Not before spitting on him. Green goo that won't be scrubbed off." The Zahir pauses again before he continues to speak into Duhnen's ear from behind him. "Need I worry about the spit?"

"Keep him from any desires to taste it," Duhnen suggests at that with a small shake of his head. "If it's on his clothing, you can always burn the clothes. It should be quite flammable. Other than that, it'll dry up and crumble eventually, or it should."

"What do you know of what it is they seek?" Thayndor asks.

"Mages to feed upon, I believe," Duhnen answers with a grunt. "Your man is touched? Or sunkissed? I don't know if they would eat the kiss of him or not."

"The acarits, too, seek that? Because I don't see why they would send one after him rather than a gargoyle," Thayndor says. "I don't think they were after what's inside of him. Near as I can tell he's neither touched nor kissed. But I've been told there's also an artifact of power they seek."

"Did it talk? The one that attacked him?" he asks, still not turning about to look back.

"Yes. Is that important?" Thayndor counters.

"Maybe. What did it say?" the Seamel asks. "And what did it sound like?"

"Voice a hiss, it said 'they'd have it, no matter what,' my man told me," Thayndor replies. "But rather than try for it, it spat at him and ran."

"They wish something called the Ingress of Sorentir, I believe," Duhnen states after a moment of thought. "I don't suppose you're knowledgable about old artifacts, no?"

"I had the briefing from Celeste and your cousin Gefrey," Thayndor replies. "They had an inkling on who Sorentir was, but no idea about the 'Ingress' part. I didn't want to say it in front of them, because they're prone to running at the mouth and speculation, but I believe I may have seen the thing in action -- and I believe they've seen it."

"Hm, have they, and you?" Duhnen replies curiously, tilting his head as he glances past the knife to the floor. "What do you believe it is?"

"My retainer calls it his 'helping hand,'" Thayndor replies with a chuckle. "The gargoyle attack. He was there. He came to my defense -- waving what appeared to be some sort of preserved, severed hand, a talisman. I dismissed it as the trinket of a superstitious river rat. But perhaps I was too hasty." The Zahir frowns. "The gargoyle was bearing down on me. I scrambled out of the way and he was running to my aid. And the gargoyle missed by quite a wide margin -- more than just if I had dodged effectively. I think maybe it saw the hand and was distracted."

"A hand?" Duhnen quirks his mouth. "...well, an ingress is an entry to something. It seems to suggest that it's a portal, or a doorway or some such. Or something that could be used as a focus."

"Nothing is better suited to opening a door," Thayndor replies with an equal smirk. "This puts us at a peculiar juncture. We suspect I have what they want, through a retainer of mine. I happen to know you're not happy with a recent decision to simply capitulate at a much higher cost. And I would hope you do not intend to make a similar decision -- to barter, that is, with that which does not belong to you."

"I had other plans for them," Duhnen states dryly. "But please. Continue."

"I have nothing else to add, Your Grace," Thayndor replies. "I have allowed myself to remain confined here and as such all my information is second hand. None of it pertains to where to go from here or even where to start. I was hoping you would have some of that."

"You heard of the whole nonsense with Eliare, I understand it? From your letter," Duhnen replies thoughtfully. "At least, you suggested as such. I apologize you were attacked, as well."

"The poem was recited to me, but I could not recite it back to you if you asked," Thayndor replies. "I remember snatches, and I remember the gist of it. Hence my opening barb about the 'carit king."

"I'd want to see that hand, then, if you think it's what they're searching for," Duhnen states with a small shrug. "Who's the man who has it? What's his name?"

"He's a retainer in my employ, and I'd ask that you wait for me to present him to you rather than send for him. I want to be there when you see it," Thayndor replies. "He's had a bit of a rough day, and is currently sleeping off a bad bump to the head under the watchful eye of my captain of the guard. They're in the tavern."

"Yes, very well," Duhnen nods his head at that. "I may wish to borrow it from him for a time, though rest assured I'd return it before giving it away to any giant spider creatures."

"You don't intend to tell me what you're planning to do with it?" Thayndor asks with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Just wander off, alone, to dispense with the future of our kind as you will?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Duhnen replies with a slight shake of his head. "You sound like Taran Songbird. I'd get an opinion on it, is all."

"Ask the source of your opinion if it could be arranged that my retainer and I appear with you," Thayndor replies. It is not a request. "I am now directly a target of the dark intellect which sends these attacks, and a protector of one who holds a key to ending them. I humbly submit that my position entitles me to this, at least."

"It's your choice, then. You're going to leave Northreach?" Duhnen asks pointedly. "I assure you, if Faeyd finds that the hand is of particular merit, and with any exceptional properties, I'll let you know."

"If it's to see Faeyd, and if you're complicit, then I will steal out for a time and steal back in again. I can be sight unseen for a day without raising suspicion," Thayndor replies. "Otherwise, take my man with you to see Faeyd and let him present it himself -- on much the same justification. The artifact is his."

"I'll ignore that you suggested that you'd leave Northreach. Better I don't know what you do while unseen," Duhnen nods his head. "I dislike bothering Faeyd. Do undersatnd if he's not the most welcoming. He's been quite pressured as of late."

"One could imagine," Thayndor replies drily. "By ... more than one person going, it will hopefully reduce the times he need be disturbed. When shall it happen?"

"I don't know when," Duhnen shakes his head. "I can go at any time, but it's always a question as to if he'll be there or not. It's a simple matter for me to travel there."

Thayndor Zahir frowns. "By boat, it takes but a matter of hours to get from here to Aegisport, in the hands of a skilled pilot." He pauses. "There's a tower there, just south of there, is there not? I presume it would be Faeyd's, for I know of no other name to whom it could belong. Speaking of hours -- I could possibly roust Otto from his sleep. Is there someplace quiet where I could show you this thing?"

"That's the one," Duhnen confirms with a nod of his head. "Go wait about there, if you wish, and try to find him. I'll check in frequently. Just let me know when you're heading over."

"I may only go and return once," Thayndor replies. "I dare not risk multiple journeys. But I may show you the object tonight, if you've somewhere quiet to do it."

"While it may be somewhat impolite to draw out a severed hand at a dinner party, I assure you that we likely don't need privacy for me to take a look at it," Duhnen responds with a small shrug. "Still, if you wish it, that can be arranged."

"Then I will go and fetch Stonefish here. Otto Stonefish is the name of my man," Thayndor replies, rising. "I will see if he is up to the journey. If you'll excuse me."

"If he's injured, don't make him move," suggests the Seamel at that. "I'll be here."

"Very well," Thayndor says. "If you tire of waiting, I will see you another day. Light keep." He moves for the exit.

'Later that night ...'

Northreach: Medial District

Having grown in the shadow of the northern Aegis wall, the Seamel township of Northreach is somewhat of a dark horse; a dark horse in both a literal and metaphorical sense, no less. Much of the township is often set in perpetual shadow, cast by the six-hundred foot wall that looms above it, making it a somewhat cold and umbral township, though one that tends to import a lot of torches and lanterns.

However, in the literal sense, Northreach is a township that developed entirely beyond the public eye. It grew as a township that drew little attention, funded by a mysterious benefactor of House Seamel, while the Empire left the construction of the North Gate to the Imperial Watch and their engineers. Thus the two grew in tandem, and the unveiling of Northreach as a township around that awesome gate was a surprise to all. As a location, Northreach drips Imperial architecture and style. Most of the buildings that form the moderate township are neatly arranged around main roads, with passages and alleys running between them, with no sense of crowding to be found. Townhouses of charcoal granite walls and timber support beams dominate the architectural design of the township, with larger estates providing the various services that all townships offer, as well as a few that remain unique to Northreach alone. The Wailing Wench Tavern, a large inn and publican building, stands in the very middle of what is known as the Medial District, acting as a central hub of activity. Directly next to the Tavern rests a two-story building belonging to the Steelwood Company, while the Swiftwolf Archery Tradehouse stands near to it as an equally large merchant townhouse, while smaller trade buildings flank them on all sides, attempting to profit from the trade they draw in. The North Gate looms in the north within the gap in the Aegis, while the southern gate that leads back onto Northreach Road is to the south. The Sinistral District, acting as the residence district, rests to the west, while the Dextral District, acting as the trade district, can be found to the east.

Mareten and Otto are hanging one near the Tavern. "Ayep? That thingy beasty be all land movin like?" The young man replies in aw.

Otto Stonefish is talking with Mareten, looking slightly nervous and sick. He's got one hand on his axe and another on his pouch. "Aye, aye, sure 'nuff. Got its spit on me just south of here on the road." There's a pause as Otto's brows knit. "Ol' Otto hopes it was just spit..."

Mareten

His features are mostly covered by a thick but still well trimmed beard. Despite the beard many of the man's features shine through. He has a sharp nose and full lips. The man's shaggy brown hair is cut short enough to keep out of his emerald green eyes. He is fairly broad and muscular probably hinting to a laborious past.

The man is wearing a well worn set of brown padded armor. There are patches of dirt and grime on the armors jacket that reaches just to his knees. A few of the armor's brass buttons and clasps are missing. He has a matching pair of brown padded pants, there is also a bit of grim on them also and it would seem that the knees have been repaired at least once. On his feet is a pair of brown leather boots.

Mareten scratches his side for a moment then shrugs. "It aint no look like no thing I aint ever seen... It be come out its ole mouth rightz? Aint from his.. you know?" He asks and takes a step back.

"It should crumble and fall off eventually," Thayndor addresses Otto. The observation makes his presence plain, but how long he's been behind the man -- whether he's been there for seconds or if he just walked up -- is unclear. "I went and checked with somebody who's already dealt with the kind of creature that attacked you."

Otto Stonefish starts to look from his axe to the thing on his forearm, eyeballing his elbow speculatively as Mareten backs away. He tells Thayndor, "Aye, aye, your lordship?" Distracted, he doesn't start his queesy bowing sequence until after he questions this prediction.

Mareten blinks his eyes then looks over a Thayndor. "Allo me lord." The young man likewise drops into a small bob.

Thayndor Zahir holds up a hand as Otto begins bowing. "Spare yourself the prostration, Stonefish -- I'd rather have your head healthy than see you throwing up again from an excess of obeisance." He nods to Mareten, acknowledging the man. Then: "I've also had a discussion about the thing that creature was likely after. And I want to talk to you more, if you're up for it tonight, about the artifact you carry with you." Thayndor's eye moves back to Mareten, whom he gestures to a second time with his head. "Who's your friend?"

"Ol' Otto ain't sure, your lordship, sir," Otto tells Thayndor before looking to Mareten, "Who are you, then?"

"Umm Iz be Mareten Crashhammer me lord." The youth then offers another bow. "Be out and about me lord. No some smithin and the like." He offers with a small shrug of his shoulder.

"A smith, hm? A pleasure to meet you then, Master Crashhammer," Thayndor replies. "The Light shines on smiths. They keep weapons sharp and ships' irons free from rust. But Otto, I'm afraid we must have a talk." He glances from Mareten to Otto. "Now. I've a better idea of who's after you and a suspicion as to why."

A muscle twitches in Otto's cheek before he says to Thayndor, "Aye, aye, your lordship, sir?"

Mareten nods his head. "Many thanks me lord." He replies with a small smile. The young man then looks between the two but keeps his yap shut.

"Correct," Thayndor replies to Otto, gesturing towards the tavern. "Come with me. Master Crashhammer can have what he will on Darkwater's tab while he waits for us to finish, and after that you may rejoin him or return to bed or whatever suits you, although Shar will continue breathing down your neck." The Zahir turns towards the tavern, and pauses to ask as an afterthought: "Is that agreeable to you, Crashhammer? Free meal and drink for the trouble of a conversation interrupted?"

Otto doesn't really seem to care if it is all right by Mareten or not as he goes over to hold the door open.

"Umm... yes me lord. Sounds alrightz be me." Mareten replies with a small smile. "Ya ever need some metals worked ya call Mareten Crashhammer. " He then starts in after the other two.

The Wailing Wench Tavern: Tavern Hall

The Wailing Wench Tavern stands as one of the largest publican services in the Empire, acting as both a Tavern and Inn for those who wish to partake of that which it offers. A four-level structure if one counts the basement, the Wailing Wench features the main tavern hall on the ground floor, private lodging and rooms on the second floor, an as-yet unconverted loft for storage and the occasional private deal (or proverbial roll in the hay), and the previously mentioned basement, which is sealed via an exceptionally complicated lock that can only be opened by the owner, though very rarely is. The tavern hall itself is a mostly "L" shaped affair, split between the large and equally spacious rectangular tavern itself, and the segregated kitchen area hidden in a room at to the right of the bar. That bar rests at the southern end of the "L", features a rich and polished redwood surface and counter, complete with barstools and an elegant display of hanging mugs and tankards. An uncountable number of bottles rest in wineracks that span the length of the wall behind the bar, while barrels of ale and mead stand off to the sides.

Wooden beams the shade of ecru yellow comprise the well-trodden floor, while khaki-shaded granite forms the walls, with the upper halves being paneled in wood that exists as the same colour as the floor. Redwood support beams and highlights finalize the colour scheme, giving the Wailing Wench a very rustic and inviting feel to it. Redwood tables and chairs span the length of the hall, while benches and booths line the walls to provide extra seating to those that want it.

A redwood staircase ascends in a "T" shape to the second floor via the eastern wall just next to the bar, while a performance stage ingresses from the middle of the western wall to the left of the main door that rests in the northeast of the "L". Paintings of various busty maidens and wenches on the walls contrast against the real things that serve ale and various other pleasures - some of the flesh - to those that desire them, regardless of gender or class. Cleavage is on tap here as much as the ale, as are periods of high spirits and entertainment, and quieter times of subtle conversation and talespinning.

Stained glass windows prevent the troubles of the world from getting into the establishment.

Otto Stonefish arrives from Northreach: Medial District

Otto Stonefish has arrived.

Mareten arrives from Northreach: Medial District

Mareten has arrived.

Thayndor Zahir gestures towards the bar. "Order what you will, Crashhammer," Thayndor says, not stopping as he continues towards the corner table. "Darkwater will pay the tab. Stonefish, if you'll join me in the corner?"

Otto Stonefish heads to the corner as instructed, sitting at the table there with a wary and somewhat bleery eyed look around.

Mareten bellies up to the bar and looks around idly. "Much thanks me lord." The young man bobs his head.

Thayndor Zahir eases into a seat at the corner table. "Do you know anything about your helping hand, Stonefish?" Thayndor asks. "Where it came from, what it does?"

"The river," says Otto somewhat guardedly.

"These are trying times, Stonefish. I'm going to ask you to be more specific than that." Thayndor's brow flattens.

"Near the bridge," supplies Otto.

"Just floating there?" Thayndor counters.

"No," answers Otto. Then, he becomes more talkative, "Ol' Otto found it."

Thayndor gives an encouraging nod. "You were swimming? On a boat?"

"Hooked," says Otto.

Thayndor's eyebrows raise. "You were fishing."

Mareten just sits at the bar looking happy just to be there as he drinks from a mug and leers at a serving girl.

Thayndor Zahir sits at a corner table with Otto. Mareten is at the bar.

"Aye," answers Otto who is seated at a table with the Zahir, not being very chatty.

"And you caught the thing instead of a fish," Thayndor continues, amused. "Is that correct?"

"Aye," repeats Otto.

Mareten takes a sip from his mug and rubs his chin as another serving woman goes by.

"May I see it?" Thayndor asks. "Tell me why it is you keep it with you."

No jingle of mail heralds Lucius's entry to the Wailing Wench. However, the hard soldiers boots on the wooden floor certainly do. He removes his helmet and undrapes his cloak as the door closes around him, looking about. He wears a new looking tabard over his leather kilt, bearing the symbols of the Torchbearers.

"Ol' Otto lost it. When he got drowned in the marsh," says Otto after an initial knitting of his brows. "Aye, aye, sure 'nuff, your lordship, sir."

Mareten looks over at the solider with a vacant look for a moment then shrugs. The young man then just goes back to drinking his beer.

Thayndor Zahir frowns. "That doesn't make sense, Stonefish. If you didn't have it with you when they attacked, why would they try to take it from you now?" Thayndor leans forward. "Which marshes did you lose it in?"

"How'd them as want it know Ol' Otto lost it when as he showed it to that gargoyle beasty to keep it off yourself, your lordship, sir?" asks Otto in return.

"A fair question. But another question is how would those who want it know how to track you through Northreach to press you for it?" Thayndor asks. There's a pause. "That question need not be answered now. What does is this: how did you know to show it to them?"

Lucius Nepos sees that Thayndor and Otto are busy. He shrugs and heads to the bar, taking a seat coincidentally next to Mareten. He gives the bearded man a nod, removing his shield from his back and putting it on the ground next to him with his cloak. His helm goes on the bartop. "Red wine, watered if ya please." The 'tender appears to know him and serves him a wooden jug full of the stuff, with a small cup next to it.

This catches Otto without a prepared answer. After a second or two, he says, "Good guess, your lordship, sir."

Mareten nods back at the armored man before sipping his beer. "'Ello." He greets with a smile then goes back to his drinking.

"Stonefish," Thayndor drawls, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward. "When I hired you, do you remember what I said about lying to me?"

"How ya doin' tonight?" Lucius asks looking back at the labourer.

"Don't get caught," answers Otto.

"Iz doin pretty good." Mareten nods his head quickly. "Me lord over there be kind'f ta buy mez some drink and food."

"Oh, ol' Count Darkwater eh? He's a good enough one. Runs those privateers, the Deepers, outta his keep. Well, not now. With the Law confining mages here, eh?" Lucius studies Maretan. "Lucius Nepos." He jerks out a hand. "What they call you?"

"Let me put it this way," Thayndor says with a tight smile that bares pronounced canines. "Your neck's starting to stretch. I'll give you a chance to be more specific."

"Hook a hand on a silver chain in a river, your lordship, sir. It's got to be magic 'cause there ain't no one else going to have no hand with a silver chain and chunk it a drift, sir," says Otto with a shrug. "Magic hand had a better shot than an empty one, sir."

"Imz Mareten Crashhammer, be a smith and all." The youth grins. "He be that? Thats neat... Ya a real life fighter solider man? For real real?" He adds with a bit of wonderment. "Thats neat, ya gots good works done ya steel."

"Heh, thanks." Instead of doing his proud bit, he attempts to play it off, dipping his head down a little as he takes a sip of wine. "Served in the Blades for a decade. Got some fancy work done, and I bet those smith's would be happy to hear it. So Crashhammer, I guess s'what ya do?"

"Works for now, Otto, but here's the problem: that hand may have a name. And if the name is what I think it is, it's an artifact of significance. The gargoyles and the spider-thing you saw -- I believe, if it was in fact a spider-thing, that it is called an acarit -- want it. At the same time, it's been described to me as instrumental in making them cease their attacks. So." The Zahir smiles again, a mirthless smile. "It's imperative you recover the thing, if for no other reason than to keep them from getting it."

"What's an acarit?" asks Otto.

Mareten sips his beer. "Near be ten year? Wow, ya ever met some guy namez Ren? He tell me stories about them Blades when I was a youngin." He replies then scratches his side. "Iz a good smith but it aint no tale aye? Make stuff for them all I hear all them stories about ya know?"

"A very nasty magical spider," Thayndor replies. "A magical -talking- spider. I believe they serve the same master as the gargoyles -- those flying stone beasts like the one that attacked me. The gargoyles search for Shadow-Touched or Sunkissed to keep their ranks well-stocked. I believe the acarits perform more specific, or more delicate, tasks for the same dark intellect that orders the gargoyles."

"And who does them serve, then, your lordship?" asks Otto, pressing with questions now that they're no longer being directed at him.

Lucius Nepos shakes his head. "Ten thousand of us when I was serving. Twenty thousand Watch now. Prolly not." Lucius chuckles, pouring some more libation down his throat. "Ah, 'yer more important. Steel and bronze's what sets us apart from the Wildlings. Who'd ya work for?"

"We don't know," Thayndor replies. "Some ancient and evil force. Others know more. Others working to stop this." He glances back at Otto. "Others who need the artifact spoken of in order to move forward. Kaiara has a task to perform. When she finishes, I want you to take her and return to the marshes in an attempt to recover this thing. If you've really lost it."

"It's lost, your lordship," replies Otto without missing a beat. Maybe a bit too quickly. His eyes narrow as he asks, "Who them others, then, your lordship, sir?"

"Hmm Ren taught me some of them fightin stuff but I aint good or nuffin." Mareten then sips his beer. "I aint work for no one. My pop say Iz be a man grown and should go out and do my thing that be... two week go? From Eastwatch."

"Ah you're from home!" Lucius CLAPS Marten on the back once his beer is back down on the counter, evidently very enthusiastic. "Me, I'm from that wessern sec-tion near th'side of tha Cardo. Jussa couple streets off, eh?"

Thayndor Zahir smirks. "I've made it clear that this thing is yours, and any decision made as to its use or transfer will involve you. Another rule of Darkwater, Otto - I make sure you have what you need to fight, but your equipment is yours to attend. Why do you think I've said nothing of your unlaced boots no matter /how/ rediculous they looked?"

He leans back, folding his arms. "You're suspicious. The people who know about this are, by and large, people I have fought alongside before. People I trust. They include one or two members of the Duchy as well as freelanders like yourself."

"Ol' Otto don't like boots," mumbles Otto before he gets back on topic. "Maybe Ol' Otto will look for the hand iffin it important 'nuff to be losing the days fishing and making money."

Mareten doesn't shift from the claps but instead just grins. "Ah thats neat. Ya know me pop or ma maybe? Ma work in the tavern there aways."

"Ol' Otto had better look for the hand," Thayndor replies. "It is in his best interests to do so. However..." Thayndor leans forward and speaks in a lower voice.

"Maybe, maybe, I didn't ever know their lass names." Lucius chuckles. "Round for this bastard on me!" Motioning to Mareten, he calls the 'tender over. "Anyways, you don't have work soon," his voice seems to have switched to his more normal mode of speech, "you come down to Light's Reach. I live there now, with me wife and kid. My new liege lives nearby. Know we can use a smith, eh?"

Louder, Thayndor adds, "But can you describe the thing to me? The hand you've lost? I mean, I know it was a hand on a silver chain, but did it have a name, or any writing on it? I ask so that I can describe it to others whom I trust."

"Ol' Otto's ma ain't raise no one looking to find no early death, your lordship. Gots to be supporting her in her ol' age," says Otto to Thayndor. He shrugs, "Kind of small and girly. No writing."

Mareten nods his head. "Aye thats might kind of ya." The lass comment flying past him. "Light's Reach ya say? Be far place aye? Be sound good if I aint find nuffin. What ya all do that way?"

"Well, outside of the city we've got a keep. Called Light's Watch, s'where the Torchbearers are. Under Count Varal Mikin." Lucius pauses, adding "Soldier, for now. We're training mostly. Gonna do some scouting out in the chill beyond th'Aegis. But we've not got a lot planned yet."

"I see," Thayndor says. "We may need the artifact to be found in the next couple of days so it can be shown to one who is very wise and very powerful -- and might be able to tell us how we can use it to get rid of these things that hunt me." He smiles another mirthless smile. "Get looking. That's all for today." Thayndor moves to rise. "But a few things in parting. If you fight better without boots, you may remove them. Armor is available to you if you need it. And if it makes it easier for you to risk dying in my service, Stonefish, tell me where your mother lives. I'll give you my word that should you meet the river's bottom while fighting for me, I'll see that she gets food, shelter and the rest until she decides she's ready to pass on and join the Light."

"She knows where you live, your lordship, sir," says Otto. He nods once and says, "Iffin Ol' Otto is going to be a land lubber like, he needs hisself some ring armor."

Mareten's eyes go wide and he nods his head. "Beyond da wall?" He asks then takes a big gulp from his beer. "Wow... sounds good and all ta me...I see about goin that way soon den."

"That's the armor of a Deeper," Thayndor replies. "See this task just a bit farther along and I'll have seen enough of you to decide if you're fit to join those ranks. And if there was any question in your mind, then yes, your ma can ask me for whatever she needs should you pass on while working for me. Deeper or not, that remains the case."

"Yeah. S'no feast out there, eh? Good. Good, we could use talent." Lucius says, nodding in approval.

"Aye, aye, your lordship," says Otto. This Deeper angle seems to cheer him up considerably.

"See to looking for that artifact," Thayndor says, turning to leave the table. As an afterthought, he adds, "the tack you took with me should suffice, should anyone else ask you the same. If you're in a corner, drop my name. I'm no Regent, but there aren't many who'd openly seek to draw my anger. I hope you net a nice catch, Stonefish. Light keep." The Zahir turns for the door.

"Iz a good smith and me pop learned me good. Iz be able make ya all up pretty good stuff Iz go that way. But it be far and should look some more aye?" Mareten comments. "But soliders and stuff beyond the wall.... be like all dem stories I hear about..Sounds might good."

"Aye, aye, your lordship," repeats Otto.

Thayndor Zahir passes Lucius and Maretan on his way to the door, nodding briefly to them both and adding a quiet, "Lucius," before he pulls the door open.

"S'up to you, Mar." Lucius says, shrugging. "Count Varal needs a smith pretty bad, I hear, and he pays well. Supply ya with tools and a shop too, if he likes your work." As Thayndor passes Lucius dips his head. "M'lord. Light keep."

]]