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Taff had seen Stallion follow them a little, judging by the exchange of words, and the name provided it was clear that Stallion seemed acquainted with this cursed young healer though he remained quiet like a good servant was expected to be.

He made no gesture of recognizing the man openly nor betray an ounce of his own magic unless strictly needed which had not been the case so far.

Whilst Taff had kept a watchful eye on Romulus' every gesture, item taken and move made, in case he was attempting anything against the prince. He did note the suspicion growing in Romulus eyes when he noticed the royal crest on his travel bag and let out a slow heavy sigh, not about to offer explanations.

Taff followed Romulus towards the door, holding him back briefly, with a kind grip upon his shoulder to retain him long enough to speak to the cursed one but not firm enough to be threatening in any way.

"Jester... I thank you for your healing in this hour of need... I hope I can some day repay you... you are indeed right that a murderer is roaming the streets and, danger is approaching, but it is not you whom this wounded ought to fear for you deliver a quick and painless death which is far better than what awaits him at the butcher's hands if he were to get caught.

Take heed of my words, the king has forbidden magic and is now persecuting and executing the likes of you as we speak.

Lord knight Tron Pentre is here with a murder written in his eyes, mostly against the prince, because the prince issues pardons rather than executions, halts tortures and releases prisoners, because he strives to give to the poor rather than take from those less fortunate. Merthyr has made many enemies among abusive nobles, the ones you often dispose of, above them all, the head of the royal army who is coming here as we speak.

Tron the Terrible has been trying to force magic wielders to eliminate the prince using black arts or face the flames, given the little success on getting support... he has now used your deeds to blame magic wielders and make sure the king extends a death warrant upon all creatures of magic or suspected of having it.

Lady Eileen plans to round up all the magic wielders within this vicinity perhaps to secure the king's favour and her position of power. I heard her order her men to prepare the dungeons and gallows, earlier today, before our hasty escape.

If you walk out there there will be murder and bloodshed and they will blame you for it all.

Tread with care... you are a wanted man.... no less than he is... peace be with you, healer..." muttered Taff releasing Romulus shoulder and withdrawing back to Merthyr's side without further word as to who he was, how come he knew what he just revealed or where he heard this from.

He nodded the head briefly so as to be curteous towards the old woman and held Merthyr's hand gently, checking the forehead for fever from the infection, wondering if Stallion would join them or follow Romulus.

((If you mean by Exe? Then yes. Not considered a target and therefore not someone worth interacting with or fighting. They don't enjoy their job and do it simply to remove their curse.))

The beast soared through the skies, scarlet wings playing in the silvery light which rained down gently from the skies. Demonic screeches occasionally issuing forth from the gore soaked beak. For a while beast and rider stayed in the sky, riding the waves of malice, fear and uncertainty which wafted up from the town below.

A trio of eyes swirled around the head, looking down on the streets below.

Yet for all of the show of strength and hideous imagery, the movements seemed slow and leisurely. They seemed to be in no hurry to fight their target, taking time to display the full terror of the creature. For them the manic rushing about of people on the streets below, their uncertainties, excitement, or tension, all of it was mere passing distractions.

Without warning the beast let out its loudest roar yet and everything about it changed. The beast now driven with purpose turned 140 degrees to the left and charged fill tilt towards a towered structure, the wings becoming more cruel and hooked as it powered onward, seeming to spread show and clouds in its wake.

With the full force possible the beast struck the tower wall, crushing stone and wood in its wake. For a while nothing could be seen of the pair, the only thing to show of their sudden move being the gaping hole.


With the fury of a storm a spike of blood drove itself through an upper window, ripping apart more of the structure, followed seconds later by two more, demolishing walls and windows like paper before the knife.

minutes later the beast burst through the roof of the tower, showering the streets below in vicious debris. Yet for all the creature looked and its rider looked the same, something was different. It was bulkier, the wings seemed larger and above all the quartet of eyes that cast a gaze upon the city below were deeply saddened.

Stallion instinctively lifted his arm to shield himself when the Executioner took off, never taking the moment to even acknowledge his existence, and after a few moments he released a resigned breath. Ah... it was a shame, he wouldn't be able to find out anything else about this marvelous creature, at least for the time being. However, with its departure being one of such fervored purpose, the fickle illusionist couldn't help but have an uncomfortable security that he would see the beast again.

Brushing the idea aside for now and making the decision not to dwell upon it for too long, he imagined that he should make sure that Romulus and the Prince had arrived at a safer destination. The illusionist headed back to a home where he knew that the pale man would turn to for refuge, shifting his appearance in the process. He changed the color of his hooded cloak from a deep grey to a softer and earthy brown, as well as again changing his eye color to a faint teal and his hair to a blond sweep cut short. He was aware that Romulus had seen a few of his go-to illusions before and believed that the pale man would certainly recognize this one as him, under a different name, Corrin. It was with this appearance that he knocked upon the door. He hated having to use his real voice, but it would be the one that Romulus would recognize in complete certainty. It was different enough from Isidore's, though. "It's me."

Romulus had stiffened when he was touched, but hadn't looked back at Taff until he called him "Jester". He glared harshly, and again it was a cruel gaze that seemed so familiar...but as it softened, the resemblance disappeared. When he was released, he stood at the door for a moment, thinking. Staring at Merthyr, with some cross between pity and...perhaps admiration?

This man would make a much finer King than Conrad. It would be good to know if he could lure the King...Camelot would be left in good hands. As for this Lord Knight...it was a nusience to be dealt with later.

"It's Romulus, ragazzo. Don't call me that name where anyone could hear--" At the response of knocking, he turned and listened for a moment, relaxing again when he hear Stallion's voice.

Between the moment Taff looked away, and Romulus opened the door, his appearance had shifted, resembling a young woman with long brown hair and droopy doe eyes, a strangely innocent appearance for a killer to take on- the changes in his figure were subtle, but enough that he made a convincing maiden, "I'm already leaving." He had pitched his voice, gazing up at Stallion with knowing eyes, "You would do well to leave town as well. Lay low. It appears a killer has made his way to this town...as well as the other problem ive been sensing." Romulus glanced back towards Taff, calling out to him, "If I were you, I would leave the border county as soon as you can. Julius's death has stirred a beast I meant not to wake...Foreign shadows moved in here, and they mean harm."

And with that, the disguised young man tugged his navy hood over his head, his eyes sweeping the area as he stepped out along the pathway; he of course had no intentions to leave, but he knew it would be best if these strangers thought him long gone- how could he leave, with a target so close? As he moved to the street, his cloak dragged along the cobblestones, and he pulled his lute from his back- he heard the deafening roar of the beast above, but paid no mind; or rather, he only heard and did not listen. No, Romulus was focused on mentally forming this plan, how exactly would he get near this Lord Knight, perhaps this feminine form would be enough? It had been distracting enough to that ruffian in the hallway, though he did feel a pang of guilt at having wounded that man so badly...he hadn't meant to, but there was no room for guilt in this lifestyle, not if he wanted to surv--

The loud crashing was enough to get his attention, his frightened eyes snapping up towards the high tower as debris rained down; thankfully no one but Stallion would be around to see him drop his spell, reverting to his normal form and rushing away to narrowly avoid being crushed. Romulus stared up in horror at what emerged from the destroyed tower, his lute clutched closely in hand. He thought briefly of any songs he could play that could perhaps calm the beast, but he knew this violent spectacle would attract attention, and so he stuck to moving back into the darkness of an alleyway.


At this showing, shadows nearby stirred and left the area as quietly as they had come, moving closer towards the Mancini estate.

((Hope you guys don't mind me slipping this in here.))

Not much good for anything more than first aid, Raed had stepped back to allow Eike to work. She knew her young-faced friend would be more help, anyway, and her talents were a little more inclined for guard duty. Which she started up by wedging herself into the space between a lower window and the door.

She couldn't see anything - the window was still shuttered and she had no intention of opening it with everything she'd seen lately. But she could hear plenty. People pattered past on the street, the occasional whinny or stamping in the stable... And then the not-nearly-as-distant-as-she'd-like crash and the rumble of something big falling to pieces.

A flash of imaginings blamed any number of things: magic attack gone awry, sudden siege weaponry, a monster running amok... Maybe even that thing from outside the tavern.

"Damn," she muttered, pawing at her brow. "I can't get nearly drunk enough on this kind of pay... need a raise."

Though the carriage-house apprentice made no other acknowledgement of the statement, he shook his head. What sort of madness had been unleashed on this city?

His eye already scouring the last known whereabouts of the men he'd left the estate to capture and the other target, the one given to him and his sweetheart by their other employers eliminated he saw nothing better to do than return to the estate. Return to get those ever essential orders, the words he used to get through every day.

Letting out one more shrill inhuman cry the beast descended upon the sill used so many times before as an exit to the castle, allowing its rider to descend in an orderly manner, keeping the mask and robe firmly covering every inch of body. Then like an uholy storm Executioner descended into the room, riding a crimson wave which eddied and flowed around him, the bird form losing shape within the raging crimson mass. Instead, stepping forth from it was the armored body Executioner had entered the city with, dark tendrils of blood clinging to his cape, fingers reaching out from the monster looming over him.

All he needed to do now was find out what he needed to do, he would tear the town apart and all those who lived inside, any order he would follow, needed to follow. All to finally lift that curse that hung over every inch of his life for so many countless years

Stallion watched Romulus leave for wherever he was going, and he took the gesture with a small grain of salt. The two of them were similar, in more ways than one. When they wanted something, they both would not pause until they had achieved it. And from that logic, he very much knew that staying largely out of the way would possibly be best. It was not just a large leap of logic that the Lord of the realm would at least come to call, especially--heaven forbid--that the Prince was now injured and residing in the house behind him.

However, that did not mean that he wouldn't stay to watch the show. And, perhaps assist if he ever felt the whimsical urge. He had absolutely no doubt that Duke Isidore would still be useful as a means of information. The persona was a large trade figure. Despite the persona being fake, the wealth behind it was very real, and it would almost be amiss for the Duke not to be invited to any gatherings of importance.

He was still disguised, and was not wearing the showman's gambit that he had been sporting when Taff and Merthyr had spotted him earlier. After a few moments, he began to walk away, intending to return to the Mancini estate--only for him to see that hideous creature burst from the eaves of the tower in the distance and release an unholy screech.

Upon instinct he backed into the small house where the old woman, Taff, and Merthyr still remained, wary, hoping to wait the creature out before making his exit. The illusionist had no desire to face the creature again, at least not this night. Belatedly, he pulled his hood back on. He knew that he should not reveal himself as the Duke, and the illusion would do that for him. He didn't glance over at the sorcerer and his charge, but he did speak. "What unearthly forces do plague this city...?" he whispered, keeping a keen listening ear towards the Merthyr and his servant even as he kept his eyes glued to the curtained window, watching the shape of the Executioner fly through the night.

Taff heard that unnerving screech and took a deep breath, well aware that time was not on their side, certain that the Executioner would not stop seeking them out until they were found. It was his curse and destiny to obey and serve for a time after all.

Taff could only hope that the creature and his mistress, the lady Mancini, would find it sufficient to eventually get their hands on Taff, and settle for Taff alone, leaving Merthyr forgotten within the safety of the shadows until the prince recovered enough to return home. He also knew the prince's noble heart would make the task of handing himself over all the more difficult if they remained together.

At present, Merthyr was wounded and frail but overall out of danger thanks to Romulus skilled hands though the prince was boiling in fever, for infection had inevitably set in already and it would be a significant set back to his recovery and safe return to the royal castle.

Taff also knew that the longer the two remained together, the greater the chance of being found, because Taff feared that the Executioner could likely sense Taff's magic as much as Taff could sense the creature's presence and proximity through magic too.

With that in mind, Taff dug the hand into his travel bag and extracted a dark purple vial. He bit the cork out to uncap it, bringing the mixture to Merthyr's lips, watching the prince trustingly drink the content, unaware of what it was, but downing it all the same albeit with some strain.

Merthyr felt a measure of relief from his pain before quickly dropping limp upon the cot where he had been resting on, as if he were lifeless, whilst he drifted into unconsciousness. The remedy placed him under a deep sleep to help fight the infection and numb all feelings of tiredness and pain, more crucially, removing all awareness of his surroundings.

Taff waited for the remedy to take full effect, his arms crossed along the chest as he answered Stallion's question. Talking and moving onto a hasty task no sooner Merthyr's eyes closed.

"What unearthly forces plague this city...? Well... magic is not unearthly... it is part of the very fabric of the earth, of nature, of life and death, of time, even of some of us... what is plaguing this city, however, is the hatred and greed within certain humans which seems to know no boundaries. People with such black heart, it lacks all concept of mercy. They only sow death, bitterness and sorrow wherever they go, just to empower themselves and rule through fear.

Some follow the darkest paths of wrongdoing by engaging in necromancy and the darkest forces of magic they seldom understand, for their own selfish purposes. What these humans fail to understand is that such powers rot them from within, for they were never meant to be theirs in the first place nor will they ever have my blessings to keep them.

Even seemingly unharmful spells that change one's appearance, comes with a price, a hefty curse in its own right.

Now that the human king has foolishly declared war upon magic and sacrificed so many innocent lives... nature and magic will seek its revenge to avenge that spilled blood and I must safeguard our prince... the future of these lands... the harbringer of peace" explained Taff speaking such bad omen upon King Conrad openly and with certainty, even if it meant treason.

At no point did Taff look or gaze at Stallion, clearly busy relocating the furniture. The time had come to raise the stakes if Merthyr was to stand a chance of survival against so many foes, humans and otherwise.

Taff moved a bench, draggging it nearby Merthyr, gathering a large iron bowl placing it away from anything that could catch fire. Away from wooden beams, away from the curtains or other fabrics. Just the metal bowl left upon the table.

By its side, he placed another bowl and filled it with water, bringing a third bowl too and filling it with dirt from a nearby flower pot, leaving the final bowl empty. To any skilled eye, it was clear that Taff was gathering the elementals into the bowls: fire, earth, wind and water upon that modest table.

His conversation had drifted into silence to allow him to focus and concentrate, his mind and lips starting a low mumbling that muttered ancient spells to summon the goddesses.

He took to handfuls of fine sawdust from a pouch and let it fall into a bowl, summoning fire right away to bring together all the elements.



He took a step back calling on the spirits to his presence.



"Gaia, of the earth, Thalia, of the ice and fire, Elektra, of the waters, Calliope, of the storms and winds... come to my presence and hear my plea, my command. Take this mortal... Merthyr... under your care, watch over him for me. Within your elements, do all you can to prevent his death, even if you must call upon your gifted ones, on this occasion" explained Taff taking a step back to wave his hand over Merthyr so they could take a good look at the sleeping man

The four beautiful women looked at one another, with an incredulous look, Thalia frowning at Taff.

"Emrys... you would have us protect the heir to his father's curses and the king's wrongdoings? The bloodline that has shed so many innocent lives and brought strife among our own kind?" questioned the flame engulfed woman clearly not amused or pleased with the request

"Yes... for the son is not the father... within this one lies a heart of gold" nodded Taff staring at them steady.

"Very well... but your powers and services will be called upon, in return for this great favour, including the ability to leave our own elements and take up other forms" warned Elektra with a sly smile

"For one day and one night only" agreed Taff scowling at Elektra's words. She had often asked for this and Taff always refused, though on this occasion she had the upper hand of the game

With the deal cast, the elemental spirits disappeared leaving the water, soil and burnt cinders in the basings.

Taff hurried to tug the hood over his head and wrap up the cloak tightly around him, snatching the royal satchel and leaving behind a small dagger, a pouch of gold and a cloak for Merthyr.

On his way out patting Stallion briefly before shutting the door quietly.

Taff knew Calliope's departure always brought about sudden gushes of wind and he would use that distraction to hastily leave the building and rush down the alleyways, hiding among shadows and darkness and hoping to evade his hunters a little longer, whilst getting as far from Merthyr as possible.

In the meantime, given the unusual strong winds and strange screeches, Tron the Terrible took heed of his men's pleas and sought refuge, entering into the nearest tavern and ordering food, drinks and rooms to spend the night there for all of them

He sat by the hearth, the warmest and most comfortable space and waited for the bar maids to bring food and drinks, listening into conversation and gossip attentively whilst eyeing out the attendants, for he was not known to be an honourable knight when it came to women.

"Zerald... fetch the ale..." sighed Tron, tired of the slow service and sending the equally sly head guard to grab the drinks

Aileen was getting restless- the exhaustion on her face from the lack of sleep was painfully clear, and yet she seemed pleased as Exe returned, her hands folded across her lap, "Tell me, Executioner...did you manage to find the two messengers...? Do they have allies here..? If Lord Pentre is coming to take over the border....I fear we have little time left."

Unknown to those in the city below the manor, the Mancini family had never cut contact with the neighboring Kingdom once a truce was signed; odd enough, and unknown to even Lady Aileen herself, her husband had quite an...unusual relationship to the King there, young as the Dokkalfar was. Scarlet letters passed between the two, private meetings that Aileen was barred from attending. She had her suspicions, but what woman would throw away her title simply for honor? With the death of Lord Julius....it was only a matter of time until his Highness, King Kayghet, made his appearance. She would only hope he received her message in time....

---

Romulus was shaken from the sight of the beast, and yet he knew his responsibilities. Information, on this strange Lord Knight. He quietly focused and change himself back to his old appearance, that of the young maiden, and securing his lute in his arms, advanced into the tavern. Where better to gather information?

Of course, he hadn't expected Pentre to be there. As he walked through the door, the smile on his face was replaced with a look of surprise as he tensed up suddenly; his anxiety could easily be mistaken for the surprise of a young lady at the presence of so many men. He would only be lucky that he had used this appearance before; the bartender, after passing Zerald two mugs of fresh ale, looked up and smiled. A familiar face was good, but not when it attracted attention, "Alice, just the gal we've been looking for!" He called, and Romulus cursed to himself.

Shyly, the disguised bard made his way to the bar, met with a wide hug that quickly escalted to this 'Alice' girl being placed on the edge of the bar, seated comfortably at the center of attention, "You men are in for a treat, you are. Alice here is a gifted musician, aren't yah?" The large man chuckled, patting her shoulders with a little more force than was really necessary; he was tense too, with so many guards here.

Alice quietly nodded, her eyes moving to the door, then the window, anywhere but the faces that had begun to expectantly turn in her direction. Maybe she should've left when she walked in....but maybe just a song or two would be enough to satisfy the patrons.

((Quick note in case its confusing-- Romulus = Alice))

---

Moving through the shadows, it was only a matter of time until someone wasn't fast enough to move out of the way. And sure enough, Taff would find that he was quickly met with another person, crouched low in the dark, who ended up sprawled out on the cobblestone. Wide, violet eyes peered up at the human, and the dark skin and pointed ears made the child's dark elf blood clear enough. He didn't speak, though, only staring at Taff with a look of shock.

"...you're a gifted one, aren't you?" the child asked, cocking his head to the side curiously. His eyes felt piercing, unusually old for the small size of the boy.

Growing more agitated (and hopelessly sober) by the second, Raed scowled from her position near the carriage-house door. Finally, it became too much and she gave a stiff half-wave to the ones helping that poor sick man. Standing guard here didn't do them much good and she'd never been one for looking on while someone died. And the sudden windstorm that blew through seemed plenty enough omen that he'd be passing soon.

"'Ey, unless y'need me to fetch something for you, 'm gonna head out. Leave you to it." She didn't really give long enough a pause before her hasty retreat, so she didn't hear whether either of them had an answer.

Once out in the street, she split her attention between the sky - clear of all monstrosities - and the surprisingly crowded streets. Late as it was getting, these people should have been long dispersed to their homes or inns. Instead, many thronged towards the gates and other routes leading out from the city. Raed squared her shoulders, opening herself a hole in the crowd.

This time, she ignored the throbbing aches in her head and heart and, scowling, made her way back to the Mancini estate. It was well beyond time to have checked in and with things spiralling out of control, the last thing she needed was to show up shit-faced. Seemed it was time to go earn her keep.

On arrival back to the manor, Raed did her best to slip, unnoticed (or at least unaddressed), to the quarters provided those hired-on as auxilary guards (and other things). She would need her sword and armor if she were going to try and report to the Lady of the house...

Down, down, deep down, under the kitchens full of terrified scullions scrubbing cauldrons, under the hurried footsteps of the castle guard, under the desk of the scribbling scribes and the pacing of Julian's hounds, who hadn't been out to hunt since their master's demise, under the feet of the Lady Mancini herself ... the dungeons were ready. Ready to contain the magical masses, yes, but also to house the extra rabble that the Lady had hired for her protection. The barracks was already brimming, as was every storage room and unused corridor. Though their cells were left open, they were otherwise indistinguishable from the prisoners' cells: tightly packed with cots, with the same dank and pervasive moldering smell. Hay had been thrown down to absorb some of the dank, but there was only so much that it could do.

The Hanged Man had missed a lot of what happened topside as he oversaw the final stages of the overhaul. The dungeon aisles were crowded with crates and barrels of everything from blotting sand to smoked kippers. He sat now on a partially-fluffed bale of hay, a lit pipe in one hand and a bottle of dark, unmarked liquid in the other. Around him the smell of acrid smoke helped to mask the mildewy odor of the dungeon, providing some modicum of relief. Torchlight flickered across his face, the shadows ever-fluctuating, making him look elderly one moment and boyish the next.

Footsteps. The Hanged Man looked up at Raen as she strode down the corridor, inspecting her. "Reporting for duty?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the pipe smoke.

((Hopefully I'm shoehorning myself back in acceptably! :B ))

Her nose wrinkled every time she came down here, but today the dank seemed particularly strong. Perhaps it had finally seeped into one of those crates of pickled things and that was amplifying the stink. Even the pipe smoke, whose owner Raed glanced at and gave a brief nod, couldn't cover it up.

His hoarse question drew the ghost of a smile from her and she paused just long enough to tease the man. "Not even a 'good evenin' for me? Ouch, Hang. Cuts me real deep..... But the answer is yes," she pitched her voice louder as she walked away. "What's the news?"

She continued down a ways, dodging the cargo and noting their uptick in density (after she'd bounced her knee off a new barrel). Then she ducked into one of the female-only cells (not that there was much use in that distinction when one could see through the bars and the doors were kept open) to fetch her gear. She stripped down to get in a cleaner set of clothes, put on her brigandine and padded greaves, and looped a borrowed sword's belt around her waist over top the earlier belt that her clubs dangled from. Then her favorite coat over top of everything else.

As she made her way back, she would sigh and rub her face. "You wouldn't happen t'have something strong in one of your hip flasks, would ya? I might need a sip b'fore this headache kills me."

The Hanged Man leaned back against the wall. He looked worn thin, almost as if one could almost see through him to the rough stone. "Is it a good evening?" he asked in a deadpan voice, lips curled into an ugly smirk at Raed's faux-hurt demeanor. "Not much to tell," he called down the hallway after her. "Damn castle feels like a t-tinderbox ready to blow up."

When she rejoined him and asked if he was packing, he scoffed. "Now you w-wound me." He pulled out a thin leather-and-beeswax bottle from behind his sash and offered it to her. Whatever was inside was foul-smelling with froth on the top and sediment on the bottom, but the fumes wafting from it were strong enough to burn off Raed's eyebrows.

"Wh-what's the mood on the streets?" the Hanged Man asked. "Feels like I haven't seen light of day in ... goddess, it's been a day or two, hasn't it? Lady Eileen has no use for me up there. Not like the Executioner." He didn't sound broken up about this, but he did take a long draw from his pipe, making him cough.

Strong enough that its smell cut through the mildew and the smoke, Raed gladly accepted the bottle and took a swig. It seared her mouth and throat nicely, and she wiped the foam from her lip when she was done. "Thanks. Tha's some good stuff." She handed it back.

"B'tween th' murders and their kingsmen, people 're trying to leave town in droves. Seems they don' trust their leaders to protect them. And rightly so, if y' ask me... 's why no one does." She'd laugh, mirthless but sincere.

At mention of the Executioner, Raed shuddered. "I still don't know what that guy does; not sure I want to. Does he count as magic folk?" The thought of Lady Aileen or the king's men trying to wrestle that armored mass into a cell proved scarring and Raed shuddered again. It probably wouldn't work, anyway.

"I jus' hope this all blows over instead 'a blowing up. Would be real convenient if some folk suddenly dropped dead, y'know? If it meant not gettin' caught in th' middle of a civil war..." If it came to that, she'd have to cut her losses and skip town. Or play dead in a gutter somewhere, hope they left her or threw her in the river.

It was almost with a grovel that Executioner bowed in front of Aileen, his body hunched over and practically feral, all around the beast swirled tendrils of gore and blood, a larger and even more creature of hatred and death. It was with a longing, almost pleading voice he spoke next answering the questions. "I tracked them for a bit ... I still have my eyes searching the city for them ... however, there were others who got in my way, they clearly have allies on the streets."

He paused for a second before the armored helm turned its direction towards her, the eyeless mask gazing silently towards the noble. "As for this man Pentre, I know not. However, I am yours to command, if you wish this city torn apart then so be it. Just give me an order."

All he needed to do was obey the orders given to him until he was recalled. That was his ultimate command, the command that overrode his base instincts, he wanted, needed to fulfil it. Each moment of its completion bringing him one step closer to freedom with his beloved.

The Hanged Man pushed the cork back into the bottle with a shaky finger and stowed it once more under his sash. Regarding Executioner, he lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "He seems wholly loyal to the lady," he mused. "Maybe he'd lock himself up willingly." The grim-eyed knight swigged from his own bottle, which seemed to he a port he had nicked from the winecellar.

"Aye, 'some people,'" he said knowingly. Aileen wasn't going to relinquish her husband's holdings to Terrible Tron Pentre without some kind of fight, be it one with tariffs and coin or one with swords and blood. The first one he could abide; he had gone hungry before and could do so again. The second ... Aileen didn't stand much chance against Pentre. All the lord knight had to do was offer her mercenaries more coin than she did and the battle would be turned. And where Crow would be, he didn't know.

It all seemed like such a pointless endeavor. He closed his eyes, wheezing out another lungful of smoke. He offered Raedun the pipe. "All the action is on the street," he mused. "Down here ... feels like we're suits of armor w-waiting to be put on."

The mental image of that mountain of a knight going willingly into a cell left Raed torn between a whine and a giggle. Instead, she regarded the offered pipe a moment, before giving a shrug. She'd never been much one for smoking, but now seemed a fine time to take a drag. It left her eyes and throat burning - less pleasantly than the stiff drink - but she stifled the worst of the coughing that followed. "For now..." she choked out.

When she was able, she sighed. "Call me crazy, but I can't shake the feeling the action's coming to us. We won't miss a thing, even down here...."

A long pause while she closed her eyes and took in all the sensations around her. Every smell, sound, touch, taste seemed small and sharp, meaningless and worth everything all at once; like she'd be missing out if she left it.... She hated feeling like this.

At some point, she took her time stretching, opening her eyes when her face was pointed towards the ceiling. Some sort of wet chose that moment to drip right onto her forehead and between that and the feel of her muscle and bone moving under her own skin, she was grounded again.

"Y'know.... I told m'self I wasn't gonna do this man-at-arms thing ever again. This was s'posed t'be a short, simple job. Show up, stand around scowling at people, collect your pay and skedaddle when it turned out you weren't needed. Who'da thought all this would happen?"

Then she wandered out of the cells, up into the main halls of the manor, and back to looking busy while she killed time.

((Sorry, just want to get this in before I forget; Raed probably won't have much to say unless directly called to do something for a bit, but she'll be around the estate now.))

Taff slammed into this crouching figure, his mind distracted long enough to stumble onto the cobbled ground too.

When he focused his sight, he smiled at the dark elf.

"You are a gifted one... I am the gift itself. Now take heed of my words, it is not safe to be out here, you must hide and sneak out of this human city into the forest as quickly as you can. Being with me will only worsen your danger" warned Taff quickly summoning a thick dense fog to give the boy a greater chance to move on freely.

Unfortunately, the trip had caused Taff a limp and he would have to slow down and seek shelter, the nearest one being a tavern that seemed crowded, warm and well lit. With that in mind he was making his way there, unaware that Pentre was also taking rest in it.