Azi set down her quill and rolled up the note, sealing it with blue wax pressed with a generic rose-seal. She had been meaning to get herself a more recognizable seal before this all started, but now the idea of worrying over such a little detail was almost laughable. Ascot would recognize it, nonetheless.


As she slid gently from her stool, Pappa appeared in her doorway with a tray, looking tired and worried. The scent of sweet herbs and cake wafted to her nose.


"Feeling better?" He asked cautiously. Azi nodded slowly, remembering the pain and exhaustion of the previous evening. Her attempt had drained everything out of her, and she had slept through the sunrise almost to high noon. She knew Pappa had stayed with her all night, she had felt his presence as she slept. How many nights had she kept the same vigil for him as a child?


Pappa set the tray on her night table and looked at her again with worry. She was so small, so frail. But he knew the strength in her was so much more than could be expected from such a tiny body. Azaeli pulled her breastplate and greaves from a shelf and set them carefully on the bed. The dents and scrapes and gore of battle had been lovingly burnished and buffed away, and the armor held a gleam that could have lit the room in the dead of night.


"Going hunting, Angel?" He asked softly, a hint of disapproval in his voice.


"es, Pappa, I need to clear my mind of all of this, and I'm behind on my training." She half-lied. He nodded, knowing no amount of sternness or argument would hold her. She would do what she must do, what her heart told her to do, as he had always taught her to.


Azi stood silently, shifting her balance as Pappa helped her fasten and tighten straps and screws. She felt complete in the plate, protected, larger. Freer somehow, even under the weight of it in her exhaustion. She tucked the helm under her arm and made her way downstairs, passing up the breakfast on the tray. Pappa took down her mother's sword and slid it into the scabbard at Azi's back.


She kissed him on the cheek, feeling his beard scratch her lips as he hugged her close.


"May the Lord Almighty guide your heart, and your blade," Pappa said softly. "And may your mother watch over you." He brushed a blonde strand from her face and kissed her forehead. "So much like your mother," he whispered.


"Love you, Pappa," she said softly and stepped into the streets. Her list was short, first to the guild hall to see Crispian, for surely that was where D'vena's focus had shifted, then to track down Jashen, to make certain he had destroyed the tome. Finally, to Tobyas. She had a few choice words for the man who she'd entrusted herself to.

/illness bump

 

-----signature-----

/get better bump

/Chicken soup bump


((get better soon...))

/late night sinus bump

 

-----signature-----

For one used to entering the city as a noble and valued member of the courtier circles, slipping in through the north gate among the penitent was disheartening. D’Vena was used to recognition and deference. This skulking in was not something she enjoyed in the least. Her two companions gaped at the city and its splendor as D’Vena made her way hastily. She eschewed going to the cathedral and rather sought out some of the places where there were rooms to let. She had to get busy, and soon. All of her prey were out and about, enjoying freedom during her travel time from Barfog.


Her mind was still turning over that incident with the guardsman. There was no earthly reason that she should have walked up to him and informed him of her identity, yet that was precisely what she had done. Brazenly, even. Why had she done so? It was as if, in that moment, she had no control over herself. She laughed at that. Of course, she was in control of herself. There was only a handful of people in all of the Albion, Hibernia, and Midgard combined who could exert influence at the level she did. And none of them were even mildly interested in what D’Vena was doing. Not D’Vena the Outlaw, surely. Stripped of titles, lands, and holdings, she was as a nothing to them. She snarled a laugh at that as she negotiated lodgings in a run-down shop with two floors to let. She went up the stairs and surveyed the rooms. They were adequate for her needs, she felt. With some snapped instructions to her retainers, she set them to work at readying her workspace, for the pack train should be here tomorrow. She wanted to get ready for her work now that she was closer to the subjects. Oh, they would all feel her pain now, or rather the pain she wanted them to feel.

Crispian sat up with a groan, his body aching. He had felt her disdainful touch earlier, and now his body recoiled at the aftershock of it. No compulsions to do anything rather just pain. The old witch was about something, it was sure. He decided it was time to seek out some advice from those he knew who worked in mind magic. Tinowan, young knight of the League, would be a good one to ask, he though as he pulled on the gambison and padded leggings for his armor. Ardy came in at that point and helped him into the chain tunic and leggings over which his plate would be strapped. The burnished mail gleamed brightly as Ardy fastened and buckled it into place. Crispian felt immediately better when it was all but finished. He did not don his helm, for he was not leaving the city. But the rest of the armor settled in and he was ready. He wanted to fidget as Ardy fastened his cloak to the sturdy rings on his shoulders, but he didn’t. Ardy handed him his sword and he wrapped the belt about his waist. With a nod of thanks, the Seneschal of the West for St. Crispin’s League descended the stairs from his chambers and exited the hall into the street. Today would somehow be a day of battle, he felt.

 

-----signature-----

At the little run down parish, the urchins of the neighborhood gathered for a late morning breakfast. This new thing that Father Tobyas had started was being met with much praise. Daily, he would open the kitchen to the young needy of the city for food. What most people did not realize was that this meal time served as the daily meeting of Toby’s agent in the city. He presided over them as they passed information to him of the areas he had under close watch, as well as passing on rumors and tidbits of information.


Toby chewed on a heel of bread as he listened to the spirited reports. The sense of purpose for most of those here gathered gave them a spark for life that too often became missing to those deep in the Shadow Quarter. Toby was proud to have at least brought that to them, even if they did serve another ends for him. The list of information he carefully wrote down in a fine hand as they talked. With annoyance, he kept brushing back a bang of his hair that insisted on falling to the front of his eyes.


“What was that, Geoffrey, about the penitent gate?” he asked as he looked sharply at one of the boys. “Tell me that again.”


Geoffrey, a lad of nearly sixteen years, drank down some milk and looked to Tobyas. “Well, fadder, it was odd like, this morn, it was. See, this here woman comes through the gate with two blokes, see, and it sure seemed to me like they were footmen to her or somethin’ so’s I followed them. The lady took floors over to all Fatty Armister’s place on Tinkers way.” He bobbed his head to show he was done.


Tobyas looked at them all. “I must leave you now,” he said and made a hasty exit.

Azi walked along the streets, deep in thought of things past and things to come. Her pace was leisurely as she walked, nodding greetings to familiar faces along the way. She made her way toward the League hall, wondering what state Crispian would be in if he was there. D'vena's attention was elsewhere, and Azi knew Crispian was most likely taking the brunt of it now.


She wondered whether she had actually gotten through to D'vena that last time. Pappa had told her she said those words aloud to him in her trance. A feeling of dread overcame her as she passed a little rue of run-down shops. Her head began to ache. Chills shot from the nape of her neck to base of her spine. Gah! Stop thinking about the witch! She thought to herself.


Shakily, Azi quickened her pace, ducking into an alleyway shortcut that she would have normally avoided. She hastened toward the League hall, the feelings subsiding as she neared the welcome sight.

With a tone on his lips, Jashen strolled toward the League Hall. He had just arrived from Witrin to purchase poisons for his new blades, and to hit Crispian up for some funds. There was something to having an older brother who was known for his craft and hunting skill. He grinned, entering into his home, as he thought of the League Hall.


He could not help but notice that it was a little empty today. Oh well. He tapped out a tankard of ale and settled in to Crispian's writing desk, review the rolls of new members. It felt good to be in Camelot, to feel the bustle of the crowds and the excitement in the street.

 

-----signature-----