71st of Ymiden 721
Almost an arc to the trial that Woe had wielded the scourge in service to the Arkenstone Family, he received a letter through the usual channels. Gloom was all too... well happy wasn't the right word for it, but willing to grab his mail along with whatever news had arrived from abroad. Woe had decided to keep him on retainer, as he'd left the Lemon Messy to work for Woe full time when the former mage had recovered his finances from the spur-of-the-moment sacrifice at the Heart of Scalvoris.
Now he could properly pay Gloom for taking care of the house in his absence, feeding his children, and on it went. Yet he left a lot to be desired as a caregiver. For one thing, Iago couldn't quite stand him and his maudlin affect. Gloom more often spent time with Toutouye, in his camp, which Woe could appreciate, as he had few other ways of keeping tabs on the wild child, and hadn't made any headway into desensitizing him to civilization, or even of just entering the cabin.
Woe sorted through the mail at his desk. There wasn't much, just a few letters from contacts in Viden. Woe had yet to hear of Llyr's whereabouts, or even what he might be up to. He supposed it was possible that the Archmage had slipped into Emea, and had gotten permanently lost. The explanation barely sufficed, but it was his best guess at the moment, without knowing more. Then there were his contacts lingering in Ne'haer, yes he'd kept a few, who reported that the city was quiet. Nothing to report. He sighed, tucking that letter away.
Finally, there came a letter, perfumed and smelling of mahogany undertones. It was written and addressed in Vahanic, to Woe Morandi, from Filipe Dolizar of all people. He had sent word to Filipe before leaving Viden that he'd be landing in Egilrun. Whether the old man knew more about his whereabouts was a question, yet he'd sent it to the right place as it happened. And now his letter was in Woe's hands.
Idly, he wondered what Filipe may want with him. Surely his daughter had informed him that she had no intention of honoring their betrothal. She'd taken up with a rich Eidesi slave merchant last he saw her, who was likely pampering her beyond all endurance.
Shrugging to himself, he opened and unsealed the letter, reading the contents. In Vahanic it read:
Dear Mister Morandi,
How are you doing, my old friend? I am well enough, despite the tragic loss of my wife that you no doubt heard of. She was murdered in the very theatre where she was headlining as the protagonist of that now famous play. A most grisly and bloody end, Olga surely didn't deserve. I've every confidence that her foreign-born killer will be brought to justice in time, but for now, I have a more pressing concern to bring to you.
My dear daughter Augusta returned to Quacia sometime ago. I don't know what happened between you, whether she jilted you or otherwise, but she's avoided me since arriving, and taken up with some unsavory characters. At first I thought little of it, gladdened that the stiff girl had finally developed a rebellious streak.
However, it's come to my attention that she's being mistreated by this miscreants. Treated as nothing less than a slave! No free born daughter of Quacia should be thus subjected, much less a daughter of the Illustrious Guild of Hospitality. Please, if you can, deliver her to safety, even if it means away from Quacia.
She's taken up with a Whale of a man they call... the Whale. One of the Queensman from what I understand. He's a wine-sotted idiot, and a fat brute by all accounts. Yet he's won the favor of the general public in the Shanty, where he resides with his small entourage, which includes a man they know as the Rat. I don't know many other details besides these, I dare not venture out into the streets myself. It's not safe, you know? But I do believe you'll find them in the Shanty, somewhere on the outskirts of the Lair.
Things here are not gone well since you left. Chaos reigns in the streets, the Dragoons can barely keep up with enforcement, and foreign dogs stalk the streets plying opportunity against our citizens. The King has not returned from his excursion into the Underway, and the Queen is silent.
I fear the end of Quacia may be at hand, but we will not go quietly, believe me.
Now I must conclude this letter, Julos assures me via our mutual contacts that you can be reached in Egilrun, and I trust my associate's judgment. He's a great comfort in the absence of my wife and daughter.
Sincerely Yours,
Councilor Filipe Dolizar
Many thoughts raced through Woe's mind at the reading of that letter. So he knew his wife's killer was a foreigner. Did he also know that it was Woe who was responsible for her end? Or that Augusta had a part in that impromptu crime of passion? He did wonder. And it played a note of caution into how he played this information. He approached the small stove in his bedroom, and placed the letter carefully on the coals, lighting it up with a match. Although few understood Vahanic, even in Scalvoris, it wouldn't do for the letter to fly astray.
He only thought about it for a few bits before deciding what he'd do. Augusta had abandoned him when he was at his lowest, and yet, they shared a bond forged in cold-blooded murder. If she was compromised, it was not good news for him, whoever it was that possessed her, as long as she wasn't under Woe's supervision, she was a loose end.
Woe began dressing in a outfit he'd only acquired a few days hence. It was a white laced neck tunic, with sturdy, red wool trousers and riding boots. Over it all, he donned a light green cloak. If any of his old associates had an eye out for him, they'd be expecting a man dressed in dark colors, or black. He didn't want to make it any easier for them to spot him in a crowd.
Woe didn't know what he'd do when he met Augusta again, but knew that he must. And so he left Gloom in charge of his cabin, walking northeast toward the Village of Egilrun. The walk was calm, with a cold wind breaking on the night breeze. The stars lit up the sky, and a moon was showing. Opal would be able to make the trip to where he was going, then. Good.
A break or so later in the Stables of Egilrun, he found Opal there. She approached him, and nuzzled his hand when she saw him. Woe didn't smile, however. This was not a happy mission, or one he'd wished or even hoped for. He hoped that he'd heard the last of Augusta in Viden. But no such luck.
As he patted Opal's hair, he called out to his spirit familiar, the diri of Sorrow that he'd met in the Temple of Vri in Ne'haer, "Breen, I need you."
The spirit answered the call by materializing in the shadows behind him. He whined piteously as he emerged. "Breen, can you... can you... This will sound strange, but can you do something to bring out sadness?"
Breen whined, "But... you're already sad, Master."
Woe looked inward to his emotional state, and had to admit that Breen was right. He had barely noticed in the white noise of his own emotional makeup, in the absence of his Empathy spark, but he'd been sad for a long time. "Thank you, Breen. You may go." Woe forced a smile, as he waved the diri off, excusing him.
With a whine, the diri sank back into the shadows, retreating to when he came. Woe combed Opal's hair with a nearby brush, trying to get her acclimated to him once again. "I need you Opal. We have thirty bits to save a life." He combed her mane for a while longer, enjoying the feel of the animal's coat against his wrist.
So saying, he led her out of the stall, and then closed it behind her, latching it shut. Finally, out of the stables he placed her riding gear on, and then mounted up. With that done, he leaned close, and spoke to her, reaching out to Opal's veil that perpetually covered her eyes. "Take me to Augusta."
And then, with that one request, Opal began striding along the beaten path down Egilrun, toward the Southwest, illuminated by moonlight. However, she didn't go Southwest to Woe's Cabin. She was delivering Woe to the city of Blood and Stone itself. To a place that often dominated Woe's thoughts and imagination.
She was riding for the city of Quacia.
Template by Natalia Gregorios
