Post by darvanas on Apr 9, 2015 13:08:39 GMT -5
Silvermoon City.
Two weeks later.
The sun had just risen over the immaculate halls and towers of the lower districts of the Elven capital, bathing the common folk in the light of a new day. For them the diligence and toil of another shift of work to earn their keep would be beginning very soon. But for the social elite of the sin’dorei, privilege bestowed them more time to enjoy the simple things in life. So it was for the woman that lounged within her bedsheets; smiling wistfully at a ceiling decorated with both illustrious artwork and dazzling jewelry. For her such luxuries were commonplace, befitting one of her high birthing and noble blood. For her companion, however, his presence here was a gift earned by both his silver tongue, cunning mind, and unquestioning loyalty to her own elevation in the eyes of the political royalty.
“Darvanas.” It wasn’t a request, not a question; a statement of name and demand of attention in equal measure, the skyclad woman rolling to her side to look upon her bedmate. Darvanas Inadriel was, in fact, there; a small smile at her demand of him, sitting up to watch the sun rise over the rooftops. It was his only request throughout the night – that the floor-to-ceiling windows to her opulent bedroom remain open for them both to share in the enjoyment of a new day’s morning sunshine. To this she had acquiesced, though she had been ... demanding of his service throughout the night, because of this request.
“Yes, my lady?” Darvanas spoke, his voice still holding some of the fatigue of just recently awaking. A half-turn to look back at the woman that held the power to crush his career, his livelihood, his very existence within Silvermoon proper in her hands. That woman, in turn, smiled all the more wider at the deference to her status, stretching her arms out over her head in a morning stretch.
“Speak to me of the plans for the Highguard. I long to hear them once again.”
“They are not plans, my lady, and I beg of you for the wish to correct you. They are preparations.” A sharp, upturned eyebrow was all the answer Darvanas had been given, the male lifting himself up with a fistful of silk bedsheets in his fist to preserve his modesty. A series of slow, bared-foot steps followed this , making his way to the open windows before continuing. “The Phoenix Highguard operates through very specific, very transparent parameters. Documentation of the specifics of the Highguard – in particular, their High Commander – will be easily sought out if given the proper amount of time and diligence. Nobody can lead a coterie of her size and military strength without an overhead.” His head dipped as he considered what to say next.
“So you plan to do nothing for quite a while. You wish to leave this wart that calls itself a “Highguard” to its own devices. I bestowed the title of Consolant to you after your distinguished service under my banner. You have the resources of a political House at your disposal, and still you wait.”
“For now, my lady. As I said, one does not lead without an overhead; means and ways to bring her to Silvermoon to face accusations laid before her and her coterie will be discovered. Liniadel’s arrogant nature and disservice to her people will be brought to account, I assure you. Either she will be brought to you in chains, a traitor and deserter of the sin’dorei in exchange for petty glory, or her closest kin will be brought to you in several sacks. All I beg you for, my lady, is time.” This was said without worry or fear of recrimination from the woman that scowled at the frustration placed before her. A calm, cool tone measured against the growing light of the morning sky.
“If it were anyone else, Darvanas Inadriel, they would be tossed from my balcony and left as a reminder for those below you that try their luck at testing my patience.” She took a long, slow breath to relax herself and the malice she had accumulated for the errant warband, sighing back into the welcoming cushions of her bed. “But you have proven your worth, time and time again, all to my benefit. You are being given a mighty boon, my pet ... do not waste it on what you have accused your betters of.” Darvanas turned, bedsheets tucked around his waist and lower body to slowly bow in thanks to his patron.
“I am ever grateful for your grace, my lady. You will be grateful for your decisions.”
“We shall see. What of the others? Their promises of patronage? While you have ... talents ... that I approve of, my peers do not know you as I have. They will not be as easily swayed.” There came another series of slow steps, Darvanas making his way over to the bedside of the unabashedly on-display noblewoman.
“It is simple. Issue injunctions on the behalf of a shell business within Silvermoon; stall them with a cascade of embargos surrounding trade and commerce expectancy. They will be more tied up unraveling the fiasco surrounding their sudden complication of resource and wealth to concern themselves with an overlaying timetable concerning an upstart such as myself.” The woman listened to this, coyly shaking her head as she stretched herself back out atop the bedding once again.
“You are quite the treasure, it seems; a devil’s lips that touch to the rings of the privileged, even as a velvet glove slips a dagger into their backs. Shall I watch my backside as well, for fear of the kiss of a blades-edge?”
“My lady, you wound me. Your grace has given me everything in my life; I would be but a common book-keeper if not for you. Of them all, your hand is the one that I dare not strike.”
“Be sure to remember that; whilst you are Consolant, know that I am the one that holds not only your leash, but also your executioner’s blade.” A purred threat within a compliment; as befitting a noblewoman of the Silvermoon courts as any other. “Fetch a servant, my pet; I wish to draw a bath. I believe you shall join me as well, so don’t bother dressing.” A statement, as when they awoke earlier in the morning, which Darvanas simply bowed with that ever-present small smile and made his way to the threshold of her decadent living quarters.
She did not see it, though. The woman did not see the man’s face begin to slowly melt from the pleasant, charming presentation he had accumulated over the years into what he naturally carried in his eyes. The pleasantries dissolved into a cool, calculated stare of ruthless efficiency – the gaze of a murderer that cared not for whom his prey had become, simply that the blood would soon flow. Once out of earshot of his patron, Darvanas lowered his head for a scant second, as if he had looked tot he floor even as a hand reached out to her doorway entrance. A hushed, bitter word uttered almost to himself followed this.
“Now.”
*THUNK*
With that word, madness came forth; Darvanas turned slowly to watch, catching sight of the noblewoman’s first gurgling gasp as she suddenly writhed on the bedding they had both shared. Then another, and another, and three more thrashings against the silk sheets – by the end of it, she had been half-pushed off the opulent furniture. Darvanas, with nary a reaction to the mysterious antics of the woman one way or another, made his way back over to the scene.
The noblewoman, his patron, was dead.
Five small holes, as deep a red as any crest of Silvermoon, had been buried into the woman’s chest, with a sixth being buried in the formerly beautiful elf’s throat. They poured blood from their points upon her slender frame, staining the sheets she lay upon and the cushioning they lay beneath. Her eyes remained wide, in shock at the last moments of her life ending in such a way, her mouth open with the scream that had been stopped by the wound that had ruptured her neck. Darvanas? He stopped beside the cooling corpse, a hand releasing from the sheets he still carried around his waist to slowly wave across his former patron.
The truth was revealed; the glamour faded from the six arrows that filled the wounds of the body.
“Farewell, my Lady. Your house will be held in good hands.” A small utterance to himself, looking out the window to where the assassin perhaps still stood. A small nod of approval was offered from calculating, venomous eyes; the Elf had done well, exceedingly well. He would have to be brought into the grander plot, as clearly he could be trusted to follow Darvanas’ orders to the letter. Such a thing was difficult to find, even less so in an Elf that shared similar thoughts as he.
For now, though, Darvanas pulled those sheets tightly to him ... and began to recast the invisibility glamour that had once been on his hired assassin’s weapons. The security of his former patron’s abode had not seen him arrive at night; he had lied to her, of course, as she would not survive to see the next afternoon. As such, he would leave this mess for her...now HIS ... guards to discover in an hour or so. He would feign shock, dismay, regret and anguish ... and then begin the rumours and whispers that the Magisters were the culprits, fearful of her burgeoning influence. And he? He would watch, and wait, and plan.
But first? Perhaps breakfast.
Two weeks later.
The sun had just risen over the immaculate halls and towers of the lower districts of the Elven capital, bathing the common folk in the light of a new day. For them the diligence and toil of another shift of work to earn their keep would be beginning very soon. But for the social elite of the sin’dorei, privilege bestowed them more time to enjoy the simple things in life. So it was for the woman that lounged within her bedsheets; smiling wistfully at a ceiling decorated with both illustrious artwork and dazzling jewelry. For her such luxuries were commonplace, befitting one of her high birthing and noble blood. For her companion, however, his presence here was a gift earned by both his silver tongue, cunning mind, and unquestioning loyalty to her own elevation in the eyes of the political royalty.
“Darvanas.” It wasn’t a request, not a question; a statement of name and demand of attention in equal measure, the skyclad woman rolling to her side to look upon her bedmate. Darvanas Inadriel was, in fact, there; a small smile at her demand of him, sitting up to watch the sun rise over the rooftops. It was his only request throughout the night – that the floor-to-ceiling windows to her opulent bedroom remain open for them both to share in the enjoyment of a new day’s morning sunshine. To this she had acquiesced, though she had been ... demanding of his service throughout the night, because of this request.
“Yes, my lady?” Darvanas spoke, his voice still holding some of the fatigue of just recently awaking. A half-turn to look back at the woman that held the power to crush his career, his livelihood, his very existence within Silvermoon proper in her hands. That woman, in turn, smiled all the more wider at the deference to her status, stretching her arms out over her head in a morning stretch.
“Speak to me of the plans for the Highguard. I long to hear them once again.”
“They are not plans, my lady, and I beg of you for the wish to correct you. They are preparations.” A sharp, upturned eyebrow was all the answer Darvanas had been given, the male lifting himself up with a fistful of silk bedsheets in his fist to preserve his modesty. A series of slow, bared-foot steps followed this , making his way to the open windows before continuing. “The Phoenix Highguard operates through very specific, very transparent parameters. Documentation of the specifics of the Highguard – in particular, their High Commander – will be easily sought out if given the proper amount of time and diligence. Nobody can lead a coterie of her size and military strength without an overhead.” His head dipped as he considered what to say next.
“So you plan to do nothing for quite a while. You wish to leave this wart that calls itself a “Highguard” to its own devices. I bestowed the title of Consolant to you after your distinguished service under my banner. You have the resources of a political House at your disposal, and still you wait.”
“For now, my lady. As I said, one does not lead without an overhead; means and ways to bring her to Silvermoon to face accusations laid before her and her coterie will be discovered. Liniadel’s arrogant nature and disservice to her people will be brought to account, I assure you. Either she will be brought to you in chains, a traitor and deserter of the sin’dorei in exchange for petty glory, or her closest kin will be brought to you in several sacks. All I beg you for, my lady, is time.” This was said without worry or fear of recrimination from the woman that scowled at the frustration placed before her. A calm, cool tone measured against the growing light of the morning sky.
“If it were anyone else, Darvanas Inadriel, they would be tossed from my balcony and left as a reminder for those below you that try their luck at testing my patience.” She took a long, slow breath to relax herself and the malice she had accumulated for the errant warband, sighing back into the welcoming cushions of her bed. “But you have proven your worth, time and time again, all to my benefit. You are being given a mighty boon, my pet ... do not waste it on what you have accused your betters of.” Darvanas turned, bedsheets tucked around his waist and lower body to slowly bow in thanks to his patron.
“I am ever grateful for your grace, my lady. You will be grateful for your decisions.”
“We shall see. What of the others? Their promises of patronage? While you have ... talents ... that I approve of, my peers do not know you as I have. They will not be as easily swayed.” There came another series of slow steps, Darvanas making his way over to the bedside of the unabashedly on-display noblewoman.
“It is simple. Issue injunctions on the behalf of a shell business within Silvermoon; stall them with a cascade of embargos surrounding trade and commerce expectancy. They will be more tied up unraveling the fiasco surrounding their sudden complication of resource and wealth to concern themselves with an overlaying timetable concerning an upstart such as myself.” The woman listened to this, coyly shaking her head as she stretched herself back out atop the bedding once again.
“You are quite the treasure, it seems; a devil’s lips that touch to the rings of the privileged, even as a velvet glove slips a dagger into their backs. Shall I watch my backside as well, for fear of the kiss of a blades-edge?”
“My lady, you wound me. Your grace has given me everything in my life; I would be but a common book-keeper if not for you. Of them all, your hand is the one that I dare not strike.”
“Be sure to remember that; whilst you are Consolant, know that I am the one that holds not only your leash, but also your executioner’s blade.” A purred threat within a compliment; as befitting a noblewoman of the Silvermoon courts as any other. “Fetch a servant, my pet; I wish to draw a bath. I believe you shall join me as well, so don’t bother dressing.” A statement, as when they awoke earlier in the morning, which Darvanas simply bowed with that ever-present small smile and made his way to the threshold of her decadent living quarters.
She did not see it, though. The woman did not see the man’s face begin to slowly melt from the pleasant, charming presentation he had accumulated over the years into what he naturally carried in his eyes. The pleasantries dissolved into a cool, calculated stare of ruthless efficiency – the gaze of a murderer that cared not for whom his prey had become, simply that the blood would soon flow. Once out of earshot of his patron, Darvanas lowered his head for a scant second, as if he had looked tot he floor even as a hand reached out to her doorway entrance. A hushed, bitter word uttered almost to himself followed this.
“Now.”
*THUNK*
With that word, madness came forth; Darvanas turned slowly to watch, catching sight of the noblewoman’s first gurgling gasp as she suddenly writhed on the bedding they had both shared. Then another, and another, and three more thrashings against the silk sheets – by the end of it, she had been half-pushed off the opulent furniture. Darvanas, with nary a reaction to the mysterious antics of the woman one way or another, made his way back over to the scene.
The noblewoman, his patron, was dead.
Five small holes, as deep a red as any crest of Silvermoon, had been buried into the woman’s chest, with a sixth being buried in the formerly beautiful elf’s throat. They poured blood from their points upon her slender frame, staining the sheets she lay upon and the cushioning they lay beneath. Her eyes remained wide, in shock at the last moments of her life ending in such a way, her mouth open with the scream that had been stopped by the wound that had ruptured her neck. Darvanas? He stopped beside the cooling corpse, a hand releasing from the sheets he still carried around his waist to slowly wave across his former patron.
The truth was revealed; the glamour faded from the six arrows that filled the wounds of the body.
“Farewell, my Lady. Your house will be held in good hands.” A small utterance to himself, looking out the window to where the assassin perhaps still stood. A small nod of approval was offered from calculating, venomous eyes; the Elf had done well, exceedingly well. He would have to be brought into the grander plot, as clearly he could be trusted to follow Darvanas’ orders to the letter. Such a thing was difficult to find, even less so in an Elf that shared similar thoughts as he.
For now, though, Darvanas pulled those sheets tightly to him ... and began to recast the invisibility glamour that had once been on his hired assassin’s weapons. The security of his former patron’s abode had not seen him arrive at night; he had lied to her, of course, as she would not survive to see the next afternoon. As such, he would leave this mess for her...now HIS ... guards to discover in an hour or so. He would feign shock, dismay, regret and anguish ... and then begin the rumours and whispers that the Magisters were the culprits, fearful of her burgeoning influence. And he? He would watch, and wait, and plan.
But first? Perhaps breakfast.