Quest Extra-Marital Affairs (SQ)

[Timothy Mered]

46th of Summer

Balancing the platter with two hands, because holding it with one was hard, he went through the crowd. Every single time someone took a glass off he had to stop and brace himself to adjust the balance. It made him frown in concentration, fearing that any moment now, some sloshed guest or another would reach out too wildly or bump into him and cause a total collapse.
Just as he exhaled in relief, after having survived the dangers of handling fragile glasswork amidst a sea of legs, both wooden and real, a gentle voice spoke.

“Come here little dove.”

Tim turned around. Seated at one of the smaller tables, surrounded by females of various races, circumference and statue sat a Konti woman who could just as well have been one of the white lilies in the small, narrow vast at the center of the table.

“Come closer, don’t be shy,” she said. The other women at her table exchanged a few looks. Two younger, lightly dressed ladies giggled but one particularly tall women with many wrinkles looked like the Konti had squirted a lemon in her face. Moreover, she was dressed in much darker colors than anyone else he’d seen, as if she had by mistake swapped her party dress for a funeral dress. It wasn’t quite black and neither was it a subtle indicator of her character.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval as he stepped closer and he worried he had perhaps spilled something on his clothes, but he didn’t dare to check.

“Such brutes.”

Only now did he recognize her. She’d been at his auction! Her voice, however, was not the kind he’d come to expect. It was rather soft and when she spoke, the words seemed to linger like ghosts before evaporating into the air.
“I was just telling my good friends here I had been hoping to see you again. You’re looking very smart,” she smiled.

“Thank you Miss,” he said, and he made a slight bow as Matilla had taught him to.

The two younger ladies, one with olive skin, the other rather too pale, giggled as if he was some cuddly, furry creature they’d found in the dirt. The Konti kept her composure though.

“I confess that I regret I wasn’t able to purchase you. You’d be looking as smart everyday if you had been under my employment and I wouldn’t have branded you so hideously.”

She let a thin, bony finger slide over his forehead, brushing the straw-like strand away. “Such brutes,” she said again.

“You want to be careful Nova,” the older woman, whose face seemed to have suffered more from the downward drag of earrings than her ears had, said. “It’s improper to conduct yourself so amidst generous hosts.”

Tim thought she was perhaps a failed experiment of an old hag, as she quite looked like an old hag except that her posture was stiffer and erecter than the toughest board in Jed’s workshop.

“Surely you do not mean to forbid me from speaking with whomever I please?” Nova replied. She was still polite, but there was a distinct twang in her voice. Her dress rustled as she returned her attention to the table. Tim caught a whiff of rose-petal perfume and became all the more confident that she was the nicest, sweetest lady he’d seen at this party.

“If I could, I would’ve forbidden you to speak a long time ago,” the old crow sneered. Why this frail, foolish girl bothered with soft-headed, low-life vermin was beyond her and the giggling, chirping two at her right-hand made her want to slap them across the face and remind them of table manners.

“Darling,” Nova turned to Tim again, “would you be so kind to fetch a glass of strong Port for my dear aunt?”

“For us too!” the darker one of the two giddy young ladies said.
“Make that two water, I think they’ve had enough already,” Nova whispered before dismissing him.

Tim settled into a jog, but then reminded himself that running would be highly inappropriate and instead strode back into the cool darkness of the Radacke Mansion. Soon enough, he returned to Nova and her three good friends. He wished she’d been alone at the table so he could’ve talked more. There was something gentle and airy about her, as if she was born from some fluffy white cloud. Less comforting however was that she tracked his every movement with her eyes, as if putting drinks on a table was some delicate, holy matter.

“Excellent.” She even clapped briefly.

“Say, if ever you wish a more respectable job and Jed finds himself in need to dispose of you, come to me…”

“Tim,” he finished.

“Yes, feel free to come to me Tim.”

The old pincer of a woman looked like she was about to dispose of her Port and land it in Nova’s face and Tim quickly excused himself and retreated. He wondered if perhaps live would be better with Lady Nova. Then again, he much preferred his loosely fitting working clothes to these tight, uncomfortable silks that made it difficult to say more than five words without having to suck in another breath.

Armed with an empty platter, he wandered about aimlessly for a moment. The other slaves were too busy to notice him and the guests, either too tall in height or stature, overlooked him just the same.

Another young Radacke slave however had been cursed by being of the exact same height as the eyes of an elderly man with a more fiery color to his cheeks than the reddest wine.

"I'd like similar treatment, slave. Jed's just a kid, after all. Get me a mixed cocktail, and make it quick. Didn't close down my business for the day to stay sober, Gods damned it."

Tim shot a look at Jed, then at the slave. “I’ll fetch it,” he said quickly, much to the relief of his colleague. He could hardly wipe the smirk from his face as he hurried into the kitchen and made a very special cocktail indeed.

After having added a fair bit of salt and other dissolving spices, he put the glass on a platter, gave it a firm stir, dipped his finger in it and tasted a drop. He grimaced. It was absolutely horrible. The salt dominated, but there was a bitter aftertaste that was nothing short of putrid.

Wiping any mischievous expressions from his face, he returned to the wretched old villain and handed him the glass, then retreated a pace and flashed a hint of a wink at Jed. Surely his master would appreciate the joke.

[Edmund Morealis]

Very well spoken, Dervain Sitai. Your ability to address a crowd is very impressive. I look forward to experiencing your more intimate conversational skills firsthand. As the music commenced, the various slaves assigned to waiting on the guests to this mock wedding bustling about the crowd and carrying out their duties. One approached Edmund and asked "Would you like to order something, sir?" "Not at the moment, thank you," Edmund refused politely, turning away just as the slave turned away from him. Liquor was served and orders taken all around the vast congregation, as the impeccably dressed slaves greeted each dynast with respect and fulfilled their inevitable requests for drink. Meanwhile, the servers systematically avoided certain individuals in the crowd, the Freeborn among the guests who were not worthy of such accommodation in the eyes of the Radacke - typical dynastic disdain. For hosts who had just asked those among them to partake in their food and drink, such condescension would do little to support the supposed hospitality they wished to offer. The air began to fill with the smoke of cigars and the stench of alcohol as the usual pastimes of the wealthy began to commence. Such were the trivial pleasures of the rich. Nearby, a bard began to recount a ludicrously ostentatious tale of such impossible circumstance that it was almost charming that he was trying to convince his audience of its authenticity. Not that Edmund could begrudge the man for doing his job, since plausibility did not often please. Art and entertainment sometimes did not interweave well, and at this shallow party the latter was in much higher demand. Edmund, however, was not here for pleasure or token attendance. His presence and offering were to repair any potential damage caused by his cousin's refusal to offer even a small gift to the two dynasties joined in fictitious matrimony. Even if the event was to deliberately provoke the Askara, whom had been courting Morealis favor, the Morealis could still benefit from any union of neighbors. Especially since Blacksugar's location in between Whiplash and Bloodflower stood to encourage cordial rather than hostile relations. "Sir," the servant beside Edmund said, interrupting his unhealthily rampant thinking, "It appears as if the two you came to see are preparing to depart." And that they were. Both Micah Radacke and Dervain Sitai were beginning to wrap up their respective conversations with their neighbors, dismissing themselves from the festivities they had so recently encouraged. It looked as if, at any moment, they would pull their chairs back and depart without a single word more. Even though it is a farce, they cannot see this wedding through. thought Edmund. We can all see there is nothing genuine about the ceremony, but they do not even wait before it ends to go off and plot. It looks as if my work is cut out for me. Approaching the head of the table, Edmund had to decide quickly on who he was to address. He was not quite skillful enough to handle two, but a single individual he could handle. Bringing his hand up to his neck, he rubbed gently either side of his throat, pouring his concentration into his voice as he opened his mouth to speak. "Good afternoon, Sir Magistrate," Edmund interjected quickly. "I deeply apologize for interrupting, but before you retire I would like to present you and Master Radacke with something." That is something I have not done in a while, Edmund thought to himself sardonically. Not that he could ever forget how to do it, though, for something such as Hypnotism was not an art one could simply forget about. He was out of practice, and given that he was still new to the art in general his first release was messy. The djed that had pooled in his throat was unleashed in a large gush that fluctuated per syllable, not a tempered and controlled release like he had learnt to do. At the bare minimum, Edmund had managed to force something out, and the consequences would come as they did. For the moment, he was focused on catching Dervain's attention, so the suggestion he had sent the head of the Sitai House was a simple one: this is important. Forgiveness for the interruption would come later if at all, after Dervain had assessed the usefulness of the gift. Lowering his hand, Edmund then made a deep and respectful bow while being careful to avoid groveling; he was not a slave after all. "My name is Edmund Morealis. Dimitri Morealis is my cousin." After those announcements, Edmund tried to feed Dervain a little interest, a little curiosity in what he had to say. It did not have to be rapt attention, only a mild inquisitive nature in regards to the offer. The djed did not so much pool as gurgle into his throat, but Edmund had to make do with what he could. "I have come to apologize for our lack of advance contribution for the bond forged between your two houses. It is my hope that you will find this suitable recompense." Though he could feel the djed leaking, he pushed on anyway. The warm feeling that gathered in the front of Edmund's chest was counterbalanced by the self-disappointment at his lack of control. Still, he wanted to try his hardest to get in Dervain's good graces, so he would push forward and come what may. With a gentle beckoning to the slave that had accompanied him, Edmund gestured softly to the rum that was held in said slave's hands. It was a simply decorated gallon bottle, with a single ribbon attached to its neck and laid gently in a cloth in the slave's hands, the corner of which was adorned with the Morealis insignia - three pillars and a diamond. "I have here for your union a gallon of Maathias' Selection, some of the finest rum to have ever been produced by my father." One way or another, that will give them something to think about, Edmund thought, channeling his focus back into his Hypnotism one last time. The djed gathered slowly in his throat just as that warm feeling returned to his chest, but this would be probably the last time he was going to use it today, with the possible exception of a farewell to Dervain. Amarantha would no doubt scold him. He was not particular about what kind of emotion his words prompted, just a general feeling of positivity would do, woven in with a bit of mild surprise at the quality of rum that had been offered. It would have been better had Edmund managed some Silver, but there was only so much his budget could afford. "I offer both this fine liquor as well as my greatest wishes that this affiliation between your dynasties is a prosperous one." The djed spilled from his lips and out into the air, joining the stench and smoke. Already Edmund could feel the itch in his throat that the djed left behind, the light scratching desire to feel the djed there again. But any more and he would begin to fail in his voice. Perhaps it was too bold to try to Hypnotize the Magistrate, currently the greatest man in Kenash, even with the purpose of cushioning rather than control. Edmund grinned. Whoever said a dynasty brat could not live dangerously?

[Vice]

.

The Freeborn was ignored. Adi, for whatever reason, chose to leave the wedding that day, and the sole distraction that the Freeborn had was gone from their sight. The man who had called himself Jole pursed his lips, as if dissatisfied that his opportunity to mingle was lost, but there was a grander reason for his presence in the wedding. A hand motion was sent to the other Freeborn, an exchange had, though both would bide their time.

Dervain Sitai caught in his place as the stranger to the wedding called upon him by his title, an immediate disdain for being addressed as such present in his mind, though it subsided in the face of his offer. The boy, for he was too young to be considered a Dynasty man of his own merit, was a Morealis. A suppressed sneer. Mockery it was for the Morealis to send a child in the place of someone of importance, though the single bottle of rum was a start, however insignificant it was. It seemed that the man considered his words, a smile gracing his features as he replied,

"You come to wish us well? What a wonderful sentiment, Edmund. However, what a shame that your family obviously does not share your point of view."

Weak, but discernible was the effect of Edmund's Hypnotism, a smile offered and words treated with a fine, measured respect rather than ignored completely. So it was that the Magistrate held his tongues of his legitimate opinions. Rather, Micah Radacke intervened. The Head of Radacke House, neither in the frame of mind or with the need to remain neutral in this... was uninhibited. A smirk remained upon his lips as he called upon Dervain Sitai,

"Are we leaving, Sir Magistrate? I was under the impression that - oh."

Purposely done was the interruption of his own sentence. Micah Radacke stepped forward and set in place next to Dervain Sitai, taking the bottle from Edmund Morealis' hand and inspecting it.

"The Selection? Are your pockets not steep enough for Silver, boy? You decided to come up and take Dervain Sitai from me with little more than a farce? How thoughtless, Morealis."

The chuckle escaped from his lips as he turned from the boy and the Magistrate, a moment's hesitation cast to drain his glass of imported whiskey. Dervain Sitai was influenced far more by Micah Radacke than he was by the paltry use of Hypnotism by a Dynasty member of no real status. A Caretaker, if the Radacke thought correctly, but nothing was yet done to prove that he was worthy of such a title.

"Ha." Radacke lingered for just long enough to speak to Dervain Sitai once more,

"Once you finish entertaining your... friend, we will finish our discussion. You know the place."

Micah Radacke was gone after he spoke, leaving only Dervain Sitai and Edmund Morealis to continue their discussion,

"Unfortunately, Edmund, Micah Radacke has a point. Though not quite as eloquent as those of us who were born in the city, the man does require my attention more than you do at the moment. The city's prosperity depends not on a bottle of rum and pleasant words, but statements of interest and further expansion. However, I will remember your gift."

The smile was cast, though it would quickly fade as a table was knocked over in the distance. A shining object sailed through the air, finding a sheathe in the left shoulderblade of Micah Radacke. Penetrated and bleeding, Micah Radacke yelled out to bait the pain, his arm lashing out and knocking over a chair as he called out,

"Assault! Guards, find the assailant!"

The Freeborn were no longer in their seats, one casting himself over towards the bar in an attempt to remain out of the conflict as the other drew a most curious looking, curved blade. Those who were knowledgeable in the ways of weapons would find that he had drawn a scimitar and the man charged towards the Radacke Head of Household.

It was time for blood to be shed. Dervain Sitai was momentarily stunned at the turn of events, but quickly shouted out,

"Guests, there is a room adjacent, please find your way there... The guards will take care of this... outburst."

And they began to, an ascent made to deal with the threat as the Freeborn reached for yet another dagger. A quick throw incapacitated a guard, though the advance continued.
.

[Adelaide Sitai]

Adelaide had finally located Novak Draer and had accepted his invitation to dance, letting him twirl her around as she looked around her rather listlessly. She noted a multitude of people she knew, many of whom she had already spoken to that evening and many more she would have to speak to. Noticing an older man, a Radacke she considered both senile and lecherous, approach her as she ended her dance, she had made her excuses to Novak and hurried off in the other direction. Somehow, she had found a hiding place by the bar (or rather behind it) allowing herself a moment of silence before re-entering the fray, when she heard a high-pitched female scream. As she stood up, wondering what had happened, a freeborn came rushing over and sailed over the bar. She looked up at him with a curiosity, for fright had not quite overtaken her yet, and moved away even as he seemed to crouch down, out of the way.

There was sheer chaos. People screaming, some running for the door, while her Uncle, shouting above the noise, sounded like a voice of reason amidst the panic. 'Is this the best of Kenash society?' she found herself wondering, 'The Glitterati which a city prides itself on?'. For shame, she did not pursue the strain of thought but made a move to exit the room, trying to remain calm as already the guards rushed around the room, making a move for the aggressors.

"Adelaide!"

Somehow. Much like during the rest of the day, the young bride had been forgotten. Though she was in no immediate danger, Adelaide felt the need to run back towards the fray, where she stood like a white beacon - her eyes wide with fear - while thankfully not wholly in it, to grab her cousin's hand and drag her away. A guard, who indicated that they should follow the stream of people leaving the area, crumpled to the ground even as he was waving an arm towards the doors, a dagger to his side. Maya gave a scream of horror and would have remained fixed to the spot if her cousin hadn't continued running towards the door, her hand clutching her cousin's wrist so strongly that Maya's hand had started turning purple.

"Don't worry. This is just an outburst. A madman." Adelaide said it to convince Maya, hardly believing it herself, "The guards will sort it out. This way. Come on."

And Adelaide found that she wasn't even mildly scared. Fear had given away to anger, a deep, raging anger. That someone trying to assassinate Micah Radacke - so be it. Adelaide detested the man and could think of many reasons why one might wish him dead: he was a boorish thug, a vulgar and obnoxious man as deserving of a knife to the back as anyone could be, but to make an attempt on his life at a wedding? At Maya's wedding? Hadn't the poor girl already had enough to contend with? Married young to a man she didn't love... and a member of the Radacke family which, no offense to them, was hardly a good omen. Whatever she had said, the young girl was scared for the future. And now this?

"Adelaide..." they had emerged into the adjacent room and Adelaide let go of her cousin's hand as she breathed a small sigh of relief, not hearing the young woman's small murmur immediately.

"Adelaide?"

Adelaide looked up with a start and smiled good-naturedly, even laughing, trying to make light of the situation. As if it was some sort of adventure or one of those crazy things that sometimes happened. "What is it?"

"There's blood on your dress."

With a start, Adelaide looked down. For a wild, crazy moment, she imagined that the large red stain on the front of her silver gown was her own blood and that somehow, in the confusion and adrenaline, she had not realised she had gotten injured. She considered that maybe she would collapse at any moment. But that notion faded less than three ticks later, as soon as she focused again.

"Yes... but, don't worry. It's not my blood." At that, she noted her cousin's dress which also had a dark red stain expanding over it.

"You have blood on your dress too." Adelaide tried to make it sound like one big joke, as if such a thing was funny. After all, it was a little idiosyncratic to be splattered with blood on your wedding day. But her smile didn't reach her angry eyes.

Maya returned her smile weakly as tears rose to her eyes and, before Adelaide could even attempt to find a handkerchief, the young woman, her white dress - symbol of purity and innocence - stained with a stranger's blood, burst into tears.

"This is a bad omen." A voice cackled behind them. Adelaide turned and raised her eyebrows at her grandmother, trying to tell Yatmina Sitai, without using words, that it was a completely inappropriate and thing to say, and wholly unhelpful bearing in mind the situation. Yet still the old woman continued, even as Maya's sobs got louder and people started moving away, creating a circle around her, "Your marriage is cursed."

[Edmund Morealis]

The die was cast, and Edmund was not disappointed with the result. Far from ideal, but ideal was unrealistic when talking with a magistrate. At least this was not a negotiation, where Edmund could stand to lose something. Unfortunately, it appeared that at least part of his facade had been seen right through. Once more, Edmund found himself mildly cursing his cousin for his lack of even token contribution to something such as a wedding. Farce though it was, such a union was a considerable event for the political playing field, especially with the nature of the bond being more political than matrimonial. Dervain had no doubt seen the ill will behind the rest of the dynasty's abstinence, made even more obvious by Edmund's own lack of standing. Try as he might to fulfill his role as Caretaker, his inexperience was proving a difficult obstacle overcome. Well, he had talked with a Magistrate - while he was busy - without being rebuffed entirely. There were worse ways to make an entrance into the dynastic scene. Edmund bowed again shallowly, dipping his head apologetically. "It is with great regret, Master Sitai, that I must verify your disappointment. I have high hopes, however, that such will not remain the case." While his face remained smiling and accepting for Dervain's benefit, inwardly Edmund released a massive sigh of relief. This was not the ideal outcome, but hoping for the ideal was unrealistic when dealing with any of the Dynasty Heads, much less the Magistrate himself. For the politeness of Dervain's response was, indeed, a victory, no matter how insignificant. Even if the man's true thoughts were different than those expressed, simply the fact that Dervain had acknowledged Edmund was noteworthy. Although there was still much that Edmund had yet to do before he could extend deeper sentiments to the Sitai Head, and his room for improvement was infinite. Micah Radacke's reaction was far more along the vein that Edmund would usually have received, but the Morealis had expected such of the Radacke Head. So quietly he bid his time, standing patiently by as Micah took the bottle from the Morealis slave's gentle grasp and quite wholly putting down Edmund's attempts. That was not to say his criticisms lacked legitimacy. Edmund could well have afforded Silver - and probably should have, upon reflection - to gift to the two masters, and the fact that he had not done so was a clear and deliberate decision by someone within the Morealis dynasty. That was, perhaps, the one saving grace that Edmund had in regards to Micah. It was not so much Edmund that the Radacke Head was seeking to slight, it was the Morealis name. So long as Edmund remained a nameless member of his own household, he could afford to make his own. Micah would no doubt remember him, though, so next time the Morealis sought his attention it would be best if it were a promising encounter. "You have my deepest apologies, Master Radacke," offered Edmund, bowing similarly to how he had done to Dervain. Any more words and he would likely only impair himself and his family. All that was offered was a short laugh. It was better than Edmund had expected, at least. Ironically, Micah's derision seemed to benefit Edmund in regards to Dervain's attentions. He was forced to hide a smirk as he returned to the Sitai Head's direction, paying attention to the words offered. These words turned out to be advice, advice which Edmund was familiar with but nonetheless paid close attention to and ingrained deeply. Currently he was in no position to offer anything of the like that Dervain was looking for, but the mere fact that Dervain had chosen impart it to him was of far greater importance. It was optimistic, but he might have yet gained a footing here. Better yet, it meant that there was a difference in thinking between the two heads, for one's words to have pushed the other so. Edmund offered one last bow, similar to the one he had given upon his arrival. Could he risk one more Hypnotic suggestion? Well, he had made this much progress, by both design and (more owing to) chance. Why the void not? Once more, the djed began to fill Edmund's throat, a strained trickle that slowly filled its vessel, with only one message to deliver: he is a good kid. "I would never be as presumptuous as to think that I would deserve your attention more than Master Radacke. Please, enjoy the rum, and have a good -" He was interrupted by the sound of a table knocking over somewhere within the great hall, and as Edmund turned to look he felt a cough begin to fester in his throat. Reaching quickly into his pocket, the Morealis pulled an embroidered square of white cloth out and brought it up to cover his mouth, even as his eyes witnessed the unbelievable scene unfolding before him. The Caretaker had caught only a glimpse of Micah Radacke before his shoulder received the sharp visitor, at which point the Dynasty Head shouted in pain and easily knocked over a chair as he stumbled. His following words put into focus what Edmund's mind was failing to grasp: there had just been an attack. The hand holding the handkerchief clutched is as Edmund spun about, looking for the attacker for an insane moment, and finding him at the Freeborn table charging at Micah. Such suicidal behavior... Edmund was almost in awe. Then Dervain, perhaps overcoming his own surprise, gave a clear and logical direction toward the crowd of guests, which was beginning to panic. Cigars were dropped and ashes scattering about the floor, glasses tipped over and alcohol spilled over the tablecloths. Such was the graceful way in which the elite of Kenash handled a crisis. Yet even in their mildly hysteric scrambling, they seemed to have the mind to follow Dervain's instructions, showing both Dervain's capability once more as well as what little control the crowd retained. Among them waded Amarantha, a beacon of pale elegance within the unruly mess, and Edmund was relieved that she was finding her way to safety. Edmund, for his part, thought it best he was leaving too. Nodding to the slave that had accompanied him, they both together began making their way to the other room, Edmund sneaking a glance to his handkerchief as they did so. On it were a couple bloodstains, no more than some drops, but painfully noticeable on the white fabric. "Are you alright, sir?" asked the slave, probably out of reflex. Waving the slave away, Edmund quickly stuffed the fabric back in his pocket as he made his way through the crowd of people into the large room beyond, where the other guests were dispersing and beginning to gossip wildly about the events that had just transpired, as if matters were not still in progress. Whispers of various volumes irritated the Morealis to the same degree, but there was naught he could do about them nor the disturbance that had erupted in the other room. However, there might yet be something he could do here. Quickly he scanned the crowd, darting his eyes from one person to another and observing them each. "Sir?" "Remain observant," Edmund replied, watching one throng as they moved about frantically, talking in scared voices. "Anyone would know that trying something like that alone would not end well. There may be others." It was no certainty, but it seemed more likely than not that the man who had attacked Micah Radacke would be working in concert with someone else. Probably not a dynast, but in this crowd any other Freeborn could easily slip in. Edmund doubted he would find such a perpetrator, but it never hurt to be careful. "Sir, it is my humble belief that you do not need to concern yourself with such things and should instead leave such matters to the hosting Radacke. They are capable and should be left to handle it." "You are probably correct. However, I would still like you to remain vigilant, if only to make sure the two of us do not get caught in the crossfire."

[Verena Lorak]

The Lorak ran her fork across the surface of the meat mindlessly, half of her attention directed to blocking out the loud noises pounding in her ears. A slave had served the main course a few chimes earlier. Unfortunately, Cassius still had not returned. She was trapped listening to a distant of hers rambling about a tall tale of ice princesses and magical, talking sculptures. Her attention wandered from one point to the next.

It may be Rak'keli's guiding hands that led Verena to turn the precise moment a knife flew toward Mica Radacke. The scene played out horribly fast.

"Guards!" his voice rang out. Every head finally swiveled in his direction, for the first time realizing what had transpired. Verena was stunned, as the rest of the room. A crash broke through the silence first, the sound of a glass of champagne breaking against the floor. The chaos that followed sent her brain pounding. There were screams and cursing and cries and silence.

The Lorak knew what she had to do, what she must do. Slowly, she regained her senses, shaking away the initial shock. Even from afar, her eyes tried to analyze the injury of Mica Radacke. A knife had buried itself into his shoulder blade. It was not fatal, but will easily tear his muscles apart if he made too much movements. Unfortunately, her vision was still blurred to make further observations.

The healer would have to be close enough. As the crowd around her moved, Verena went against the tide of motion. She couldn't flee the scene, not just yet. What she did next was pure instinct. She ran and shoved past the panicked Dynasties, knowing that the Head of Radacke was in danger.

Out of nowhere, warmth wrapped around her wrist - only later did she realize it was a hand. It held her back, forcing her to turn away from the injured man. For a brief moment, Verena thought it was Caedmon, looking at her with his stormy gray eyes. Then she realized it was Cassius, his blue eyes bright with worry. "What are you doing?"

For the first time, her eyes flicked toward to the other figure nearby. Her stomach twisted as she realized that her past lover was standing next to her betrothed. Verena was not surprised that Caedmon looked away when their gazes met. She forced herself to look back at Cassius.

"I have to help him," Verena said rather distractedly, trying to twist her hand away from his grip. Mica Radacke was still staggering back, his hand going over to his chest as he knocked over a furniture. Scarlet blood had started to paint his expensive attire.

"You are not risking your life for Mica Radacke," he snapped. Uninterested in arguing, Cassius yanked her arm, forcing her to follow him toward the exit.

Heat shimmered in her chest, but her voice was still flat when she replied. "We cannot leave him there."

"This is his home and he is the Head, Verena. Someone is bound to help him soon enough. You are not getting yourself killed for something like that." He gestured at a man with an odd blade who had began advancing toward the Radacke. "You are not going to be any of help."

Verena was not backing down that easily. She kept glancing back, trying to get a glimpse of the man between the fleeing bodies of Dynasties. "Then you should help him."

"Not until I make sure you are safe," Cas replied quickly. "Caedmon, make sure no one tries to attack any of us." They were at the end of a chaotic line heading toward the next room. Both brothers stood on her sides like sentries, their trained eyes watching their surroundings for any threat. Verena could see Caedmon reaching for his belt, only to find that he hadn't been carrying his beloved sword. His face tensed and their eyes met for a brief tick. For some reason, she was reminded of the cutlass lessons he had offered her so long ago.

Another blade zoomed through the air before finding its target on a guard's chest. Surprised, the man stumbled. Fortunately, he still had the sense to distance himself from the stampede, propping himself against the wall to get away. People screamed and cried out and started shoving again. The only thing keeping her from falling down and getting trampled was Cas's steadying hand. However, the knife had made him falter as he tensed for another attack.

With Cassius distracted, Verena ripped her wrist away and ran toward the guard who had crumpled to the ground. She used her rather slight figure to her advantage, slipping and weaving through perfumed bodies covered in silk and velvet. Curses were spewed around her, but she didn't really care.

Once she reached him, she knelt down by the guard's side, who was so obviously in pain. His eyes weren't focused and it was not a good sign. Mere ticks later, Caedmon reached her. He didn't have to guess where she was headed. Fortunately, the Paille didn't try to stop her and simply knelt down next to her. So, she proceeded to check the man's vitals.

She pressed three fingers against the carotid artery, looking for a pulse. After six ticks, she felt the weak pulsing of his skin. Slow and faint, but it was there at least.

His chest still heaved with respiration - however ragged. But she feared his lungs will be filled with blood soon. Still, there was not much she could do right then besides stopping his bleeding as best as she could. Verena lifted his chin and pulled his head back slightly, hoping to help clear his airway.

Cas then emerged from the crowd. "What were you thinking, Verena?"

"You won't let me help Mica Radacke. Now just let me to do what I am supposed to!"

"We can't stay here. We have no choice! We'll have to leave him."

Caedmon clenched his jaw as he looked between the pair. "We can carry him to the other room. Just make sure he doesn't get crushed between that stampede over there." He nodded toward the throng of people, shoving and cursing in order to get past each other. It was a rare occasion when the Dynasties dropped their farce of elegance and went barbaric at the first threat to their lives. Hairs were pulled, dresses stepped on, hats tipping over. They kept yelling and screaming. She could even hear a hysterical laugh.

"We should wait it out," Verena said calmly in reply, despite the obvious threats around them. Her heart was thumping and her hand sweating, yet her mannerism was still oddly serene. Verena could handle emergencies better than she did parties. The surprising roughness of the Dynasties was unpredictable and rather violent. There was a big chance that all the commotion would need up making his wounds worse. "I think we can wait for a few moment."

So far, the attackers had paid little attention to the Dynasties other than Dervain and Mica. It would not last very long, she knew, if the guards failed to stop them. Deep in her stomach, Verena could feel an undeniable dread and a terrifying surety that more blood will be spilled.

It might be stupid to spend more time in the ballroom, but as far as she could tell, it was the best option. Not a good option, but the best she could get.

Knowing that Verena was not about to budge, Cas mumbled, "Fine." His eyes wandered back to the spot where Mica Radacke was attacked and Verena could see his fidgeting hands. Caedmon did the exact same thing whenever he couldn't make himself stand still. "I have to go fine Steven, make sure he is safe. You two . . . just leave the first chance you got."

Caedmon abruptly stood, not sparing Verena another glance. "I will find him. You should stay here with her. She's your betrothed."

The older sibling shook his head. "No, you're the better fighter. It is dangerous here and if something happens, you will be able to protect her better than I do." He squeezed Caedmon's shoulder reassuringly. "I trust you to keep her safe and out of trouble. Make sure she doesn't do anything foolish, she tends to rash when there's someone injured involved."

"I know," Caedmon said under his breath. He had first-hand experience to that. Fortunately, it went entirely unnoticed for Cassius had already dove into the crowd, ensuring that he couldn't argue. The younger Paille looked down at the Radacke guard and Verena with worried eyes.

All the while, Verena paid no attention to the brothers' exchange. Her hands were already pressuring the wound around the knife. Rak'keli's blessing soon flowed through her veins and into the man. It was not enough to fix the damage, but Verena hoped it would ease the pain. She let the blade stay inside, knowing that pulling out the blade was too much risk. If she had the proper tools, Verena might take the chance - but definitely not in the middle of a Radacke ballroom.

Her first priority was the bleeding.

She looked at the layers of her outfit. It was all that was available right now. After asking Caedmon to replace her hands, the doctor chose the silk layer and ripped it into long strips. She would have to make sure it could go around his torso.

"You should have used my shirt instead of your dress," the Paille commented as he struggled to keep the guard from bleeding out.

Verena didn't reply as she tied the strips together to form one lengthy bandage. With Caedmon's help, she propped the guard into a sitting position slowly. The healer wrapped the rich fabric around the knife wound as best as she could.

"We should move now," Caedmon said stiffly as he pulled the guard up gently, propping him up with his body and slinging the guards's arm across his shoulders. Verena had just finished tying up the bandage. "We cannot risk you staying in this room any longer, Ren. You are still Lorana's younger sister and that means you're a close enough relative to warrant some attention. You are not supposed to put yourself at too much risk when saving a person, or did you forget that?"

The Paille did not gave her any choice. He started walking toward the doors, hefting the guard with a grunt. It didn't leave Verena with a lot of choice to follow. She looked back for a moment, unsure of what she was about to see. Their trio was one of the last people to head to the next room as Radacke guards started to move.

[Jed Radacke]

Jed perked an eyebrow when it was Timothy who so eagerly offered to serve him. He hadn't owned the boy for very long, but he was never eager to do anything for Jed, except for the occasion lesson in the shop. Shrugging off the odd behavior, Jed turned back towards the older Radacke who called him a boy, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. A half-grin releasing his words. "Nice to see you too, grandfather."

Ivan grinned at his grandson. It was something about Jed's line of the Radackes that made his immediate family rather anti-social. Something that kept them out of the dramatic Dynasty light, but wasn't a particularly good thing most of the time. "When are you going to loose an ear, boy? Until you propose, you'll have to endure the diminishing name, you are too old to still live on your own. Especially since you never seem to come home." Although his grandfather's words were given lightly, their intent was not. Barely any one else bothered to ridicule Jed on his single status, but Ivan wasn't fond of letting it go. Maybe it was because neither of his sisters had married either. Being the oldest, he had to fulfill the requirement first and early, which he had yet to accomplish.

"Well ..." Jed struggled to find an excuse that would fit. Other than the blatantly obvious fact that Jed barely tried. He flirted with girls, yeah, he never seemed to stop. But he barely eve bothered to go any further, which was not helping his case. Just in time to interrupt him, Tim silently handed Jed his drink. Nodding to the boy, he took it with little hesitation, bringing the delicate glass straight to his mouth. Jed swallowed the vile liquid before he had a chance to truly taste it. But as soon as he did, it hit him. Reflexes nearly made him release the whiskey, but he barely held it down, erupting into a fit of coughing instead. His mouth ran dry, letting the horrid taste sink into his taste buds and burn his throat in a manor that was not comforting. Jed could hear Ivan's deep laughter as he grimaced at the drink.

"Can't handle your alcohol either! That's why you haven't found a lady!" Jed glared at his grandfather who took the chance to escape in his laughter. His stare was quickly turned to Tim who had the sense to back away from the coughing fit. Although his glare dissolved almost too quickly when he caught the mischievous glint in the boy's eye. Jed raised his eyebrows at him, composing himself and taking a step towards the slave. With one hand he patted the boy's head, with the other he handed him the drink.

"Go get me something clean." Jed dismissed Tim, catching sight of an old friend in the crowd, Edmund Morealis. "And do it again, boy, you won't like the repercussions." The threat that underlined the dare was half-hearted as Jed was distracted. Curiosity caught him as he watched the Morealis greet the head of his family. What could he be on about? Jed thought, Tim leaving his mind. But he didn't dare interrupt. Edmund looked like he was on a mission, and even though Jed had barely talked to the man in the past few years, he didn't think they were exactly on bad terms.

A smirk ran across his face as he watched Micah glance at the bottle. He knew the head of his house well enough to know the sting of the insult would be very harsh. He didn't know what sort of bottle Edmund offered, but by Micah's amused reaction, it wasn't the finest. Jed decided to step forward then, maybe he would save his old friend from further embarrassment. "I would never be as presumptuous as to think that I would deserve your attention more than Master Radacke. Please, enjoy the rum, and have a good -" Catching the last of the Morealis' words, his attention was caught by the interruption just as everyone else was.

The chaos that unfolded was almost too much to catch as he watched the event's unfold before him. Jed had turned to see the commotion, but was quickly turned back to Micah when an object shot through the crowd. Jed's jaw locked as he watched Micah Radacke fall to the ground with a yelp."Assault! Guards, find the assailant!" Someone yelled over the crowd that begun to erupt in screams. Jed's muscles tensed as he did something that he would later regret. Most stories he heard told him that when you were in a crisis you perceived as life-and-death, that everything would slow down. He'd been told that he would see things more clearly to make the decisions he needed. Whoever told him that, lied. Nothing slowed down for Jed, if anything the world around him sped up. His head whipped around, looking for his sisters. Ismerilda had disappeared, far more ready to mingle in the crowd any any others in his immediate family. And for some reason he didn't doubt that she was safe. She would make it to the manor without a problem. The slaves knew her face, they would find her.

"Guests, there is a room adjacent, please find your way there... The guards will take care of this... outburst." Jed barely registered the words of the Sitai's head as his heart began to speed up, panic freezing him in place.

But Risa was Jed's concern. Since they lost their father, Jed always looked after the middle child. Maybe it was because she was the most fragile in such a brutal family. Maybe it was because she was one of the few people who took the time to listen to Jed, and so she was his favored family member, the only reason he ever came to vist. Aside from the reason why, she was Jed's big and only concern in such an event. Risa had always been so frail ... she didn't know how to handle everyday concerns, let alone this. Jed's eyebrows dropped when he thought he heard his name. "Risa!" Someone bumped into his shoulder, frantic on fleeing the scene. No one had time to dodge him. A hand caught his forearm, nails digging into his skin. Relief flooded his features as his eyes landed on Risa's pale white face. Her own brown eyes where wide with fear.

"Jed! Get me out of here." Her whimper barely reached his ears as he plucked her hand from his arm, placing a palm between her shoulder blades protectively. She's safe. The thought did little to slow his adrenaline. His mind was racing faster than the crowd. He would need to get to Mica, but first he needed to get Risa to safety. But if he went all the way to the mansion, he wouldn't make it back.

By luck, Isma appeared. Jed had never seen the emotion of panic across his youngest sister's face. The only emotions she had were happy, angry, and bored. And the latter didn't last for long. It was a tormenting face, one that killed Jed inside. He couldn't stand to see his two siblings in such a distraught state. But, Jed didn't have time to think about his sister's reactions in such a crisis, or why his most selfish sister had looked for her siblings before safety. "Go." He barked before his youngest sister could speak, letting go of his siblings. Instead of running, getting out of the way like everyone was supposed to, like he was supposed to, he took turned around.

As took in the scene before him, he watched the assailant. With a single dagger, he took out one of the Radacke's best guards. This was suicide. Jed couldn't even recognize the blade in the assassin's hand, nor find anything to defend against it. But Jed wasn't thinking straight, he let his body fall, feeling the impact in his knees. Blood poured from the Radacke's shoulder, and Jed's composure faltered. He couldn't help his kin. He had no medical experience and he couldn't fight blades with his bare hands. He had nothing to defend his dying uncle.

Put pressure on the wound. Teh thought floated into his brain. Supposedly it was common sense, it was the only explanation for why Jed, of all people, knew the fact. But did he take the blade out first? Why weren't there any healers nearby? "Guards! Someone! ... We need a healer ..." But no one seemed to be listening to him. Everyone was saving themselves. No one cared about the Head Radacke. Not one person cared for his family member. They can go to Hai.

"Mica." Jed's brushed a his fingers lightly across the blood that was pooling out of his wound. Was is supposed to run that quickly? "Mica," Jed didn't know what to say to his uncle. He wasn't going to say 'You're going to be okay'. Those weren't the right words. Jed's father would have said that. Jed's eyebrows furrowed and his jaw opened before clamping shut again with an audible pop. He had nothing to say to his uncle. Being one of the weak links in the family, it was likely that his uncle didn't want him to say anything. There were few people in his warped family that Jed had any loyalty to. Above all others, he held Mica at the highest respect. He wasn't going to let the Head of his house die. Instead his eyes flew back to the man's chest. Panic forced Jed to try and cover the wound with his hands, as his blue eyes rested on the incredible amount of blood. With the ease in which the blood flowed, pressure had to be the right thing to do. It had to stop the bleeding somehow.

"Now! We need a healer NOW!" The sudden volume of Jed's voice surprised even him as the sticky crimson liquid coated his hands, staining his pants and vest. The silk garment was already stained with Mica's blood, leaving Jed no hesitations to shrug it off and press it on his uncle's wound, around the blade. You don't deserve this, Uncle ... You don't deserve this

PC/NPC Talking -- Common -- Thoughts

[Timothy Mered]

46th of Summer 514AV

The result was even more spectacularly hilarious than he could've imagined. Jed's face! By the gods his face! It had screwed into absolute disgust, his features twisted like an medical experiment gone horribly wrong. Tim almost felt sorry for Jed as the old, useless sole seized his chance to further the young Radacke's embarassement. He wished Jed hadn't mistaken the drink as his. Seeing the stiff, gruff drunk settle into a coughing fit would've been a sight worth paying for, but Jed had unwittedly spared his grandfather extensive exercise of the lungs.

Lowering his head to hide a supressed chuckle, Tim quietly relished the victory. Jed's shadow loomed over him. Quick thinking on the carpenter's part, he had to admit. Not that he'd taken any measure to hide his guilt, but it could have been the cook.

"It wasn't meant for you," Tim muttered under his breath as Jed breathed another threat down his neck, but the unwed bull showed no sign of having heard him. Jed's massive hand landed on his nogging. He straightened up as if struck by lightning. A shiver, lukewarm like the afternoon sun, raced down his spine and for a tick he imagined the party wasn't there.

Gone were the lush tables with diamond and silverware, gone were the puffed up ladies, preying like vultures on each other's darkest secrets. Gone were the towering, burly men, and gone was the sound of clinking glasses, laugther, and chattering. All that remained was a warmth travelling down his shoulders, wrapping itself around small, bony shoulders like a woolen blanket.
Father.

Where was he?

The honeysweet blessing ended far too soon. As Jed's hand left, the world returned, suffocating perfumes forced themselves into his nostrils. Faster than he could think, the crowd scattered. Screams ensued. A gurgle, a thud.

Presents, wines, plates, all were abandoned as the guests fled like frightened rabbits. A stray elbow knocked him over. His head smashed against a table. Legs rushed past and their eyes never met the dazed boy at their feet.

He pulled up, clenching his teeth at the dull throb in the back of his head. Fingers combed his hair, no red stains marked his shaking hands as he examined them. It was just a bump.

To his right he spotted Jed, crouched near the slumped boar. To his left, the woman who'd healed him so he could be in this hellhole was taking care of a downed guard. She was brave not to have fled.

The swordsman, striking down guards with terrible ease, kept advancing towards Micah and, by extension, Jed.

He sprinted forward, jumped on a table, crushed a small fortune with muddy boots and nearly snapped his kneecaps as he landed on the other side. Ten paces seperated him from Jed now, he'd never heard the burly woodworker cry out so desperately. Let him! Let him be gutted, he thought, he deserves it. Yet his limbs pushed forward. If Jed fell, it wouldn't be freedom. It would be the clink, or the fields.

Despite everything, Jed was the only certainity in a life that had been flipped upside down and back to front more often than he could count. The idea of losing that stability, fragile as it was, terrified him more than the assassin ever could.

Strenghtened by the hard work Jed had had him do he picked up a chair and held it out like shield as he blocked the assassin's path with his inconsiderable frame. He doubted the wood would offer much protection and he could hardly see beyond his improvised weapon.

"S-stay back, don't hurt him!" he cried. He took a step forward and slashed the air with all four chairlegs as if it was some torch and the assassin a wolf from the dark.

[Vice]

It had been years since Micah Radacke had felt himself injured so severely. His hand reached to rap Jed's head after he composed himself, the Head of Household quickly turning to the boy with a faded smile,

"Idiot, if you have the energy to scream, then you had the energy to investigate. In any case, help me rise, boy. Someone needs to command... the guard."

The Radacke looked exhausted. The weapon used to incapacitate him was still lodged in his shoulder, crimson blossoming through the fabric Jed was using to apply pressure. However, the colour had not yet completely faded from Micah's face, but he was paling. Cold sweat drenched his features as he said,

"Come on now, help me up."

He insisted upon it, for he sought the very same blood that spilled from his body,

"Damn it. Attack me, sure. But if they lay waste to my house, I swear in Krysus' name, they will suffer."

~o~o~o~

The assassin looked to the boy slave, laughter bubbling from his lips as a cold stare washed over his features. A pair of daggers was held in his right hand, and as he prepared to throw them, the fallen guard turned on the floor. A groan escaped his lips before the very same dagger spun and was stabbed into the bony flesh of the Freeborn's foot.

A scream ripped through the room just as blood pooled on the floor beneath the guard, who promptly fell to the floor and ceased movement. The would-be assassin continued to yell out in pain, but knelt to the floor in the effort to remove the dagger from his foot.

~o~o~o~o~

The second Freeborn scattered once Radacke had been struck. Thinking their efforts to be successful, he ran off, but after several chimes, in the fields of Whiplash Plantation, a body would fall to the floor. An arrow lodged in the back of a body. Blood mixed with roots of indigo as the chaos slowly came to a close.

~o~o~o~o~

Dervain Sitai was gone, en route elsewhere in carriage as two guards sat on each side. The carriage headed north as in the adjacent room, a number of Dynasts gathered, hushed tones filling the room.

Fear ruled the hearts of man this day, chaos and blood its greatest weapons.

[Adelaide Sitai]

Everyone around them was panicking, hushed tones filling the air, and neither Micah Radacke nor Dervain Sitai were anywhere to be seen, the former probably gone to have himself healed while the latter had gone off somewhere, his role as magistrate ensuring that he had plenty of more important things to get along with. Maya had fallen to the floor and was visibly sobbing silently, even as other members of the bridal party gathered around her, cooing and offering her a multitude of pretty, embroidered handkerchiefs. Adelaide was feeling distinctly dismal and even reflective. What had seemed so odd to her was that she had actually enjoyed the anger she felt, enjoyed the adrenaline after the panic that ensued and, as such, knew herself to be an awful person because she felt that way in the wake of something which had left her cousin so sad.

People were still talking and nobody seemed bound to do anything to remedy the situation at hand. Quite what pushed Adelaide, she did not know, but she felt confident enough that, in her capacity as Sitai caretaker, she was not completely out of order to try and speak, try and calm everyone down. After all, her job was to best represent her family and she was the cousin of the Bride. So, looking a lot more confident than she felt and thanking the gods that this was no more nerve-wracking than taking a step on stage for the first time, she stood up to her full height and moved to the centre of the room, clapping her hands and calling for silence. It took a chime for everyone to calm down but eventually they did, all turning to look at her and not without a certain hostility from certain parties.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" there were still a few people who hadn't noticed her and she repeated her initial statement, "Ladies and gentlemen! Friends..."

"Friends!" someone heckled from the crowd, "Don't take us for fools."

The young woman faltered slightly and a shadow of doubt settled momentarily over her face but, stalwartly she continued, "On behalf of the Sitai family, I apologise for this inconvenience."

"Inconvenience? Is that what this is?" another voice, a female one, shouted ironically.

This time, Adelaide decided she would no longer pay attention. She smiled lightly at the comment as though it were a joke and resumed her talking. Her voice became stronger, louder but not overly so, and she pushed forward, "Yes, I realise that you may be afraid and that this isn't an entirely usual thing to happen, but I'm sure we can press forward nevertheless. I can assure you that all intruders have most probably been dealt with entirely at this time by a very efficient guard. Although I would advise caution, I think that we are safe to continue the party. The night is still young and the best way to show that we have not been scared, been beaten, by this unpleasant event is to carry on as before. Naturally, you will be kept up to date of any progress and provided with any new information. For now, though, please enjoy yourselves. Thank you for your understanding."

Once finished, she immediately called over one of the Sitai house-slaves manning the event and indicated that they should ask that the musicians start playing again. Five chimes later, they had found a corner of the room and, once again in a group, started to play a lively and jolly tune that felt very out of place in the sullen atmosphere. Still unsure quite what prompted her as nobody seemed set to start dancing, the young woman went over to her (technical) Uncle - Ivan Sitai - and the two swiftly started to make their way spinning around the room. Neither of them were very good at the highly energetic gallop but it was all it took for numerous other couples to shrug off their worries and join them as the rest of the guests were relegated to the sides and corners of the room, starting to talk a little less nervously and watch the dancing. Adelaide was reassured when she finally started to hear laughter again, a look of reassurance that Ivan noticed and gently commented on with his own laugh as they continued to act as though nothing had happened... even if the young woman was sure that every single person in the room was on edge, fear lurking in their hearts.