There was more ash in the air than usual as Cyran led Del through the streets of Darkveil. She had been here long enough to learn her way around, of course, but their particular destination for this outing was not one Cyran was sure she knew of.

The Rookery.

Once Del opened Ironwood Ore and Timber, it was obvious that she was going to be here to stay - that she intended to settle down roots here. Cyran was as delighted by her presence as she was nervous. Del sticking around Darkveil meant that she would be seeing a lot more of the unsavory nature of his work. It was no doubt something she was aware of, though her own suspicions went unspoken. Those secrets hung on him like a weight as they went about their business, unsure how to even broach the subject, or even if he should. He wanted to be honest with her. He also didn’t want her to hate him.

Cyran did want to make good on his promise and introduce her to his friends, though. The thought was daunting, but it made her place in his life feel more… real. Even if it meant letting her in fully, and allowing her to see the other side of his life. Meeting Zarius seemed like a good place to start with that. With that in mind, when they left to run some errands earlier this afternoon, Cyran asked if she wanted to pay a visit to the Rookery and meet some of his friends. He wasn’t… nervous, exactly, but aware of the gravity of the situation as the two walked side by side. Introducing Del and Zarius meant introducing two strong personalities to one another. Both were determined and driven, more alike than one might think on the surface.

Time would tell if that meant they would get along or not.

The sight of a familiar building across the street pulled Cyran out of his thoughts - he’d been a little busy as of late, and hadn’t had as much time for the Rookery as he would like, but the building brought no small amount of comfort to him. It was his first home, the first place in Darkveil that he’d felt accepted, and a little less alone. A small smile lit up his face as he nudged Del in the side.

“That’s the place.” He pointed the Rookery out, where it was built into the base of a clock tower. “Zarius is normally here around this time of day. We shouldn’t have any trouble catching him.” With renewed vigor, he ushered her inside, until they were both out of the ash.

---

Bringing Minions
1. Oriole
2. Andromeda

A tiny flutter of nervousness skated along her nerves; though Del was excited to meet Cyran's close friends and contacts, she also couldn't help but feel a familiar tingle of concern about exposure. The more people that knew of her, the more danger she was in. The more danger she was in, the more Cyran and others were at risk. And if she was putting him at risk, could she truly stay and endanger him like that? Or those he cared for?

But this was not an opportunity she could pass up-- not for any sort of gain on her end, but learning more about Cyran himself. It wasn't lost on her that this was his way of inching back the curtain a little, allowing her more access to his world.

Perhaps more than she deserved.

Still, Del would do her best to try and be worthy of this show of trust. She pushes the thoughts aside for now, smiling brightly as Cyran nudges her, following his hand to the place in question. "Oh!" She blinks, looking up at the Rookery and recognizing the large clock tower with a smile. "I was here a couple of days ago; stumbled into someone from the Crescent Isles while I picked up a bottle to celebrate the Grand Opening when it finally happens. No one I knew from before, but it was nice to help him get his feet under him. Good kid." her tone and expression becomes a little sheepish, knowing the explanation was somewhat unnecessary. That nervousness again.

She did not know, precisely, who Zarius was, save for the mention of him as one of the aforementioned friends of Cyran. Del was one who traditionally operated in a solo and impromptu manner out of necessity. As such, she had little in the way of external contacts up until this most recent year, wherein she had begun taking jobs that involved working with others. But, that was part of the trust; she would find out in time, and learn these things naturally. One step at a time.

Entering the Rookery, the scenery appears as much the same as the first time; warm, inviting low light in a comfortable atmosphere. She gives a small smile to the female fellblood at the counter-- she did not think this was Zarius, but knew better than to assume. Gaze shifting back to Cyran for a moment, Del reaches up to brush some ash off his shoulders and casting it outside before the door shuts. "The mountain's been a little grumbly lately, mm?" she comments idly, before following Cyran to the bar proper. She gives the bartender a small smile, glancing at Cyran once to make sure this wasn't the friend they were here to see-- nope. A relief-- her eyes go back to the young fellblood woman and around the room to see if they could spot who they were looking for.

Eameia smiles brightly at Cyran as she sees him and Del enter the Rookery. She was quite fond of the elf, mostly due to how diligent in keeping the Rookery clean he has been. She had noticed that he was more absent as of late, but figured that his orphanage and the training of his new recruits was taking up most of his time. At the sight of Del walking side by side with him, she now doubts that was entirely the case.

Oh boy. Did Cyran know what he was walking into? Well, he would certainly find out.

Eameia gracefully slips around the end of the bar, leaving the tall half-elf bartender, Eirynor to finish putting away the new glassware they just had come in. She strides right up to Cyran with a friendly smile, “Cyran, so good to see you!”

The fellblood goes in for a hug. It is not one meant to be taken as a romantic gesture, they hardly had that kind of relationship. The hug was purely platonic…and meant to disguise one little thing. She pulls the elf in and whispers in his ear.

“About time.”

The female fellblood pulls back and smooths out the fabric of Cyran’s outfit before turning her attention to Del.

“Welcome back, I was unaware you were an acquaintance of Cyran’s. It is a pleasure to see you again.” She bows out of respect for the woman. “Feel free to take a seat and order whatever you like, drinks are on me.”

She then looks past at Oriole and Andromeda. She hadn’t met them previously, but was very aware of who they were. Despite her brother’s wishes she has kept a little bit of an eye on the orphanage and Cyran’s minions with Snow and Eirynor’s aid. She figured she was just doing her due diligence and making sure no one was a spy or was trying to take advantage of Cyran’s kindness. The elf had a habit of giving anyone with a sob story the benefit of the doubt. Something she worries will end up biting him in the ass one day.

“Welcome to the Rookery, my offer extends to you two as well. I do not believe we have formally met. My name is Eamei-AH!”

The young fellblood shrieks as a dark shape drops from the rafters above her onto her head. She leaps back towards Del in surprise as the ink black creature scrambles across the floor and disappears under one of the booth tables.

Eirynor almost leaps over the bar with his sword drawn when he realizes what actually happened. He takes his hand off the hilt of his blade and just sighs, exasperated.

Meanwhile, Eameia clings to Del, her heart racing until she calms down from the scare. She looks at the elf and her face turns darker with embarrassment.

“I am so sorry. Uhm. You…you are very strong!”

She gets down and quickly darts back behind the bar and into the kitchen to have a meltdown from reacting in such a way.

Footsteps from the stairwell that leads out of the lounge and up into the tower echo down into the room as Zarius appears, shortly followed by Snow, the snow leopard catfolk. He looks around at the scene which has already calmed down.

“What was the screaming about?” he asks.

“YOUR FUCKING CAT!” Eameia shouts from the storage room.

Zarius snorts a laugh before looking at the others. “Sorry about that. They do not get along.”

He walks over and gives a nod of acknowledgement to Cyran and Oriole who he knew decently well. Del and Andromeda were new to him though and he gives a bow. "I hope we have not made a bad first impression. My name is Zarius, these are my associates, Snow and Eirynor. The menace cat is Ebony."

Snow gives an friendly wave while Eirynor only responds with a silent nod. 

---

Minions
Eirynor - warlord minion
Snow - warlord minion

Pets
Ebony - exotic feline

He didn’t expect the blooming familiarity across Del’s face at the sight of the Rookery, or her admission that she’d been here before. “It is a rather popular spot.” He replied. She must not have been there while Cyran was working a shift whenever he managed to squeeze one in between the busy life at the orphanage and his night job. “Sounds like a good kid. The bar gets all kinds of patrons.” He cast one last glance at the weather outside, uneasy. “Yeah. It looks… uneasy.”

The Rookery was quiet as the door shut behind them, closing out the ash and wind and the chaos outside. Cyran scanned the area, spotting Eameia and Eirynor behind the bar, the former of whom perked up at their entrance. He was immediately pulled in for a hug from the young fellblood - the act in of itself was not unfamiliar, but the words that she immediately whispered into his ear, as if they were in on some sort of joke, were not.

“… About time for what?” He whispered back, but Eameia had already pulled smoothly away as if nothing happened, leaving him utterly confused, watching her bow respectfully at Del. “Ah… I’d been hoping to bring her around for the past few weeks. I was not aware Del had already visited here before.” As he spoke, Oriole and Andromeda made their way into the bar, brushing ash off their cloaks and tapping their shoes at the door. The two apprentices had been trailing behind while Cyran and Del took care of errands, but apparently, they were eager to get out of the weather.

Both young humans regarded Eameia with silent curiosity for a moment. They knew of her - Oriole had even met Zarius personally, once - but neither had met the beautiful woman currently greeting them with kindness, with no pretense that she wasn’t aware who they were. Eventually, Oriole took a step forward first, a shy smile on his face, before bowing.

“… Thank you, Madam Eameia. Master Cyran has said nothing but good things about you. It’s… lovely to meet you in person.”

Behind him, Andromeda gave a curt nod. Not usually one for manners, but at least had the sensibility to act with decorum. “What he said - what the fuck?”

She was interrupted by Eameia’s sudden shriek as the young woman threw herself into Del’s arms at the sudden dark figure jumped from the rafters, landing on the ground and scrambling away. Andromeda actually did draw her weapon, pulling a throwing dagger from her belt and moving to aim it at the shadowspawn before Oriole raised a hand to stop her. Cyran, on the other hand, was used to Ebony’s antics by now, and only managed a small smile at Eameia’s reaction, which was sufficient enough to draw her brother from upstairs.

Cyran’s smile widened when he saw Zarius and Snow, giving the two a respectful nod in return.

“Given Ebony’s proclivity for mischief, one would think they’d get along better…” Cyran said with a small laugh. “My apologies for being sparse lately. Things at the orphanage have been rather hectic. But I wanted to introduce you to my…” He hesitated, wondering what the right expression was. “Friend.” He settled on. Friend didn't feel like it was entirely appropriate, but since he couldn't find the right one to encapsulate her, friend would have to do. “Del. She’s opened a smith near Shade’s Valley.”

Cyran turned and flashed her a smile he hoped was reassuring.

It was genuinely good to see Cyran getting such a warm, familial reception. She knew him as a man who had a lot to do for those under his care, but he didn’t get a whole lot of time for himself. The trip to see Gerhart’s new house was the most she had seen of the other people in his orbit, those who loved him dearly. A bright smile turns up the corners of her mouth as she watches the bartender embrace him in a warm hug.

And some new insight into his world, too. He worked shifts here? When ever did he find the time? “I admit, I wasn’t aware he got out enough to have another job,” she gives Cyran a playful smile, before bowing in return to the fellblood woman. “A pleasure to see you again as well, Eameia. Thank you for the hospitality.” She straightens, the smile as she shifts her gaze back to Cyran turning sheepish. “The bottle was meant to be a surprise for the grand opening. I didn’t know they were friends of yours, or I would have invited you out with me.” Del looks over her shoulder to Eleanor and Rhi’as as they are formally introduced as well. It was nice to have them along, to see them out and about as well while others looked after the orphanage.

She’s ripped from her idle thoughts as Eleanor curses and Eameia lets out a scream, turning back around in time to catch the fellblood as she leaps into Del’s arms. She blinks down at the young woman, equally startled and looking for the danger—there’s a dark shape that scurries away out of the corner of her eye, but quickly the scene calms; everyone else seems to know what’s going on. Del simply blinks owlishly at Eameia.

“It's-- Its fine. Are you alright? I, ah-- Yes?” is the only thing she can think to say in response to her being strong, letting Eameia back to her feet as she too rushes off. Del gives Cyran, who looked non-plussed, a bewildered look, faintly amused. At least she hadn’t been the only one startled.

The introduction of a new voice has Del lifting her eyes again. A shorter fellblood man with gold capped horns and deep ebony skin, his features one of a careful watchfulness; this one seemed to be the man of the hour, in how he carried himself and in his location at the top of the stairs. He seemed to be someone of purpose and means, a confidence that implied a security wholly of himself.

“That was a cat?” She looks over her shoulder at the location where the black little void had darted off to, grinning after her. Such mischief. Her attention returns to the introductions, bowing in reply at a lower angle, a little more formally in the Crescent Isles style, with her hands folded in front of her at the waist. It helps at least hide the little blush as Cyran glances her way.

“Not at all,” She assures, a shy smile pulling her lips. Her gaze moves to each of the three in turn, noting them each; Snow, Eirynor, and Zarius. It was hard to not feel under the limelight at the moment, a place she’s not used to, but she tries to ignore the feeling of exposure. She was safe, and she could feel the reassurance from Cyran like a hand on the back of her neck. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. You have a wonderful establishment. Yes, I, ah, just opened Ironwood Ore and Timber just down the street from Shade’s Valley.”

Zarius shakes his head in response to Cyran's apology for his absence. “It is alright, it was never my expectation that you would work here as hard as you have. I appreciate you putting up with my bossy sister while I am away.”

"I am not bossy," Eameia chimes in from the back room, still hiding from everyone else for the moment. 

Zarius pays her comment no mind and gives Cyran a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I hope you are not having any troubles. If you do require any assistance with the orphanage, all you need to do is ask. Though I do understand if you do not want our crowd seen near there.”

Though he wants to support Cyran and his ventures, it was important not to have many paper trails leading from his own business to the orphanage. As unfortunate as it is to say, the orphanage was a major liability. Anyone who was an enemy of Cyran’s, or by association, Zarius’, would easily be able to leverage the building full of defenseless children against them.

The fellblood had no delusions that Cyran would put their partnership, or even their friendship, before the safety of those kids. He knew all too well that the kids would always come first. That was just how Cyran was, and he respected that even if it made things more dangerous for himself. There very well could be a day that comes where they would find themselves at odds regardless of if they wanted it or not.

Zarius eyes Del up and down a bit when something clicks into place in his mind. He glances at Cyran as the elf stumbles over what term to refer to Del as. The fellblood’s eyes narrow slightly and his head tilts curiously. He isn’t quite sure what to make of Cyran’s hesitation, so for the moment he does not draw any attention to it.

He smiles at Del. “Miss Del, it is a pleasure. I heard of someone opening a smithy recently, though I will admit I have not had a chance to visit. I am afraid I would be a poor client as I do not often require the skills of a smith, though I may commission you for a piece for someone else if you have capacity.”

The fellblood wasn't one for weaponry or armor, preferring to travel lighter and appear more unassuming compared to an armed knight. Most people Zarius kept within his inner circles were similar, with Cyran and Caedes mainly using daggers and weapons that are easily concealed for similar reasons. That said, he could appreciate the skill it took to create a sword that could withstand the wear and tear of the adventuring life, and he knew a much younger smith who approached their craft with passion that would rival any starving bard on the streets.

That said, Del was...interesting. Very interesting. Though not for any reason that he suspects Cyran may not even be aware of. There was not really a subtle way of checking it though, and he did not want to jump to any conclusions about what exactly Cyran and Del's relationship was. He considers for a moment how to approach easing out some more information without making his prying obvious or possibly offending Del. He opts for regrouping for the time being. 

“Pardon me for a moment, I should make sure my sister is alright after that scare.” The fellblood excuses himself as he steps around the group to the end of the bar. “Do mind the cat, she can be a bit nippy.”

Eirynor signs to Cyran if he or Del would like a drink while Snow goes over to properly greet Oriole and meet Andromeda. 

"It's so good to see you again, Oriole. I hope you have been staying away from ancient underground cities!" The catfolk jokes before offering a paw to Andromeda. "Nice to meet you! Have you been working with Master Cyran long?"

Eameia eventually comes back out of the kitchen with her brother. She has seemingly regained her composure and she walks back up to Oriole and Andromeda. “My apologies, as I was saying, my name is Eameia. It is nice to meet you both. I am glad to hear that Master Cyran holds such a high opinion of me, he is such a sweetheart.”

She glances at Cyran and Del, a mischievous smile on her face. "Do you not agree, Miss Del?"

Cyran bowed his head, sheepish. “Still, it is a responsibility I signed up for and I should not be shirking my work.” He hid a small laugh behind his hand as Zarius and Eameia ribbed at one another. Having grown up an only child, it was amusing to him to watch the two bicker and jab at one another.

“Ah… the orphanage is okay.” He assured Zarius. “I promise if I find myself in need of assistance, I’ll call on you.” He was being honest, at the very least - though Cyran was still somewhat embarrassed to ask Zarius for help. The fellblood had already done a lot for him over the past few months, that Cyran didn’t want to be even more of an imposition. Besides, he had an inkling of how Zarius felt about Cyran’s charitable endeavors, though the younger man never voiced it. Really, he knew it wasn’t the… safest business for someone of his profession - something that had been pointed out by others - but Cyran was aware of the risks when he opened Shade’s Valley. Preparedness could not prevent all disasters, but Cyran could damn well try to protect the kids from anyone that might have a vendetta against him or those he associated with. His own magic, thankfully, prevented most that saw his face from being able to recall it.

That didn’t mean there weren’t dangers, topics Cyran knew Zarius skirted around to risk upsetting Cyran. He was a good boss that way. Personable. But even handling those touchy subjects between them with sensitivity didn’t change some of the fundamental differences between Cyran and Zarius’s beliefs.

Cyran liked Zarius. He liked the young man and respected his goals. He only hoped that their differences would not cause the two to clash.

The subject, thankfully, shifted to Del and her new smith. “She’s quite talented.” Cyran couldn’t resist the urge to gush about her talents. She was a dedicated and hard worker, with an attention to detail that he appreciated. More than anything, he just wanted to see her well-compensated for her work when she was endlessly charitable to people that needed it. Zarius was generous and paid well - he would provide good business to Del while she got her business up and running. And Cyran trusted the quality of what she made.

He nodded as Zarius left to go check on Eameia before turning his attention to Eirynor. “Oh, I’m good on drinks, thank you. Do you want anything, Del?” He turned to give her a curious look, translating for her just in case she didn’t understand sign language. Cyran’s own understanding - and by extension, his apprentices - had grown a lot after Eirynor’s lessons.

Meanwhile, Oriole looked excited to see his friend again. “Master Snow!” He said, professionalism momentarily breaking as he moved to give the catfolk a hug. Ever since their adventure in the underground city, he held a lot of respect and admiration for both Snow and Eirynor. “… I have stayed away from tombs, I promise.” Though that adventure had obviously left a mark on him, given that the self-proclaimed pacifist now carried around a polearm strapped to his back.

Andromeda stared at Snow with a stern look on her face. Though her expression was unreadable, there was only one thought running through her mind at the moment. Cute cat…

Apparently, the closed off young woman did have a weakness, after all.

She accepted his handshake with a firm grip of her own. “… Likewise.” She nodded. “Not long. Couple months at most. I’ve heard a lot about you and Eirynor. Good to finally meet you both.”

Eameia and Zarius returned after pleasantries were exchanged, shooting a pointed look at both Cyran and Del that didn’t give him a good feeling. What was she planning? Cyran’s suspicions were only confirmed when she asked Del about him. His face turned red as he fell silent. Why was she digging for compliments on his behalf?

"Aaah," Her skin darkens in hue as Cyran praises her work, smiling sheepishly. Del could feel little flickers of pride at the back of her skull, knowing he meant what he said. Del bumps his shoulder with hers. "You're too kind, Cyran."

She looks back to Zarius with another smile, this one small and crooked. "Of course, take your time. I hope she's alright, it did seemm like a bit of a spook from... Ebony, yes?" Del inclines her head again as he moves to the kitchen to see to his sister. She wondered if the kitty was still around anywhere.

For now though, there are other things to look at. Del remains still and quiet while the others start to chat and talk around her, feeling a little outside things. Which was no fault of anyone's; Del simply marveled at the history of these people, Zarius' connection with Cyran's, the chatter of the people of the Rookery with Cyran's assistants was lively and friendly. The orphanage had become as close to a home as Del could ever remember having; the Rookery in this moment felt like a place of camaraderie, an area of comfort and safety where friends and family regularly met. Like a dinner table.

But she wasn't the only odd one out. Del glances over as Eleanor and Rhi'as introduce themselves to Snow. But... hmm.

Oriole. That was not a name she had heard before, but Rhi'as responded to it warmly and easily. Her head tips, slightly, but she doesn't say anything, merely quietly confused. Something to ask Cyran about later, perhaps.

"Just a little water, please and thank you." Del signs back at Eirynor, smiling pleasantly, speaking as well for the benefit of anyone else who might not know the language. Her gaze turns to Cyran as she finishes, eyes bright. "Oh, you know sign!" She beams at Cyran. "That makes sense, given that you know little Fish as well. I learned from my mentor; he was mute." It felt an odd thing to reveal now of all times, but she was a little anxious, meeting so many new faces. The way Zarius had looked her over had not escaped her notice. Ever present was the paranoia that she was recognized, wanted, hunted still-- but, no. It had been months since there had been an incident. And these were friends of Cyran's. His word and his counsel she trusted, and so, the people in his orbit were extended the same. She had not seen any angry recognition in his eyes. She was as safe as she could be.

Relatively speaking. And speaking of relatives...

"Welcome back," Eameia and Zarius return, in but a moment, the young woman speaking enthusiastically in greeting to Eleanor and Rhi'as... before addressng her.

Del did not name names. She did not talk about people she knew to anyone if she could help it. This was as much a result of her own steadfast loyalty as it was a protective measure to make sure no one could ever hurt someone she cared for. But for the purpose of complimenting a dear and close friend to someone Cyran himself considered a dear and close friend, Del gladly jumped at the chance to gush over him as he had for her.

"Goodness, yes!" Her eyes light up a little as Eameia asks the question, thrilled to be asked her opinion and not at all catching the mischevious smile, nor thinking twice about her candor. "Cyran's the very picture of a gentleman; thoughtful, kind, considerate, and so gentle, especially with the kids. He hired me to do a little upkeep at the orphanage-- I'm also a carpenter-- and he's gone out of his way to make sure I am comfortable and looked after and compensated for my services, despite my best efforts of trying to get certain improvements past him. He always catches it, though; nothing escapes his notice." She chuckles softly. There were a lot of memories to pull from for evidence of this, from their first meeting to Hearth's Day to their travels together. "He's accomodating, sincere, and gracious. The sweetest man I know by far."

Eirynor nods to Cyran and then Del before pulling a glass out from underneath the counter then going over to a cask filled with water. He turns the spout and fills the glass then returns and places it down on the counter in front of Del.

Snow hugs Oriole back, being a lot more personable than Eirynor. They look the young human up and down, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You look like you’ve gotten stronger.”

They smile at Andromeda as they shake her hand. “It’s a little weird to hear that you’ve heard of us. I’m embarrassed to say I can’t say the same. Though I hope we can get to know one another better!”

Snow did know more than they let on though, as did Eirynor. They had kept an eye on the orphanage and those who called the place home. They’d seen the two humans wandering about, though kept their distance and their presence hidden to the best of their abilities. They had spent many hours watching, the same way they kept watch over the Rookery. Silent guardians ensure the monsters that lurk in the streets keep away while everyone rests or is off on missions. Eirynor had only ever interfered directly when he stepped in and prevented one of the younger orphans from chasing after a runaway ball all while under the cover of invisibility.

That wasn’t all that was going on behind the scenes. Much of the area around the Rookery and the orphanage was actually under a protection racket run by Zarius’ father. It acted as a protective buffer from any rival gang activity in Darkveil. It made the area a little safer for those within their circles, but it couldn’t completely shield them from the dangers of the city.

It also made it so that Zarius and Eameia had a good idea of anything happening in the area through their information network. Of course that means they were already somewhat aware of Del and her business, though that did not prepare them for meeting her face to face.

“Oh my, sounds like you two have been spending a lot of time together. Master Cyran, who knew you were such a charmer,” Eameia teases as Del showers Cyran with compliments.

Zarius keeps a friendly smile throughout their whole interaction, but he keeps a keen eye on Cyran in particular. It’s hard to hide much from Cyran if he is paying attention. The hunter had an annoying talent for pointing out attempts at deception or falsehoods. Zarius knows this all too well as it is an ability that came in incredibly useful when he was not the target of scrutiny.

Getting anything by the Specter was not an easy task, which is part of why Eameia has chosen her current strategy. Distracting someone with public embarrassment had never failed her before. If the elf hunter was more preoccupied with hiding his blushing face from someone he is ‘friends’ with, he wouldn’t catch on to what the young mage was actually up to.

“A smith AND a carpenter? That is fortunate, would you have any time to look at a creaky staircase?” The young fellblood asks innocently enough as she gestures to the stairs that descend into the lounge.

All she needed was a way to break Cyran’s line of sight for just a moment. Just long enough to confirm her, and her brother’s suspicions about the woman.

Zarius plays along. “I doubt she has tools with her to fix anything, it is only a squeaky rung anyway.”

“It drives me crazy, just like your stupid cat." Eameia steps over to Del and gently puts a hand on the back of her arm to direct her to the stairs. She glances over her shoulder at her brother and Cyran. "Speaking of which, why do you not get it out from under the table with Master Cyran’s help before it attacks someone else's ankles?”

He rolls his eyes and looks at Cyran with a feigned apologetical smile. “You would not mind, would you?”

“I know a little.” Cyran replied, unsurprised that Del seemed to be just as versed in sign language. As she pointed out, she was also well-acquainted with Fish. “I actually learned from Eirynor.” He perked up in interest as Del brought up her mentor. She’d mentioned him a few times in the past, though nothing concrete - he enjoyed getting to hear tidbits about the man, whenever she felt like sharing. Eirynor nodded at them both in acknowledgment before ducking behind the bar to prepare water for Del while Snow and Cyran’s apprentices chatted.

Oriole beamed with pride at Snow’s compliment. If the young thief were any cockier, he might have started flexing his arms to show off the results of his physical training. But he settled for staring at Andromeda once the attention shifted to Cyran’s new apprentice, who didn’t look particularly offended that Snow didn’t seem to recognize her in turn. She liked the anonymity. To the serious young woman, this apprenticeship was a means to an end, plain and simple, and she didn’t really give a damn about what the Specter’s friends knew about her or not.

Unfortunately, she had not yet learned the importance of fostering goodwill and making allies. She sized the catfolk up and down, attempting to assess their skills from an initial glance. “… I hope to get to know you better as well.” She grunted, which was fairly polite for her, all things considered.

Once Zarius and Eameia returned, Andromeda was content to take to the shadows while the other adults conversed… and while Cyran was struck with a sudden wave of intense embarrassment as Eameia started digging for compliments from Cyran’s companion. There was a coy smile playing on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes as she waited for Del’s response.

Cyran turned to look at Del, mumbling, “Oh, you don’t need to…”

But Del was, apparently, more than happy to answer Eameia’s probing questions.

And it took all of Cyran’s willpower not to simply phase through the floor and allow the ground to swallow him whole. It was fortunate for Zarius that Cyran’s inherent fondness for Del combined with his inability to properly handle compliments that he was far too wrapped up in his own mind to think further about why Eameia might be digging for information, or why she might not want him paying too much attention to her real motivations for this line of questioning. Because at the moment, he was one more kind word away from spontaneously combusting into a pile of ash that rivaled that which was falling outside.

“… Ah.” He buried his face in his hands so that no one in the room could see the embarrassing flush in his cheeks as he tried not to lose his composure, and failed miserably. “That is. I’m. It’s only natural I would want to do the right thing and pay you for all your help around the orphanage. That is merely… what anyone would do, no?”

Dear gods he was making a fool of himself.

He was spared any further suffering by Eameia leading Del upstairs for some reason, though before he could ask why, she requested that he and Zarius take care of Ebony.

“Of course I don’t mind.” Cyran tried to force the tension out of his voice as he rolled up his sleeves. He was no stranger to dealing with Ebony, and had been on the receiving end of a fair amount of cat scratches when attempting to remove the little creature from inopportune places. But if he were being honest, he found Ebony rather adorable, even if she wasn’t particularly fond of him. She reminded him of a ball of living shadow.

… A ball of shadow that was about to scratch the ever-loving shit out of him the moment he tried to poke his head under the table.

“Oh, ah,” Del blinks, a little heat on her own face. She hadn’t really thought about it. “Yes, I suppose so, though mostly for work related things. Though there was Hearth’s Day.”

It’s there that Del blessedly cuts herself off; She catches Cyran with his face in his hands, feeling a little pang of sympathy for him. Was this like complimenting someone in front of their family? Or boss, as Cyran evidently did shifts here from time to time? She chuckles quietly, leaning over to bump her shoulder gently against his. “Not just anyone, no. You deserve to be celebrated too, you know.”

Del felt that was true; there were altogether too many people who would happily take advantage of her abilities and her skillset if it benefited them. It was also part of the reason she did her work; there were plenty of artisans who took advantage of others, and artisans who were frequently taken advantage of. By offering her services as she did, she helped people break out of those situations.

Before things can be elaborated on any more than that, though, Eameia inquires about a staircase. Del’s eyes alight with interest, “Actually, I do carry tools with me. Before I got the forge, I did most of my work on the road. Haven’t quite kicked the habit yet.” She chuckles; she didn’t plan to, either. Del takes a quick glance at Cyran to see if this was alright, but already Zarius was asking him to assist with Ebony, the wild little piece of shadow that had taken up residence beneath a booth. It would be alright—she turns back to Eameia. “I’d be happy to take a quick look for you. If it needs anything more than a quick fix, I will let you know.”

Del follows the young Fellblood up to get a good look at the staircase, touching the rail and wiggling it gently. The creak was subtle, and didn’t appear to be the wood itself, which was nice. She takes a knee to get a closer look. “One of the screws here has come loose from the fitting, that’s a quick fix, unless you’re referring to a different spot?”

Zarius chuckles at Cyran's reaction. He'd never seen the mature elf act this way before, though it is not shocking that he has a softer side. Cyran's walls never really came down around Zarius, probably because the fellblood rarely allowed his own walls down around anyone really. But it seemed the professional hunter was more willing to show his gentler, goofier side to the orphaned children he guards over, and now this woman.

It wasn't a bad thing...it shouldn't be a bad thing, but there was still the matter of if letting his guard down around Del was the best decision. Zarius had his doubts for one reason or another, but he didn't want to make any accusations without a legitimate reason. Some rumors were intentionally meant to create tension, and he didn't want things to be strained between himself and Cyran over unfounded suspicions. 

He had to be certain. Which is where Eameia came into play. 

Eameia was an incredibly talented spellcaster, almost being equivalent to a prodigy. She was especially skilled in in spells that could be used to discern the truth, or uncover information about someone. Few people were aware of her skills and just how powerful she is, especially since she doesn't flaunt her magic or use it much. This all means she can get away with people not even noticing when she has cast a spell around them. 

The young mage goes with Del over to the staircase, part one of her plan now in motion as the siblings separate the two elves from one another. She glances over her shoulder back at Zarius and Cyran as they go the opposite direction to deal with the eldritch horror in feline form. So far, so good. 

As Del starts investigating the staircase, Eameia subtly goes through the motions of preparing a spell, her fingertips tracing the threads of the arcane in the air. She whispers the words under her breath before stepping over to the elven woman. All the necessary components were accounted for. The young fellblood gently lays her hand on Del's shoulder once more, feigning using her shoulder as support as she crouches down to look at what she was referring to as the spell is cast. 

Meanwhile, Zarius watches Cyran crouch down under the table in a foolhardy attempt to coax the fuzzy hellspawn out from under its shadowed corner. The fellblood positions himself in a place to intercept the cat should it dart out past the hunter, but otherwise lets Cyran keep his focus on the task and not on what Eameia was up to. 

He waits a moment while Cyran reaches under the table before speaking in a quite tone so they're not overheard by Del. "So, you and Miss Del sure do get along well. Did you meet before or after she opened her business here in Darkveil?"

It couldn't hurt to pick the hunter's brain a bit about their new companion. Cyran would likely be more suspicious if Zarius didn't do a little prying himself being the cautious person he is. 

A crashing noise from outside catches his attention before the conversation can get too personal though and he glances out the window as a horse and carriage goes careening down the street. 

"What the?"

A few alarmed screams are shortly followed by the sound of snarling and howling. Something was very wrong out in the streets of Darkveil. 

With Del upstairs, that left Cyran and Zarius alone to talk. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Zarius would ask about her - it was expected, really. Now that his embarrassment had begun to clear up, it did occur to him that the two had been separated from the other women, though he came to the conclusion it was because Zarius wanted to pick Cyran’s mind about Del. He had no clue that Eameia was part of this plan to gather more information on the carpenter.

Still crouched under the table, making soft psspsspss noises in an attempt to rouse Ebony from her hiding place, Cyran replied, “I met her before she opened her business.” He would be truthful - though he wouldn’t reveal too much for her own sake. It was information that he suspected Zarius would look for anyways, considering how cautious the man was. He liked to be in the know about all the comings and goings within his sphere. Cyran assumed he himself was included in this. What Zarius knew about his past, Cyran wasn’t sure. It was one of those things they didn’t speak about.

Ebony snuck closer to his extended arms while Cyran pretended not to watch the feline’s movements while she sniffed his fingers, as if looking for food. “I don’t think she intended to stay long in the city, to be honest. But I am… glad - ACK!-“ He winced as Ebony scratched his hand, but her unquenchable bloodlust gave him the opportunity to grab her and prevent her from running away again- she squirmed in his hands, but Cyran kept a tight grip on her as he straightened, turning back to Zarius.

“I’m glad she decided to stay.” Though he wasn’t sure why.

Gaze suddenly turning serious, he fixed Zarius with a grave look. “I’m under no illusions that you don’t have your suspicions about why she decided to stay after we met. But… I do trust her.” And not just because he was good at discerning truth from lies. There was also the matter of that… link between them, the one that they seemed to have incidentally created between one another on Hearth’s Day. Cyran wasn’t just attuned to her truths - he was attuned to her very emotions. If she had any nefarious intentions, he would know.

“I wanted you to meet her because you are a dear friend of mine.” Not just a boss. “It may sound odd to say, but one of my oldest, as well. I didn’t have many before I met you.” He let out a sheepish laugh. “But I think, sometimes, you work yourself too hard… and beyond your goals, I want you to have friends outside of-“ He nodded at the bar- “All of this. And I truly do think the two of you will get along.”

They both had passion in spades, though it manifested in different ways. Del’s burned like the very forge that she spent hours slaving away in, and Zarius’s was less… explosive, but ever present, a low fire that drove his ambitions.

Not to mention they both had a proclivity for punching things.

Anything else he might have said was cut off by the sudden commotion outside. Cyran narrowed his eyes, immediately on alert - from the window outside he saw a carriage topple over, followed by the sound of screams. He immediately dropped Ebony - the creature scampered away to hide once more- and held out his hands. Spell Slicer and Cold Steel manifested in a burst of shadow as he strode outside, ready to deal with whatever the commotion was.^[1]

That was when he saw the pack of hellhounds making their way down the street.

---

1. Summon: Possession

To receive someone’s lifetime of truth in an instant can scarcely be conceived of. Years, decades, centuries of life understood in a single moment. As if touching an encyclopedia could impart you with a world of knowledge in one, simple moment.

How must it feel, then, to have almost three thousand years enter your mind all at once.

REVEAL TRUTH
-THEN-

SPOILER: Click to show

You see everything. All that anyone can be, all at once. But it is fragmented and disjointed, a lifetime that has been shattered into a thousand, a million shards that all flow out of order. It's a cacophany, and so much of it is a void, a nameless, cold, deafening silence that carries not even her scream to her ears, a scream you know rattled from her very bones for an untold amount of time.

The pieces are all there-- but they are not connected. Broken, as her body was broken, dashed at the base of a cliff, Delaela's fractured truth reveals the ruin of her soul, and the terrible wrong done to her.

Here and there, however, some things have managed to find their matching edge. Bound together with thin lines of gold, these kintsugi cracks help to bind what little Del retains of herself together.

You see the meaning of her name; Delaela means 'delicate' or 'frail'. Asiliari means 'One-Without-Root' and you know, intrinsically, even though the dialect that spawned that name is dead, that this is not a surname, but an identifier for orphans. She has one other moniker, but this is burned black across the Truth, as if someone had gone in and tried to remove it not only from Delaela's mind, but existence itself. A redaction, a cover-up. A mistake someone tried to erase.

You see that Delaela is 2,536 years old, a relic of a bygone age of the Rune Wars. A victim of war that became a ward of the state when she was separated from her family. You know the truth is that while she did not know them, was told by the state that her family, Worthless Sylvan Elves, had abandoned her, that she was merely taken as part of training soldiers for a war effort. You know that they never stopped searching for her, until their own ends came all together too soon, winking lights stripped from the sky.

You see her raised among others, selected because of her aptitude for fighting and sneaking to become a ward of the Crown under King Darius itself as she is both malleable and ruthless. She is given the chance to become a solider, to be trained for the coming tide.

She excels.

Delaela is a battering ram of a woman. They send her in to break and destroy and level with force, a preeminent scout and saboteur that shatters defenses to allow the Crown to sweep in and conquer. You see that she is lauded for this, rewarded. They give her the title [REDACTED], her own command, and a place at the war-table of King Darius.

You see that part of this was a ruse. Delaela certainly did excel, was brutal and ruthless and terribly cunning in her service to the King. But they also used her unflinching loyalty, embedded in her from her toddler years, to test things on her. Experiments to make a perfect weapon. To make a living Godscar.

The gods are dead, though people will not know this for some time. But there are vestiges that remain, portions of power infused in items that can be used as a conduit for that sliver of divine power. It is framed to Delaela that she has been chosen by the Gods themselves to be a symbol of the Crown, a beacon of their own Divine Right made manifest. How glorious it would be.

Delaela was a force of nature. You see that she once bore wings, soaring through the sky on feathers made of storm-clouds. She could rip the earth up by its crust. She could become a pillar of flame and be unharmed, laying waste to the earth in gouts of divine fire. She was light, she was darkness, she was a tsunami in crashing against the shores of rebellion. Delaela Asiliari was a reckoning for any who stood in the Crown's way. A perfect weapon. Not only was she good at it, she relished it. She was celebrated for her accomplishments, achieving the highest honours and standing at the Mad Kings side, his obedient dog of war he would sic on anyone who crossed him or his rule. She was told that she was beloved, and adored, a pillar of all anyone on Charon should aspire to be.

In reality, no one knew her name, only her face and her moniker, the terrible warnings that came from the few survivors in her wake. All they knew was when the Divine [REDACTED] appeared on the horizon, that nothing would remain standing.

Decades pass.

You see the change.

You see the hunt of a group of revolutionairies, said to be dangerous and terrible and sure to kill many more law-abiding citizens. You know, long before she does, that these people are not armed insurgents; they are fleeing refugees. Del finds them hiding in a bush, about to pounce and rip the very air out of their lungs with her magic, only to discover they are not armed. Reeling with horror, she realizes what they are doing here. Though she was told they were armed and dangerous, they were not. This has been a lie. They were meant to protect these people, not kill them.

How much else is a lie?

You see her first act of mercy as she lets them go, something that she is deeply conflicted about. Delaela has never failed in her duty before.

You see the truth as she argues with one of the King's generals, and he orders her to return to her post and her men, to return to the scene she had abandoned and finish the job. You see her go out to do as she is told... and go to the refugees to help them to escape. Defecting the only home she has ever known, to help those that do not trust her, who loathe her, have known her only as a [REDACTED] but unable to make the choice to not accept her help.

You see the manhunt. You see the way she will never know peace. The Crown seeks to capture their lost weapon for treason; the people loathe her for what she has done and wish her dead so the Crown cannot use her again against them. You see that she fights against whole armies on her own; Delaela is a weapon unto herself, one that was created by the Crown now turned against it. A few very small pockets whisper of her, the refugees who either do not know or forgave her for her crimes. They whisper about the singer in the dark, the Nightingale who leads the weary, the lost, to safety, with a song of hope and repentance.

You see that this is what, inevitably, gets her captured.

A soul filled with vengeance and hate for what she has done, a soul she had once saved, assists the Crown in setting up her capture.

You see she did not blame them. That she went quietly, head hung low in the face of this betrayal. This was a fate she felt she deserved.

Her gifts, bestowed as marks of honour and valour, are stripped, one by one, leaving her scarred and exposed. The wings are torn out of her back, the fire extracted from her blood, the pulse of joy and water removed, desiccating her. The sun eschews her, and she is cursed to be a creature of shadow, a shadow that burdens her with lies and fears and terrible maddening whispers. The vestiges bound her her soul have sundered it, left her spirit in tatters.

You see her standing trial, in a court not occupied by a jury, or anyone but the Mad King and his inner circle. A sham, not meant to document or bring evidence, but an egotistical façade made to offer some semblance of authority.

"You will never again know warmth, or light, or the touch, or even the gaze of another." The man intones. His crown slopes over his head as he bears his teeth in a terrible, unpleasant grimace of vindictive seething. "Death is far, far too merciful a fate for a traitorous, Wildling like you. I brought you up from nothing. Now you will be nothing.”

Cursed to drown; the water will never be her sanctuary
Cursed to be repulsed by life; to never be allowed again to grow
Cursed to never know warmth; the sun has turned from her.
Cursed to never again rise above her station; she will never again soar of her own volition.
Cursed to know fear, all her days; never will she be free of the night terror that plagues her dreams.

And finally, she is sentenced; the final curse. A cruel hand of stars and time, larger than life, reaches down from shadow and closes her in its fist. From then on, for centuries, for tens of thousands of years, Del knows nothing but the void she is painfully, maddeningly, aware of.

You hear screaming for a very, very long time. The first person to ever hear those screams, in fact. The first to bear witness to millennia of agony. This prison was meant to break her. You see that, in a way, it did. That she does not remember millennia of suffering is a blessing. You are the only one who remembers that singular torment of awareness, paralysis, gravity and endless, infinite nothing.

This does not go unnoticed.

You see that she endures. That Delaela, a shadow, a husk of what she once was, never once stops struggling for lengths of time that become insignificant. It is her rage, her determination, that keeps her alive. And you see, that though she has forgotten everything from before because of this, she dreams about it still, every night. Some part of her remembers at least that. Is stuck there, permanently.

You see that she is released from her prison, somehow. Because Del does not know who it is, that Truth is lost, at this moment. A name Unwritten from the record... however, you know that she was not released on purpose. You know that they did not mean to undo the first curse of shadow.

You see her as she falls from a shadowy door in the sky, down, down, plummeting, the ragged scream she carried with her for eons following her descent. You see from her eyes as the world warps, her body striking stone as she tumbles; earth, sky, earth, sky. Again, another blow, this one disintegrating the scream in her throat with the sheer agony of the impact. This is followed by another, and again, until she lands with a splash in a river so cold it eclipses all of her other pain. But only for a moment.

You see her drowning, washed down stream. The early spring river is merciless, up and down are again meaningless, except for where her body strikes the rapids beneath the water, splintering bone. Occasionally, she is able to get a sputtering breath, but there is too much pain, too much water, to be able to call for help. Hard stone rushes up to meet her, and, away from her vision now, hovering above, you see her strike something, hard. Her limp body is washed down stream, a helpless piece of driftwood.

The man who discovers her snagged in the rocky shallows, is a squat old dwarf. He picks up his waterskin and is silent as he approaches, reaching out to feel if she is alive. The moment his warm skin touches her, Delaela's right hand snatches his wrist, fixing him in a tight grip. She stares in anger, in anguish, into his eyes, before her hand drops once more, and she falls unconscious again.

Maruyama contemplates leaving her there to die. It's plain on his face. But the fierceness of her, the deep gouge across the bridge of her nose, seems to remind him of something. Though Maruyama says nothing, he does easily recover Delaela, and takes her and his filled waterskin back up the hill to his home.

Delaela remembers Maruyama as a man who was mute, who did not speak, the man who taught her how to sign. The Truth was that Maruyama had taken a vow of silence, but he was not himself mute. And that he would break this vow on occasion, as he was wont to do, when it became pertinent. When the occasion calls for an intonation of prophecy, anyway.

At one point, not quite conscious, her spirit flagging as it is no longer held in the hellish stasis of her prison, she says she has to make amends. Has to make it right. She wants a second chance. And so, she is given one.

Maruyama placed his piece of Ginma's Anvil into her chest. "If this is what you desire," he said, as the power of the anvil singed into her wounds. He placed his hand over it, and forced his healing magic through this divine conduit, a vestige of his own. Gold threads take hold, binding to her deep and terrible wounds and knitting her sundered soul back together.

"You were the King's Scourge,” (the name, the blotted out name, the one he knows),”--his blight upon this world to punish those who would not fall in line as he tried to take everything for himself. You broke your mold. Now, child of dross, you shall be remade. You shall be reforged and given new purpose."

"You shall become the Crucible."

This is where Del’s life begins anew.

-NOW-

SPOILER: Click to show

Bringing Del back from the brink is not like infusing life and vigor into flagging flesh; it is like gently blowing on dying embers, encouraging them to catch the kindling to create flame. The combination of the spell and the removal of the curse of growth allows time for her body to heal.

She spends many years with the silent Maruyama. Though she does not remember, there is some of the old Delaela still there. He tempers that rage, the grief, and gives her hands something new. No longer a destroyer; she learns to create.

Decades go by in that relative peace. It is quiet, so much that Del herself barely talks the whole while. She does not know who she is, she is troubled by it, but she slowly learns to let that go.

Until her life is again destroyed.

She does not know who or why. But she has her suspicions… and you know the Truth. That the people who have been hunting her have finally found where she stayed in the Crescent Isles, and torched, again, the only home she knew, and ripped from her the only home she ever knew.

You also know that Maruyama knew this was coming, and had sent her away on purpose to save her. Delaela believes he is dead. You do not believe he died, at least not here.

You know that from here, she does as she was taught. She goes from place to place, fixing things for people. Doors, fences, bookshelves. She gives whittled toys to children and the struggling. She provides food and water she can scarcely afford to share. Her existence is meager, it is fraught with danger, but she is, at least, free.

As to now... the Crown knows what sort of weapon has been freed from its prison, a terrible mistake that the reveal of which would expose generations of war crimes, and has the ability to throw the world into chaos once again. The spies among the Crown do not know the whole story; even most of those in power do not understand or comprehend why the escape of this person, this [REDACTED], is so important to remove. But the spies, those revolutionaries who hear of a Mad King’s best and most loyal soldier on the loose once more, know that she is too dangerous to keep alive. She must not again fall into the hands of the Crown. Religious groups, thinking she retains these vestiges, also seek her out for her supposed power, to rip it from her and give it to themselves.

You know they have no way of knowing that Delaela Asiliari is but a shadow of her former self. That she no longer wields any of the power that she once held, and never can again.

You know Del knows nothing of this. None of it.

You know that she is deeply afraid of the past that haunts her, and what it could mean. That she has sought it out from time to time, but does not dig deep. Cannot, lest it expose her to pursuit (it has).

What she does know, is that she has been pursued since leaving the crescent isles 46 years ago, and has been able to evade capture and attack ever since, sometimes only narrowly, but she has gotten better at avoiding these things.

Two of her divine curses have been released; One of shadow and one of growth. She now moves through shadow as though it were her home (and it was, for longer than she lived on Charon). And old habits die hard. She was at the Sacking of Lilicors, rescuing civilians, and did not kill a single soul (though she fought for her life against enemies far stronger than she—names you would know). She destroyed, single handedly, the warehouse and terrible hydra of Blixt Co. You see her and Cyran and Leandros defeat a dragon that had been unleased in the Zeinavian Desert.

She has been moving through Charon, simultaneously avoiding the hunters that seek her, the assassins and cults and the soldiers themselves. You see that, presently, they do not know where she is— too preoccupied with the knowledge that the Gods are dead. But they will close in, eventually.

But the tune has changed. So few remember her. History has been removed to forget her, forget the terrible crimes of the past. They have done so much to erase her that they have succeeded. As such, the Tale of the Nightingale is being renewed. A song of hope in the dark.

You know that she and Cyran’s souls are connected, intertwined, a ritual of binding between two like souls that emits as a resonant note from her bones. You know her affection for him runs deep and heady, a pale moon illuminating the darkness of her mind. You see their exchanged rings that have marked this binding. Part of Cyran himself resides within her.

You see she does not yet know what to call this feeling, but you see the Truth of it, even though she cannot. This is a soulbond, a deep pining held in check only because the very idea of being part of something so wonderful, so profound, has not yet crossed her mind.

You know Del has not told Cyran much of this past. You know that she has not asked him of his, either. Nonetheless, you see that she trusts him implicitly. More than Darkveil, he is home for her, even if she is still blind to it.

You see that Del is many things and was many more. You know that despite the fact that she is dross compared to the solid steel she once was, that she is still in many ways dangerous. That she is nonetheless pursued. The Truth cannot extend to that which has not happened yet, but within her kintsugi soul, there is goodness, and gentleness, and a fierceness that will protect her loved ones at all costs—that she wishes to change the world for the better. So that people like the one she once was, are no longer created.

The truth of Delaela Asiliari is that she is becoming someone new. She is a survivor. She is a strategist. She is afraid. She yearns. You know that for the first time in her life, she is happy.

You could use her as that weapon. It would be easy. She would be none the wiser. You know that. You also know that whisper is the same that drove the Mad King to alter her so fully, so irrevocably that she bears those scars still. Think of all the good she could do. All the ill. All of that, at your fingertips.

You know that you know more about Delaela Asiliari than anyone else in the universe at this moment. What you do with that information is up to you.

Del looks up as Eameia touches her shoulder, surprised by the contact. Ah, but it is only friendly. Surely. As she starts to take a look, though, to properly fix the bannister, noises of alarm from outside reach her ears. She stands, looking down the stairs, to see Zarius and Cyran rushing to the door. She sets her tools down and says “One moment, I’ll be right back,” before surging down the stairs after them, heading outside to see what lay before them, missing the condition of Eameia as the spell filtered everything into her head.

Alarm touches her face as she sees the pack of blazing Hell Hounds in the street. “In the streets?” Del says, bewildered. She looks to Cyran as he takes out his weapons, and settles into her own stance, energy from her body beginning to flow over her limbs and harden as it pulls up from her bones. “What drove them down from the volcano?”

Zarius stares at Cyran for a moment. Hearing that Cyran thought of him as a dear friend wasn’t that odd or surprising to him, they had so far worked well together. The thing that gives the fellblood pause is the declaration that Cyran wants more for him. It was not a sentiment he was used to receiving from those outside of his blood relatives, and he was hardly a person who was struggling in life in any way. Unlike so many of his allies he had a lot of connections, wealth, a roof over his head, and a supportive family. To say he was not extremely fortunate would be a lie.

That said, while many view Zarius as a friend, he isn’t so sure he can reciprocate. It was a risk to put his trust in anyone, especially as he gained more power and influence in Charon’s political sphere. Any person extending a helpful hand with a friendly smile could have ulterior motives. He would know, as he has done it time and time again to those who have put their trust in him.

It was just in his nature. How he had always done things. Even if he never acted on the falsehoods or the insincerity, it was just how he approached everyone. There were so few people he was willing to truly get close to outside of his immediate family. Even those who have more than proven they could be trusted on a personal level. If he would just Cyran could just be one of those very few people.

If only for a moment, he has second thoughts about the decision he made in regards to asking his sister to confirm his suspicions about Del. Cyran wasn’t a fool, even if he was sometimes motivated by his emotions. He should give the hunter more credit. Sometimes he forgets how much more life experience Cyran has compared to himself.

He has no time to dwell on that line of thinking however. Cyran is quick to make his way outside once his attention is grabbed by the ruckus and Zarius is not far behind him.

Stepping outside, he could see the pack of hell hounds rushing their way, leaving a trail of fire in their path. If they didn’t stop them before they had a chance to get further into the city, it was possible they’d set the whole place ablaze.

“Snow! Give us some cover from the roof!” Zarius calls back into the building.

“Yes, sir!”

Snow pulls a spare bow and quiver of arrows out from the back room. The Rookery was full of hidden pockets with hidden supplies for its denizens for just these sorts of emergencies. The catfolk quickly rushes outside and scales the exterior wall of the Rookery in order to perch up on the roof overlooking the street.^[1]

Zarius looks at Cyran and then at Del as she comes out of the Rookery. There was no sign of his sister, but he didn’t expect her to fight anyway. He was still a little wary of Del, but if the rumors were to be believed, she should be able to defend herself fine.

The fellblood slips his knuckle knives onto his fists. Hell hounds weren’t exactly creatures you could sit down and talk things out with, so bashing in their skulls would have to suffice.

Meanwhile, as those looking for a fight quickly rush out into the street to engage with the pack, Eameia is reeling from the consequences of her actions. She certainly got more insights than she anticipated, and it hit her harder than the speeding carriage that crashed in the street outside.

Del is already out the door before the young fellblood starts to regain her senses and recover from the shock of the overwhelming amount of memories flooding her mind. Her whole body trembles and she drops to her knees, feeling weak and nauseous. She squeezes her eyes tight from the massive headache her brain suffers as she tries to parse out the information piece by piece. A warm feeling runs down the side of her neck and she touches it only to see that she is bleeding from her ears.

“E-eirynor!” She squeaks out to the tall half-elf.

Eirynor was just about to join the others outside when he heard her call his name. He glances back and spots her on the floor by the stairs. Alarmed, the half-elf rushes to her side.

---

[1] Surface Scaling