Cyran found Oriole sitting on one of the Rookery stools, nursing his leg. He rushed up to his apprentice, bending down to get a better look at the wound where the pant leg was rolled up - jagged tooth marks marred the skin, not particularly deep, but enough to cause alarm. And this close up… it looked far worse than it had when covered up by dark cloth. Cyran glanced up, fixing Oriole with a stern look. “Why didn’t you retreat immediately when I told you?” The words felt harsh on his tongue, though it was undercut by the worry that made his voice waver. Oriole may have come under his wing as an apprentice, but he cared about the young man far more than just as a teacher.

Oriole crossed his arms, stubborn. Cyran had to suppress a smile at how closely the motion seemed to mimic Andromeda. “I just… I can fight alongside you now, I’ve been practicing. So why don’t you want me to?”

“Oriole-“ Cyran sighed, moving to rummage through his bag, only to grimace when he didn’t have any more healing items. He’d given the necklace to Del to take care of the more severe injuries that she’d accrued, but that had left him with nothing to treat Oriole. Stupid. He’d need to start carrying more with him to prevent this from happening. Instead, he settled for holding his hand out, summoning a cloth to his waiting palm, and water in the other.^[1] While Oriole stayed silent, Cyran went through the gentle movements of cleaning his wound, wiping the blood away and making sure to remove any debris to prevent infection.

“Do you remember what I told you when you asked me to be your apprentice?”

Oriole suddenly looked sad, even beneath the mask. “I told you I didn’t know how to use a weapon. That I didn’t want to kill anyone. You just looked at me weirdly and asked, ‘why in the world would you want to learn from an assassin, then’?”

Cyran suppressed a small laugh. “After that.”

Oriole exhaled, hissing in pain where Cyran accidentally brushed against one of the tooth marks. “You said, ‘in a world of cruelty, it is the greatest kindness to know when to stray your blade’.”

Cyran nodded.

“Before I met you I had no intention of taking on apprentices. Why would I ever want to impart this deadly craft onto others? But when I met you in Zeinav,” After Oriole had pickpocketed him and Cyran took the young man out to lunch, “I saw someone so incredibly strong and kind that I wanted him to be my student. You’re a survivor, Rhi’as. You’re a thief with a good heart, and you understand the weight of a life. That’s what made me want to be a teacher. To give you the proper tools to keep surviving, and keep being you. This,”

He gestured to the quarterstaff resting on Oriole’s back,

“Even when forced to pick a weapon for self defense, you picked one without a blade. When I ask you to stay back or to retreat, it’s not because I think you’re weak and can’t handle it. It’s because there are far more important qualities than being a fighter. You don’t have to desperately throw yourself into battle to show me that you can be like Andromeda. Next time you can’t handle something, listen to me, okay? But more importantly, listen to yourself. Your body. It is not cowardice to retreat. That’s strategy.”

It was at that time that Zarius and Del returned to the Rookery, and Cyran noticed that Eameia looked a little worse for wear as well. He stood, giving Zarius a grateful nod as the fellblood gave Oriole a bit of medicine. Oriole swallowed it down like a bitter pill before nodding at Zarius. “Thank you, Master Snow, and Master Eirynor for protecting me. I’ve still got a lot to learn before I can stand beside you all as equals.”

A tap on his shoulder pulled Cyran out of the conversation. He turned, surprised to see Eameia looking out of it. “Are you alright?” He whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. In lieu of an answer, Eameia pulled him upstairs to a more private place, away from the others. His confusion only grew when she started with an apology, but with each passing word, that confusion was replaced with dread.

“You cast a spell on her?” He murmured, narrowing his eyes. “What… you glimpsed her memories?” He knew the spell Eameia referred to - often used it himself when digging for information out of a target. But using it on a friend was a breach of privacy, a line he wouldn’t cross.

But the next bit of information only made him more worried.

“Danger? I don’t understand. Eameia, why can’t you tell me? What did you glimpse that makes you look as if you’ve seen a ghost?” The normally self-assured woman looked… nervous, and that scared him almost as much as the news that Del’s life was in jeopardy.

Whatever it was, Cyran had no doubt that her reaction was no exaggeration. Worry churned in his gut, not just for the danger that Del was in but the events that happened to her to cause such a thing, and the reaction that had been evoked in Eameia. And looking at her… it was easy to forget how young she was. How scared she must be in that moment.

He had to be strong for both of them.

“Eameia.” His voice was quiet, but sure - surer than it had been moments ago. “I don’t know what you saw, and for Del’s sake and yours, I won’t ask for everything. Not right now. But just know that if what you say is true, I want to know what you saw. And more importantly, I want you to tell her. Eventually.”

He glanced down the stairs, bringing his hand up to grasp the ring around his neck. Took a deep breath before turning back to the young woman.

“And more importantly than that. If she really is in danger, and brings that all upon us, I understand if you don’t want any part of that. But you saw her memories. You know of the ritual we performed, even against our knowledge. Del owns a piece of my soul, and I hers. It feels… with her, it feels as if we were never strangers. I will not abandon her. Not if the crown, or Ziev himself were after her. That is a duty I take up with pride.”

He pulled her in for a hug.

“And I’m not going to let anything happen to you, either. You and Zarius are treasured friends of mine. Danger means nothing to me in the face of keeping something so precious safe. You’re going to be okay. We all are.”

He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to believe the words - not quite yet. But even if they weren’t right now, Cyran would make it so. He would traverse to the depths of hell and make a deal with the devil himself if it meant garnering enough power to protect his loved ones. He would do it a thousand times over, with joy and love.

---

1. Summon: Possession

She swallows the potion, wincing at the flavour and the ripple of energy over her body as her injuries start to knit. "My own fault, letting them bite me." A rueful chuckle leaves her, as her gaze turns back to Zarius. She pauses for a moment noticing the... odd way he looks at her. As though scrutinizing, trying to discern some thing about her. Before she can ask him if something was wrong, though, he heads back towards the Rookery. Feeling a little off balance, she follows him back inside the bar.

Everyone seems to be winding down now that the chaos is over-- though she looks with alarm at Eameia, who looked not at all like she did in the moments before Del had ran out to join the fray. Had she fallen, or injured herself? Snow and Eirynor seemed to be providing the redirect that was so necessary after fights like these, running interference. As Zarius approaches to offer Rhi'as a vial of his own, Del stands in front of the young apprentice with a smile, lightly touching his shoulder. "You were very brave. You know, I was taught to use a quarterstaff as well. I might have some tips for you, for fighting multiple enemies like that, if you are ever interested."

She gives his shoulder one last squeeze, before turning to Cyran, mouth open to ask once more if he was alright-- when Eameia steps forward, begging her pardon to have a word with Cyran in private. Her mouth snaps closed.

"Oh, of course I don't mind! By all means," She offers Eameia a small smile, her brow furrowed slightly in concern for the young woman's apparent condition, but was certain Cyran would ask after her. Still, as they walk back up the stairs, her brow drifts lower. Something here was decidedly odd, but there was nothing for Del to be able to put her finger on and identify. Perhaps she was simply being paranoid. Too much time on her own made interactions in large groups a little disconcerting at times. So many people was a lot to pay attention to for someone used to waiting for an attack from any angle.

She is distracted from her thoughts as Zarius turns a question onto her. "It's alright. Nothing to be done about a pack of furious Hell Hounds down from the volcano." Del gives him a small smile, and leans against the countertop, to take some of the stress off her tired limbs. Getting a bit old for this, maybe. "Besides, that just means we will have to reschedule for another proper visit. Ah, no, I-- well, in some ways I suppose," Del's head tilts as she considers how she was trained to fight, and how much she had learned on her own in the time since departing the Crescent Isles. "--But I was formally instructed by my mentor, who taught me both the art of craft and how to fight. I, ah, was gravely injured when we met, so it started out as rehabilitation for my injuries."

"And yourself? I haven't seen many who fight with the speed and accuracy with their hands as you do. Were you self-instructed?"

Her eyes lift to the top of the stairs, watching Cyran hug Eameia in comfort. The corner of her mouth lilts upwards in a moment of admiring softness, before looking back to Zarius. "He speaks very highly of you. He hadn't mentioned you by name or anything, but he had spoken of friends that he held very dear. It's nice to see him have a life beyond Shades Valley."

Zarius gives Oriole a bit of a skeptical look after Eameia pulls Cyran away from the group. “I do not know what you mean. We already are equals. You have nothing to prove to us.”

He turns to address Del again. “I am not so certain about that. Seems to be an increasing number of strange occurrences connected to the volcano as of late. I would be hardly surprised if this is some sort of sign that something else is up.”

Taking a seat next to the woman, he leans back against the countertop. “I assume we will likely be seeing more of one another given Cyran’s affiliation with me. You are welcome to visit the Rookery without him of course. I am not always here, but there usually is someone around.”

For a moment, he considers how he is going to answer Del's question. Eameia having pulled Cyran aside without him has put him a bit on edge around Del. Though really, if the elven woman was a threat, the young fellblood wouldn’t have let her re-enter the building in the first place. Still, something was up and he has no reason to trust Del more or even as much as he trusts Cyran.

“My father trained me. Then I picked up some other skills while traveling and working with the Fighter’s Guild.”

His gaze follows hers as she looks at the top of the stairs. His own eyes narrow slightly. Just what was going on? His attention is drawn back to Del as she speaks again.

“He is a good ally to have. You mentioned you were injured when you met your mentor, do you mind if I ask what happened?”

While Eameia had her magic to get information from people, Zarius had his own less flashy process. It was obvious to him that his sister was going to withhold information from him given that she was talking to Cyran first. She would certainly have a good reason for such a decision, but that hardly meant he had to sit around and twiddle his thumbs in the meantime.

While that is going on, the conversation at the top of the stairs continues. 

Eameia blinks, surprised by the hug. She thought for sure Cyran would be livid with her and was prepared to be yelled at. This though. This wasn't the reaction she expected and she feels a pang of guilt before leaning into Cyran's hug.

After a moment, she mumbles into his shoulder. "This is highly inappropriate behavior," she teases before pulling away and regaining her composure.

She folds her hands in front of her, fidgeting with her thumbs. "Miss Delaela doesn't remember. Countless of years of…" she shakes her head. "It is too much to bear. Even if I could help her regain the memories she has lost, I would not. It is too much."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she takes a deep breath and gets her thoughts in order. "Miss Delaela is…not the same person she once was. What she does remember is much more recent. The same cannot be said about those who are searching for her.” She glances down the stairs towards Del and Zarius at the bar. “My brother ran into an investigator in Zeinav who mentioned her. When we looked into it further, we did find that a number of hits were out on someone who looks just like Miss Delaela. She is wanted by the Crown for supposedly escaping prison and they do not care if she is returned alive or not. The reward is not a paltry sum to scoff at either."

“She does not know the reasons behind any of this. She is being hunted and she does not know why, so she has been running scared for too long. You…” Eameia pauses.

One of the side effects of a spell that allows one to know everything about someone is that you not only gain knowledge from their memories, but also the emotions intertwined with those memories. She has to take a moment to separate herself from Del’s memories of pain, fear, and yearning.

She takes a shaky breath and digs the sharp edge of her nail into her hand. “You are one of the few people keeping her head above water.”

The fellblood finally raises her eyes to meet Cyran’s. “We will help you protect her. But there is only so much we can put at risk. My family's power in Darkveil is meager, even with my brother's efforts. To stand against the Crown, to stand at Miss Delaela's side and keep her and everyone else safe, we need to be stronger and work smarter. Otherwise we may just be wiped out ourselves."

As she stands there, she bites her lower lip. It’s subtle, but Cyran’s keen ability to pick up on body language would tell him that she is uncomfortable and something else…doubtful in response to his declaration that he would not let anything happen to anyone. The forced smile that follows is betrayed by the pained look in her solid gold eyes.

"Right…of course. Thank you.”

Lowering her gaze again, she tucks a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “That ring you mentioned should make keeping tabs on one another easier. But it is an alarm, not a shield. I will do what I can to arrange for more of our family’s people to be stationed nearby. They can act as extra sets of eyes and ears at the very least, though– with how powerful the people who Miss Delaela has already escaped from are– they would hardly slow them down. I will speak with my brother about this as well. Perhaps he can use his connections to get to the root of this situation, though it will be risky.”

There was a ridiculous amount of thoughts on the young fellblood's mind. Her head still ached and pounded with the intense migraine. At times, the flashes of memories not her own intrude and interpose themselves. She does her best to keep things in order in her mind, but it's an exhaustive effort. If not for the training her parents gave her, she well may have passed out from the mental stress. 

“I understand that it is Miss Delaela’s right to know about her past…but I do not know if it will make things worse or not.” Holding up a hand to show Cyran, he can see she’s still trembling from the experience. “I have cast that spell hundreds of times on terrible people who have done terrible things and others who were victims of those terrible things. This…this is the first time I have felt so overwhelmed about what I saw."

She lowers her hand and gives Cyran a weak smile. "Bearing this burden for the both of you may be the best way I can help you protect her.”

Despite the confusion and the fear, Cyran managed to huff out a laugh at Eameia’s gentle ribbing, before sobering up once more at the harsh reality of her words. Whatever Eameia had seen, it must have been something horrible. As if Del had gone through something so terrible that her mind had simply erased the memories so she didn’t have to deal with them. Exactly what had happened to her? What could be so horrible that even Eameia would refuse to restore what had been lost?

And then what Eameia said next only served to further confuse him.

“… Escape from prison.” He murmured to himself, perhaps in disbelief. He did not doubt that Eameia’s words were the absolute truth, not when he could feel the conviction and the hurt behind them. Del had been through something truly awful, managed to flee from her trappings. How had she escaped? Did she remember being imprisoned?

She certainly remembered drowning.

He remembered from the dream he had traversed, glimpses of her past in the Crescent Isles - drowning, a man with a kind smile. It all felt related, somehow, for reasons he couldn’t place. He pursed his lips together, crossing his arms. Though he kept his face as neutral as possible, all of this - the fact that Del had been alone and afraid for so long - it weighed on him.

“I don’t care about some reward. Whoever pursues her… I’d eliminate them all, if I had to.” He had already murdered countless before, as was the nature of his profession. Cyran was used to killing. Quite good at it, in fact. He may as well use his skills for something worthwhile. If it meant keeping her attackers at bay, he would do it without question. “Though I can’t help but wonder if there might be a way to destroy all records of her bounty.” It was a far-flung thought, though he was decent enough at manipulating memory. Perhaps if there was some way to remove her from the crown’s sights… it was an avenue worth exploring.

He’d need to do more research.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, he was listening to Eameia, the strain in her voice and the pain lingering in her eyes. The spell she’d cast must have taken a lot out of her - or perhaps it was the memories she’d absorbed.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to keep what I learned a secret to her.” Cyran warned. “You know I’m not really much of a liar… especially when it comes to Del.” Having an emotional connection to one another made things kind of difficult in that regard. “I’ll have to tell her.”

His shoulders slumped.

“But not now.”

He shook his head. Tired.

“I know the spell of which you speak. It is a useful tool, though I’ve vowed never to use it against my loved ones. I understand your suspicions, and I get why you did what you did. I just hope…” Well, he wasn’t sure what he hoped, really. What he’d taken in was a lot, and that wasn’t even the full scope of Del’s past. Part of him burned with curiosity, but it wasn’t his place for those memories.

Perhaps, one day, if Del trusted him enough, she would allow him to see for himself. Though none of that mattered. Her past was just that - in the past. And he knew the person she was now. Del was a wonderful woman, one whom he held great respect for. She was strong, kind, and above all, deserved to be cared for the way she so readily gave herself to others.

He offered Eameia a weak smile in turn.

“Well, I appreciate the help, any that you can give. I think I’m going to need all I can get.”

There was nothing he could do besides wait, and steel his blades for the inevitable day that trouble came knocking on his door. That danger had evidently always been there - but at least now he had an idea of what to look for.

"I'd like to believe it isn't," Del sighs, reaching up a hand to tousle her curls. Like to and didn't, however, were not the same thing, as Zarius well knew. He was right; all signs did point to something more on the horizon, something more that could be even more dangerous than quakes and Hell Hounds already were. Perhaps it was time to get her contingencies in place, in case she or anyone else needed to leave the city quickly. She already had one or two stashed from before, but a few more at the other exits of the city couldn't hurt... and then perhaps reinforcing some of the walls and load-bearing pillars at Shade's Valley...

The offer to welcome her at the Rookery, even when Cyran wasn't present, jars her from her thoughts. A lopsided smile appears over her face as she regards Zarius, scrunching one end of her scar across the bridge of her nose up higher than the other. "I appreciate that. Friendly faces are rare enough as it is, never mind in Darkveil itself." She chuckles faintly. "Besides, you all seem to be decent people-- by that I mean I can tell how close you all are; family that takes care of eachother." She lifts her chin in the direction of the rest of the room, watching everyone mingle and be near one another. A wonderful sort of camraderie, the likes of which she hadn't felt since...

She frowns; something slips under the waters of her memory, a vague silhouette in the darkness, and then it's gone again. Del shrugs it off, abandoning the internal sentence to continue the conversation with Zarius. "Your father taught you? If you fight as well as he does, he must be incredible. You move quiet fluidly, it speaks well of your training. Always a good idea to get into the rythym of fighting when you're young. Don't wait until you're old, like me," this time, a laugh accompanies the words.

Now it is Del's turn to tilt her head at Zarius, as he asks after her injury. Something about the way he had been observing her combined with these relatively harmless but personal questions pokes an alarm bell in the back of her mind. There's a thoughtful pause as she regards him. She didn't have to answer. She could lie. But then, what would be the point? There was no secret in it, either.

"I fell off a cliff roughly fifty years or so ago." Del lifts and drops one shoulder in a sheepish shrug, before lifting a hand to tap the forked scar across the bridge of her nose. "Got this from it, and a fair few broken bones for my trouble."

"A fabrication,” Eameia interjects. “Or rather a gross misrepresentation of the true reason behind the bounties or of the purgatory Miss Delaela escaped from."

An involuntary shudder courses through the young fellblood's body as a flash of Del's memories of her imprisonment resurfaces in her mind.

She looks at Cyran with a bit of disapproval in her eyes. "While you have the skills to do as such…I do not believe that to be wise."

Dropping her gaze for a moment, she considers how to word things. She knows Cyran is much older and has far more life experience than herself. How could her advice be of any value to a man who has lived the entirety of her own life span a multitude of times over?

She takes a breath. "Those who are after her, they are not one unified force. Though they may know and accept the risks of their endeavors, they are not necessarily aware of the injustice they are partaking in. They may just be doing as ordered, or be desperate to gain the reward. They may be hunters…just like you. And just like you, they may have family to support." She glances up at Cyran. "Children waiting for them to return home."

Her words hang in the area for a moment. She knows that suggesting they take the moral high road is a hypocritical suggestion given their line of work. But there was something to be said about limiting the number of people who would wish revenge against you, even if all you were doing was acting in self-defense.

"Miss Delaela is not to blame for her situation, nor are those who have been lied to and promised riches in exchange for their services. There will be countless victims and needless deaths if we are not careful or if we do not get to the root of the problem."

A sigh escapes her lips. Part of her wishes she had never cast that spell on Del. Things were going to be more complicated now and she already had plenty of work of her own. Between her research, supporting her brother’s work, running the Rookery, and some personal matters, it was starting to become a bit overwhelming. Briefly, she feels a pang of jealousy brough on by Del’s more recent memories. She shakes her head, not letting those thoughts linger in the forefront of her mind for long. There was no turning back time, at least not to any degree that would be helpful.

"The root is a tangled mess though, and erasing the past is not so simple. Records may be burnable, memories are another thing entirely. Even if we faked Del’s death somehow, there is always a chance she would be found again."

She waits for him to finish his thought, but when it's clear he does not intend to, she fills in the silence with a quiet comment of her own. She speaks softly, and there is a warmth in her tone that seeps through ever so slightly. "I would not have done it had we lacked any reason to worry about your safety. We needed to know the truth about why the bounties exist."

Cyran may feel protective over many people, but that did not mean that others did not feel the same about him. Over the time they have gotten to work together in the Rookery, Eameia has grown quite fond of Cyran. He is a good friend, reliable, easy to get along with and one of the few people the young fellblood deeply respects.

Even so, there are things she has never confided in him, things she has kept secret for one reason or another, and there are times when she feels guilt over keeping him in the dark. The nature of their work, it was not easy to share with others, even those who are no stranger to the darkest corners of Charon's underbelly. 

Eameia opens her mouth as if to say something else, but then she stops herself and just nods in response. She looks off to the side and down the stairs towards the bar. Zarius and Del were still conversing and it seemed to be a pleasant enough conversation. A brief look of worry crosses her face before she looks back at Cyran. Her gaze lingers on the elven man for a few moments before she quietly speaks up once more.

"You are not the only one…could you please send my brother up? If we leave them alone for too long who knows what he will say to her." She smiles softly, a slight teasing tone in her voice to lighten the mood if only a little.

In the lounge, Zarius pays close attention to Del as she seems lost in thought for a moment before their conversation continues.

“They can be pretty rare, though you certainly have lucked out. Cyran is a remarkable individual. So long as you do not give him any reason to end up on the wrong side of his knives, you can count on him. If I can speak honestly, I do not think there is a more decent person in all of Darkveil.” He leans over and lowers his voice. “And I know that means I am outing myself as not the most decent person.”

He leans back and chuckles a bit. “My father is far more skilled than I am. He tried to school me in swordsmanship and other weaponry but I took to hand to hand and have not really looked back. I will admit it is so satisfying to see a swordsman’s shocked face when I stop their blade with my bare hand.” Perhaps Del could relate given how she fought out in the street, though he would understand if she did not.

Then he scoffs. “You elves. You barely look any older than I do. It is hardly fair. I will be long dead in the ground before either of you or Cyran start to get any crow’s feet.”

While they have been conversing, Eirynor and Snow have returned from outside, both covered in a fair amount of ash and soot. Snow dusts themself off, leaving a ring of ash on the polished floors which earns the catfolk an unimpressed look from the tall half-elf archer.

“Sorry,” Snow apologizes sheepishly.

Eirynor rolls his eyes and goes to find something to clean up the mess with.

Del would feel something move by her feet, only to glance down and see Ebony has rubbed up against her leg and is now looking up at her with eyes that seem way too wide for any normal cat.

Zarius glances down at the cat, always keeping the menace in his periphery in case the tiny terror decides to attack.

“A cliff?” He considers that for a moment and thinks about the timeline. That seemed odd to him, as if something was not adding up. He does not linger on that thought for very long and gives Del a friendly smile. “Well, I will refrain from inviting you on any future mountain climbing ventures.”

He glances towards the stairs and sees that the conversation between Cyran and Eameia has started to conclude. While he is anxious to find out just what the hell is going on, he waits until there is some sign from either of them before moving.

Cyran pursed his lips at Eameia’s rejection of his words, even going as far as to bring up the families of Del’s pursuers. Loathe as he was to admit it, there was only so much that Cyran could bring himself to care for the lives of strangers. That was why he was the one that did the dirty work for people like Zarius and Eameia. But he was not heartless, nor were the walls he put up to prevent himself from feeling too much guilt at the nature of his job completely impenetrable. A weakness that Eameia was willing to exploit.

… That was a low blow.

He resisted the urge to say as such - it was not wise of him to entertain such thoughts. There was little that one man could do against an ununified front, hunters and mercenaries and guards alike who had all been fed, as she insisted, lies about Del’s truth. He could set forth his blades against any pursuer he wished, but the true enemy was the one that had spread such lies about Del in order to get their hands on her in the first place.

Cyran closed his eyes, all the fight draining out of him in a single breath. “You’re right. I’m being hasty.” He’d let his emotions get the better out of him. There was more than one solution to the problem, as magnanimous as this one might be. He did not need to go on a murdering spree to protect Del, nor did he need to fake her death. Cyran just had to be patient, and wait for an opportunity to make… something happen. To wait for the right attacker to come along so he could parse through their memories and find something that would help.

But gods, Cyran was just so tired of being reactionary.

“I don’t like the idea of sitting around and waiting for something to happen… I won’t gamble with Del’s life.” He said in warning. “Sometimes it’s us or them, and I would choose us every time.” He did not sound harsh as he spoke, nor particularly angry. Only with the weariness of someone who had allowed the world’s cruelty to warp his perception of life. Perhaps, once upon a time, Cyran might have been a kind, upstanding man. He might have had a nice future. But that person had vanished in smoke the day he fell, and he had come to terms with that.

At least in this case it would be used to protect someone.

“I won’t act rashly.” The promise was uttered after a prolonged silence. Whatever hatred had been churned up in his gut at this revelation had been quelled for now, leaving him with only the burning embers of confusion, and worry. He hadn’t expected to lose his mind to this degree.

Perhaps Eameia would have said something else, but she decided against it. Cyran wanted to ask - he was tired of the half-truths and the concealed secrets, but if Eameia wouldn’t say anything at all, he couldn’t call her out on lying. Only suspicion, after everything grim they’d spoken about today, told him that she still had more. More she didn’t want him to know.

… Well, he guessed that was about as much as he was going to get out of her today. That much was apparent as she asked him to grab Zarius so she could speak to him in private. He nodded, barely managing a smile at her attempt at a joke. Though he appreciated it, there was too much on Cyran’s mind for him to smile right now. He tilted his head to the side, glancing to where Del and Zarius were still politely conversing - as overly sentimental as it was, it was nice to see his two closest friends getting along, no matter how hesitant at first.

How long would the peace last, he wondered?

“I’ll go grab him.” Cyran agreed, a tone of finality in his voice. This conversation was over, for now, but it would not be the end of things. “Knowing him, he’s probably growing impatient that important conversation is happening and he’s not part of it.”

Though he’d be informed on what was going on soon enough. Cyran made his way down the stairs, putting a hand on Zarius’s shoulder to grab his attention before whispering, “Your sister wants to talk to you.”

Only when Zarius left did Cyran take a seat at one of the tables, running a hand through his hair. His hands shook.

Pull yourself together, Cyran. He didn’t want Del - want anyone - to see the feeling of empty hopelessness that had settled in him. He couldn’t afford to be weak right now. The city was in shambles, snow had mingled with the ash, hellhounds had poured down from the volcano. And now his partner was being hunted by the government for reasons he couldn’t understand.

He had to remain calm.

With a shuddering breath, Cyran forced a smile on his face before turning to Del. “So… this social call has taken quite a turn, hasn’t it?”

On the wrong side of his knives? An eyebrow arches, subtley. This was news to her. ...Well. It was and it wasn't. She knew Cyran had knives, carried them (it would be foolish not to, in Darkveil), but he was a hunter of creatures, as far as she knew. That said, between this and the different names people had used for Eleanor and Rhi'as, certain things were beginning to add up.

At the moment, it seemed she had found herself in a place where this particular group knew a lot more about Cyran than she did.

It felt... not unfamilliar to feel like an outsider here, but Del knew Cyran, trusted him implicitly. Whatever he wasn't telling her, it was not pressing enough to be a cause for concern. These people seemed to care about him, as far as she could tell. And his apprentices, too. Perhaps she was... just the tiniest, teeniest, littlest bit jealous, that there was a side of him she did not know, that this group was clearly very familar with. It was no cause for anger or upset feelings, but it was a little sad. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, she would be patient.

Del gives Zarius a crooked smile in return, and chuffs softly. "He is a very good man," she agrees wholly. In truth, she did not know enough about Zarius to pass judgement either way as to what sort of man he was, so she adds nothing to that. Although... "I think anyone that can help people in situations and places like these are good regardless. It can be thankless, sure, but I think at the end of the day, it's a worthwhile pursuit."

She laughs along with the mental image, nodding along. It did seem as though she and Zarius had this in common, as she particularly didn't prefer to use bladed weapons. "It's a hard impulse to resist when the opportunity presents itself, I admit. I'm more apt to simply avoid it or disarm them entirely." Though she wasn't above outright breaking the weapon either to prove a point, but there was no need to make that statement during such a friendly conversation. Especially not when most of the people around them weilded weapons of some kind.

Feeling something brush against her leg, Del glances down, eyes widening at the sight of The Cat. The question mark tail bending its query, the feline's too-wide eyes looking up at her. She returns her gaze to Zarius again. Restraint. There must be restraint. Must... not pet the kitty.

She allows one hand to trail at her side, so Ebony may sniff (or maul) her fingers at her leisure and decide if she wanted more contact. If there would be pets bestowed, they would be on Ebony's terms.

"Your loss, then, I am much better at climbing now than I must have been then," she laughs. It was true, though; she could scale a building no problem now, and fall a decent way without bringing herself any harm. She wondered about the day she fell from the cliff and into the river, but put it from her mind. The past was the past.

Del's expression notably brightens when Cyran returns from his conversation with Eameia. Though now Zarius needed to be seen by the young woman, which it seemed was the end to the conversation, at least for the moment. Her head inclines slightly. "It was a pleasure to talk to you. Best see what she needs, yes?"

Turning to Cyran, there is the remnants of his conversation with Eameia that she picked up earlier. Stress. Tension. Feeling the need to keep it together. But the battle was won, they had done their job. There wasn't more to keep up with, such as she could see. Such an odd day.

"Mm," she hums her agreement. Her brow slightly pressed, she stepped closer to touch her shoulder to his, looking up at him curiously from the corners of her eyes. "It's certainly been an interesting first meeting. Thank you for the potion earlier-- are you alright?" Her head tips slightly, to angle a better look at him. "There wasn't, ah, time for you to answer when the battle wound down, and you went to tend to Rhi'as." That and he seemed a bit peaked. Like he suddenly had sixty things to do and no time in which to do them.

Ebony's tail flicks mischievously as she eyes Del's oh so vulnerable fingers. It was tempting. Too tempting. What undefended little flesh sausages. Ready for the taking, and well within range.

She lowers her body, wiggling her little rump as her pupils dilate to full saucers with Del’s fingers reflecting in their glossy surface. The muscles tense, bunch, and like a spring release as she leaps up. The paws reach, the claws unsheath, and the tiny hooked blades sink into Del's hand. She clings and curls, drawing her body up to get the back legs to kick at her prey’s hand.

While her victim was caught, this was hardly the end of the attack. Ebony lastly rears back her head before striking forward and biting onto Del’s wrist, pressing down on her flesh with tiny pointed fangs. Luckily for Del, her time as a smith has made her hands a little too tough for the kitten to actually successfully rend the flesh from her bones. But, by Gods, that would not stop her from trying. 

Before Cyran leaves, Eameia speaks once more to him. “I will put preventative measures in place. We can gather information, follow the threads, cut this thing at its root…I just need time.”

She knots her fingers in her skirt as Cyran leaves, but waits quietly at the top of the stairs for her brother. 

When Cyran touches his shoulder, Zarius’ is quick to get up from his seat. He faces the hunter, eyes meeting his, and staring intently for a moment as if trying to glean some sort of insight on what exactly was discussed.

He finally breaks eye contact with a nod and gives Del his usual friendly smile. “Pleasure speaking to you as well.”

He then leaves the pair and walks up the stairs to join Eameia there. The siblings then step further away and out of sight of the rest of those in the lounge. Whatever they were discussing was not something they were willing to risk be overheard about by anyone else.

That doesn't go unnoticed by Eirynor as he starts sweeping up the ash tracked in from outside. He keeps glancing towards the stairs with worry and then at Cyran with a sharper, more suspicious look. While Eirynor was mute, it wasn't hard to pick up on what thoughts are going through their mind based on those glances. 

Snow starts some friendly idle chit chat with Oriole, trying to avoid the awkward tension that hung in the air.

"Glad you're okay," the catfolk says. "Next time you'll give those mangy mutts a run for the hills, you know."

Eirynor overhears that and is distracted from his fretting long enough to give Snow an unimpressed look and sign to them before going back to sweeping. 

"Ah, I mean," Snow rubs the back of their neck awkwardly. "Hopefully there isn't a next time. They're pretty dangerous creatures."

“I’m alright.” The words were strained, not quite a lie, but not quite the truth. Somewhere in between the two. He was… overwhelmed by the news he’d just learned to say the least, exhausted from using so much of his magical reserves during the battle, but more than that he was just relieved that everyone was okay, for the most part. They would persevere, rebuild after the attack from those vicious hellhounds. What had brought them down from the volcano, anyways? So much to investigate, so little time. There was never enough time, it was beginning to feel like.

Del was speaking to him. Thanking him for something.

“You’re very welcome. Think nothing of it. You sustained a lot of damage in that battle.” He offered her a wane smile. “Sorry I didn’t stay to chat. I was worried about Rhi’as…” The young apprentice, who was currently speaking with Snow.

For a moment the young man couldn’t tell if the catfolk was trying to patronize him… but no, Snow was far too nice for that. Maybe they were trying to placate him or make him feel better. He rubbed at the back of his neck, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Ah… thank you. My training turned out to be more a help than a hindrance this time, though…”

Andromeda rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the side, as if to wordlessly say, ‘stop with the piteous self-depreciating act’. “You did fine.” She grunted. Oriole winced, rubbing at his side, before his eyes widened to the size of saucers at what Snow was saying.

“Do you think they’re going to come back? If something from the volcano is driving them, it’s an entirely real possibility, isn’t it?” He sounded less nervous, and more curious. A couple tables away, where Cyran was listening to the exchange, he found himself curious. Cyran didn’t have the answer, and that troubled him more than anything.

This was meant to be a relaxing outing, and yet, it had gone wrong in the worst ways possible. Cyran only hoped this wasn’t a sign of worse things to come.

But that was a thin sliver. Cyran was hardly a hopeful man.

She gives Cyran a relieved look. "I'm glad to hear ^iiiiiit!!!" Del interupts herself with a wince and a surprised little laugh as Ebony lays seige to the dangling fingers. Ah, she had fallen straight into the trap. She lifts her hand slightly to observe the large, black cat balled up on the end of her fist, kicking and biting mercilessly at her knuckles. It was terribly endearing. A fierce and most resolute predator. Surely she would be consumed.

It was terribly endearing, to be mauled by such a creature. Del wondered if there were more of the vicious kitty.

She returns her attention to Cyran, lifting her hand higher to set the cat upon the bar, so she could either run away after her victory, or continue her assault. "Ahem. It's more than fffine. Kitty. I was concerned for Rhi'as as well, but he seems to be doing just fine, thanks to yourself and Snow and Eirynor." Her eyes shift, glancing with a soft smile to the room. The look flickers for a worried moment when she catches Eirynor frowning sharply in her and Cyran's direction. Again, her gaze moves, up the stairs, to where Zarius and Eameia had stepped out of view.

There was so much going on here that she did not have the context for. The alternative names for Rhi'as and Eleanor, the whispered conversations off to the side, the wary and suspicious looks she'd gotten from most of the people here. Everyone had been friendly and welcoming, but Del was cagey, and knew well that when what was on the surface did not match what churned below, that she should be very, very careful.

She was with Cyran and she knew she was safe. Still, she angles herself towards the door. Just in case.

"What next from here? Introductions were not as... peaceful as they had been intended to be, but I think it went about as well as it could?" She gives Cyran a little half smile. Her expression was carefully placid, but the connection they bore through their rings, and his own knowledge of Del, would be clear to him that she was uneasy and on edge.

"Training can only prepare you for so much. I am reminded every day that I am not prepared for everything despite my own training and life experience." Snow shrugs a bit. "Some things you just can't be prepared for."

The catfolk empathizes with the young trainee a bit. It can be hard following in the shadow of people who seem so much smarter and capable than oneself. Being a disciple of someone like Cyran has to come with so much pressure, even moreso than the pressure the archer feels from being recruited by Zarius. Cyran was a mentor figure to Oriole, while Zarius was more of an employer to Snow. It was a different relationship with different expectations. 

"I hope not. I'm not much of a dog person for, uh, obvious reasons." The catfolk laughs awkwardly, trying their best to lighten up the mood. "I don't know exactly, it is very strange to see such a large pack in the city. I suppose if there was something going on with the volcano it could drive the local fauna to behave strangely."

Snow considers what they know about the weirdness that has been occuring around Darkveil as of late. They try to think of if there were any coincidences that maybe were not just coincidences after all. 

"I think Master Zarius mentioned there were some researchers who kept getting lost on the volcano a few months back, perhaps it is related to what they were researching."

While the apprentices chat with Snow, a different, much smaller feline was preoccupied with turning Del's hand into a new cat toy. Ebony is not easily deterred by being moved about. Even when she is lifted onto the countertop, she just pulls Dell's hand further into the inky black void of her belly fur. The kitten chews on her knuckles, her thumb, each finger, searching for any weak point. Her search is futile, and she starts rubbing her head against Del's hand instead. If she couldn't get her daily sacrifice of blood, she would settle for head scritches instead. 

Zarius and Eameia actually return to the lounge surprisingly quick considering what Cyran knows about what they likely were discussing. Neither look particularly perturbed aside from Eameia still being a bit disheveled compared to earlier in the day.

Eirynor is quick to go to Eameia's side once he's done cleaning up the ash from the floor. The female fellblood smiles and signs to them that everything is fine, though the tall elf's worry is hardly quelled as he fusses over her. 

Zarius approaches Del and Cyran with his usual friendly smile. "My apologies, our service and hospitality is not usually this chaotic."

The fellblood's hand lands on Cyran's back with a heavy pat. "This is what happens when it is not your shift," he teases, though the contact isn't just for some good natured ribbing. Cyran feels something get slipped into his pocket before the fellblood steps away and circles around to the other side of the bar.

He rests his elbows on the countertop in a casual lean and looks at Del. "I will have to visit your business someday. I may not be one for weaponry but as I mentioned, I do know someone who would appreciate such craftsmanship. Do you take commissions perchance?"

It troubled Oriole that even Snow - and probably by extension Zarius, unless the fellblood knew something he hadn’t told his employee - didn’t know for certain what must have been causing this to happen. Whether it was mount Drakolt, or something in the air, or some larger creature that had driven them into the city, Oriole didn’t know. But those creatures had been… rabid. That was the only way to describe them.

He perked up at Snow mentioning the lost researchers at the volcano. “Master Cyran told me he had a similar run-in some months back with a friend of his… mister Gerhart? He said they rescued a missing scientist that got lost in a cave in the mountain.” Something odd was happening with that volcano, and he didn’t like being so close. He just had to trust that Master Cyran would keep them safe and leave at the first sign of danger.

Meanwhile, Cyran was still conversing with Del, watching her play with Ebony. Mostly, he was just glad that the little terror had bound another hand to scratch at, and Del seemed entranced by the creature, despite the fact that the creature seemed determined to maul her. Eventually, Ebony gave up and allowed Del to pet her head. Cyran couldn’t help but be… a little jealous at how easily the smith had bonded with the demon cat. “I don’t know.” He admitted honestly. “So much has happened… and given the unexpected, it’s not the worst that this could have gone.”

He laughed.

“Though I suppose I should have expected that. Have I told you the story of one of the first jobs Zarius and I worked together?” He smiled fondly at the memory. “We were supposed to be investigating an ancient underground city for magical artifacts. But things went… south, rather quickly, and we ended up having to fight a wyvern. The entire cavern was nearly destroyed, and probably countless priceless artifacts in the ruins.” He spoke calmly and evenly, picking up on the nerves radiating from Del. Given what he’d just learned, he couldn’t blame her. This was something unexpected. Would she take it as a sign the people after her were drawing closer? He wanted to ease her worries, but he could not. So he settled for telling a story to make her laugh instead.

“Whenever we work together things always seem to go wrong one way or another. Another time, I ended up making an ass of myself in front of the sultan. But Zarius is a professional. The kind of person you want to have with you in a crisis. In that kind of situation, I know I can depend on him… and everything will be alright.”

Zarius and Eameia returned then, much faster than Cyran expected. He braced himself this time as Zarius smacked him on the back, feeling something get slipped into his pocket. A note? He wasn’t sure, but with Zarius going through all the effort to be discrete he couldn’t check now. He would have to wait until he was well and truly alone. Cyran smiled, accepting the ribbing. “I guess I’ll just have to take more shifts then, if you’re admitting that I am one of the few people keeping the Rookery together.” He teased back, voice as gentle as ever.

He fell silent, electing to listen while Del and Zarius talked shop. The nerves from before hadn’t quite left, but they had… dissipated somewhat, and he didn’t mind waiting around while the two fighters talked a little more in the aftermath. Below the table, though, he nudged her leg. A silent message. It’s okay.

…

He wouldn’t be able to check what Zarius had slipped in until he was in the safety of his office in Shade’s Valley that evening.

There was bonding with animals and then there was being a willing scratching post for a feline who was hellbent on the destruction of everyone and everything around them. While some people found that quality of animals to be terrifying, Del found it respectfully enchanting. Perhaps that was a latent inclination from her Sylvan roots, the same factor that drew her to thunderstorms. What was more awe inspiring than watching a predatortry to eviscerate you with the efficiency and skill of a practiced hunter?

Though perhaps, considering present company, it was less a trait of her heritage. Maybe it was a more... personal prediliction.

She lets Ebony give herself pets on the hand she was presently clinging to, doing her best to keep still while she and Cyran discussed. Any time she twitched her finger, she was aware she was inviting a renewed assault on the limb, but could not help but provide a little skritch.

"I think you had mentioned it more so in the context of the job itself?" Del offers helpfully, brow lifting with interest as Cyran starts to regale her. Despite her hypervigilence, Cyran always does a remarkable job of distracting her. And the story is a good one, holding Zarius' role in meeting the Sultan (they had met the Sultan?!) and handling the Wyvern in a proud light. A reliable person. Based on what she had seen today and based on Cyran's own anecdotes, she had no reason to believe otherwise. He takes her mind off the paranoia, the vague sense of danger in the back of her mind. A little. But it is more than enough.

As Zarius and Eameia return, Del greets them both with a smile, before returning her attention to Zarius. "No apology necessary, it's not as though we can account for Hell Hounds showing up on your doorstep in a timely manner, right?" She chuckles softly, glancing to Cyran as he offers his brand of light, dry humour back to the tiefling.

Her expression turns to one of surprise as Zarius brings up the shop. And the possibility of a commission. She cannot stop the way her eyes automatically brighten at the thought, but she tries to temper it her enthusiasm, best as she can. She loved working on things, but she was still on edge. No reason to be impolite, though.

And as Cyran's leg touches hers, she feels a little more at ease. She turns her head to pass him a light smile of gratitude, and returns her gaze to Zarius.

"I have plans to take commissions, yes. I'm just finishing up making the rack-stock for quick sale. What were you interested in?"

As they discuss, and the day starts to grow long, Del slowly winds down from her heightened awareness. Not completely-- never completely-- but the Rookery seems a good place. Maybe, she thought, its people were too.

"Oh! I have heard of Mister Gerhart but I have not had the pleasure of meeting him yet."

Snow seems a little less concerned about the volcano than Oriole. Though it was possible that was an act to try an reassure the apprentice that everything would work out.

"I am certain my sister would appreciate having her best employee back," Zarius teases the elf. Though their age gap was quite large, they seemed to get along well enough.

Del's reaction to the mention of a commission is pretty entertaining and the fellblood can't help but smile at her attempts to hide her enthusiasm. He considers the answer to her question for a moment before answering.

"Hm. Perhaps a polearm or a sword. As I mentioned, my father is a weapons master, so I am certain he would welcome any well made addition to his collections."

Zarius doesn't often speak so freely of his family, so mentioning his father may strike Cyran as surprising since the hunter has only ever really met his sister. The fellblood's immediate family aside from Eameia have been shrouded in secrecy, even to his closest allies. At most, Cyran would suspect that the fellblood's family is tightly intertwined with the Ashen Fathers and Darkveil's criminal underground given the nature of their work. Where all their funds actually came from was a mystery likely best left unsolved. 

Conversations turn to more casual matters and Eameia rejoins the group at the bar while Snow does their best to keep Cyran's apprentices entertained with sharing stories of their travels and the things they have seen as a nomadic hunter over the years. 

Eventually it comes time for Cyran, Del and company to make their way back to the orphanage for dinner. Zarius escorts them to the door before extending a hand out to Del for a handshake. 

"It has been a pleasure meeting you. Do not be a stranger."

Eameia hangs back a bit but smiles at Del and Cyran, her eyes lingering on the elven hunter for a long moment. 

Zarius then turns his attention to Cyran as well. "I may have need of your skills in the coming months if you have the time and energy to spare. No shame if you are starting to slow down from your old age." A toothy grin spreads across his face.