Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Luskonios

It wasn't long into the conversation between Katherine and Absolon before the priest's eyes wandered and caught Tethys' focus on his niece and her date. He motioned his head gently toward the witch's direction. "Have you any idea who these surprise guests might be, Katherine? They're not of the kind I associate with normally."

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"Then let us drink," said Coralie, releasing Abel to beckon over a server. She opted for the Iverian cider, looking at the proselyte expectantly. "Have you ever tried anything like this? Goodness, I'm not even sure if I've asked if you're old enough-" She winked, then placed one of the various drinks in the boy's hand. "No matter. Not tonight! Right now, you dine and drink like the rest of us. You're the guest of the Arodrings, friend of the Duval." She clinked her glass to Abel's, smiling. "Tonight, you are also nobility."
 
Inarin's smile faded in response to Izaic's cutting retort, and the look in his eyes. This evening had seemed like a pleasant distraction, a way to celebrate the eve of Yule that he had till now always spent at his family's estate. But perhaps Izaic was right, and they couldn't afford it. He might not have had anything better to do, but there were paladins here, pulled off the streets. And so many important people, all together in one place. The proselyte stammered, unable to get a word out to reply.

He didn't have to. "Happy Genarium to you too, Izaic... " Val cut in dryly, pointedly raising an eyebrow. "Oh, but while you're here... Inarin passed on your apology last week," the necromancer raised a hand to where the cut on his lip had been - now barely visible - with a small laugh, before smiling at Izaic with well-practised false sincerity. "No hard feelings, hm? I still don't think that what I was implying was altogether too offensive, but I suppose I knew it would provoke you. So I'll admit to having deserved it, at least a little."

Inwardly, of course, he resented the performance. But two sides of him drove it. There was the side of him that wanted to make Inarin happy for the simple reason that he was fond of the younger boy. But there was also the side that wanted to make him happy because he felt that should he win the proselyte's heart, it would be just as fitting a form of revenge on the brute that had struck him as any hex would be. And so he went on.

"I'm sorry too. So, new leaf?" He looked over at Inarin and slipped an arm around his waist affectionately, prompting him to blush and look away. "I'd like to be friends with all of Inarin's friends, if I can be, after all." He flashed another sparkling, oh-so-convincing smile, with only the barest hint of the smugness that lay behind it. There were so many implications that could be read into such a statement, he was sure that Izaic would have fun with it.

Inarin stayed helplessly quiet, having been thoroughly quelled by Izaic's initial reaction. His eyes lingered on the piece of paper left behind in Izaic's hands.

Light. Why was that almost as off-putting as his classmate's put-down?


"It's the other way around, if anything," Arien remarked with a sly smile, shooting Al a knowing look. The necromancer actually blushed, ever-so-slightly, before quickly recovering his composure.

"He found us," he remarked, folding his arms and shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. "Anyone who has the audacity to ask-" there was the barest hint of hesitation between words "-me on a date with that much self-assurance has to be worth at least a consideration. And well, I suppose he's alright." Al smirked across at Arien, who simply returned the look with a chuckle. "And if you're looking for a proselyte, try going to more raves." He grinned, offering no further context to the statement.


"The last few weeks haven't been easy for him," Florianne answered, taking a sip of her drink as her brow furrowed into a frown. "But that's to be expected. All things considered, I think he's doing well. He's even come out of his shell a little, though I'm not sure of his choice of company." She snorted. "Fellow practitioners or not. Not that Inarin's quite a practitioner yet. He insists his studies are purely theoretical."

Her eyes drifted from her nephew and across to Arianne, who she fixed with an assessing stare. "I'm curious, though. Why are you and Tethys here?"


Katherine followed Absolon's gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly in recognition of the women in question. "They seem an unsavoury sort," she replied ambiguously. "Likely affiliated with the necromancers, or some other branch of that community. As to their identities? I can only guess."

Of course, Lessard knew exactly who the women were - or could infer it, at the very least. But that was not information that even the well-connected socialite Katherine Lessard would be privy to, and so she did not state it. Whatever interest the Fabres had in this gathering, she doubted it was entirely wholesome.
 
The armored and armed proselyte let the silly little noble prattle on and on, using the time to flash the departing Nara a smile, his best and brightest, and before gently tucking the piece of paper into the waistband of his silvered steel suit. Izaic wasn't sure if he'd ever actually call the tart, but still. The offer was more than tempting, and far more appreciated, but still. He preferred more...full bodied women. He'd muter something under his breath, something along the lines of,

"Not bad, but needs more cushion for the pushin'..."

Before shaking his head, reaffirming eye contact with the stunning couple. "You aren't wrong, little guy. I did apologize, and I did mean it. I should've conducted myself in a way the more honored the Order. Even if I felt my honor was wounded, I should not have struck you, or at least, not as hard as I did." He'd bow then, a short one, but proper none the less. "And Nuvellon. Enjoy yourself at the party. Live up the high life. I'd have hoped that you might've realized whats really important here. Whats at stake. You, of all people. But I tend to be wrong about people. I'm quite glad that hasn't changed. At least I now know my instincts are more reliable than I thought."

With that, Izaic would spin on his heels, metal boots scraping the floor, before all but storming off towards the nearest servant who might have liquor, of any kind.

----- ----- -----

The aged paladin winced at the words "hero". And the admiration. The desire for his sort of life. He'd almost begun to respond, a harsh berating to remind young Robert how utterly foolish that statement truly was. He wouldn't wish his hell on even his most hated mortal enemies.

Luckily, he was saved, again. This time, on two fronts. The arrival of the fine aged spirits, and the kind of dismissal only an overbearing mother could dish out. At least he knew this woman. Had known her a long, long time.

"Dame Bernadette. I am sorry it took me so long to accept. Forgive me, please, for keeping you waiting so long." A genuine smile this time, one that didn't show a trace of the demons that plagued old Kurtrin's thoughts. "I just...do not wish to be around so many reminders. I spent enough time in this manor with your husband's late father. And almost none of that time were happy times, as I am sure you are very well aware. Please, take it as no offense." A pause, to sip his cognac. Delicious, and vastly more important, literally intoxicating.

"Sometimes its easier for these old bones and old mind to sit in my little bunk at the Monastery." Another gap in his humble words, another gulp of his beverage. "Tell me. Is Theo about? Will he be making an appearance?"
 
"Once or twice before," Abel drew the cider to his lips and took a small swig, feeling the alcohol nip at his tongue and a brief warmth flash to his face. Thankfully the ciders were drastically more saccharine than other similar beverages, and thus the young proselyte could tolerate it. He offered a smirk back to Coralie and took another drink.
"Say, Coralie," Lachapelle noticed the gaze of a peculiar masked woman that seemed to be watching him, tugging at his shirt collar briefly before looking back to Duval, "could we move somewhere slightly less, er, in the middle of the room?"


"Purely theoretical," Arianne scoffed slightly, "where have I heard that before?" Upon taking another look at the youths around Inarin, she began to have second thoughts about his quality of company. Just from hearsay about the various parties, there was a lot that could go wrong with that situation. Nothing that she didn't trust the boy and his aunt couldn't deal with at the very least.
"I am mostly just here to see friendly faces. Tethys? She insisted on coming, something about business she needed to attend to. I'm not entirely sure myself, to be frank."
 
"The two aren't mutually exclusive!" Inarin practically blurted out just as Izaic was walking away, loud enough to carry after him. An out-of-place frustrated scowl had mustered itself upon his face. "Just because ... Just because people are trying to ... to enjoy themselves, doesn't mean they're not ... It doesn't mean I'm not taking things seriously. Wh-what else am I going to be doing at this time of night, anyway? I was training earlier and I'm ahead on all my classwork and-"

"In," Val put a hand on Inarin's arm, smiling at him. "Don't worry about it. You don't need to justify yourself. Let's just go and enjoy the rest of the evening, yeah?"

The proselyte sighed, and nodded. "Yeah. I... I'm sorry. I just-"

"Shh," Val interrupted again. "No apologising either. Mkay?"

Inarin gave another nod, and a meek smile. "Thanks, Val."

Simply returning the smile, Val looped his arm through Inarin's, and unless Izaic had made any further attempts to engage them, drew the smaller boy off in the direction of one of the other drinks tables, away from his classmate.


"Fabre business at an Arodring gala?" Florianne raised an eyebrow and gave another amused snort. "Now there's two worlds that I didn't anticipate overlapping in quite such a way."

When Inarin raised his voice, her eyes snapped back across to rest on him. Trouble already? Some schoolyard drama, by the looks of it, with the Swigelf boy. But it seemed like it had already resolved itself, and that she had Valère of all people to thank. Perhaps the Castellane boy wasn't all trouble. Just mostly.

"I must say, I'm surprised to see so many from our communities here. The Castellanes, the Gestaias... even myself. I'd thought I received the invitation in lieu of my late brother -" most of the the church community had long since abandoned the formality of extending an invite to Florianne by now, given her total lack of even the remotest attempt at acknowledging them "- but perhaps there is more at work here."
 
Bernadette lay a thin hand on Kurtrin's arm. "You are always welcome here, Sir Hayes - party or no. You were a second father to Theodore - practically raised him after Damien's passing. Before..." Before he'd left the Order on the eve of his graduation and joined the Inquisition instead.

Bernadette cleared her throat. "I'm sure Theo is around here somewhere. You know how reclusive he is. He will doubtless be at the dinner, where I'm sure he'd love to see you..."

"I'd love to see him now, Bernadette," the voice was deep and thick, rumbling over the chatter of the gala without even the slightest effort. Theodore Arodring was only slightly taller than Kurtrin, dressed in a fine suit embroidered in the colors of his former profession. A sparkling-gold, many-branched oak tree was pinned into his breast, the insignia of the Inquisition. His beard was trimmed and groomed and just barely flecked with gray.

"Kurtrin," he extended his hand, "it's been a long time."

There was doubtless some bad blood between the two of them. Damien had entrusted baby Theodore to the Monastery after his passing, instructing the surviving Oathbound to raise him in the ways of the Order. It had been his father's intention that Theodore take the silver and end the Arodring bloodline, thus rectifying his mistake in breaking his vow of chastity. Theodore, however, had forsaken those instructions on the very day he was meant to become a paladin.

"I trust you've been keeping well?" The ghost of a smile cracked his lips. "Or... as well as you can be?"

---

"So that's where you've been finding them, eh?" John smirked, "work hard, play hard, as the saying goes." He shook his head. "Can't say that I'll be attending a rave any time soon. My time away from home as put me off any serious partying." He looked back to Jimmy. "You wanted a drink, right? Let me get us some, I'll find a server."
 
"Oh, thank Selene." Jimmy muttered the moment that Inarin arrived along with Arien, Al, and Val. He was beginning to feel over his head and just remained in the shadows as Arien was as smooth as ever with Elisa. Why couldn't he be that smooth? Making a note to perhaps work on his interaction with others of the opposite sex, the Proselyte remained silent. His mind did drift at the mention of the rave and he remembered how the one he attended ended up turning out. He was grateful that his arm had healed properly and made a mental note not to get that drunk again.

"She's been great to me, Arien. I couldn't ask for a better uhh... date." Was she his date? They did come together, so surely they were on a date, right? He rubbed the back of his head, feeling incredibly awkward before his gaze shifted back towards Mr. 'Call me John' at his comment about being a pet Proselyte. He felt his jaw clenching along with his fist and it took all his self-control to keep from slamming a fist in the bastard's face. "I'm no one's pet, John, but sure, a drink would be fantastic."
 
Kurtrin did not hesitate to grasp the Arodring patriarch's outstretch limb, grabbing him near the elbow instead of a simple handshake. The same way The Golden and Theo's father used to greet each other. It was the least he could do, after all. The younger man before him may have chosen a path in life that had gone against everything Damien had wished for. He may have abandoned the Order his father had given his life for, that Kurtrin had given his life for, and yes, that may have irked the old man greatly...the paladin realized long ago it was not his place to control the lives of others. He could only influence, guide, and judge their decisions, but never force their hands.

"I am glad to see time has been kinder to you, than it has to me." A statement rife with falsehoods. The fact that, even nearing his eightieth birth day, Kurtrin still retained such an imposing figure, still practiced in the yard, sparred with the proselytes and other paladin's alike, took patrols, and was almost never seen without his full get up of old age armor was a testament to the human's almost inhuman constitution.

"But aye, the best I can. A lot worse, as of late. What with certain...events, and such. I won't lie. Some of the decisions the Order has been making have sat ill with me. One such example..." A look to Bernadette, apologetic, but stern.

"Is that this party was allowed to continue as planned. Considering what may have transpired last night, and the reports we've received from those on the scene."

----- ----- -----

As Izaic walked off, he did something very mature, while coming across as very much the opposite. He swallowed the venom that had built on the end of his tongue, biting down on the cutting words that a part of him wanted to unleash on the naive Nuvellon heir. He wanted to pick him up by the scruff of that tacky, expensive suit, scream in his face that while he was wasting his time here, with degenerates and socialites, that the creature responsible for his parents murder was out there.

Doing nothing but growing stronger. Gathering allies. Not wasting a single second, like so many of the elite of this city seemed so keen to be doing. IT was playing to win.

And what was Inarin doing? Justifying a night of frivolity by claiming he had "already trained" and that his "homework was done." Izaic was surprised how much it hurt. He'd thought he'd finally gotten through to that useless little shrimp. He'd been so proud to see the change in him, how serious he had been, how much progress he'd made with his sword work. A waste of time. A waste of his fucking time!

Instead of saying any of that, Izaic grabbed a tall glass of some exotic cocktail off of a server's tray with one hand, chugging it down, while holding a middle finger up behind him with the other hand. Small victories. One step at a time.
 
"The world is growing hectic, Florianne," the witch's expression betrayed her serious tone, "tragedy has struck the city at every corner. Aderyn was attacked in her own home not long ago, we nearly couldn't recover her alive. We caught a man selling cursed trinkets to young mages," Arianne paused to follow Nuvellon's gaze to her nephew, shifting uncomfortably until the situation had resolved itself. "If you have a chance, please double-check young Inarin's books when you have a chance. I have reason to believe someone may have stolen from our archives."

"On a lighter note, if I'm going to be honest," Fabre lowered her voice until only Florianne could hear it, "I printed my and Tethys' invitations at home," she giggled and took another sip from her glass. "I'd be amazed if they ever even thought of sending us ones themselves."
 
Élisa smirked, placing a hand lightly on Jimmy's arm. "You're too kind, Jimmy. And that would be very sweet of you, John. We'll wait."

Once the aristocrat was out of earshot, Arien looked back at her. "I'm assuming we haven't missed anything interesting, right?"

"Not that I've seen," she answered. "Aside from those two showing up," the girl gestured vaguely in the direction of first Tethys, then Arianne. "I'm getting the idea that not many people know who they are. I don't, at least."

Turning his attention where directed, Arien nodded with a faint frown. "Whoever they are, they're giving off a lot of magic. I'd keep my distance, if I were you," he nodded to both Jimmy and Élisa. "They might be good enough to see through your glamours." He was confident his own disguise would hold up, given his relative power and experience, but his new fledglings were at more risk. If he was being honest, he hadn't expected such types to be at a church gala. Well, his frown faded into a smirk. That just made things a little more interesting.

"How's things been back at the Monastery?" Arien asked, glancing back to Jimmy.


Florianne grimaced at Arianne's initial words, nodding along. "I'm sorry to hear about Aderyn. I hope she recovers soon." She sighed, taking another drink. "I expect we both have our suspicions as to the real threat that faces the city. I can only hope the Order are taking it seriously."

Her tone left it clear she doubted that was the case. Or if they were, it still wasn't driving them to act with sufficient swiftness. "As for your invitations," Florianne snorted. "I wouldn't feel too hard done by. Having one's details in Bernadette's address book is far more of a curse than a boon."


Inarin didn't miss Izaic's parting gesture, and his face twisted with annoyance. Val kept a calming arm around him, however, and continued to guide him away. The smaller proselyte made no attempt at a response, and tried to put the incident at the back of his mind. What did Izaic want from him, anyway? To be out combing the streets for a Caeruleum personally? To practise his swordplay dawn till dusk, pausing only to eat and sleep? He was training, he was researching, he was ... doing what he could, wick burn him! Would it ever be enough?

His expression stayed gloomy until Val had grabbed them each a cocktail, and handed one into Inarin's hands. "Hey, In," he prodded the boy in the ribs. "If you don't stop frowning, I'm just going to kiss you. You're cuter when you're startled and blushing than when you're grumpy, after all."

Inarin, true to form, blushed. "V-val!" he grumbled. "Not helping!"

"I'll do it," the older boy murmured, leaning closer and brushing a hand across Inarin's cheek. "You know I will."

"I'm n- I'm not frowning anymore!" Inarin batted the hand away, unable to stop himself giggling.

Val gave a faux sigh of disappointment. "Spoilsport," he huffed, then grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I'll just have to save it for later, then." He winked, relishing the further spread of Inarin's blush. Now, where had his brother wandered off to..?
 
"I considered cancelling it," Theodore replied, "but seeing as how the Order has yet to release the details to the public, I thought that calling it off on such short notice might appear ... suspicious." He stood next to Kurtrin, looking out into the host of patrons. "Besides, what would that tell him? That he succeeded at cowing us? That we will hide away and forsake all our traditions, our friends and family, because we are afraid?" He shook his head. "Not by the Light, Kurtrin."

He brought his own glass to his lips - a crystal tumbler filled with iced brandy. "I've parsed through most of what the Inquisition has on the matter. It seems everything is more serious than we thought. I can't imagine how you must feel about it." He drew a breath. "...though, perhaps I can guess at it." He looked his old mentor in the eye. "Tell me, Kurt. Tell me you aren't thinking of facing him."

---

Just as Roxanne and Aislin were outfitted with their drinks, they would be approached by a pair of well-dressed aristocrats flanked by a tall, handsome man dressed in the same military jacket as Lughadh. Roxanne would immediately recognize as them as monsieur and mademoiselle Ferandois - an old money family who'd made their fortune in perfume and jewelry. Aislin might recognize the third as Sir Jonas Virn, one of the Order's more accomplished paladins. His falchion hung at his hip.

"Demoiselle Allard! What a coincidence!" Mademoiselle Tina Ferandois held up her own glass of Allard red. Her skin was stretched tight across her thin bones, her cheeks perpetually upheld by Botox. "I suppose if you're going to drink, you should drink the best, no?" She leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Roxanne might smell more than just wine on her breath.

"You remember my husband, Quincy? Heavens, I can't remember the last time we saw each other. It must have been the art show in Lemeux last spring, wasn't it? Light, that exhibit was boring." She patted her husband on the shoulder - an older gentleman with foggy spectacles and a wide, white mustache which covered his lips. He would wait for Roxanne to offer her hand and would kiss it, if allowed.

"Demoiselle," he nodded, parting by pressing two fingers into his lips - or, more accurately, his mustache.

"Oh! And this is Sir Jonas Virn, of the Monastic Order. I'm sure you've read all about him in the papers."

The knight put two fingers to his lower lip. "A pleasure, madame." He looked to Aislin, offering her a nod. "Sister." It was a slight breach of etiquette - Ash had not been introduced yet, and only one of 'noble' standing could introduce someone of a lower 'class'. Still, they were monastics. They had an etiquette all their own.

Tina smiled wide - physically incapable of frowning. "Sir Virn just returned from assignment outside the city limits! Can you imagine that? Not many knights take those sorts of missions these days! You must help me wring more details out of him, Roxanne. He won't tell me a thing!"
 
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His cheeks flushed at the touch of Elisa's hand on his arm, it a reaction that he could not control at all. Still, somehow Jimmy managed to keep from becoming completely flustered and flashed her a huge grin, glad she found him kind this time and not a creepy drunk like last. His gaze shifted towards the two that were not known and he found himself nodding at Arien's suggestion. The last thing he wanted was for someone to find him out, especially with so many people around that he knew. Well, mostly, he didn't want the Order to find out or his friends, not yet at least.

"Duly noted." Jimmy managed while his mind drifted back towards the Vampire's comment. It solidified his previous musings about Elisa. She was just like him, but why? Realizing it was probably none of his business, he had to fight his curiosity and returned his attention towards Arien, shrugging a little.

"Well, I haven't been kicked out yet and am now rooming with Aaro. Everyone is on edge because of the attacks and the place has been locked down a lot more than normal. There's a lot more secretive talking among the staff and Paladins and I wonder just how safe the Monastery is if he decides to attack to take out the next generation and the teachers and Paladin that are housed there." Jimmy frowned a little, glancing back over towards Inarin, noting Izaic's finger gesture towards In.
 
Kurtrin nearly dropped his drink, so strong was his bout of hearty, booming laughter. "And so what if I am, Theodore? What other choice would I have? Its like you said, perfectly in fact. Would you rather I sit here, cowering, let him know how much fearful sway he holds over one who swore an Oath to end his Father's line? No. I think not. Some may shirk away from a duty they were called to do." Those grandfatherly eyes turned stern, harder than steel and just as unyielding. "Some may choose lives that do nothing but disrespect great men, men who understood sacrifice. I understand sacrifice. I will find this last spawn of Nito Caeruleum. And I will strike them down, burn their corpse, and salt the pyre after wards. Or, I will die in the process. This has been my fate since I picked up my first sparring sword. This was something I'd hope you, of all people, would understand."

A frown, a deep grimace. "But somewhere along the way, you started to value things other than what was right. Somewhere along the way, you decided that keeping your sense of self was greater than protecting this city, and more importantly, its people, from the agents of the Wyrm, as sword and shield. Somewhere along the way, you decided the Inquisition was a better fit for you. Why should I take any consideration as to what you may think is wise, or right? You're sect oversees things so dark, and so foul, I wouldn't be surprised if many of your upper echelon see the Caer as potential experiments, fodder to be tested and probed, to increase your own strength."

Then, the Golden would openly spit on the floor. "Light take such notions. They deserve only one fate. The edge of a blade, and a strong paladin wielding it. No other. And if you can't see that, then I truly wonder if you are your father's son. He understood what it meant to sit idle while evil continued to grow. He understood sacrifice. You understand luxury, and cowardice, Theo, and the importance of a name. Coming here was a mistake."

--- --- ---

Izaic's jaw hurt from gritting his teeth. He was sure he might've cracked a tooth, but that would be absurd. No, the pain he felt was coming from somewhere else. Not his mouth, nor his still healing shoulder. This pain was internal. This pain hurt, and didn't seem to respond as well to mental discipline as pains of the body did. "Curse that Nuvellon...I hope he gets whats coming to him, one way or another."

His first drink had already been downed, and now he searched for one more. Or as many as he could possibly get his hands on. Tonight was going to be a long night, and the sooner Kurtrin said it was time to leave, the better. Eventually, the proselyte found his way away from the crowds, on some sort of balcony, thankfully alone with his thoughts and alcohol. Hopefully, the people inside would be distracted with the festivities, and leave him be. Just as he always suspected, it was better to be alone. Solitude did not give way to weakness or vulnerability, or foolish flights of fancy.
 
"Certainly," chirped Coralie, taking Abel's wrist gently in her fingers. She lead him to a corner of the room that she had spotted with the least people swarming it. The young woman looked into Abel's eyes, concern crossing her face. "What's wrong? Do crowds make you nervous?" she asked, glancing around the room. She did catch sight of the rather suspicious figure in the mask, though she hadn't spotted Tethys just yet. Arianne did strike her as odd, as did the other witches and the Gesataias. So many magical families had gathered, as well. She gazed back at Abel. "Or is it something else that has you on edge? Talk to me."

______________________________________________________________________

Absolon grit his teeth. "Katherine, if you wouldn't mind, I'm going to have a brief talk with our... unexpected guests. It was wonderful seeing you tonight," said the priest, hobbling over to the masked witch that had been keeping her eye on the children.

"And who do we have here?" greeted Absol, his expression and tone as grim as ever, though a flash of annoyance swept his face. "I can't imagine we've met. I am Absolon Duval."

He didn't extend a hand toward Tethys. Not at all.
 
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The ravenette witch scoffed slightly while taking another sip of her wine. "That paladin Durandet, he's been after my head as of late, though he had an encounter with that real threat. I visited him in the hospital, I'd like to think some amends were made," Arianne elected that divulging why Savien was pursuing her was largely unnecessary.

"There's no way we'd ever let them near our information," her face twisted to a smirk, "if she wants to reach us, she can use the same channels as everyone else." The Fabre home's location was one of their best kept secrets, as even their mail was sent either through metaphysical means or to a P.O box. With their psychic having met an untimely end around a century previous, the coven had to resort to more permanent means of dealing with those that stumbled upon their abode.

"I will say though, please do reach out if you need help on something. We've been covering ourselves for years, I'd hope we could cover a few others too."



Every fiber of Roxanne's body had to strain to keep her from grimacing at Ferandois. Her botox made her look worse and worse with every year, even though in the last five she finally graduated from 'might have been a former model' to 'the product of a necromancer'. She instead temporarily rested her gaze on Quincy and Virn, both of which were much easier on the eyes.

"Oh, hello!" Allard brought out her well-practiced 'noble enthusiasm', something much to the chagrin of Lughadh. "It's hard to have anything else!" An uncharacteristically high giggle erupted from her mouth, though tinged much more genuinely after seeing her partner's reaction to the persona.

"Of course I do," she offered her hand to Quincy, "I thought the exhibit was fantastic. Their choice of guide was where it fell apart," the gallery had, for some inane reason, chosen what must have been an intern or a young man on community service, with that astounding lack of enthusiasm and knowledge of what was even before him. In some cases, even Allard herself, by no means an art aficionado, knew more about the paintings than he did.

She nodded along as Tina introduced the paladin, someone she herself was somewhat familiar with, thanks to her close association with the church in recent years.

"If he doesn't want to talk about it, he shouldn't have to," Roxanne glanced to Virn, then back to Tina, her tone quickly coming down from that near-falsetto. As much as her beloved would speak of some of the horrors she encountered over the years as a paladin, there was still much that even she didn't know. Trying to prod them into dancing like monkeys seemed insulting at best, though Allard held her tongue from voicing such concerns aloud.


Abel breathed a silent sigh of relief as Coralie led him away, though some of those chills remained gnawing at him. "I'm not a fan of crowds, but it's not that, I, er, nevermind." He refrained from saying anything, possibly getting an adult kicked from the party because he felt nervous seemed ridiculous.

"Just nerves, I guess," Lachapelle thought of twisting it into some sort of compliment, but again elected not to.


"We have not," Tethys turned towards Absolon, her own mask seeming to deflect the scowl the noble aimed at her. "Tethys Fabre," she did not extend her hand, though Absolon would still feel his hand compress gently, as if someone was holding it to shake.

"You seem concerned. Is something wrong?" The gentle smile painted upon the porcelain mask felt almost coy when mixed with her words.
 
The foreign-born paladin stood as rigid as before, the image of discipline as she tucked her spare arm behind the small of her back, her right concerned with the tumbler she held in hand. The apple liquor lilted gently in the glass as she spun it, distracting herself from the farcical performance before her, though the woman did offer a brief, genuine nod to her comrade in arms when he addressed her. There were times that she accompanied Roxanne into public openly, when she presented herself as little more than a knight offering escort to a dear friend - which, while a grievous understatement, wasn't false in itself. Aislin stood by as Allard and Ferandois shared their pleasantries, her eyes narrowing for a moment when the latter mentioned her brother's efforts beyond the city's reaches, though she quickly recovered from such a breach of etiquette, taking a sip of her beverage as her emerald eyes returned to the setting as a whole, brushing past the decrepit noblewoman and her entourage, scanning the crowd, both for potential threats, and simple distraction.
 
"I'm glad to hear you weren't forced out," Arien smiled. "And I shouldn't worry too greatly about a frontal assault. I don't think even he could confidently storm the gates of the Church's stronghold, not without more of his kin, or at least more allies." And Arien could only hope he wasn't gathering too many of those. For someone who was supposedly an ally, he couldn't help but think Nox was starting to be a lot more trouble than he was worth. Still, he was doing his job, he supposed. Arien would just have to hope he didn't do it too well.

After a moment, he followed Jimmy's gaze towards Izaic, Inarin and Val. He raised a slightly amused eyebrow. "I see Val's having fun," he remarked.

Al snorted. "If your friend there was any more salty, Jimmy, he'd crystallise."


Florianne smiled faintly in response to Arianne, shaking her head. "I'm not concerned for myself. I'm doubtless of little interest to him, but even if I were, I've taken precautions. It's my nephews I worry for. Aurelion, particularly. I know he'll try and seek vengeance for his parents, and even if he didn't, he's a paladin... the chances of him avoiding confronting the beast are slim. But I fear there's nothing I can do for him. Inarin ..."

She grimaced. "If I could persuade him to step away from the Order, I would. But that needs to be his choice, not mine. As long as he's with them, he's a target, and one who cannot defend himself as ably as his older brother."
 
Theodore gave an amused smile. "Ah. Sir Hayes. Ever the paladin." He lifted his glass to his lips. "There is right and wrong. Wick and Wyrm. Light and Dark. Your Order is rooted in objective ethics - in the need for stagnant values to defend and uphold." He held up a hand. "Do not mistake me, the Order is important. You and your brothers and sisters are an essential aspect of the fragile system which keeps our fair city afloat. The 'sword and shield', as you said. We need you, Kurtrin. You defend the now, the present, the as is."

A small smile touched the edges of his lips. "But you know as well as I do, old friend, that tradition, honor and archaic notions of 'justice' can only take us so far. Eventually we must look up from the 'now' and acknowledge what will be. There must be organizations willing to unfetter themselves from the limitations of the past to secure the blessings and security of the future." His green eyes - oddly cold compared to his children's - stared unblinking into the distance. "That is what we are, Kurtrin. The future. And rest assured, we shall prevail."

He turned and looked at his former mentor. "You realize, of course, that I ask you not to face the Caer because I care about you. Because I don't want you - one of the few men I've ever come close to thinking of as a 'father' - to die." He drew a breath. "...sentimental, I know."

---

Tina waived off Roxanne's protests. "Oh, these paladins and their secrets. 'Matters of national security', they say. Pshaw. The only thing it's doing is depriving honest folks like us a bit of good, juicy gossip. That's why I love it when things happen in the city. It's impossible to hide something around here - everyone was talking about the... what was it, Quincy? That thing that just happened in Valentine, for the Aurellae?"

The old man looked befuddled. "Ahh.. ahhm.. uhhahh... the tournament... the uh... the werewolf, wasn't it?"

"The werewolf!" Tina clapped her hands together, "that's right! Old Ó’Suaird bit the bullet! Went werewolf right in the middle of the Aurellae! Virn put him down, did you know? I heard it was an awful, tremendous thing. Nobody could forget about something like that."

Tina looked at Ash, now. "But Roxanne, who is this you've brought to dinner? A paladin of your own, eh?"
 
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Kurtrin visibly reddened at Theodore's declaration. The Inquisition, the future of the Light?! Never! He was sure that somewhere, the spirit of Damien was sobbing quietly, overseeing these events unfold, seeing what his son had become. If those madmen and torturers were the next step, as Theo claimed, then Kurtrin hoped he would be long buried before that day came. The host of the party and lord of the house would find no such sentiment on the old man's face. Only indignant rage and utter disappointment.

"I care not. How dare you make such proclamations, you impotent coward. I'll say it before, and I'll say it again. Coming here was nothing but a mistake, one I plan on never making again. You are twisted, a twisted fool, and I wash my hands of whatever relationship we might have ever had. I will seek my end in battle, and against my sworn enemy. Unlike some, I do not dedicate my years to a cause, simply to abandon it because I find other paths more convenient. Good day to you."

Before leaving, the Golden would set his glass of cognac down on whatever surface he was sure might leave a water mark, and then give a curt bow to Bernadette. "Your hospitality was most welcome, and appreciated, my lady. But I am afraid being in your husband's presence churns my stomach almost as much as Avacyn Caeruleum did. I take my leave of him now, and return to my station by the manor's entrance."

Then, unless stopped, Kurtrin would stomp off, only his duty on his mind now, seeking to put as much distance between himself and the Inquisition filth that he could.
 
“Well, I haven’t been forced out yet. I think they forgot about me with everything that’s been happening, which suits me just fine. Gives me time to focus on other things like brooding.” Jimmy cracked a smile before glancing over towards Al, snickering a little at his comment. Yeah, Izaic hadn’t changed at all and he made a point to ensure that there would be no retaliation back at school from the Proselyte towards In.


“Hah, he’s no friend of mine.” Shaking his head, Jimmy slowly glanced around at all those gathered, his gaze falling upon Virn, eyes immediately narrowing. He felt his jaw clenching and fingers coiling up into a fist. He wanted to walk over to the Paladin and ram a fist hard into his face, but knew that was a stupid move to make. Instead, he focused a little on the conversation, picking up bits and pieces of what was being said by the women with Virn. When he realized they were talking about how Virn put down his father, he felt his rage flooding rapidly and was starting to move towards the group before he even realized what he was doing.
 
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