Catching Up Carrough

Log Info

• Title: Catching Up Carrough

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Asphodel, Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's house

Lúpecyll-Atlon home, late morning.

The light of Daeus is bright in the waning hours of the morning, signaling His final ascent in the sky before He starts to make his way back down in the afternoon for the noblest of daughters to take His place. The light in particular shines on a home within the University District, a place with a small gate and a certain... character. Maybe it's the gentle curling of vines around the gate that bloom with blue and violet. Maybe it's the white raven that sits on the roof, watching Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon as she walks up to the front door with her husband in arm.

Maybe it's the cheer of unseen voices from within the bushes.

"Lady Lúpecyll-Atlon! Lord Lúpecyll-Atlon! We tidied things up for you, so please have a wonderful day!" comes the loud trill of a happy voice. "And maybe later, you can have a ROMANTIC EVENING under the moon--"

"Lily-of-the-Valley, be quiet," comes another small voice from the bushes, followed by the squabble that passes between them.

"I didn't think coming back from breakfast out would entail this much of a greeting," Cor'lana says with a small smile to Telamon. "At least they're not inquiring about certain things again."

Sometimes it's a pleasure to go out and enjoy a cup of coffee and a light breakfast with someone you love like nothing and no one else. "I'm sure it's fine," Telamon replies to Lana with a grin. "Although I still want to know how they got their hands on that lookbook of intimate apparel. I've never seen you blush that hard."

He looks up towards Pothy, perched there on the roof. "Any surprises, Pothy?" he calls to the white raven. "I know, you want snacks. Let us enjoy the morning, hm?" He squeezes Lana's hand happily, his dark eyes sparkling.

Pulling the pin holding the silk wrap around her hair, the cloth falls away and Asphodel's hairstyle remains untouched. It's dual-purpose: standing outside the gates and entry, politely requesting or waiting for entrance, her first visit to the Lúpecyll-Atlon home is under the sway of Llyranesi tradition. Late morning for Asphodel means glass flower petals on combs to hold her hair, a properly appointed dress, and of course, her satin gloves. Hanging from an arm, forgotten, an embroidered purse of shot silk carrying a heavy item. It could be a weapon, but the Lady Carrough wouldn't likely know how to use it.

Elvish hospitality gifts.

It's Pothy who catches sight of 'the Lady Carrough' first. "Llahnwyhn," he says in a perfect mimic of Cor'lana's voice.

"Llahnwyhn?" Cor'lana responds quizzically, turning around to face the direction from where Asphodel approaches. Thankfully, it's not far at all, and the violet-eyed woman offers Asphodel a small smile. "Good morning, my kin. Please come through." A flick of her hand and the small gate opens for Asphodel.

"We just returned home from breakfast out at one of the cafes around here," Cor'lana explains. "So I'll have to go put a teapot on the fire when we're all inside. How are you this morning, Llahnwyhn?"

Oh, so she's Llahnwyhn now? Telamon's eyebrows rise as he turns with Cor'lana. But his lips curl up in a smile, as Lana opens the small gate. Dressed in casual spring garments -- a deep green tunic over dark brown trousers and city shoes -- Tel runs a hand through his ever-tousled hair. "Indeed, good morning!"

He moves to unlock the door for the ladies, before opening it a little to check inside and make sure there are no surprises from a certain pair of pixies. "Sometimes," he remarks, "we just don't want to cook. I suppose there's a gnome out there working on the problem but so far, haven't seen a solution yet."

And then it's Asphodel's turn to be confused, doing exactly as Telamon may have intended: looking first to Pothy's voice, spotting him, hearing Lana, and then dissolving into laughter. She claps soundlessly as she enters, laughing while crosses the threshold. "Good morning, kin: Cor'Lana, Telamon," She begins, folding her hands over her waist and lowering her head with respect. "Thank you for allowing me into your home. I am honored to be here, and I give you my word by my Name and Family that I hold sacred the hospitality and duties of a guest. And I know it's very early," she says, raising her arm like a ballerina until the bag slides down. "But I wanted to offer you a small gift. It's not much. My uncle makes a spirit he calls Dandelion Wine. The distilled essence of summer."

And then, to draw attention immediately away from the gift, she adds, "My given name is Llahnwyhn," to Telamon. Her smile seeks Lana. "We... made a fortuitous discovery. Please, between close friends, Llahnwyhn."

The pixies, thankfully, do not decide to enter the house with the trio (plus Pothy, who flies in before the door's shut). Cor'lana smiles widely as Asphodel offers the wine. "Thank you, kin, for your gracious gift. I'm sure we're to enjoy it--and Telamon may take a particular interest in it, given that he's a brewer of his own drinks as of late.

She nods to Telamon. "I refer to her by her given name as we have learned she may be like me, Tel. Her family legend tells of descent from a member of Grandfather's people. We're going to find out at some point soon whether or not that really is the case. I do not recognize her ancestor's name, but that's a matter easily solved by investigation."

The interior of the Lúpecyll-Atlon home is a marriage of elven styling and what can only be presumed to be fey-borne additions. The furniture and detailing on the walls are almost entirely of elvish crafting styles, but many little vines curl around in artful ways, a flower in bloom here and there. The air is fresh for the presence of the plants. The living room that Cor'lana leads the group into has a large rocking chair in one corner, a sofa, a table, and two other chairs. Pothy takes up residence on the table, as he's seated next to a bowl of peanuts.

He regards Asphodel for a moment with those stunning blue eyes of his. Then he says, in a voice that is not mimicry: "Hello, Lady Carrough. May I call you Llahnwyhn, too?" He sounds like a young boy, but elegant and innocent--the kind who would be the star of a chorus.

Telamon nods with a small grin. "I actually knew your name, Llahnwyhn, but at the times I preferred to keep things proper. You know how it is." He escorts the ladies (and Pothy) into the house, before shutting the door once more and locking it.

Once inside, he receives Llahnwyhn's gift, inspecting the bottle. "Indeed! I've had this a time or too, it's very good. I look forward to sampling it." He bows to Asphodel, before placing the bottle in a spot of honor in the small winerack in the kitchen.

"As Lana notes, I've taken up brewing and infusion of wines. I ran across an intriguing book about magically-enhanced liquors and spirits, and I've been slowly experimenting with them. I've had some success with it, a few failures, but it's taught me quite a bit." Tel busies himself with setting up the kettle for tea, putting out the cups, and so on.

"Darling you may call me anything you like," Asphodel is quick to tell Pothy, simple delight shading her eyes into crescent moons like her smile. And although it may seem offhand, it is how Asphodel addresses people in general. Although, perhaps, not with the explicit permission to call her by anything. "Your favorite vendor was not yet set up when I reached the market, so I couldn't find your favorite treat." At this, a touch of genuine regret; she had wanted it to be perfect.

"I do," She tells Telamon, "But the name did not have much relevance or meaning. You knew me as Llahnwyhn, Asphodel, the Lady Carrough." Soft laughter. "I keep a busy schedule.

"On that topic, I was delighted to receive what I am going to call a social visit from one mind-violating Micha." She removes from her canvas bag a faded but clearly loved book, and she offers it to Lana with a rare smile before moving to help Telamon set up. The open pages reveal the heavily documented and finely replicated images of centuries of fae and elven fashion. Which means it doesn't change over time so much as by event. "Sit, sit, please. You put me to shame. I'm glad you like the spirit, Telamon. And it's the best kind of wine: stolen. Remember breaking into my uncle's study to find his stash?" Her eyes shimmer. "Maybe you can figure out how my uncle makes it. And did you know," she adds, "That I am a blind fool? Completely stupid. I am the kind of woman, come to find out, who will make five thousand "simple uniforms" for unnamed workers. Because it takes five thousand employees to run a brewery," she adds, tone gone flat.

Cor'lana takes a seat on the sofa at Asphodel's direction. She gestures to the rocking chair and says, "You can sit, too, but the rocking chair is Grandfather's when he comes to visit. I keep it available out of respect for him." That's a sentiment that surely, Asphodel can appreciate.

She reaches over and pets Pothy on his creamy-white feathers--which earns a happy tail-wag from him--as she listens to Asphodel. "Stolen wine and five-thousand men in a brewery," she remarks. "Yes, our 'friend' Micha has an awful lot of employees for a brewery."

Cor'lana tilts her head thoughtfully. "You know of the werewolves, I know that much," she says. "How much of them do you know?"

When the kettle is whistling, Telamon brings over the tray, with all that is necessary for a proper tea between friends. "Are we certain it was him? If he was, he must be remarkably skilled. He was an arm's length from me at that party, Llahnwyhn, and spellcasting does require certain gestures and words." He furrows his brow as he sits down, pouring for each of them. "Yes, there are techniques to cast without them, but they are not for the dilettante or casual dabbler."

"But five thousand men now... that concerns me. I'm surprised that the Alexandrian government has not expressed interest. Five thousand men is not a business -- it's practically an army." He exhales. "What's more, Marsward Seraquoix has been seen here in Alexandria. The spell may have been of his doing, and Micha may just be a cat's-paw or patsy."

There is a visible calm that comes over Asphodel at the social ritual of tea. "I would not want to insult your Grandfather," She tells Lana solemnly. "I am not fit to sit in his chair.

"I knew about the werewolves," She begins, slowly, composing her thoughts. "But in this case, I have a different suspicion. I believe he is raising an army." Crossing her legs so that she may clasp her hands around a knee, she leans forward. "I outfitted a coup once at the behest of my father. No one pays attention to servants, and fewer still think that a drop spindle can be sharpened into a blade. That is how I would make an army from things lying around.

"What concerns me is this: what kind of work force is so uniform that all five thousand strong need only one outfit?

"Five thousand exactly? I've never seen accuracy like that. But it sounds like the ideal labor force: no changes of clothing needed; endless manual labor without regard for wear and tear; and vast numbers brought on bear all at once.

"Just out of curiosity, is Marsward a necromancer?"

Cor'lana looks at Asphodel for a moment. A long moment. "So you know of the werewolves, but you do not know what they're doing nor why. Let me fix that."

She leans back into the couch as she takes a teacup. "I will be as brief as I can, but I apologize in advance, because what I speak of has world-shattering ramifications. The werewolves you've seen and dealt with are part of a group under the control of one Marsward Seraquoix, a servant of Caracoroth, the Hound--the evil deity who seeks to consume all, like the unchained, unhinged, and starved beast that He is. Currently, Caracoroth is chained by totems that the Gods of Light and His fellow Gods of Dark devised, for even the other deities of evil fear what the Hound could do if He is set loose. Marsward and his followers seek to claim these totems and use them to unchain the Hound, to unleash their dark god onto the world. They have succeeded in summoning an avatar of Caracoroth known as the Red Maw."

Cor'lana sips her tea. "I should not have to say it, but Marsward Seraquoix is a deeply evil individual. The previous owner and operator of the brewery was a man by the name of Zalgiman Joaki. I learned from Zalgiman that Marsward preys on those who have fallen into darkness and desperation that comes from being powerless, offering them comfort in power--power that he reveals far too late as lycanthropy. The brewery is a front for recruitment into the group. Zalgiman was tasked with bringing men into the group by hiring people who were outcasts or couldn't find work by honest means. On paper, the brewery is a place of miracles. In truth, it's a seduction into the darkness."

There is a deep pain in her voice as she speaks of Zalgiman. "Zalgiman passed not long ago. He was... in love with me. To him, I believe I represented the idea of hope beyond the darkness that he lived in for so long. I could not reciprocate--my heart belongs only and fully to Telamon. I had tried to bring him into the light as a friend, but he was so lost in his sorrow that he couldn't accept that outcome. He kidnapped Telamon, I assembled an army, and... he is dead. And because Zalgiman and I come from similar places of darkness--my life has not always been kind, dear kin--I must tell you: Marsward Seraquoix must be killed. He must be stopped. Lest he continue to manipulate and cause pain to so many."

She stops to sigh deeply. "I do not know if he is a necromancer. I am thankful in that regard that I had Zalgiman's body cremated and housed in the Temple of Vardama. So he can be at peace."

Telamon simply reaches over and takes Lana's hand, folding his fingers around hers. A simple gesture that speaks volumes, a world of gentleness and love, as she lays out the tale.

"To my knowledge, Seraquoix is no necromancer. A werewolf, certainly. A priest of Caracoroth? Probably, and such dark devotees often wield foul magic. So I suppose he may be able to perform some necromantic spells, but I doubt it is his preferred tactic."

"Seraquoix appeared at the Soldier's Defense, the hospital and place of healing here in Alexandria, and attempted to take possession of a patient there. He was caught, detected, and repulsed. It concerns me greatly that he feels confident enough to come here."

Telamon picks up his tea, taking a sip in turn. "Why do you believe Micha is a necromancer? He appears quite young to me to have grasped that level of magic -- though in truth, he may be a sorcerer, or a prodigy."

Finally picking up her teacup and entwining her fingers around it, Asphodel eyes the floor after listening to what was just imparted. It is a long moment before she looks up again, her gaze still cloudy. "I see," She says, very slowly. "Thank you for explaining, kin. Your sorrow is mine; you need not bear it alone.

"I knew that his visit was a threat. Harkashan and several others were, praise Eluna, there to ensure my safety. If you read the last page," She tells Lana, "You can see that I have outfitted Micha for a noose.

"If you say Seraquoix must die, I can only hope you were not waiting for me to add a token protest." Delicately raising her cup to her lips, she drinks without looking. "My fury did not plan for his death. I planned to make the clothing and poison every fiber, or treat it to induce flammability. I do not suffer fools, and I do not suffer poor taste in clothing. Fashion is where the flawed like Seraquiox go to die."

"Don't be so eager to seek Micha's death," Cor'lana says. "From the sound of Telamon's testimony, it sounded like to me that he's... not exactly an eager partner of Marsward's. I want to speak with him myself and see if he can be swayed to become a mole within the group. If he is not happy to be serving Marsward in that capacity, then he can be bent into our direction and our purposes."

She squeezes Telamon's hand gently before looking back up at Asphodel. "If you were to sabotage these clothes somehow, that could be a boon to all. I'd almost suggest embroidery in silver thread, but that would be noticed very quickly."

Telamon nods. "I'm not especially eager to put something dangerous into these garments. Clothing can fall into the wrong hands. No... I think we should see to subvert Micha, split him away from Seraquoix if we can. If Seraquoix has put him in charge of the brewery we can gut this operation completely -- even turn it to good ends."

He takes another sip of tea. "I've found it's not a good thing to leap to a murderous impulse, as much as a few have tried to drive me to it. It's not a good thing. I'll kill if necessary, to protect the innocent, my friends, my family -- but never out of spite and I never take pleasure in it. It's a chore, just like any other."

"Perhaps something else... an identifier, something that reacts?" Tel's eyes narrow in thought. "It's a puzzle. Like you said, silver thread would be obvious."

Asphodel cannot help but to laugh, covering her mouth as she does so. "I have not lived long enough in this city to adjust my vocabulary. Nor have I lived here long enough to learn the adaptive mechanisms for the threats in this environment. You are both correct; I am speaking with the mindset of a Llyranesi, and I should have clarified. I do not mean to kill him now, or even in the middle future. Or perhaps at all," She gestures to Lana.

"What I mean to say is, Micha and Seraquoix are pieces on the board with moves already made. There are many threads there. I usually wait until I find one I can connect, thread to thread, as if I were spinning wool. Also, and this is the courtier in me speaking, no one like that is without enemies. They simply present as if they were not. I feel as though either Micha was threatening me-- it was obvious that nothing about his request was normal-- or maybe it was a cry for help.

"I am Llyranesi," Asphodel concludes, black gaze expressionless. Even though there's a weary sigh. "You will have to teach me how to move and think on a, ah, shorter timescale?"

Cor'lana smiles. "So long as we're clear," she says, "then I do not mind the differences in mindset. But it's true--things move much more quickly here than in Llyranost. I imagine that Telamon and I courting and then being married in less than the span of a year--it was about ten months, in truth--would be considered a blink in that court. A downright scandal, too."

She takes a sip of her tea again. "It's worth noting, Llanwyhn--we are their enemies. All who work in the Light are their enemies, and all who work in Twilight that are moved to action--like myself--are their enemies. It is not just Eluna who is in opposition to Caracoroth. When I said that my enemies wouldn't be defeated by paper--it is because they will not stop until I destroy them, until they move no longer, and I tend to do exactly that."

Then the smile widens. "And I intend to make it so you become like me. Someone who is powerful enough to thwart off evil. The lashing of tongues and the finest of clothes is one thing--ask Telamon, he does it all the time--but evil is defeated by power. By belief. By conviction. And you have the last and you have the second. The first, I think, will be fostered in time with a mentor. Allow me to be yours."

Telamon nods. "Or as Aryia once remarked to me, everyone's got a plan till they get punched in the face. There comes a point where clever maneuvers and paperwork just won't cut it -- you have to fight, and win." He refills the tea cups. "I won't deny it's easy to talk about such things here in the daylight, over tea, with friends. But don't be afraid to get down in the mud. You may have to clean it out from under your fingernails, but it beats the hells out of losing."

He makes a face. "Which reminds me, love. At some point, Sir Seldan and I are planning a foray into the sewers. No, the idea does not appeal to me, but we need to check on something: a summoning circle placed there in the distant past. He does not believe it to be functioning -- I would prefer it not to be, but Simony made an excellent point: even if it was partially functional it might be enough to help fiends slip through the wards."

"I work well with criticism," Asphodel tells Ravenstongue, her expression amused. "Having parents well into your adulthood tends to soften things. I just..." She tilts her head back and forth. "I spend too much time in dreams, but that came with sorcery. You are so visceral, and so real, and those eyes of yours are really quite piercing," She admits to Lana, giving the other woman a wink. "I cannot think of a better tutor to teach me such things, and I am truly grateful you offer, sister of my heart.

"Dreams include nightmares, too."

Cor'lana smiles tenderly. "Then I will teach you, kin," she says. "What I can, that is--but I am very well aware of the nature of dreams and nightmares, myself. Not due to my bloodline, but due to... consequences of this struggle against Marsward and his werewolves."

She looks to Telamon and raises a brow. "A summoning circle? Under the city? Tel, I'm going with you if that's the case. That sounds highly dangerous and not the sort of thing I should be letting you do alone."

Pothy looks at the married couple all concerned for each other's wellbeing. He just looks at Asphodel. "They're disgusting, aren't they?" he asks, in that cherubic boy's voice. It's clearly said as a jest.

Telamon looks sardonically at Lana. "No kidding. And it's big enough to encompass the city. I tried wrapping my head around that and couldn't -- how could it be stable?" He shrugs. "Well, Sir Seldan thinks it's worth a quick trip to make sure it's well and securely broken. And I told him if I went gallivanting off and didn't tell you that you'd be most upset."

His eyes sparkle as he looks at Asphodel. "Part and parcel of being an adventurer and being married," he quips, "is that I do have to check with my wife before I go out to play." His expression becomes serious. "So your magic derives from dreams? Interesting. For a long time, my dreams were... well, I wouldn't say haunted. Visited, perhaps, by a mentor. Well-meaning, if alien: the Watcher in the Stars."

"Oh, no," Asphodel gently tells Pothy. "Not at all. They're just the way they should be; perfect," she says, casting her hands with fingers splayed. "I have an entire volume of love letters exchanged between two long-passed elves. I should lend it to you," She adds, still in fact talking to Pothy. And then something clicks in her eyes, and she adds, "Come to think of it, I left that book in Llyranost.

"Big enough for the entire city?" Asphodel repeats, because that has her attention. "What? How? That would be a massive undertaking, and, just the difficulty of getting the same people in one room, let alone a city."

Looking between Ravenstongue and Telamon, she says, "The Watcher in the Stars?" Which again catches her off-guard. "Something about being older and having reconciled my own demons means that I have forgotten how quickly people jump to assumptions. I will work on this, but usually I'm staring between a dozen different shades of gray. Now-- werewolvs, summoning circles, a brewing company, and the spire in Felwood. May I recommend the strategy of stalling them while we get a handle on how to deal with them? If we cannot remove them at once, we can at least severely delay their plans while sabotaging their efforts.

"I should have mentioned this, but it never seemed reasonable: I am a saboteur. "Lady in Waiting" is what it was called in Llyranost, but that implies more lace and less listening."

Telamon just rolls his eyes at Pothy. "All that knowledge, and he still gets tetchy when Lana and I start making eyes at each other. It's his own fault, too -- we first met when he swooped down in front of me and was begging for the sweetroll I had in my hand."

His gaze returns to Asphodel. "You see now the scope of the thing. But set aside your fears, Llahnwyhn. Yes, we face many and formidable foes. But understand: you, and we, do not face them alone. You have met only a couple of our cohorts and friends, and there are others. Men and women of power, skill, learning, and devotion. And I have faith we will triumph."

He smirks at the 'lady in waiting'. "Now that I expected, Llahnwyhn. My father was not always a diplomat, per se. Well, that was what was on his papers, but he was a bit more than that. It pleases me that you are here, for more help is always welcome."

"For what it may be worth, I am not actually afraid," Llahnwyhn says. "I have considered the threat, identified as best I can, and we have plans to deal with it. I have more anger than I do fear. I do not find fear to be a useful response. I, myself, prefer your father's approach: learn to thrive in the pressure while others around you wonder just how you do it. I had a good example," She smirks. "Of course I was a Lady in Waiting. The Ladies Carrough have always been. I'm just the last, and I imagine I will switch Houses in my future.

"You know, I am throwing a little tete-a-tete tonight, and I would love to have you. You specifically," She tells Telamon, "Because everyone talks to me, I have a hard time getting through. You, however, draw these people like the north star."

"It's as Tel says," Cor'lana adds with a smile. "But I'm glad you are willing to face the challenge--and that you are throwing parties in spite of everything. There is still time enough to live life, laugh, and love one another."

She looks at Telamon with a bright grin. "You hear that? You're a northern star. I've distinctly called him my northern star before. At least once or twice in the confines of poetry."

"Oh, this is probably business and pleasure," Telamon remarks. "A proper soiree is a great way to shake loose all manner of useful tidbits. That was one of my roles when I was apprenticed to father, after all." He looks wry. "Even if it did leave me with all manner of admirers."

He colors ever so slightly at the description of him as the north star, but he bears up under it. "Well, how can I refuse with that kind of invitation? Far be it from me to disappoint an old friend, and possibly let some chance-dropped bit of lore slip by. I will be happy to attend."

"Oh, you misunderstand my intent," Asphodel tells Lana. "I do not throw parties purely for my own enjoyment. I throw them to set fashion so that I am always ahead of the curve; to ensure that certain people are in a certain place if I need others to access their belongings. And it answers the general question, how do I view the big picture? By making it all come to you.

"It's just appearance, artifice," she adds. "I enjoy a good party, but I very much enjoy accomplishing my goals. Gatherings are often the best way to immediately pool talent-- drunk talent-- and listen to rumors. Or start a rumor chain." Despite herself, Asphodel looks as if she were in the middle of a wonderful dream. "And there is preemptive elimination of future paths. Bringing people together, and positioning someone at their worst for an introduction, is one of the easier ways to cut one's enemies off at the pass from potential allies."

Cor'lana, perhaps true to her own admission that she is not nearly the social creature that Telamon is, already looks exhausted at the measures by which Asphodel puts thought and planning into her events. This results in her leaning onto Telamon's shoulder. "Mmmm. I like a lot of that," she says, "but I can only find myself seldomly at events like that. Especially when my schedule in the District permits it..."

She looks at Asphodel. "Speaking of which. I regrettably cannot attend your party tonight, Llanwyhn. I've been asked to come speak with one of the playhouses for an opportunity to write lyrics for their next show. I'd rather not say which--you know how hairy these things can get when things aren't yet set in stone and rumors start flying. It's a rather exciting step up from writing lyrics for a song or two here and there. So I have to have a meeting and discuss with them what their direction happens to be."

Telamon puts his arm around Lana's shoulders as she leans into him. "We all have to tackle our own paths, dear. I'll keep you informed, and don't let some of those arrogant auteurs try to bully you." He grins. "I've seen your temper, so I'm not too worried about that. But don't do anything permanent to them if they get out of hand."

Offering a smile to Asphodel, he continues, "Hopefully you'll be able to encourage a few trends that don't make my eyelid twitch. I still think collar ruffs are the stupidest thing a person could wear in a formal situation. At least breeches and trousers are now as popular as hose, and nobody gets too excited at short cloaks."