The Sorority of Shadows

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Nathan of the FoS
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Gertrude noted with interest that, despite her father's exile from Darkon before she was born, the Countess still used the Darkonese honorific rex maximus for Azalin--a habit confined to the noble families of Darkon. An assertion? An admission? Or simply old habits dying hard?

"Actually," the Countess replied, "when last I heard of Lady Hightower she was on a tour of the Core. Two summers ago she passed through Lamordia, and I spoke with her briefly; she was full of hints that she had found a better way to spend her time than consorting with the Fraternity, and had a powerful patron of her own. But she seems to have fallen from the face of the earth."

Shrugging, the Countess turned and examined Gertrude closely before speaking. "What I am about to tell you is to be held in strictest confidence, Professor. If you desire a sponsor, I believe I know of one with influence enough to ensure your progress--if you can arrange to come into his confidence. When the matter of my advancement came before the Umbra, my father took my part; Lord de Casteelle was strongly opposed, and the other junior Umbra were inclined to side with him. But help came from an unexpected quarter; Tarnos Shadowcloak himself took my father's side and prevailed upon the Umbra to give me admission. I can think of others who might be willing to go before the Umbra to plead on a female protege's behalf, but only the Shadowcloak can demand that you be given advancement."
Last edited by Nathan of the FoS on Thu Feb 09, 2006 4:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Pamela
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Post by Pamela »

Gertrude wondered what Hightower’s area of expertise had been; she knew it wasn’t religion. The fear of her being a spy was absurd and likely an excuse. Azalin would have had the sense not to choose a woman to enter the Fraternity. Every eye would have been upon her, and her chances of promotion- and finding out more about the Fraternity’s inner workings- negligible. Unless he had set her up to divert attention from his true candidate... Still, it wouldn’t hurt to investigate Hightower’s writings. The Countess seemed to consider her a worthy candidate and acquaintance, after all.

“I give you my word,” she murmured. She listened raptly to the account of the woman’s promotion and the conflict involved. At its conclusion, she sat up straight, dazed.

Promotion, that long-sought dream, was available. That in itself was a welcome shock. But to appeal to Shadowcloak, one of the Umbra and founders of the Fraternity... She took a deep breath, then smiled. “Contessa, I cannot thank you enough for your confidence.” She then laughed, still amazed by the situation.

She turned back to the blonde. She would not have volunteered the information if she hadn’t thought Gertrude capable of receiving an audience. “I have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind. Is Shadowcloak in Vechor, or do you have reason to believe that he may be going to Souragne? And if he does grant me an audience, would you prefer that I make no reference to you?” Several more began to tumble into her mind but she waited for the answers, not wanting to pepper the Countess with questions like an impatient child.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Nathan of the FoS
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"I can't say for certain where he can be found," the Countess says. "He will certainly be present at the extraordinary meeting of the Fraternity in April, which I suppose be held in Souragne--I believe arrangements are being finalized, contingent on the success of the present relocation..."

The Countess falls silent and bites her lip, then continues, slowly, "There may be a price, Professor Kingsley. If the Shadowcloak sponsors you, there is no door in the Fraternity which excellence, diligence and devotion cannot open to you. But he has the reputation of being a very...uncertain...master..."
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Post by Pamela »

Gertrude made a mental note to ask the Port-a-Lucine cell about the Father’s whereabouts. If anyone would know, de Casteelle would- not that she would presume to ask him directly. Vechor was ringing bells in her memory but she hoped that she was wrong. “Souragne is certainly an interesting and unexpected choice,” she remarked. It still baffled her that they would choose that island of all places. Perhaps they truly were beginning to reconsider the prohibition against necromancy.

The professor nodded casually at the mention of price; she was a total stranger to the Father and the Fraternity wasn’t known for its philanthropy and charity. The Countess’ use of the odd adjective made her suddenly wary. “ ‘Uncertain’?”she repeated.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

The Countess spread her hands expressively, as if attempting to convey a message beyond that of her mere words. "I myself know him almost entirely by reputation, Professor. I have had only one conversation with him, and that a philosophical discussion between him and my father in which I was only a peripheral participant. But...a man living to his great age, with so active a mind, and having faced down so many enemies, may begin...to see enemies in every shadow...even his own."

"Come too close to him..." With a smooth gesture the Countess took up her cup and closed her hand around it. A muffled tk, and then she opened her hand to show the cup in pieces.

"The Fraternity itself demands a price, and a high one," she continued, setting the pieces of the cup down. "But it is a price which can be reckoned beforehand. The price the Shadowcloak may ask is not so easy to foresee."

A faint line of red traced the Countess' palm; tsking in annoyance, she said, "And now, back to politesse, Professor; the time for serious talk is ending." Muttering something, she gestured slightly and the odd distortion in the women's voices ended. Touching the bell again, the Countess turned to Iago as he opened the door and said, "Iago. A kerchief, if you please. A sturdy one, mind."

Bowing, Iago glanced from one woman to the other and retreated to fetch the desired article.
Last edited by Nathan of the FoS on Sat Feb 11, 2006 6:02 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Post by Pamela »

Gertrude listened raptly, and gasped when she saw the broken cup. “Your hand,” she murmured, while still absorbing the warning. She contained her frustration at the abrupt ending to the real discussion, and guilelessly met Iago’s look. Accidents will happen, her whole attitude implied. As he departed she reached into her pocket. Presenting her own simple white handkerchief, she said, “Until he returns,” mindful of the Countess' beautiful gown.

“So, Contessa, is there any set date for your return to Lamordia? Or do you plan to travel a bit beforehand?” She set her mind to the easy chore of chitchat; there would be time later to absorb this day's revelations and implications.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"Why, thank you, Professor," the Countess replied, taking the handkerchief offered. "How very clumsy of me. I do hope it can be mended; it's part of a set of which I'm rather fond. I suppose it will be months before the passes clear enough for me to return to the schloss, but there is no shortage of options for passing the time. I suppose I may travel a bit before returning home...somewhere warm, preferably," she said, smiling girlishly. "I do find this cold weather rather trying. I know, and from a Lamordian! But at home one is never tantalized by the hope of a mild winter, and the compensations are rather better. Snow and sleigh-riding rather than mud and carriages drowning in it, for example. But Port-a-Lucine has so many charms that it may beguile me entirely. Had you heard that the opera is about to stage The Golden Nightengale?"
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Post by Pamela »

“Is it really?” Gertrude asked, gesturing for the pieces. Once she had them in her left hand, her right hand’s fingers joined together as petals of a pale bud, and enunciated a single syllable. As she examined the cup to see if it had been restored whole, she remarked, “Such a useful cantrip; I don’t know how many times I’ve had recourse to it, though it can be a nuisance with china. All it takes is a single shard to go missing…"

She looked up from her examination, at the Countess' reference to the Lamordian weather and smiling exclaimed, “Oh, don’t remind me of the horrible roads there! I do wish they’d start considering them a priority!”

At the question about the opera she asked, “No I hadn’t- who will be performing in it?”
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"Why, thank you, Professor," the Countess said, taking the cup in her good hand and casting an eye over it. "As good as new. I believe the tenor will be that young Kartakan singer--Szestelyn? And the soprano will be Castafiore, of course. But the role of the Nightengale will be taken by Michel Darrazo, the Borcan castrato. Monsieur Theroux and I were discussing him the other day; the monsieur pretended to think that the sacrifice he had made for his art was unimaginable, but I was forced to disagree. Some goals are so important that one must meet the price--let it be what it may."

Raising her face to the professor's, the Countess stares her eye-to-eye. "The price a castrato pays for his music, Professor...can you understand it? I can."
Last edited by Nathan of the FoS on Sat Feb 11, 2006 6:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Pamela »

Polite interest was sparked into puzzlement by the Countess’ emphasis. A corollary emerged.

She can’t-she didn't! They wouldn’t- She stared back, unbelieving, and realised they would. It made a horrible sense.

How dare they?! Her hands came together into the trained gentle clasp as she reined in her indignation and other fomenting emotions.

Nodding, she replied in her usual serene manner, a small smile playing at her lips. “I can. Realistically, what would Darrazo’s alternative have been? A brood of brats to carry a name he inherited and a lifetime of servitude and insignificance. Truly a small price to pay in the name of art.” Or knowledge… Still, she was now glad of her age.

She paused in consideration, and asked, “Shall it debut soon? I will be here a few weeks. I believe I am coming down with a cold, and I should deal with it now before it becomes an issue. Would you be able to recommend a good physician?” Her smile grew as she remarked, “The Lamordians are expert in this field. I’m sure the wiser have followed your family’s example in choosing this fair land during these harsh months.”
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

The countess nodded as Gertrude's changing expressions revealed her dawning understanding of all that the noblewoman's question implied. At Gertrude's query for a doctor, she smiled bitterly. "I think it wise of you to take the bull by the horns, Professor Kingsley," she said quietly. "One can never be too careful in matters of one's health. When I last had occasion to visit a...physician, I met with a Doctor Randolph Lasetter--not a Lamordian himself, being from Mordent, but he practiced there for several years and studied anatomy with Victor Mordenheim. I can arrange a meeting with him, if you desire it."

At this point Iago coughed at the door and entered, bearing what appeared to be a young flag of truce. "Thank you, Iago," the Countess said, taking the kerchief. "And thank you again for the loan, Professor. I will have it laundered and returned to you. I do hope you plan to stay here in Port-a-Lucine for a time, Professor--at least until The Golden Nightengale premiers next month."

Looking with distaste at her injured hand, the Countess continued, "Will you excuse me? I should have this seen to, I'm afraid," gesturing slightly with the fresh kerchief. "Please, feel free to call on me at your convenience--your health permitting, of course. Iago, please show the Professor out and hail a carriage for her. Thank you. Adieu, Professor Kingsley."
Last edited by Nathan of the FoS on Sun Feb 12, 2006 10:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Pamela »

“If you would please, thank you,” the professor replied softly to the meeting with Dr Lasetter. If Mordenheim took him on as a student, he must be very good, she tried to assure herself while mentally cringing.

Gertrude was glad for Iago’s interruption, and bowed her head to the mention of the handkerchief. “There will surely be enough to preoccupy me in the next few weeks that I can afford to treat myself to such a performance.”

“Of course; thank you for the time you’ve already spared,” she said, forcing herself to draw her eyes away from the bloodied linen as her stomach began to roil with tension. “I look forward to our next meeting. Good day, Contessa.”

She silently followed Iago through the byzantine corridors, clasping her hands in a prayerful knot over her waist. It is the only way, the only way, she repeated to herself as a mantra.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Pamela »

Two days later

Gertrude was ushered into Doctor Lasetter’s office and offered a seat in a soft, cushioned chair. She looked around the room, not registering its decor. She had slept badly since the interview with the Countess, and was thankful that this meeting had been arranged so quickly. Her hands were ice-cold, her stomach in knots. Her body was wound tight, her posture rigid despite her attempts to relax.

Let us get this over with…
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

The door to the doctor's chambers swung open and a tall, fashionably dressed young woman wearing a rather daring amount of paint strode through. "Thank'ee, Randy," she says to someone in the other room with a grin. "Make a house call soon, wontcha?" Catching sight of Professor Kingsley, her grin widened. "Oh, doctor," she called. "A little sparrow here, come to nest among the birds-of-paradise."

Seeing Gertrude's evident discomfort, she came and sat next to her, offering a gloved hand. "Now then, dear, don't mind my chaffing. The doctor's a wise man--years of experience, you know. And he's mighty handy with the long knife," this last offered with a wink and a nudge.

The doctor himself appeared in the doorway. He was a thin man in early middle age, bespectacled and balding; a few long strands of hair combed across his head made a rather unconvincing feint at hiding the scalp beneath, while his clothes were an odd mix of the physician's and the rake's. The overall impression he gave was one of a gentleman-scholar rather badly gone to seed.

"That's enough from you, Annabelle," he said, in a voice obviously well-soaked in alcohol and tobacco smoke. "Would you step inside, madame?"

The other woman grinned again and squeezed the professor's hand. "Good luck, dearie," she said, and flounced out.

Shaking his head slightly, Doctor Lasetter holds the door to the his chambers open. "After you, madame," he said, gesturing for Gertrude to enter.
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Post by Pamela »

Sparrow?! Gertrude thought, a light blush upon her cheeks. She refrained from answering the coarse woman’s comment, not wanting to invite further attention. She was also confused by this stranger. She spoke like a common prostitute, and wore enough make-up to be one. Her dress however was very fine, and the doctor surely wouldn’t endanger his reputation with noble clients by accepting one. But this is Dementlieu, not Paridon, she reminded herself.

Just go away, she willed the approaching harlot. Her mortification grew when she realised that not only had Annabelle seen her discomposure but was now trying to offer some odd reassurance. Gertrude accepted her hand, lightly pressing it. Managing a small, tremulous smile, murmured, “Thank you for the assurance.” At the mention of the knife, Bloody Jack suddenly reared in her memory; her stomach filled with acid. Oh bloody sun… But the audacious wink and nudge broke the spell. Caught offguard by this unexpected but suddenly welcome intimacy, the professor began to laugh gently. There was comfort and relief in this woman’s vibrancy.

She rose at the doctor’s invitation, her spirits restored. Bloody hell, she thought as she took in the doctor’s comb over and sad attempt at sartorial rejuvenation. The Contessa did recommend him, she reminded herself. It’s a doctor you want, not a dinner companion…Thank heavens…

“Thank you and good day,” she replied at Annabelle's farewell, smiling. She entered the room, calm for the first time in two days. The moment had arrived, and would soon be over.

"Thank you, Doctor, for seeing me at such short notice," she remarked. "I do appreciate it."
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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