Charles
Belladonna of Taemar
Remainings of the lodge, Taemar bogs.

She had been barely able to even breathe as the paladins interrogated her, and as they set off her vision went black once again.

Her whole body felt like it was on the edge of collapsing. *"That old woman was right..."* She thought to herself *"Never again."*

Her every breath hurt as if all her ribs had broken, a throb drummed in her head as if someone had been hitting her repeatedly with a tree.

She didn't know if it had been minutes, hours, days or weeks when she opened her eyes again. The scent of blood and bog water invaded her nostrils as she slowly regained her senses. She was tied to a tree, with the rope tightly wrapped at the height of her ribs. The sorceress could not feel the ground under her feet, but she was placed in the perfect position to see the battlefield and the remains of the lodge.

*"OH of course you couldn't just hang me, you sadistic abomination."* She thought, cursing the paladin she had crossed *"You left me here to starve, while facing my fallen sisters, you sick fuck. Smart move."* If it wasn't for the pain it caused, she would have snorted a laugh.

Slow and steady, she tried to free herself from the rope, but it was futile. Maybe that was it, that was the end of the road. What a pathetic ending...

Crows started to appear shortly after, making use of the remains scattered over the bogs. *"Maybe if I'm lucky the crows will eat me first."*

One big black bird made it's way away from the flock, flying to the trapped woman and landing on her shoulder.

"You came back..." Her voice was hoarse and weak, her head hanging low as she kept her gaze on the floor "I certainly prefer that it's you who has a feast with what's left of me, old friend." She said to the raven, who started pecking at something.

It wasn't until she heard the snap of the ropes releasing her that she realized what the animal was doing. Her body hit the muddy floor like an abandoned rag doll, and it was with great effort that she rolled to lay on her back.

A weak chuckle scaped her, which turned into a cough. With great difficulty, she rose her hand and petted the feathery head of the animal, which stood now by her side.

"Good girl."

Covered in mud and dry blood, she slowly rose to her feet and dragged herself to what was left of the cottage. Two voices reached her ears, two people in the distance that were leaving the place. One of the voices sounded familiar, but Belladonna couldn't quite place it.

With slow and not so steady steps, she collected everything that could still be of use, put it in a sack she found nearby, and left the place. It was pointless to stay and mourn the ruins. She had to move on, fast, specially in the state she was in.

Every move felt like knives piercing the skin, but bit by bit she made her way through the bogs. She fell more times than she cares to admit though. She hoped no one would cross paths with her in the immediate future, as her magic was unitilized until the gods know when. It was a miracle that she was still alive after the abuse of magic she performed.

She froze in her place as she heard the hooves of a horse approaching. "Anyone but those bastards again..." She muttered.

The horse ran into the battlefield and wandered around, checking the multiple corpses as it desperately whined.

Belladonna's visión was still quite blurry, but she could recognize that horse even blind.

She didn't know if the voices from before were far enough, but she came out of the shield of the trees to walk as fast as she could to the stray horse. She called it with a loud whistle, and the horse ran to her side.

"Swamp, you have no idea of how glad I am that you're alive." She greeted the horse, letting her forehead lay against the animal's neck as she pet it.

The horse got to it's knees and Bella mounted it, groans of pain coming out of her. She held onto the reins for dear life. 

"Let's go."
Michael
Wisdom Serafina 
Castle Grunewald, Vallen earlier in the day

Setting the pheasant quill back into the ink, Serafina folded the note and sealed it with wax as her mind replayed the conversation on the stairs prior to the council. The bard had seemed... Less than enthusiastic about following her suggestion, stunned, even, by her revelations. Not surprising, really, as the Queen hid most of her indiscretions from public eye. Except those that would garner support, of course. Serafina let her thoughts move unregulated as she made the journey to the bards chamber and slid the paper underneath. 

```Kallophon, 

Thank you for the lively accompaniment you and Admiral Elborada provided after the wedding. I apologize for my absence and delay in meeting, but I had business to attend to. You suggested continuing the conversation after our initial greeting and I am happy to oblige. I will be in the chapel of Castle Grunewald for evening prayers if you would care to join me. 

Best wishes for your path and travels,
Serafina```
Lawrence
Kallophon Saz__a__l
Castle Grunewald, Vallen

After pulling his linen shirt down over his head, Kallophon saw a little paper inside the doorway. He eyed it cautiously for a moment, trying to recall if it had been there when he came in. Moving briskly to the door, he opened it and peered down both ends of the hallway. No one.

"Shit," He whispered in frustration. Kallophon shut the door and stooped down to pick up the paper, unfolding it and pouring over the message from Serafina. "Ha. Funny joke, Wisdom. I'll have none of this."

He crumpled the letter into a ball and raised it, only to realise he had no open fire in his room. Swearing again, he found himself contemplating the balled-up letter once more, and restored it to give it a second read. While he now had even less inclination than before to get involved with the plot, he felt an irresistible tug to this matter in how rich it was intrigue both political and interpersonal. Something great, perhaps terrifying, was about to transpire back home, and he wouldn't be there to see it first-hand. Maybe this would be the only the chance to satiate his curiosity.

—

Kallophon had changed into a long, dark-blue tunic thrown over his chemise, with soft shoes. He looked barely himself, save for the characteristic keenness in his dark eyes as he walked up to the chapel. Stepping inside, he rested an elbow against the door. "You caught me donning my linens, Wisdom. Just as well I've kept aloof of deep drinking tonight, or else I mightn't have noticed the paper." He feared that what he was about to hear from her would send him straight back to his cups.

Ivagneth Wrencrest
Castle Grunewald, Vallen

Ivagneth found a little titter rising out of her at the way he spoke. 'Enlighten me,' he said. She didn't mean to mock him; it was just the novelty that amused her. Her slightly furtive smirk widened into a grin when she saw the wine arrive. The trouble that Mikhail had with the overflowing cups might have made him a bit nervous, she thought, but it only made her more comfortable.

With a slight nod of gratitude, Ivagneth took the goblet with a delicate hand. She unlinked her arm to free up the other one, reaching into the neck of her dress to produce a handkerchief from a concealed pocket. "Thank you, Your Highness. And here," She said. "I'm not sure if women are meant to carry these so, but mother always makes sure that we do." She took a sip of her drink, sighing softly through her nose as the Taemarian wine further relaxed her nerves. "To answer your question, I'm here with my family. My father is Lord Bennard. He's the one who read out that report at the Council meeting."
Kathleen
Viola Godwin


"Tintown? I think I visited there when I was little with my father, can't say I've been back." She said, eyes occasionally darting over the young man and then away.
Katherine
**Mikhail Durkhan-Maith
Castle Grunewald, Vallen, Taemar**

He was more annoyed by the wine than bothered, but he had every intention of ignoring it when she took the drink. A brief 'thank you' earned her a nod as he lifted his own goblet to his lips, taking a deep drink to bring its contents to a reasonable level. As he did so, she produced the handkerchief, and he gave a warm smile. His hand reached out to accept it, "Thank you, my lady." It was appreciated, and he used the offering to wipe away the reside from the overflowing wine. So far, his experience with Taemar was pretty much this: dampy and sticky, and be was more than ready to return home. When she answered his question as to who she was here with, recognition flashed in his eyes, lighting up his features. 

"I see. From his report, I'm sure he's got a thousand thoughts on how the council played out." He took a sip from his glass again, letting it settle over his tongue. Back home, they had been working through a crate of Terresolian wine, and he missed it. 

"Perhaps there's a cultural lapse, I don't know much about the Iron Planes and Northern culture," There was a pause, and he felt his head cock to the side without having consciously done it. "That's where your family is from, correct? I feel as if I read that in a report somewhere, but I've never personally traveled northward." Not necessarily true, but she didn't need to know he'd been to the Witherlands as a corpse. He felt that familiar head in the nape of his neck, and he was aware he was talking more than he normally did. It had been easy with Lady Capell, why did the Northern girl set him off kilter? He'd felt nervous this whole trip, and once more he was grateful that if he managed to ruin this interaction he would be gone from the bogs by dawn. Regardless he pressed on. "But in Amoroth and the South, you're supposed to know a lady's full name before asking her to dance."
Lawrence
Ivagneth Wrencrest
Castle Grunewald, Vallen

*'Before asking her to a dance.'* Ivagneth tilted her head and simpered at him, one of her silky blonde locks falling in front of her eye. She thought he was being awfully savvy. It was the sort of manner that Uncle Lackner must have had before the war did what it did to him.

"I'd love a dance," She said, then took a long sip of wine before adding, "Curious as I am to see how you Southern boys move." She gazed at his arm for a moment, tapping a slender finger against the side of the cup. "So, if you need my name, it's Ivagneth Wrencrest. My father's the lord of a city and much of the land around it. My *Mother's* Family rule the whole heart of the kingdom, so we don't have much by comparison

"I do love our land, though. The river's a beautiful sight when the sky's clear and the frost is gone. There's an old hill where Father's council meets, and if you look from on top, you can see Wrencrest land running for miles and miles. Father struggles fiercely with the pine trees. He goes for 'variation'—if there's a crop that can survive the North but doesn't grow there by nature, he's at least *Tried* To grow a plantation. They say he should treat it more like an important resource that needs maintaining than a grand piece of art. I agree with some things that they say about Father, but this effort of his does give way to some pretty fruit. We even have a vineyard." She shrugged. "Only a small one, though."

She furrowed her brow and softened her voice. "Sorry, I'm talking too much about myself. I don't think I've ever spoken to anyone who wouldn't know have these things already." Smiling, she gently brushed the loose lock of hair back behind her ear. "I'm sure that everything we have pales in comparison to you." A little snort came out of her, and she pointed to her face. "And I do mean everything!"

Wendel


"Oh. Where are you from, then? One of the nice places?" He looked down at the dark, wet earth that he fed to his squelching boots. "Tintown's one of the nice places. I've seen the, um ... The worse-off villages." He pursed his lips.