The summer sun beats down on the riverbanks of the city of Aleri in a mid-day assault. Causing shadows to retreat and the man sitting at the gates to seethe even more. 

"Where could he be?" He's sat on the ground, his head held between his legs as he leans against the massive gates of the city becoming increasingly angrier as time passed. A tall man stands next to him, his friend of many years and his ally as he sits in the ever-receding shade of the gates of Aleri. The taller man expresses his own frustration but cautions his old friend against falling deeper into agitation, as the very emotions he is feeling could be partly to blame for the sweat dripping down his face.

This only serves to upset the man on the ground further as he argues that the only thing that could be held responsible is the audacity of their noble companion to call them to this place of all places on this day of all days. The shorter man looks up, past his friend, and up at the huge gates they're trusting not only to hold their weights but to protect them from harm. For behind the twenty-foot gates built of steel and wood sourced from the magical Whiteroot forest stands a city and its people. And standing between the people of the city and the forces arrayed against them is the Alerian garrison and their famed archers who exist solely to protect the city from intruders and invaders. Yet no one was able to save Lord Aleri.

As the heat of the sun causes the man's blood to boil, he turns to look at his friend, ready to repeat to him the same question for the third time since they arrived at the city's gates.

"Are they still there?", he asks. Pointing a finger over his shoulder as to gesture to what he is referring. 

The tall man sighs, expelling a puff of smoke as he did so. He stepped out of the slim umbrella of shade created by the height of the gate and the angle of the sun. As he does this the sound of two hundred bowstrings being pulled taut can be heard. The creaks and gentle snaps of the bows intensify then diminish as he begins taking a few steps forward. Reaching the point where his footsteps stopped earlier, he turned in a spot from which he could see the archers of the Alerian White Army. Dressed in blinding white, equipped with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Organized in ranks and with their weapons trained towards the gates of their city.

The man capsizes his pipe in an effort to empty it as he makes eye contact with one of the bowmen. In the second before the burnt contents of his pipe could touch the worn cobble of the royal road, he sees the man reposition his finger, tightening his grip as not to misfire. In that very same instance, two hundred other little alterations are done in a moment. The other archers of the city's garrison make their own minute corrections to their aims and grips, all culminating in what seems to be near perfect synchronization as they shift to aim at the tall man. He steps left and two hundred dirty white arrows silently swing to follow. He steps back to the right and the archers pursue him, keeping him within their sights at all times.

He steps back into the shadows and hears the inverse of the sound he heard when moving to get a look. Although he couldn't see to confirm, he assumes this is the uncocking of the bows that were all just so eager to make a pin cushion out of him.

"They're still there." He reveals to his friend, now moving to stand, though the sounds of the archers themselves had already served to notify him. The shorter man begins to say something to his cohort as he himself reaches into his coat for a pinch of vice to fill his pipe when they are both stopped by the sound they have been anticipating for an hour and a half. The sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones.

"Is it him?" the taller man asks while bending down to light his pipe.

The shorter of the two men confirms as he witnesses a small red carriage approach and gingerly roll to a stop before a well-dressed young man steps out onto the King's road. Before he could greet his old friends, the young lord is met with a slap to the back of his head accompanied by a lengthy lecture on time management and respecting of people's time. The shorter man goes on and on about how long they've waited and how much better things they could've been doing, as he does, the taller man stands behind him, wordlessly mocking his rant to the amusement of Lord Kahel. 

When the man stops speaking, Kahel puts a hand on his shoulder and offers his apologies insisting there was traffic on the way through some of the towns and even a new royal toll booth that demanded he stop and pay. The man calms, shrugging off his friend's hand in his fit of displeasure and points towards the barred gate.

He says, ''All that waiting and we can't even get inside. Katoni has the place locked up like it's worth something."

"That's Lord Katoni to you, Lance." The taller man steps closer now, smoke wafting out of his pipe and mouth as he speaks.

"Jazz, I'll walk the gallows before I ever call Katoni Aleri 'lord'."

"What did Katoni Aleri do to you", the young lord probes, unaware that his close friend held such animosities towards the new Lord Aleri.

Upon explaining, the other two men determined that their friend's issues with the lord were trivial at best. Lance, a Dragonborn, advised that they not dismiss his grievance for that very sin may be exactly how the last Lord Aleri lost his life. Resolving to worry about his vaguely threatening comrade some other time, Kahel turned his attention to the archers, to which his other friend, a Titan named Jahzel also known as Jazz, took note and let him know they're wary of outsiders. Kahel insisted that they have every right to be, for if the lord of the city can be killed, in his home no less, what to say of them? Of their wives, their children? The men of the wall may serve under the colors of the Aleri family, but it is their families they will fight for, and if push comes to shove, die for.

To a degree it is fair, for it is not their wellbeing the new lord worried for. The questions swirling around the vast chasms of his mind were entirely unconcerned with the lives of the common folk. In the highest room of the Aleri Palace, other mysteries burdened the lord's mind.

Who's fault was it? What did Kheti do? Why is it Katoni's reflex to blame his brother whenever something happens? If it isn't his brother's fault, is Katoni to blame? Who did he offend? They came back. No matter who's fault it is, they came back. Their business with the Aleris isn't done, Katoni was sure of it. Whoever killed his brother would try to kill him again. And so Katoni finds himself at a cliff. Not a literal one, as he is very much still seated in his brother's... In his chambers overlooking... his city's Silver District, the metaphorical sea and rocks below said cliff. The new Lord Aleri now finds himself at the edge of that sort of cliff.

Who would even kill his brother? While Katoni may not have been the greatest of men or exhibited the greatest character over his long life, the same cannot easily be said about the good natured Kheti, a devout man of the faith his whole life. But maybe his brother harbored darker secrets than he thought possible.

A voice called from the other side of the room's thick doors and begged entry.

"It must be a guard", he assumes and summons the knocker into the room, still gripping his dagger because the same could be said about Kheti's murderer. Who'd get closer than a guard? By the time this thought had festered and developed a new wave of paranoia in the lord's mind, the guard had made his way into the room now silently waiting for the lord to give him leave to speak.

The lord asked what the matter was. The guard informed the Lord Aleri that there were visitors of an important sort at the city's gates. The lord ordered them to be sent away. No one is to be let in or out of Aleri. It's been like that since the attack that killed his brother two days ago. Katoni had ordered the entire noble family locked in their rooms and guarded like jewels. The new lord of the house then sequestered himself in the largest chambers of his newest acquisition.

The guard carefully attempted to convey just who the men at the gates claimed to be. The guard in his heft, with all his armor and weapons attached and the raw muscle that encompasses the very standard of the guards of Aleri, was picked up off the ground by the collar of his chest plate and made to repeat himself after he had spoken the names of the visitors.

"They say they are Kahel Killgold, Lance Hampton and Jahzel Obrinson. They ask for an audience with you, sir." 

The lord gripped the steel of the chest plate so tightly his fingers left shallow indentations in the shiny metal. He too repeated himself and ordered that they be sent away and further ordered that the guard be relieved before another man is killed within the walls of the palace. The guard reluctantly slunk back through the door which was slammed shut behind him.

Inside that room Katoni explored every possible angle of the event, his ideas bouncing off the silvery white walls of the room. Did they come through a window? If so, which was breached? The guards saw no one in the halls of the palace that night, only being alerted to the butchery by the scream of the lord then the deafening silence when that scream was cut short. He was already dead when he was found and the room was already deserted, the assassin nowhere to be found. The room was found locked from the inside and stunk of vice. The stench of the Viceri plant, grown and smoked mainly on the continent of Oliviara, served as the only clue, for the good Lord Kheti Aleri was many things but never a smoker.

While the lord's train of thought was on its way to a conclusion it was derailed by another sound at the door.

This time a knock. The guards were instructed to call.

The Lord Aleri had no time to be alarmed before door was knocked again. He dares not call out for this must be them. The assailant his, brother's murderers. They had come in the early morning and had failed to kill anyone but now they have found him. He wraps his hand around his dagger's hilt, sweat dripping from his neck and running down the length of his back. The fingers of his free hand trace the fuller of his blade as he rises from his seat in the center of the small room. The knock came again then a silence heavier than the ones before as he stands still, staring at the door, ready to fight his life. He becomes aware of himself, the position of his feet on the floor, the weight of his hands and the dryness of his eyes as he stares at the back of the old wood door. First, he adjusts his footing, shifting his body weight as the silence becomes overbearing. He alters his grip once more, licks his lips and blinks.

And when he does the head of the very guard he had just ordered out came smashing back into the room through the door to no great consequence as guard was wearing his issued helm. Without it he would've surely been killed as the momentum he was thrown with sent him flying feet into the room, landing inches from the new lord. Instead, he was just knocked down, merely stunned and now sporting a foot mark in the center of his chest plate. And the Lord Aleri, having been knocked to the ground by sheer surprise, stared at his indisposed guard before he regained his senses and looked up to meet his killer in the eyes. As he does, he meets those of the second son of the Grand Duke of the city of East Omeni. Staring into the Lord Kahel's dark, inquisitorial eyes his worst fears are realized as the young lord raises his sword, Rubina, above his head never breaking eye contact. 

Katoni Aleri winced. Expecting to be dead but finding he isn't, he opened his eyes to see the infamous blade of Kahel II Killgold stuck into the hardwood floors of his brother's... of his chambers. He looks at the young lord then at both his accomplices then back at him. 

"I knew it was you!" he shouted. A feeling of vindication swept him as all his accusing was seemingly proven right. This feeling quickly turned to ash as he realized the only reward he'll be getting for being right is death.

"As usual my lord, an Aleri is wrong. We haven't killed anyone". The young lord had dropped his more amicable manners at the gates of the city, having to convince man after man of increasing rank in the White Army that it was not him nor his family who had the good lord killed. Most of them doubted when they were told and as they gathered to discuss, a large number of them still did not believe but they all valued their lives more than that of their lord and some even thought his logic was sound and so they allowed him entry. He now attempted to make the Lord Aleri see it as so.

"If any one of my family members had killed your brother, it would have been me. And I didn't kill Lord Kheti." Kahel stepped closer as the Lord Aleri raised his dagger in defiance of his claim.

"And I'm to believe that as you stand in my city and wave your blade in my face? Your word means nothing, Killgold."

"Lord Aleri, if I killed your brother the sword sticking out of his head would've had a ruby on the pommel and I wouldn't be here because his death would've been immediately followed by an invasion of Killgoldi forces", the young lord pauses to let Katoni come to grips with what he has said. Before the lord could fully grasp his situation, Kahel slipped closer. Covering the length of the room in a step and now standing directly in front of the lord speaking in an even, relaxed cadence.

"Put simply my lord if it was us, we'd have no reason to hide it and frankly you'd be dead already.

"We wouldn't have had to wait at the gate or convince your soldiers to let us by", Lance chimed in.

"And there would've been no reason to come here and talk", Jazz added. 

Katoni glanced from man to man, attempting to read their motives in their faces, a twitch in one of their lips indicating a hidden smile, a knowing look between them to hint at some clandestine goal. But as he rose to his feet dusting himself off with one hand, the other still keeping his dagger pointed squarely on the trespassers, he failed to see a hint of dishonesty in their expressions. And while the Killgolds were many things, they could not be described as craven enough to kill without purpose or discrete enough to do it in secret. Staring at the sword sticking right up out of his floors, the audacity of the declaration of innocence is what struck a chord within the new Lord Aleri, and it was the gall to crash into his most private of chambers to accost him so aggressively yet almost entirely nonviolently that convinced him in the end.

Seeing the change in the countenance of his family's old foe, Kahel seized the moment.

"My Lord Aleri, it was not us, but rumors spread in ways the truth doesn't. I am resolved to help you find your brother's killers, if it would bring him peace and you any satisfaction.

Lance balked at the words coming out of Kahel's mouth and turned to Jazz expecting a similar expression of surprise to be on his face as well. He was even more dumbfounded to find Jazz standing there with his arms crossed and his pipe wabbling in his mouth as he chuckled quietly at the boldness of their friend. 

Ignoring the antics if his comrades, the young Lord Killgold waited in silence for the lord's answer. He agreed. And in doing so he disregarded centuries of animosity and arguably justified bloodshed. With a single handshake, an unspoken truce was formed. They continued to speak as the sun made its march across the sky. The Lord Aleri spoke of his brother's character. His honesty and humility and lambasted his killers as cowards. For only men of little courage could murder a priest. Kahel took great care in tenderly remind the lord Aleri that his dear dead brother, while a man of the faith, was still the head of this house. One which cannot be called a popular one. And much time was spent at this juncture debating if the sins the former Lord Aleri had committed were worth his life.

Eventually Lance interjected, positing that any motive is motive enough when murder is crime. While the late lord may have not been a wicked man, how many murdered men truly are? The lord asked if the men believed his brother to be the true target to which the men asserted that it was impossible for them to know at the moment. Jazz however expounded on his response stating that if he was there would be no need for the second attack earlier that day. and if he wasn't, well who was?

As the late afternoon became the early evening in the kingdom's smallest city, Kahel and his friends were offered a carriage ride back to Killgold Manor as the sun made contact with the horizon. Refusing this as his own was still parked outside and after promising to pay to fix the damages to the Aleri Palace and to the guard's armor out of his own deep pockets, the young lord got up to take his leave. He was engaged in directing his friends who were attempting to reattach the door to no avail when the Lord Aleri told them not to bother.

"Get going. You know the royal roads. And send your father my regards."

And with that they left. Back out the room and down the corrider. Marching on the black imported carpets in their army issued boots, their sThe  palace. Rushing past the portraits of the long dead Aleris that decorated the halls, they swiftly made it out of the gates of the palace grounds and eventually the city itself. They took a look at the little red coach Kahel had arrived in and he and Lance begin to bicker about the safest routes back to the palace. As they did, Jazz, always a level head when one is needed, waved his finger and performed the enchantment needed to send the carriage on its way back to the Red Palace. And go it did, zooming off northward back towards East Omeni empty.

His friends turned to deploy their ire on him in a combined manner and were easily stopped by a look from their powerful compatriot. Having cowed them as much as those two could ever be, Jazz proceeded to fold his right hand behind his back as he explained that no part of the royal road was safe at night. This they all agreed on. While drawing a circle in the dirt with his foot, he further expressed that after an hour spent standing in the sun and the tense signing of a verbal truce with a man who wanted them dead mere hours ago, he was in no mood to be ambushed by one of the vagrants on the King's road. Having said this, he raised his left hand and with his finger he made the required symbols needed to teleport him and his friends back to their home in the midst of the Whiteroot forest. With a gust of wind and flash of hot bright light, they were there then they were not. Leaving behind little white embers on the cobblestones in front of the gates of Aleri. 

Abigial had just stepped out of her little workshop and into the hall when the three men appeared in a flash of white fire. Before her stood the lord of the house and son of the Lord Killgold himself, Kahel II Killgold, her adopted father and closest confidant. Next to him, with his finger still engulfed in the residual magic of the teleportation spell that brought them all home, was the tall blonde-haired Jahzel Obrinson, the half-titan son of an heiress to a minor noble family. And behind them, stretching the day's stresses out of his back and shoulders, is the short, darked-haired Lance Hampton, the orphaned son of one of Lord Karl's many pirate friends. He, unlike his friends, was not born a Titan. Instead, he was born on Katos, one of the smallest of the Draga Isles, home to the Dragonborn race. Abigail greeted them warmly, then spoke to Kahel specifically, asking after his whereabouts during the day.

"Another attack at Aleri. We went to speak to Katoni.'' As Kahel spoke, the other men walked down the hall and turned into the palace's kitchen, seeking a drink of some sort to douse the day's myriad of fires. 

Abby swallowed to sentence word by word as she had been hard at work all day and was slower on the uptake than usual. When she finally comprehended what he had said they were at the door of the kitchen themselves. Here she paused and asked him what he meant by 'speaking to Katoni' for surely, he'd be smarter or at the very least more self-preserving than to go strolling into the city of a man, who, more than any man alive, wanted him dead. She found herself baffled when he informed her, while taking a seat amongst his comrades, that not only had they been to the city of Aleri but they even managed to quell some of the tension between them and the lord of the city. 

"So now we find the man who did it", Jazz said into his glass as he sipped the last drops of his second round. Kahel poured himself a drink as Abigail deliberated on that last comment. 

"How do we do that exactly?" Abigail finally said, raising the question the quick looks between the men let her know hadn't yet been asked outright. After receiving nothing but shrugs and loose ideas of 'tracking the bastard down' she spoke again. Inquiring as to what clues the men had? Again. Silence. She was about to speak when Kahel cut her off, seeking to end her interrogation of him, he asked her what she'd been up to the last few days, sighting her wary expression as motive for the line of questioning and not his desire to change the subject.

She took the bait, sitting down with the three men slowly opening up about the new project she had undertaken. See, Abigail made toys. Little and not so little gadgets and trinkets of magic and metal and mud and clay. She calls herself an alchemist as that was the role her mother, Amelia, played in life, the only thing Abigail knew of her other than her name. But Abigail, in her tinkering ways, was more akin to her father, Anthony, who termed his self as an artificer. She often found herself making devices and magic tools rather than the potions and tinctures her mother worked on. A prime example was her latest work which she explained to be some sort of doll. As Jazz and Lance listened with varying interest, she proceeded to detail the day she spent creating her new doll.

Halfway into her explanation and after the word 'doll' had been said near a dozen times, Lance, pouring himself a cup of water to counter act the bottle of wine he and the others were working their way through, asked if the sixteen-year-old Abigail was not yet too old to play with dolls. She went on to clarify that this was not a doll like the kind young children are given, but a type of homunculus designed by an ancient alchemist and built by his artificer wife. They were once used to supplement armies and as house help before they fell out of favor centuries ago. She explained that they were basically manufactured servants who need no food nor water and desired nothing but to serve their creator. This piqued the interest of the lord of the house, as a lightly seasoned military commander regarded highly for his strategic mind, he immediately saw the benefit in having such unquestioning soldiers join Killgoldi ranks. His short dream was shattered as Abigail continued to explain that while this single-minded loyalty was their greatest strength, it was also their greatest detraction for they were again made by an artificer, a magic craftswoman and have been made by these artificers ever since. They are loyal to those artificers to a fault. To the point that even when made for the expressed purpose of serving a king or government in some sort of military role, orders had to be verbally given by their makers, or they would be ignored. This led to the obvious problem of minds and factions outside of the crown holding such sway over the army that they began to dictate to their rulers who and where their army will fight and what causes are worth sending an army for in the first place. 

"So, their useless", Lance slurred the question out, only listening to reply as he had had the lion's share of the bottle and had begun to succumb to the liquor in his system.

"For the average king, yeah probably, but for a single house, if built by the right person they'd make good butlers." Abigail said, subtly identifying herself as that theoretical 'right person'.

"But it'd have to come to you for confirmation on anything we tell it to do, no? Or did I misunderstand?", Jazz asked finally finishing that bottle as Lance dozed off where he sat.  

Abigail conceded that, yes, if built in the same style and given life with the same set of spells and runes as dolls before, her creation would answer only to her and defer to her whenever another resident of the palace requested even a glass of water. But she insisted that is where she in particular came in. And there was truth to her light boasting, for Abigail was a bit of a prodigy, having been taught by the same noble tutors the Lord Karl had hired for his youngest daughter had been a boon as that along with her naturally sharp mind and undying curiosity had granted her admission to the prestigious Ghoul Royal Technical Institute at the tender age of only thirteen. Now she was nearly halfway through her studies and already been praised as one of the best young minds in her field of magic. She swore that with her expertise and range of skills she could alter the spells needed in such a way as to make the doll serve all the inhabitants of Killgold Manor equally. The men, the two who were awake, did not doubt her as she had long already proven her talents and continues to deliver on her potential. If it could be done, Abigail's attempt to do it held more promise than most. 

The rest of the night was spent bouncing between this and the subject of the upcoming festival days which Abigail had set as the deadline for her project. And there they sat long into the night. Speaking of nothing in particular. Eventually Lance recouped a great enough share of his faculties to be escorted to his room by jazz who took the opportunity to go to bed himself. Meanwhile Kahel and Abigail continued on. At some point throughout the night they relocated to Abigail's workshop, a large room that was built onto the palace when she first showed an aptitude for magic craft. Here her guardian continued to drink, while she demonstrated the work she had been doing and spoke of what she had yet to do and the materials she still had to obtained. 

It wasn't till they both saw the golden arrows the rising sun shot through the windows of the room that they retired to their respective bedchambers. Abigail went quietly to her room, determined to rest as to approach her work with a fresh mind after a few hours of sleep. Kahel, stinking of wine and tired from the demanding task of living the way he does, crawled into the bed he shared with his beloved who, even in her sleeping state, unconsciously wrapped her arms around her love as she felt his weight hit the bed. He was asleep before his head touched the mattress. 

He woke with a start to the sound of metal repeatedly hitting wood. His reflex was to reach for his sword but as his left hand searched his bed side eventually finding the ruby of his blade, his right hand alerted him to the fact that his bed was empty. This left him confused, and his next thought was to look out the rooms windows to ascertain what time of day it was. Spotting the sun near the apex of its cycle, he deduced that it was near noon and his fiancé, the Lady Samantha Rias, a much more social creature than her future husband, was probably busy entertaining some friend of hers.

The knock came again beating a rhythm Kahel knew on the thick doors of his chamber. He knew the knocker at the least, something he'd have no doubt of in more peaceful times. His drowsy mind slowly places where he first heard the short repetitive tune. He rose out of bed, leaving his sword next to the bed where he found it earlier, and crossed the carpeted floors of his chambers, grabbing the knob on the door, ready to greet whoever it was, though he had an idea.

He shot an almost rhetorical "Who is it?" as he inched the heavy doors ajar. 

There on the other side of his door stood his father looking down on him, for even in his old age the man in the hall was taller than him. He stood there a foot from his son, his hand full of rings gripping the frame of the door as he all but leans over his son. 

"I expected you back at the Red Palace." he said. Kahel heard the mild acrimony in his voice, a tone he knew nearly as well as the pattern of knocks the Lord Karl had played on the doors of the room, the very same he used to play on his bedroom door day after day while Kahel was growing up in the old Amber Palace. Knowing he'd have to apologize by the end of the interaction, he diverted all of his brainpower to understanding his father's grievance.

"And why would you think that father?" Kahel, responded? Not taking care to sound respectful.

Detecting what he interpreted to be attitude in his son's voice Kardinal leaned closer to Kahel's face and spoke through gritted teeth.

"Forgive me. When I sent you off to the most dangerous place in the realms for a titan named Killgold, I didn't feel I had to order you to inform me that you survived-" Kahel stood in silence and looked squarely into his father eyes as he continued, "-a failure of my parenting I presume"

Kahel stared at his father then glanced at his rings. He could still feel the imprint of the Killgold family seal and the cut square ruby on his cheek from his younger days. Meeting his authoritative gaze, the young man apologized in a way he knew would appease his lord father. It worked to simmer him enough to allow Kahel to get dressed in an effort to greet his father properly. Half an hour later, he emerged from his chambers, clad in the deep shade of red his family is known to favor. He and his father made their way to the palaces sitting room as Kahel relayed the events yesterday's meeting with the Lord Aleri, taking care to omit mentions of the door and the armour he had to replace. Kardinal, for his part, listened silently, only briefly looking at his son when the outcome of the meeting was disclosed. By this time they had reached the large doors of the sitting room. Though locked from inside, Kahel could hear voices even through the dense wood. He knocked on the door and called out his own name.

They were granted access by one of the guards on the other side of the doors. The sitting room was decorated with portraits of Killgold lords and ladys and banners of defeated enemies. To the left of the entrance was a series of large bookshelves, a scale model of the city of East Omeni, and a large window overlooking the Lady Samantha's garden. To the right of them stood an old, red piano, imported from lands far away by men long dead. Also on that side of the room was a cabinet made of glass and filled with some of the very best wines money could buy.

The first thing Kahel noticed was the absence of one of his bottles, a 150 year old Vinopian Serbey, was missing as were four of the ten crystal wine glasses that were kept arranged on the top of the cabinet. As the door continues to open, he found the bottle of wine in the hands of one of his butlers. He scanned the scene more as he stepped into the room, finding it ,truly, already occupied.

Inside that room sat the Lady Samantha and engaging her in small talk, to the young lord's surprise, was the king of the land himself, Roger II Angelis. The King spotted them first, catching Kahel's eyes over his fiance's shoulders and gesturing that he and his father join them. The Lord Karl ignored his king's command, walking instead to the window, perching on the sill as he loads his small pipe. No matter. for the invitation was aimed more at the lord of the house. And so he went and sat next to his fiance, paying respect to the kings authority as he did so. After the honors and titles were called by the servant with the wine, the Lady Samantha turned to her groom to be, her expression accusing him before her words got the chance.

"You went to Aleri?", she confronted. And before he could start to defend himself, she continued, "And I have to hear of it from them?", gesturing at the two elder men.

The King begged that she show mercy, but she would not be placated by the notion that there was no time to inform her. 

"Oh, he didn't have time?", she said as her speaking turned to shouting, "So that little red bird that perched on the window and spoke his voice to Jahzel and Lance that wasn't his doing?"

At that the king retreated, turning to the Lord Karl as he cleared his throat in an effort to enlist the lord's help in calming down the lady of the house. Lord Kardinal never so much as looked up from his pipe.

After a thorough verbal barrage of sentiments such as 'what if he were hurt or killed was she to hear that from the King also?' and 'she would not be made to mourn before she was made a bride', the young lord, once again, promised to do better and that again seemed to be all the Lady Samantha needed to hear. Still fuming but relatively satisfied, she stood and strutted out the room, the doors being open before then gliding shut behind her. 

Kahel sat staring at the closed doors, a look somewhere between embarrassment and undying love painted his face before the sound of his father's voice broke the mirage of married life his mind had created.

"So, you told Aleri you'd find the man who killed his brother?

"Hm? Yes, I did."

"Why?", the lord said, yet to take a puff from his pipe, simply holding it between his lips as he spoke.

"Well, no matter how much we say it's not us, no one will believe us until we find the people responsible and hold them accountable, isn't that what you said, father?"

Kardinal didn't react. Instead, he licked the tip of his index finger and used it to draw a symbol on the side of the chamber of his pipe, within seconds smoke rose as the vice inside burned. He inhaled a great breath of smoke and expelled it all while the other men in the room waited on him to speak. After another deep toke, he asked his son how he intended to find the killer the kings' own men couldn't track down. 

"Well, father, unlike the kings' own men--". He stopped himself before he managed to offend his family's old friend. Having rethought his words, he said he didn't know but maintained that he was more than capable of the task. His father didn't doubt him and the king was even more enthusiastic, declaring that all of the Crown's resources were at Kahel's disposal. To this Kahel conveyed his gratitude, even more grateful to the Sacreds that throughout the rather long conversation which followed, neither of his elders had thought to follow the same line of questioning his adopted daughter had the night before. That is before the Lord Karl, ever the inquisitive man, popped the question.

"And clues? What leads have you collected?" the lord asked, moving from the window to stand over his second son as he sat across from the king. 

Recognizing that he would not be able to twist his way out of the question this time, he faced the challenge head on and boldly asserted that as of that time he had no clues, nor even the faintest notion of where to begin looking for them. The king stifled a chuckle as the Lord Karl shook his head, exhaling smoke in irregular shapes as he sighed and cursed under his breath. He stopped inhale a next great breath of smoke and filled the room with a fog of intoxicating fumes. His clean-lunged friend choked a cough back but his son, as he had done for twenty years prior disregarded the pungent grey smoke as though it was fresh air. The lord suggested to his son that someone should go search the room the late Lord Aleri was slain in. Compounding on this idea, King Roger then proposed that Kahel try and get his hand on the sword that was used to do the deed. The sword, the one that was used to pin the lord to his desk. The king wagered that the weapon would offer some semblance of a clue as to who the murder was and maybe even what their motive was. If they were lucky, maybe even the identity of the smith who created the blade could be ascertained. But first they must acquire the cursed thing.

Kahel offered to get it the next day but was told he would be occupied. This confused the young lord as he had not been aware of any engagements that would prevent him from traveling to Aleri, much less any his elders would be privy enough to to remind him of. It was then that the two old men told Kahel his future father-in-law wished to have an audience with him in the city of Goria. This only served to confuse the young man more as him and the lord, Samael Rias, had never maintained such cordiality as to be invited into the lord's home to casually. Accepting this as simply the lord wishing to know that his daughter was safe and being protected, Kahel said he would make an effort to visit once the sword had been retrieved. Again the Lord Karl sighed, and this alone was enough for his son to revise his plan scheduling his visit to Goria City before his stop at Aleri. This plan to was rejected with the Lord Karl finally saying he would send his oldest son an daughter to collect the weapon and search the palace for anything that would get them closer to the killers identity. While they made their way there, Kahel was to go speak to the Viscount of Goria.

Kahel capituated, knowing there was no convincing his father of any other course once he had set his own. Kardinal was a fiercely independent man, and Kahel always thought his fathe would make a better king than any man amed Angeli. A treasonous thought in theory, but the Lord Karl had had as much of a hand in the managing of the Kingdom of Kimion and its lands as King Roger had had in his time wearing the crown. Often time, Kardinal himself had been the one to administrate the region when the King found him self incapable. The lord was a force of nature, a voice like thunder yet a man of few words. His large frame and demeanor of superiority had always given him an air of command. His dark striking eyes set deep in his scared face further accentuated his intimidating visage and now well into his seventies, he wielded not only enormous power, but also the outward look of authority, the temperament and image needed to wield that power to effect. He looked like a man of respect and carried himself like more like a King than a simple Duke. The lord did not tend repeat himself. What he said you did and no one short of the other lords and the royals were ommited from this rule. Least of all his children. Least of them Kahel.

Always seeing him as a reflection of himself even more than his hier apparent and first born Karma, Kardinal sought from the very beginning to instil his own core values in his second son. And to a degree he was successful, as his son carried with him his own aura of superiority and like his father was known to change the atmosphere of a room with nothing but a phrase. But not here. Not to the face of the man he so wanted to emulate in his actions and mannerisms. And so with his lord fathers last command to get himself to Goria to address whatever quarrels the lord of the city may be facing, the young lord rose from his seat, begged his sovereign to stay safe for the sake of the rule of peace , bid his father adieu and left the old men to converse amongst themselves.

While the upcoming festival of the King of The Forest was certainly a topic they both had interest in discussing, all conversations led back to the current blight on the lives of all noble folk in the kingdom. One query rang louder than the rest. Who killed Lord Aleri? It was this topic that the old men found themselves trying to wrap their minds around the day before and also today after Kahel had existed the room. Finally, they revisited it in earnest after the King had called for some wine from the butler. As the king drank and the lord smoked, they homed in on the aspect of the situation they found most important, the safety of the other Great Lords, that is the Lord Rias and Africani.

They first spoke of Lord Africani as his safety was a matter in which he himself was exceptionally experienced so the time spent speaking of it would be negligible. The oldest of the living Great Lords of the kingdom, he had seen his fair share of machinations and scheming and had even been alive to see a few assassinations. He is no stranger to political intrigue. Not only this, but he is an Africani. Not just any but he is the Lord Africani. Pursuant to his family's reputation, Lord Khosa, as he likes to be called, was a decorated soldier, having been awarded dozens of medals and honors back when he was still willing to go out to the field of battle himself to lead his legionaries. After decades on the front lines of any war he could sharpen his sword for, he took on a role of a commander. He has spent the last twenty years of his life behind his own lines planning and strategizing as his ever capable son, Cyrus Kapoti Africani, executes said plans in his place. Lord africani is a man of war, born form it, raised amongst it and lived long enough to become one of the foremost authorities on the subject. And as such, and as he explained during the meeting of the lords the day before, he saw this coming form a mile away. When pressed by the men who consider themselves his peers, he clarified that while no, he did not know the late Lord Aleri would be slain in such a gruesome manner, he knew what the outcome of the years long peace would be.

"It would be what it will always be, for only one thing can come from such a long period of peace. An even longer period of war." Those were the lord's own words.

A false dichotomy, possibly, but he could not be convinced of such. He foresaw war, and the other lords and even the king had to admit to themselves that as his juniors, his wisdom was not worthless on the matter.

"Whatever makes him happy as he locks himself in his city." remarks the king, "If it keeps him safe, may he believe what he wants."

As his inhibitions are lowered from the dent he has made in Killgold Manor's supply of wine, the barrier between his thoughts and what he says becomes blurred. Lord Kardinal, however, remains sober, and he communicates his next sentiments clearly.

"Maybe we need not worry about Khosa. But what about Samael?" the words sloshed about in King Roger's mind

He shrugged.

For protecting the city of Goria will certainly prove to be a daunting task. The city has no standing garrison and a meager standing army. truly the only force of note within the city is the army of the lord of the city, the Viscount Samael V Rias. A soldier in his own right, though nothing like the warmongering Tiberius Khosa Africani, Lord Samael had always employed a mercenary force of almarsian warriors. Nearly ten thousand men strong, they serve the same role as the Killgoldi domestic army and the Alerian white army, policing the city and protecting its population. 

Yet just as the white army coud not protect their lord, the paid swords of Goria should not be expected to either, even though it may be their primary directive. The city has no defensive walls, simply a small, five foot tall wall denoting their border and even this does not encompass the whole city, stretching from the bank of Goria Lake in the west beyond the Goria Gap, the strait of water created a the protrusion of land into the lake, it stretches east as it surrounds the north of the city in a semicircular shape and stops abruptly at the east bank of the blue stream of the K'Thoni river system. Insufficient at best and at worst a welcoming sight to anyone who might want to cause the city, its people or its lord harm. The rest of the border is compromised of the banks of the lake of Goria to the west and southwest, as well as the blue stream and its first distributary to the east and south. Due to the length and irregularities of the city's borders and city's role as a religious center within the kingdom, the city of Goria has never been an easy place to defend. The pilgrims that stop here are often let in without being searched and the gates of the city never close and are frequently left unguarded. So, what is to be done to protect the susceptible city and its lord? 

"Well Kahel is there now maybe we could-" King Roger began to speak but was swiftly cut off by Karl.

"My son will not be used as a shield for your lords, Roger" he spat, then, taking stock of his surroundings, he notes the guards by the door and the servant standing feet away still holding the bottle from which the King drank, he clears his throat and, addressing the king in a calmer voice to keep up at least the appearance respect for the king's authority, he spoke.

"Off the table." he says spitting clouds of vice smoke as he lurches through every syllable of every word. The king took the hint, raising his hand to the servant with the bottle of wine. Removing the pipe from his mouth he dumped the layer of ash on a dark gray spot on the red carpet before he continued

"I will send some troops. I can't spare much, but if I send a bird to Khosa, he'll match however much I send."

"How many men would that be?", the King wondered out loud. He sipped his drink as the lord paused to think. He eventually produced his answer with an unsure tone of voice. Stating he couldn't be sure but anywhere between four and six thousand men. The king did the math out loud. Eight to twelve thousand men. 

"It's not nothing", Kardinal said, expecting the king to say the number was unsatisfactory. instead, King Roger nodded accepting the number pointing out they would add to the mercenaries Lord Rias already employed, bolstering the city's paltry fighting force. Kardinal agreed and sent one of the guards at the door to send for the leader of his legions. He then sent the other one to retrieve pen and paper. While the guards carried out their orders the old friends having concluded the hour's business turned back to more jovial topics like the upcoming festival.