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The Sepulchral Rose	A ghostly blanket of fog hangs across the landscape in the light of another Rosevale morning. There's a slight tension hanging about the town, with some lingering uncertainty around the events that transpired in the weeks previous: strangers arriving to assist in quelling the fishman menace, a celebration of the trade route along the river reopening, and an uncanny plague striking the inn the next day have combined to leave the residents wondering if the opening of doors to outsiders has brought misfortune upon them once more. The arrival of a giant, a teahouse owner who seems to have extended his stay, and the tentacles reported in the river at night have all proved mysteries of their own. Their ruler assured them at her last appearance that all was well, but has not been seen for some days now. It is on this Moonday morning that the drawbridge that crosses between the clifftops above the river lowers, having been raised for some time, and the townsfolk whisper amongst themselves as to whether the Rose may be intending to present herself to them once more. Not long later, though, there's report of a long ship coming up the river, rowed by many massive oars. Traders, one wonders, or something else?
The Pale Harrow	Stirring from his sleep is a certain teahouse owner. One's who's been in town for some days now. He'd originally travelled here in pursuit of a merchant man by the name of Autry Elodie. He's extended his stay here because of the hospitality he's received from the ruler of Rosevale. Since the Comtesse had played a trick on him after he'd come to her home in search of his prey, he's found little reason to leave it. There's delicious food, fine wine and a constant scent of roses. Then there's the company to consider... As he exits the bed he's been sharing with the black-haired beauty who owns it, he wonders where she can have got to. Grabbing a dark robe from the bedpost, he belts it around his trim waist and makes his way through the vast building in search of her whereabouts.
Silver Stream's Whisper	The mist seemed to thicken even as the sun rose, casting grey streams of faded light over the riverbanks. A young boy, more adventurous and daring than the others, had slipped out to poke at the river waters with a stick to look for the rumored tentacles, pausing to listen apprehensively whenever a frog or fish skipped out of the way with a flick of water back at the child in indignation. After about a quarter of an hour, the boy's original fears had given way to boredom, and he planned to go back to his friends, to assure them that there were no such tentacles in the water, and even if there were, the Lady would surely banish them. Then he wondered why the sun had blotted out. Turning slowly back, he was just in time to see a gargantuan hulking shape loom out of the mist, surrounded by smaller shapes that were friskier, jetting around their parent like whirling dervishes of tentacles, eyes, and sharp beaks. An enormous tentacle broke the surface of the water, depositing a thatch-coated fisherman back onto the banks of the river in front of the boy. After inspecting the frozen child for a few quizzical seconds, Silver decided this boy must be smarter and more sensible than others of his age, and flashed him a crooked grin. "What's the matter, lad? Never seen a fisherman ferried by a kraken before?" The boy's eyes bulged as he goggled for several seconds, before he promptly turned tail and ran, wailing about how the man-eating tentacles were back, along with their evil master. Blinking, Silver glanced back over at Pipsqueak, raising an eyebrow. "Man-eating tentacles? How rude. Evil lord? Me? I wouldn't be caught dead as a noble. Perhaps you ought to eat some people, Pipsqueak. What's the point of a bad reputation if you don't make an effort to retain it?" The fisherman glanced idly around at the mist enveloping the river, frowning. Was this natural, precisely? He sniffed, before shrugging. None of his business at the moment. For now....He pulled out his beloved wine gourd, shaking it. Indeed, decidedly low on good wine. And there was nore rosehip wine in a tavern whose owner did owe him life....Time to pay Rosevale another visit, Silver decided as he trooped up towards the village. Even if he was now apparently the evil mastermind of the river tentacles.
The Sepulchral Rose	It's in the sitting room that the Harrow eventually finds the Rose, having already bathed, clothed and coiffed herself. Judging by the strapless gown that she's wearing - a predominantly black number with a heart-shaped bodice and a second red skirt draped from the waist at the back - it seems that she is expecting a visit of some importance. Her hair has been carefully brushed and parted and tied in an intentionally tousled bun, while her pale skin is in its typical unblemished state, appearing as if she's wearing makeup and yet not at the same time. She wears a blackened metal necklace with skull and rose-shaped pendants hung from it on her collar, which no longer bears the ghastly wound it held in the days after the plague appeared, as well as a pair of blackened skulls that dangle from the skirt cinch at the front of her waist. "Ah, you've recovered," the Rose says as she looks up at Harrow from a book that she's reading. "I'm expecting a delivery. Since you're awake, you may join me in greeting it if you wish." She puts the book down on the side table as one of the sentinels of the Sepulchre walks into the room. "Comtesse, the ship has nearly arrived. How many of our number do you require to greet it?" "Only a few," the Comtesse replies as she stands up and stretches her arms and back with a popping sound. "Come with me, then." The skirts trail behind her as she crosses the room to the door, glancing over her shoulder at the Harrow. "If you're coming, you'll need to dress quickly." Meanwhile, in town, few are particularly paying attention to the boy and his tale of the Tentacle Man. They're much more concerned with the approach of the vessel, which looks large enough to carry dozens of to a hundred or more men. Some of the farmers and a familiar mining guildmaster have assembled at the town's main jetty, largely disused in recent times, but rightly anticipated as the destined mooring point of the rowing vessel. Some guardsmen marked as mercenaries of the Guild are the first to disembark once a gangway has been lowered by the crew. They're greeted by some of the sentinels already stationed in the town. "Where is the... Comtesse of Rosevale?" another man in more mercantile attire asks, unfurling a scroll and eyeing the gathered peasantry. From all appearances, there are more people in the boat than out of it in this village.
The Pale Harrow	Each time that the Harrow sets eyes on the Rose he's freshly stunned by her appearance. Not that this is evident from the calm expression of neutrality on his handsome face. "You're looking very fancy." He voices, taking in the whole ensemble. "I'm feeling somewhat underdressed." As she tells of her plans and invites him to join her, Harrow is swift in slipping back upstairs to set about getting dressed. When he returns, he's in a simple black shirt and pants with a long black coat worn over them. As usual his battered black boots with laces adorned by silver skulls are on his feet. "Are these the arrivals from Nexus we'll be greeting?" He questions, curious about the possibility of others from his home city being present. Perhaps there'll even be some familiar faces amongst their number. If that's the case then he will have to be cautious to conceal his former identity.
Silver Stream's Whisper	After paying a quick trip to the tavern to get a refill of the best vintages the Rosevale tavern had to offer, Silver had infiltrated the crowd fairly easily, although he was muttering darkly underneath his breath about children and their shamelessly terrible nicknames for upstanding fishermen. He kept a curious, although fairly bored gaze on the Guild ship. What were they doing here? Beyond the Rose, nobody was rich enough to buy anything worth sending a whole craft downriver. There did seem to be an awful lot of people on that boat, however....And Silver thought he could see the glint of metal around the wrists of a few. A faint frown crossed his lips as he adjusted his fishing rod slowly, wrapping a finger around his fishing line before letting it fall. No, remember the rules, he chided himself. Slaves were common in the world, and it was a reality he understood quite well. He hadn't expected the Rose to be a purveyor of human flesh, but....His mind went back to what she'd tried to do to the inn's patrons. Perhaps her patron meant that she wasn't quite as kind or compassionate as he'd thought. Either way, Silver decided, there was no harm in settling back and watching the action from here. Of course, there were very few fishermen like Silver, and most had already gone out to the river to ply their trade, meaning that he was very easily spotted amongst the crowd, and had already attracted quite a few glances, but the fisherman remained blithely oblivious, believing he was camouflaged amongst the crowd.
The Sepulchral Rose	"Indeed. I was told that they would arrive today," the Rose says as she leads the Harrow and her knightly escort out of the black fortress. "Though I'm sure that you've already ascertained as much, given your explorations." The implied accusation is accompanied by a smirk. Even from a distance, down below, the emergence of the Rose from the Black Sepulchre is obvious, the trail of vibrant red behind her on the bridge like a signal flag against the grey Rosevale sky. In all, a dozen sentinels walk with her, two rows of three ahead and two rows of three behind, with the Harrow in step with the Rose - a fact that does not go unnoticed by the townsfolk for its implications. "Good merchant, I am the Rose, Comtesse of this domain. I trust that your journey here has been pleasant enough." "Ah, Comtesse -" The merchant, one of Elodie's underlings, appears quite awestruck by the Comtesse, despite the many mentions of her appearance by Autry upon his return to Nexus. Gathering himself, he says, "Yes, Comtesse Rose. The waters have been quiet. We have your shipment here." Unfurling his manifest once more, he announces, "One hundred men and women in irons, all able of body. You may inspect them before making good on the remaining payment, if you wish." "Please, allow them to disembark," the Rose says. "I will inspect them personally while my guards prepare the corresponding shipment. Fifty barrels of Rosevale mead, fifty barrels of rosehip wine, and two hundred cut roses. I trust you've been informed of shipping instructions for the roses?" "Yes. We're to keep them below decks," the merchant says as he examines his scroll. "Odd to be shipping roses as far as Nexus. I'll be amazed if they haven't withered by the time they get there." "They won't have, as long as the instructions are followed," the Rose assures the merchant. An unsubtle glance is sent the familiar fisherman's way in recognition as both sides begin the exchange, but the Rose doesn't approach or address him as of yet, instead turning her blue eyes back to study the men and women as they're marched off of the boat one by one, her lips pursed in consideration.
The Pale Harrow	Harrow almost halts as he realises Rose is on to him regarding his extensive searching of the Sepulchre. Whenever he's believed her to have vacated the building, he's seized the opportunity to try and locate any useful information or items that he can pass on to his liege. Despite being away from Stygia, he's not forgotten where his true loyalties lie. Instead he continues on, laughing lightly as if the suggestion is a silly one. "You're too suspicious, Rose. How would you know such things anyway, unless you've had people spying on me?" Any gazes that fall upon him as he walks by the Comtesse's side, almost as if they were equal, are coolly ignored. He's never been someone to concern himself with the opinions of others, so he's not likely to start now when he's surrounded by strangers. He stays silent as Rose engages with the merchant, watching the exchange with interest. Only when the slaves start to emerge from the ship does he show any emotion. "I trust you will treat them well." He murmurs to his companion, feeling slightly sickened by the sight of them in their steel restraints. As for the mysterious roses, Harrow has been sensing something strange about them for some time now. Their beauty never seems to wilt and fade. He'd mentioned his suspicions in the message he sent back to The Black Heron, via the ghost of his uncle he'd summoned on the night of his arrival in this place. As yet he's heard nothing in return, but he's confident that word will come soon.
Silver Stream's Whisper	A quick grin flashed underneath the familiar wide-brimmed hat as Silver spotted Rose, his gaze becoming faintly more intrigued when he saw someone with her. Hmm, he looked almost as pale as she. Godblooded by a minor deity of death, or funeral rites? or.....That? Lost in thought, he frowned, scanning the village for any signs of sickening. Perhaps he had really been wrong, too lost in memories of the past? A new spike of annoyance flared briefly through him, burning away any such thoughts. It was annoying. He was Silver Stream's Whisper, nobody else. His life was his own, free to do as he wished, and certainly no business of any god, not even his divine patron Luna's. A second later, however, he overheard just what Rose was paying for the slaves, and he let out a polite, restrained noise of discomfort at the thought. Well, a polite, restrained noise of discomfort from his point of view. In the crowd, it sounded suspiciously like someone had said, "What in the name of sainted crabs-" before cutting themselves off in an indignant tone at the thought of so much fine wine being wasted. His little outburst meant that Silver had to slip out of the crowd before people spotted him, now that they were murmuring confusedly, wondering what was to come of their village if so many newcomers came in chains. Were their lady to abandon them for those whose loyalty was assured in bonds of steel? Of course, beneath his surface-level indignation at the wine being spent, he was also curious what role those slaves played. They were an awful lot of new mouths to feed, perhaps too much for a village like Rosevale. But if they were sacrifices for some ceremony, or simply as a new, undead workforce....Well, then they didn't need to be fed, now did they? Once he was on the edge of the crowd, Silver skirted towards the new slaves to get a better look at them, wrinkling his nose at the smell that washed off of them. The stink of quiet despair wasn't drowned out by a few buckets of riverwater, even if they had been fattened and cleaned up a bit before sale, to make them more presentable.
The Sepulchral Rose	"How, indeed?" That had been all that the Rose had had to say further on the matter in that moment. Whether it was genuine knowledge, a jest, or simple fishing on a suspicion, it apparently hadn't been enough to warrant repercussions or public discussion. Presently, the Rose draws in a slow breath at the Harrow's words, then releases it, making no further comment. The parade continues, each man and woman reacting a little differently to the Rose's gaze, ranging from fascination to fear - though there is a meekness to all of them that is not unexpected amongst those forced to toil to survive. Once they've all unboarded, a hundred men and women in chains stand across from dozens of citizens of Rosevale, eyeing each other in equal apprehension. "And the keys to their shackles?" the Rose finally asks the merchant, turning her gaze on him. "Here you are, Your Majesty - I mean, Comtesse," the man says, pulling out an iron ring with several keys hanging on it. "All the same - all the keys will open any of the shackles. Our usual way for large orders like these," he explains. "Excellent. I will leave you and your men to the task of loading your goods. I believe our business has been concluded," the Rose says, before turning to walk toward the edges of the crowd. She chants quietly as she trudges, until, with a great sound of rumbling below, a fist of bone thrusts its way up from the soil. Abruptly, many heads turn toward the Rose and what appears to be her growing shadow cast across the empty space between the masses. The fist opens like a blossom, forming the shape of a throne of ivory, a skull at the head of its middlemost finger. The Rose climbs into it, taking on an even greater majesty as light spills from the skull's sockets, matched by a cold fire flashing behind the Rose's icy eyes as she speaks with the command of the god-kings. "People of Rosevale, you have known me as your Comtesse since I came to you. I have guided you in the resurrection of your town from the ashes that remained of it. However, it is in unity with all of you that this bounty was raised, and by right, you should share in its recompense. Do you accept this offering of slaves, that they should serve you, so you may all live as the lords of other lands?" There's an uncertainty about the crowd as they look at each other. The slaves, on the other hand, appear to be nervous as to where this is going.
The Pale Harrow	Harrow can't help but scan the hundred, looking for any sign of a familiar face amongst them. It is with some relief that he recognises none amongst their number. Watching the Comtesse in action, Harrow muses on how different she seems in this mode to the woman he had witnessed on the evening he arrived in Rosevale. Back then she'd been more like a beautiful and bawdy barmaid, and their times in private together had also been without this formality she now conveys to the gathered crowd. Although the bone throne Rose plants her delectable derriere on is a familiar sight to the investigator, her manner of summoning it does take him by surprise. Upon sitting on it, she seems to become enthused by an extra level of grandness and regal authority, causing her to radiate importance to her citizens. As she starts to speak he scans the faces of those gathered, gaging their reaction to what she has to say. For his part, Harrow is uncertain about what exactly Rose's plan might be. He decides to let it play out before making any comment on the matter.
Silver Stream's Whisper	"I mean, it wouldn't be unreasonable." Silver muttered thoughtfully to himself, settled comfortably against the wall of a nearby building, eyes scanning over the crowd. He smelled a rat, of course, for she hadn't mentioned how one was to keep their slaves fed, or what they were to be used for, but if she was being serious.....Hmmm, he supposed he would have no opinion on it. Those slaves would have gone to someone if Rose didn't buy them, and they were hers to use. Better than being sacrificed, at any rate. Meanwhile, the crowd milled around uncertainly, before the whispers began. Some casted avaricious eyes towards the slaves. Being commoners, they were offered generational wealth that only Realm patricians might normally enjoy, if to a much lesser degree. A slave could keep a household's future more secure, and there was no such thing as not needing an extra worker. In the fields, in their home, or even in bed, there was always things for a good obedient slave to do. But many of the others in the crowd were confused at the sudden proposal given to them. They served the Comtesse, and had loyalty for her only. To rise above their own stations, closer to her exalted position, seemed....Wrong. And an undercurrent of wariness overlaid every member of the crowd, for they were all wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, she was replacing them with the slaves. Was their loyalty not enough? Was this a test or a boon? Would their Comtesse be so cruel as to give them a test? What would it mean for Rosevale's future? The questions only deepened, fuelling growing uncertainty. In the end, not a single citizen stepped forward, all of them turning expectant gazes to the Comtesse. She had led them to life out of death, brought Rosevale back. She could surely decide for them, could she not? Rosevale was hers, and she was Rosevale. It was only right. "Idiots. She's soft enough to probably let you take one, maybe. Although I'd take the cask of wine she traded for them." Silver chuckled quietly towards the crowd, shaking his head. He turned his gaze back to Rose, raising an eyebrow. Would she prove him right, wrong, or neither?
The Sepulchral Rose	One of the citizens finally does step forward. The master of the mining guild, a stocky fellow past his prime but determined not to show it despite his limp, looks as though the simmering anger that he's holding back from his face is trying to escape through his eyes and the quaking of his hand around his walking cane. "No, I don't believe we do, My Lady. Rosevale has never been home to slaves. It has always been a place where men and women are free to profit by their own labours. Before you returned to us, we all took an equal share in what the earth gave us, and the same goes for now, save the tithes we pay to the Sepulchre. So I'll not be taking any slaves, as if they were cattle, like they do down the river." There seems to be a murmur of assent amongst the populace, though they remain mostly quiet, waiting for and perhaps fearing the Rose's response to the miner. "You speak true, Harlan Deepstone," the Rose says as she turns to address the slaves as other voices are silenced against her own. Her dark majesty only seems to grow as she holds aloft the ring of keys and declares, "I have enthroned myself thus that each of you may be given a choice. As has been said by the master of our mining guild, Rosevale is not a place for slaves. Therefore, all among you who choose to swear fealty to Rosevale and its Comtesse shall no longer live as slaves, so long as you keep our laws. Those who choose this freedom and to share in our prosperity as equals may do so by kneeling before your Comtesse."
The Pale Harrow	Harrow immediately recognises Harlan as one of his drinking companions from his first evening in Rosevale. The man seems somewhat unsteady on his feet yet still holds himself with some dignity and pride. Harrow's height gives him an advantage when seeing all of the events unfold, standing head and shoulders above the vast majority of the crowd. As the miner speaks, the detective notes the anger on his face. His feelings on the matter are clear in both his words and demeanour and as he refuses to go along with the Comtesse's plan, others in the crowd chime in to back him up, amongst them the two farmers who Harrow was also seated with following his arrival in town. When Rose pipes up, some of them are silenced, whilst others remain sceptical. Harrow himself is heartened to hear that these men and women will not be working for free but instead will have a shot at freedom. A slight smile appears on his angular face and he has an urge to reach out and touch the Comtesse. He manages to restrain himself, unlike the slaves who start to drop to their knees in a desperate bid to show their service to their new mistress. The sight is a striking one, as soon every slave is bowed before Rose. One brave soul, a young woman with russet curls boldly speaks up. "I will willingly work for you, my lady. Thank you for this opportunity for us to begin anew."
Silver Stream's Whisper	Despite himself, there was a small smile tugging at Silver's lips. He clapped silently from the side, tilting his hat up to raise an eyebrow queryingly at Rose, not in a very subtle manner at all. He was mildly surprised that she wasn't planning to use them in one ritual or another, but for now, it seemed like he had not misjudged her. "Precisely the sort of thing a bleeding heart might do, but a bleeding heart in the grasp of the Deathlords is nought but a bad joke." He remarked faintly sadly to himself. Something hummed at the back of his mind. She had been a bleeding heart too, no? The smile fell as he shook his head briefly, trying to get rid of the intrusive thought. It was annoying, how much he was thinking of someone whom he had no relation to, who had been dead for millenia. He didn't even know her name, and yet her ghost haunted his present life. He'd need to deal with it, one way or another. For now, however, he observed the slaves and the crowd, searching for any signs of disloyalty or discontent. None that he could see. Citizen and slave, all were equal now in the fact that they were underneath the Rose's rule. "The only thing that's not completely taken in by her is her paramour. Does he also have a ghost around his soul, or is it simply something considerably darker and simpler?" Tapping the side of his forehead, Silver's eyes briefly glittered with azure light as he glanced around, checking the world beyond the veil for any spirits lurking in the shadows.
The Sepulchral Rose	The Rose smiles faintly at the sight of the people bowing down in both their eagerness for freedom and what she knows to be their awe at her benevolence. She turns her eyes to Silver as he gives his questioning look, smiling a little further. Her eyes turn to Harlan, and she whispers something to one of her knights, who approaches to take the keys from her, then carries them over toward the guildmaster. "Unbind their shackles, and give the keys to any who would aid you," she calls out to the old man. Then, she murmurs to one of her other knights, "Collect the shackles and the keys once they've finished and take them to the Sepulchre's lower levels. We may require them someday." The Comtesse gives Harlan and the others who crowd to assist him some time and space for their task, relaxing slightly on her throne with a soft exhalation. As she's relaxing, the merchant approaches with a look of surprise on his face. "You're letting them go free? Here I thought you'd shown some real business acumen, getting a deal like that -" He seems to only just notice that she's conjured a skeletal throne when she turns her head up to look at him, jumping back slightly and fumbling with his manifest. "I mean - well, it's your prerogative, of course, Your Majesty. I mean, Comtesse." He's not the only one scratching his head in bemusement - several of the guards and crew working for the Guild are either doing the same or looking like they want to. "I do not keep my people in shackles when they've committed no crime," the Rose contends. "Well, some of them have," the merchant admits awkwardly. "Not against me," the Rose replies with a chilling smile, as though that were all that mattered. Turning to the crowd, she addresses them. "All of you who are new citizens of Rosevale are to report to the castle atop the cliff once you've been greeted. The rest shall all be welcome to join them at the Sepulchre tonight. I will be hosting a party tonight to which you are all welcome." Perhaps surprisingly, there seem to be few spirits or ghosts to speak of in the town's heart. But, he will notice something otherwise unseen - a large god, swollen and fishlike in its appearance, lurking just atop the surface of the river and watching the goings-on with what looks like malice in its eyes. When it seems to notice that someone is looking its way, it sinks down below the waterline, swimming down the river without so much as a ripple to reveal its presence to those unattuned to the occult.
The Pale Harrow	Harrow is an observant sort of man. As Rose looks towards Silver, the detective's blue eyes seek him out too, wondering about his identity. The idea to keep the shackles seems smart. One never knows when prisoners may need to be secured. The Nexus native can't help but enjoy the bafflement of the merchant as he dares to question the Comtesse's choice. It's always amusing to see his sort put in their place. The cowardly creature soon backs off when he realises just what he's dealing with. The revelation that some of the slaves have committed crimes before is not too surprising to Harrow. Most of them have likely engaged in misdemeanours to support themselves and make sure they could eat that day. There is one amongst them though who is quite a different creature. The muscular man with the jagged scar down his forearm is close enough to Harrow that the Abyssal can see the bloodstains on the palms of his broad hands. Blinking several times, Harrow looks again, this time seeing nothing but the coarse rough skin of the liberated slave. So this one has taken a life. Under what circumstances he does not know at present, but if he's planning to stay in Rose's haven, the investigator intends to find out. Talk turns to this evening's party, which could be the perfect chance for Harrow to find some time alone with the murderer and discern whether he is likely to be a threat to the town. "I'll look forward to the celebrations." He says in hushed tones, feeling the satisfying stirrings of someone about to embark on a new mission.
Silver Stream's Whisper	The party was sufficient emphasis for Silver to sidle over towards them, looking highly innocent and doing his best to appear like he was a citizen of Rosevale. Nothing on Creation could keep Silver from wine if it was promised to be free, plentiful, and good. "Talking anything but money to a Guildsman is bound to be unproductive, Comtesse. That's why their ship is ill-fated to sail down this river. I predict many unfortunate mishaps with their cargo, especially since it is so high-quality." He remarked cheerily, grinning at the merchant, who colored and blinked, looking at Silver as if a particularly repellent slug had acquired the power of speech. Dismissing the merchant with a particularly eloquent wave that might have been a certain rude hand gesture, he turned back to bow theatrically towards the Rose. "I'll enjoy attending the celebration, as long as there is wine in abundance?" Silver inquired hopefully, before nodding back over at the river. "Can't say I have much hope for the cleanliness of your waters, though, my lady. You might want to make sure nothing polluted sails back up to Rosevale. But it's none of a poor fisherman's business, whose life is forever cold, dreary, and bereft of even life's smallest comforts." Pausing, Silver swigged from his newly refilled wine gourd, before speaking in quieter tones, nodding towards the slaves. "Bravo, Comtesse. But there will be growing pangs. Let us hope you rule with the same keen sense that you always have had. And who is your noble friend? Introductions are in order, I'd hope. That's usually how these things go in polite society, anyways."
The Sepulchral Rose	The Rose's smile is magnanimous and gracious, radiant as Luna's face at night - right up until the point where Silver mentions that the cargo ships are ill-fated to sail down the Rock. A clear shift in her expression is there, just for a moment. "That would be most unfortunate, as I've wagered Rosevale's reputation on the reopening of trade along this part of the Rock. They might not see fit to allow more trade to flow if it proves especially dangerous." Her tone suggests that she is making a joke, reassuring the merchant, but her eyes on Silver indicate that her displeasure would be quite serious. "We've plenty of wine left for the celebrations, which shall avail more than the smallest of comforts," she assures Silver as the matter shifts, "and a friend of Rosevale is as welcome as a resident." She turns her head toward Harrow. "This is Lord Harrow, a tea magnate of Nexus. He'll have to regale you of his teahouse empire at the party this evening." She winks up at the black-clad man. "As for myself, I must make preparations and greet the new residents. I expect I shall see you at the party, good fisher." As she rises from her ivory seat, she gives a small wave, then starts to withdraw to the manse, leaving the throne behind - perhaps to remain as a memorial to the edict of freedom that's been issued. Almost right away, a young child runs up and climbs on the throne, peering up at Silver in wonder. "Are you really the Tentacle Man?" Once all of the former slaves have been allowed into the Black Sepulchre, its drawbridge and gates close for the afternoon. What transpires within over the course of the day is unknown from those outside, but as the evening begins to draw in, the illumination of the castle's interior and courtyard is visible from a distance, a faintly grey-green glow against the dark night sky. Just before sunset, the drawbridge lowers and the gate opens. Sentinels descend from the Sepulchre to announce their news to each household and business: "The Rose requests that all celebrants convene in the Sepulchre. Follow if you require guidance." It's perhaps a slightly eerie sight to see so many leaving their homes and places of work to join into a train of party-going peasants under the ascending moon, but for them, the eerie is the familiar. Greeting those who enter the courtyards will be the sight of the blooming rosebushes, freshly manicured; more roses that have been cut have been placed amongst the statuary that fills it, heightening the sense of decor. Torches have been lit throughout to bathe the courtyard in their green light. Many of those from the boat are standing at the ready along the central path of the courtyard, having been dressed in more suitable attire for a party, having been instructed to greet those arriving. Others appear to be presenting offerings of mead and wine for guests. The central keep has not yet opened, providing time for the partygoers to congregate in the grounds.
The Pale Harrow	The tea magnate does not make his way back to the Sepulchre with Rose and the new residents of Rosevale. Instead he chooses to linger behind in the village, taking the opportunity to revisit the room he had rented in The Pick and Plow. Despite the fact he's been staying up at the Sepulchre since he snuck in to it on his first night in the town, he'd felt the need to keep this space as a safety net. As he steps into the room, the bed is neatly made by one of the inn's staff and there's a vase of the now familiar roses that he sees everywhere he goes. He stops to inhale their scent, wondering what The Black Heron made of his message about the blooms and other matters. Surely she will send word soon. Until then he will remain in Rosevale. Harrow takes the time to bathe and change, dressing in dark clothes almost identical to the ones he'd removed. Neither fine or fancy, they are of good quality and flatter his tall angular body in the way they hang on his frame. Not a vain sort of man, he spares only a brief glance in the looking glass before moving downstairs to join the locals in the bar. He will pass time away here amicably until it's time for the party to begin. Some hours later, he finds himself walking alongside a group of miners he hadn't previously met before. Full of enthusiasm and energy for the evening ahead, they anticipate what the Comtesse's home will look like on the inside. After a few minutes of animated chatter on the subject, one of them recalls that Harrow can likely let them know. "Of course you'll have been inside already. As far as her bedroom if the rumours are true." The youngest of the miners remarks. "You can't be talking like that about the Comtesse." A ruddy-faced and red-haired man responds. "He's not going to tell her, are you?" A third directs at Harrow. "The lad's been drinking with us all day, so we know we can trust him." For his part Harrow simply smiles, taking his long strides towards their destination. "You'll see the place for yourself soon." He finally adds. "Now pick up the pace before its been drank dry." Before long the band of men with others close behind them cross the courtyards. Once again roses fill the investigator's senses with their presence. "She sure knows how to put on a show." He murmurs to himself as he accepts a glass of mead from a freshly washed former slave.
Silver Stream's Whisper	Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Silver gave a theatrical sigh at the implicit warning not to attack the Guildsman's craft later. "Poor Pipsqueak. Just think of the misbegotten, abandoned little thing, clustered at the river bottom, waiting in the cold, wet current with nary a sip of alcohol to wet his beak while his owner celebrates above the tides. And to think, he'll be bereft of even the promise of a bit of liquid comfort at the end of this evening, when the merchantman slips dock. Truly, my lady, you are cold to abandon such an adorable creature so. Plus, remember, he's a newlywed father, so he'd probably need some wine. I'll just have to bring some back for him after the party ends, I suppose." Nodding merrily over at Harrow, Silver's eyes scrutinized him for a few seconds, before entering into a theatrical, greatly affected bow. "As she says, I'm just a fisherman, who's currently using Rosevale as a pit stop on my journeys for their excellent hospitality and better wine. Now, I should go back and explore the bar's-" Silver was cut off by the child who had perched on the throne, offering such a question so innocently. Silver looked into the child's guileless, wide, wondrous eyes, still young and untainted by the world's darkness. He reflected that he was quite a bit older than he looked, and that being one of Luna's chosen, he ought to be understanding of mortal children. So he took a deep breath.....And nodded solemnly. "Indeed I am, and you're still within range of said tentacles, so be good or else the Tentacle Man will snatch you out from your bed and feed you to a nest of parakeets." Walking away as the child ran to tell his friends about the Tentacle Man's dire threats, he reflected that village children probably had no idea what a parakeet was, but it wasn't his job to educate anyways. ============================================================= As the bar received their summons, Silver headed out into the night with the local regulars from said tavern, still chattering away merrily. He seemed to fit in well with the working class, although there was a hint of distance and implicit privacy between him and the mortals. They knew he was something else at this point, but as long as he was benign to Rosevale, and paid up his tab, it wasn't their concern to pry into hhis business. After examining the newly attired slaves, Silver moved around, collecting a copious quantity of wine for himself. Some of it disappeared into the gourd underneath his coat, others past his lips. He seemed to drink at a reasonable pace, not too fast, not too slow....But he never seemed to stop drinking.
The Sepulchral Rose	The Sepulchre's guardians - the same as provide protection to the town - seem not to have changed their garb, even on this festive occasion, from the armour, tabards and visors that they always sport. Most take station in inconspicuous places along the outer walls to surveil the proceedings quietly once they've finished escorting their charges into the grounds. The group arriving from the tavern are greeted by a small group of those who've come from the boat. Amongst them is a pleasant-faced young woman now wearing a dress in a similar style to that of the Rose's 'everyday' wear, who addresses Harrow and Silver in particular by seeming coincidence of proximity. "Hello! I'm Merrill. The Rose would like you to know that she will be joining us shortly, and to please accept a drink courtesy of the Comtesse. She's also asked that I offer to answer any questions that you may wish." She looks expectantly at both, though she doesn't deign to suggest what those questions might be. At the same time, a man approaches with a tray of glasses with mead and rosehip wine. "I am Darius," he greets the men, seeming less enthusiastic. Though his forearms are hidden under sleeves of wool, he might be of note to the Harrow as the figure he'd glimpsed stained with blood earlier in the day.
The Pale Harrow	There's an air of anticipation all around as more and more residents of Rosevale spill into the courtyard. They've come dressed in their finest fashions, which for most still consists of simple garments, but the intention is there. They are making an effort to be their best selves. Merrill earns herself a nod of acknowledgement from Harrow, followed by a slow smile. As she speaks to he and those close to him he notices the fisherman. "It's good to see you again. I don't believe I caught your name when we encountered each other earlier." His blue eyes flit between he and the pretty woman, pondering whether he does have any questions to ask her. He's not sure she could provide him with answers to much beyond the plans for the party, given she's only just arrived in town. "If I think of anything I'll let you know." He decides, sipping from his spiced mead. When Darius joins them, Harrow's tone is subtly cooler. The man's muscles and scar may be hidden behind his smart shirt right now but there's no denying he's the one with blood on his hands. Or at least to the finely tuned eyes of the detective. "I've got a drink, thanks. I'll be sure to let you know if I need another."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Merrill, is it? You look well. Resilient, given your prior position. I'm Silver Stream's Whisper." Nodding over at Harrow, Silver scooped up two glasses from Darius' tray, draining one with a single gulp like a pelican tossing a mackerel back, before retaining the second glass for steadier savoring. Taking a third glass, he offered it out to Merrill. "Two questions for you, Merrill. You can hold onto that glass, silly to be at a party and refrain from drinking, no? Think of it as a chance to sample what Rosevale's exporting." "First, have you seen any dandelions in the castle? Second, what have the newly freed servants been chattering about? I imagine nothing much yet, but after they've got time to settle in and get accustomed to their situation, they might have some thoughts about why exactly the Rose was so kind to them, and her reputation for certain practices. Don't be shy, or do, I don't care too much." Turning over to Darius, Silver raised a glass to him. "You too, my good man. You appear like you've lifted a few bricks in your day. Go on, don't be shy to gossip. Gossiping's about the only polite activity you can do here, although there's several impolite activities which are a good deal more fun, if somewhat illegal in the legal and moral sense."
The Sepulchral Rose	Merrill smiles at Harrow, then takes the glass that's offered to her, looking slightly wide-eyed at the suggestion. Perhaps it's a matter of falling back into old expectations that causes her to hesitate. After a moment, though, she reasons aloud: "Well, she did say that we are free now, so I suppose that it won't harm." The lass takes a sip from the mead and considers Silver's questions as her lips purse in surprise at the flavour. "Oh, that is nice. Ehm, I don't think I've seen any dandelions. Only roses, really. And as for chatter, I suppose everyone's just been wondering what will come next. She's told us that we're all to have our own houses, except the ones who are to live in the Sepulchre as her servants. After she spoke to us for a while about Rosevale and its history and its future, she had us each taking turns to speak to her alone. Then she gave us all jobs for the night and had us get ready for the party. She did say that this doesn't mean we're of lesser station or that we can't leave, just that we have a role here. After all, the ghosts couldn't do all the serving for this many people." Darius looks down from the Harrow at himself, then up at Silver when he's addressed. "I'm no gossip. I miss the boat. At least everyone stayed quiet." He sneers aside at Merrill, who doesn't seem to take any notice. "Oh! My back's still sore from rowing, even after a warm bath. I-" She's interrupted by the ominous rumble of stone scraping against stone as the doors to the Black Sepulchre slowly open. The sound of a chorus resonates from within the darkness inside the manse as the Comtesse comes into silhouetted view, flanked by the baleful glow of torches that ignite as she nears and extinguish as she passes. As they light up, it becomes visible that there are servants inside lining the corridor who are responsible for the wordless song, more adding their voices to the harmony until she finally emerges into the moonlight, the harmonies resolving into a single chord before fading away. "Welcome, citizens of Rosevale, to my abode! Tonight, it is yours as well. Food has been prepared, the doors are open, and most importantly, there is more wine inside." The Comtesse manages to find Silver with this last revelation and winks at him. "So, come in, find a place to sit or stand with your companions, and your meals shall be brought around by Marta's assistants. "Marta? She's here?" a farmer that Silver or Harrow might recognise as Edric Thornholt says with surprise, clutching his hat against his chest. He's looking much better, having recovered from his earlier illness. "Yes, she is," the Rose states, "but very busy right now. I'm sure she will be able to entertain a visit later. Now, come; best not to let the food grow cold." As she says as much, the torchlights within all illuminate together, warming the ambience inside with cool tones. The Rose stands to one side of the door to greet each of the guests as they enter.
The Pale Harrow	Harrow observes the chatter between Silver and Merrill, seeming faintly amused. Perhaps he is, perhaps he's not. His mouth sometimes has a habit of forming into a smirk without him intending it to do so. "Silver Stream's Whisper." He repeats, seeming to be testing the name out. "That's a colourful title to be carrying around. Is it okay if I call you Silver?" The detective is interested in what Merrill's responses will be to the questions asked of her. He knows not why Silver would want to know about dandelions when there's so many beautiful roses around but the second question is the sort that he may have asked himself if he'd considered the matter long enough. When the fisherman addresses Darius, Harrow's attention returns there, contemplating who's life the man may have taken. Of course there are many reasons someone can be driven to murder and not all of them are malicious ones. Perhaps he'd have participated in such an act himself only a few short nights ago, if Rose hadn't taken the place of Elodie in his chamber. Merrill begins to chatter back to Silver and Harrow does listen, though his eyes stay mainly on Darius. Only the entrance of the Comtesse can cause him to tear his gaze away. Talk about dramatic. The woman comes with her own chorus? He starts to find himself laughing and brings his arm up to stifle it with his sleeve. As the hungry citizens begin to make their way through the door. ready to indulge in the cuisine cooked by the legendary Marta, Harrow falls in to step with them. When it's his turn to pass by Rose, he compliments her. "You're looking spectacular as always. Perhaps later we can share a dance together."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"That's perfectly alright, Mr. Magnate. Friends call me Silver, and until I owe you money, you're a friend!" For some reason, Silver seemed to be rather relieved that there weren't any dandelions in the castle, relaxing a hint in terms of his body posture. Chuckling over at Darius, the fisherman tapped his rod irreverently against the man's temple. "You're a cheerful one, aren't you? Look on the bright side. You can join the side of the bright, cheerful, and naive, or be honored to be elevated as one of Rosevale's sentinels. You look like someone who could handle a weapon, no? Although knighthood here might not be what you'd expect." His conversation was broken off by Rose's arrival, and the promise of even more wine was plenty of incentive for Silver to begin making his way into the hall. However, first he reached into his thatch coat, before depositing a bundle of wriggling crimson growths that looked like very angry seaweed into Merrill's free hand. "Your back's still sore, eh? Rowing will do that to the uninitiated. Eating one of these should make it better. Don't hoard them all, share them around with your friends. The best medicine is taken when it's still alive, or is it the best medicine is bitter? I can't remember, but this is both alive and bitter, which means it's supremely effective medicine. Even Realm Dynasts don't get this quality of treatment." Mostly because a Realm Dynast, looking at this, would have executed their doctor for suggesting it as a cure. Still, it was either an actual medicine, or Silver was playing a prank on the general serving staff within the castle. Still, he didn't seem to care if Merrill used his impromptu gift or not, filing in line to be let into the hall. He managed to slip in next to Edric, throwing an arm around the farmer's shoulders. "Ho, Edric! You look much better. Introduce me to the lovely Marta when you can, and more importantly, the stocks she's no doubt distributing from the Rose's personal cellars. Hopefully it should be more interesting than what we down at the tavern."
Ignis	As the gates to the courtyard open up and the party begins in earnest, a certain adventuring relic hunter and Scavenger Lord makes his way through the gathered crowd with confident footfalls and a steady approach towards the food, fun and ....games? He hopes there are games... Yes, Ignis has returned to Rosevale. It's been a space of time since he last wandered through here, in search of companions who had thankfully managed by avoid being plagued upon by the Fishmen or thrown into the dungeons on account of insult and trespass upon sacred grounds. He did end up eventually finding them and doing so with quite the story to tell for it. Now? Now he returns - once more passing through the Southern Kingdoms on business of his own but drawn.....curiously...towards this place. Drawn towards its ruler and her influence over the land and...perhaps more then that. The crowds and the festivities do catch him by surprise but it's not unwelcome and as he wanders through he casts his gaze here and there in search of any familiar faces but ultimately moves to follow along with the flow of the crowd towards The Comtesse. As to him? He is easily spotted, well enough, by his garb if nothing else. Armed, though his weapons are appropriately peace bound, hints of gold decorative elements along his lengthy dark travelers coat and armor partially covered by his tunic and trousers. Richly dressed more or less despite the dust of the long road upon his form.
The Sepulchral Rose	"Aye, I can handle a weapon," Darius comments on the subject, a glance flitting toward the sentinels around the courtyard. "Something funny about them guards." Merrill peers down at the wriggling masses in her hands uncertainly. "You mean I'm not supposed to cook it before I eat it?" Apparently, despite her previous indentured status, she seems to have qualms about the idea of eating something that's still moving. Soon, though, she's placed them on Darius' emptied drink tray and swiped it, leaving him with only a glass of wine in his own hand, which he stares at for a moment before downing one of the wriggling growths and chasing it with the wine. Merrill makes her way around to the other servants with the tray. She's not yet taken one herself - perhaps hoping that by generously offering all of them to her peers she'll be spared from any obligation to do so. "Oh, fisher - or is it doctor? I suppose I can introduce you to my mum, if the Rose allows it," Edric says to Silver with a gracious aspect to his tone and expression. "I've not seen her for years." "Perhaps I shall, in case it gives me an opportunity to 'accidentally' trip you so that we can all have a laugh," the Rose says to the Harrow with a smirk. "We've been fortunate - aside from the singers, enough of them were musicians in past lives to form a small band. It seems that Rosevale has its first local minstrels in some time." To Silver and Edric, she says, "You are free to speak to her once the food has been served. Do so earlier at your own peril." "The same as before, then," Edric remarks thoughtfully, eyes glistening. The Rose's eyes turn past Harrow and Silver as she spots another familiar face approaching. "Ah, it's been some time since you've come this way, swordsman," she says with a broadening smile. "I would have invited you personally if I'd known where to send such an invitation. You might remember our friend the fisher; this is Harrow, the greatest tea magnate of Nexus." She gestures toward the tall, black-clad man who's just passed the portal. "Come in; I'm sure you have tales to tell us." As the last of the guests have been greeted, the Rose starts to step inside, calling out first: "Darius." Hearing his name, the man, still stood in the courtyard, turns and starts to trudge up toward the doors, leaving only the guards outside. The interior of the manse is more fully lit than Ignis might recall from his first encounter with the Comtesse, its halls much more lively with the bustling of guests and servers as they find places to be in the halls, the large sitting room, the dining room, and various other chambers. Some seem to be exploring rather than waiting for food, checking out the guest rooms. The master bedroom, it seems, is even open to the public, though none have yet dared to venture in. And music rings through the corridors from the direction of the throne room, where the band the Rose has mentioned are playing simple lutes and woodwinds together. The acoustics of the Sepulchre give even the sound of their merriment a slightly haunting resonance.
The Pale Harrow	"Then consider me a friend." Harrow responds to Silver. "You can call me Harrow, whether or not you owe me money, but I wouldn't suggest you find yourself in that situation." There's a definite playful expression on his face as he delivers this line but his blue eyes are cold and steely. Many of the other partygoers merge into one in their muted colours and with their mannerisms learned from being in each other's company. One amongst them stands out however, carrying himself with more confidence and shining a little brighter, and not just because of the glinting gold that features on his clothing. "A pleasure to meet you." Harrow replies as he's introduced to the swordsman. "Tea magnate I may be but tonight I'll be sticking to the mead." So Darius can handle a weapon then? Maybe that's how he committed his murder. Harrow doesn't sense that he means any harm to the Comtesse, so perhaps he would find a suitable role here as a solider. Should he get an opportunity to converse with the lad later, he will question him further. Rose's response to the detective's dance offer is met with mirth. "You're a cruel woman, Comtesse. To take advantage of one who merely wants to partake in the merriment of the evening with you. I appreciate the advance warning though. I'll be sure to be careful of my feet if we do take a spin." Making their way deeper into the manse, Harrow marvels at how well it looks. The building has become familiar to him during recent days but for the first time it seems so very alive. It allows him to notice details that had previously passed him by. It really is a magnificent home that Rose has for herself.
Silver Stream's Whisper	"I'll make sure to run away very quickly when I do start owing money," Silver replied, looking unflappable. As he entered with the crowd, Silver waved merrily over at Ignis, although he didn't seem too concerned with the appearance of the Solar. Rather, he seemed more concerned with making Marta's acquaintance, since knowing someone with access to Rosevale's stocks might be very useful indeed for his little drinking habits. Oddly enough, Silver showed no signs of reverence as he entered the building, gazing around at the hall and noting how sturdily and defensible it might be, a strange thing for a fisherman to concern himself with. After satisfying himself that the keep was well-built, and memorizing a few of the windows in case he wanted to sneak back for a quick glass of wine, Silver left Edric to explore. After all, Marta had her own duties, and he would not meet the elusive woman just yet. With his usual impropriety, Silver began exploring every place he could for hidden stashes of wine, and probably a few places he wasn't allowed to go. The fisherman didn't seem terribly inclined to be stealthy in any respect, so it'd be easy enough to keep tabs on his rambling progress throughout the keep. Finally, once he'd satisfied himself that there were no secret bottles of fine vintage wine hiding underneath the cushions(Or if there were, he wasn't sharing), Silver popped back up next to Ignis, leaning against the wall with a new glass of wine of unknown providence. With how many glasses there were, it wouldn't have been hard for him to filch yet another drink. "How goes your wanderings, good Sir? You look well enough, although dusty for it. Land-trekking, I imagine. The rivers are much more convivial than those, y'know. Rivers never lead anywhere with too much dust, although they might lead you into jungles, disease, and large predators. I do wonder what someone as esteemed and skilled as yourself could be lookung for, though."
Ignis	A bright smile comes from Ignis as The Rose greets him and he looks about to see the others nearby. He bows his head to her respectfully and then looks towards the fisherman as he pops back up, continuing his smile "All is well. I'm truly glad to see you all. I do apologize for my hasty departure before... Circumstances being what they were, I would have loved to have lingered but I needed to resolve the matter of my search. Ignis then laughs, running a hand through his hair in some mild embarrassment as he adds, "Unfortunantely I don't have any epic tales of gallantry or adventure to share. I did find my companinos and they turned out to be...well..fine. It was I who was more turned around then they but...I suppose all things work out in time. Without me getting so turned about I wouldn't have found my way through here to meet any of you." He then turns to look upon Harrow and he gives the man a slight nod via inclining his head though his eyes brighten with some interest. "Nexus? The same for me. My name is Ignis. I head a modest company of relic hunters and explorers...some might say 'Scavengers' .... The Auric Concord. Trust me it sounds much more elegant then it actually is. Blame my step father and his business partner. It's good to meet you. All that being said.." Ignis looks around now, taking in the sights more fully, "..I have to confess that while I love a good party, the purpose here still eludes me. Is this simply a celebration for its own sake or is there more on this agenda?"
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Epic Tales of gallantry? Those are overrated. Most of the explorers who brag are full of hot air and deflate once caught in the jaws of something properly scary. Meanwhile, the few who are the real deal and also brag, are to be stayed away from, because they never do anything without a purpose, and that purpose is never pride. It's nice that your companions turned out alright, in this world, people die far too quickly. I'm not really searching for anything myself, but if I find clues to my own little project, then there's nothing wrong with that." Silver commented, taking a sip from his glass and raising it up to reflect the light coming from the candle-lit hall. "Our lovely host, the Rose, has just bought a hundred new slaves. And the moment she did, she promptly set them all free. Most of the new servants around here are them. It's not what I'd say is the best business choice, but it is an admirable way to win loyalties, at least to start. Once they learn about the secrets and workings of Rosevale, we'll see what they have to say in general. But until then, this is a night of grand revelry. Dance to the tune of merriment, why won't you?" Pausing, Silver tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. "Of course, our mistress is also one who might not be terribly inclined to stay in one little village. I suspect she plans to expand more as days pass."
Ignis	"I'm afraid you're correct on all accounts there." laughs Ignis as he turns to fully address Silver. "..But if a 'tale of gallantry' is used primarily to entertain over boosting ones reputation ...I suppose there's no harm in it...and sometimes interesting things happen that are simply worth sharing with others. However, you're all too correct on the issue of mortality. Sadly in the line of business I'm in, too many of my peers tread into places they are ill prepared for and in other cases...it's simply impossible for them to be prepared. That's the business of delviing into the unknown and the uncertain. The pursuit of knowledge..and power...is not without its price. Regardless of the motivations of those involved, it asks something of them and often takes more then it gives. But for those who perservere ...the rewards for them and their communities can far outweigh the risk and sacrifice. " Ignis then grows quiet and more contemplative as he looks over the room once more, considering the rest of the news given, "..From slavery to servants...? Hmm..." His face twists lightly as if trying to decide on his exact feelings but he ultimately settles on, "Freed men with an opportunity to learn and better themselves isn't something that I can complain about. If she's willing to take the risk of them learning from her and choosing to depart to seek their own fortunes then....that's a worthy risk that could return greater benefit in the long term. Allies formed from altruism have more value then allies forced by fear. Expansion however? Into unclaimed territory...I can see it. However the nebulous borders of the lands of THe Hundred Kingdoms may make that challenging.."
Silver Stream's Whisper	Laughing, Silver shrugged. "That's why my friends are edible. If I'm hungry, I don't talk to the fish, and simply toss down a rod, or hunt them in the rivers without making use of my tricks. We talk, we hunt, and then we leave. If I'm lucky, their seventh-generation descendants will greet me when I come back around that part of the world. Friends with mortals? They're satisfying, since mortals are smarter than fish, but they have so many defects that come with it. Pride, arrogance, greed, jealousy and schemes. At least the wolf doesn't try to leverage our friendship into hunting me. He'll lunge for my jugular without further notice. Oftentimes, such a relationship with a mortal ends up panning out with more sorrows than joys. But I admire your tenacity in maintaining your hold on the world." Considering it, Silver shrugged. "That is also a method, I suppose, to ground yourself. The ancients are so old that they're out of touch, living in the past. The only ones who stay relevant are the ones who have kept up with the times, remained human enough to ground themselves into reality. Whatever happens with these slaves, I can't say I care terribly much. I don't know them, and I'm not responsible for them. It's up to the Rose what she ultimately wants to do with them. But I certainly don't think her expansion will be peaceful. Still, is that so bad? She's a decent ruler, even if her background is........Less than ideal."
Ignis	For a few lengthy seconds, the swordsman considers the fisherman... thinking things over and recalling to mind the things heard and witnessed when he was last here. Then, after some consideration...he says simply, "Keeping ones self grounded...is important. After all we were not -born- this way...we were chosen. We can argue the why and how ...but the fact remains that ...we were mortal and when we became more then that we carried those traits with us...except now amplified by our capacity for what we could do. Apathy. Dispassion. Empathy. Love. The Exalted are as capable of these as those who aren't. They run deeper, wider, wilder...but they're there, nonetheless. I would guess that for those ancients who distnace themselves from the world...from their past.... Well..I wonder if those things that make them 'human' ...are truly ever excised or simply buried and waiting for the right thing to pull them forth...." Looking away, Ignis studies the servants now, "So I try and keep my foot on solid ground and to remember where I came from. I may not know these people....or have personal stake on them but I can bleed just as they can. It just takes more to make me do it. I see no reason to not hope for their success and well being as it can make Creation brighter for it. It certainly -needs- that more then it does the despair of ignorance and bondage. As to war and rulership? It's impossible to say just yet what is better or not better. How malleable these lands are is in their very nature. A guiding hand steady them is never a bad thing. If The Comtesse is that hand anymore then some of the other established nation-states...? That I can't say."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Amplification of those things are never good." Silver said with a chuckle. "History tells us that. Humans, with their mortal bodies and minds, have managed to raze so much of the world, so many kingdoms, and so many lives in pursuit of this and that, righteousness and evil, love and hatred. Look at what happened to yours, Sir. Your people once ruled the world. Now? The world is broken because of that rule, and is now split into the Realm. Now you are known as Anathema, poison to the world. Those ancient people probably let their emotions carry them, emotions of pride at being the chosen ones. Now they are dead. The fact is, Sir, we were not chosen for a grand purpose. Nothing protects us from certain death, your god and mine do not personally shield us. We are more than humans, but that is it. We are simply more powerful, more volatile humans. And if we do not practice self-control diligently, we end up as volatile, powerful humans who will burn down Creation."
Ignis	"I cannot speak to the precise nature of what happened in the ancient past. I was not there nor do I have an unbiased witness. What I -do- know I must keep to myself." remarks Ignis with a grin as he turns to fully look to the fisherman. "However..if I'm not mistaken....I believe we are -both- considered anathema by the immaculate philosophy? Now granted that broken and scattered faith may have different degrees of threat and danger by which they view things that threaten their view of order but...the matter at hand is hardly one exclusive to or to be laid at the feet of the Solar Exalted alone. .I would hazard a guess that things are not as cut and dry as you say." Ignis lifts his hands up helplessly, "That being said... what you describe is simply 'life'. That is the price and cost of living.. That competing ideals and desires will create conflict as much as they will create empathy and alliances. Nations rise and fall...and people live and die. All of us. But it is as you say...we have to guard and temper ourselves but that temperance isn't removal of those things that make us..us.. That make us...well..-us-. That is not the answer, nor do I think it's truly possible."
The Sepulchral Rose	With the festivities fully underway, the Rose had disappeared amongst those in the manse. Food has been swiftly served; mostly locally produced fish and meats and cheeses and vegetables and baked breads, but with seasonings and spices from down the river, handled with a skilled cook's oversight, it seems. It is an undertaking, but one that has been handled almost invisibly. By the time that all has been distributed, the servers themselves have their own plates and drinks and are conversing with the locals and each other casually. It seems that the existing citizenry are quite interested in their new neighbour's tales; Harlan Deepstone in particular is in conversation with one of the players during a break in the music for food. Breezing back into the main hall, the Comtesse spies the fisherman and scavenger lord in private conversation and approaches, glass of wine in hand. "Still here in the hall? It seems the two of you are much less inquisitive than our friend Harrow. Do you require anything to be brought to you? A tour of the Sepulchre? Somewhere to sit and speak more privately?" she offers. "And have either of you heard of this 'Tentacle Man' that the children have been speaking about? It sounds as if the rivers might be harbouring more dangers to address..."
The Pale Harrow	So Ignis is also from Nexus. Harrow can't say that he recognises him on sight but perhaps they have some of the same acquaintances. Not that the investigator particularly wants to rake up his past. As the swordsman and Silver exchange animated conversation, Harrow finds himself tuning out. Not through any lack of interest, just that he's keeping an eye on Darius who is currently whispering in the ear of another young man. Following the exchange the former slave with the scar on his forearm starts to ascend the stairs. Curious about what he's up to, the pale-skinned detective follows in his wake. Darius makes his way into one of the guest rooms and bends down next to the bed. As there's no light in the room, from his position by the doorway, Harrow can only see the muscular man's shadow on the wall, aided by the moonlight visible through the window. With stealthy steps, the investigator edges closer until he can hear the sound of breathing. "Don't make a sound." He says softly. "I've just come to see what's going on." With a startled expression, Darius turns to stare at him, the low light giving a strange quality to his face. Harrow can see that there's beauty there, behind the gruff exterior and grouchy demeanour. There's still his suspicions to calm though, which he intends to do right away. "Are you spying on the Comtesse?" Harrow questions, which is rather ironic given that she'd accused him of the same crime on their first meeting. "There doesn't seem to be any reason for you to be up here otherwise." Shaking his head and sending his long dark locks flying around his face, Darius snaps. "I'm just having some peace and quiet, away from that damn party. It's too much with all the music and noise down there." Nodding his head, Harrow continues on. "What was it you whispered to the other man?" Frowning, Darius lets out a loud and exasperated sigh. "I was just asking him to cover for me. He's my cousin and I didn't want to get in trouble with the Comtesse if she noticed I was missing." Harrow can tell that this man is speaking the truth and a spark of sympathy is felt as he contemplates his fate. "It is rather lively down there. Since we're alone though, there's something else I've been wondering about." Moving to sit beside Darius on the bedroom floor, the tall man has to adjust his posture to find a position of comfort. "How exactly did you get that scar upon your arm? I'm sure there's a story there."
Silver Stream's Whisper	As Rose approached, Silver waved airily, gesturing over at the food. "I plan to help myself shortly. The time when Silver needs a servant to bring food to him would be a time when Silver has lost the use of most of his limbs. That tea magnate certainly seems much like yourself, my lady. A kindred spirit in some senses, I'd even believe. Sadly, there was no secret stash of impressively expensive wine in your bedroom that I could find, so here I am, drowning my sorrows in your excellent wine in good company." "Although, I wouldn't say no if you could somehow find a way to bring Pipsqueak up to the castle out from the river, or arrange for a cask to be rolled down for him. The poor dear is parched, as I'm sure you can imagine." When Rose brought up the subject of the Tentacle Man, Silver sighed, setting his empty wine-glass down on a passing tray and picking up another with a single fluid motion. "Do they not know about squid and kraken this far downriver, Comtesse? Really, one child sees one tentacle and suddenly I'm the man with the tentacles. Did they never stop to consider that I can't spontaneously summon tentacles at leisure? Still, I was never good with children, so I'll take infamy over being famous in Rosevale. The Tentacle Man is willing to offer his dread name out on loan to all the mothers who need help getting their children to sleep by bedtime every night." "Speaking of infamy and dread names, is there any other reason you want that Guild ship unmolested? I can't imagine that a blubbering merchant collecting insurance at a coin-changer's office concerns you overmuch."
Ignis	Nexus is vast and the businesses within it legion..let alone the number of would be 'Scavenger Lords' within the east itself. To that end, Ignis i isn't surprised at the lack of recognition when his name and the name of his business is given and he took no offense there either... Harrow's departure allowed him a moment to be more relaxed concerning the animated subject matter, however, and his attention remains on Silver until Rose returns and he draws his attention towards her once more. "Our conversation was simply one of different perspectives and quick catching up. Nothing meant to keep us long from your festivities." confirms Ignis as he turns from Silver to address the returning ruler. As the talk turns to the 'Tentacle Man', Ignis merely raises an eyebrow in confusion at first...only to relax his expression somewhat as he puts things together upon Silver's interjection on the matter. Talk of the Guild Ship does cause his interests to perk up once more and that eyebrow raises again, "..Guild ship? I'm assuming the ship the slaves arrived on? Are you expecting that merchnat to prove problematic?"
The Sepulchral Rose	"So you've been searching my chambers?" Rose asks Silver with some amusement. "It sounds like you and the tea magnate might be kindred spirits as well. He never found the 'good' wine, either." She lifts her shoulders slightly at the question of squid and kraken, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "The children are educated enough to know a tentacle when they see one, I suppose. I've heard there were quite a lot of tentacles involved. By some reports, thousands. They've very active imaginations." She exhales slowly - confirming at least that she's probably not one of the typical undead - and rolls her eyes at the question of the Guild ship. "I very much want those goods to be experienced by those outside of Rosevale. It's a matter of building respect and legitimacy. Such assets should be flaunted, not hidden away," she says, propping a hand on her hip. She turns her eyes to Ignis, smiling faintly. "The ship that they've arrived on also took a shipment of our wine and mead with them - as well as two hundred of our roses, carefully cut. The spirits were the price of these slaves - and thus their freedom - while the flowers were a gift to be distributed downriver to those who mourn, with word of from whence more might be sought or purchased." The Rose lifts one eyebrow as she searches the hall. "Where has our tea magnate gone off to?" She starts to drift loose once more as her eyes sweep the area.
The Pale Harrow	The tea magnate is listening to the sorrowful tale told by Darius. Initially suspicious of the investigator's intentions, once he begins to speak, the story pours out of him and he seems relieved to tell it. "The scar happened when I was defending someone from those who wished them death. My own sister as it happens. It was my fault she was in that situation, because I owed someone coin. When they came to collect and I couldn't pay it, they decided they'd take her life instead to teach me a lesson. When I put up a fight, I got this scar for my trouble." Darius fingers the now silvery scar beneath his smart shirt. "I saved her life but it cost him his and I'm not sorry for it." He sticks out his chin defiantly, daring Harrow to argue the point with him. When no such opposition comes, he continues on. "Soon after his fancy friends came and took me prisoner for my crime, which is how I ended up as a slave. That was three years ago now and if your woman hadn't come along, I'd have probably been worked till my body or mind had broken, whichever came first." Harrow rests a hand on the other man's shoulder, offering him some comfort without wishing to overwhelm him. "It was brave of you to share that with me. I will bother you no more and let you go back to the party." He starts to stand, offering Darius a hand to help him to his feet.
The Sepulchral Rose	The approach of the Rose is not very subtle; Harrow and his conversational companion might easily hear the footsteps on the hallway's stone floor before she appears in the doorway. Still, there is no chorus to highlight her arrival, at least. Leaning in with a hand on the doorframe, she happens to catch Harrow hand in hand with Darius, and lifts a dark, questioning brow at the sight. "Well, this isn't quite what I expected. Or at least, not whom I expected. It is a party, after all, even if it's in Rosevale. Then again, I suppose you're both from Nexus..." The Rose shrugs her shoulders with a slightly detached air before venturing further into the room. "So, let's have it. What fun and games are the two of you up to? I'd offer to join in, but I am playing hostess, after all." She steps a bit further into the room, pushing the door to behind her. "I suppose I did tell you to introduce yourselves to those you greeted. I'd been thinking mainly of your fellow citizens rather than my personal guests, though."
The Pale Harrow	At the sound of the footsteps, and indeed the scent of roses, Harrow turns to look towards the doorway. He's suddenly very aware of his hand in the other man's, which had been an innocent offer of help rather than anything that the Comtesse suspects may be going on. "Oh hello, Rose. I'm sorry for distracting your staff. Darius and I were having a conversation about old times in Nexus. You'd be very welcome to join but I fear we may bore you with names and locations that aren't familiar to you." Now Darius is steady and standing on his feet, Harrow releases his hand and moves closer to Rose, pecking her lightly on the cheek. "How about the three of us return to the party and say no more about it? I believe I'm starting to get quite the appetite." Darius, looking rather sheepish and somewhat paler than usual, gives an unpolished bow to his mistress. "Sorry for the trouble. I wasn't trying to steal your guest away or anything. I'll get back to my work right away." With that he's hurrying out of the room and making his way down the stairs, leaving the two Abyssals alone.
The Sepulchral Rose	Rose turns to let Darius brush past her, but not without making eye contact as he's leaving. She doesn't say anything, but gives a flash of a smile. It fades mostly away as she finds herself in the room alone with Harrow. "Seems as if one of you must have gone looking for the other. Do I simply have a habit of attracting guests with whom you've some history?" she asks as she places a hand on the Harrow's arm. "What's your story with him, anyroad? Obviously you need not fear my reproach if you tell me the truth, unless you were plotting my demise somehow. I expect that's not the case, unless you're playing quite the long game. And I don't mind mention of names and places I haven't been; I enjoy knowledge for its own sake." She slips her hand down to Harrow's. "Now, spill your tea, tea master, so we can return to the party."
The Pale Harrow	"I went looking for him." Harrow admits, seeking eye contact with the Comtesse as he holds her soft and elegant hand in his. Although he wants to protect Darius' secret he finds it hard to resist revealing all to Rose. With a heavy heart he sighs and starts to tell the former slave's story and how he came to hear it. "When I saw him today after he and the others arrived in Rosevale, I believed I recognised him as one who had previously committed murder. Of course this concerned me, as I didn't want a dangerous man close to you or residing in Rosevale. So I've been watching him and when I saw him move upstairs, I wanted to see what he was up to. I confronted him here in this room and he told me the true story as to how he came to take another's life. He did it to defend his sister and was punished for his actions by being taken as a slave." Harrow looks at Rose to see her reaction to his words. "As such, I believe that Darius will likely be more of an asset than a hazard."
Silver Stream's Whisper	After Rose had gone off in search of her partner, Silver had moved from drinking to dining. And naturally, he fell upon the food like a famished wolf, who represented the collective hunger of an entire pack. After piling up his plate with as many specimens of the seas and rivers as he could manage, he wandered around, noticing Darius' departure from Rose's bedroom. Herself and Harrow, however, he didn't see leaving, and neither of them seemed like the stealthy type. "Well well well, the plot thickens." Silver muttered somewhat indistinctly to himself, swallowing with a hint of effort. Most of those in his immediate vicinity seemed to show mixed expressions of mildly impressed ranging to mildly nauseous, wondering just how Silver could manage such feats of anatomical gastromy without unhinging his jaw. His meal ended as messily and quickly as it had begun, and soon Silver was back to wandering with a wine glass in hand, listening in on the chatter of the former slaves to see how their mood generally was. They were servers and partakers both in a celebration, after all. It was likely a new experience on multiple levels for them, one that they might not take easily to.
The Sepulchral Rose	The Rose relaxes her shoulders as she gives the Harrow space to recount his findings, keeping her eyes on his. "It's quite a talent, being able to recognize a murderer so easily. I'm rather confident in my ability to thwart the plans of any casual assassins in our midst - to tell the truth, that was one of the aims of my own private introductions with each of the new arrivals earlier - but you are proving useful for more than rearranging my smallclothes drawers." She leans up to kiss him on the cheek, hands on his shoulders, before suggesting into his ear, "Perhaps you should give up your tea and make your stay here more permanent. I could offer you a suitable title, perhaps. High Inquisitor? Sheriff? Hound? The last one seems appropriate..." She then starts pulling at Harrow's arm again, turning away and drawing him toward the door. "Come along, then. I think that it's time that we held that dance. Let's go to the throne room."
The Pale Harrow	"I've lots of talents you haven't discovered yet." Harrow murmurs into Rose's hair. "Don't feel bad about me picking up on things you may not have though. It's something of a gift I have and you have many more that I'm not blessed with." He can't help but chuckle at the comment about him searching her drawers and as she makes her suggestion about him sticking around in Rosevale he is somewhat tempted. "Sadly I can't promise to become a permanent resident here. It is important that I be free to roam if necessary. I am happy to assist you whenever I am in town though and if you do wish to bestow such a title on me, then I'd accept, as long as it allowed for the freedom I expressed. I'd favour High Inquisitor over Hound though." He places a hand on Rose's rump and gives it a pat before letting her lead him to the exit. "I'm ready when you are, Comtesse. Let us go and put on a show for your guests."