Chapter 6 (Continued)

[Georg Elsebethson]

Antior doesn't even hesitate. "Swordmaster Drexel was not wrong. You are exactly the person I need for this. I could not have asked for a better answer," he says, extending his hand to Georg.

As they shake their agreement, Antior gestures to the chair on the visitor's side of the desk, while he takes his own seat. The decor and the furnishings may be utilitarian, even brutalist, but the carpenters recognized that they would be largely be serving soldiers and made them solid. More solid than most of the frippery that populates the School in general, certainly.

Georg can't hide his immediate relief at Antior's answer, letting out a slow breath and relaxing his shoulders as he shakes Antior's hand before settling into the chair. O's and A but I'm glad to be in Granite right now. He knows he can't let his guard down completely, but unless Antior knows a lot more than he seems and is playing a very subtle game, Georg doesn't think he's the complicit conspirator they had suspected. The question that follows is, is he an unwitting accomplice, or is someone implicating him for unknown reasons?

Master Antior unlocks a drawer and pulls out a sealed package, which he sets atop the desk. After unwinding the twine holding it closed, he opens it to reveal a stack of papers, three pieces of memory glass, and a narrow, almost delicate, silver ring.

"This is a compilation of the evidence I have been able to acquire. I will tell you my suspicions, but leave you to examine the evidence and determine what the next steps will be," he says, then pushes the packet toward Georg and leans back in his chair.

"I value loyalty to duty very highly, so I think you will understand how hesitant I am to state that I believe that Headmaster Rothenend and Master Aisurn Iene of Jade College are working together to bypass the Wards. I suspect that Master Iene's motivation is to allow his people trapped in Meriava to go home to the Vaelt. I do not know what Rothenend expects to get as part of this transaction, but I believe it has something to do with..."

He wrinkles his nose and looks away for a moment. "With legends," he eventually says, under his breath. "Elven legends of the uemannala. Are you familiar with these stories? Protectors of the common people, enemies of the corrupt and powerful?"

The ring seizes Georg's attention immediately, and he has to take a deep breath and calm himself before he puts the chair's sturdiness to the test. He blinks and forced himself to look closer. It's not the one from my dream. Another mitigated relief. The ring in his dream had changed appearance multiple times. He can't be sure this one isn't connected symbolically.

Shifting his attention to Antior's words, he nods. "Even aside from loyalty to duty, it beggars belief that Headmaster Rothenend would want to circumvent the Wards. Master Iene at least has an understandable motive." Georg frowns. "But I can easily believe that the Headmaster is hiding something."

"I know something of the uemannala," Georg says, and he immediately realized he will need to give Antior more than that, because how would someone like him have come across old Vaeltish legends. He can truthfully say that he learned of them from Drexel, but Antior would know that Drexel would need a very good reason to let that be drawn out of her. "I became acquainted with the legends just recently, after encountering what I believe to be uemerai within the city."

Georg twists his mouth ruefully. "You aren't the only one nursing wild theories that lack corroboration."

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

As Asra departs the Headmaster's office, Rothenend's secretary -- who never did provide a name, Asra realizes with passing curiosity -- stands and opens the outer door for her. As she passes, he surreptitiously offers her a folded sheet of paper. He says nothing to her, and watches her carefully as she departs down the hall. There's a moment where Asra wonders if he somehow knows that she snooped around Rothenend's far-seeing devices, but surely there's no possible way he could have? He wasn't there...

Once she's gone back down to the main floor and is departing the building, she opens the note. There are only a few words scrawled on it in a spidery hand.

Look for this symbol. Don't trust it.

Below those words a symbol is drawn.

(Rothenend) wears a heavy ring, a tarnished gold band with a faceted piece of whitestone set in it, sigils etched into the metal. One of them tickles at Asra's memory. Though she was never directly involved with the university at Hara, she knew a number of people who were. She realizes then that the symbol she recognizes is associated with one of the academic societies there, a very exclusive society if she remembers right, though what exactly it was organized around she can't recall. It shouldn't be hard to look up later, though.

It's the same symbol that was on Rothenend's ring. The symbol of one of the academic societies at the University at Hara. She's going to need to look that up at some point, but it can wait for now. The fact that it's Rothenend's secretary passing this sort of information is... disturbing? Possibly useful? Whatever it is, it's definitely typical of what her life has become over the last several days: everyone working on their own agenda and alliances are uncertain at best.

Asra takes note of the curious behavior of the strange secretary, but doesn't let it hinder her exit. If she stopped to observe him more closely, it might only bring attention to their interaction. And if the interaction was benign, she'd hate to put him under undue scrutiny from the Headmaster. Or bring further scrutiny to herself for that matter.

But as she looks at the ring, she's struck with an immense sense of foreboding. She knows nothing about this particular society, but any involvement with the academy in Hara was bad news for her. There were few in that academy who were friends to her family.

Adaye is being held in a building colloquially known around campus as the Cooler. Individuals who "need some time away" from campus society are kept there. Most people know it as a place drunk and disorderly students are held until they cool off. There have always been rumors that it has even more secure and serious facilities, though there's always been a sense that there couldn't possibly be a need for such things. Apparently that sense was quite wrong.

Asra climbs the stairs to the third floor, having to show the pass Rothenend gave her to even get beyond the first floor. As she's coming up the final flight of stairs, she can overhear a heated conversation.

"I am Risine Baramond, Master Adaye's Advocate, duly hired, and I demand that her rights to Advocacy be granted!"

"You have not been granted admission rights by the Headmaster. I suggest you speak to him first."

"The Headmaster is not above the law of this institution. I have shown you the proper paperwork as her Advocate. Get the fuck out of my way," the first speaker says in a tone Asra recognizes. She vividly recalls her mother -- who rarely, if ever, possessed more than one or two fucks to give -- using exactly that tone of voice. Vividly enough to give her pause, until she remembers that her mother is at least hundreds of miles away and on the other side of the Wards.

Asra arrives on the third floor to see a tall, angular, silver-haired woman in a tailored green jacket and skirt, a neat green necktie against a crisp white shirt. She is glaring at a rather plain gentleman in the dress uniform of the Shining Guard. On his left lapel he wears a pin with the symbol Rothenend's secretary warned her against. He seems unimpressed by the woman's bluster, and she seems even less impressed with his stubbornness.

Having stood to watch the interaction between the two, Asra finds herself feeling for this woman the same sort of distant admiration that she felt for her own mother, in that she would prefer to admire her from a distance if at all possible. But, much like in her past, she had little choice in whether the interaction was going to occur.

She did, in this instance, have the power to change the nature of that interaction, she realizes. Taking a quick look around to see who is watching, she takes a few cautious steps back down the stairway and works her magic.

In but a few short moments, she's making her way across the room, her heels clacking against the hard floor dramatically as she approaches the pair. She approaches, not as her lithe and lovely self, but as a solidly-built, aged woman whose dark, wiry hair was bound tightly in a thick braid pulled over her shoulder. Her thick, green coat moved almost as stiffly as she did, a number of silvery embroideries drawing attention to the multitudes of apparatuses and tools strapped to her person. Thick, round glasses blocked her tiny, tired eyes from being seen clearly as she made a beeline for the guard with a posture that brooked no nonsense.

Without a word, she slaps the letter with the Headmaster's seal into his hand. A letter whose contents had little way of knowing without breaking the seal upon them. But she had a feeling she new of something in that letter that she could count on. A detail which would be best to hide from any bearing that particular seal (a seal which now glinted against her own lapel of her own jacket in a mimicry of the pin the guard wore). Her name.

Asralynn Beachaud.

Which she has now cleverly disguised with her magic to rearrange the letters into the name of this new identity. Independent mechanist, Adana Raychel Snub.

Sniffing irritably, Ms. Snub eyes Risine up and down, and looks at the guard. "Just came from the Headmaster," she informs him bluntly, her tone gruff yet oddly drawn out. "Here for Adaye."

[78rpmlife]

So she looks back up, one hand coming to rest lightly on the pile of books, avoiding even a coincidental mirror of that gesture. "No, Dara hasn't spoken to me about it," Iana replies, just as casually - which is to say, not casually at all under the surface. "This is something that I have been researching on my own. You know how it is," she adds, with a little flutter of her free hand. "You spot a thread, and you must see where it leads, so you give it a bit of a tug, and follow to the end."

When Iana laughs, the sparkle in her green eyes is reflected in Sayesti's deep brown eyes, and she answers with a genuine smile. Not that she's been insincere up to this point, but she's been controlled. Tightly controlled. Every motion, every expression carefully calculated to achieve an end. She's been an operative, in other words. It's difficult, often in the extreme, to serve in Obsidian and make real connections. Everyone's looking for the edge, the flaw, the lie. At the same time, though, one learns to spot insincerity, see through the fakery. There's something unusually real about Iana's response and Sayesti echoes it. Her facade of cool, detached competence drops for a moment as Sayesti studies Iana in a new light, the corner of her smile rising as she speculates.

When Iana doesn't rise to the bait she's set out, Sayesti's suspicions are confirmed. She takes a calm glance about for prying eyes. Finding none, she takes a step closer and lowers her voice. She's not quite close enough for a whisper, but certainly close enough to avoid being overheard by anyone not in sight. Her murmur is unexpectedly warm and rich in tone. "I do know how it is. Oh, how I know. If Dara gets in contact, be careful. I have my own research, and I have many questions and few answers," she says. She looks down to where Iana's hand lays on the pile of books and after a moment's hesitation, touches her own hand to Iana's. Just briefly, just a flicker of a touch, a brush of skin, and then she withdraws again and looks back up to Iana with a serious expression. "I'd like it," she adds, "If we could find a time to compare notes. The two of us? If you're interested."

[Ianaeveli Tigenet]

When Iana laughs, the sparkle in her green eyes is reflected in Sayesti's deep brown eyes, and she answers with a genuine smile. Not that she's been insincere up to this point, but she's been controlled. Tightly controlled. Every motion, every expression carefully calculated to achieve an end. She's been an operative, in other words. It's difficult, often in the extreme, to serve in Obsidian and make real connections. Everyone's looking for the edge, the flaw, the lie. At the same time, though, one learns to spot insincerity, see through the fakery. There's something unusually real about Iana's response and Sayesti echoes it. Her facade of cool, detached competence drops for a moment as Sayesti studies Iana in a new light, the corner of her smile rising as she speculates.

Iana is close enough to see the slight easing of Sayesti's posture; the softening of her smile - the shining through of emotions more genuine and less guarded. It makes Iana's own smile linger for a moment longer, seeing that warmth in Sayesti's cool intelligent eyes. They have worked side by side for years, and yet have hardly ever had a chance to be genuine with each other this way.

When Iana doesn't rise to the bait she's set out, Sayesti's suspicions are confirmed. She takes a calm glance about for prying eyes. Finding none, she takes a step closer and lowers her voice. She's not quite close enough for a whisper, but certainly close enough to avoid being overheard by anyone not in sight. Her murmur is unexpectedly warm and rich in tone. "I do know how it is. Oh, how I know. If Dara gets in contact, be careful. I have my own research, and I have many questions and few answers," she says. She looks down to where Iana's hand lays on the pile of books and after a moment's hesitation, touches her own hand to Iana's. Just briefly, just a flicker of a touch, a brush of skin, and then she withdraws again and looks back up to Iana with a serious expression. "I'd like it," she adds, "If we could find a time to compare notes. The two of us? If you're interested."

She watches the way Sayesti notes where her hands go - or, more precisely, where her hands _don't_ go when she is offered that sign - and knows that she has chosen correctly; and that she has been right about Sayesti's integrity.

She sways closer to meet the other woman's whisper, and bends her head slightly to bring the edge of her pointed ear closer to Sayesti's lips: Sayesti is shorter than she is. Although not by much, Iana realizes, now that she is standing closer than she ever has before. She does not need to lean very far to meet her.

Her heart patters more quickly at the implication of Sayesti's words: Dara cannot be trusted? Iana does not doubt the truth of her assessment for a second. She nods once, sharp with wary understanding.

Then Sayesti's hand touches hers, and Iana's heart quickens in an entirely different way.

Her eyes widen, and her breath holds suspended.

Oh.

Oh.

Iana suddenly finds herself wishing that she were wearing a dress that she had _not_ climbed a tree in that morning.

She smiles back: something more subdued than the startled spontaneous laughter of a moment before, a slow deliberate opening of her emotions to the other woman "Yes," Iana says softly, holding Sayesti's gaze. "I - I think I would like that." The tiny skip in the rhythm of her words is not uncertainty, but surprise, as she realizes just how much she means what she is saying. "Very much."

[78rpmlife]

"I know something of the uemannala," Georg says, and he immediately realized he will need to give Antior more than that, because how would someone like him have come across old Vaeltish legends. He can truthfully say that he learned of them from Drexel, but Antior would know that Drexel would need a very good reason to let that be drawn out of her. "I became acquainted with the legends just recently, after encountering what I believe to be uemerai within the city."

Georg twists his mouth ruefully. "You aren't the only one nursing wild theories that lack corroboration."

Antior spreads his hands out flat on his desk, palms down. There's a coiled tension in his posture, as though he wants to jump out of his chair, but that spring remains coiled for the time being. "Uemerai," he murmurs, his eyes growing distant and unfocused as he considers this. "You encountered the uemerai here. In Meriava. And you live to tell the tale." He takes his hands back, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "You are a man of many surprises, Scholar. I'm aware of your work with the Swordmaster, and she has spoken highly of your skill, but... a single uemerai, a corrupted uemerai, if the stories are true, could destroy an entire platoon during the War. How did you do it?"

It's notable, perhaps, that he doesn't question Georg's assertion that indeed he did encounter the uemerai. Maybe he's preconditioned to believe it.

"I wonder... could Iene have had something to do with allowing uemerai access to the city? But how? How could they pass through the Wards? Is this why Rothenend is..." He breaks off, realizing he's speaking his thoughts aloud. "Pardon me. I intended not to tell you my suspicions before you've examined the evidence, and I will hold to that."

[78rpmlife]

Sniffing irritably, Ms. Snub eyes Risine up and down, and looks at the guard. "Just came from the Headmaster," she informs him bluntly, her tone gruff yet oddly drawn out. "Here for Adaye."

The guard studies Ms. Snub impassively, eyes traveling up and down. His gaze passes over the pin she wears without pausing, calling no attention to it. He opens and reads the letter.

"M... Snub?" he says, eyebrows lifting skeptically as he looks up from his reading. His lips press together as he considers. "Very well."

As he turns to disable the lock -- a lock that positively radiates magic -- Risine's eyebrows climb up her forehead. "Excuse me? No, this is not how this works. You have already trampled Master Adaye's legal rights into the mud. No one may speak to the detained without the presence of her Advocate. Which, again, since you seem to have a great deal of trouble moving it from your ears into your brain, is ME."

She turns to Asra Ms. Snub and says, "Are you as willfully obstinate as this fellow? I won't stand in your way to speak with Master Adaye, as long as I'm present to safeguard her rights, but if either of you continue to bar my way, I will have you both in front of a judge faster than you can fall down those stairs."

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

The guard studies Ms. Snub impassively, eyes traveling up and down. His gaze passes over the pin she wears without pausing, calling no attention to it. He opens and reads the letter.

"M... Snub?" he says, eyebrows lifting skeptically as he looks up from his reading. His lips press together as he considers. "Very well."

Asra narrows her eyes at the man, as if daring him to say something about her name. But when he doesn't, a slight scowl of disappointment forms on her lips.

As he turns to disable the lock -- a lock that positively radiates magic -- Risine's eyebrows climb up her forehead. "Excuse me? No, this is not how this works. You have already trampled Master Adaye's legal rights into the mud. No one may speak to the detained without the presence of her Advocate. Which, again, since you seem to have a great deal of trouble moving it from your ears into your brain, is ME."

She turns to Asra Ms. Snub and says, "Are you as willfully obstinate as this fellow? I won't stand in your way to speak with Master Adaye, as long as I'm present to safeguard her rights, but if either of you continue to bar my way, I will have you both in front of a judge faster than you can fall down those stairs."

Asra turns her head to look Risine up and down, calculating. She holds her hand out to the guard to take back her letter without looking back at him."The wheels of bureaucracy grind along with no concern for us," she chides. "One of us has clearance to pass through, M..." She scans Risine again to see if she has any identification pinned to her to justify her recognition of the woman. Seeing nothing, she comment, "Whatever."

She wants to help her, to help Adaye, who so desperately needs the help of a advocate in her current position. But given her prior conversation with the Headmaster, and whatever is unraveling with this damned organization, she can't help but feel that she'd be risking her already tenuous success in disguising her entry by helping her in.

"I'm not unreasonable, however. If you'd like for me to pass along a message, I'd be willing to do so while you get your clearance in order."

[AftermathGM]

She smiles back: something more subdued than the startled spontaneous laughter of a moment before, a slow deliberate opening of her emotions to the other woman "Yes," Iana says softly, holding Sayesti's gaze. "I - I think I would like that." The tiny skip in the rhythm of her words is not uncertainty, but surprise, as she realizes just how much she means what she is saying. "Very much."

Something loosens in Sayesti's posture at Iana's response. She was nervous! But now that the uncertainty of how her offer would be received is past, she regains her composure. She reaches up slowly, and for a moment it seems like she's going to put her hand against Iana's cheek and... oh my goodness, is she going in for a kiss? In the library?! Already?!?

But no, she deftly picks a tiny, brown, curled up leaf from Iana's hair and offers it up like a precious stone. "Tonight, perhaps? There's a cafe on Sparrow Street, just west of the Autumn Bridge," she says softly, for Iana's ears only. "At Night Bell? And maybe you can tell me what sort of field work you've been up to, climbing around in the trees?" There's that quirky, angled smile again, gaze directed up at the taller woman through her eyelashes.

Iana knows the place. It's small, off the beaten path, with tables stuck in the corners for more clandestine meetings. For whatever reasons one might wish to be clandestine.

[Ianaeveli Tigenet]

Something loosens in Sayesti's posture at Iana's response. She was nervous! But now that the uncertainty of how her offer would be received is past, she regains her composure. She reaches up slowly, and for a moment it seems like she's going to put her hand against Iana's cheek and... oh my goodness, is she going in for a kiss? In the library?! Already?!?

But no, she deftly picks a tiny, brown, curled up leaf from Iana's hair and offers it up like a precious stone. "Tonight, perhaps? There's a cafe on Sparrow Street, just west of the Autumn Bridge," she says softly, for Iana's ears only. "At Night Bell? And maybe you can tell me what sort of field work you've been up to, climbing around in the trees?" There's that quirky, angled smile again, gaze directed up at the taller woman through her eyelashes.

Iana knows the place. It's small, off the beaten path, with tables stuck in the corners for more clandestine meetings. For whatever reasons one might wish to be clandestine.

Iana's breath pauses again as Sayesti's hand comes up - and then lets out in a tiny sheepish sigh of a laugh, and her pale cheeks flush faintly pink.

Now it is Iana's turn to dare a little more, letting her fingers brush softly along the edge of Sayesti's hand as she reaches up to take the leaf, and her heart skips another few beats at the sight of Sayesti's crooked smile. "Tonight," she agrees, with another one of those little smiles, small and open and true. One last delicate touch, fingertip to fingertip, as Iana lifts the leaf away. "I'll tell you everything I can. And I'll look forward to hearing about your research, too."

[Georg Elsebethson]

Antior spreads his hands out flat on his desk, palms down. There's a coiled tension in his posture, as though he wants to jump out of his chair, but that spring remains coiled for the time being. "Uemerai," he murmurs, his eyes growing distant and unfocused as he considers this. "You encountered the uemerai here. In Meriava. And you live to tell the tale." He takes his hands back, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "You are a man of many surprises, Scholar. I'm aware of your work with the Swordmaster, and she has spoken highly of your skill, but... a single uemerai, a corrupted uemerai, if the stories are true, could destroy an entire platoon during the War. How did you do it?"

It's notable, perhaps, that he doesn't question Georg's assertion that indeed he did encounter the uemerai. Maybe he's preconditioned to believe it.

Georg was less worried about not being believed and more worried that Antior would question why he didn't bring this information to him before now, but he makes note of the Master's readiness to take him seriously. "I had help," Georg says, "And I think the need to hide their presence here limited the uemerai's options." It's all true as far as it goes, which isn't very. Georg isn't quite ready to admit to being a deputized uemannala just yet, and he certainly isn't going to talk about Eldarin's role.

"I wonder... could Iene have had something to do with allowing uemerai access to the city? But how? How could they pass through the Wards? Is this why Rothenend is..." He breaks off, realizing he's speaking his thoughts aloud. "Pardon me. I intended not to tell you my suspicions before you've examined the evidence, and I will hold to that."

"Then I should get to examining," Georg says. First, he gingerly picks up the ring and holds it between thumb and forefinger, looking first for signs of Blackstone and then for markings or inscriptions. Assuming that the stack of papers is supplemental, Georg then turns to the memory glass to see what Antior considered worth preserving.