Contests

Vyx shifted, testing the constraints of her leathers while her body slowly careened towards the left. The hardened leather scraped softly against the stone at her back as she attempted to work some warmth back into her bones. She stretched languidly, swapped directions, then repeated the motions that she'd been duplicating for the better part of forty minutes now, as though she were rehearsing for the world's most visually uninspired dance number. Truth be told, it was stillness that was supposed to be the watchword of the Rotation, but her body protested the very thought of having to stay motionless. She hated stakeouts, hated that she couldn't just break in and improvise, to feel the thrill of knowing nothing and yet still walking away the victor.

These weren't, however, her usual stomping grounds. These were not the open streets of warm and sunny Jhindosh, filled to capacity with noble houses that just begged for her to invite herself in and help her clever fingers to all manner of shiny things. She could not afford to make mistakes here.

Lutrexia was a vastly different land from the one she called home. It may as well been a different plane of existence entirely for all that she could care. The guards here were hawk-eyed and suspicious, prowling the stone streets and lurking around seemingly every grey corner. Steel boots crunched noisily in the snow that seemed to fall perpetually from the cloud-ridden skies. Truthfully she'd come to enjoy the sight of that grey curtain, it made for far more pleasant scenery than the black smoke that rose so frequently from the forge district. More often than not here the air was tainted with the scent of liquid metal as black smog belched forth, making it hard for her southern lungs to breathe. The Archduke kept his industry running at all times, and rotations like this where she could actually look up and see clouds were welcome reprieves in her month-long stay so far.

Only furthering the weirdness of this place was the fact that, like Jhuutia, they'd chosen to call their rotations days, and had elected hours in place of stands. Probably some weird grab at independence from the language used by Jhindosh.

Her green eyes wandered from the house she'd been watching, instead falling curiously upon the large castle of stone that stood so prominently in the center of the Lutrexian capital of Trinity. Castle Tynemouth was a structure that had been built for war, which seemed to be the only form of architecture these people possessed. All things were either practical, efficient, and undoubtedly made of grey stone, or they simply had no place within the Archduke's domain. It wasn't to say that the Lutrexian's held no flair for artistry at all, but it seemed that the practice was only ever tolerated in their metal-work, and not in their buildings. Her musings on the Archduke had drawn her eyes to the snowy fortress, over not only the structure itself but the second line of walls that surrounded it to make the castle look like a smaller replica of Trinity. The city herself possessed even more formidable defenses by way of what was considered the largest gate in the civilized world. Lutrexia loved their walls and defenses, even in times of peace everything was constructed in preparation of war.

Lorbrick's paranoid philosophies had even lead to an entirely new form of governmental oversight... Beaurocracy. Unlike the Empire she called home, the Duke was notorious for loathing to appoint others to rule in his name and preferred to keep tabs on things from across his kingdom. This meant a new system to feed his ravenous hunger for information, a system of endless paperwork and forms that seemed purpose-built to drive lesser minds mad in an effort to keep up. If she'd had any doubts as to the rumors that Sylendus Lorbrick, the Archduke of Lutrexia, was a dragon, it was the paperwork that had convinced her to the merits of the idea; only a creature with a lifespan measured by the fall of kingdoms would have the patience to deal with such intricacies every rotation... Who knew, maybe he even took some sick form of pleasure from the whole affair.

Everything inside of her wanted to see the interior of that castle, to see whether there was any truth to the claims that it snowed inside the building as well as without. To see for herself whether the Archduke's presence alone was enough to force submission from even the most stubborn and powerful men and women in the lands... And mostly to find out whether or not the old myth about dragons keeping hoards was fact or fiction. She forced her eyes away, once again proclaiming to herself that she needed to avoid that place at all costs, and once again failing to entirely convince herself of the risk. Her pride simply wouldn't accept that she couldn't find a way inside of that supposedly impenetrable fortress, that this little heist she was currently planning wasn't simply a practice run for a far greater prize. Really though, this little job wasn't even her heist at all. For the first time in a long time, she was actually doing a job for someone else, albeit one that had afforded her an extremely unusual degree of freedom regarding both the planning and execution. The only stipulations had been that it was to take place here, in Lutrexia, and that she had to not be seen nor leave any evidence as to her passing. The thief scoffed, her lips forgetting how cold they were for just long enough to form a small smirk. She had always assumed that being untraceable and invisible was a prerequisite to being a burglar in the first place, hardly an optional part of the entire process.

A blast of warmth briefly interrupted her thoughts as she straightened slightly, a sigh of relief escaping her lungs. She felt the heat radiate from the street just ahead of where she was standing, quickly melting away the light dusting of snow that had settled on it while leaving the blanket that covered the rest of the city untouched. Unlike the Jhindoshan Empire, Lutrexia was a firm believer in the use of magic to solve their problems, and the thaumaturgical crystals inset in their streets every fifty or so feet had been designed to release waves of heat every fifteen minutes. Not only for melting whatever snow had dared to build upon the cobblestones, these same crystals kept the extensive sewer system that lurked beneath her feet running, ensuring that nothing froze and backed up as melted snow mixed with... Well, the matter that usually occupied sewer systems.

This was the third wave of heat, and that meant that she'd been standing here for the better part of a stand. In turn that meant that it was time to move on before the pair of guards that had been lurking nearby finally decided she was, in fact, a suspicious person. Turns out that all of her movement had indeed gone contrary to her plan of stealth, and she'd seen more than a couple of glances sent her way by now. She stuffed her hands into the fur coat that was covering most of her torso and turned on her heels, prompting both of her armored sentinels to let their shoulders droop slightly. No longer on high alert as she strode off into the streets while shadows cast from nearby structures lengthened with the promise of coming night. Had they not been so focused on the vanishing figure they may have noticed when another slipped out from around a corner opposite of them and leaned against the wall, the woman's retreat an unspoken signal that it was now his turn to play the role of observer.

Fifteen minutes later

Bailif frowned as his hand moved in a long horizontal line, revising an earlier measurement that had thrown the entire alignment of the manor off by a matter of feet. Only two, but an eye for detail was his calling card when he wasn't using prodigious size to intimidate, or using fists to bring to order those that opposed the Guild. His lips pursed thoughtfully as he straightened out over the blueprints constructed of several parchments of paper, each held in place by whatever heavy objects had been on hand. A couple of rocks, one of Vyx's spare daggers, the half-full ink well he was using to make his notes, and one of Slackjaw's shoes, though the last of which had been given up rather begrudgingly. He was going to have to redraw these plans, of course, and discard what had to be the fourth iteration of his reconstruction of the manor, but he found himself rather confident about the accuracy of what would undoubtedly be his final draft. It would be as close to perfect as possible without the Guild being in possession of the architect's original prints. Born of questioning some servants, careful measurements in the dead of night, and pure observation on the part of the spotters that had been surveying the house for the four or so weeks the crew had been setting up shop. He set the quill to the side and cupped his hands together, his bronzed flesh pale in lieu of the cold that seemed to permeate every inch of this place, no matter how many times they'd stoked the modest fire that crackled with futile enthusiasm in the nearby oven. As he breathed into his clutching digits movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he redirected his gaze to take in the measure of the redhead that stalked silently through the doorway to his left. Vyx rarely made sound, one needed to be on a constant lookout if they didn't want their self-styled queen sneaking up on them.

"Anythin' new, boss?" His voice was deep and rich, given peculiar colour by an accent that few could accurately place in this corner of the world. It was slow and gently slurred, as though he'd loosened his tongue beforehand with a particularly strong brand of ale. He examined the woman, taking in her current disposition as she stood quietly, her eyes flickering to and fro over his notes and examinations of what would be the stage for their later play. Her lips pursed slightly in concentration, likely weighing the sketches against that which she could see in her mind's eye, the soft pink scar on her left cheek particularly noticeable now that the chill had leeched most of the colour away from her face. She was a pretty, striking woman, lithely built and with the general disposition of a large cat, soft and slinking and ever on the prowl even now within the relative safety of their hideout. She had pleasant features even to his eyes, a rounded chin that sat underneath a pair of full lips and a button nose, which combined with her high cheekbones quite nicely for an aristocratic look that had served them quite well in some of the earlier scams of their careers. Of course, her hair had often required dye when they had disguised her as a hapless maiden; the length of wavy red usually left quite an impression. "Or is it the same ol', same 'ol?"

"Nothing new," she replied at length, finally looking up in his direction with a slow smile, "I see you're almost done with your work here though, which is good. Their little party is on in four rotations."

"I know, I know." Bailif raised one of his hands to gently run his palm over the smooth skin of his shaved scalp, his own eyes returning to the paper. "It'll be done, boss. Jus' finishin' up the best guesses." None of the servants had been too forthcoming, and they hadn't dared to press too hard in order to avoid making any of the staff suspicious as to their intent. Slackjaw had always been good at getting things out of people without alerting them to anything being off, but this time they had played it exceedingly safe. All of them were uncomfortable and unfamiliar with this new environment, most not having traveled further north of Jhindosh than Jhuutia. "Wish Fareed could've gotten us some invitations, coulda just snuck you in all fancy like an-"

"I asked," Vyx interrupted, "she wasn't going herself, supposedly, so couldn't help us there." Bailif grunted in response, and neither of them said another word on the matter. It had been half in jest anyway considering it would be far too late to change the plan now, and both of them were far more excited by the prospect of a challenging heist. This was the sort of thrill that the Guild lived for, and what had set them above the multitudes of ne'er-do-wells in the empire. Anyone worth their salt could make a living just plucking coins from the pockets of travelers and merchants, but almost every man and woman alike within Vyx's Guild had long ago surpassed the need to merely refine their skills, now the only desire left to them was that of an outlet in which to use them to their fullest extent. It was especially true in Vyx's case and was the whole reason why the so-called 'Queen of Thieves' had even made a personal appearance in this frozen hellhole rather than just sending a half dozen of her best to fulfill the needs of the contract. To sneak into the middle of a party of nobles all to steal a single artifact without so much as a soul having any idea that they were even there? It was a challenge too tempting to pass up, even if a couple among them were already wondering just what it was they were getting into with a contract so specific as this.

Besides, the more they talked about the specifics the more they'd have to consider just how wrong some things felt with this job. How their contact, Fareed, was obviously using a fake name and was overpaying them for the simple theft of a dagger, enchanted or not. How they'd never even met the woman and had communicated exclusively through written word. They didn't fear for themselves or the guild, this was far too elaborate to be a setup, but specifics often tended to have a purpose behind them, and there were a lot of specifics in this job.

"Ya need to get into the estate and play it safe, boss, jus' wait for any opportunity to nab the dagger and then get out of there." It was the short and sweet kind of plan, simple by its very nature so as to survive first contact with the enemy. The best sorts left everything up to improvisation, allowed personal creativity and quick thinking to flourish instead of being crippled by intricacies and detail. Of course, simple very rarely translated to easy any more than a step by step approach did. The target artifact was not a centerpiece by any means, merely an enchanted dagger imbued with a simplistic enchantment of fire. Even then it was hardly an easy feat to get into the manor during the night of the party, lift and replace the thing, and then get back out without being seen. They didn't even have so much as a disguise with which to ease her entry, provide her a means of scoping out the interior before she made her move. The contract holder had also insisted in no uncertain terms that the switch had to occur during the party itself, a clause that Vyx assumed was designed to ensure that anyone who discovered that the dagger had been swapped would have a large list of suspects, all of them from all over the known world.

"Yeah," Vyx affirmed thoughtfully, "but before the auction or... Dick measuring contest or whatever this is ends." She glanced up at the much bigger man and smiled, "before any of the collectors leave and absolve themselves of the suspect card, I mean." Bailif shook his head at her, filing yet another instance away into his mind for when he'd bring up her extremely lax professional conduct.

"A Luutrexian collector is goin' to be holding an auction," he filled in, "and Ra'had Alkestar has graciously offered to host an' appraise the items hisself, then give little shows like these for prospective buyers. 'Course, given the fact that the shipments are briefly sent to Tynemouth, it's likely the Merchant Drake is sendin' tha goods to the Archduke's Thaumaturge's so they can take notes, then-"

"Wait, we're robbing the Merchant Drake?" Vyx cut in again, a small knot twisting in the pit of her gut at the thought of what had happened the last time they'd crossed wits with Alkestar, "I said those kind of jobs were off-"

"Nah," it was Bailif's turn to cut her off, and he did so with a small grin, "Ra'had is jus' playin' storage and transport, some of the Lutrexian nobles is hosting these little parties for some extra social standing." Ever since Sylendus Lorbrick had annexed the country over a century prior, most of the powers that the noble families had enjoyed had been stripped away from them, leaving the once-proud Lutrexian houses as little more than figureheads representing a now faded past. Lorbrick had allowed them to keep their titles, but he had personally commandeered their lands and their authority, which had left the houses fuming and scheming for decades. So far all attempts, namely petty grabs for former strength, had failed spectacularly. Rumor had it that the Archduke was considering deposing the noble houses entirely. It was a well-known fact that the dragon had never possessed much in the way of patience when it came to dealing with nobility, so the rumor had been one a long time coming. Unsurprisingly, the families had quieted down after that and had contented themselves instead with hosting parties and entertaining guests alongside whatever else it was that rich people did when they lacked underlings to lord their power over.

Vyx nodded, her sudden spike of unease dissipating immediately as she returned her full attention back to the wonderful blueprints that Bailif had drawn up for the purposes of planning her entry. She'd only brought along two other members of the guild for this job and had intended from the beginning for it to be a small affair with only a single infiltrator, her, alongside a planner and a lookout. Bailif had been a no brainer; he was her right-hand man in all other affairs, and despite his looks and speech the man was as smart as the gods made them. The other was a half-elf by the name of Sam. He was a quiet and shady sort of bloke who looked as though he considered the process of removing coin purses to be secondary to the process of sliding a knife between some hapless fool's ribs. Vyx was sure that the man made some of his coin in that way, but while he was working with her he'd always proven himself to be extremely light of feet and sharp of eye. He'd made an excellent lookout and scout during many of their earlier jobs, all without having spoken more than two dozen words the entire time. Furthermore, he knew better than to open arteries while he was working these sorts of jobs too, and had been informed multiple times that she detested having to clean up the messes that weapons usually brought with them.

Slackjaw had been a last-minute addition, added on account of his stubborn nature and damnable curiosity. The moment he'd caught wind that she had been planning to leave for a job personally he'd wanted in, and the man was damned hard to say no to once he got something in his head. The truth was she'd agreed mostly because she was certain that he'd have just followed them anyways.

She craned her neck to look up into Bailif's hazel eyes, his six-foot-five stature dwarfing her five-foot-three, and nodded at the confidence she found in response to her unspoken question. The blueprints were as accurate as he'd be able to make them.

A few rotations later

The plan was a simple one, all things considered, and simple was generally how she liked them. A plan with too many moving parts was little more than a waste of time when one contemplated the fundamental nature of such things, and the all but guaranteed outcome of having to throw away the entire thing upon the first contact with the enemy. She was to get into the manor about ten minutes after the start of the party, while all of the guests were still chatting and exchanging pleasantries, figure out some form of distraction, and then slip in to replace the dagger without anyone being the wiser for it. Sam and Slackjaw had put together a fairly accurate mental map of the place, and Bailif had very successfully translated it all into paper. Simple, as she'd thought repeatedly throughout the last few rotations, was good. Simple was flexible.

"A'ight boss," Slackjaw said as he handed her a leather bandolier, "This 'ere issa couple o' smoke phials an' sum... I dunno. T'ain't fer breathin', tha's for sure. Uncork tha' puppy an' you'll 'ave everyone in the room runnin' fer the exits, pro'bly hittin' a few walls in the process." Vyx looked at him for a half-second as she accepted the offered equipment, slowly working through the sentence in her head as she attempted to follow her companion's peculiar 'accent'.

Most in her retinue did their best to avoid fighting, considered it a messy affair and indicative of having done something very wrong in their operations. Her crew relied on subtlety and deceit to continue their existence, and to not attract the attention of the imperial guard... Unless they were Slackjaw. No, the man standing in front of her was drawn to swinging fists like moths to a flame, and it showed right down to the features of his face. He was a tall, powerfully built man, covered in the corded sinew that a life of street fighting had gifted him throughout the years. He wasn't as big as Bailif, but it was often that the two had little wrestling matches and fights for the amusement of the rest of the guild, and it was often that the bets were split somewhere around the 50/50 mark. His face wore a perpetual smile, mostly on account of his natural good humor, but partially due to his jaw having been reset so many times throughout the years that he could hardly talk straight. The look was completed by a bent nose that she was sure had seen more fractures and breaks than most felt throughout their entire body in a lifetime.

Slackjaw's bright blue eyes, one of his most striking features, moved back to the table that separated the pair of them as she fastened her bandolier, and he plucked a knife from the wooden surface before offering it to her.

"Freshly sharpened," he promised, nodding his head and further disturbing the mane of unwashed brunette hair atop of his head. He smoothed it back, his free hand extending a small leather pouch in her direction, which closer inspection on her part revealed to be her lockpicking kit. "I think tha back door is unlocked, but never know," he continued, "Sam nevah tried, an' I was too busy seein' if, well, y'know what they say 'bout Lutrexian women." She didn't, but the devilish grin gave her a pretty good idea of what the man had in mind. She shook her head with a smile of her own and tucked the kit into the small leather pouch tied to her hip.

"And the servants, most of them will be dismissed for the duration of the event, right?" Slackjaw nodded his reply, and she continued before he could start up again. The man could be a bit of a chatterbox at times. "As for after, you lot will have a cart and be ready to hightail it should anything go wrong? We're not used to dealing with magic, and I've no idea if me even looking at this damned thing will set off some sort of alarm."

"Lutrexian's ain't as keen on arcane magic as Jhuutians are," Slackjaw reassured her as he nodded again, "but we'll 'ave a cart, an' we'll be ready t'put some space 'tween us an' Trinity tha second you've got the piece." He nodded again, this time for emphasis, and clapped the smaller woman on the shoulder, sending her a half step to the side. Slackjaw was hardly known for his respect for personal space. "Don't worry so much 'bout tha job, t'is the aftermath I'm wary of." They all were, every man with her could smell the blood in the water just as she could, something... Wrong with this one, with how well it was paying and the obvious secrecy employed by their contractors. Normally she'd never work for people who refused to even meet her and communicated exclusively by a proxy, but the pay had been too good, and the challenge had been too enticing... As had the pay.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she was going to come to regret it.

One stand later...

Vyx shifted, her breath hanging in the air for a short moment before it was whisked away into the night. Lutrexia was an unforgiving realm, and it not only sensed her intrusion within it's most beloved city, it also punished her for it. The chill was a crushing blanket that wreathed her, burned her lungs and stole the warmth from her already frigid digits like a vampire. She growled against it, wrapping the cloak more securely about her shoulders, and mentally told the country that it could go sod itself, she had a job to do. No moon hung in the black sky above, the night obscured behind the wall of black smoke that emanated from the forge district even in these late stands, but years spent prowling the nights of Jhindosh had left her with a keen ability to estimate the time. At the moment she'd put money on it being somewhere around the ninth stand, though she had to admit that the natural darkness of this northern land likely threw her guess off somewhat. She'd been lingering in the shadows of this alley for the better part of forty minutes, pacing back and forth in an effort to stave off at least some of the cold. Though the need for stealth prevented her from moving particularly quickly or very far, so the effort was mostly in vain. The sense of deja-vu was stronger than she cared to admit.

It was time to go, to move, to enact the plan and to improvise the inevitable failures. She peeled away from the wall and darted through the alley in the direction of the manor, stopping short and pulling back just shy of the street so that she could lean out and observe the surrounding area. To the left were a pair of guards, though the figures were retreating as the two continued their vigil. There would only be this pair and another along the opposite side, more as a formality than any real security measure. The Lutrexian's valued the strength of their walls, and even if they did not neither the War Drake nor the Archduke were willing to give up much of the city guard just to make a bunch of noblemen feel secure. She crossed the distance between the alley and the manor walls quickly and pressed up into the shadows that awaited her there. These were more ornamental than anything, about twelve feet high and adorned with iron bars that ran along in a floral pattern atop of the grey stone. Unlike those of Trinity itself, these walls yielded cracks and holds for her fingers to slip into, and she wasted no time in putting her acrobatic skills to use.

She quieted her fall by tucking forward into a roll when she hit the ground, and ascended back to her feet quickly to cast furtive glances around her before ducking back into the shadows. She appeared to be alone out here, but there was no sense offering a silhouette for some guard inside to take note of. The windows of the large two-story building before her flickered and danced with light, candles and torches swaying merrily in time with the faint sound of music that drifted out from the cracks in the structure. Of course, nobility couldn't just stick with a quiet showing of these rare and priceless pieces of magic, they needed a party to get themselves in the mood. Vyx rolled her eyes at the thought and shook her head as she continued to move. Nobles were a sect of society that just begged to be stolen from if only to remind the entire lot that they weren't completely above the rest, that they were not untouchable just because they pretended they were superior.

The back door came into sight as she stuck to the inside of the perimeter wall. As Slackjaw and Sam had predicted, guard presence within the manor walls were lacking, likely on account of Rothbury, the host of this particular party, being unwilling to disturb his guests. Gregory Rothbury was one of the most vocal of the nobles who opposed Lorbrick, and was known for being an arrogant sort. Something that no doubt arose because of his father's high position within the ranks of the Lutrexian Thaumaturges. Like most of his ilk, he was obsessed with luxury and decadence but had a reputation for being rather clever on the side. It was because of him that the Lutrexian nobles even banded together at all rather than standing against the Archduke one by one, which is what they'd been doing prior to his arrival on the scene. As she understood it, if that Dragon had a single and prevalent thorn in his side, it was the Rothbury house by a long shot. Her gloved hand closed around the frigid knob and gave a gentle turn, and she frowned gently when the thing lacked the good graces to turn. She suppressed a sigh, instead ducking down and fetching the lockpick set from her hip before she selected her tools. From the looks of things this lock was unlikely to be as complex as those that would be undoubtedly present on the front doors. This entrance was for the servants, after all.

The door clicked as she maneuvered her tension wrench in tandem with the half-diamond she'd selected for the task, each of the little tumblers sliding into place before she applied torque, keeping them locked once they were picked. Then, as though a key had been inserted, the lock gave way before her talented fingers and clicked loudly, causing her to hold her breath and listen as she tucked her tools back into the kit and returned it to its place. When no angry maids swung the door open in her face, she peeled herself away and once again tried sliding the handle slowly to the side. This time success greeted her attempt and the latch peeled away from its hole to allow her to pull the portal gently outwards, thankful all the way that these affluent houses tended to keep the hinges oiled so as to prevent protests upon attempted egress. Warm light bathed her as she looked into what appeared to be a servant's corridor, her eyes tracing the half dozen doors that she could see before the passage snaked to the left. Torchlight danced in the sconces that kept the interior downright toasty compared to the outside, a wave of heat that struck her with almost physical force. She stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind her slowly, keeping the knob engaged before carefully releasing and relocking. Getting in had been the easy part, now it was the time to get to work.

Gregory Rothbury

Pleasant smile. Shake hands. Exchange pleasantries. Small talk. Retreat. Repeat. Nobility was repetition, careful practice in events that occurred over and over in endless patterns. There was nothing dynamic when it came to interacting with people, no surprises or changes in topics and conversations, no spontaneity... People were not clever enough to be unpredictable, they merely flattered themselves into believing that they were interesting, that what they had to say was different or unusual compared to the next. They were little more than a sea of faces, and it was only through repeated interaction that they stood out enough to warrant remembering their names. That and the fact that there would be no end to the complaints these entitled creatures would level if he dared forget their names, how else would they continue to pretend they were important, that they mattered?

He looked around as yet another of these endless faces prattled along into his ear, telling him of the recent acquisition her oh-so-clever husband had won in a shrewd contest between himself and another lord; as if it had been his personal skill that had won him that contract and not the expensive bottle of wine he'd slipped along to the merchant that had been assigning it. He made sure to keep returning his gaze to her pudgy face, smiled and nodded when the so-called conversation demanded it, but it was not her, nor any other in this room, that his wandering gaze sought out. Would he see them? Would he be able to pick out the darkly cloaked figure that had infiltrated his home, the thief that Durrow had hired to steal the dagger he'd made sure to display on the outskirts of the room? Would they manage to elude even the sight of one who knew to look for them?

The unspoken contest was the only thing that had encouraged him to attend this party, the only reason that he would be the one to escort these bleating cattle between all the pretty exhibits so that they could look and fawn and lust over the trinkets on display. He'd never seen a burglar in action, and Durrow had insinuated that the one that would be coming to complete this little job was a special thief indeed, as though the rats of society were even worthy of being considered memorable in any fashion. The common folk were just as dull as their masters, only they actually had the excuse of being stupid on top of it. Although he did have to suppose that those who lived on the opposite side of the law deserved to be considered... Cunning, if not intelligent.

His roving eyes were finally captured, though it was not by any slinking thief prowling the outskirts of the room. Alexandrei Durrow's bright blue gaze enraptured him as surely as a spider's web would a fly. She was stunning tonight, finally ridding herself of iron armor in favor of a rich emerald dress, a slit running along the length of her left leg to show off the powerful muscles beneath. Unlike the rest of the flab and the thin that infested this place, she was built like a soldier, muscled and powerful, stalking and prowling instead of oozing from person to person, clique to clique. Her blond hair was free instead of kept in its customary ponytail, and her beautiful face all but shone amidst the light of the torches and of the crystals that hung from the chandeliers above the party. She held a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in her right hand, and as he watched her she raised the thing to her lips and sipped at it, not even wincing as the harsh alcohol slid easily down her throat. No smile graced her lips, no mirth danced in her eyes, but amusement seemed to drape off of the woman like a cloak as the two stared at each other for a long minute. Her eyes were a challenge, an insinuation to him that he was not ready for the coming days, that he was not made of the same ice that flowed through her veins. The insinuation sent his own blood to a boil, anger flaring up to mix into a potent cocktail with the lust that the sight of her brought to him. Not only would he be ready for the events promised on the horizon, but he'd also be ready to take her as another prize for himself when the time was right. Let her keep up this superiority complex then.

As if reading the very thoughts that swirled through his grey matter, Alexendrei smiled and vanished back into the crowd.

Vyx

The Queen of the Jhindoshan thieves guild rifled through the leather pouch at her hip thoughtfully, lips pursed in contemplation as she fished a tinderbox from her bag of tricks. She was tucked away into a quiet corner of the manor, darkened in order to let guests know that they were not welcome in this particular wing. True to her crew's assumptions there wasn't many staff on for tonight, which struck her as a bit odd, but she was hardly one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even still, sticking in the servant's hallway was inviting disaster, so she'd made an escape from that little nightmare the moment her curious probing had revealed a door that led out into the manor proper. She was in, she was safe for the time being, but she was still in need of a plan that would allow her to get into and out of the auction room without being spotted. As good as she was, she doubted very much that she'd be able to infiltrate an entire room full of people and make off with a showpiece. Using Slackjaw's phial would alert everyone in the building to the fact that someone malicious was on the prowl, but a carefully orchestrated fire...? That was another story entirely. If she were to make one relatively close to the showcase than it was likely that she would be able to get in, then out, during the time the nobles were evacuating and before the servants were sent in to save the pieces.

The tinderbox tucked into one of the pouches affixed to her belt, she crept forward and away from the small cubby she'd squirreled herself away in. As she'd expected of Rothbury, the interior of this manor was an opulent and beautiful affair quite unlike the rest of his home city. While the outside kept the traditional grey of the rest of Trinity, the interior was a lavish white marble along the floors and walls that served as a backdrop to luxurious red carpeting. Not only comfortable, but wonderfully sound retardant too! Several dark portraits glared at her as she made her way down the hall, the carpet emboldening her to move a little faster as she rounded a corner with only a momentary glance at the expensive vase perched on its stand. It was said that Lorbrick himself was a rather spartan creature and that the nobles of Lutrexia took it upon themselves to sport the finery that castle Tynemouth lacked. Rothbury even had crystals inset into his walls, not unlike the ones outside. Instead of waves of heat, these released a constant stream of it, keeping the stones too warm for any water deposits to freeze and expand. As a nice side effect, it also kept the carpet pretty toasty as well, something she could feel even through the soles of her leather boots.

So far Bailif's map in her head had been wonderfully accurate, and though she didn't know specific turns she had enough of an idea of where she was to slowly make her way towards the ballroom. Now she slowed down some, keeping her pace slow and methodical as she trailed along the wall. She stayed ready at all times to flatten herself behind any protrusion, ever fearful that a wayward servant would round the corner and spot her. She'd have to kill them then, and the thought was never one she relished. Not only would she have taken a life, but the body would be found eventually and they'd have failed the prerequisite of complete stealth. Vyx put her back to the wall and carefully leaned out to peer around the corner, her brow furrowing at the site of what awaited her at the front entrance hall to the party.

Nothing. Continuing with the streak she'd had since entering the manor, not a single guard stood at attention outside of the doors. There had been no sentries at the back, watching the servant's entrance, no man or woman had patrolled the darkened halls of the abandoned wing... The manor was entirely lacking in any form of security whatsoever on a night of a large event. There was no way these Lutrexian nobles were so arrogant as to believe they didn't need guards, was there? Or had none of them noticed that their host seemingly had no one protecting the artifacts he was hosting, so lost in the party and the promise of being able to view the baubles that most soon hoped would adorn their armories or... Wherever it was the rich stored things they didn't need. She pulled back around the corner, still confused as she reminded herself that she had a job to do regardless of how strange the circumstances seemed. Instead of questioning it further, she once again produced the tinderbox that she'd stowed away and cast her gaze about for the nearest drapes. She needed it to be close enough to the party that someone would assume a servant dropped something, or that a pipe had not been put out entirely. Who knew, at this rate maybe someone had already started a fire entirely by accident, just to make her job even easier.

All Vyx knew as she sent a furtive glance in the direction of the unguarded doors was that something was entirely wrong here. As she crouched down and aligned the flint and steel before the curtains, she found the certainty of the thought far more chilly than anything Lutrexia could throw her way. Why was stealing this stupid little trinket of a dagger paying so well, and why was someone making it so easy for her to do it?

Gregory Rothbury

Gregory sniffed, his nose wrinkling slightly at the scent of smoke even as a small smile crossed the corner of his lips. He was glad that their little thief had chosen to chase everyone away with the threat of a fire, it was one of the more obvious solutions to getting everyone out of this room. As such, he'd planned for it.

"What's that smell?" He asked the nearest figure, an elderly man with a long nose and large, owlish spectacles that seemed to make his eyes far too big for his face. He kept his expression confused and concerned, hoping that the other would catch on and unwittingly play along. The other man sniffed the air curiously, his large eyes growing even wider as some of the colour drained away from his face.

"I believe there's a fire!" The man exclaimed, not shouting but speaking just loud enough for several others nearby to look concerned before they too inhaled deeply. It was all Gregory could do not to grin at the sight, and he kept his face decidedly concerned as he looked about the room in mock curiosity. The conversations around him immediately turned to the prospect of fire, the revelation spreading through the crowd like a wave. He had to act quickly if this plan was going to work in his favor, the thief had only a precious few minutes to get in here and take what she needed before the magic in the thaumaturgic crystals his father had gifted him triggered. Once they sensed the fire was uncontrolled their secondary effect would trigger, the spell woven into them dousing the flames before they could do any real damage to his home.

"Fire!" A woman's voice cried out before he could, and he found himself looking towards the source of the commotion with familiarity as Alexandrei's voice rose up over those around her. "I smell smoke!" Like his own, her face was awash with concern and fright even as her eyes remained pure ice as the two of them locked their gazes on one another. Gregory leaped to action, immediately adopting the role of the concerned host as he called out to his servants to assist everyone outside. His staff rushed in moments later, carrying the guest's coats and valuables which they hurriedly threw around shoulders and into outstretched, frightened hands. He allowed himself to be guided by his Master-Servant, Lilianna, who looked up at him with mild confusion written across her scarred features, though she did not question why her lord was in such a hurry to get outside. Like him, she knew of his father's gift, but she also knew better than to ask any questions of her master. If only everyone else shared in her common sense, he mused, the world would be a far more pleasant place indeed.

All that was left now was to stand in the snow for a couple of minutes.

Vyx

Vyx waited in the dark of the small room she'd chosen as her hiding place, counting the beats of her heart as she waited for the men and women of Rothbury's party to evacuate. The space appeared to be some sort of shrine to miscellaneous junk, rife with boxes and barrels full of odds and ends that she would have gladly helped herself to had she the time. One hundred ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine... Her hand moved out to grab the knob that would lead back out into the manor's hallway, and with a soft click she peered out into the hall once again. Not a soul in sight, and there was no more noise emanating from the showroom, leading her to slip back out into the estate before she gently closed the door behind her. Once again she placed her back to the wall opposite her, and once again she peered out into the empty hallway that led into the room where her target was located. Her lips still held the displeased frown that had spread across them, but she approached the room and gripped both handles before pushing inward just enough to allow her to peer into the empty space beyond.

Empty, just as she'd hoped. She stepped into the room and cast her gaze around, lingering briefly on the food stacked high on a nearby buffet table, at the various plates and dishes that had been left on chairs and even on the floor in the guest's departure. They'd remained calm, which meant that it was unlikely she was going to have some panicky noble rushing back in for forgotten personal effects. The frown still present on her face, her eyes finally found the object they were searching for, and she reached into her pouch once again to produce a small leather-wrapped bundle. Their dagger was a perfect likeness of the one in the small display case, and the lock looked simple enough...

Alexendrei Durrow, two days later

Fareed was such an ugly name, Durrow decided as she jotted it down onto the end of the parchment. Hopefully, this would be the last she had to use it, though she had to admit that there were aspects of the chosen moniker that was clever enough. It was so obviously a false name that she was surprised the Jhindoshan thieves hadn't even called her out on the matter, though she supposed that those lot cared little about who they worked for so long as the money was good. She turned, depositing the letter into an unmarked envelope before placing that into the hands of her waiting servant. Fareed didn't have a seal, so there was no need to break out the wax.

She turned back to her desk as the servant's footsteps retreated, and pulled a different quill from its place beside the one she'd just tucked away into a separate well. She wetted the tip, this time with ink that she'd purchased from a commoner's store, and made an experimental mark along the top of her practice parchment. The mark was much thinner, the lower quality ink coupling nicely with this pen to make her handwriting a little more spidery and rough. That was good. Salara of Korn was a simple peasant girl turned revolutionary, a young woman who believed the rumors that her King's death had been an orchestrated thing by the evil dragon of the north. Jacob's death certainly had been convenient considering how strongly he and Lorbrick had opposed one another, but the man had been sickly for a while now. Regardless, Salara, Alexendrei decided as she started her letter, bought into the rumors that the Archduke had sent an assassin. It seemed only fair and just that Jhuutia send an assassin of its own even if their new king, Jacob's son Theodore, was too spineless to do it himself. She'd managed to pool together enough gold with the rest of her town and some of those in Dunendor nearby to pay for the affair, and she'd give every last copper to see Sylendus Lorbrick dead.

She even had a dagger for the job, something that would aid greatly in the murder of an ice drake like the Archduke.