ABlessedOccasionIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | A Blessed Occasion (this thread takes place in Damien's home) Damien confidently strode towards the den, passing Turlough bearing a note as he did so. On his way through the parlor, he had acquired a black doctor's bag. The room was appointed in something closer to Damien’s own style, as compared with the parlor. The furniture was all cherry and dark leather, and the bar was stocked with spirits from across shadow. It also contained a large humidor stocked with tobacco products from across shadow, as well as more questionable smoked and inhaled drugs of a perishable nature. Although Damien does not make frequent use of it, an attractive brass hookah sat in one corner. Cabinets and drawers contained a variety of other chemical pleasures, to suit the tastes of any friend or guest. This was the sort of smoke-filled room where deals are struck, and plots hatched. (ooc: took a few liberties as to the Lady's position and that of her son... obviously, edit as needed, or tell me which changes to make and I'll take care of it) A very pregnant Lady Montcalm had been helped onto the chase lounge by Damien's cook, a mute, stern battleaxe of a woman, but also one who had borne a daughter of her own into the world and who had some experience as a midwife in her home shadow. While the cook dampened the Lady's brow with a moist cloth, the Lady's heir held her hand and looked on with some consternation. Bearing a smile which had demonstrably charmed good men's heads into the noose, Damien approached with a black leather bag in one hand. "Milady, I am sorry that I wasn't present to greet you in person," Damien said as his right hand signed to his watching mute valet. As he left the room to collect something Damien had left in the library, Damien continued "but I had to attend to other matters crucial to your security." A confident bedside manner seemed to be among Damien's many talents. The Lady was clearly in some discomfort, but she drew herself up into a something approximating as sitting position. "My Lord," she said, in a voice that throbbed with suppressed emotion, "you will please tell me why I was brought here - and what has happened to my husband!" Another gesture, and Damien turned to her son while the young maid moved in his direction. "Young man, your mother needs you to be strong... please go with my maid to the kitchen and have something to eat while we talk..." he said, hoping to catch the Lady's eye so that she might encourage him to do as much. Lady Montcalm hesitated, and then gave an abrupt nod. The maid led the boy away and he went - though not without some worried backward glances. "I'm afraid there has been a serious attack upon your husband's person, Lady Montcalm. Owing to your... delicate condition, I do not wish to be overly verbose, but I have good reason to believe that whomever instigated the attack desires an end to your line, and would easily have the means to insinuate an impostor into the embassy staff-- not necessarily an ambassador, but a clerk or cook can be just as deadly. All that can be done for your husband has been done, but he is not well enough to travel. As a member of the Blood, I am among the most skilled physicians in Amber, and additionally have the resources to keep you and your children safe, indeed, to help them claim what is rightfully theirs. I promise a more detailed explanation soon... but first, let us concentrate on your wellbeing and that of your soon-to-be-born child, yes?" She was absorbing all she had been told. There was a swift intelligence in her glance, although it was veiled behind the modesty that all Kashfan women were meant to display. But she cast several anxious looks towards the door where her son had gone. "I must examine you now... you may feel a slight discomfort, but I must ascertain if the baby's head has turned and how long it will be until you are ready to give birth," Damien explained. She gave a slight gasp. "My Lord ... when my time comes - and it is not for another two weeks yet, or so the midwives tell me - I shall be attended by women, as is right and proper. No man other than my husband has ever or will ever use me in such a way!" Damien took another appraising look. "Ah, the chair has been reupholstered. Of course. My apologies, it does seem you have a short while to wait for the blessed event." She drew a deep breath. "I am grateful for your solicitude, my Lord. But where is my husband at present? If he is too ill to join us, surely I might go to him?" "Lady, at present his condition would present a danger to you and your children. The attack was partially a biological one, and he is in no condition to be comforted by your physical presence. Surely your prayers will serve him as well from afar, but in truth, the chances of him making a recovery are not good, so it may be best if you divide your efforts between prayers for his health and consideration for his spirit, or whatever else your personal customs dictate under the circumstances." She lifted a hand to her mouth, pressing it against her lips, hard, and her eyes filled with tears. But only one escaped, and she gave a little nod of agreement at his words. And his cook produced a fine linen handkerchief without any obvious prompting, and right on cue. Damien's household, it seemed, was a manifestation of his will. "Should the attack prove to have been a mortal one... and I have ways of learning such things from afar," he said as he held up a card so that she could see its back and looked to her face to see if there was recognition. She looked at it blankly for a moment - and then her eyes widened - suggesting that she had heard of the fabled trumps, but had never before seen them. "I have a means to assist your family in opposing those who would usurp them of their rightful position. You have heard that the sands of time do not pass with equal speed through the glass in all shadows?" he asked. "You would help my father-in-law ro the throne of Eregnor?" she asked. "But ... that would be beyond measure wonderful!" She drew a breath - and then she hesitated before sayong carefully, "But I must ask ... why, my Lord, when your family have remained out of this struggle for centuries?" "It is sometimes difficult to gage the speed with which political transitions happen. It may be possible your father-in-law will be crowned in a week, or it may be his grandson which sees his family restored to their rightful seat," Damien began, answering her first point. "Unicorn grant it is the former," she said piously, but her eyes slid to the door by which her son had left the room. "As for why I have chosen to be of assistance... I believe you will soon appreciate that I do not do a thing for only one reason. To be concise, though, I expect such assistance as a restored Eregnor can provide in return for the assistance I can provide... and so, if I can bring you and yours to a position of strength, I stand to reap greater assistance in return. Also, as time goes on, it may be that you will learn some of your opponents are assisted by men who are not my friends," Damien explained with a gentle smile which belied the sort of man he was. Lady Montcalm nodded. "It is said," she told him, "that one should not meddle in the affairs of Amber, for its Lords and Ladies are subtle and quick to anger. But the centuries creep on, and Eregnor suffers without its rightful King ... What would you have me do? I am, at the moment, fitted for little but to remain by my poor husband's bedside ... " Then handkerchief was lifted to her eyes once more. "As a first step, I propose you and your son, and those my man Turlough has asked you to write, to travel with me through the use of trump to a shadow at my disposal. There, your child-- children-- will get an education fit for a king. You and the councilors will help me to insure his education does not skimp on that which is required of the Eregnorese* nobility, and his skill in statecraft, history, generalship, and other such matters will be second to none. They will also be able to vouch that, when we return, he is his father's son... for years may pass in shadow while less than a day passes here. If his father lives, we will wait for him to be well enough to accompany and approve, if he does not, it will be safer than a fortress with guards beyond counting." Lady Montcalm hesitated. "To retire, my Lord, for so many years ... that would not be easy. Our trust in your would have to be ... absolute. What proof can you give me that you will keep your word - that you have not just conspired with the Begmans?" "My lady, if I wished you to be out of the picture, I am not the sort of man to take half-measures, to balk at killing women and children. Much time will pass there, little here, though I do have means to insure the years do not weigh you down. I am a grandson of Oberon, ageless, hard as diamond, a Power and Law unto myself... and I swear to you, on my family blood," he said as he drew a small knife from a drawer and pressed it to his palm, "that I am not in league with either Kashfa or Begma. If that is insufficient, I suspect nothing will be," he said as the blood dripped onto the floorboards, landing between two priceless carpets. She looked at him wide-eyed, and then moved forward to take his hand between her two. She bowed her head, lowering it over the wound - and then he felt the brush ohf her lips on the torn skin. When she raised her head to look at him, her lips were scarlet with his blood. "One thing," she said. "If my husband ... dies ... or if he lives, crippled ... then, I want you to come with me to this fast time Shadow of yours. And when my child is born, I want you to give me another ... your child." "All things in their time," he said with a smile as he moved to help her up. "First, I must ask you a question of much the same character as the one you have put to me... have you any other alliances, obligations, externalities apart from your... wholesome desire to see your family and yourself well taken care of? Have chaosian lords, exiled Deigan mandarins, or businessmen of ambiguous national origin made promises to you and yours? If so, of what nature..." he was gentle as he helped her back into her seat, but the kindly eyes which watched her did so keenly indeed. There was something of the hypnotic power of the predator in them, something dangerous which was not to be taken lightly. She returned his smile with one that showed she appreciated the danger in his. She did not attempt to match him, but there was a certain guardness in her trust - if not in what she said. "As you would expect," she said. "My husband's father is old and failing - he will not live to be King of Eregnor. My husband ... has certain weaknesses. Indulgences. Many of those you speak of have decided it was better to pay court to a mere woman than to a weak man. And this woman concluded it was best to smile and listen to all ... rather than to give promoses to this one or that one. "A woman wooed, my Lord, can expect to reap many rewards. A woman won is ... not longer useful. That is why, if I am to accept you suit, my priize is something that will give me a new utiility and potential for power." Then she smiled again. "Besides, what better protection for my son, the King of Eregnor, than the half-brother who bears the blood of Amber?" "We understand each other quite well, and I am not one to make the... so often fatal... mistake of assuming a woman is a member of a weaker sex. I hope it will not come as too great of a shock, Lady, if I now reveal that your husband... will no longer be burdened by any weaknesses," he said with a smile which grew conciliatory, and he returned the card to its case, and the case to his pocket. She grew pale, and pressed a hand to her trembling lips. But she fought to keep her eyes on him steady, and gave a little nod, to acknowledge she understood. "Shall we bring your son back in, now that we no longer speak of troubling political matters? She lowered her hand from her mouth. "On the contrary, my Lord. Now the troubling political matters begin. Who knows of his death? And can you tell me any more details?" "The present passengers of the Ramblin' Queen are aware your husband was involved in an incident there, but do not know of its outcome. Some may believe he was tossed overboard. He was being questioned and searched subsequent to the incident-- some behavior inappropriate for that setting-- and then died a graphic, supernatural death. The nature of the death attracted the notice of the Royal Court, and so the Prime Minister, myself, his apprentice, and a Chaosian doctor traveled there to investigate. The Queen's staff know, by now the crown's Master of Whispers-- my cousin, and perhaps a supporter of Kashfa or Begma or both, though there are other possible candidates who fit the facts-- knows. The Queen's host, lacking in subtlety as you would expect of an up-jumped Cornarian whore with a touch of the Blood, will doubtless soon send word to the Eregnorese embassy. However... all of these people, including the Eregnor embassy in Amber, will soon be -very- distracted by the suppression of a popular uprising," Damien instructed while his chef tried to daub the blood from her lips and his valet wrapped his cut hand in linen. Lady Montcalm permitted the removal of the blood, listening intently to what Damien was saying. "Then perhaps we should retreat," she said, "tio your place of greater safety. But first I should meet with the Kashfans - and assure them of my well-being and that of my son." "Travel through the city will soon become difficult... will a letter suffice, sealed with your signet?" Damien asked. Even as she was speaking, Damien felt the tug of a trump. Damien turned such that his fireplace and bookcase were in evidence, but the Lady Montcalm was not, and brought Pattern Defense to mind before accepting. To explain the matter to the Lady Montcalm, he tapped the pocket where he'd stashed his trumps and brought a finger to his lip. ~Who?~ "Florimel," came the crisp answer, and Flora's lovely countenance quickened into life in his mind's eye. "We have had problems tonight - I don't know to what extent you are aware of them." ~I have informants amongst Johann's men, and am working to suppress a spontaneous and active revolt, and to preserve the lives of certain diplomatically sensitive persons. I have been told Johann has escaped, and some think he may be behind this untimely insurrection, though I thought the Prime Minister had crippled him enough to prevent as much. Unless this is more vital to the safety of the realm and its king, I am afraid I must focus upon them,~ he projected apologetically. "What action are you proposing to take?" she said. "It is vital we're not all acting at cross purposes; there's already enough confusion here in Amber tonight." ~I have already had the garrison notified. I sent word as soon as I heard of the incident, in the hopes of nipping this in the bud. I am sure the General has contemplated the possibility of a revolt in his... copious free time in The Scar. At present, I am preventing the death of an Eregnorese nobleman on the Queen, earlier this evening, from igniting a Golden-Circle-wide war. I really do need to see to that presently, as the longer I wait the more difficult it will be for me to reach the relevant people. This needs to be done before the Queen docks and word reaches the Begmans and Kashfans that something has happened to Eregnor's heir.~ "The General is dead," said Flora. "The chain of command now operating is, I imagine, a little uncertain. The Emperor's Minister for Ordered Affairs, Duke Helgram will certainly have an interest. It may be that unless something drastic is done, he will ensure there are no docks for the Queen to return to, and the future of Eregnor will be of little interest to those of us who survive." Damien raised an eyebrow. ~Well, we are all loyal subjects of the Emperor, are we not? Where is this Duke now?~ It was troublesome, the details some choose to leave out. "I have no idea," said Flora. "Perhaps your sources could tell you? At all events, it would be useful if you could return to the Castle without loss of time." She broke the connection. The Lady Montcalm could see his his fist tighten as the silent conversation had continued. "The situation is worse than I feared; there is a danger Amber may be destroyed before dawn, and so we must get you and your child out of it immediately," Damien said as he retrieved a seal and bit of parchment. His grave tone matched the seriousness of his words as his cook lit a candle at another subtle gesture from Damien. "If Amber survives, I will convey you directly to either Kashfa or Eregnor, as seems best under the circumstances-- we may still outpace word of your husband's death. I am sure you are worried that you will be stranded there, but as you can see from what I am writing..." Damien said as he moved so she could see the letter he was still in the process of drafting in his elegant script. "Your son stands to inherit my estate and title-- and it is quite extensive-- should I not return in twenty years. Resources will be put at your disposal so that you may begin your son's education. I regret the midwifes will not be familiar to you, but really... this is the best chance for you and your children to live a safe life in the style which is your right by blood. Avail yourself of every tutor you can hire with my funds, resist the urge to coddle them, insure his heart remains Eregnorese, and hopefully we will be able to continue as we have planned," Damien said as his pen flew across the parchment. He then sealed it with the design of Skylord Ramsey of the Victor Empire, his mind already working on what he must accomplish next. She raised a hand to her throat. "before we go ... I must see the Kashfan Ambassador," she said. Her voice shook - but he could see the determination in her eyes. "It is for my son's security, my Lord. For one piece of advice my husband gave me that I did believe was never trust a Lord of Amber until he has proved himself. true." Distantly in the house, Damien could hear the sound of voices - it seemed that Turlough had, conveniently, completed his orders. "That is likely him now. The staff will obey your every instruction while I see to other matters, but are unable to respond verbally. I regret that I will be unable to attend you and the Ambassador personally... I trust it will be unnecessary to mention the pressing concerns I just mentioned to the Ambassador?" Damien asked as he made eye contact with the cook, who nodded. He placed the sealed letter on the table beside the Lady Montcalm and took his exit. Turlough was not visible, but one of his lieutenants was, escorting a group of handsome, hawk-faced men in flowing robe: the Kashfan dignatries. At the sight of Damien, they bowed deeply, with great respect. Damien's acknowledgement of the bow was, he deemed, quite polite. "A thousand pardons, but I must see to other matters. I understand that you do not partake of the fruit of the vine, but please make yourself at home... charcoal and water can be fetched for the hooka, and the tobacco is in the humidor..." Damien said graciously. "May blessings shine upon your head," said the Ambassador smoothly. "And perhaps we might have some word from you as to what has befallen Lady Montcalm and her son, who docked here in Amber so short a time ago - and disappeared?" "Please, Ambassador, ask her yourself," Damien said as he made a sweeping gesture and moved out of the way, so the Ambassador could see her through the threshold. Then, he left and searched for Turlough... And found him in the private office, in deep (and somewhat icy) conversation with a thickset man who was cowering before him like a sullen dog. Damien closed the door behind him firmly, not a slam, but just loudly enough to give some hint as to his mood. With a raised eyebrow, he expressed his expectation of an explanation. "The plans are going according to your instructions," said Turlough. "Except in one particular." He turned on the hapless thief. "You were told that it was the other houses to be raided!" "It was a mistake!" protested the thief. "The man had a gudge against Fair Winds Trading - he thought he'd use our raid to fire their mansion. We've dealt with him - there won't be much body left to find. "What do you want done with the loot from the rest of ourt raids?" he added. "It was a good haul." There was definite wist in his voice. Turlough remained silent - he was not going to reveal more of his mater's plans before this man. "Arrange for a suitable token to be delivered to the lesser factotums of the company by the back channels... make it clear to them that the arson was not sanctioned by the guild, and that were the building not insured you would make full recompense," Damien said, bored. "Divide the rest as you see fit...," he said as he considered his own war chest, which was far from bare. The man brightened and he swept a low bow. "Is there more?" Damien asked the guild official. He shook his head. "Unless you have further instructions for my people, Sir." "I shall pay well for word... not false rumors, mind, of the whereabouts of the Duke Helgram," Damien stated. "But that will be all... these riots will not end well, as I am sure you smell, so your people ought not get too into the spirit of the moment," Damien declared. Turlough outlined the success with which riots had been started in various parts of the city - and the fact that the Baronness was being hailed as Amber's saviour. "Apparently a portion of the rioters have invaded Five Corners in quest of her," said Turlough. "Their progress currently appears to be impeded, but they are creating a great deal of damge in their frustration. "Amber's guards have been pulled out of the Boneyard - they're following a policy of containment there. Reek Bottom is ablaze - that area seems to have been abandoned by authority. And all ships are putting off from the shore - for safety, one presumes. I could have men go into other parts, if you wish. It won't take much mnow - in fact, I'm getting reports of spontaneous riots and looting in Broken Smile, the Rookery and even Kemspter Street. Our raids in Clifftop, High Garden, Silver Dance and the rest have, so far, gone unnoticed." "And do you have word of the Duke?" Damien asked with dangerous mildness. "Very good, Mister Vizlor. Consult both red and blue folders... I may be some time, but first I shall have to check in with the diplomats. Is there anything else pressing?" Damien asked, apparently mollified. "Nothing else, sir," said Turlough. Indeed, things look to be gathering a momentum of their own. By dawn, half the city should be affected." And Damien returned to where the Ambasador and Lady Montcalm talked, making sure his approach was not unheard so he could not be accused of sneaking up on the other man. The Ambassador rose at Damien's approach, looking diplomatically concerned. Lady Montcalm, who did not rise, simply looked exhausted. "He wishes to have someone accompany me," she said. "I am sure you will understand, my Lord," said the Ambassador. "We look upon Lady Montcalm and her family as an investment. And we have already invested in their well being ... heavily." "I propose a compromise... the hour is late, and should the appointed hour arrive unexpectedly," Damien said as he gestured to his own stomach, "facilities in the proposed destination are far superior to those here, and yet the city is quite unsafe at the moment. I will transport her and her son presently, and your representative will be sent shortly after dawn. I trust my word, and estate, are good enough securities for one night on your... investment?" Damien said as he looked over both parties and smiled beneficently. The Kashfan Ambassador bowed low. "Obviously, my dear Lord of Amber, for the ways of your people are legendary. Who, knowing your august lineage, could fail to trust your word?" He straightened. "Nevertheless, there are certain niceties pertaining to the treatment of a Kashfan lady of rank that are sometimes not appreciated by outsiders. The proscription against such a lady placing her foot upon bare earth, for example ... a thousand little things that a man of her people would recognise. For a lady in her condition to be so stranded would be ... distressing - and I am sure we all want what is best for her, her son and her unborn child. My secretary is here, and has volunteered to accompany her." The secretary looked as though he might be more proficent with the sword than the pen. "Ah, well, if the escort is here already... perhaps it would be best if we said our goodbyes and left presently?" Damien said with a gracious smile of which Flora would have approved. "Certainly," said the Ambassador. Lady Montcalm rose to her feet with a certain gracefulness, despite her condition. "I am ready. Bring my son to me, if you please." "A good night to you, Ambassador... you may stay the evening, if you wish, or arrangements can be made to convey you back to the embassy in some degree of safety, but as I said... the city is a turbulent place today," Damien said as he made an acknowledging bow appropriate to their respective stations. In response to an unseen hand gesture, or perhaps simply following the conversation, her son was brought back in. His face was sticky with some confection, which the maid hastened to wipe off with a damp cloth. "Now... if your escort will take your hand, and if he will take mine, and your son will take yours?" Damien instructed, as much as asked, while he retrieved a trump... and soon they were gone in a cloud of rainbow light. ... The quartet found themselves in an entirely different place, and as Damien released the man's hand and returned the card to its case, the three strangers looked around in what was doubtlessly wonder, regardless of how well they might choose to hide it. Though trumps could easily have been drawn which disguised the fact from casual observation, Johann had not deigned to in this case: roughly five paces away the world seemed to end. Upon more careful examination, a long, long way below, tiny waves were visible-- but they were so far below where they now stood that ocean sounds were completely absent. They stood not at the top of a cliff, but instead on a floating slab of rock. In the other direction, a sprawling manse comprising a variety of architectural styles and surrounded by a wall manned by guards stood. In the further distance, behind the manse, slender columns anchored airships. With a moment's attention, Damien made certain changes to the shadow which would not be apparent unless someone knew the seemingly-random pattern to its fluctuating time rate*, knew the precise geography, or tried to use the other trump of this place that Johann had drawn**. Damien strode towards the main gates confidently, and they opened before he reached them while horns sounded in greeting. A small army of servants as mute as those the others had seen at his home watched the handsigns he made as he approached, and a silk-clad man with golden skin, epicanthal folds to his eyelids, long white beard and mustache, and strongly accented Thari moved to meet Damien. After a deep bow, which Damien acknowledged with a very gracious fractional movement of his head, he asked "Skylord Ramsey, greetings... welcome home! Will you be staying long?" This man had, perhaps, met Damien before... but as the others would soon learn, the Skylord's face was to be found in paintings and sculptures in a variety of styles throughout the home. The staff were obviously in awe of him, as it was said he had provided Emperor Victor of the Brentish Empire with the gift of immortality, a secret that he obviously possessed. Perhaps it was a factor of legends growing in the telling, but it was also said Damien had guided the emperor's family into the throne, had created Airships, and much more. That he was fantastically wealthy from the trade passing into and out of the Jade Domain, however, couldn't be disputed. "No... in fact, I shall require you to give these worthy guests," Damien said with a sweeping gesture which certainly included the Lady Montcalm and her son... and might or might not have included the Kashfan 'secretary'... "a tour of the grounds. It is unclear to me how long they will be staying, but I anticipate I shall return within a week's time. See to it that the archives are opened, and the boxes labeled 'Golden Circle Primer,' 'Mathematics,' and 'Military Science,' are dusted and made available in the east study. Remove the paintings and sculptures showing the face of the Most Worthy Governor before I return... he does not please me at this time. The Lady Montcalm may have additional requests-- culinary, sartorial, etc... see to it that they are met," Damien said in a businesslike fashion. The mandarin made notes on a slate in an iconographic language which was certainly not Thari, and bowed in agreement. To the Lady Montcalm, Damien said "I'm afraid I must leave you to see to other matters... but as I explained, I expect to return soon. If I do not, something has gone awry and you should present the sealed letter we spoke of. Good day, and may the Unicorn keep you in her heart," Damien said before performing a trifold bow with hand flourishes which hinted to even the Kashfan thug that he knew more of their cultures than he has initially let on. ... Soon, another trump was out, and Damien was gone again. After securing certain items from a trunk in the basement where he arrived, he tested the revolver. The results were as he expected, so after he had changed from his complicated outfit into a single article of clothing that seemed altogether too loose at that moment, and had secured his chosen weapons about his person, he donned a cloak and ascended a secret passageway which ran parallel to the chimney. Once at roof level, he had a good view of the city through his spyglass, and saw what there was to be seen of the riots below. Once back down the passageway, to a writing desk that Johann had used countless times, Damien put it to work, robotically putting to paper thoughts he had composed as soon as his plan had taken shape. While he did so, he had time to metaphorically catch his breath and brood. Subtlety, he knew, was always to be preferred. One was not to risk one's own neck so long as one had another to act in their stead. Always burn an asset, trade in a marker, make some smaller sacrifice before one did something overtly rash. Though his moves this morning had seemed so to some, Floramel for instance, they were instead calculated, and their true meaning subtly interwoven with a lie in the square-- that it was about personal power, about a lover's quarrel. He played the game, and he was played by others, but so long as he had Johann, he hadn't had to do anything truly drastic. Still, it seemed there was precious little time for another byzantine scheme. Johann lived, but he was not in a position to put his neck in the noose for Damien again... but what had to be done had to be done, were his goals to be realized. Islain had left out too much, and the trump call thereafter had left out too much as well... but there was still time to cloak a measure of subtlety behind something seemingly brash. It would gall him so much less if this had not been what Floramel had intended for him to do under the circumstances... after a fashion. The note was dry, it was in his hand, and he was racing through secret tunnels and 'blind' alleyways. As he did, the jeans fit better and the burden across his shoulders felt more natural. The city was a blur, but finally, Johann (sic) had reached his destination. He found himself in a strange place, confused... but he held a note which explained the situation quite satisfactorily. His lover, Damien, told him that a Chaosian Duke planned to destroy the city, that he was near... it even provided a cursory description of the Duke Helgram, and informed him that he had last been seen at such-and-such location, and was traveling by carriage. He looked out through the peephole somewhere in Five Corners... (EoT) |
