[Crown Inn and Tavern]A Message Delivered Under Cloudy Skies [Duncan - Private]

[Milo L'Evienne]

Last Brightening of Winter, Early Darkening, A Storm Brewing

Like a drowned rat dressed in plain clothing, an otherwise unremarkable young man made his way through the gathering throng of the Crown Inn and Tavern, those drinkers and gamblers settling in to take refuge from an unexpected downpour that had come upon the capitol city like a deluge. Of dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes and slightly pointed ears, he was of average height and build, save feet that were seemingly a bit large for the rest of him. An equally unremarkable scroll clutched in his hand, he headed straight for the reception, there to make his request, an inquiry regarding the availability of one Mr. Kyle Linvail, who he’d like to personally deliver a message to should the man be readily available.

[Duncan Sythe]

OOC: Assuming a little self-mod here.

IC:

The messenger was told in which suite Mister Linvail could be found and was directed to said suite by a maid. Within Duncan was just finishing another sumptuous Crown Inn dinner in the peace and quiet. When his peace and quiet was disturbed by a knock at the door he called out the logical question, slipping innocuously into Meditation as he did so, putting aside the food, calming his mind and reaching for his sword sheath.

“Who is it?”

The answer came promptly enough.

“Miss Lality Sir, Mister Sythe Sir, with a man who says he needs to speak with you. Refuse's to tell us his business Sir, sorry to be an inconvenience Sir.”

With the emphasis put on Sir it was possible Miss Lality could knock holes through wood. None the less having cast Awareness and seen nothing untoward through the door about the messenger Duncan reached the fairly logical conclusion; if the man meant him harm he wouldn't have come via the door. It was one of his more pragmatic traits, he assumed anyone capable of killing or inconveniencing him would manage to eventually so overloaded paranoia about every visitor was rather out of order in a world full of magic.

So Linvail opened the door, the Illusion in place, the sword sheath tossed onto a plush couch.

“Come in and let's have your name and business then.”

He inquired of the man, frowning none the less at his drowned appearance and expression.

“Get warm by the fire at least.”

Duncan added dryly, gesturing across the room to a couple of comfortable armchairs.

[Milo L'Evienne]

The transition from pouring rain to warm and stuffy tavern air had brought a bit of a chill to the young courier’s frame, though he’d hardly complain while following the maid up the stairs or while awaiting an answer to his request. Told he was not to leave a message of this nature behind in the event of Mr. Linvail’s absence but to return to the palace with it in hand, the additional activity in the corridors along with the dark mood hanging over all tended to point out the importance of it. In fact, on his way out he’d heard enough of even the sketchiest details from those trailing in to realize what had occurred in a roundabout way. Unaware of course of Duncan’s preparations, the half elf merely nodded his thanks to the maid in the wake of the man’s reply, then awaited her departure before accepting the invitation inside.

He’d interrupted the man’s pracenda no doubt, or at least the tail end of it, but he imagined even that couldn’t be avoided considering the Regent’s demeanor when handing out his instructions. The why or the wherefore where this particular man was concerned were a mystery, but not his to solve after all. ”Thank you sir,” turned out he was a soft spoken fellow, a cultured voice besides. ”I apologize for the interruption,” he added with a glance shot at the remains of Duncan’s pracenda once the door had been closed tight. The fire was a particular lure and though he moved closer to it in order to chase away the chill of his damp clothing, he declined the offer of a seat. ”My name is Gerard Malachy. I have been sent to deliver a message, with the instructions that I was to neither leave it behind in the event of your absence, nor place it into any hand save your own.” So saying, he handed over a small scroll and despite efforts to protect it from the rain by way of slipping it inside the folds of his coat, it was somewhat damp, the ink a bit blurred but still legible. The scroll lacked any obvious marks of origin, but no doubt Duncan would recognize the penmanship, a left handed scrawl with a distinctive, perhaps dramatic flourish that would have been darned difficult to reproduce without a great deal of aggravation.

Secrets : My friend, I apologize for the manner in which this missive has reached you, as well as for the unseemly candlemark. Circumstances have it that such could not be avoided. This evening an event intended to be a celebration was deliberately turned into something much to the contrary by the hand of an uninvited guest who was seemingly successful at undermining security, and a young woman we have both recently shared conversation with over pracenda now suffers the consequences though efforts on her behalf seem to have proven successful thus far. We meet in the throne room, and your services would be very much appreciated. M

[Duncan Sythe]

“No trouble.”

Duncan said quietly, clearly intrigued and concerned by who could want to reach him in such an odd manner at such a late hour. The man's 'instructions' only deepened the unconcealed frown of concern on Linvail's features as Duncan/Linvail accepted the note.

“Thank you Gerald.”

Came the polite acknowledgment as he turned away from the man and slit the seal on the scroll, unrolling it and studying it in the firelight.

“Black Aeternia.”

Duncan then swore in a very dark voice having read the contents of the missive, no doubt to the concern of the courier...thinking very fast. Quick, economical steps took him to the fire wherein the note was thrust and burnt to ashes before he turned back to the man in the doorway, waving a hand at him and at the same time swiftly, brutally ripping the existing state of the courtyard of the Imperial Palace from the man's mind with a Reveal spell that no doubt sent him staggering with a momentary headache from its bluntness.

“You should return to whence you came, I have no doubt your services may be further needed this darkening Mister Malachy – wait.”

A thought and Duncan reached down into a nearby saddlebag, removing fifty crowns in a leather bag, one of many sitting in the saddlebags which he threw to the bedraggled courier.

“For your troubles, now go.”

His terse abruptness as he waved the man away was due to concern as to what could prompt Milo to contact him in such a bizarre fashion and his desire to find out the what with all expedience. Malachy therefore could not be permitted to remain and witness the transformation that was about to occur. He had another place prepared and would see to it this night that all traces of Linvail in the Crown except a message box were gone.

Thusly gathering saddlebags and changing into more appropriate clothing Duncan delayed himself only to Imbue the door with a small Suggestion that would send anyone who considered it worth entering away from it until further notice.

Kyle's Illusion gone and another, masking certain aspects of himself, in place, Duncan Sythe shifted the saddlebags around his hand to include them in the spell as he thought of where he wished to arrive; the circular drive of the Imperial Palace, and activated the Teleportation spell to take him there.