A Sunny Disposition [Aurin]

[Imogen]

Ash 7, 124

The disasterous fall (metaphorically) and subsequent rise (literally) of the city of Zaichaer had sent shockwaves throughout the world. It had been the casus belli for the Imperium's recommitment to its defense spending, had a plausible tie-in the kidnapping of Talon Novalys and the subsequent twilight of his Great House, and was thought to be linked to the horrendous Dread Mists which had ravaged much of the world. It was, plausibly, the single greatest catastrophe of the modern era.

But geographical effects had, all things considered, been rather contained.

Just a few miles outside the ruined townhouses, the floating isles, the military checkpoints and the fevered rebuilding, the silent woods which dominated much of southwestern Zaichaer stood sentinel. These were mixed- logging woods near the roads and towns and fields of the city-state's protectorate territories, but things quickly gave way to old-growth forests if you moved far off the trail. Those occult deciduous woods maintained a vast fiefdom of eternal gloaming, the boughs and branches of the trees covering up a kingdom of animals and monsters so expansive that even the armies of twisted mutants which had fled the Warrens last year could be lost within forever. The forests had stood here for eons before the coming of the first men, and they were barely troubled by the cataclysms and dooms of the mortal world.

These were the old woods, the realm of myths, of demigods and monsters. And, of course, of witches.

"-would not believe the size of the thing.” the witch said, hands spread out in front of her in incomprehensible indication, "It was a metal spider, or at least suggestive in its form, but it was large enough to have deck within it, where three or four grown men could command it. Accidentally turned the thing on when I was poking around, had to smash it before it got loose. You know, I've seen a lot of Gelerand's war machines, but that one beat all. 'course, Ailos is littered with that shite now. What a pity...”

Imogen's message to Aurin had asked him to meet her at a small village about two days' travel south of Zaichaer, but there hadn't been much more detail. The phrases "deadly mystery" and "certain doom" had featured prominently, but more to the fox's interest she had also offered to show him to "the hall of the sun." That could only mean the Sunsingers' remaining grand sanctum, the location of which even Ansel Gerhard had refused to divulge.

(Indeed, Imogen had freely admitted that she wasn't really supposed to show anyone the location of the Sanctuary, but said offhandedly that this was more custom than law.)

The path through the forest was surprisingly wide--the Sunsingers did need to bring supplies off the road from time to time, after all--but it was twisted and winding, and absolutely cobwebbed with scrivenings meant to cloud the mind, distort the senses, and send travelers stumbling into the forest's depths. It was a complex construct, probably built up by the witches over the course of decades and maintained by hidden dragonshards, and probably would have been a challenge to navigate even for a spy of Aurin's caliber. Thankfully, there was no need. As soon as the two witches entered the woods, Imogen spun her bronze Pact staff out of the air, and called forth silvery light from the thumb-sized crystal mounted at one end. Everywhere the light touched, the illusions faded into translucence, hanging on the edge of sight like cobwebs.

"It isn't much further.” Imogen reassured her erstwhile smuggling partner, "Just, ah, make sure they know your affiliations as soon as one of the officers meets us at the door. It's been about a year since I last visited, and I can't really speak for the mood. Everything should clear up right quick once I explain that I was trapped on Ailos for work, not just sneaking out to watch Carina.”

The orkhan witch's voice was cheerful and self-assured, but this was perfectly typical for her. Doubtless she'd sound exactly as chipper while lying her ass off, and offer some hollow apology in the same tone of voice. Nevertheless, she was clearly happy that Aurin had come in response to her letter; she might be a fraud, but she'd never been one to hide her emotions. It was perhaps the most enthusiastically she'd ever greeted him, and that was counting the time she jumped off a roof at him.

"And how have you been? Busy, I expect?”

[Aurin]

Of course Aurin had answered Imogen's missive and answered in the affirmative. His goal with the covens hadn't changed: he wanted a hand in all of them, even if he wasn't officially a member of all of them. So far, he was a member of three: the Railrunners; the Myshalarai; the Whispers. He was on good terms with the others, though he had no desire to lose himself and his secretes to the Kindred's Grove, he had connected them with Torin's friend Sivan, who was a better candidate, and it seemed they were reaching out to Kala Leukos as well. Good for them. As for the Grymalka, he had done enough stupid shit tripping balls on ghostwine that he didn't want to learn anything of necromancy, though he knew a few of the healers because it was good to have healers who liked you.

The Sunsingers, though, had proven more insular. He didn't necessarily want their magic, although he wouldn't mind the ability to walk into a situation without weapons and yet have weapons only a thought away. They seemed a little too focused on hierarchy, though, and Aurin was bad at obeying authority or rules. Perhaps when he had more standing, he might get an honorary in and that would be good. He had fought beside them, though, particularly Ansel Gerhard, during the initial fallout of the great rift in the sky. There was a degree of trust, though thankfully he hadn't needed them to bail him out of anything—not yet.

The proposed location made him think perhaps they weren't going to drink and laugh at Carina while she got high as a kite and did and said stupid, amusing shit. Valencia had offered him a portal to the village, and he had accepted. Already, he had that place mapped in his mind so he could return to it. He was doing his best with the spatial mapping as they walked, though. Despite his keen sembling and being Valenica's star student, it was slow going given all the twisting enchantments along the way. Perhaps when they got where they were going, he could anchor himself in the slipspace and know where he was.

While Aurin had always been a shoe made for the city, he didn't mind the walk in the forest. The year of darkness had killed off a lot of the plants and animals, but the ecosystem seemed to be recovering faster out here where there were fewer people who needed anything out of it. Probably Kindred meddling, really.

"Won't being seen with you give them a hint?" he asked. He was arch, but of course he wasn't going to be stupid if an arrow, bullet, or spell was aimed at him suddenly.

"I'm always busy. I get around. Summer was spent between Zaichaer, the Imperium, and Kalzasi. Something bad is brewing in the Warrens there. Not sure what yet, though. What about you? Haven't seen you playing house with Carina lately. Sunsinger business or personal business?"

[Imogen]

Imogen poked at a particularly stubborn illusion of a tree branch fallen across the road, confirming that it was, in fact, an actual fallen branch before hooking it with her staff and tossing it to the side, sending it spinning gently into the woods. When she'd been training, the Sunsingers had kept squires at the Sanctuary to keep these paths clear, as part of the age-old bargain where apprentices provided their masters hard labor. It might simply be that this bough was freshly fallen, but she wondered idly whether the coven was still so busy with the fallout of the rift that they could no longer manage that sort of landscaping.

"Oh, they won't attack you on sight or anything.” Imogen tapped her staff lightly against Aurin's side, "But I haven't been for the better part of a year. Last time, tensions were running a bit high, spread thin, style of thing. Just let them know you're with the Railrunners and they should remember their manners.”

That wasn't to say she'd been entirely incommunicado, of course. She'd sent her reports, and even spoken with Master Gerhard a few times since then- and of course his spy had probably reported much she hadn't said, though given how poorly their last meeting in Ailos had gone...

"No, I haven't seen Carina much.” she admitted, a wistful tone entering her voice, "I've been busy with some clients down south. That's part of why I'm visiting, actually. The Senate of Drathera's under the impression that I saved the country from starvation, and keep bugging me to name a price.” the witch shrugged, "Now a year ago it wouldn't have made much sense, but I figure the shipping routes look a little more reasonable now that the Dawnmartyrs have finished their gateway between Kalzasi and Ailos. Might be able to resupply the whole Coven for a while on that, should buy me some goodwill upstairs, so forth.”

It was actually a fairly modest ask, given how indebted the Senate seemed to think it was to her. But the witch had already scrounged up quite a bit of coin to her own account, and frankly she felt personally well-compensated by the Spirit of Searing and the southern Court of Metal. There was no point in squeezing a nation which was already coping with significant hardships in the wake of the Eclipse, but the Commonwealth was large enough that she expected the Sunsingers could grow rich off their largesse without a significant hit to the national finances.

"Actually, I spent about half a year trapped on Ailos. My last job, see, I plucked a feather from this Ecithian death-god, right, and it won't stop chasing me- though I don't think it can cross the ocean. Luckily, I got a friend down there who's been keeping it off my back. Right nasty fucker, that one. Hunts people down and picks their skeletons clean, and it can't be harmed by mortal hands. Had to convince a monkey to do it.”

The crunch, crunch, crunch of Imogen's boots slowed down as the last illusion of trees dissolved before them, revealing a great clearing in the woods. And through that clearing, Aurin could suddenly see a structure which by all rights ought to have been visible for the last hour's travel.



"Sanctuary of the Dawn.” Imogen said, softly, "First of three, once, before the Sanctuary of the Dawnstar was destroyed in battle with the Order, and I think the Sanctuary of Twilight was abandoned when the Rift came.”

"A tactical retreat." responded a calm voice from behind the two travelers. Imogen whirled around in surprise, only to find the tip of a sword pointed at her face, flickering with silver-white fire.

The man holding it could not have been much older than Imogen, perhaps in his early thirties, with a pleasant Gelerian tint to his features and a crop of unkempt light-brown hair. He stood almost half a foot shorter than Imogen, and was wrapped in a cloak which Aurin recognized as a cloak of invisibility, freshly deactivated. Depending on how expensive the mantle was, the man could have been trailing the two for the past half hour or more.

"Sgt. Tilman! It's been what, two years? This is A-”

"Aurin Kavafis, yes, I know." Tilman responded, "The Captain said you'd be along. And that's Lieutenant Tilman to you, Corporal." The man paused, then continued in a somewhat more apologetic tone, "I do still need to confirm your identity, Imogen. New protocol, since the faceless things escaped the Warrens."

Imogen didn't know what exactly that meant, but she knew what to do. The witch reached forward with one hand and grasped Lt. Tilman's sword by the blade, allowing the nova-flame to flicker over her hand. She squeezed until it drew blood, then pulled away, showing the man her palm. He nodded, then opened his hand, dismissing the sword with a thought.

"Mr. Kavafis, I'm to be your minder while you're in the Sanctuary. Please let me know if there is anything the Coven can do for you, and don't pop off on your own."

[Aurin]

"I should remember my manners, too," he said thoughtfully. "Sunsingers sacrifice their senses of humor for their reaving trick." Aurin was quietly absorbing everything Imogen shared; on the one hand, he liked her, and wanted to be friends even if she never wanted to go to pound town with him, and, on the other, she had been places he didn't really have eyes and ears and he wanted to know everything. "I do try to check in with her whenever I'm there. Make sure she's... well... not spiraling. I know it's none of my business, but I think she would do better in Zaichaer. At least there, she has her coven. And the Pfenning Theatre's re-opened so if she wants to dance... Dunno, creative types need their creative outlets. Pretty sure Eitan Angevin's daddy wouldn't let him paint or something and now he's a fucking monster. Anyway, I can easily open you a portal to her apartment when our business here is done if you want. No charge."

As for supplies, "You know, since Valencia and some of the coven leaders started playing ball with the Order, a lot of the heat is off. I mean, I'm never going to admit to them that I have magic tricks up my sleeves, but it's allowing the witches to get the aid the rest of the populace is getting from the government. No need to starve. I'm sure I can talk to Valencia about railrunning supplies out here, too. Or, at least, near enough that the cadets can schlep the heavy shit up to... wherever we're going."

It was frustrating. He was Myshalarai, and a Whisper to boot. He could make seemings and he could see through them. But these enchantments were old, and even though his senses tickled, the hair on the nape of his neck having been non-stop erect for hours now, he couldn't bypass them. Well, likely, he could, but it would require a great deal of time or he would have to break them to see through them and while Ansel had daddy vibes, Aurin didn't want a spanking.

"You should ask for, like, a nice place on the beach. Build a little vacation commune for witches who need a break." He grinned, imagining it.

"Wait... death-god? Who isn't the Grimlord? Some kind of... demon or morbid spirit with godlike levels of power? What is wrong with Ecith?" He sort of laughed at Solunarium xenophobia, even when it referred to the Orkhan on their continent, but it did seem like a strange place. He wasn't sure he wanted to go there lest he be overwhelmed by big, beautiful Orkhan women who could break him.

But then they had arrived and the magical camouflage pulled away to reveal a castle on a hill.

"Huh." And he almost pulled steel at the unexpected voice, even knowing they were in Sunsinger territory. Aurin hated not anticipating an ambush, even a well-intentioned on. "Oh."

He observed the exchange, offered a rakish salute. "Hello, Lieutenant Tilman. I will do my best not to reflect poorly upon the Railrunners, the Myshalarai, and the Whispers. I shouldn't need anything. Just here to support... ah... the corporal. Do you need to confirm my identity too?" Auburn brows arched, unsure. The memo about faceless things crawling out of the Warrens hadn't made it to his desk, apparently.

[Imogen]

"No sir." responded the Lieutenant, in a carefree voice quite at odds with the formal register, "If you were false, sir, then the Corporal here would have gutted you as soon as you left the road. Maybe flensed your skin off, just to check it." Tilman cleared his throat. "Sorry if that joke fell flat, sir. Traded my sense of humor for a Reaving trick, you understand."

"Don't be a jackass to my guest, Lieutenant." Imogen instructed the other Sunsinger, "Who's waiting for us inside?"

Tilman raised an eyebrow at the rebuff, but shrugged it off. "Your master's here, for one. Captain Norickson too. The Warden's not back as yet, and the Marshal's been off on some top secret matter for weeks."

"Pity, but should do." the orkhan woman said, enigmatically, "Well, let's get inside. The sooner Master Gerhard gets a chance to scold me, the sooner I can get his help." Tilman snorted. Obviously they'd known that the only reason Imogen would show up for a visit is if she needed something.

On approach, the Sanctuary of Dawn was a beautiful castle- constructed in the old style, the Gelerian style, which had prevailed throughout the country before the technological revolution had really taken hold. It was hard to tell how old it was at a glance. The Sunsingers were the youngest of Zaichaer's major covens, with traditions measured in decades rather than spanning centuries, but certainly they could have taken possession of some older castle upon their formation.

In any case, the Sanctuary showed all the signs of devoted care- the white walls sitting atop the stones were freshly painted, the wood scrubbed of the residue left by clouds of pollen common to this part of the countryside. The crenellations were undecorated, but some of the walls bore simple frescos and embellishments; mostly symbols. Aurin recognized the old icon of Arcas, and an embellished sword which must be Raxen of the Triumvirate. A third...

"Ysadrin." the ork said out loud, "Saw a lot of her symbol in the ruins of Ailos, too. Probably brought them here after the convoy fled the isle."

Tilman whirled on Imogen in shock, and she laughed. "Oh, come off it. I imagine Aurin had his suspicions about twelve seconds after Arcas reincarnated up north and started passing out silver fire left and right."

"I will say..." the Ork's voice became thoughtful, "You're not wrong about Ecith, Aurin. Not just the Commonwealth, mind you, the whole continent. Something's wrong with it. In the north, the elements manifest as titans, destroying everything in their path. In the south, they infect creatures like occult plagues. Kept one of those as a pet. Isn't that right, Kitty?" She poked at the ground beneath her feet with the butt of her staff.

The shadows beneath Imogen's feet bulged and twisted, and stretched into a feline head, yellow eyes blinking in the groggy motions of interrupted sleep. They glanced upward at the witch, accusingly, then closed again, the shadow fading.

"He's something of a night owl. Night cat? Anyway- in the desert... well, I don't actually know if the elements are unbalanced there so much. I spent maybe a few hours poking around and those bastards sent a squadron of wyvern-mounted knights after me."

Lieutenant Tilman let out an involuntary choking noise as Imogen tossed off the possibility of an international incident, and she waved irritably at him. "They didn't actually catch me, Til. My point is that something or other has fucked up Aedrin's blessing over the whole continent. Probably why the place is a desert to begin with, whatever did it."

The group drew nearer the gates of the Sanctuary of Dawn, and could now appreciate the size of the structure. It was... fine. Big, even. But big by personal standards, by the standards you might judge a person's holdings. In terms of a Coven which fancied itself an army, it could probably garrison a hundred knights comfortably, and maybe two or three times that if you were willing to really squeeze them in there. It did not appear that any squeezing was happening, which tended to indicate that either most of the Sunsingers were out and about in the countryside or there just weren't all that many of them left.

When they had grown close enough, Tilman signaled some unseen watcher on the walls, and the gate opened by itself, letting them into an interior courtyard. The walls of the castle were still fairly sparse--it seemed that the Witch of the West did not spend much of his coven's protection money on decoration--but there were still certain trappings. Portraits, presumably of knights, tapestries and assorted woven hangings; the bare minimum, but at least the interior wasn't more spartan.

There was even a statue, though it did not appear to depict a Sunsinger at all. Instead, some very dedicated sculptor had imported a block of marble from some unknown mine, and shaped an Orkhan woman out of it, clutching a sheathed sword to her chest. The face of the statue radiated fear and determination both. The sword... well, the sword had been reproduced in a dozen of the few images seen throughout the interior.

Other knights were in evidence inside the Sanctuary's halls, though they hardly thronged. Tilman drew one aside and gave him a whispered command, and the man nodded and headed off at a brisk pace. Aurin and Imogen soon found themselves inside a waiting room, furnished with a couple of hard benches and a table.

"Gerhard should be down soon- soonish, anyway. His leg's been acting up." Tilman's eyes flickered between Aurin and Imogen. Doubtless her plan had been to show up in her irritable master's face alongside the man who had saved his life, blunting his fury and forcing him into a more pleasant posture. "Anything to drink, Mister Kavafis?"

[Aurin]

An eyebrow rose and he was still smiling, but now Aurin really wanted to figure out the illusory defenses of the place. He didn't want to tear the veil or anything, but he didn't like the idea of anyone sneaking up on him, tracking him and trailing him without his knowledge, even if they were allies. Aurin didn't trust allies to the ends of the earth; everyone had a price in his experience.

"Well sneaked, Lieutenant." But at least he had got the joke and picked it up. Imogen hadn't bothered.

Aurin didn't really ask questions as they continued into the castle. Time and observation would answer them, and they didn't need to know the directions his mind was going at all times. He did have to wonder whether the entire coven was made up of Arcas fans, an army waiting at Zaichaer's throat should Talon want violence done. The paranoid ginger didn't mention this, of course. He just liked to imagine all possibilities so he could mentally prepare for any of them.

He was an attentive audience, but rather than speak much, he let them draw each other out. He would ask questions about Arcas, shadow cats, and the like when he calculated that the odds were best to get him proper answers. But Aurin lingered by the statue, trying to get Imogen's attention so he could point at it and mouth 'it's you,' but he followed to the waiting room. He had promised to be good, after all.

"Oh, water, please. Unless someone's drinking something stronger and then I'll have the same." This mindset had gotten him into trouble before, but he stood by it.

Of course, he hoped someone was going to drink something stronger, but water was good too.

[Imogen]

Imogen scowled at Aurin's antics as he pointed at the statue, which bore no resemblance to her at all. She would have given him a history lesson there and then, but frankly she couldn't recall who the hell that woman was supposed to be. Probably it was very important, given the statue's relative prominence, but she'd been a godawful student of history.

Once they reached the waiting room, Lieutenant Tilman nodded amiably at Aurin's request and opened up a small bar containing glasses and unlabeled bottles. He poured two glasses of something clear with a pungent herbal bouquet, and brought one over to where Aurin was waiting. "Everyone drinks when Imogen comes to visit, sir." He ignored the Ork woman glaring at him, "I actually don't know what this stuff is. Came in on one of the Imperial relief shipments last year, but the label on the crate says it's from some mountain outside Kalzasi. Wrap your head around how that happens. Either way, it's strong, so sip at it."

"You wouldn't survive a day in Drathera." Imogen sniffed,"I saw an Ork man down an entire keg of cider, by himself, in one sitting. Passed out in a nude woman's lap. Not, uh, mine."

Lieutenant Tilman sighed, downed the entire cup with a single pull, and then walked back over to the drawer to pour himself another.

~~~

It was only about ten minutes before Tilman, responding to some unseen signal, led the two out of the waiting room and into the larger chamber beyond. It was larger and more ornate--some sort of multipurpose meeting chamber, perhaps--with utilitarian furniture absolutely dominated by a beautiful stained-glass rotunda on the ceiling. The walls of this room were painted a strange orange cream color, and decorated with paintings and tile frescoes depicting the sun vanquishing various mythic evils. It seemed the Coven was quite committed to the bit.

The center of the room was occupied by a large table with seats for two dozen people, but only two were presently occupied. One, Aurin recognized as Ansel Gerhard, Imogen's erstwhile mentor who had been indebted to him a year prior. The other was a dour young woman with dark hair and darker skin, who bore the insignia of a Captain. Presumably this was Norickson.

As promised, both of them had glasses of liquor. It certainly seemed that the Sunsinger oaths did not include sobriety.

"The prodigal daughter returns." Gerhard said, voice as dry and devoid of humor as ever. "I hope your excuse this time is better than the promise of a city of gold."

"And a welcome to you, Master Kavafis." the Captain added, her voice pleasant, but steady, "You've made quite a name for yourself."

"I'll cut to the chase." Imogen said, choosing to stand at one end of the table, rather than taking a seat. She produced a scroll from her coat and slid it over to the other end of the table (perhaps it would have been better if they'd decided not to use the big room for a meeting of five people). It skid to a halt halfway across, and she was forced to reach over and sheepishly prod it again so that Master Gerhard could reach.

As they read it, she explained: "The Senate of Drathera's offered me a reward for various services. Given the new gate-"

"You thought we could ask them for supplies. Not a bad thought, but you're a year late. Zaichaer has recovered more quickly than anyone could have expected- I've heard some say we've got less hunger here, now, than they do to the north."

Ansel handed the scroll over to Captain Norickson, who perused it without any obvious emotion. "Our present problems lie less in supplies and more in manpower. You may have heard that the city has legalized our order- in practice, what this has meant is that every corner of the nation now feels emboldened to ask for assistance. There were never all that many of us, and I think that bastard Angevin is content to let the needs of the nation grind us away to nothing, since the Order could never put up a proper fight."

"Um." said Imogen, clearly flummoxed, "Recruitment? We could-"

"The Dawnmartyrs have reappeared a few hundred miles north, in a castle made of divine light, personally led by Arcas reborn." said Captain Norickson, closing the scroll and pocketing it. "All the interested recruits have gone there."

"Still, money is money. I'm sure we can find some use for Drathera's debts. The other Covens are a lot less interested in hiring mercenary guards now that they don't have the Order breathing down their backs, after all. Frankly, business was better back before the Dornkirks, when they were openly trying to kill us all. You have any thoughts on the matter, Aurin?"

[Aurin]

"Why not yours, though?" he asked quickly. He raised his cup to Tilman and downed it since they were, apparently, taking shots. He thought he recognized the bottle, but didn't feel as though he ought to opine on it. He knew a similar bottle sat on one of First Minister Dornkirk's sidebars. Perhaps Torin's little minx was cleverer than he had guessed. Good for her.

Walking into the grander room with a fresh tipple, he grinned at Gerhard, who was morally obligated to put up with him the way Aurin saw things. Ansel had more than done his part in the fighting and fracas that ensued, and it was possible Aurin also owed him his life, or at least his chances of survival without Ansel being there might have been reduced. In either case, he wasn't the honorable one so he didn't examine it too closely.

But Gerhard was playing the role of disappointed daddy and focusing on Imogen, so Aurin just raised his glass to the captain, glad there was more alcohol to mitigate things, or at least lubricate them. His smart mouth had something stupid to say, but, fortunately for him, Imogen cut to the chase.

He blinked hazel eyes and listened.

When his opinion was asked, Aurin was quick enough to respond.

"Angevin persuaded the other powers that be that strange times called for strange bedfellows in order to survive. Valencia's one of the higher ups who have actually deigned to be licensed. The covens are walking a tightrope, though, some choosing licensure, others not. Trying to keep those who are still illegal safe is a whole ass job. I, personally, am entirely sans magic as far as anyone knows. I've done some side work for Dornkirk. I avoid Angevin. Fuckin'... weirdo. But, anyway, I don't have access like Valencia has access, but they know me and trust me enough to work with me and think I don't have any magic tricks.

"I don't particularly agree with licensing, but if a few of them are willing to play martyr for the betterment of the rest...? I mean, I think it's only a matter of time before unlicensed witches start getting outed by licensed witches, whether on purpose or not." He shrugged. "But I have been called paranoid before.

"Sounds a bit like the Sunsingers feel more akin to the Dawnmartyrs than to the rest of the covens, though. I don't think any of the other covens actually want Talon Novalys to be their godling. I've met the guy and he has his uses, but I wouldn't pray to him if shit went sideways. He doesn't even take care of Kalzasi and he was its crown prince for the majority of his life."

[Imogen]

"You'll note that we haven't marched north to pledge allegiance." Norickson observed, "In fact, you might want to recheck your intelligence about the Dawnmartyrs themselves. The organization's somewhat less unified than it once was."

Less organized too, if rumor was to be believed. The camp at Dawnhold was all in the tank for their new god, of course, but they were mostly new blood. It was said that there was some level of uncomfortable distance between the survivors of Ailos and Arcas reborn, though whether that portended anything was anyone's guess.

"I concur with Aurin's account of licensure, at any rate." Gerhard took a long pull from his glass of brandy, served up for purely medicinal purpose, "You only have to look at Gelerand to know where this is going. First the Covens register, then Angevin makes a very reasonable case that anyone refusing to accept the terms of that registration has ill motives. Witches start turning each other in, then the registration becomes more stringent. Before you know it, the Covens will just be specialized branches of the Order."

"Not to say that we're in immediate danger. Of all the Covens, we have certainly the most heroic reputation with the people, and the Order well knows that they would need to outnumber us ten to one to prevail in any sort of assault. I wager they'll simply try to wear us down and wait us out."

Quiet fell over the table at this. Plainly the witches here had been ruminating on the political realities, but there were truly very few good options. Their numbers had been hit hard by the past two years, as they'd borne the brunt of the evacuation of Zaichaer and had been spread desperately thin in protecting the lands from the shadow-beasts, which they were uniquely well-equipped to battle. Still, there was no tinge of despair to any of these words- if anything, they seemed almost refreshed by this discussion.

The legends of the Sunsingers focused very much on "blades of reaved sunlight", which Aurin had come to understand were legitimately quite potent, but the Sunsingers themselves put much more stock in strategy. It was said in the covens that the Witch of the West was a tactician without parallel, capable of assessing any situation at a glance and understanding exactly what resources needed to be allocated.

"Well," Imogen said, at last, "Ruminate on what I should ask of Drathera. Meanwhile, here's my request: I want to perform a severing rite."

The other three Sunsingers exchanged surprised glances. The old man frowned, brows drawing tight together above his nose. "You want to... remove part of yourself into a pact weapon?"

"That's correct. Specifically, last Frost I contracted a novel condition which the Ecthians have been calling 'aether creep', which manifests as a drain on my personal aether. It has no known treatment, and my case is advanced enough that it should have killed me- eh, six months ago? I have been using a particular trick of animus to stay alive, but that's not going to last much longer. So I'd like to lock it up in a weapon to give myself more time to find a solution."

Tilman looked around, confused. "Can that be done? I've never heard of such a thing."

"No." the Captain said, firmly, "It cannot be done."

Gerhard poured himself another brandy, rubbing at his temples. "Which is to say that it's been done all of once, but that required both the aid of Raxen to create an incorruptible vessel and the presence of Novuril. We lack both of those things now, since that Dawnmartyr, Veriel, disappeared."

Imogen sniffed at that, looking vaguely insulted. "I've thought of that, of course. Listen, magic is like cooking. If you're missing an ingredient, you don't just go hungry- you make substitutions."

"Substitutions."

"Yes, actually. I've brought along a relic crafted by the sun, which isn't anything like as powerful as Novuril but it might do, and I've got a metal which is mostly invulnerable, which should work for a while. The smiths here can make the vessel, and with some help I can do the ritual, maybe."

Gerhard leaned back in his chair, looking very grim all of a sudden. "You're missing two components, then. An enemy to fight in the ritual, and..."

The final component to make it desist
Is something that doesn't, or shouldn't, exist
Is something that seems only willing to hate
Is something no gods, in their wisdom, create

"Voidrillium." Imogen acknowledged, "I really don't have any idea how to get that. That's where I was hoping Aurin could help."

[Aurin]

Aurin nodded amiably at Norickson's rebuttal. He had no desire to infiltrate Dawnhold, but perhaps he ought to.

"I presume you have kept up lines of communication with the other covens, but if you want me to take a mail packet back to the Market for specific people, I'm your man. I have no qualms passing things along to specific people you trust, if not the official leadership of each coven." He was good at compartmentalizing that. While he wouldn't throw anyone under the bus, he could respect back channels conversations.

His instruction under Valencia had branched out to disciplines other than Traversion, but of course, he was no expert in Reaving. He frowned slightly, mostly following what was being said about Imogen's jungle fever.

"Ahh, poetry..." Because he was nothing if not an asshole.

"Oh, my turn. I've mostly been moving dawnstone and whatever else helps against shadowspawn since the return of all those celestial bodies makes them vulnerable but not... gone. I have a runeforger and alchemist back in Kalzasi, and a line with some Makers in Sol'Valen. I could probably track down voidrillium. Just need to know how much we're talking and what assets you have to trade. I could also probably track down Veriel. I know one of the judges from her trial, might have a lead to follow."

He shot an arch glance at Imogen.

"Your note should've said, 'hey, Aurin, bring a load of voidrillium with your hot ass,' and I would have come prepared. Well..." He shifted in his seat and smirked, "Fully prepared."