#belnari of the deljor — 001

[gwyncrafven]

POLITICIARA / DAY THREE / @belxofdeljor + @hephireus

the gambit moving forward on ovid’s whisper of a gathering was not such an odd thing that it deserved to be questioned; they’d made do with less from sources rarely so reliable. and this was easy money. frankly speaking, however, catelia was rather far removed from the heights of fahyrst’s northern permafrost, or even the arid wasteland they’d bothered crossing from just some time ago. their winding canals and vibrant towers glimmered with the wealth of its noble kind, and had gwyn been the sort for it, one might daresay it was worthy of a healthy dose of envy. the way these figures built themselves up, made use of their good fortune in such a lavishly deplorable fashion, however, happened to leave something of a bitter taste. and after enduring the likes of the masquerade and all its needless splendor ( with little offense meant to calliope as she quite adored them ), the hunter found herself in need of more like minded company. or, in the very least, a quiet space in which to indulge quieter thoughts. a stiff drink wouldn’t be so bad either. 

failing in her efforts to track down gavril or that quiet space, however, she’d come to find something similar in bel. and a gig on the side, no less, as tales of shadowed figures haunting the locals in the depths of slumber whirled about and made their way into the light. at the behest of a doctor seeking remedy for his ailing clientele, and promising fair compensation, the pair traversed the city grounds by way of animal or shadow, gathering what details they could from any willing party 

this would lead them to where they were now, from the outer ring of the island in the pitch of near darkness to the lofty estate of some well-to-do marquess. the heart of the politiciara, as it was so called. hushed steps make their way through the crack in the front gate, eventually stumbling upon the collapsed form of a wretched-faced woman who one might presume was the lady of the house. “well,” deft fingers shift towards the noblewoman’s neck in a quick kneel, catching a swell in pulse. “not dead, at least.” a wary gaze sweeps over their surroundings in an effort to pluck any detail from the abyss as she settles on her companion, finally. “certainly down for the count, though. anything?”