#houseofthenine

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Depths Below, Masquerade, Part 6

[Part 6, Just a warning that we’re getting to the violence, blood and reveals here.  If you’re enjoying this, please like and share to your friends! Help us to reach new faces! We’ve been so blessed to have help from this fantastic community here, every single one of you have helped us in so many ways!  And feel free to send anonymous ASKS if you are curious about writing with us!  We absolutely welcome new faces!   Without further delay....]

Over the next few minutes...

Staff and guest alike would be escorted out of the ballroom and down the carriage pathway that led to the waterfront.  Down where Whistletorque had set up a marvelous fireworks display; that to be perfectly honest was a fairly expensive bit of explosives.  Sunwood had paid to have them all here but Westley had made perfectly sure that everything he purchased was top of the line, and as expensive as possible.

“Now. . .I believe we can begin.” Honeywell said as he peered around the room looking over what; and who was left.

The remaining group consisted of Magisters Brightsong, Sunvale, Dewdrop, Goldencrest, Honeywell, Sunwood and finally Magister Dawnseeker himself.  Each one of them representing a different branch of their group; the network that was organized to seize control.

“Of course.” Magister Sunwood replied.  He had been ever strong in his resolve to aid The Nine as they orchestrated the attack, but there was still more to do.

“Master.” came the voice of the Honeywell again when he looked over to Dawnseeker; the lead of this little organization.

“Where is Sinefel. . .” the horrid tone of the arrogant Magister hissed, not even acknowledging the others voice.

“Magister Sinefel sends his regards Master, but he was unfortunately detained in the Searing Gorge.”  Sunwood replied as quickly as he could.  Zalra remained on his arm, though it was clear so many of the other magisters also still had their significant others present.

“. . . and Sunfire.  Evesblood . . .Lightheart. . .” Dawnseeker slowly lofted a gloved hand as he pushed a few stray amber hairs from his vision.

“Had it not occurred to any of you that perhaps something has gone wrong with our investment?”

“Master. While there are some of us not present, the majority of us have had not a single problem remaining true to our original plan.” Honeywell said as he tried to steer the attention away from the missing members of their group.

“Of course, yes. . .of course Aloysius. Though I do find it disturbing that two of my most prominent and influential supporters could not find time in their busy schedule to attend this years festivities.”  Dawnseeker said eying the group carefully.

“We know that m’lord.  But we have heard from all of those who are not in attendance.  We can assure you that the investment still stands; and all is continuing without any failure.”  from the silence that was surrounding them and the judgemental eye that scanned, Sunwood would speak up.

“Yes, that is promising news indeed, Magister Sunwood.  I believe it was you who detained our little insurance policy, am I not mistaken?”

“Correct m’lord.”  Sunwood said with his arm still being held to by his ‘wife’.

“You should be proud of what you have accomplished dear Sunwood.” Dawnseeker said as he eyed the female at his side, then back to the man directed.

Zalra felt the lump in her throat grow to a size that she was almost certain could be seen by everyone there.  Her eyes were no doubt focused on him, she could feel that hot burning sensation slowly start rising up her neck and back.  She would remain silent when the glance moved back to Sunwood.

“I. . .was  . .only looking out for your interests m’lord. . . this gift was meant to show we’ve completed our task...”

He peered toward the Magister who was giving him that dead to rights stare that he had given so many others in his group up until that moment.  An awkward silence that was growing in the room caused a bit of tension to slip past his own narrowing gaze.  And Sennaris could detect flutters within the collective group of many mixed emotions.

“A finer sentence has not graced these ears since I listened to my own dictation on the our ‘Horde First’ initiative. Selflessness, that is something we should all consider; this isn’t about one. . . it is about the group as a whole, our success. Well said Sunwood and for the record, perhaps it is you I should be promoting instead of Honeywell here.” Dawnseeker laughed and threw back another sip from his wine glass.

The group of magisters, even the one referenced in the little jab shared a collective laugh at his expense.  Secretly though, it would be one of those passing sentences that lived to burrow deep in the back on ones mind to make them second guess everything they were doing.

“Now. . .where is the prize I have so been longing to see.” Dawnseeker stated as he peered across the room at the silent and still sitting Siida Kash’ebahl.

“Right this way Master.”  Honeywell interrupted before Sunwood could speak.  Moving to lead the head man toward where the captive was sitting.

The entire group of Magisters moved at this point.  Each one of them more hesitant than the last to truly say anything other than agreeing with their leader.  As they stepped closer, the young Matron continued to reassure herself that nothing would happen.  Zalra and Sennaris were right there; if anything went south they would drop cover to help her.  And Marseille, where was he?  

Verzatea and the pale old elf were currently hiding behind the edge of their booth where they could remain out of sight but still listen in.

“M’Lady Kash’ebahl.”  Dawnseeker said in a haughty, and snobbish tone.

“Magister Dawnseeker.”  She replied as her golden orbs peered up from the table at him. “I would invite you to pull up a seat but we both know how you enjoy lording over those you surround yourself with. . .”

Dawnseeker was silent.  His face was that of stone.  Nothing could have broken his resolve and when she insulted him; he would only flash his pearly smile.

“It is good to see that our esteemed guest has not lost her sense of humor. . .”

The magister retorted as his own rich golden eyes peered back and forth among the group; insisting he hear a laughed, which was directly behind his quip.

“Don’t you mean prisoner?”  she replied, still sitting as tall as her back would allow.

“Don’t be so silly Miss. . .it is Miss isn’t it.  I recall you once having a brief affair with a noble lord, prior to your knowledge of your origin.” he paused as his hand slowly reached down and rested on the table to help him better lean in. “Miss Kash’ebahl. You are a welcomed person among us this evening.  What would make you think ‘prisoner’ is a proper term?”

She would hold her stance firm while she glared back at him.  Despite his intimidating features and mannerisms, she was not going to be bullied or threatened.  And she was certainly not going to sit there and listen to him prattle on about how welcome she was.

“Welcome guests don’t often get escorted in irons to and from important occasions.  Nor was I allowed to send any regard to my house to let them know I was unsuccessful in my task.” Siida hissed while she frowned.

“I heard about your little adventure down to Stranglethorn.  Magister Sunwood was most generous on the details.  How you threw yourself at him, pleading for your brothers life, begging for his release.” the magister smiled, knowing that the subject was still tender. “How is he these days?”

“I could ask you the same question.”  she responded almost immediately without so much as an eyelash out of place.

“You have. . .”  He paused and peered back toward Sunwood and Honeywell. “Where-is-he. . . ?”

“Whats the matter?” Siida interrupted while they spoke, a smirk on her face. “Don’t know where he is either?”

Dawnseeker would calmly turned on his heel as he methodically resumed his conversation with the little sister.

“Why do I get the feeling you are hiding something from me.”  his sinister tone slithered as if he was about to bite.

“That is not important, what is important is that I be released to my family; you are stepping very far out of line and I don’t believe I wish to tolerate these games any longer.” Siida announced suddenly as she huffed. “And get these restraints off of me.”

“Restraints” he asked curiously when she went to go lift her arms and there was nothing.

“Yes. . .Honeywell found it necessary to bind my wrists with an Arcane filament to ensure I did not attempt anything heroic.”

Dawnseeker instantly whipped back around and his eyes burned holes in man in question.

“Why. . .is she. . .bound.”  

“Master, I . . .did not think--”

“No you most certainly did not.  Release her.” he spat suddenly and the magister he’d been speaking to would summon a spell to dismiss the conjured tether.

Siida slowly brought her hands up toward her chest, rolling her wrists back and forth and seeing that everything was in tact.  Her golden orbs glancing past; and directly into the eyes of the lead Magister when she rose.

“I offered my trust to Magister Sunwood; that I would have this opportunity to speak with you face to face.  It was never my intention to come here threatening you; but to plead with you to tell me where my brother possibly could be.  And ask you to please cease this insufferable intolerance against our house.”  

Her voice was firm, yet slightly shaken by the intimidation of the room.  It was full of several of prominent Magisters. She proudly turned her nose up and held her chin high while during, and after her speech.  And she would stand her ground even when the lead man came forward to stand before her.

“Siida Kash’ebahl. . .there are things; many things, that remain unsaid between you and your brother.  And most certainly things that he has not told you.  Things that I discoverer while investigating your House and his affairs.  It is not just a simple money grab to obtain your stake in the business the Kash’ebahl family has been running for some near three centuries, but an attempt to weed out a rat from our collective group.”

As he continued to speak, Marseille and Verzatea were tucked behind the paper construct of their bakery stand.  They could hear everything that was going on, and at the mention of these dealings, both of them would peer toward one another wondering what ‘truth’ he actually had found.

“Were you aware that your brother is transferring illegal weapons across faction lines?  Items that Quel’thalas has struggled to get during this time of war that he so easily is able to aquire?  And rather than give it back to his own people; he has been selling it. . .or perhaps giving it to our enemies?”

As she went to go speak, her voice was silenced when he presented more facts.

“Are you also aware that several people standing in this room; including the ones who are not currently able to join us, have been solicited with bribes? Asked to look the other way and turn a blind eye to the blatant disregard to our cities customs and trafficking laws?”

Verzatea peered over at the pale old elf and yawned.  It was about all she could do to prevent herself from falling asleep.  These crimes were entirely old news to them.  They all knew what Lazarius was doing.

“And what about dealings with Stormwind? Yes we have been blackmailing to keep this information silent.  And yes we have been extorting him for money.  But not a single one of us here would fraternize with the enemy.”

Zalra and Sennaris would remain at their post when Siida forcibly balled her knuckles and clenched her fists at her side.

“And that does not give you any right to openly attack him!”  she shouted, which to everyone's amazement was the first time anyone had every done so to the Magister.

He held in a laugh for far too long, and finally erupted in a sinister cackle that echoed along the ballroom.

“Do not make me laugh child, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”   his voice sang, hardly worried about her accusation.

“No? What about filtering the money you extorted from my brother into a separate banking account so that you could have hush money for some of your nefarious deeds.” Siida belted out.

“I never--”

“Or the fact that you hired bounty hunters to capture my brother, and return him to you in Quel’thalas so that he could be hung!”

“Well tha--”

“You lied to me, you lied to the courts and you lied to your own supporters because of your selfish greed and ignorance!”

“Enough!” he howled.

To be continued... In Depths Below:Masquerade,Part 7

@pyravari-kashebahl

@daltalah

@whatadarkbitch

@siidaraykashebahl

@thebladeitself

@suncrest-legacy

[the-house-of-the-nine]

    “I’ve always hated the rain. . . the way it sounds. . . the way it smells, the horrid way it forces everything to absorb its presence, acknowledge its existence...so much for needing a reason to be miserable.”  A quiet thought, the Inquisitor trailed down the long walk leading away from the residence.

    A lovely evening in the company of a lovely woman.  Just moments ago, Lazarius heard the sound of the large manor door slam shut behind him.  What a delight it was to be out of the dreadful place, and what a frustrating realization to feel that pouring rain bounce against his robe.  He inhaled softly,  and made for the portcullis and freedom from the Blackmourn Estate.  What had he gotten himself into.  Lazarius continued his tired, uneasy walk up the pathway, candles glowing in the faint haze of the evening fog and rain, flickering in the windows of the building behind him.  No doubt one by one they would begin to be dimmed, it was well into the morning hours at this point.  Crossing the threshold, Lazarius turned back one final time.  Leather bound case in his hand, the droplets flowing over it like a waterfall.

    Rain cascaded from the edges of his cowl, soaked at this point and chilling him to the core.  Two burning fel fired orbs watched the last glimmer of hope extinguish from the manor.  There were no words whispered, only a narrowed glance before he’d whip his cloak across his body and turn on his heel.  The walk would be short, reaching the darkest part of this far corner of Silverpine Forest, he grabbed hold of the coiled serpent talisman pressed against the warm of his breast.  The vapor began to hiss as his body charged with void.  As the rain fell across his form, it would begin to boil and chatter, Lazarius would be there in one instant and gone the next.  A large violet plume of smoke erupting from his form, his body would vanish and the noxious vapor lofted into the darkness and formed the curious shape they’d all see him as, the viper. . . it would cackle its violent serpents hiss and shortly after vanish as well.  All that remained of the night was just that horrid rain. . . he’d be happy to finally be rid of it.

Three Hours Later. . .

   A withered and balding man entered into the den of the serpent.  He was dressed as he would always have been, a three piece suit, complete with kerchief triangular in shape and tucked neatly against his breast, a watches chain sliding from vest to side pocket.  Though pale in skin, and aged in tone, this man hellishly bound in servitude to one would pass around the antique furniture and tables toward his destination. 

   “Master Kash’ebahl . . . champagne as you requested. . .” The Gilnean tongued man would stand there holding the tray for just a moment before lowering it to the surface top. “Ah’ve took the liberty of slicing several strawberries to help compliment its flavor, ser.”

   Lazarius peered up from the scattered papers, maps and documents, tomes and what have you that had littered his entire desk.  His face was weary, pale and forlorn, but never ending in its conviction. . . Lazarius would force through, and offer the ghostly man a smile.

   “Most kind of you, Kross. . . “  seethed the Inquisitor as he let his shaking hand fall onto the parchment, ink running across the page.

    “Master. . . “  He’d pause a moment, but soon direct himself around the suffering man.  With a small white cloth pulled from the inner lining of his breast pocket, Kross would scoop up his hand and begin cleaning the ink that was collecting. “Perhaps, ser should find his way to his chambers. . . allow this one to draw him a warm bath. . . turn down his linens. . . “

   A groan escaped the man sitting in the chair, as his other hand--the one not being nursed of the residual ink stains would come to rest against his forehead.  Kross kept a careful watch over his dear friend.

   “Ser, If I am not being too bold. . . perhaps it is time you. . .” He hesitated, it was obvious the serpent was not only suffering from the strain of fatigue but it appeared something else was also ailing him. “Perhaps it is time you give this all up. . . “

   Lazarius sat there, motionless, just that fucking hand pressed against his burning skull.  By this time it was very evident what had happened, the stain across the parchment was joined with another, small droplets of crimson now crashed onto the eggshell page.

   Kross would lower the boys hand, flipping the rag several times and finding a clean spot.  With careful ease, he would aid Lazarius to tilt his head back, a thin stream of blood was dripping from one of his nostrils, the purity of the cloth would press against the bleeding orifice. “The manor can be prepared in only a weeks time. . . I can schedule a meeting with the Magistrate. . . the funds within the account are more than enough to reinstate your fathers position, with hardly any trouble at all, ser. . . I could send for your things, Madam Pryravari can be sent for as well. . . I will assure you that I will--”

   Lazarius suddenly lunged forward, his hand wailing against the actions of the fine dressed man. “I haven’t come this far to turn tail and run now, Kross!”  He hand came slamming down against the table, hardly knowing it was the bowl of diced berries that had been his target.  A mixture of sweet juices blending with his own blood would seep across this now clearly ruined page. “Fuck if I am going to let it all go now!”  He hissed, finally glancing down to see the damage, the entire underside of his hand, from pinky to wrist was severed.

   Kross would calmly return to the boys side, the cloth, mixed between ink and blood would be wrapped around the open wound. “I will send for Miss Hollinda to help f--”

   Another rude cut off, Lazarius was hardly showing manners this evening. “Don’t wake her . . . its nothing, just let it go. . . “ He’d snap, trying to pull away, but clearly unable to win.

   “Master, you’ll require stitching. . . allow me to fetch the medical satchel. . .” Kross calmly murmured with pressure being applied to the wound. “This is none of my business, but you’re pushing yourself beyond what you would call. . . your limit, ser. . . “

   This was in fact very true and very observant of the ghostly man who continued to nurse the wound of this whining child.  Kross had always been there to care for the eldest Kash’ebahl.  In fact--he’d been a gift to the boy nearly two centuries ago.  His past was mysterious in nature, but within the time of his life--into his life of undeath, Algus Kross was a naval officer, a brilliant tactician and ultimately--doomed lover of none other than The widow herself, Mistress Raelyndia Duskhollow.  True that the dark witch of the wild was always known for her outstanding beauty and flawless features. . . but this cryptic queen of seduction knew all well and good what it mean to draw the blade and end a life.  As a gift to her beloved Kash’ebahl. . . her serpent. . . She’d take the life of this once noble officer and forever damn him to a life of servitude. . . a life forever bound to The Nine, bound to this childish man who knew so little about the world.  Though it would seem that even in his afterlife state, the magnificent leader he was, Algus Kross would take the boy under his wing, and guide him into the man he was today.  Always at his side, always watching over him. . . he would stand by his masters side until their pact was complete. 

   Despite it all, Lazarius fought him every inch of the way, feeling the embrace of the withered hands of this tired servant slowing the blood loss and still holding that constant vigil.  He’d lean his head against the manifested form of the steward, resting there while two crimson streams of blood ran from his eyes.  Unbeknownst to most, Lazarius was not just a horrid mutation of a mad woman's nightmare, but was indeed blessed with a remarkable mind.  Powers that would often be the envy of most any man.  An empathic marvel, clairvoyant and incredibly gifted with reason, understanding. . .and of course. . . concentration.   His ability stretched far outside the normal comprehension of what it meant to be ‘magical’ or hold dominion over the whimsical.  Lazarius was gifted because unlike most, his mind operated like a switchboard. . . a hive of activity, constantly moving, working and connecting.  Able to maintain several thoughts, conversations and situations at once. . . capable of distinguishing reason and determining course while simultaneously sharing with you his dreams from the night before.   Extreme bought of emotion would do this to him.  In the end, the pressure and exhausting notion of what his mind was capable of would be his undoing.  The blood was a sign of this--only two had seen him in this state aside from Kross. . . Mistress M’orynth and his loving twin, Pyravari. . . both knowing that the extreme consequence of his gift would eventually lead him to his end and this recent attacks of extreme emotional anguish had been taking their toll.

   “Master. . . you need your rest. . . should you continue to push yourself to your breaking point. . . As Lady De’Mour has said. . . you will ultimately falter. . .and fail. “ Kross continued to apply pressure to the wound while the other hand gently swept against the ear of his life long friend, tucking his mangled and wild hair back behind it. “It tears me apart to see you this way--my duty is to be your support no matter what, but I struggle to fight my natural urge to convince you to cease this infernal torture. . . and find a way to aid your madness.”

   Lazarius slowly eased himself away from the caress of the steward.  His free hand wiping away the blood stains from his nose and eyes, he hardly seemed to care about ruining his night robes.  With a frustrated sigh, he turned and looked back at his friend. “Do you find me weak. . . dearest Algus. . .in my state of sorrow. . . do these eyes, look as though they could lead--focus and triumph toward our cause. . . “  He forced himself to look back at the ghastly servant.

   “Weakness does not suit your pallet, Ser.”  Kross exclaimed, finally knotting the cloth around the wound to avoid further bleeding. “You’re bloodline has stood strong for many seasons passed. . . I see you as you are, as I have always seen you.”

   “As a serpent. . . “ Lazarius mumbled slowly, but was cut off by his friend.

   “As a lion. . . a leader, and as a champion destine to lead and usher those who follow him into darkness--into battle without so much as an eyelash batted against the storm. “ The man calmly removed the kerchief from his breast, flipping it out over his hand and dabbing it against this man-child's cheek. “My time with you has only enforced my belief. . . you are capable of overcoming impossible odds, Master. . . I have witnessed your triumph on my own. . . enough to know it is true.”

   Lazarius turned to face him, those burning fel fire orbs reaching for some semblance of comfort, finding it with every word the man bestowed upon his perking ears. “I fear the coming storm is going to test me . . . for my ship has already begun to waver in the churning sea.”

   Kross continued to smile down at him, the flickering luminescent glow of the candle was waning, and as the darkness dimmed, the steward would reach for the unlit candle stick near the other side of the desk. He would let the wick begin to burn in the fading fire of its predecessor. “No matter how rough the waters kick,  how dark the sky may be. . . “ The room would suddenly receive a new glow in the fresh wax beacon. “I will always be your light. . . and be there to guide you home, Master Kash’ebahl. . . “

   Lazarius bowed his head, knowing full well he’d been taught a valuable lesson.  His eyes drifted downward to the pages he’d been looking at.  Perhaps it was the clarity in the world, perhaps just knowing that he had more than he needed even without his company walking the land of the living.  In the end perhaps it was just the simple words of a simple man who know him all too well.

   Lazarius continued to peer at his work, fingers trailing across one specific line of script he’d written. ‘Lady Charlyette Blackmourn’ He looked it over, eyes drifting across the title of the document, ‘Edict of Immediate Termination’, so much had happened over the course of twenty four hours, so much so that he seemed almost lost in his own decisions as to what he should or should not do.

   “Perhaps--let this one slide, ser.”  Kross whispered softly, the steward had returned with a medical bag. “She bested you with the very ability you’d wished to promote her toward. . . She seemed to feel shame in her actions--why not. . . let it go.” 

   Lazarius traced over the page once more.  ‘Let it go. . . ‘ He thought, eyes burning down at the page, very simply to pass this letter along to one of his shades, eliminate the threat. . . he did have her eating out of his hand now, but. . . no more than he was eating out of hers.  Lazarius slid the page across the table, folding the letter slowly, his eyes drifting toward the wax symbol used for issuing his edicts.  It would seal this letter and she’d have no idea the pain he’d bring upon her.  Trust was broken, Lazarius scorned and she would pay. . .

   “You’ve learned a valuable lesson from her.” Kross defended, beginning to remove the tools from the bag to stitch the wound. “However, I think she has learned an even more valuable one. . . that though the serpent may bite--it need not always strike to get its point across.”

   Lazarius paused, looking at the letter he’d folded.  The night had worn him to his breaking point, and back again.  A ride of turning ups and downs.  His hand drifted to the letter, curling slender fingers around the edges as he lofted it before his gaze.  It was sudden, and rather unlike him, but he would fling it backward into the hearth and glowing flame that was toward the back of the room.  The letter landed on the bowels of the burning ember, vaporizing within seconds.  Kross would watch, smirking and knowing full well that he’d offered the man a clear view of reason, and he’d actually taken it.

“Very well, Kross. . . finish here. . . “ He paused, that swagger returning to his words, that. . .sudden burst of stinging confidence. “Draw my bath and send for Sydran. . . The days events are just beginning. . . and I have much to do.” 

   Kross would nod his head to the Inquisitor, silently drawing the needle through the flesh of the finally silent wound.  Together they remained in the burning glow of the candle light, neither speaking, but both knowing full well it was meant to be this way.  A master and his servant, yet an understanding of brothers. . . without his voice of reason, Lazarius feared his silent nights. . . though even in their wordless exchange, the creeping darkness was adverted due to their mutual understanding and somber connection to one another.