The Seven Pillars, Part 3: The powers that be

[Elias]

Peranis looked down upon her creation with a measure of disdain.

“What shall we do, my sister?” Asked Tartanis, glaring at his own creation with no small measure of discontentment.

Peranis remained silent for the heartbeat of a mortal. “I have crafted a solution, brother, but let us hope it does not become necessary.” The divine being, truly neither male nor female, bristled with divine anger that would have burned the skies of the mortal realm just as surely as an egg in a frying pan. “I detect your hand in this,” Peranis continued.

“Your suspicion is misplaced,” He replied with a careful tone, waving his hand and removing the qualms of mortals from his immediate attention. “I created mine just as you created yours, with a specific purpose and an mind for balance. This entire situation displeases me as much as it displeases you, my dearest sister, but we musn't waste our time quelling every squabble between them.”

“My suspicion is well placed,” Replied the other deity in a threatening tone. “But in this case it is perhaps unfounded,” Peranis stated with a thoughtful tone only a god could convey. “I fear, however, if this...Tilt is left to decline their very reason will be compromised, and our attention will be diverted.”

“It would rebuke their existence, I agree.” Tartanis paused, “Let us speak of this matter no further...”

The other deity shot her brother a sharp glare, “We will speak of this matter until I am satisfied! Watch your whelp closely, Tartanis.” The realm thundered.

“I shall. Be sure to keep yours well in hand as well, Peranis. A tremendous waste of time may yet be averted, and we must be careful of Odin's watchful eye...”

“I fear Odin's eye does not possess the acuity it once did.”

Their conversation ended with a blink of divine light.

–

Simon, former King of Corinnae, spent his morning with his grandson. The occasion would have, under most circumstances in the past, been a most pleasant one. Alas seeing the child's resemblance to his late son growing more uncanny by the day was bittersweet. In the afternoon he retired to his suite to contemplate the state of his country, and the ways in which he could guide it into safety now that his tenure had passed. His daughter, now acting as regent to his grandson, suggested that he take the reins, but Simon dismissed the idea immediately. The nation belonged to the future, and he was an aging relic of the past. He would try to live long enough to see his son's son ascend to his rightful position on the the throne, and guide his development into the great man he knew he would eventually become. Until then the nation would sit on a rocky foundation, and it troubled him greatly.

The old man loved his people, more than he loved his wife, more than he loved any of his children or grandchildren. It pained him to see their suffering, but it was not his place to stand in...He would not be there later; it would have been unfair. He sighed, sinking into the soft chair in front of the window overlooking the city. “These old bones aren't what they used to be,” He reminded himself, taking in one last breath of the morning air to welcome the afternoon as the sun rose to its zenith. Simon's afternoon would be a light one, in a few hours he would meet with the Sentinel, though the reason for the meeting hadn't been mentioned. It was his estimation that the Sentinel appointed by his daughter-in-law was a...shady one. While not uncommon for a foreigner to rise to the take the mantel of Sentinel, this one had been, by the reports of his spies, an agent of death. Sentinels were often knights, war heroes; people who could be trusted, and Simon had not spoken with the man for long enough time to be a judge.

However, by all accounts he was loyal to his office, if more disobedient than an unbroken colt. At the Sentinel's own admission he'd disobeyed the Queen's order to make for the border to see to the swift conclusion of conflict there. Alas, he had to admit, the Sentinel's instinct to return to the Capital had been a good one. If he had not the country may have fallen to ruin, and indeed the Sentinel had received grievous injuries in effort to keep that from happening.

The other fellow, with whom Simon had even less exposure, was known to have strongly aided in the quelling of an Agent of Inconditus in Red Pointe –a decidedly unimportant little place north of the capital, but an act at least deserved the gratitude of the people no doubt. His compromise was an unfortunate one, and his cleansing had been reportedly difficult –evidenced by several more dead royal guardsmen, and the Sentinel's injuries. He'd been advised, however, to allow the formerly compromised man to act as an envoy of sorts...'Most likely to be viewed in a neutral light', he'd been told. With any luck that would be the case and the soldiers of Simon's home would no longer need to shed blood with a nation that Corinnae had seen peace with for much of his life. He certainly hoped that Washburn would be cooperative in seeking a peaceful resolve to a serious break down of international communication and a series of unfortunate mistakes.

It all left Simon feeling illatease, but the breakdown was quite clearly a result of the Agent possessing his daughter in-law.

A soft tapping at his door ended the old man's introspection. “The door is open,” He called out to the visitor, turning in his chair to see the face of his guest. The young Sentinel entered the room. “Ah, you're early, lad,” Simon greeted him with a cheerful smile.

The Sentinel bowed his head, “My apologies. Am I disturbing you?”

“No. No, lad.” Simon stood, and the man's hand firmly. He could fell the last vestiges of weakness in the man's grasp; he was still healing. Simon moved his chair to face his visitor. “How are you wounds healing, my boy?” He asked with genuine concern. “The Harrier seems to believe you could use another few weeks under her care,” Simon grinned. “I think she's fond of you.”

The Sentinel seemed to ignore the remark for a moment, before his lips curled into a sly smirk. “She's kind soul, though I think that goes with the title. May I take a seat?” He asked with an outward wince.

“Certainly, lad,” Simon nodded to a nearby chair, which the Sentinel promptly picked up and set down in front of him.

“To answer your original question,” He continued, taking a slow breath. “Better than I would expect, considering I didn't expect to wake up at all.” The Sentinel paused. “Well enough to travel at any rate,” He added carefully. “If not comfortably.”

“I see,” Simon nodded. “Well you shouldn't rush into something you're unprepared for, my boy.”

“Not at all. Frankly I'm quite confident I can secure a treaty and guard for Coyote across the border,” Striker replied matter-of-factly.

Simon arched a gray brow, and stroked his mustache idly, “What makes you so certain, lad?”

“I was a soldier once, M'lord,” He said, leaning in and resting his forearm on his knee. “Soldiers are more likely than politicians to cease hostilities. A battle means hundreds or thousands of their brothers-in-arms will shed blood, or their collective mortal coil. I'm far more worried about the Corinnaen commanders' cooperation, than the Soarinnaens'.”

“They ought to listen to you, Sentinel. You can make an awful lot of trouble for those boys if they don't,” Replied the former King, feeling somewhat uneasy being referred to as 'M'lord' again whilst within the walls of the palace.

“We'll see. In their shoes I would be quite reluctant to sit on my laurels while an invading army sat miles away on my soil. In fact I've been in their shoes, it's none too comforting to sit and think about how many of your comrades they've killed. That aside...I have every confidence in Coyote's social abilities. He seems politically astute, and to be honest I've never much cared for nobility...” He paused, “Present company excluded, m'lord.”

Simon chuckled for several moments, “Most nobles feel the same way. Thankfully this Coyote fellow shouldn't be too hard pressed to find support. Provided that he targets the younger members of the Soarinnaen court. I always found those chaps to be far more agreeable than their old guard. My son seemed to establish a very good rapport with them, and with any luck their numbers will have grown since his last visit. It will be impossible to say why the Soarinnaen soldiers were actually sent across the border. Though I don't wish to think it, Washburn always was a bit of an opportunist with more than his fair share of support in the Court from the older Dukes.”

“Do you think trying to broker peace at this point is unwise, then?” Asked the Sentinel cautiously. “If that is the case would it not be prudent to push the Soarinnaen forces from the borders, instead of suggesting weakness?”

“A bullish approach may be necessary, but if you find the Soarinnaens commanders as easy to deal with as you seem to suspect then it would suggest that the misunderstanding was on our side of the border. The early reports stated that the Soarinnaen force was not initially large enough to be considered an invading army. Though their numbers have steadily increased since.”

The Sentinel nodded, “I studied those figures intently. It's where I drew my initial conclusion, but the idea that the Soarinnaen leadership was looking to capitalize on internal stress here had crossed my mind on more than one occasion, m'lord. Contemporary accounts state that Washburn is also very skilled in misdirection.”

“Indeed. Cunning, vicious and cruel that one. When I first read those reports from the field I was certain Washburn, or at least his dukes, were testing the waters. If they encountered a strong show of force then they could claim to have sent the force across our borders with the interest of keeping our problems on our side of the river...Which is likely what they'll tell our new Envoy. It's too tough to prove otherwise, considering the problem is still quite prevalent here.

“Between the Capital and the border whole towns have gone missing. Several of Corinnae's counts have reported the disappearance of their entire garrison. It is troubling, and if Washburn couldn't account for his own soldiers I would be quite worried about them staying on his side of the border myself.”

The Sentinel nodded in silent thought. “I have a few contacts I could cultivate,” He said with a whisper.

“You can hardly walk, lad. Are you suggesting that you'd like to sneak across the border and 'cultivate contacts'?”

“Not at all,” replied the Sentinel with that same sly smile he'd shot Simon minutes earlier. “I wouldn't dream of leaving two armies at truce without someone to make sure it doesn't go all to hell.”

Simon arched a brow, “It would be better if I didn't know what you have in mind, my boy. That way, when you get captured I can claim total ignorance on behalf of the Corinnaen crown.” He smiled a moment later, “However if you manage to...Learn of something significant you would be remiss if you did not make the utmost haste in equipping the Corinnaen Envoy with this knowledge.”

“I see. You're quite correct, m'lord. It could be vital to negotiations should I happen to learn of something pertaining to the conflict.”

OOC: This is kind of long-winded set-up stuff. I'm not fully done, but I'll post again tomorrow or sunday and get this thing kicked off proper.

[Coyote]

OOC: I'm not happy with this post, but it's all I could get out. I'm so whipped.

Coyote sat on the edge of his bed within the small, but comfortable room he had been given after his recovery. He was rather surprised that the Harrier had only assigned one Guard to him as nothing more than a formality. Coyle must have been greatly assured of Coyote's recovery to have him under such little observation and supervision. Coyote cast a sideways look at the guard just outside his door, the frame slightly ajar. He knew everyone was still nervous with him around. They had a right to be. After what he had done, after what he had become, he wasn't sure if he was comfortable with himself being allowed nearly free range of the castle. Had the situation been switched, he would have had Coyle thrown in the deepest, darkest cell with a thousands pounds of chains and manacles around his neck.
He hoped the Harrier's trust wasn't misplaced in him.

Mayhem was silenced, yes, cast out from his body, soul and mind by holy rite ad ritual, but Coyote still felt the lingering aura of the Unclean Spirit's presence. The aftereffects were clear and painful. His leg had healed, but the pain was still present, throbbing away every now and then. The fresh pink skin was hot to the touch and Coyote had a feeling the discomfort and memory of it would never fade away.

There was a knock from the door and the Harrier's voice from the other side. "Saint Coyote, may I enter?"

"Of course." Coyote grumbled. "It's your castle."

The door opened and Harrier Coyle stepped through the threshold, standing just within.
"Giving me plenty of wide berth, huh?" Coyote said, his fingers busying themselves with strapping on his heavy steel lined boots. "I don't blame you. Though the guest room and accommodations is more than what I deserve."

"Your being to harsh on yourself, Coyote."

"Am I?" Coyote said, accusingly. "After what I did? I would have declared myself an enemy of the state if our positions were switched. In fact, I wouldn't have even bothered with the exorcism. I would have just put a bolt through my head."

"Coyle shook his head. "You aren't to blame for what happened. You had no control over the matter."

Coyote slammed his foot into the floor, hard enough to make the room shake. The Guard at the door jumped and peeked in warily.
"That's the point!" Coyote hissed. "I didn't have control!"

The two men looked at each other for some time. "That bothers you, doesn't it? Not having control?"

Coyote turned back to his boots. "It's the one thing I always demand of myself. If I don't people die."
"You can't blame yourself the death of those men."
"Yea, well I do. Among other things."

Harrier Coyle looked towards the window, avoiding Coyote's glare. They were both thinking the same thing.

"How is the Queen?" Coyote said.
"Still in bedrest. She hasn't awoken."
"How come? I'm perfectly fine, shouldn't she be?"
"The rituals which freed you and her from the Spirit's control are drastically different, like the power I used to free Havoc. As well, the Queen was under possession for a much longer time than you. Your also far more powerful than she is. Your recovery, the manner in which you were freed, your own strength, it all adds up. It's not an exact science, after all."

Coyote stared at the floor after finishing his boots, burning a hole in the ground between his toes with his glare. He could still taste her on his tongue.
"Will she be all right?"

Coyle swallowed.
"She will recover."
The Harrier paused long enough for Coyote to know whatever he said was a total lie or he wasn't sure.

Coyote stood from the bed to his full height, cracking his back as he did and looking out the window set into the stone of the castle wall. Outside the sun shone and a small flight of blue birds raced past the opening.

"What now, Coyle?"
"You and the Sentinel will reach the Soarrinae border and you'll be taken is as a peace officer to work out a withdrawal of all forces from both sides of the conflict. Hopefully that will give us some well needed breathing room."

"And what if our suspicions are correct? That the King of Soarrinae is possessed as the Queen was? I may be tough, but not that tough."

The Harrier nodded. "I understand. I may have something for you to help with that possibility. Let's keep to the hope though that is not the case and all that will be required of you is to convince the Dukes and Counts to withdraw their forces and Corrinae is doing the same."

Coyote smirked, letting a little laugh hiss through his teeth. "I wish Lord Huvein was here."
"Who?"
"A friend of mine. He got me started in the political arena. He'd know what to do. Then again, he'd be just as likely to make things worse."

Coyote made his way to the door past Coyle. "Let's get going."

[Coyote]

The borders of Sorinnae and Cannocus had long been a shifting, dangerous line on dusty old maps. For ages it's hovered back and forth along the great ravine which bordered both countries and formed a natural barrier between hostilities, or in some cases, attracted them. Fortresses and bridges of great size and fortification spanned the expanse on both sides, making travel between the two nations easy. Yet at a moments notice, those open gates and bridges could quickly be turned into a line of stalwart objection to any movement from either side.

Lining the cliff faces and along the mesa-like top of the great canyon, castles and ramparts were shorn up from the natural rock, bristling with flags and pennants and covered in ballista, catapults, soldiers and watch towers, every one of a thousands pairs of eyes on either side locked onto the other, looking for a moment, a flash of steel, the twang of an arrow for an excuse to unleash on the other. As Arthur of old and a single green snake, here would spell a war that once started could never end. It momentum would be created through bodies and blood. Solders stood sweating, not from the air, which was a cold, wet thing that howled up from the depths, but from the energy around them, the tension which drew skin taught and made palms sweat against hilt.

From behind the Corinnae lines, a small escort approached the castle walls at leisurely speed, bearing no open flag but a white sheet with a red stripe draped along a lance, a sign of universal peace and a passing envoy. Wagons parted and solders dashed aside. There was little to stop them; the danger was from ahead, not behind.

Coyote, astride his horse Kurama who huffed and breathed heavily under him, was stuck in the middle of the group, a pair of Knight Cannocus to his front and back. He had shed his Shadow Saint attire in favor of the traditional garb of an agent of peace, a pure white smock lined with red, a clean bandanna around his forehead and soft slipper on his feet. His hair was pulled back, clean and he bore no ornament or sign of wealth or power. He looked soft, quite and easily handled, which was how he had hoped he would be perceived by the Sorinnae delegates he hoped to speak with very soon. Still, his pack, held by one of the Knights, held his black robes and Xirculk blade, his hat settled on top. Even a agent of peace didn't go into the King's chambers unarmed, a sign of trust between the two nations. Coyote only hoped the need for arms wouldn't come up this time. Risking his own life, he did that every day. The lives of others, he was far less comfortable dealing with.

From the Corinnae walls, banners were quickly token down, the blue and gold replaced by white and red. Commotion rose up on the Sorinnae side and soon after, the same process was mimicked.

Coyote would be allowed to pass.

Leaning over to a rider who quickly saddled up next to him, Coyote murmured under his breath. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Coyle looked concerned, but he hid it very well under a thin veneer of confidence. "The old King would not have chosen you unless he knew what he was doing."

Coyote sneered and hacked a little cough. "What if he's possessed too?"
Coyle laughed, if a bit grimly. "Your being paranoid. Anyway, if he was, things are far worse than we had originally thought. If Iconditite reached that far, we would have no hope."

"We hardly have one now." Coyote muttered.
Coyle clapped him on the shoulder hard, nearly knocking him off Kurama. "That's all we need. Still got what I gave you?"

Coyote reached into his neckline and pulled the tiny coin that he had been given, marked by the seal of Corrinae on one side and the mark of a ambassador on the other. "Yea, right here. Think it'll work?"

Coyle nodded. "I invested every bit of energy into that tiny coin as I did the staff I gave the Sentinel. It'll do the job. That little trinket would drive the greatest demon of Hell itself out of a fleshly disguise."

Coyote scoffed and placed the coin on his breast for all to see. "I know some demons who would disagree with you."
Taking a few breaths, Coyote kicked Kurama gently, goading him forward.

"Cannocus be with you, Saint Coyote!" Coyle shouted from behind him.

"Yea, yea." Coyote said back.
He turned back and smiled at Coyle. "Think this might be all the God's doing in the first place?"

Coyle laughed. "They work in mysterious ways!"
"That's an excuse for when they screw up!"

[Coyote]

The Grand Council was a spacious hall, an enormous gathering place for every noble born son, from the oldest, senile Lord to the youngest, foolhardy prince. The grand chambers were circular and deeply sunken, a carved amphitheater of black veined marble, with huge seats enough to accommodate hundreds at any time. The sound was nearly deafening, amplified by the multiple hard surfaces and spacious air. Set in the dome high above, an oculus glared down with a shaft of light illuminating the speaking floor with a warm glow. Stand within that light, Coyote, still garbed in the white of an ambassador, stood facing an older, noble born man. His hair was just beginning to gray around the temples and streak white through his prodigious mustache, worn in the current style of Sorinnae with it's tips heavily waxed. His clothes were of the finest quality, dashing cuts of gray and green, which Coyote imagined, along with the golden amulet in the shape of a boar's head, were the colors and sign of his noble house. The man's face, DeMolay as Coyote had caught his name, had cheeks which were craggy and bright red in flustered anger.

"This is nothing more than a stalling tactic set in motion by those dastardly Corinnians! This...boy," he spat the word as it it was a foul thing, "has been ordered here by Corinnae's whore Queen to do nothing more than distract us while we sit behind our castle walls with our hands over our eyes while our enemies gather the forces they need to topple our defenses and ride into Soarinnae and take our land and families! This entire sham of suing for peace is a ruse and nothing more!"

Agreements and shouts of dissension rose up from the gathered Lords, their vassals and attendants. One young Prince shot to his feet, his arm shooting out and stabbing accusingly at Lord DeMolay, his other wrapped in a brilliant red cloak that shimmered with in-woven gems. "My Lord DeMolay, it is well known within this wise council that you of all people have the most to gain from war with Corrinae! Would not your lands along the borders be greatly expanded should open war be declared? And would not your men be the first to capture the spoils of war!?"
More shouts of agreement and anger rose up, more of the nobles taking their feet and throwing accusations across the floor at one another. Every so often a well dressed man in attendance would stand up and move away from those he disagreed with and sit near his supporters, making large groups of the men one voice hurling insults at one another. Coyote could imagine each group hiding behind their castle walls of words and accusations, throwing siege boulders and slight at one another. Though it tired him greatly, he had done enough of such posturing and political nonsense in Albion to not lose his temper and simply allowed the roar to wash over him, waiting for the time that he could speak up and share his words again. Eventually they would lose bluster and when they did, he would speak quietly, bringing their own voices down to match his calm volume.

Papers were balled up and hurled in lieu of thrown darts and spears at one another. Thankfully, all weapons were checked at the door and it was very rare that one of these high born men would sully their honor by striking another man with an empty hand. Even gloves were taken by the door guards as a slap across the face with one was more acceptable than to lay a naked palm against even the most die hard and defiant of political enemies.

The voices whittled down to a low thrumming murmur as throats grew horse and voices rattled from lack of breath. When most had quieted, Coyote, very calmly and as level as he could, spoke up for the first time since he had finished his presentation to the council. He'd been waiting for almost an hour as they yelled and harrumphed at one another, so he had given plenty of thought as to what he had to say following his testimony.

"Gentlemen, Sons of Soarinnae, I know what I speak sounds like madness and deception. Ask your own Wayfinders; if I spoke lies, I would never have been brought before this esteemed group of men to slather my blasphemy about this sacred floor. My words hold no lie; this, 'war' as some of you call it, is a joke, a deception of it's own. It is an attempt to drive our two nations into a battle which would benefit neither and lead to our mutual enemy gaining great strength, strength enough to wipe both our nations away."

"What nation?" DeMolay asked sarcastically. "You have neither the speech nor the manner of a Corrinian, which normally would be a compliment. I find you to have no loyalty to either us or the northerners."

"Then my words are unbiased and have no gain for me. I am not a pan of the north but am just an envoy sent by them."

"Then you have no real reason for helping us other than your own gain! What was it that bought your services as messenger? Hmm? Perhaps gold of Corinnae to lie on their behalf, to skew the perception of this esteemed group in your employer's favor?"

Coyote shook his head, turning away from DeMolay and to the ring of Lords around him. He faced them each, making eye contact with all of them, speaking to them personally, forcing each one to acknowledge him and look him in the face. "I admit, I am not of Corinnae. Neither am I Sorinnae. I have no allegiance to either your nations but that allegiance which goes hand in hand with the wish for peace. The Priests of Cannocus Lex have named me as a friend of their God, your God! They say themselves that I 'carry the Light of Lex' with me. I am here for the benefit of all your people and to avoid any war that would bring great suffering on both countries."

One of the younger men, who had been quite for some time spoke up. "You must admit, Friend, that your story is, to say the least, extraordinary. You speaks of demons, madness, possession, horrible evils and the machinations of the Gods. How can we believe such things?"

Coyote turned to him and bowed subserviently. "I know what i say is madness and I would not dare to say it unless I had proof. I admit I do not have it with me, so I will ask my good Lord DeMolay to be my advocate."

The noble laughed, a booming boisterous sound that echoed around the chamber. "Why would I do such a thing?" The aging Lord demanded.
"Put simply, My Lord," Coyote responded, "I simply ask for you too report what your spies in Corinnae have been telling you."

Murmurs arose across the chamber and many eyes nervously shot to and fro. Coyote watched them all, seeing who looked to whom, who looked the most nervous and who showed shock. Several of the Lords looked nervous, DeMolay included. Coyote had no idea if the man had eyes within Corinnae, but from the looks of things, he had been right. Not only that, it seemed that he had planted some doubt in the other Lords who had the same information. Perhaps enough to make them lend some weight to the strange and, at first impossible, reports they had received.

DeMolay looked pissed. Coyote hid his smile behind his hood, but he gained a devious sense of pleasure from showing the old man up. Now he had to admit to his subterfuge or lie before the entire Council. If he did, he would lose face in front of those who knew of his dealings and underhanded ways. If he confirmed it, those who suspected him of war mongering would get their confirmation.

"I have no spies!" DeMolay said, shielding himself. "I admit to contacts, Corinnae citizens who who wish to better their nation by Soarinnae hand."

"These concerned citizens then, what do they say? Do they confirm my words?"

DeMolay hesitated for a moment, his neck and cheeks taking on a brilliant hue of red anger. "They say, that strange things have been happening and they admit to dark times. Possibly they may have some similarity to what you've brought before us."

Coyote turned to the council, one hand gesturing towards DeMolay. "You hear it then from one of your own. The good Lord DeMolay says that my words have the ring of truth to them. My Good Men, now is not the time for war. We must cease this hostility or both Corinnae and Soarinnae will be consumed by a darkness that neither shall come out from under."

[Elias]

Writer's block, I'll post tomorrow.

[Coyote]

The gathering of the Lord of Soarinnae had been adjourned and the many gathered nobles began to make their way from the meeting hall, some alone while others congregated together in small huddles that quietly whispered amongst themselves, casting eyes over their shoulder at other groups who did the exact same thing to them.

Coyote only remained behind, standing in the center of the meeting hall with the occulus gazing down at him for a moment. He was glad for the deep hood of his ambassador's garb, because it his his red rimmed eyes and the deep breath of air he sucked in, settling his nerves and grateful that it was over, for now at least.
His slipper clad feet gliding over the tiles of the hall, he made his way around the crowd and avoided several delegates who tried to flag him down opr waylay his path. Most of them would have nothing more to say than what was said at the gathering and Coyote did not want to hear any overblown speeches again, especially ones he had to sit through once before. Other, like Lord DeMolay who was flashing him a deadly eye from across the floor, would only try to get Coyote alone so they could wring out of him information that would be useful to their side of the argument. Coyote had been around these types for too long to let them take advantage of him like that. The best thign to do would be to avoid all contact until the next meeting, let them be the ones who were caught off guard and unprepared for him and his words.

At the great doors of the hall, large portals that reached high above Coyote's head, a pair of guards were waiting on either side. When they saw Coyote's white clad form near, they stepped too attention. Passing between them, the two men, wearing full Soarinnae armor and wielding large pikes which were taller than they were, fell in behind Coyote, his personnel escort and protection while acting as a representative of Coarinnae.

Immediately Coyote noted that neither man were the same than who he had walked into the hall. A change of guard wasn't out of the questions, but he hadn't been expecting it either.

Away from the hall Coyote was led by the two men. He was required to stay with them at all times, not only for his own protection (causing Coyote no small amusement at that) but also to ensure he didn't try anything along the lines of espionage or sabotage while he was here.
Even so, the path they were taking back to Coyote's heavily guarded quarters was not the correct route.

He sighed and stopped walking, the two men continuing on for a half a step before halting and turning back to him quizzically.
"Is somethign wrong, Ambassador?"

Coyote bit his lip and threw the hood back, revealing his face. A gesture of his arms and he brushed the robe aside, leaving his hands free.
"Yea," he said, lightly tugging his white gloves from his hands and tucking them into his sash, "you're leading me away from the crowd and my quarters."

The two men looked at each other, cool as possible. Turning back to Coyote, the taller of the pair said, "We're just following orders, sir."

"Good!" Coyote remarked. "Then your injuries will be in the line of duty, then!"

With lightning quick motions, the two guards leveled their long pikes at Coyote and charged!

Twisting his body sideways, Coyote slipped right between the two thrusting attacks, feeling the metal spears graze against his chest and back, sliding along his silk robes smoothly. With a quick turn in place, he faced the two men again, his movement dropping and pushing their two weapons farther apart and into Coyote's hands. With a downward thrust, Coyote drove the two points of the spears into the marble floor, hearing and feeling them catch in the near invisible seam between polished blocks.

With the two of them off balance, Coyote ripped his sash off from around his waist and used the heavy white rope like a lasso, swinging it briefly above his head to unravel it's substantial length and then whipped it down and around the feet of his attackers, catching it in his other hand as it swung around.

Coyote leaned back hard enough and fast enough to take himself off his feet, flopping to the ground behind him and dragging the rope across the guards' knees, lifting them likewise up and down, dropping the pair heavily with the sound of clattering metal to the floor.

With a quick twirl, Coyote took back to his feet, yanked on the cord and pulled it out from under the groaning pair, twisting it back around his hips and tying it off in one fluid motion.

Moments later, from down the hall in front of Coyote, a small large group of soldiers, almost a dozen of them, all armed came running down, stopping in their tracks when they saw the scene before them. Coyote had no doubt that they had been there all along waiting for him.

"What the hell happened?" The Watch Commander asked, looking not at the two men down and out on the ground, but at Coyote who calmly replaced the bow in his sash.
"My escorts seemed to have taken a tumble in the execution of their orders. Regrettable, they seem indisposed. No need to worry, sir. You and your men get them back on their feet, I think I can find my way to my quarters if that all right with you."
Coyote paused and then added in a menacing voice, "Alone, that is."

The Watch Captain studied Coyote for a moment, glanced down at the two men breathing in shallow gasps at his feet, and gave Coyote a nod.
"Thank you. Give my regards to Lord DeMolay, please."

Coyote turned in place and headed back fro his apartments, a smile playing on his features which he hid by pulling his white hood back up.

[Elias]

I traced my fingers over the paper-thin silver lines that decorated the ebony hilt of the 'Sentinel's Blade', the pale moonlight caught the intricate patterns and they glowed in the most exquisite way. It was cold, for early summer, and the fire had died down several hours earlier –now little more than dark orange coals. I set the blade on my blanket quietly. Turning my eyes skyward I was simply left in awe of vast canopy of stars that I could see despite the light of the moon. The constellations, for the first time in many years, were actually ones I remembered staring up at as a child. I smiled. The serpent, I raised a finger to the sky and traced the constellation across the heavens. Moving first from the two bright points of light that represented the serpent's eyes, and then the half-dozen dimmer stars that wound around to make the appearance of a snake coiled –ready to strike.

“You know that constellation?” A soft, feminine whisper pierced the chilly night air, the crickets paid it no mind and continued to chirp on.

I nodded, not taking my eyes from the sky.

Her presence was warm and familiar now, and her scent overpowered the smell of nature the instant she sat down next to me. “I'm a little surprised. Most foreigners don't know that one.”

I scoffed. “I'm only foreign to this land, but I was born under the same stars as you were.”

“Is that a fact?” I could hear her sly smile. “Where were you born, oh mysterious Sentinel.”

“Koarra, on the south-western point of the Peninsula of Aoyer, in a town of the same name,” I replied flatly, before tracing the points of light that formed the constellation of the stallion with my finger.

“That was a specific answer, though I suppose that explains your funny accent,” The Harrier chuckled, brushing her fingers up my left arm, over scars new and old.

“My accent isn't funny,” I said with a touch of mirth. “It's just the way I curse that's funny.”

“Ah, yes.” She cleared her throat, “Bloody sodding hell!” She imitated my accent in the worst way possible.

I couldn't help but smirk.

“Elias,” She said with a sudden mock-fear. “Your face! It's broken...”

I nudged her softly with my elbow. “Back to sleep with you. I won't listen to your whining when I try to get you up at dawn.”

“When do I whine?” Her fingers came to rest on a cut she'd stitched only a few weeks before.

“Every time I have Mariano make a ruckus to wake you up, you whine. Without fail.”

“Cannocus says nothing of the morning. Only that I must carry on through the darkness of night,” She said matter-of-factly. “And that bit of dogma about rising with the sun is all 'bollocks',” She commented, stealing a piece of my vocabulary. “I'm not a farmer like my father, anyway.”

The other member of our group stirred, sitting upright in a moment, “Do I need to douse the two of you in water?” Mariano said with groggy murmur. “I can't get a Godsbedamned wink o' sleep with the two o' yammering on all Godsbedamned night!” His voiced echoed out into the night, silencing the crickets for a fraction of a second, before they answered louder than before.

I pushed Alice toward her bedroll, “Sleep. My watch is up in two hours, you can be awake all you want until then.”

The woman smirked, and shook her head, stumbling off to the warmth of her blanket.

“And put some Godsbedamned wood on those Godsbedamned coals before I freeze!” Concluded Mariano, before pulling his blanket over his head and falling instantly back into the loudest excuse for quiet slumber I'd ever heard of.

I threw a lump of dry brush onto the coals and prodded at them until the grass and twigs began to smolder and finally catch alight. A few minutes later the fire was raging again, and the crackling of the burning wood shut out the sounds of the wilderness, Alice's soft breathing and took the edge off of Mariano's cacophonous snoring.

We were only a few dozen miles from the Soarinnaen capital city, and as bad as Alice's impression of my accent was, she was equally good at imitating the subtle shift of inflection in the Soarinnaen accent. Mariano managed just as well, and I had to pretend to be deaf and mute most of the time, as any accent I could muster to cover the one I'd come up with gave me away just as quickly as a foreigner.

–

The guards at the gate of the Soarinnaen Captial City were as vigilant as any I'd seen, but were no more alert than any others we'd encountered since crossing the border into the southern country of the isle. It seemed they weren't expecting spies, much less the Corinnaen Sentinel, Royal Harrier and Royal Guard, to come waltzing through their gates.

“Your business?” Asked the guard in a bored monotone. It was early afternoon and he'd probably asked the question a few hundred times already that day.

Alice flicked a lock of raven hair from her eyes, looking quite a bit different in the attire of a merchant's wife than she did in her Knight's armor. Her trusty blade, and the staff belonging to former Harrier Hammel were stashed away in the tiny mule-drawn cart we'd picked up over the border. She hadn't been keen on leaving her armor behind, but then I hadn't been particularly keen on her tagging along either. As difficult as it was to admit, however, it was easier traveling with a pair of natives who knew the customs of their neighboring country and could fake a passable Soarinnaen accent.

“My name is Kora, and we're from Dornsvale, here to visit my cousin, Dari. She's getting married this week,” She laced her arm through mine without a thought. “This is my husband, Kalin.” She smiled sweetly at the guard, and then nodded to Mariano who was tending to the mule –“Muffin” he'd called her– “That is my brother-in-law, Lorick.”

The guard scratched his nose and looked closely at me, “Your husband is a smart fellow.” He grinned, chuckling. “Keep quiet, and let the lady do all the talking. Best way to keep your foot out of your mouth,” He slapped me on the shoulder and I stifled a wince and painful groan. Alice squeezed my arm. “Move on through, folks,” He grinned and waved us passed, grimacing at the large caravan of merchants behind us, and glancing at our cart for a moment before shaking his head to his fellow. “We've got bigger fish, Walter, forget this poor guy's flour!”

And, like a bird to the skies, we were into the city without so much as a hiccup. Once out of earshot I stamped my boot on the cobbles and groaned. “Asshole. If I weren't a man of principles I'd go back and slit his throat...Ear to bloody ear!” I growled.

“Easy, or you'll undo my best stitching and I might lose my temper,” Alice retorted with a tone that suggested that would be an event best avoided.

Mariano smirked, “Good going, ma'am. Sentinel...” He looked passed us, “What now?”

“Find a place to stash the cart, and say goodbye to muffin,” I patted the mule's nose apologetically. “Alice, I need you to do a little scouting for me. Wander off near the palace. I studied the map of the city closely on the way, and there will be a large, reputedly appointed building outside of the palace gates. Get passed some of these buildings here and you should be able to see it from a ways off. Find me a decent entry point, and take note of things like guard movements if you can.”

The Harrier nodded, walking over to the cart and taking out her sword, wrapped in a bundle of multicolored textiles. She cradled it in her arms and ducked out of the alleyway and into the street, blending with the foot traffic in a few seamless moments. It had taken a few days of practice in a smaller city up north, but she was a fast learner and I could scarcely have done much better carrying a scimitar swaddled in filthy cloth. My own weapons were also stashed in the cart, but they were all far too daring to wear out in public, and as someone without status in the country I would be quickly noticed if I wore them openly.

I opted instead to carry only my knife in its hidden sleeve holster and my kukri hidden in the folds of the brown, worn cloak I'd picked up to blend in. “No more 'sentinel', I'm Kalin, and no more 'harrier' she's 'Kora', got it...Lorick?”

“Aye. I'm sorry, Sen...” he caught himself. “Kalin. I'm not very good at this sort of thing. Papa raised me to be too honest.”

I patted his shoulder, “That you are, Lorick, that you are. We won't have to keep it up for too long, so just remember your accent and your name.”

“And that I'm from Dornsvale,” He offered with a sheepish smile.

“That's the way,” I said, trying out my awful rendition of the Soarinnaen accent.

“Run your words together more, be less articulate,” he said, blending into the accent mid-sentence to demonstrate. “Yur 't's are too pr'nounced,” He exaggerated the inflection for my benefit.

I nodded, “You'll make a Soarinnaen outta' me yet, Loruck,” I attempted, eliciting a smile.

“And you'll make a spy of me yet, Kalin.” He sighed looking back at Muffin. “I'll miss this girl, I tell you.”

“Reminds you of your wife does it?” I smirked.

He shot me an angry gaze, “Only a joke. Your missus is quite fetching, so I hear.”

“Don't you forget it,” He said without even a note of mirth, leading the mule into the street carefully.

–

Despite the countless dozens of times I'd gone over the street maps of the city in my mind's eye since departing from the Corinnae-Soarinnae border I didn't feel any less lost. It was one thing to recall street names with perfect accuracy, but it was another thing altogether to know the landmarks of a city. For the moment I didn't have three weeks to spend walking the crumbling cobblestone streets of the low district, to stroll along the brick-laid lanes of the middle district or tread upon the immaculate flagstones of the high district. So I was just moving about by my gut instinct, and it got me lost on more than one occasion. It also came as quite a rude awakening when I noted that not every street bore a sign identifying it at every intersection, and I repeatedly lost my bearings among the relatively tall buildings that ruined my sense of direction.

Sasha's cousin, the only person with whom I could make open contact within the limits of the city walls without endangering myself, was waiting in the middle-district at a cafe. I was confident that Sasha would not lead me into a trap, though I had to admit in some twisted sense I could be seen a liability to her long-term goals, but if she wanted me dead I knew she would not have hesitated to do the deed personally. It was a professional courtesy. Alice had not shared the same sense of optimism or trust, though I could hardly blame her: cavorting with Assassins generally doesn't bode well for those wishing to live into their golden years.

The heat from the late-afternoon sun was finally abating as it began to sink toward the western horizon, and I found myself walking into the middle district to witness brilliant scarlet and orange light wash over the appointed merchants' homes, artisans' workshops and open air cafes. This part of the city was one I would not mind seeing twice. The light hit the beige bricks that lined the streets in a particularly fascinating fashion, giving them the appearance of red-orange rivers snaking through the district –it was then that I noticed just how often the elevation of the city changed.

A young boy, running through the streets as young boys tend to do, banged into me, pushing me into the wall of a nearby structure and sending tendrils of pain through my body. I tightened my fist and reminded myself that I wasn't there to sight-see. I regained my composure and set out down the considerably less crowded streets of the middle district to find the cafe where I was to meet with my contact. Though I was not given the name of the place, a very apt description was provided in its stead, and I spent little time searching for it. The only building on its block to have a blue and white facade –anti-thematic for the area, which were all mostly beige and brown mason buildings.

The name of the cafe was in some language I couldn't read, though the lettering panged familiar I could only guess at its origin. I went out onto the small patio overlooking a courtyard dominated by a pool of water that was being visited by a gaggle of water fowl. I leaned against the railing and watched the birds for a few moments before a young woman sidled up next to me and leaned her back against the railing. She made no eye-contact and looked out toward the setting sun. “Elias?”

I grunted, “Kalin.” It was both a correction and an affirmation of my identity.

The woman flashed me the inside of her left wrist, it had a small black tattoo, a glyph I'd seen before –on the inside of Sasha's right wrist. “Liris,” She said, her red-painted lips parting with a smirk. It was then that I noticed that she was wearing decidedly formal attire, and I wondered if she moonlit as a prostitute for a moment. “No,” she said mirthfully, as though reading my thoughts. “It's the style of the season, Kalin, you've been out of the Captial for too long,” she motioned for a table. “Now is that anyway to greet your little sister?” Her voice was loud enough for passersby to hear now, but low enough that most of the stray glances we received were by young men who were staring more intently at exposed skin than at our faces.

We sat down, and a waiter quickly came by and placed a glass in front of each of us, they were already filled with a thick, dark-red liquid. It smelled strongly of wine.

She rose her glass, “To my brother.” She tipped it back and drained half of it before setting it back onto the table in a dainty gesture.

I faked a sip, wrinkled my nose and placed it back down, hoping she'd take the cue.

Liris did, “Oh you're too stingy. A little wine never hurt anyone!” She leaned in smiling.

“Sasha says you have information. I'm a pitiful actor, so talk,” My tone was hushed and stern, my body was aching and throbbing, begging for me to find a bed so that it could continue to heal.

“Very well. I'm fairly convinced I wasn't followed, and we're not being listened-in on. I have two pieces of information to give you. Two pieces of credible information.”

“I'll decide if it's credible,” I murmured. I instantly took a dislike to Liris, and I wasn't sure why.

“Sasha told me you were a real hard-ass,” She frowned. “Look, I risked my neck to verify this, so do you want to hear it or don't you?” She faked a smile and laughed loudly, taking another generous sip from her glass.

I nodded to her, “Time is a factor. Every second you spend acting like you're having fun is one less second I have to avert potential disaster.”

“Relax,” She said tersely. “Bitching about it won't make you a hero any faster. Besides who gives a damn? Whole world is going up in smoke and no one else seems to care. Why should you?” She paused, taking yet another pull from her glass, her pale-green eyes glazed already. “Listen. The word is: Not a single soul outside of the palace has seen or spoken with the King in more than six months. Last time anyone heard the King had taken ill, yet again, and since then the palace has been locked up tighter than an elven princess' chastity belt. Not even the royal guard has been allowed to leave, and the gates have been shut for six months. The whole court is very anxious, but they're being good about keeping that anxiety under wraps. Now with that filthy business with unrest across the border they're worried the capital is going to be sacked in the next six months.” She paused and giggled, “That's nonsense, though. Not a single Corinnaen has crossed over the border, much less a whole army, since their beloved King got offed.”

“You look an awful lot more refined than you act,” I commented. “How is it that no one else has noticed that the King has been quiet and the boys in the Palace haven't been let out to see their wives?”

“Soarinnaen public servants have a different set of rules. To be a Royal Guard you can't be married, makes you easy to manipulate or some other lousy excuse for the abuse they put up with. Besides most of them aren't even from the Capital from what I can tell, and mail service in this country is pretty lousy for the underpaid.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “What about the armies sent north? Any useful information regarding that subject while I'm here wasting my time listening to a lush?”

[Coyote]

"It was kind of you to invite me to lunch, Prince Harrow, but I'm still unsure as to why I'm even here."

Coyote had spent several days in Sorinnae by now, confined mostly to the Great Hall and it's surrounding compound. Being followed and watched by Soarinnae guards at all times made the experience not only stressful but also dangerous. Coyote had come to suspect and confirm through his own investigation that the guards who had tried to kill him had indeed been on the payroll of Lord DeMolay. While the old Lord had tried to simply have him offed, the other major players in the political arena of Soarinnae had all but unanimously attempted to win him over to their side, promising anything from base bribes to a 'new future' of peace and prosperity between Corinnae and Soarinnae and an important place for him within it. Coyote was glad he had nothing to gain and wasn't swayed by their offers of wealth and power. Had he been a dishonest man, he would have been set for life after this.

Across from him was his latest suitor, Lord Harrow, the young man who had accused DeMolay of attempting to gain an upper hand during these trying time. The Prince was the young heir to his family's name, his father still alive, but just barely. The old man clung to his old age with a tenacious grip, being bedridden for almost two years now. The young Prince handled all matters of state that required travel or clear decision making. He had been denied his title for many years so far and Coyote could see that he made up for it by being both a cutthroat politician as well as being very eager to solidify his own power, rather than relying on that of his Father. Still, that didn't make the Prince a sycophant or too eager to please. He hadn't even hinted at any attempt to gain Coyote's favor so far and the two had enjoyed their private chat and lunch together on one of the small balcony's that jutted out from the Great Hall, offering diplomats and Lords a chance for a little privacy.

The Prince Harrow laughed, tipping his glass to his lips and taking a sip of the deep purple wine within. "No reason, Coyote. I only wanted a chance to get to know the man our neighbors to the north decided to send on their behalf. It isn't very often that a foreigner gets the opportunity to represent a country's wishes. I wanted to see for myself what engendered you to the crown of Corinnae so quickly. I can understand their trust in you now. From your testimony in open court and what you've told me here today, I can see why they have placed so much upon you and your efforts here. As to your reasoning, though, I don't quite u8nderstand myself. What drives you to help Corinnae, a land so far from your own?“

Coyote knew he was being sized up, but in every conversation there had to be both give and take.
“I survived war, Prince Harrow. There is nothing gloriouse about it. Yes, I have made my life by killing and living by the sword. In my own lands I am a tyrant and a monster. I am nowhere near enough a monster though to wage open war. Id a few men killed in their sleep will avert a conflict that will cause thousands to lose their lives, then those men's sacrifice will be worth it. The same can be said if an open diologue can be opened. Thousands will be spared the torment and horror of war.“

OOC: I have nothing more. I'm tapped.

[Coyote]

Lunch with Prince Harrow had been over for an hour and Coyote was back in his guarded chambers. The trio of guards outside were as much for his one protection as they were the rest of the capitol. Within the small but well appointed chambers of a visiting dignitary, Coyote felt secure enough to let his guard down momentarily, enough to rest and even catch some sleep. Still, he had no illusions about the danger his presence presented and he knew well that his life still may be in danger. With the door closed, he had moved a heavy chest in front of it, placed the Xirculk blade firmly under his mattress and had placed a few smoke bombs in his cloak pocket, easily at hand in case of an attack. The window was closed and shutterd, locked with a heavy bolt, so he wasn't concerned about an intruder coming in from there. Still, he had taken certain precautions. When he had first arrived, he had spent several hours in the castle gardens, getting to know the flocks of birds that frequented the trees around the fountain-pond. They were well alerted to his needs and he could hear their chirping through the window, which would burst into a frenzied panic if anything dangerous approached the window.

Barricaded in as he was, the feeling of security did wonders for his tension and he laid himself out over the large bed, letting his shoulders and head sink into the deep fabric of the feather pillow and mattress.

"Hey?"

The voice was annoying and questioning. Coyote ignored it.

"Don't ignore me!"

He flipped over and buried his face in the pillow, wrapping it around his ears.

"Not likely that's going to work. I'm in your head so I don't even need to have you listen."

Coyote sat up, more annoyed than anything else. "What do you want, Mayhem?"

To Coyote, the Unclean Spirit took the form of a masculine shadow, a pitch black copy iof himself bearing no features or even depth, An inky blackness that seeped and leaked shadows around it's outer lining.
"I'm bored."

"Good. I know how much that bothers you. You chose me for a vessel, so deal with me now that I'm your prison. You'll eventually fade away and then I'll no longer have to deal with your insessent whining!"

"Come on!: The shadow moaned. "We had some fun! We had some good times, didn't we? I only did the things you wanted to do but were to afraid too!"

"No, you did the things you wanted to do and knew I wouldn't be predisposed to stopping you! You used my basic instincts against me."
"Yea, and you enjoyed it, right?"

Coyote shrugged. "I admit. Nothing you made me do was against my particular code of ethics. That's why the possession was so strong. Killing has never bothered me, I freely admit to being attracted to the Queen and ever since I got to Corinnae I've wanted to bash Elias' skull in."

Mayhem flopped back onto the bed at Coyote's feet, smiling up at the ceiling without any mouth. "Yea, right? That was brilliant!"

Coyote kicked him hard and dropped him off the bed and to the floor with a thump. The shadow lay there, grumbling to himself.
"Enjoy it while you can, Mayhem. Eventually you'll start to lose power and you'll simply fade away, nothing more than a bad memory."

Mayhem sat up and glared at Coyote over the edge of the bed. "Not likely. I am the favored servant of a Goddess, Coyote. My existence is eternal so long as it pleased Inconditite."

Coyote laughed. "That's funny. I thought you already had failed her. Your out there and I'm in here after all."
"Well clearly she still has some plans for me then, doesn't she?" Mayhem smiled wickedly.

Coyote lost his mirth for a moment but quickly got it back. "Yea, yea, says the little voice in my head. I've had little voices like you all my life. We'll see who outlasts who."

Coyote sunk further into the blankest and sighed deeply. "Until then we are going to sit here quietly, doing absolutely nothing for hours on end."

Mayhem nearly shriekd in agaony and Coyote smiled ear to ear.

[Coyote]

With several days passing without any word from Elias or even any headway being made within the Council, Coyote was growing frustrated. He was no closer to speaking with the King than when he had first got here and there had been no movement from within the castle to suggest the King and his court's action. Still, Coyote counted the fact that no more movements had taken place along the Corinnae and Soarinnae border since his arrival, so there was that much to be thankful for. So long as he kept talking and being called in front of the Lord of Soarinnae, he could keep them from marching into the north and plundering at will. With Coarinnae in such a weak station, the Lords would be able to seize huge tracts of land that would take years to get back, if ever. Corinnae was in a particularly dangerous position and as long as Coyote could keep everyone from going to open war, even if it was b7y bureaucratic nonsense, he was happy with the job he was doing.
Besides, Coyote appreciated the time he had to himself, locked in his Ambassador's quarters. Not only did it give him time to recover from the recent battles in Red Point and at the Corinnae castle, which he still needed plenty of, but it allowed him the privacy he needed in order to take in all that had happened since he had been called to Corinnae from the Shadow Lands which seemed so long ago. He never could have realized then what exactly he was getting himself into. He had been drawn into an angagement between two Gods as one of their playthings.
Correction, momentarily he had been TWO of their playthings.

Coyote had never had a good relationship when it came to Gods. He had fled his home to avoid the rituals associated with his family's beliefs, so he had always had a poor opinion of anyone who put too much merit in a higher being. It was much better to rely on yourself, not some outside force which could withdraw it's will and protection at any moment. Coyote didn't deny the Gods existence or their power. He had fought their servants, dabbled in their affairs and seen the power they can grant too many times to cling to some arrogant position of his own superiority. Likewise, he knew that he was limited and that the Gods were creatures greater than he was. Still, it didn't make him feel comfortable to rely on them for any reason whatsoever. Coyote saw very little difference between a powerful Lord who could have you killed at a moment's notice and a God who could do the same. Best to keep both of them at arm's length and sword's point.

Still, the devotion of the people of Corinna was admirable and everyone he had met so far seemed genuinely sincere about their faith. Best of all, none had tried to push their beliefs on Coyote, taking it at face value that their God knew who he had chosen./ Coyote only hoped that was true. He had tasted Inconditite's power already and it had been an experience he would not soon forget.
He only hoped Cannocus made it worth his while when this was said and done.

Not being a devout follower, Coyote could only ratnolize his involvement on his own belifs. He was here to help the people of these lands avoid a war if at all possible. Barring any nationality or creed, Coyote knew that was a belife he could get behind.

[Elias]

The green fog of nyquil seems to have subsided so I plan on posting today >,>

[Coyote]

"This is an outrage! I won't stand for this any longer!"

Coyote stood in his quarters, facing a member of the King's court, his fists balled in anger while the small man before him meekly nodded again and again in a acquiescing manner. "Yes, sir, I understand sir, it's most regrettable, it is, but I'm afraid it is the truth. The King has refused to see you at this time citing the dangers along the border as being more pressing to his attention."

"This is ridiculous!" Coyote growled. "I spent all this time with the Court of Lords to try and speak with the King and now that I've finally worked my way through the buracracy and proper channels the King denies me my request? This is unacceptable! Never has an Ambassador from Corinnae been denied and audience with the King! To do so is forbidden! My words could avert war and your King is too concerned with preparing for one to speak with me?"

"Yes, Ambassador, I understand your anger. In these trying time we all must be open to a more lenient interpretation of normal procedures. The King understands you request and has not directly denies it, of course not."

"Oh no! Of course not! He's only just put me on hold indefinitely!" He swiped from a nearby table a large sheet of rolled paper with a freshly broken red wax seal on it, bearing the mark of the Crown of Soarinnae. Coyote read from it, his voice only slightly tinted with his anger and a dash of mockery. "'We regret to inform you that your request for an audience must be delayed indefinitely!' 'Indefinitely' he says! What kind of nincompoop wrote this for him, hmm? Has the King even been told Corinnae has sent an Ambassador? I can only imagine his outrage had his envoy had been treated this way to speak with the Queen of Corinnae! As I understand it, he was brought immediately to her in her very throne room! I on the other hand have been stewing in this room long enough ti pickle and you hand me nothing more than tired and lame excuses!"

"I know, Ambassador, and I am very sorry for the inconvenience, again, I really am. These times are,"

"Yes," Coyote interrupted, "trying times, I get it." He turned away from the man and with a dismissive wave, released him. "Leave! I have some thing to think about."

"Of course, sir, very good. I remain you servant as always."

The door behind Coyote shut quietly and when it had Coyote hissed through his teeth in restrained anger. This was no longer annoying, it was becoming infuriating and moving into the suspicious territory. If the King wouldn't see him, and if the rumors he dug up were true, wasn't seeing anyone, perhaps it was time to break the mold of this traveler in white.

Under Coyote';s robes he felt the burning sensation of the Harrier's coin, infused with a massive amount of Harrier Coyle's divine energy, enough to rid any soul of any unclean spririt no matter how powerful. Much like the staff Elias has used to free the Queen, this little trinket was Coyote's only measure of freeing the King of Soarinnae from possession, if indeed that was what was going on here. If not, the King certainly seemed eager for a war.

Coyote sighed and stripped the white robes he had worn since arriving off, placing them on the bed and pulling out from under the covers a large bag filled with his equipment. Drawing from it's side the Xirculk Blade, be fingered the keen edge with worry.

[Coyote]

OOC: I'm moving on with the Saga. I'll be filling the holes when I run into them. Join me if you'd like too.

IC:

Coyote had had enough. For three days he had sent request after request to see the King, each time stressing the importance of their meeting and the vital nature of the information he possessed. He had made it clear that the two of them could avoid total war between Soarinnae and Coarinnae if only the pair of them had time to sit and work through the issues facing the two nations.
No reply had been sent.

Coyote was only left with three possibilities; one, that the King was being walled off by his court and had no idea Coyote was even in the palace, let along that an ambassador had been sent from Corinnae to stop the war. Two, that the King knew Coyote was here and didn't care, heading on towards a conflict which would tear the land apart or three, that the King, like the Queen of Corinnae, had been possessed by a Spirit of Inconditite and was in need of exorcism.
Either way, the time had come for Coyote to act. While he was leary and hesitant to take any drastic action, such measures may have to be taken depending on what he found in the throne room. If the King didn't know he was there, Coyote would have to trust in the man's wishes for his country and rely on that to excuse what he was about to do. If it was either of the last two options, warmongering or possession, well...Coyote wasn't bringing the Xirculk Blade and the Harrier's Coin for nothing.

He hoped it would be the second weapon he would need more than the first. If the King was possessed, he'd need to have everyone see him driving the Spirit out, so that the Council of Lords would be convinced that the King's actions as of late had not been his own. If the King truly did want war, that would lead to greater trouble. It would not be the first time Coyote had spilled royal blood and he only gave a partial amount of his planning time to how he would escape after assassinating the monarch, if it came to that. If he was to succeed, he had to count on the hope of success and not dwell on the ramifications of his actions. Sorinnae without its King would be in as bad a shape as Corinnae had been when it's King had been killed.
He didn't let that bother him. Either way, this was a situation of their own making. He was the one who had to fix it. He wasn't certain Elias would approve or not, but the man was an assassin, so Coyote doubted he had any right to talk. He'd been sent to kill his own King after all, so why should Coyote feel bad about offing one of his own, in fact, possibly the very man who had bought the contract in the first place.

Before moving out, Coyote double checked every inch of himself, every piece of his equipment secured safely to his body. The Xirculk Blade hung at his side in it's custom sling scabbard for fast draw attacks. Along his sleeve were several buttons that were actually smoke and flash bombs, good for a distraction before an escape or deadly sneak attack. He was lucky that as an ambassador his pack and equipment had been neither seized nor searched through. Otherwise he never would have the lockpicks, poison, multiple dagger and all of his magical equipment at his disposal. It didn't matter in the end; he could urn the very air they breathed into a weapon, turn the stone of the castle itself against his enemy.

He took a few calming breaths, preparing himself for the task ahead. When he had centered, he stepped up to the barred window and gripped the iron slats that covered the portal. Without a sound of exertion, Coyote bent the bars easily, wide enough for him to shimmy through. With a wave of his hand, the bars went back to normal without a sign of their previous distortion.

Coyote stood on a razor thin edge surrounding the castle tower, the only thing this high up above the ground being wind and moss covered gargoyles. Far below a courtyard sat with lush fountains and gardens, obscured by the night and barely illuminated by the cloudy sky. He could see tiny points of light where guards walked back and forth on their rounds, holding torches high to avoid tripping on a rock or errant root. Coyote had waited for this night specifically for it's new moon. The clouds were a bonus. Had he been religious, he would have thanked an obscure God of Weather for the blessing.
As it was, he counted himself lucky.

Checking for anything shiny on himself that could reflect light (again), Coyote splayed his hand against the tower's stone, covered din thick vines and mossy growths. With a slight groan, the branches began the peel away from the tower, twisting around themselves and into Coyotes hands. Soon he held a long length of rope formed from knotted branches that would support hundreds of pounds more than a hemp rope could, with a bit of help from Coyote's Chakra, of course.

The end of the rpe formed a spear and Coyote gathered Wind at it's point. With a might hurl, he threw it straight and as fast as if he had launched it from a ballista, hurtling across the empty night air and embedded itself into the nearby tower. It pierced stone with a tiny crack and then spread out. weaving itself into the vines wrapping the tower, binding and joining into one huge growth. The line was drawn tight and Coyote climbed up, balancing with his own skill and with light nudges of Wind that kept him balanced and redirected any errant winds that would throw him off.

[Coyote]

From his own tower to the structure immediately next to it, Coyote made his way in through an open window high above the ground, to high to even warrant bars or a lock that was readily used. He slunk down to the ground, hugging the stone as he slipped through the narrow opening, lightly brushing the wooden shutter aside with his palm. He entered a pitch black space, small from the sound of it. Coyote's eyes adjusted slowly. He was best on nights when the moon or stars were out but the cloud cover overhead at this hour made even his keen eyes hard pressed to find the hidden things in shadows. Thankfully he wasn't worried about that. He was the one avoiding detection. He doubted anyone was after him in that manner. Most around here would rather slip some poison into his glass of wine or have an unfortunate 'accident' befall him while touring the gardens. Perhaps a falling gargoyle from a high balcony or perhaps an unfortunate misunderstanding with a patrol of guards. Either way, Coyote felt he had little to fear from being found or targeted at this point. Anyone on that level was probably already an instrument of Inconditite and if they were, Coyote had the means to find them out.

His hand rubbed against the scars on his leg where Havok's bolt had pierced him and where Mayhem had infected his soul. All he had to do was get close enough to the King for his senses to cover and he could confirm whether he was being possessed and manipulated by the dark Goddess. If that was the case, the weight around Coyote's neck, the Harrier's coin, was a reassuring tool he would have to bring ti bear against the Unclean Spirit.

Creeping up to the closet door, he pressed his ear against the rough grain of the wood and listened, allowing himself to take in everything on the other side of the door. The far off sounds of footsteps and the conversations of normal castle life met him, but they were far off and muffled by great distance, even a wall or two. His hand touched the knob and gently tested it. No one seemed to care about the supply closets being raided, so the door opened under his fingers and creaked slightly. Coyote hesitated and then continued, applying pressure to the door's hinges and lessening the sound.

The light poured in from the outside and Coyote used a mirror to look around the corners and down the hall. Everything was clear so he slipped out and shut the door behind him, hugging the wall and obscuring himself behind a large curtain. Checking his suroundings, Coyote got a bead on his position in the castle and called up the work he had done before this night from memory. He had spent a lot of time getting to know the castle from memory, having the guards bring him on long walks through the gardens and the halls he was allowed in. From the outside he had been able to see where the windows and some of the rooms has been positioned in the castle and while in the halls he had used his Earth Affinity to seek out and map the halls and passages of the castle. He did so once again, seeking and finding the tiny beacons of memory he had left behind, little motes of remembrance that gave him a perfect sense of presence within the stone structure. Three floors down, four halls over, large room bordering the outside wall. Largest in the castle.

Coyote took a breath and headed that way.

[Coyote]

With only three rooms left to go too the throne room, Coyote's luck ran out. A pretty young girl, by the look of the attire a lady of the evening, exited a secret door that was obscured by a cabinet filled with trophy's and heirlooms of the royal family. No doubt she had just been entertaining one of the Lords or perhaps even the King himself. Either way, she entered the hall behind Coyote, the secret door swinging on it's hidden hinges without a sound. When her bare and painted feet stepped on the carpet, Coyote whirled to obscure himself, but was too late. She let out a little gasp and went running the other way, veils and silk trailing behind her in a purple and red storm.

Coyote cursed under his breath and only momentarily thought of going after her. It would be no use. She was long gone, her long and bare legs taking her like a gazelle down the hall. Whether she would alert anyone in her mad dash was a chance Coyote couldn't take. Abandoning stealth, he burst into a run down the hall, throwing open the doors with both hands open, summoning up fire from his skin and blasting the doors off their hinges with a plume of black flames. The guards in the next room stumbled all over themselves to take their feet, all decked in their armor which shone and glittered under the candle light of the expansive hall, the steel as reflective as the black marble of the ball room floor. Coyote didn't give them a chance, his foot slamming into the pretty stone and sending watery ripples out from under him to trip up and dash the men to their backsides. Fire trickled down from the candles far above and trailed lines of fire like snakes down and around them, binding their arms and legs, wrapping around the blades of a few men who had armed themselves. The blades glowed red hot and they threw the burning metal to the ground.

Two men with bows had already drawn them back and had long black arrows with barbed tips, aiming them both at Coyoe's heart. He had no doubt they would hit their target, so Coyote whirled a free hand in front of him and created a solid disc of air turned back towards the archers. The arrows were shot and deflected, striking the wall instead of Coyote. He threw the shield away from him and struck the two men, dropping them to the ground and holding them there under the weight of hundreds of pounds worth of air pressure.

Coyote didn't give them a chance to pick themselves back up. Summoning up the will of steel within each blade and the arrows, he sent out a strand of invisible chakra which lifted the blades and pulled arrows from the ground and hovered them precariously close to the neck of each man, slipping the blades beneath the seams of the armor around their necks. With three men on the ground and four more being held with knives at their necks, Coyote stepped into the room, hands out and face twisted in concentration.

"If you won't mind." He growled. "I humbly request an audience with the King."