Silken Shadows

[Kitsunestume]

A warehouse, situated deep in the back-streets of the city, lies completely dark, save for two pinpoints of dim light. Within the black mire of the vast room, a slight figure stares at the pinpoints of gloom. The gloom stares back, an identical face as shown by a mirror. After many long moments, the gloom breaks into a smile; they had done it.
At Last! echoes the cry across their shared conscience, as the shadow tears away to dance among the rafters. The lithe hin watches her counterpart perform a profane communion with their Lord, recalling the events leading up to now.

Four Months Prior
The hin stumbled, battered and bruised, to the campfire before a lone building on the Pioneer's Way. A swinging sign denoting it to be 'The Second Wind Inn'. She collapsed onto one of the benches, and bandaged her wounds, some tracing back to her kidnapping in Skullport, others from her more recent scuffles with the local highwaymen. Satisfied with the knots, she climbed under a bench, falling into a recuperative sleep as the unguents went to work.
She awoke to the sound of shod boots and mangled Common. "I'm sorry, Sir, but if you cannot provide papers in accordance with the Anderson Act, I will be required to escort you to the local guard post where you may register." 'Krusk got papers. Dwarf gave Krusk papers. Krusk have here, show boss man.' The hin rolled out from under the bench in time to see the grey orc hand the armored man a sheaf of blank parchment. They all saw it for what it was, and the man insisted on bringing Krusk to the Steward for registration.
"Can I come along? It got to be safer than staying here alone." The hin perked up for the first time since her arrival in Sundren. 'I don't see why not; I’m Sylvain Enoic, I’ll give you a tour of the city while we're at it' "Nice ta meet ya. I'm Kitsunetsume Gyletounge"

There is no more Kitsunetsume, the hin muses, and tries to remember when that had become the case.

Kit, as she had become known by her companions, followed the druid down the steps in the Trade Tier. Their black and gold armored leader trailed behind, rousing the commoners, and his brother-at-arms lay across Shara's shoulders. As they wound their way towards the Temple of Helm, an armored man, carrying two bodies of his own, gave the armored Vetris a disapproving gaze, before heading inside. Vetris offered to stay outside, clearly with a distain of his own for the place, and the two ladies went inside to seek aid for Morgan, their fallen companion.
After friendly greetings to the other visitors, and a small fortune paid to the local priest for his services, the trio went back outside in time to witness Vetris make a poor, but effective, ruse to conceal his affiliations from those same visitors. Later, in Kitsunetsume's room at the Four Lanterns, she set Vetris straight. "We've got to get you a false front, you know, a fake identity, something to disguise who you are, and what you follow. That armor of yours almost shouts 'Hey, Look at me, I follow Bane!', and if you don't get a new set, people are going to rag you all day long. Try to go for something with less black, and get some new duds, the current ones aren’t exactly friendly." The man nodded, 'I'll see what I can do. I appreciate your assistance, Scout.'
After Vetris departed, the hin pondered on her own advice as she blew out the candles illuminating the room, before locking the door and settling into a trance on her bed. A fake name and a change of clothing only go skin deep, but what she had planned was certainly worthy of the Lurking Lord. Within herself, Kit focused, weaving together the parts of her that made the typical friendly Hin most people expected, forming an impenetrable cocoon of thought.
When they met at the Legion camp in Viridale the next day, it was Kristie who was criticizing his boots.

Kristie may be our face in front of the commoners and goodly folk, but it’s a pity she can't keep her mouth shut in front of deific manifestations. We've kept her on a short leash since that incident with the Wraith of Tyranny. The hin shudders. Good thing I take those occasions now.

A dock worker shuffled about at the edge of the crowd, pretending to work. Occasionally, he glanced at the guards, but busied himself with sorting a crate and swearing at the gulls. The plump man worked diligently enough for his future earnings, such that he never noticed yesterdays pay vanish from his belt.
Five meters away, out of the prying eyes of the populace, a shadow detached itself from the gloom of a pillar. "Five stags down, forty-five to go." The familiar hin glanced around the stone column, eyeing the crowd. It really didn't matter who she stole from, it was all a test of her ability. The Guildmaster and her sponsor were both watching from the balcony above the masterful illusions and workings of the Trial-Chamber below, watching and critiquing her every action. Sparrow's gaze settled on a pair of nobles standing a pace away from the rest of the mob. Surely, they were carrying enough to end this trial quickly. Like a passing breeze, she flitted behind a bench, and into the open doorway behind her marks. The rogue paused, catching her breath before peeking out to observe the patrols and her targets. One in a lime-overcoat, the other in a burgundy tunic, discussing the local policies of neverland.
Moments later, a small child stumbled out, tripping into the green-garbed noble. "Oof, Sorry sirs, I can't see a thing without my glasses, really sorry." The noble picked himself up, dusting his finery as the scamp meandered off, “Hurmph. Rascals should know their place, seen and not heard. Preferably neither." His associate nodded in silent agreement. Sparrow glanced at the heavy pouch with a grin, before spotting the faintly pulsing glyph embossed on the leather.
"HALT." She barely had time to grimace before the scene melted away at the Guildmaster's exclamation. "Your skills at stealth and sleight of hand are quite good, I'll give you that. But if you want a chance at pulling a job, we're going to need you to work on judgment. Until then, I'm putting you under the direction of Lilly. When she judges that you are ready and capable, we shall issue you another test, and we may induct you as a full fledged member of our family. Until we meet again, in silence and shadows, ladies." The Guildmaster nodded to both hin, and wandered into the wall, the paneling sliding apart silently. Lilly watched the wall close back up, before turning to Sparrow, "Well, lets get started, shall we?" Sparrow nodded silently, her normally flitting and wary gaze becoming deathly focused and steady. Within the vessel of her mind, Songbird was at the helm; subtle where Kristie was flamboyant, direct where her counterpart was manipulative. The chrysalis still lurked in the shadows, but neither Songbird nor Kristie paid it much heed; whoever was in it would emerge eventually, and in the meantime, the outside world was much more interesting.

[Kitsunestume]

The shade pauses in her midnight devotions, riding the thoughts of her material sister-selves. With a smile, she blends her own story into the offerings to the Lord of Shadows.


It was dark. So dark. She could hear a buzzing, far off in the distance. She tried to move, but the darkness wrapped around, binding her in a rigid cask. She struggled, writhing as much as her bonds would allow, to no avail. After an eternity, she paused in defeat, thinking; recalling who she was, what she was doing here, what here was. She took a moment to compose herself and focused, drawing the darkness inside herself. The chrysalis shrank until it was gone, absorbed, and she was free.
She could see a tiny pinpoint of light, off in the distance, where the noise originated. She tried walking, but it got no closer, her movements taking her nowhere. She strained, her will focused on getting from here to there. Slowly, the pinpoint grew larger, coming faster the more she willed, and the buzzing grew louder. It resolved itself into an odd orb, a window into a graveyard, focused on a large armored figure with a thorny crown-like helm and wicked scythe. It would occasionally shift, revealing another armored man, a distance away, focused on something else. Beside the odd spherical window, she found a sleeping woman. Oddly, she recognized the woman as herself, but obviously not herself. There was talking at the window, and she turned her attention from the sleeping figure, in time to see the helmed man thrust his scythe towards the window.

"Before we entrust you with this task, Miss K, You must agree to a blood oath. I hope you understand the seriousness of what we are dealing with here." Songbird grimaced beneath her hood, glancing back at Urlok and his vigilance, before turning back to the Myrkulite before her waving a scythe. With a sigh, she formulated her response, "Very well Sir Roman, but before I agree to any oaths, magical or not, I must know them in their entirety." The hin felt a twinge in the back of her mind, indicating Kristie was awake. But it didn't feel like Kristie. It was someone else, someone who might make this work out. Songbird's smile was hidden beneath her silken mask, and she began to fire questions at her customer.

She watches through the window, listen to the to and fro. It was obvious to her that she was out there, but not out there. Whatever was out there instead of her had somehow noticed her presence, becoming more direct in her questioning. As the banter went on, she slowly saw the pattern, the purpose, the intent behind the questions. "Miss K, I am certain we have better things to be doing than this. Either commit to the blood-oath, or we will find someone else." "Very well, I'm just making certain I understand the parameters of the agreement, Sir. I hereby agree not to tell anyone not currently present about the task you now request." In the window, a small hand appeared, reaching out towards the sytheblade, as a word thudded across the darkness about her: "NOW!" She reacted, weaving words in a speech so dark she was perplexed why she knew it at all. She certainly didn't understand it, but it worked nonetheless, her will calling the surrounding miasma of darkness into a pitch black shell about the window. Moments later, a red pulse flashed where the window had been, before bleeding back into the protective carapace she summoned. After the darkness was complete once again, the hardened shadow softened, retreating to whence it came, revealing a view of a bandaged finger. It looked back up the man, who had just finished muttering some arcane syllables over the blade, and wiped it clean. "Now that is done with, Let us get down to business. There is a certain matter dealing with the current position of the House of Bones..."

Songbird grinned in victory, diverting just enough of her attention to hear Kristie: "Nicely done, Umbral. Welcome to our little sisterhood." Songbird would certainly not be reporting to anyone not here, but the others didn't make the oath. The Family would find this tidbit most tasty indeed.


The shadow itself was thanks to the Bloodmaim. The trio has spent many long hours secreted within the Temple of Gruumsh, waiting for adventurers while observing the ones who called themselves 'Shadowstalkers'. Watching the ritual again and again until it was committed to memory, it was but a simple task to alter for their purposes.


With that final acquisition, they now stood three in mind, two in body, and one in the service of Mask.

[Kitsunestume]

The Lurking Lord's Irony, Pt. 1

Songbird padded the halls of the Lair, silent as a wraith despite the skin of mithril she wore. The den seemed to contain the usual people, but the sound of sound floated down the hall. “Now. Go ahead.” The demarchess entered the training hall in time to see the new recruit jabbing Daniel in the arm rather painfully, while Devante White looked on. The hin glanced to the man by the door, “Good morning, Shiv.” The respondent sneer and tensed fist confused her momentarily, but she did not let it show, and turned to where Daniel was finishing up his training with the recruit. “And remember. What is your greatest weapon?”
“My mind,” came the exasperated response from the new Agent, “Is that all?”
The master assassin nodded to his trainee once. “They can take your daggers, your blades, your traps and your bombs. But your mind can’t make do without.” He waved a hand, and began rolling up his sleeves, “Aye, you’re dismissed.” Daniel glanced to the hin, approaching now the session had ended. “Sparrow.”
“Nobody,” came the reply.
“Nobody.” The name was echoed as a bark from the Shadowbound at the door. The brusque man flicked a finger towards himself, before taking a step through the door, “Time fer a chinwag.”
“He’s all yours.” Daniel smiled thinly at Songbird, before turning and nodded his head to White, "Yes, sir. Good day to you three." He inclines his head to the recruit and Sparrow before following Shiv out of the room. She filed the order away as another oddity for the day, for the others to mull over while she was outside.
After the pair had departed, the hin turned to the recruit. “Archer, the door please,” she requested of the invisible elf who had followed her in. The door eased closed with a muted click, and did not open again for an hour, when a pair of cowled men, garbed in battle-worn leathers, sipped through the door, followed minutes later by Daniel. After the standard exchange of one-word greetings and nods between the newcomers and those already present, business resumed. “Disguise is, when it matters, all about attitude,” Sparrow continued to the recruit.
Before it could get very far, Daniel spoke up, “Excuse the interruption, Sparrow. But Grey said he'd like to speak to you once your lesson is over with.” Songbird glances over and nodded once, the summons filed away as her next task, and returned her attention to the student. Nobody took a seat on the steps, leaning on the stairwell, apparently not satisfied. "That is, I do think you should speak to Veiro first, Sparrow. It’s not wise to keep the Guildmaster waiting."
Songbird brewed on that ‘suggestion.’ Funny how ‘after the lesson’ meant ‘drop everything at once’ after Nobody got called away to report in. Once was an accident, twice was coincidence, and three times was a conspiracy. Certainly, she was with Family, but scoundrels had a tendency to plot, and letting down one’s guard could quickly become a fatal mistake. The hin nodded to each of the assembled rogues, her face a mask of impassivity, “As you would suggest. Excuse me, gentlemen.” Songbird paused as she considered the recruit, “I shall continue when next is convenient.” She left for the map-room; barely registering the recruit’s affirmative before turning her minds to the summons. The hin passed through the den with a brief nod to Trixie, watering her garden, before taking a breath and stepping into the war-room, where Verio stooped over the great oaken table, hands splayed on either side of a map of the Vale. “Good morning, Grey,” Songbird greeted the interim-guild-master, sliding into a rough parade-rest after closing the door.
“Sparrow.” The man’s tone dripped of a barely veiled threat. From almost anyone else, Songbird would have thought little of it, but Verio was not known for his temper. He glowered at the hin for a full minute, while she stood waiting for further words. Songbird took the time to return the gaze, trying to figure what had evoked such strong emotion from the normally calm Pactmaster. She found out part of the reason moments later when he asked his question. “How does someone a whisper away from being a body in the sewers become a Pactmaster?” snarled the human. Songbird was legitimately taken back at the implications of the statement, but apparently unlike the man across from her, had the professionalism to keep her bearing.
“Many a blessing from the Lord of Thieves, perhaps,” the demarchess replied, half-wondering if it was a test, knowing better. Somehow a cautionary probation from an associate going rogue had turned into just short of a death-mark. The last three words greatly piqued the hin’s interest and confused her simultaneously.
Grey seemed to be in no mood for religious hypotheses however, and growled through gritted teeth, “Don’t yank my chain, Sparrow.”
“Yes, Sir,” came the obedient and immediate response. The question hadn’t seemed rhetorical to the hin, and Verio was never known for having a chain to yank.
“So, what was it? Bribery? Blackmail? Extortion?” The human punctuated each word of her job description accusatorily, expecting an confession of guilt to an unstated crime.
Under ordinary circumstances, Songbird would have admitted to all three and been proud of it, but it didn’t take a spymaster’s intuition to tell that they were anything but. She formulated the organizationally correct answer to his previous question, keeping her tone calm and even, certain in the truth she spoke. “Performing orders as they are presented, exceeding objective parameters when possible, and being steadfastly loyal to the Black Tax. Sir.” She had failed once in the past, as he had eluded before, but she had since committed herself to avoid a similar mistake again, recruiting and training at least four new agents, offered a full fifteen percent of her profits to the Family over the usual ten, run jobs under supervision as the probation had required, even stolen an entire shipment of Banite gold while under Legion scrutiny and left the authorities with nothing but an empty wagon.
“What did I say about yanking my chain, Sparrow?” What chain? “If that were in any way a shadow of the truth you wouldn’t be on probation.” The man’s nostrils tightened, probably a spasm from the lack of facial discipline from its owner, the hin mused. “No, I have a different theory.”
“Very well, Sir.” Songbird allowed herself to relax, just a tad, waiting for the charge Grey believed in so passionately.

[Kitsunestume]

The Lurking Lord's Irony, Pt. 2

“It’s that magicked paper you have. You flashed it along with some coin and some words, and found yourself in a rank you don’t deserve.” Verio’s words came across harshly, intended as much as a statement of execution as a ‘theory.’ It was a reasonable argument, but entirely false.
The paper in question had been unused in months, tucked away among the various other scrolls in her pack. It had the unique ability to appear as whatever paperwork a knowledgeable user wished, while having the same magical aura of a standard parchment; an ability Songbird had applied exactly three times since she had received it as a loan. Verio’s knowledge of its existence unnerved the hin, as only it’s true owner had been demonstrated its capacities, and it had never occurred to her to show to the Family. The demarchess watched the man with a calculating gaze, briefly communing with her sisters to discern a manner by which the Pactmaster would know of the psychic-paper’s existence, that didn’t imply a breach in the secrecy of the organization. Either Verio was or had a powerful diviner at his whim (potentially that red bitch at the Enclave) and somehow had want to breach the non-detection wards his agents erected upon themselves; the Pactmaster has other agents snooping on each other’s belongings and activities to report in for damned dog-treats and promotions (she could think of more than a couple willing to ‘chinwag’); or Grey had been replaced by a doppelganger who also had a diviner (explaining the unusual anger he was displaying). Unfortunately for Songbird, the theories the sisters came up with all supported the idea of conspiracy she had already noted, and no other ideas sprang to mind.
“While a plausible theory, it would be unable to be proven neither true nor false,” admitted the hin after two long minutes. Her purpose in the Eboncoin Pact revolved a lot around skirting the rules and laws to achieve her objective, and Songbird had yet to fail at such duties, damning her with his lack of support for the accusation, and more so with the impossibility of evidence of her innocence. Even if any were to surface, it would likely be claimed a forgery and labeled as a cover-up. Kristie piped up, betting that none of the stupid blood-letters had to deal with this crap, before getting mentally silenced by Umbral, leaving the spymaster alone with her thoughts again. She put in one last bid for order, some structure by which this whole mess could be worked out logically; “I would swear before whatever altar you wish, that I have no current nor former intent to deceive the Tax.” The demarchess knew from personal ability that those favored by the gods could verify the truth of even her glib tongue.
The emotionally-charged brute of a man would have none of it. “This isn’t a court, Sparrow.” She had figured out as much by herself; in a court, the logic and truth are favored over blind accusations. “This is an assassin's guild.” Oh, of course, money dictated truth, so where was his money coming from? Perhaps Verio wished to protect one of his golden geese with this slander. “While I'd just as soon slit your throat and dump you in the sewers I'm not willing to accept the morale loss from a Shadowbound cheating the Pact so here's what's going to happen: You're going to turn over that magic paper and forget any of this ever happened. You were never a Pact Master. If anyone asks, there was a mistake. We though you were a different Sparrow, one that doesn't let their marks escape before killing them in the middle of a tavern.”
Songbird wondered momentarily if those remarks were supposed to be barbed. She had been invisible the entire time that idiot Bobcat had gone spell-happy in the Four-Lanterns and caused a bloodbath. The fact that the Lair had news of the situation before they arrived had perplexed her greatly at the time, but left credence to the unknown-diviner. The fact that the involvement of Bobcat had been completely forgotten was also not missed by the spymaster, after the Black Tax had the Bob executed for treason against the family. The events from over a year and a half ago aside, the hin replied in complex agreement with Grey.
“I am unable to turn over what is not mine, Sir.” How many ‘Sparrow’s did the Pact have who were currently of sufficient rank and prestige to qualify? She had yet to receive an official notice of promotion to Pactmaster, let-alone proclaim herself one to the Family. Their demarchess’ honor prescribed that such a position was much more valuable when willingly given, not as a bloody trinket pin to show off over the corpses of your adversaries. That was what chain-of-command was for; you were promoted by an individual of higher rank, and if there wasn’t anyone above you, you did your damnedest until the lower-rungs were pushing for you to accept more.
Oblivious to her internal monologue or sense of ethics, Grey’s gaze hardened, “Is that so?”
“The papers in question are the property of Shadestrike.” Songbird responded to his oddly one-dimensional focus.
“You should have thought about that before you used them to undermine the Pact.”
A lie, they both had to know it. “With all due respect, Sir,” the hin drew out the title a moment longer than she need, “I have not once presented them before any members of the Black Tax.”
“And I don't believe you.” She figured that belief had nothing to do with it, Grey just didn’t care. “Now put the paper on the table and leave. Tell people how you were cheated or wronged or lower morale in any way and I will personally find the biggest pile of shit in the sewers to stash your body. Is that understood?”
Whatever scheme Verio had, it needed these papers then. The hin’s gaze hardened, her irises slowly darkening as Umbral settled behind them to observe. “I presume that compensation to its owner will be thoughtfully neglected, as well,” she spoke, reaching into the pouch behind her back. Grey watched in silence, the incongruous fire still burning in his demeanor. In a silent promise to the Lord of Shadows, if she found a certain Shadowbound with these papers, his soul would be hers under the first, second, and fourth tenets. She placed the apparently mundane scroll on the table, her eyes still locked with the human’s, while Umbral sealed the unspoken vow aloud; “The Lurking Lord’s irony never ceases; the truth is unheard from the gilded tongue.”
Songbird left the papers, her hand returning to its former position under Verio’s scrutiny. “Any other business, Sir?” She knew the answer, but she asked anyway; it was expected.
“There was no business, Sparrow.” Just the untraceable theft and degradation of one of the Eboncoin’s most active agents. “Just an accounting error. You know the way out.” His eyes bored into her as she departed.
“Very well. I hope your illness passes soon.” Before she crossed the threshold out, the spymaster was already filing contingencies for all three conspiracies. Perhaps one of her contacts could detect shapeshifters or divinations.