#casimir 01

[freydis-freydat]

Who: @casimirnoctis Where: Some shadowey, quiet lounge in Eterna a bit off the path of the real pomp and circumstance of the Progress Day celebration When: Progress Day Celebration (Days 1 or 2) Notes: Let me know if you need any adjustments

Freydis had found herself in the den of a type that none of her training, power, or battle experience could hope to supply her any sort of advantage over: intellectuals. She was not sure what had drawn her to the space she found herself in: a dimly lit room with small tables, plush sitting spaces, clusters of candles supplying most of the light, and the dim of a dozen or so quiet conversations. Well, most of the conversations were quite at least. Every so often a voice would rise above the volume of the room’s general ambience to interject some line of thought or point they thought would best the previous point made by their conversation partner. This small corner of Eterna was known as the Symposium of Banners. It was a sort of meeting of minds meant to bring together warriors to queens guards, theoreticians to sellswords, and all interested minds in between for the sake of philosophizing over the merit, cost, morality, and general implications of war and violence as a tool.

The veil maiden had been fascinated by the conversations she had listened in on, but when she was inevitably invited to speak her mind her tongue would suddenly tie and her mind empty. Surely she had a point of view when it came to the matter–she had seen enough battle to write an entire volume of a thesis on the matter, but she feared embarrassing herself in front of someone significant again, like she had at the Winter Palace. Before she had been there much longer than an hour, she had managed to corner herself in the very back of the large lounge these discussions took place in. Looking somewhat frazzled and a little exhausted, she took a seat next to a silent, solo man who nearly blended into the shadows of the room’s corner where the candle light didn’t quite reach. “You weren’t saving this seat for someone, were you?” Freydis asked, rubbing her temple for a moment and wondering if there was a back door. “I promised a man up front to continue a conversation before I left, and unfortunately he’s blocking my exit, and I can’t think of a single thing of interest let alone intelligence to respond to him with.”

[fractured-artemisia]

who: @casimirnoctis where: the Cisterns when: present timeline notes: and as my final act of love, perhaps one of the crummiest starts I've ever written just 4 u

Months of seeing little more than the bleak, dank inside of a cell had passed since Artemisia had last travelled to the Cisterns. The veteran members of the Thieves Guild had likely haunted the establishment dozens if not hundreds more times than Artemisia had stepped foot within dependant on their lifespan. Despite all of this, when she entered the Cisterns with her recently bargained for freedom it felt like the first steps of a brand new life and a familiar homecoming all at once. The life she had known in the Silverlands was over–her dutiful and ruthless protection of her sisters would begin and end at whatever coin she could send them and her questionable methods of protecting those otherwise cornered by circumstance had garnered the requisite level of scrutiny to require a full stop as well.

But there were other opportunities; some, like her contractual tie to Keir, were less certain than others. The Thieves Guild, however, remained reliable. Artemisia kept her secrets artfully until she chose the wrong pair of siblings to lend her lethal services to. Her practiced discretion and innate gift of Psychometry allowed her the perception of being useful in guild despite her having much to learn on the more practical side of thievery. Her services often fell into the realm of authentication and archiving rather than retrieval, and no small backlog of spoils had accumulated waiting for her gifted hands to verify and codify. 

These ancient texts and arcane items had long awaited Artemisia’s attention, but as she recognized a face from the shadowed corner of the room she determined that there was little harm in them waiting just slightly longer. It had been Casimir who offered her a lifeline in the form of a coin meant to be dispensed for initiation into the guild in this very setting, a lifeline that had allowed her to stretch desperation into opportunity for a time. He had also been the target of her first attempted grift of any consequence, and though she had not been successful their relationship was not colored with enmity.  Artemisia was not foolish enough to think Casimir would not have heard of her recent, unfortunate circumstances. It might not have surprised her if he had a hand in connecting her to Keir and sparing her a beheading or other similarly unpleasant demise, but she had no way of proving as much. But she was not vain enough to suspect she was the most interesting topic of conversation in any locale given news of the cruelty of the Kossith from a neighboring shore either. “Casimir,” she greeted simply as she moved fluidly to settle in the vacant seat across from him. “I hope you have kept well given the state of the world.” It was her polite way of acting: were you amongst the abducted? Her world had inverted itself: exposed her, stripped her of her soul, ripped her from her five reasons to live–the topic of arcane subjugation and abduction now felt like small talk to her.