Hanz Morde paced in front of the crowd of hundreds of green-clad Seventen, all standing to attention before him. The day was pleasantly, and deceptively, warm; the quiet breeze stood in stark contrast to the cold, mechanical nature of the Commander.

"You all know what must be done," he barked, glaring out at the Seventen. "The High Judge has ordered every wick and witch in the city to be deported to the border."

He paused, standing still for a moment to drink in the effects of these words. Some of the crowd was looking at him with disbelief.

"I understand this is next to impossible," he said, though not a single officer of the Seventen believed for a moment that Hanz Morde had the capacity for any kind of understanding. "Our time is precious, and without us this city would crumble into chaos. I will not order you to search every home, I will not ask you to search every business. You are to carry out these orders quietly, with steady purpose. First, you empty any caravan camps that cross the border into the city. Get the Red Crow and the Yellow Eye away from one another. Then start purging the streets of these mongrels, one by one. Don't bother with an explanation. Don't give them a chance to go into hiding."

It was clear that Morde did not approve of the orders, and a few of the quicker Seventen could see why immediately; there were simply too many wicks. Their time was already strained with increased security around the palace. Others speculated, correctly, that he was unwilling to give the resistance another reason to swell its ranks.

"Make no announcement," he said, finally. "Go quickly to your command bases, and do your duty for your kingdom."

((thread is open to all Seventen))

Alstair stood rigid his fave a mask of loyalty. A bitter taste filled his mouth at the orders. It reeked of the same corrupt prejudice that had turned him from a man to a monster ten years ago.

Whoever gave these orders is a fool. At least they do not suspect the catalyst behind the increased fighting. Ilythia Will not be thrilled and this forces me to play the willing slave once more...

His eyes followed Hanz Morde's massive figure unerringly. This man was both trusted ally and deadly enemy. If his treason was found out Hanz Morde would be his killer. His gut instincts told him that at least.

How can I use this? We are getting stretched thin and he could see how easily this could backfire. He needed a way to make it though. The wicks would not go quietly and he knew families would be torn asunder by this...

A small smile appeared upon Alstair's lips as he glared at Morde.
Thank you oh great commander for this unique opportunity.

Ilithyia was absolutely seething, her guts roiling about in tension so bleak, so deject, it was one step from consuming her. NO! It was in stark contrast indeed to her demeanor, however, and she stood calmly with her hands folded neatly behind her back.

She could tell Morde's distaste for the orders, but she still, still hated him for it. Oh goddess man, have your superiors no brain? No way in the hells can we possibly do this! We are set for failure on a task that is corrupt in it's very nature! She wanted to scream, her belly burned with the desire to fight, to crawl up the podium of government and behead each and every official. This... is terrible.

She swarmed out with the rest of her fellow officers, searching out Alstair. I need to talk to him, he has to... what? She was suddenly unsure why it mattered if she found him. So he can tell me what to do? Am I so his creature then? She shook it off, realizing that while it looked like that, she was working against him too, making his cruelties lessened. Not yet, but I will, she intoned. Once things are started, I will act of my own accord and not just follow orders. Pinching her snap so hard it left imprints in her thumb, she looked over the thinning crowds, still searching.

Alstair stood still as the crowd moved around him face as stern as a mountain. HE glared with withering intensity at where Morde had been. His body rigid he had resisted the urge to lash out at the man then and there his mind focused he had simply stood still. A rock amongst the waters.

He was standing in the crowd, motionless, his field lashing with potent rage. So, he's as unhapy with this turn of events as I am. That, at least, is good to know. Even in the middle of the crowd of physically strong, intelligent galdori, he still radiated that potentcy, that vivid vitality, that had drawn her in originally. It made her heart quicken a beat, and erased the doubts of moments earlier.

Ilithya should have been more cautious than she was, but she had no desire for it. Instead, she fought her way towards him, terse apologies her only buffer. Reaching him, she leaned on, placing a hand on his shoulder from behind, and spoke quietly "Mr. Murdoh, what do you think?"

Alstair still glared at the spot hardly even acknowledging Ilythia.

"I think he is a whipped dog!" Alstair hissed his field snapping about like a crackling fire. "He claims power yet he cannot seize the reins. The fool. We shall act as goodly servants and pretend to force those who hold this city together out. We shall however once again become men and women of the night Ilyia. I am a dragoon and so shall you to become one."

"What... a Dragoon?" She was utterly confused. A dragoon? The word was familiar from her military history books, however how it had any pertinance here she had no clue. Dropping the hand that graced his shoulder like it was ablaze, she wanted to say something that made sense, but found herself speechless. Why was she still here, the traitorous thought crossed her mind. I should leave before his crazy plans get me killed. No! Shaking it away, she stepped in front of him, obscuring the platform.

"Alstair, what are you talking about?" Her tone was concerned, but there was a level of hurt to it, no matter how she tried to hide it. I can't just be a tool to you, I won't let myself be hurt like that.

Alstair swallowed the bitter taste within his mouth and began to speak.

"You must be ready to steel yourself.I must tell you my own terrible past for you to understand such a statement." He said quietly as he finally turned from the where he was looking.

"We shall meet sometime tonight. Come alone and by yourself." His tone was commanding even as he looked at her. "I care deeply for you Ilyia remember this. I will not do anything that will hurt you."

Slowly he began to walk away his right hand clenched tight sending pain shooting through his arm.

She nodded, eyes still shadowed. You care, at least.

"Alone, I understand, Mr. Murdoh." She watched him walk away, her heart and mind awash with differing thoughts, opposing emotions. She decided against making the long walk back to the barracks, and instead wanted to have some time to think. I need to decide if I'm really going to be able to play these games with him, the treachery, the treason. I'm not made for subterfuge, nor for killing innocents in the name of a cause. I'm.... I'm good, and kind, and I was the world to be better, not to be destroyed. And I'm afraid he'll lose the battle to win the war.

Sighing, she walked into the city, looking for... something to get her mind off her troubles. No bar for me; makes me think of the Paper Tiger. Not practice, the sparring match. Everything makes me think of him. Time for something new. I need time to... organize what I want. I need to figure out if it's worth continuing being a part of Alstair's plot, a part of... a part of Alstair.

She shook her head, utterly lost within desires, love, and reason. I need to think, which it appears I haven't done since I joined this blasted organization.

Pinter Lars, the stringy second-in-command to Hanz Morde, stroked his mustache thoughtfully. His keen eagle eyes (aided in part by his spectrescopes, a new invention, very useful) sought Alstair's tall frame in the crowd, and zoomed in on him.

Ah, he thought.

Putting his spectres away, he wove through the crowd unseen. Few recognized him; he was not one for the spotlight. Most probably thought he was the secretary.



Although no longer looking at Murdoh, Lars heard every word. Perhaps this little meeting would shed some light. In the confusing crowd, Lars could not feel Murdoh's field (and vice versa) but he was certain it would be radiating with righteous anger, like all the others who had tried to wrest power from Hanz Morde.

He would call together his band of worthy spies and have done with this fool. He had nothing to gain, and nothing to lose; he was a purely neutral individual, the kind so highly sought after in this field. Pointing his long nose towards the Commander, he nodded once, and slipped away once more.

Scuro sat silent through the entire presentation, and left promptly when it was over. But she grinned like a demon in a cloister the entire time.

This is what she joined the Seventen for... this is what she was looking for...

It was time to go to work.