It had taken some effort to find Amani after years of estrangement. He wouldn't have found her for months, had it not been for the fact that she was making a name for herself in Old Rose. There couldn't be too many warrior women from mugroba sailing around that wilted flower. Dren may have been an asshole, a despicable human being by all accounts, but he was good at making friends that liked to talk.

He approved of the lodgings Amani had found for herself. He wondered if she had aged well. He'd dressed specifically to her tastes. His craveat was made from crisp linen, tied neatly. His jacket was old but well made, the colour now going dull, red fading into oxblood. His pants were a darker brown. It wasn't really a galdori way of dressing but he was exactly enamoured with upper-class style. He'd foregone a vest this time. He didn't want to look as though he was trying too hard.

He knocked thrice upon her door, hands quickly passing over the wood to check what kind of lock she had installed. It was the kind he could pick. He hummed to himself as he waited, fixing a slightly tired but warm smile on his face. He wanted to appear like an old friend bearing news he didn't quite know how to break.

The news was that he wanted her to kill Alstair Murdoh. He was probably going to ease his way into that, possibly after tea.

There was a clattering noise from the inside of the room followed by a few heavy footfalls. The Lady was home, obviously, and wasn't making an effort to hide it. There was a time when she would have answered the door as quietly as she could, sidling up to people and putting knives at their throats before they had the chance to speak. But people didn't really know who she was in Old Rose. Not yet. So far, she was just Amani...the black woman who worked for Hawke. And that suited her. She couldn't risk people knowing who she was-- there had been too many close shaves in the desert. Anonymity was the way to go.

So when Amani pulled open the door and found the face of an old associate on the other side it was really no surprise when her hand immediately moved to the gun at her hip (it was becoming almost an extension of her hand these days) and pointed the barrel directly towards the center of his head. Her other hand had already flashed towards the dagger concealed in her right arm guard and was holding it at the ready by her stomach.The cool barrel kissed Dren's skin and Amani pulled the trigger back with an ominous click.

"What in Alioe's name are you doing here?" She snapped, her eyes radiating cold fury. How did you find me? And then, Why did you find me? She kept her lips tightly closed, and her eyebrows drawn together. First the first question. Then she would see.

Dren smiled sweetly as Amani pointed her gun at his temple. He was pleased to see she hadn't changed too much in the time he'd been away. Still quick with her wit and by wit, he meant violence. You had to value consistency as a character trait, especially from a fighter.

"Hello, Amani, it truly has been far too long." He said, smiling sweetly, not looking worried. If she blew his head off, she blew his head off. Worse ways to die. "I was worried you might have forgotten all about me."

He watched her carefully. All the passion was still there, hopefully her principles were too. He just needed something he could use as leverage. He was going to aim for her moral core, which was a sizable target given how solid it was in places.

"I was wondering if I might be able to come inside and have a little chat with you." He said smoothly. "It's about a mutual friend of ours. He's gone off the path, poor man."

Amani would have recognised this expression from her days as a dragoon. It meant that someone had defected and was becoming a problem. Amani had often been their go-to soldier when it came to problems.

Fat chance. She didn't move.



She considered shooting him. She did. Her hand wavered for a moment and then she sighed. A click and a snap later and she was walking into her house as if she hadn't pulled weapons on the man at her door at all.

"I don't like you, Dren. I don't like you in my house and I don't like you in Old Rose. And I don't like you knowing where I am." She growled in Mugrobi as she marched into her kitchen and turned towards the stove. She had been on the point of cooking dinner, and it was quite hot. "Tea?" She asked, searching for the kettle and bringing it out with a loud clatter. "Find a chair. Don't think I'm giving you the royal treatment just because you were the first to find me. Because I wont." She jerked her head towards the chairs in the kitchen area (there was no way she was going to let him into her sitting room), and filled the pot noisily.

She put the kettle onto the stove and continued walking around, bringing out her stash of mugrobi teas and displaying them on the table.

"This had better be good. Because while I can spare the bullets, my time is precious." She spoke in Estuan this time, the language coming out of her mouth like an insult.

((Psst, you can't turn on a wood-fired stove!))

Dren remained serene, following Amani into her apartment and taking a seat when directed. He calmly took in the the little details of her apartment. The kettle she was using, the layout and the colours. He deemed it acceptable in his eyes, nothing was too unexpected.

"Of course I know where you are, Amani, that is my purpose in this world." He said in lightly accented mugrobi, it had been a requirement of his work that he speak it fluently. "Would you prefer that I had left you, for those lacking wit to find?"

His speech became much more flowery in mugrobi. Women seemed to prefer him that way. Estuan was far too direct a language, he felt. Mugrobi speaking it tried to give it life and beauty but even their noble efforts paled in comparison to what could be achieved with their native tongue.

"Why speak estuan to me, my dear, it is such an ugly language." He said, slightly haughty but also aiming towards her national pride. "I've merely come to warn you, otherwise I would not have come at all. Ill tidings sing on the winds, surely you have heard of the riots in Vienda?"

He leant his arm on the chairback next to him.

"Dear Alstair had a hand in it." He said, almost singing like a child in a playground. "He owns a great many burn scars, he is still quick to flame."

Dren had seen the aftermath of that and had been as close to angry as he was capable of getting. He liked the lesser races, the way they rushed through short, pointless and beautiful lives. There was something artistic in their brevity and he loathed to see it interferred with. He'd had to check his own children in Vienda had been unaffected.

They had been quite rattled. Dren had promised them something would be done about it.

((You know I was totally doubting myself on that one. *fixes*))



Amani gave him a sarcastic look that seemed to say, Are you seriously asking that question?

"I could have at least killed them." She replied in a childish whine.



Because you are an ugly person. She thought at him, although she held her tongue in check. There was only so much Dren was willing to take, she knew. Besides, they were old associates.

As he explained the situation, Amani listened carefully. When he was done, instead of answering, she frowned, "Choose your tea." She said distractedly in Mugrobi, shoving the box towards him and then folding her arms. She sat in silence for awhile, her lips still drawn tight. Finally she let out a breath of air through her nose and got up as the kettle began to boil.

"Why do you care?" she asked at last. "We've all done worse things. Alioe knows you've done worse things than that. So he's started a riot, so what? It's his own business." She poured the boiling water into an ornate teapot that obviously wasn't from Anaxas. There was a small city painted in detail on the side that seemed to fade if you looked at it in a certain direction-- almost as if seeing it through a curtain of sand.

"And what's more, the dragoons are finished. You know this. I know this. If this is some sort of outlandish attempt to get us back together..." she trailed off and shook her head, which seemed to complete her thoughts on the matter. Now she was pulling out two teacups and putting them on the table delicately.

"So why are you really here?" Amani asked, staring at him pointedly. She didn't trust him even half the distance she could throw him.

((http://i98.photobucket.com/albums/l249/ ... eapotz.jpg ))

Dren reached into the box for a few blends he thought he recognised. He opened the jars to take a small sniff, rejecting the fruitier teas for a smokier, spicier one. He placed it down on the table.

"That one, definitely, it reminds me of the old days." He said, feeling the need to make that distinction. "Believe me, I have no intent to regather our number. This is merely pre-emptive. If I hadn't spoken to you first, Alstair would have and he might have brought Gelidus with him. What they have planned is significantly less necessary than anything we ever did. At least we believed we were doing what needed to be done at the time."

Dren was now sitting quite still and his expression was very sincere. Amani wasn't to know that he actually did believe what he was saying this time and was not attempting to snowball her into compliance. If she looked hard enough she might have seen the hardness hiding in his eyes. It was like being looked at by a crippled Hatcher.

"He cast magma onto a crowd of civilians in a cramped marketplace." Dren said cooly. "Casualties were rather severe."

Dren pushed a piece of paper towards Amani. It was a copy of the overall list of fatalities, he had managed to copy it from the one the human doctor in the Dives had made, before the official one had been sent out and destroyed.

"He is planning a revolution that will cripple this country." And severely cramp Dren's style. "All in the name of progress that could be better won through other avenues. Vienda is in a shambles and too much unrest could push the resistance movement there to all-out war. The deaths would be catastrophic. We would be easy pickings for an invasion, especially under the guise of aid to the galdori government. A coup would be easy if the queen and king died during an altercation, particularly if Servalis was removed at the same time."

Dren smiled cruely. Amani was aware that he had, once, quite wanted to carve out a piece of Mugroba for himself. He could have succeeded had she not been such a thorn in his side. He had to admit, Mugroba was probably better off without him.

"Old Rose would fall, dear heart." He said, now switching back to estuan for cold and ugly emphasis. "Not even Hawke could survive a regimented army, or Alstair's fires of perdition."

((I'm hoping there's an Anaxi equivalent of perdition...))

Amani took the tea and filled a small colander with it, then dunked that into the teapot. She sat down as she waited for the tea to steep and leaned back in her chair.

"Gelidus is in Vienda?" She asked, and shook her head. No...Don't get interested. This isn't your battle. But she couldn't help it. Dren looked sincere, which was more than she had ever been able to say about him when they had been dragoons. Then again, years had passed since then. They were both older, and he could probably hide his lies better now.

Still, she was inclined to believe him. "And Alstair is in contact with him?" This was getting more complicated. The paper he pushed towards her told her more than she wanted to know. But was it as bad as what they had done? Yes, they had believed in their leader. They had believed they were right. But Amani still remembered Zan, and all of the towns following that.

She looked at the numbers again and felt a disgust within her that almost manifested itself physically. She pushed it back at Dren, her face a mixture of horror and outrage. Perhaps she was thinking of it mistakenly. The fact was that Zan had been wrong...and this riot...while not as bad, was too similar to that first massacre to be ignored.

"Servalis...Ophelia Servalis? You're mad. She's extremely powerful and she's surrounded by other galdori." She moved to pour the tea and then got up to slice a lemon into quarters. "Surely Alstair wouldn't try to do something so completely stupid." She tried to sound secure, but there was a hesitance in her voice. Doubt.

"I don't know Dren... this doesn't sound likely. Brunhold is a fortress." Amani put the lemon slices on a plate and took one, squeezing it into her tea. She didn't offer him sugar. This simply wasn't that kind of tea.

"A fortress is only good to you when you're inside it and even that wouldn't stop someone like me from gaining entrance. I'm sure you remember that Hoxian ambassador?" Dren had poisoned her and written out a nicely worded suicide note for her husband to find. "Convincing Servalis to leave Brunnhold would only require the right leverage. She's brilliant but she's not omnipotent or bullet proof."

Dren squeezed his own lemon slice into his tea and inhaled the scent of it. So fragrant, almost better than actually drinking it. He waited until Amani had taken a sip before drinking. He didn't think she'd ever kill him by poison and not a blade but people did change over time.

"And yes, Gelidus is in contact with Alstair and I do believe he would try it." Dren actually did not believe Alstair would try to kill the queen or Servalis but he was out poisoning wells, not cultivating the seed of truth. "I don't think we want a repeat of last time. I still recall the sounds, my dear. It's not something I wish to have a hand in ever again."

Dren had been a different person before that war, possibly an even worse one than he was now. Time had forged him, forced him to bend and not break. He was a tricksy beast these days. It was tiresome, having to keep it up.

"He wants a new world order, he's not used to peace time. I like this peace, Amani, it is delicate and inherently workable." He mused, finger tip tracing a pattern on her kitchen table. "I'd rather not lose it to an old colleague."

She noticed that he didn't take a drink until after she did and gave him another one of her annoyed 'really?' looks. His speech about the sounds brought her hand down to the gun at her waist. Her fingers moved rhythmically on its surface. Amani recalled the sounds as well, of course.

"Shut up. You didn't do shit that night." She snapped, "While you were on the edges prancing around on your horse back and forth, I was leading it. You didn't care about those people then. You don't care about them now. I would be surprised if you didn't even enjoy it, a little." Scowling into her teacup, Amani sighed and pulled out a small worn metal flask. Regular tea just didn't do it for her, anymore-- she liked it to have a little bite.

A few drops of clear liquid went into the cup. Taking a real gulp now she coughed and then held her breath. Too much. If it doesn't kill you, though, it makes you stronger.

Yeah right.

"A new world order." She muttered quietly, her hand going to her gun once again and tapping meditatively. What a fool, Alstair was. She knew Dren was right. Even though Dren was a bastard who was doing this for the most selfish motivations possible, he was right.

"Yar'aka!" She swore violently. "I was fine before you came here! Why me? Tch!" Amani was aware that she had lost the battle. That she had to leave Old Rose to go deal with the black dragoon. This didn't make her particularly happy. "Why can't you do your own dirty work?"

Dren's eyes became dark as they focused upon Amani. He looked at her the way way her might look upon an insect, perhaps a barnyard animal he was planning to slaughter later. It was true, he hadn't killed those people, he had just helped orchestrate their deaths. It would not have happened without his help.

"Don't assume to know my feelings on the matter, Amani. Their blood is on my hand as surely as yours, even if I didn't wield a blade myself." He spoke, now keeping to estuan. "We thought it was the right thing to do but they did not force you to get to know them first."

Dren had been their Judas goat. He'd tried to organise a calm so the work would be easier. You could not remain entirely sane after that. His already twisted sense of morality had been tempered into something else entirely. He was a bad man but he now had rules. He could kill anyone he liked, so long as they could fight back on his own terms. No more children. The children at least deserved the chance to grow up before they died horribly.

That didn't stop him kidnapping them from time to time. He was a very, very bad man. Redemption had long since given up on him. It was likely that his arbitrary moral code was just in place to allow him to act out and feel good about it.

"Amani, you know it has to be you. Of all of us you were the only one with even the potential for valour. If I killed Alstair I'd end up killing all of them; Gelidus, his woman and the other hangers on." Dren smiled, oh how he would like to kill them all. "It would simply make more problems. My restraint these days is in question. You know our collective pasts makes me less... objective."

Amani might not have seen it with her own two eyes but she had seen the evidence. After the events in Mugroba certain aquaintances of theirs had disappeared. At the end of the war Dren's eerie composure had been shot to ribbons, and his hidden madness had been screaming in the smile on his face. This was as close as he came to a warning. He would prefer not to create a ruckus that would jeopardise his longevity. He would prefer to have her involved.

If she wasn't, there was going to be carnage.

The way he looked at her made the hair on her arms rise, and she avoided his gaze, frowning at the air besides him. She knew, somewhat abstractly, that she had been one of the lucky dragoons. Her past didn't haunt her, because she was a creature of the present. What was done was done, and if she was damned because of it-- then she was damned. And she had always been damned. It didn't occur to her that she had some part in this, she simply believed in a certain amount of predestination.

"Objective. Hm." Although she had always suspected that Dren may have had a part in those disappearances, she hadn't ever acted on these thoughts. They had been people that were largely unconnected with her. Even if she had seen a problem, she doubted she would have acted on it. After the dragoons had shattered they had all gone a little mad, in her opinion. It was just that it took to some more than it did for others.

She drained her tea and served herself again. Coming to a decision (although really since Dren had stepped through the door, she knew there had been no decision) she tapped the table once.

"When do we leave?"

"How soon can you pack a bag?" He asked, his expression shifting back into something gentler, the insanity retreating back and waiting for its moment to come again.

((SFSR? EoT?))

((eot! 8D ))