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Ladies of Ice

Iria: Iria ran her hand along the wall. Soot and flecks of paint sheered off against the edge of her glove, sprinkling black and white dust onto the ground. Her finger stopped at a dimple in the wall, a spot where the blacked ash from the fire had left the surface a greasy black blotch. The tip of her finger dipped into it, slowly digging out the gooey layer of damp ash.

The dimple became a line. The line became a character. The character a word. The word a note.

Love always for you. My heart, my wife, my captain.

She traced her finger around the engraving in the wall again. Iria could remember when her husband had carved it, on the heels of a night of passion with the confines of her small office with soldiers still marching around beyond the door. Her palm covered the engraving for a moment, fingers curling against it, as if she could somehow pull the happier times out of the wall.

Then, her hand fell away and she forced the sadness in her face to turn to ice and steel before turning back to the aides waiting behind her. Beyond him and all around them, the barracks that had been her second home since the day she came to the city was a smoldering ruin. There was no door anymore, hacked in as it had been by Blackcoats. Water dripped from exposed boards in the ceiling above and dim gray light poured through the gapping holes in the wall. The bed, table all the simple Spartan furniture she made a point to surround herself with here, had been reduced to ash or hacked to pieces.

"Barracks number one is no good," she crisply informed the aides, who all nodded in return and began jotting down notes. "Take note we will need to rebuild it before we even consider recruiting again. It'll do no good to hire soldiers if we cannot house them."

She looked back a moment at the engraving in the plaster, not letting the melancholy in her heart show through to her face. The Captain could never be allowed to seem sentimental. "Let whoever is in charge of civic projects know to tear it down."

Vorpal: "...right turn and into the smoldering barracks? Thanks." The Ghost-Blooded nodded and patted the junior officer's shoulder, perhaps a little more amiably than he had expected. She turned and headed off without further word in the direction the man had pointed for her. As she entered the first alleyway, she could still feel his eyes in her back. It was not a very kind gaze.

Outsiders, deathknights in particular, seemed not to be held in a very high regard here. This was understandable, of course, after the invasion of the Bishop's troops and all the destruction and atrocities that came after. Fortunately, the word of her small role in defending the city had already spread out, and she was recognized. Recognized, but not always respected - and never liked. Most of the soldiers she had accosted so far about the location of their Captain had been helpful enough, but in a sulky, glowering manner - as if they had expected her to grow fangs and start a snarling bloody rampage any second.

But ah well, she shrugged mentally as she moved down the demolished streets, picking her way amidst blackened rubble and charred splinters of wood.

Boil, she had learned, was a rough and ready city, its inhabitants hardened and accustomed to dealing with all sorts of frightening things. These were no soft citizens of the south - push them too hard, and they made a point of pushing a little harder back. Even if she did grow those fangs and set to wreaking havoc at any point of her stay here, these people would run - but only far enough to regroup and come back at her in an organized mob.

She looked up, her eyes shaded by her ever-present hood. The bronze plague set into the wall read B---rc--s 1. The rest of it had molten into unrecognizable mess. The building was in a sorry shape, little more than a blackened husk, hollowed out and barely holding from collapsing altogether. Whatever it was that had set fire to this part of the city, it had hit the military centers the worst.

Only sensible from the siege warfare point of view. Horrible when it came to rebuilding.

She raised her gloved hand and struck the blackened doorframe once, twice, thrice. Flecks of ashes and soot floated down from the ceiling. "Oi!" she called out, then cleared her throat. "Permission to enter?"

Iria: "After weve dealt with tallying the dead and damages, I need a rider to be sent to my estates near Port Almas as soon as someone can find something to ride."

The Captain had begun to pace the floor as she spoke. It was a habit she rarely gave into in front of others. The troops under her command had come to know it as a sign of deep concentration from her and the aides in the room kept respectfully silent. Arms folded behind her back, she moved one way five precise steps, then spun on her heel to turn back the other. As if in a trance, she moved.

Five steps, turn. Back five turn. Polished black boots clicked an even rhythm against the floor. Scarlet and silver furred cloak sweeping the ground behind her.

Her brow was knitted in deep concentration, mouth pinched and bitter as she poured over statistics, calculations. It was always about numbers in the end. Numbers they now lacked on every front. She did not have enough troops left to patrol the streets anymore, let alone defend the city. Raising capital for mercenaries was the first order of business. "If theyre in good order, Ill need a party sent to plunder everything of value they can find. If theyre not w-"

"Oi! Permission to enter?"

The click of high boot heels stopped. The aides all turned back at once to look back through the door at the request as it cut off the Captain mid-word. Irias face turned slowly towards the door, resentful a moment to be shaken out of her thoughts so suddenly.

"Permission granted." Green eyes cooling to an icy glint, she stared through the door expectantly.

Vorpal: She was a silhouette in the doorway at first, a dark figure in the path of glaring daylight that streamed into the ashy room. Then she shifted, the hems of her cloak swaying with the movement, and stepped inside.

The Ghost-Blooded pushed back her hood with a deliberate move and looked up, her red eyes meeting the green gaze of the Captain of the Boil military. For a moment, she held that contact, gauging the other woman and allowing herself to be gauged in return: no attempts to prove superiority here, just an age-old tradition of acknowledgement when two veteran officers meet.

Finally, she tipped her head, a quick, simple movement that ended as swiftly as it had begun. "Thank you", she said, rather matter-of-factly. "I came to see if I could be of any help."

Iria: No more warmth came to the Captain's eyes when she viewed the figure in the door than had been offered for the interruption. If anything, the air in the room grew even more cool. Iria met the other woman's gaze unflinchingly, reading into the depths of those eyes as much as she knew herself to be read. Tension. Silence drawn out to painful acuity.

She knew this woman. Iria could still remember that moment in the alley way, as the tides of the dead threw themselves against her. As the dragon of earth and the traitor god threatened to tear her troops to shreds. She remembered looking up towards the gleam of a falling star and seeing the two angels plummet from heaven. That was when everything had begun to change.

"You're the ghost woman." Iria stated simply. "You arrived with Prince Alexander. And unless I am much mistaken, you are also the woman they call the Pale Angel. And if that is so and the rumors are true, you should be twice as dead as you already are."

The Captain tipped her head expectantly, waiting for the denial or acknowledgment that would follow.

Vorpal: "I have some trouble staying dead", the Pale Angel agreed, rather serious but not defensive about the Captain's direct approach. Being easily recognizable had its advantages: people knew who you were.

She paused then, and grew a bit more businesslike. She folded her arms over her chest, not tightly in a protective gesture, but in a sign of careful thought. "If you know that much about me, then you also know what I am good at."

She changed the weight of her foot and extended one hand, palm up towards the half-ruined ceiling. "And my offer still stands. Would you like me to help, Captain?"

Iria: Following the motion of Vorpals hand, Iria glanced to the broken ceiling then back to the woman before her. Slowly, Iria's brows lifted. Her voice carried a faint, but not mocking, amusement. "Are you are carpenter too then, Pale Angel? Shall my aides fetch us both hammers and we'll trade war-stories and show off old scars as side by side, we dismantle the whole building ourselves?"

It was not a side of the Captain her troops got to see often. She guarded her humanity against them carefully.

She kept the humor short lived for just that reason, turning fully at last to face the other woman. Shifting one arm behind her back, she flicked back the shoulder of her cloak as she gestured towards the aides standing uncertainly near by and the ruin around them. "As you can see I have no army to speak of anymore. Ive precious little resources left to raise one either. The work that stands right now it to clear away all that is dead and build what we can upon the bones."

She raised a gloved fist and counted off the litany of sins upon her fingers. "It is dull, grueling, and depressing. The work of accountants and craftsmen and lawyers." She smiled again in ill-humor, shaking her head as her hadn fell. "Our kind, Pale Angel, is ill suited to this sort of life. But if you want to take up the arms of a shit-shoveler and help me clear away this mess, by all means I welcome it."

Vorpal: Vorpal chuckled mildly at the older woman's words. She tilted her head slightly to the side and gave a slanted grin. The same way as with Captain Iria, this, too, was an unusual show of amiability, a newer side of Vorpal deFay which fit poorly with the rest of the Pale Angel's legend. "What with all the complaints, Captain?" she responded and raised one eyebrow. "Dull, grueling, depressing, sounds like everyday garrison duty to me. What soldier hasn't spent most of her career doing just that?"

She shrugged and let her arms fall from her chest. Smoothly shifting to a cocky stance, she placed her hands to her hips instead and addressed one of the other officers in the room. "Besides, as you all know, the higher you rise in the ranks, the more paperwork and less swordsplay will you be handling. That must be the reason why the leading officers always seem to wind up being women: men want to hog up all the fun."

She paused and was rewarded by a few nervous chuckles from around the room. Inwardly, the Pale Angel nodded to herself. Feeling the tension within the building begin to abate already, she turned back to Captain Iria and forged on: "If you need this building to go down, give me a sledge and I will see it done. After that and a little drink to wash away the ashes, we will discuss what else we can pass our time with for a few days to come."

Iria: The Pale Angel brings a shadow of a smile to Iria's lips...but before it can be even more than a shadow, a soldier calls for her. He comes in, asking her to check on something. She sighs. "I will have to attend to more boring duties now, then. I will be back in a few minutes, Pale Angel. We will see what I will need your help in then."

Selina de Windia: Are they tearing each other apart?

Are they becoming friends?

It really had been too much for her to resist, even with everyone else to talk to. Even with how she'd felt after she'd gotten up. Selina knew, better than Vorpal at least, where Iria was. You didn't become one of the centerpieces of a movement and not know where many of the other big figures were, unless it was broken into compartmentalized cells. Or you were lazy and unperceptive.

It was not, and Selina wasn't.

I'll probably get twice the shit at least for showing my face around both of them at once, but it'll be worth it.

To sate that level of curiosity, it always was, in a twisted fashion. Even if she got shit for it.

Maybe miss boil commander will be the one to throw it at me, this time around.

Which was a pity. Unless Selina was off her guess, Iria was much weaker than her. She couldn't take it outside.

Or if she did, Selina reflects, coming around a corner after passing a soldier going in the opposite direction, it would be an incredible mismatch.

And that's just no fun at all.

She thinks she sees someone disappearing around another corner, but shrugs it off. Opening the door, she walks in...and doesn't see any Iria. Just Vorpal.

"...shit."

Vorpal: The Pale Angel turned at the sound of the footsteps, wondering if it was another soldier bearing a message for the Captain. After seeing the identity for the stunning beauty who entered, however, her aplomb demeanor gained a notably dry edge.

"Nice to see you too", she responded, and it was difficult to tell if she truly did mean it.

Selina de Windia: "No, it's not nice, is it?" Selina asks, wrapping her greatcoat around herself a bit more, and moving to one corner of the room. No Iria in evidence.

"She's not here?"

Vorpal: "You just missed her", the Pale Angel replies calmly. Making a short gesture at the other officers standing in the room, however, she adds: "They can have a message carried to her if you need it, though."

Selina de Windia: "I'll wait here." Selina says smoothly, then looks to the other officers. What a pain in the ass, whatever happened to filing paperwork by yourself?

Guess there's no paperwork to be filed when the central office is demolished.

Still, she didn't want them around. Even if Iria had been here. She was kind of their superior officer, or would have been if Whiteshield hadn't broken off from Winlandia.

Well, maybe this invasion will convince the ones left that standing divided for the matter of pride is a fucking stupid thing to do.

"You lot." Selina says sharply, leaving no doubt as to her level of pleasure at noticing them there. "Dismissed. I have some business to discuss with the commanders that does not involve their subordinates."

Vorpal: Aren't you one little bitch today.

"Go on", she nods to the officers, still maintaining her matter-of-fact demeanor.

• The looks Selina gets are not really respectful. Some begin to raise their voices in disrespect, but others just quiet them.

They did not like the Abyssals, but they had to live with them. With complaints muttered under their breath, they left.

Vorpal: She slowly crosses her arms and straightens her back, suddenly seeming a little taller, more broad-shouldered than before. This is all she does, however - her eyes remain in Selina as the officers file out from the room, but she does not move nor say any other word.

When the last of the soldiers have vanished into the shattered doorway, she finally speaks: "So who pissed in your morning porridge?"

Selina de Windia: Selina is daunted for a moment, but she gets over it quickly. "Same person who does in yours, every day. But if you really want the story of why-the-Dark-Angel-is-a-bitch-lately, I can give it sometime."

"But that's not why I'm here." She holds up a black-gloved hand, trying to forstall another comment. "And no, I'm not here to leer at the both of you ripe little pigeons either -- though I won't refuse if you give me the opprotunity. I am actually curious as to how the war is going, outside of the slice of hell I've been living in the past few days."

"As opposed to Nexus, which is a somewhat bigger slice of hell." She adds belatedly.

Vorpal: She bends a little backwards at the other Abyssal's outpouring, like a stalk of willow in a stiff breeze. She, too, however recovers quickly. "It's difficult to believe that you come in peaceful intentions when every word you say is a jab at someone. I'm being friendly here. Play along, will you?"

Selina de Windia: "It's a jab to say I want you?" Selina answers in a silky, wicked, almost sneering tone. The next sentence isn't so inflected. "Or maybe I did and don't now, who knows. Things have changed since Windia."

And maybe I feel something else. Feel, felt. Damn you for inspiring that.

"I also think we had better plan on how we're going to deal with the rest of this war."

Vorpal: Oh, please.

Vorpal rolls her eyes at that.

In through one ear, out through the other. She's a true blonde.

Deep down, however, the cold, honest part of her feels that there is something else about the Dark Angel's behaviour, a deeper meaning for this ridiculous hostility.

Is she afraid of something? Bitter about something?

Whatever.

"Certainly", she responds aloud. "Did you decide anything when I was gone?"

Selina de Windia: "There's nothing to decide from this...place." Selina responds, her back to the wall as she leans against it lightly. "The only person from the original group with me was Moon, and he's not into the army."

"Once Iria comes back, I can give my opinion of what should be done with this place, militarily."

Vorpal: "I see", is Vorpal's only reply. She turns away from the commanding figure and moves to one of the walls, careful not to let the soot stain her cloak or white skin. Silently she runs her hand along the charred planks, her mind wandering.

Why not?" she responds with a slanted smile, her tone and demeanor almost wickedly genial. She dusts her hands off, not too worried about whatever stains left there - black gloves have their advantages. "Working together would build up the camaraderie, release stress and show the people that even we are willing to soil our hands a little rebuilding this city. I'll try to keep other people in mind the next time I start feeling like tearing down walls, though."

"She", she gestures vaguely at Selina's direction, "said she had some opinions about what to do with your city next."

Iria: "Oh?" Iria looked in Selina's direction, the smirk that had been on her face in answer to Vorpal's fading from her face. The Captain walked further into the room, approaching one of the soot-haloed holes in the wall and running a finger along it. There was a stiffness to her voice as she spoke again, an irritation. "I fear you've come to the wrong person for that."

Selina de Windia: "Have I?" Selina purses her lips, sizing up the woman. She wasn't in the grip of Hyrokkin this time, which made the task much easier. And Iria wasn't insulting her intelligence.

Though it looks like she may be missing my point.

"You may not control the city, but you control the garrison. We may be using other troops for this fight, but that is not a surety. You are also, unless I miss my guess, the sole remaining Holysword besides our Prince, in this city."

"There needs to be a military decision, and you two are the best ones to come to it with."

Vorpal: "That", Vorpal says, crossing her arms and pressing her back lightly against the wall, "is what I came to see here as well."

"Mn. To offer my help making that decision, at least", she adds with a shrug. She would help where she could, of course, but when it comes right down to the bottom, this really is not her fight at all.

It is a fact that helps her to stay detached... for now.

Iria: "Precisely." Iria answered in a clipped tone, holding up her hand to examine the soot worn off onto her finger. A splash of absolute black against pale skin. "Prince Alexander holds absolute authority while present in the city and my duties, at present, have not been granted an expansion beyond control of the Garrison."

A frown creased her face, showing lines of age within the beautiful visage. She rubbed a thumb against her stained finger, the black soot rubbing off into muddy crumbs. "Had he not been present, it would be a matter of course. That he is"

Iria shrugged and turned back to the other women in the room. The frown had vanished, replaced by the usual look of cool professionalism. "That he is means all meaningful decisions must be made through him. Alexander is currently the ultimate civil and military authority. My job, until I am told it has become otherwise, is reestablishing the Garrison and reinforcing the strength."

Selina de Windia: "We can inform him of the decisions. He ought to concur, unless we leave something wide open for correction." Selina says, shrugging slightly. "He probably received some education in the arts of war when he grew up, since he could have been a head of state, but he has no experience. Even I surpass him in that area, and both of you..." She looks to Vorpal and nods slightly.

"You're also going to have to beware of certain allies of ours."

Vorpal: The mention about Alex sends a strangely warm feeling running through her spine. It is a... new thing for her. She has imagined how it is like often enough, true, but the real thing is...

She sighs, soundlessly, and makes a mental note of not presenting everything they will come up with during this meeting to the Prince directly and in pre-chewed state. Alex would need to figure some of it out himself, if he is to ever truly learn how to make such decisions.

"Oh?" Vorpal arches an eyebrow. She shifts her stance, to better aim a mildly curious look at Selina. "Do tell."

Selina de Windia: Selina shrugs, somewhat uncomfortably. "Well, I was taught much of the same principle he was, when I was younger. Except I probably was more likely to see battle. Whiteshield does not have to fight as often as Winlandia, with her encircling mountains. Going through my province was the straightest and shortest shot to Windia if you landed forces from the White Sea..."

"Besides that, I've worked as a specialist on a campaign or two."

Iria: Iria answered Selina with a soft huff and crossed her arms bellow her chest. The Winlandian, and the mercenary woman too it would seem, were both grossly overestimating her authority within the city. It had been a fight simply to expand her own duties to maintaining civil peace inside the city.

She would not correct them at the moment though. Perhaps the prince was young enough not to know any better either. Perhaps he was uncertain enough or intelligent enough to even listen to the advice of his officers and advisors. Regardless, shed follow procedure as it was written for now. It was what she always did.

"But," Iria cut in after Selina. "You've then actually had no more experiance running an army than the prince himelf?"

Vorpal: "No, no", she waves her hand, "I mean, who should I be wary of?"

Selina de Windia: "Not an army, no." Selina remembers the army she would have run, so long ago. "That would have come when I was older."

And it will come, someday.

"Ah...the Bull, Lilith." She flicks her glance to Vorpal, then back to Iria, then back again. "I don't trust him. He has too little to lose and too much to gain. Wouldn't put it past him to advance on Whiteshield in time with us, and snap up the Boil to 'safeguard it'."

Vorpal: "Hmm." She is silent for a moment. Two of her fingers absently rub at her chin as she thinks. They leave two sooty stains on her white skin when she withdraws her hand. "Then it would be best to make it seem so that Bull will think Boil would take too much of his time and resources."

Selina de Windia: "The question is how we do that." Selina sighs, thinking of the possibilities she knew of.

Iria: "Mmm" Iria answered neutrally. Shed spare further thoughts for more important matters.

Such as the Bull of the North.

Her eyes narrowed and hardened. "You made alliance with that butcher?"

This was not news she had been expecting. Nor was pleased to hear. The Bull had been the wolf outside their doorstep for some years now. Now it seemed their "saviors" come lately had invited him in for lunch. "With the troops I have left at the moment, I have my doubts as to even restoring order within the city itself. Putting forth a front strong enough to impress the Bull" Troops were already out grabbing ever able body who could be spared to drill a militia. More sent out to pillage whatever they could from the surrounding landscape. Stockpiles of supplies long buried to keep them out of the hands of beggars and thieves were being dug out from the hills sides.

Not enough in the numbers. Never enough. "It will take more time than your tones imply we have."

Vorpal: "That depends", Vorpal says, then pauses and glances down at her glove. A little surprised, she raises her hand to the chin again, to the place where the two sooty spots still mar her skin. She rubs at it, absently, continuing: "Depends on how good scouts the Bull has, and how much time he can spare keeping his sights set to the Boil. Sometimes, a good bluff is all you need to avoid a war. You don't have to put a strong front against him, you will only need to look like you do. Whatever his plans might be, his priorities will be at Whiteshield. If you manage to put forth a convincing enough of an illusion of strength for a while, he just as well might skip over Boil and move on to other targets."

Selina de Windia: "If he bothers to move his forces into Whiteshield to begin with. We should isolate the bishop's forces on the eastern border so the two can hold each other there until we have the time to deal with them."

As for the alliance...it had seemed necessary at the time, after all... "I am also a butcher, Iria. We only need to be concerned about whether he tries to lift his cumbersome army over the mountains. If him and his circle decide to personally help us...so long as they do not try to hold ground with their forces, I shan't complain."

Iria: "Perhaps. Isolating the Bishop will have to be you Winlandian's job in this. At the moment, the army of Whiteshield is..." Iria held her hands out at her sides towards the dripping, blackened ruins around them. And neither fact pleased her, that there practically was no army of Whiteshield and that the Winlandians would have to carry the war for them. For now, at least.

"Both isolating the Bishop and using him to pin the Bull are easier said than done. The mountains have many passes, some better known than others. Few that could grant easy access to an entire army, but" Iria smiled thinly at Selina. "You should know yourself the sort of havoc even a small force can carry, if they can slip behind ones lines."

"Defending the Boil is my primary concern at the moment however. If were to contest with the Bishop and, perhaps, the Bull as well thats job enough."

And Iria had little objections to allowing the Winlandians exhaust themselves pushing the Bishop where they wanted him. Allied or not, for now they were just another foreign army marching through her nation. She did not consider them any less a danger than the others, however benign their open intentions.

"So, a false front. Perhaps Lord Iron Tears could be of assistance with that" Iria stroked her chin, remembering the clockwork soldiers who had once been in the Garrisons armory. Never used, in the rebellion. The armories had all been dismantled before they had the chance.

Vorpal: "At least for now", Vorpal nods. "It would be ideal to keep him out altogether, but, as you said, mountains have many passes." Her albino skin is giving her a serious disadvantage against soot. Her rubbing is only spreading the stain, and now the tip of her chin is almost entirely covered by an uneven greyish film. She frowns, pulls out a rag from the folds of her cloak and wipes her face. "As for manpower, have you considered yet mercenaries... Hm?" She looks up from the rag for a moment. "What about Iron Tears?"

Selina de Windia: "Where would the money for those come from, though? You could get loans, but be careful who you get them from..." Selina says, looking around at the room. "It's a pity Whiteshield broke off from Winlandia. This mess would be much easier to rectify if it was merely a matter of retaking a regional capital instead of assisting another nation entirely."

Iria: "Mercenaries is an option Ive already taken it upon myself to pursue." Iria nodded to both women. The Captain liked hire-swords. Shed found them infinitely more reliable than those culled from peasant militias. Her own troops had been mercenaries once themselves. though for other reaons. The second daughter of a Whiteshieldian noble family had difficulties obtaining house troops. Particularly when her parents would have preferred she just be married off.

"Ive risked sending men to my estates near Port Almas to assess how much has survived. Most of my earnings were invested and stored there." For her retirement. A comfortable, idyllic life for herself and her husband by the river side. "It is not inconsiderable, though I am not vain enough to think it will hire us the best nor hold them for a long term contract."

"As for lord Iron Tears once," Iria began, gesturing towards the city wall which stared at them close through the window. "He gifted the city with soldiers of iron. They were rather impressive, if simplistic, machines and quite capable of performing the basic duties of a soldier on patrol. The Bishop had them all dismantled when his forces seized our armories, but I wonder if the Faceless God could not craft more."

Vorpal: "Yes", Vorpal agrees and turns her gaze from Iria and to Selina for a moment, "the problem with mercenaries is always money. Payment-wise, though, this couldn't have come on better time. Winter is coming, and most companies are now looking for quarters for spending the cold months in. Having a city provide for your needs is always attractive and garrison duty means small extra earnings in the side. Many companies could agree to it with low fees."

Selina de Windia: She nods to Vorpal. "On the other hand, the best ones already have their money and would probably be averse to soldiering during the winter months."

Vorpal: "The best are also the expensive ones", the Pale Angel responds.

Well... Either that, or we work completely for free.

"I don't think Boil can afford them in any case. But tell me -- " She turns her full attention back to the Captain, "How many of those iron soldiers did you have?"

Selina de Windia: "I might be able to help with that." Selina chimes in, not too sure of the fact. "The trick would be gathering mercenaries who aren't the dregs of the trade. And getting my money."

Iria: "The best," Iria disagreed quietly, her eyes still on the wall outside. "Are already dead. They spilt their blood to free this city. But for now, I will get whatever I can afford. Within reason, I would rather have the worst troops under my command than none at all."

The moment of melancholy left her quickly and she returned her attention to the room. "Few, Pale Angel. Perhaps thirty at most. It was more a ceremonial gesture to give us them than functional. We only used them for a month, then left them as a cruel polishing duty for insubordinates."

A slender eye brow cocked upwards at Selinas words. "Finding decent hire-swords is an easier task than you might think. But what precisely would be required to obtain a loan from you, Culwyeh?"

Selina de Windia: Selina shrugs. "You needn't pay interest. And if we all die, it won't matter, so investment risk is irrelevent. If you refuse to pay me back after, you get to deal with me personally, though I doubt you are that kind of noblewoman."

"As for what is required," The Windian looks at her quizzically, both wings raising somewhat. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Vorpal: The name of the Pale Angel is not entirely unknown among the mercenries, either. If made heard, it just as well could have the pull needed to attract the interest of some of the better companies still out there.

But now is not the time to point this out, yet. She would rather hear what the other two women have in mind. And so, Vorpal leans back, her arms folded, the stained rag still in one hand.

Iria: "Simply that." Iria shrugged as well in response. "You are an individual, not a business nor a bank. If you wish to conduct yourself as one, then I am contented with that."

The Captain smiled, green eyes sparkling in a teasing fashion. "I will think of it then as a loan from a friend."

Selina de Windia: "Well then, let it be that." She looks to Vorpal. "Do you have any money you could use?"

Vorpal: "I don't carry it around much", the Pale Angel shakes her head.

That reminds her - she should go and see the Mercenaries' Guild the next time she stopped by Windia. She doesn't hold any high expectations about what sort of reward that city they had saved from the Celebrant's clutches would send her, but it would be an interesting diversion to see if they had actually done something about it...

Selina de Windia: "Neither do I. Hopefully the Guild will have a nice little bank I can use somewhere close, for this." She was, afterall, one of the Guild's little darlings. One of the ones they kept at arm's-length too, but you could only get so much.

"The issue is getting everything together quickly enough for it to matter before the war is over."

Iria: "The Guild has little presence here. As little as the Holyswords have ever been able to allow them, at least. They maintained an office in the Boil, but it was the first thing to be looted when the armies of the dead first arrived." Iria smiled darkly. She hadn't exactly been swift to curb that. The Captain considered a bit more carefully though. "Almas is the nearest Guild outpost however. If it is still standing."

Selina de Windia: "If that isn't the case, Windia. We can tell Valencia to send someone. Or I can send something to take care of it." Selina muses, though she would need a name for her sorcery to home in upon.

Sitting with these two and I'm not feeling like looking them over.

Something is broken inside me!

Iria: "Captain?" A fair-haired head poked through the door and the blue eyes that peeked out from beneth them went wide at the sight of the women within. To his credit though, the young soldier managed a smart salute and to speak with stumbling. "Difficulties with one of the provision stores, sir. The sergeant in charge requested your presence."

"Naturally." Iria sighed, waving the trooper off with a flick of her wrist. She gave Vorpal and Selina a wry little smile. "The shit-shoveling calls yet again. If youll both excuse me."

Inclining her head to each in turn, Iria strode towards the door, her furred cloak sweeping around her until she paused in the entry way. Tossing her hair to the side, the Captain looked back over her shoulder. "You are both to attend the affair at Kadels estate tomorrow?"

Selina de Windia: "That's right." Selina says, thinking on what she'd wear. There were quite a few things. Pity she didn't have her southern attire. "If you would like to meet then, we can."

Iria: "To the contrary" Her eyes traced over each, sizing up their forms and, more importantly, their states of dress with a practiced ease. The Captain nodded to herself. "Youll both be my guests tonight. Well see about getting you something more suitable to dress."

Though, under normal circumstances, both might have been considered overdressed for one of Kadels parties.

Before either could offer a protest or other suggestion, the Captain ended it with a blunt. "I insist."

And with no more words than that, was gone.

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