RP:The Favour (Part 2)

 Summary: Uriphiel ventures out to Elimdor to find Lady Cynarith, with hope that she will make good on her offer. (Part Two of a Two part RP)

Date of Writing: March 15th, 2024. 

The Favour (Part 2)

 Hazelbend Chateau , Elimdor
Along the avenue, nestled amidst two other prominent homes, stands the opulent Hazelbend Chateau, a testament to the wealth and power of its well-to-do occupant. Its towering spires reach towards the heavens, adorned with intricate carvings and gilded accents that catch the sunlight at dawn. A grand courtyard paved with marble greets visitors, leading them to the colossal oak doors adorned with golden crests. Inside, a labyrinth of halls boasts tapestries depicting epic battles and chandeliers dripping with crystal. The great hall, with its vaulted ceilings and roaring hearth, hosts extravagant feasts where the ton of society mingle amidst lavish furnishings and fine art. Beyond lies the lush gardens, where exotic blooms perfume the air and fountains dance with enchanted waters. Hazelbend Chateau stands as a symbol of luxury and prestige in Elimdor, a beacon of extravagance.

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• 
  Cynarith is far from a tittering young school girl barely out of leading strings, so her thoughts are pushed to the depths as she returns the awkward smile and follows his gaze back to the fireplace. The way he mentioned he is in need makes her heart skip a beat with suspense for what shall follow and is relieved with the topic that follows such a suggestive statement. A part of her starts to wonder if some of his choice in wording is on purpose, but soon the challenge is set upon her and her mind starts turning on the more serious topics. Again he is flattering her by mentioning her status, wealth and long list of connections, but she keeps a cool head- surprisingly. Now she knows he wants something, so his flattery is believed to be with a caveat this time and falls a little flat in her tapered ears. Her gaze into the fire seems like a far off one, as if she is miles away while he speaks, but her mind is connecting plots, influence and people who shall make this task possible. Slowly her lush lips purse as she has yet to withdraw her gaze from the fire, lest she return to leering at the half naked man. “Shar Uriphiel,” Cynarith begins with her honeyed timbre returning it’s plummy and proper accent, “this is quite the noble mission you’ve set out for yourself.” While choosing her next words carefully, she stands from the couch to saunter gracefully over to where her boots and tank top lay on the rug before adorning the items once more. As she tucks her tank top into the riding breeches the lady peers over her shoulder back at Uriphiel, “I… may be in a position to assist you.” She plays with words just the same as he, if that was his intent, but if not- her statement is still standing on its own. Then she bends entirely at the waist in order to let gravity assist her while securing her hair back into that high ponytail and when she stands back up she is making her way across the room to a rather large portrait which depicts a marvelous portrait of a woman. A woman that is not her and adorned in knightly armor with a stoic expression; maybe a family member. With an effortless tug on the side of the gold gilded frame it opens to a secret staircase only she knows about, “I must consult with various contacts and it will take a few days- possibly a week. For now,” she finally looks back at the man from across the room and motions for him to follow, “you shall not sully my good name with scandal by leaving this room like you are and you will not be roaming my halls only to be noticed by one of my staff. The entire ton would have a field day,” with her tone turning firm and confident - she is not taking no for an answer. “You shall stow away in one of the rooms until I will fetch you in the middle of the night with everything you’ll need to slip out unnoticed and a change of clothes.” With no argument to be heard on the manner, she leads the way up the hidden stairs.
  
  
• 
  Uriphiel wasn’t sure what to expect when he dropped his request. He really didn’t want to look at her, feeling a deep shame overcome him. It was not often he asked anything of anyone. In his mind, he should be self-sufficient. Prepared for anything. He should not have even allowed this woman to know him in this manner. Yet, what else could he do? He was at a loss. Thrown into a world that has moved on so far from the one he knew; And those that he thought he could integrate with, for the most part, have turned on him. To make matters worse, the one person he actually cared for was ill, and he was not able to be by her side. In this moment he felt hopeless and alone. So, when the rose-haired, elven woman gave her answer, his golden gaze lit up in a way not seen in quite some time. “Genuinely?” he asked, watching her race over to her discarded clothing. “I can wait. This will not be a problem. I... I can not than -” He stops himself once the hidden staircase is revealed, and her terms are placed on the table. Uriphiel stood, looking at himself with astonishment. How could he be so daft? She was right. The optics of this situation would not look good. Not only would word get out and potentially cause Cynarith unduly controversy, but it could also put his entire mission at risk. “Yes, of course,” he answered with a nod. Those large gilded wings tucked in tight against his bulky frame so as to allow him to fit into the passageway, and he followed the woman to his place of hiding.
  
  
• 
  Cynarith reaches the top of the stairs and peaks out a door which opens up in a clever spot just behind a statue enveloped under a tucked away alcove. When the door closes behind them, the outline of the door camouflages perfectly with the brick texture, how innovative! Just as one of her booted steps enters the hallway, she hears some maids about to round a corner towards them and she quickly ducks back into the alcove and behind the statue while grasping Uriphiel by the arm along with her. Unfortunately the door that closed behind them is flush with the wall now and unable to be opened back up! The space is tight where the pair of them have to fit and she glances up at him, trying to keep her breathing controlled and swallowing hard because she is just now realizing how much he towers over her. If Uriphiel chances to look down at her, he will see how her heart is beating wildly in the crook of her neck where her pulse is and how tense being so close to him is making her feel. It’s probably no walk in a park for the man either! Quickly she tries to look down, away from his face, but is only stuck with his exceptionally well built form a breath away from her. The closeness is flooding her senses with that wonderful peppermint and balsam fir tree smell which makes her heart ache for her family. The footsteps are nearing closer and she must hold her breath, turn her head away from him and pick a spot on the marble floor to stare at until the maids finally pass. The tense moment felt like forever and she is hating how much she actually could have stayed there a bit longer if it were appropriate, but once she hears the footsteps far enough away, Cynarith slips from between the statue and Uriphiel to take a deep inhale of air while crossing the hallway as if she’d been drowning. Quietly and swiftly, she grabs the handle of a door to open it and she peers within the room to check for any lingering staff before waving the avian inside once it is all clear while commanding, “quickly now.” She cannot believe she has truly only known this man for a half hour and he’s got her sneaking around her own mansion! The nerve!
  
  
• 
  Uriphiel should be used to skulking around by now, what with having to watch his step for the last year and a half after his escape. This, however, was on another level entirely. As they climbed the staircase, the golden-winged avian had to try and look at the stairs themselves for the majority of the trek upward, because he caught himself staring off into her posterior at first. Not that he had intended to stare in such a primitive manner, but there was not exactly anywhere else to look in that dark, cramped passage. So, downward his gaze fell, and it stayed that way until they finally reached the top of the stairs and made their way through another secret door. “This manor is full of surprises,” he commented, marveling at the ingenuity of the elaborate build. “I dare s-” He would never finish those words because as he was pushing onward, he was suddenly stopped in his tracks, accidentally bumping into Cynarith, before she quickly pulled him back behind the statue to hide from the approaching servants. It was an exceptionally tight squeeze with the pair of them tucked away like that, his chest damn near pressed up against her. The golden feathers of his wings fluttered softly as he positioned the gargantuan appendages as close to his body as possible, attempting to make sure that the unknowing passersby wouldn’t see them. He too would be holding his breath anxiously, the resplendent hue of his eyes lowered toward the elvish woman in an astonished manner. Just for a moment, you could almost hear their hearts beating in panicked unity. The stone-cold look on Uriphiel’s face would not divulge the fact that Uriphiel found all of this a bit exciting. As soon as the coast was clear, he wasted no time in following her lead, slipping soundlessly into another doorway.
  
  
• 
  Cynarith takes one last look of those golden wings before closing the door and he will hear it lock. Should she have said bye? No, right? He knows what is up. It isn't like she can linger around him much more in private no matter how much she strangely wants to. The room is spacious and opulent with tall ceilings along with large arched windows that overlook Lead to Gold Stables. He shall find that the only other door opens up to a spacious private washroom once he settles in enough to explore. The room is tastefully decorated just as the rest of the mansion is and every piece of furniture just screams 'I'm wealthy'. The four post king size bed is dressed up in silk sheets and crushed velvet comforters. This room is fit for royalty! It takes Cynarith a few minutes at the door with her hand resting upon the carved oak to sort her thoughts and she shakes her head softly, knowing this is about to bring nothing but trouble. Her shadow no longer darkens his door as she makes a beeline back outside, passing the very guards she just left behind who sideways glance at each other as if to ask 'did you just see what I saw?' She must double back and wave them off guard duty of the drawing room that no one is occupying. Even though she had already taken a morning ride, she is back out at the stables and a marvelous black haired Arabian mare gallops up to her from the grazing area. After glancing around to make sure the stable workers are busy with their menial tasks, she lets her guard down and rests her forehead against the flat of the mare's in a rare moment of soft heartedness. With surprising grace, she mounts the horse without even a saddle and it takes off with impressive speed. Cynarith must clear her mind.
  
  

  Some Time Later

  
  
  Hours pass and night falls. The estate has been calm throughout the day as if it is business as usual, but for Cynarith it has been far from usual as this Shar has plagued her thoughts every second. Only with thoughts on how to help this man on his quest and procure such a rare item without raising suspicion on herself because why should her world be turned upside down for a complete stranger?! Has she gone soft? Just after midnight she makes her way down that dreaded hallway and paces just outside his door in a black cloak. The wing he is held within is vacant and she finally knocks before the locking mechanism can be heard. "Shar?" Her voice need not be a whisper as she cautiously steps into the room, but she whispers anyway due to her nerves. With a flick of her wrist, the hood on her cloak falls and she ponders if he is even awake. From under the cloak, she pulls out a knapsack which contains supplies he will need along with a dinner for he must be starving.
  
  

• 
  [Uriphiel] The clicking of the lock filled Uriphiel with an unwitting skepticism, realizing that these quarters would be his prison for however long was left in the day. Perhaps it was his stint in the timeless void or the six months of grueling torture at the hands of abominable vampires, but the thought of being unable to leave the chateau of his own volition terrified him greatly. His breathing quickened as his fight or flight instincts kicked in, and his unflinching aureate gaze started scanning the room for a means of escape. Was this a trick of sorts? Did he miss something in his examinations? Maybe she was secretly a patron of the Flewminati, or had ties to the organization through other means. Would she turn him in?! These dreaded thoughts raced through the avian’s mind, until he found the nearby window and checked it for locks. Much to his surprise, and quelling his sudden perturbation, Uriphiel found that the window did indeed open. He took a deep breath, allowing the cool air to coat his lungs as he peered out and into the expansive, well-manicured grounds, taking stock of the layout of the land. It truly was a marvel to look upon; A terrestrial beauty that, while sharing thematic similarities with the Avian city, held its own unique differences to the things he was used to seeing. Not long after the avian began his window gazing, did he spy that familiar elven woman hurriedly crossing the yard with a destination set for the prized stables. He watched for some moments as she took a minute to bond with her steed, admiring the care she seemed to have for the animal. He could relate in a way. While the horses that dwelt upon terra firma were not exactly a staple in the Avian culture, Uriphiel was fond of its closest ancestor, an animal that he owned during his time in Schezerade, the fabled pegasus. Once Cynarith started her ride, Uriphiel turned from the window and entered the private washroom to freshen up.
  
  Uriphiel was not quite sure as to how much time had passed when Cynarith returned. He heard the click of the door, turning his head so that his gaze would meet hers as she entered. He was sitting by the window, not having slept at all this evening - He thought it best that he remain alert and on his guard in case anything came up. “Lady Cynarith,” he replied, rising from his seat. “I am to take it that all is quiet? I am free to go?”
  
  
• 
  Cynarith lifts the heavy knapsack up and pulls free a new shirt that shall fit him as the door closes behind her, she even fashioned some crude fix to the backing of the shirt for his wings. It isn't a pretty job, but sufficient enough that allows the fabric to open and close around where the appendages connect to his back. "Of course you are. There is plenty of food in the bag, even some of the cake you were enjoying yesterday, a canteen full of water and some gold," then she also pulls out a cloak similar to her own, but of course much longer for him to cover those glorious wings. She is holding the bag up for him to take, "I will help lead you out of the estate and have a horse waiting unless you would rather head to the roofs and fly out." That might be a little too high profile, though, but she planned for both exits. If he goes to accept the bag, she holds it firm to get his attention and locks her gaze up to his golden one with a confident stern expression on her face. "What are your plans after leaving here? This task you have set upon me may take time- so what are you going to do until then? Continue skulking around Cenril and putting yourself through that disgusting, painful change every day?" A tense and silent moment rests between them before she releases her grip on the bag of supplies and begins pacing, the cloak cascading behind her every step. "Once I do procure this Tulpa, how am I supposed to seek you out?" Narrowed turquoise hues square up with him from across the room once more as she swivels on her heel. The lady's pink hair is a bit tousled with loose waves and imperfect as it sways a little due to Cynarith shaking her head at him in disapproval. "Furthermore, once you have this Tulpa, what is next? You're just going to infiltrate Schezerade on your own?" Gloved hands are moving along with her questions, emphasizing each and every valid point she is making. "Please excuse my accusatory tone Shar Phandarion," one of her hands rests over her cloak-covered chest in sincerity, "but it is my turn to ask the questions to ensure you are not foolishly getting in over your head." It may be evident to Uriphiel in this moment to see why she has been so successful because she overthinks the important things and teases out every issue while this confidently firm side shows she can hold her ground because charm can only get one so far. "You made a mistake coming here," she begins and fidgets a little with her gloves as she finally averts her gaze from him to look down at those gloves, shaking her head once more. "Because if I am going to have any part in this then we are going to do this right with a well thought out plan." Her gaze lifts to him once more as her hands drop to her sides. By now, she is across the room and he is closer to the door so he is free to go if he truly chooses to do all of this on his own.
  
  
• 
  Uriphiel is taken aback by this newfound confidence that the refined woman has put on display, the cold rhadamanthine appearance of his eyes locked unwaveringly upon stubborn turquoise. He could not remember the last time anyone had spoken to him like this, and while that haughty avian bloodline felt like telling her that she were beneath him, he did come to feel that perhaps she had a point. He did need to think his plan out a little better. “That was my intention, yes. I do not dare involve anyone else to accompany me, because should I be discovered and captured, it will mean certain death for myself, and anyone caught acting as my aide. I still have trustworthy companions on the inside, I believe, and once I am in contact with them, I can formulate a more proper method for enacting my plan,” he stated rigidly, taking the offered supplies, and then clothing himself as swiftly as possible. His attention, for the most part, was focused on readying himself for his journey, taking the time to carefully consider her questions and prepare adequate answers in return. “I can find lodging in town. I am certain there was an inn not far from the docks from where I entered, so you may find me there. Thus far, I have been careful with concealing myself from the public at large, so to those that wish to do me harm - I am still quite dead as far as they know. I also sincerely doubt that they would trouble themselves with the more rustic charm of the island’s coast, so I shouldn’t expect any trouble for the time being.” Uriphiel swings the cloak over his brawny frame, adjusting his wings carefully so that they might be as close to hidden as possible. “Lady Cynarith. You must know that words can not express my appreciation for what you are trying to do. However, this is a matter most grave. The odds of success are not in my favour, and there is a good chance that I will die in my attempt. Should you acquire the item I seek, then perhaps I could be willing to hear your thoughts on the matter. Before then, there is no plan to speak of, because this is all that I have.” The hood is slipped over his flaxen hair and the bag is lifted with one shoulder. “I believe I will require a steed, if you would so allow me to borrow one. I dare not expose myself, just yet.”
  
  
• 
  Cynarith listens carefully while he elaborates his plans and the expression on her face appears to be a little relieved. “I spent the day looking into avians coming this far into Rynvale island and it seems not many make their way here. Apparently, a couple of your kind did make it into Vhys eight years ago, but they had a run-in with the Drakenkalia House which operates like a cult for there are a few eccentric cults this far north east on the island. Unfortunately, one of their practices is bloodletting someone until all that is left is a withered corpse if that person doesn’t accept their religion and according to my contact, these two avians were attempting to push some sort of peculiar agenda. One of them perished at the hands of the Drakenkalia House while the other fled and never looked back, but the coroner reported a strange symbol tattooed on the back of the left hand belonging to the corpse. Avians have never really been seen in Elimdor or Vhys ever since. Now I’m not saying these avians were a part of those who are hunting you, but if you would rather stay here in Hazelbend while you formulate a more concrete plan without feeling like you must look over your shoulder every waking minute, I can certainly arrange that for you.” No matter how much he is vexing her and frustrating her for no good reason other than the fact that he is confusing her thoughts while giving her a little more to live for due to this secret mission, she will help him. “You’re safety in Elimdor may not be guaranteed, but I am sure it could prove better than the lower half of the Vale. This is a large island, Mister Phandarion, but I know Elimdor like I know the back of my hand and Hazelbend will prove to be more secure than the harbor.” The fact that he just said he might die angers her, but she has no idea why and it is an irrational reaction- people die every day, “don’t be thickheaded.” The snap even comes to a surprise to herself as her eyes widen a little. Another awkward silence rests between them before she makes her way over to the door and brushes past him ever so slightly, leaving a lingering scent of lilies in the air. "I would not mean to keep you here if I did not think it best, but I understand," the offer stands while her back is to him, but he seems to be set on leaving. With her grasp on the doorknob and her back to him, she can allow her expression to fall in disappointment just before her grip tightens as she turns it, beginning to crack it open.
  
  
• 
  Uriphiel was torn. One one hand, the offer to stay at the Chateau was far more enticing than he’d let on. The comforts of privilege were something he missed dearly. No bed riddled with bugs. No bread so stale that you could use it as a doorstop. The ability to just lounge outdoors and enjoy the day while the warm sun shone down lovingly. Given her findings, he would also have a relatively guaranteed safety from the prying eyes of his own kind. On the other hand, Uriphiel would not feel comfortable taking advantage of the woman any further. He still felt such a great shame for his actions earlier in the day. After violating her privacy, no, daresay having assaulted the poor woman in her own home, he would then have the audacity to ask of her a favour? And here she was, not only appearing to forgive those actions, as well as agreeing to grant this favour, but she was also offering to open her home to him? This did not sit right in his mind. Uriphiel stared upon the elven woman for a few minutes in silence, trying to figure her out. Truly, she was an enigma. “I.. am not certain I am comfortable with the idea, Lady Cynarith.” he admitted, just as she turned the knob. “You have been far more hospitable that you should have, and I do not wish to overstay my welcome, whatever your intention.” The avian could sense her disappointment, and his brow knit in contemplation. “I.. I will tell you this. Give me a day. One day to think upon things. And if the offer is still open at that time, I will give you a formal answer. Is this agreeable?”
  
  
• 
  Cynarith pokes her head out into the hallway to make sure it is clear before stepping out and motioning for him to follow, "stay close." The whisper is commanded over her shoulder while skedaddling down the moonlit hall and her light pink hair practically glows in the moon rays until she flicks her hood up. "Hospitable? I stowed you away in a room and starved you today. Today shall be another skeleton in my closet," she checks around a corner before slipping around it. "My intention is to protect my dignity, Shar Phandarion. I am a sore loser and refuse to fail. Whether we like it or not, we are tangled in this together now and I aim to ensure success in all of my endeavors," her narrowed gaze, a determined one as she glances over her shoulder at him. Somehow they made it through the maze that is her estate, exiting out a service door that is barely used while a majestic Shire horse is waiting patiently for them, saddled and ready to go. Stopping dead in her tracks to lock her gaze back up at him again, she warns, "if you believe my intentions to be anything other than giving you the opportunity to make your one shot count the most, in attempts to turn the tides in your favor during this impossible task-" she trails off with a shake of her head and then a shrug as she steps to the front of the massive horse. "Then I am sorry you think so little of me," she finishes her warning lamely while removing a glove to gently stroke the flat of the horse's forehead. "This is Tater Trot and he will accompany you tonight. I had to make sure to get my sturdiest horse to accommodate your size and extra appendages with ease. The handling with him might be a little heavy, but he is my brave one," the information easily given as if she is expertly trying to sell the equine to Uriphiel, but it is really just an automatic exchange for Cynarith. "As you can imagine that if you do decide to seek asylum here at Hazelbend, I do not entertain perfectly handsome strangers with no title. I have rented a room at Elimdorei Hotel under the name of Davian Smith and within that room is the finest wardrobe fit for an avian diplomat of your size from a foreign land that none of the ton would have ever heard of. There is a dossier which I attached to the underside of the desk inside that room that will have all the information of who this diplomat will be thought to be. Tomorrow morning, a gilded carriage will arrive to collect you and bring you back around to the front of the home for your grand entrance." It appears she thought long and hard about this. "If the carriage never arrives at Hazelbend in two days time then so be it," she concludes with a blasé attitude while slipping her glove back on her hand, turning away from him and making her way to the door they just exited from.
  
  
• 
  Uriphiel followed closely behind Cynarith, making every attempt to stay as quiet as his seven foot, two hundred and sixty-something physique would allow. The entire time they hastened through those labyrinthine hallways, the avian listened attentively as she ‘enlightened’ him about what her motivations happened to be. He could not help but to focus on certain phrasing - ‘My dignity’. ‘Sore loser’. ‘Refuse to fail’ - all desires of the self. He forgot how driven some were; To have that compulsion, the need to meet your goals no matter the cost, no matter the importance of a task. To always win. Then it dawned on him - They were more alike than he had given her credit. “I can assure you, Lady Cynarith. I do not think so little of you. In fact, after this night, you will be held in the highest esteem.” Uriphiel would lose no time climbing atop the massive steed affectionately called ‘Tater Trot’, sitting there for the time it would take Lady Cynarith to reveal her clever, pre-planned ruse. He would say nothing more to the woman, only to give her one final nod, before he broke the horse into a gallop and disappeared into the night.