Brigit's Flame, January Week 2 - Destiny
“Needless to say, it just goes to prove, unlike the government, not everyone can get away with robbing the nobility,” Phillip concluded the story of his triumph over the thieves’ guild, chuckling.
Truly it had been a triumph, but in a slightly different way than he was telling it. He had been a member of the guild for years, ‘coerced’ into it after his talents to move within the nobility were noticed. Monroe, the guildmaster, had tugged his leash on Phillip one too many times, the last time nearly getting him revealed to his current mark for who he was. Phillip’s persona was his life, his livelihood, and he was not about to let some drink-addled, short-sighted, cretin risk it.
So, he used his persona as a weapon and went to the guard, claiming blackmail by a member of the guild. He regaled them with tales of his bravery and cunning in seeking out the guild and their hideout. Then, knowing just when the fewest members would be out on jobs, he led the guard in an attack. The few friends that he had in the guild had been warned to be away that evening, and thus escaped the slaughter. Other than the two or three members who were out on jobs and Monroe himself, the guild was decimated. Later that night, when Monroe returned to his safe house, one of his own traps ‘malfunctioned’ and killed him as well. Phillip would have to find those last few members to truly know his secret was safe, but for now, he had a measure of breathing room, and was his own man again.
His story to the raptly attentive nobles diminished his part in the fight somewhat, and obviously left out any of his ties to the guild. He allowed the rumor on the street to play up his deeds, and played humble modesty to perfection. Nevertheless, it made him a hero in their eyes, someone who stood up to the rampant corruption, the infestation of guilds of brigands and rogues in this city. At least it did for this week. Next week his deeds would be all but forgotten. Overshadowed by who was sleeping with whom, who was throwing the next huge party, or something else suitably shocking and scandalous.
“Now, now, I’ve taken enough time with my tale, friends, enough about me. Shall we continue? This is Lord and Lady Marwell’s evening, not mine.” Phillip smiled and ducked out of the gathered circle of nobles. He took up a place near the center of the now empty ballroom floor and bowed gracefully to the musicians on the small stage to the side.
The musicians took the cue, and struck up a slow but cheerful tune. The murmur of conversation began anew, and everyone began to break off into groups and find their places around the ballroom. Phillip took a few steps back, off of the dance floor, and took a moment to study his surroundings.
The ballroom was opulent to say the least. The floor was polished grey stone, dotted with minerals that sparkled brilliantly when the light from the many chandeliers hit them just so. Running around the perimeter of the room, held up with intricately carved pillars of the same polished stone, were private balconies where a small group of people could sit and watch the festivities below, without having to be caught up in the middle of them. They were good for a break, or for plotting, scheming, and gossiping in relative privacy. Hanging from the balconies were brilliant blue and gold buntings, woven from expensive silks and festooned with garlands of Lady Marwell’s roses. Beneath these, along one side of the room, were tables set with rich linens and expensive porcelain, groaning under the weight of extravagant foods and drink (most of them inedible to the common palate).
To the other side of the room, groups of people mingled and chatted, each playing their own little game with the other. The women wore the fashion of the moment; brightly colored dresses, corseted tightly on top and cut daringly low, with huge skirts that blossomed out at their hips and swept the floor, making them look like little bells floating across the room. The men’s fashion varied a little bit more. The young peacocks wore the latest in fashion; lace cravats, well tailored silk or satin overcoats, soft linen shirts cuffed with more lace, finely tailored pants with garters and hose, and small, feminine shoes. The older gentlemen ran the gamut of fashion, some in the latest, some in slightly outdated styles, the others in styles that were the rage when they were young. A few military men, young and old, were scattered about in their best dress uniforms. All in all, the clash of colors and fabrics as they milled around the floor was almost mesmerizing. Combined with the warring clouds of potent perfume emanating from nearly every body there, it was enough to give one a headache.
Phillip took mental note of those he needed to seek out this evening, and made his way across the room. He mouthed platitudes here, to stroke the ego of a ‘friend’ he hadn’t spoken to in a few months. He rode his reputation there, securing himself an invitation to the next grand party. All the while, he palmed small trinkets, a pearl and emerald button, a simple ring set with carnelians, a silver pocket watch; things that, if missed, were easily chalked up to simply being lost in a night of drunken revelry.
He eyed a small group of unmarried young women, not too far away, heads close together in gossip and giggling. Most were likely being pursued tonight by one young lord or another.
One however, toward the back of the group, he was fairly certain would not be. Her name was Melenaie Allion. She was a nice enough girl, and intelligent, an intelligence such as comes from reading books, and not practical experience, however. Unfortunately, she had been cursed with her father’s looks. She was slightly tall for a woman, and thin as a rail. She had not been blessed with curves in any sense, and in her straw-colored dress she looked more like a broomstick than a bell. Her hair was the same mouse brown as her eyes, and pulled tightly up into a bun on top of her head, exposing a high forehead and thick brows.
He grinned inwardly, “A loss for them. She may not be the jewel of the ball, but he who wins her favor, wins quite the rich prize.”
Not that any of the young men were likely to see it that way. The prize to be won in gaining the interest of the girl came in nearly unfettered access to her fathers libraries. Her father was extremely wealthy, to be sure, and she stood as the only heir to inherit his wealth. However, most of it was caught up in the largest private library in the city.
The great Lord Allion had built a new wing onto his vast manor, devoted entirely to his books. He was said to have books and scrolls from all corners of the world, on every topic imaginable, some hundreds of years old. It was even rumored that he had one or two extraordinarily rare tomes on magic. Forbidden tomes, such as those, were hunted down and destroyed mercilessly by the church.
To have one in one’s library was a great risk, unless one had already curried favor with someone in the high echelons of the clergy, of course. It was well known that Lord Allion was a favorite of the current Hierarch. His home was graced by one of the rarest gifts the church bestowed upon their most faithful followers, an automaton. A clockwork maid, such as which was only fashioned by the artificers of the church.
Phillip had a passion for books in general and the secrets that could be learned from them, that bordered on obsession. When it came to books on magic, he crossed right over the line into obsession. He would do anything he could to get ahold of them. This collection he had to get a look at.
He strode up to the group of women, with his most charming smile, and bowed deeply, “Good evening ladies. I hope this night finds you well.”
A couple of the younger girls giggled and hid behind their fans, shyly. The older ones boldly looked him over with appraising eyes. The eldest, and certainly the most striking one of the group, with long curling blonde hair, curves to make any hourglass jealous, and large blue eyes, grinned a catlike grin and purred, “Welcome, Lord Phillip. Your presence enriches our little gathering. To what do we owe this rare pleasure?” She extended her hand to him, making the assumption that she was the only reason he could be interested in their little group.
“Ahhh vanity. Be careful little girl, I have been playing this game for longer than you have been out of swaddling clothes. I have learned not to be so obvious in my intent,” he chuckled to himself.
Gently, he took the girl’s hand and laid a soft kiss on her knuckles, locking his stormy grey eyes on hers, and turning up the charm. “Ahh, dear Lady Isabel, words like honey, as always.” He grinned as she blushed, unable to hold his eyes. “I shan’t bother you overlong. I came simply to ask an indulgence.”
A self-satisfied grin spread over her face. “Absolutely…” she began.
He took his eyes from Isabel’s, and turned his gaze on Melenaie. “Might I rob your friends of your company, Lady Melenaie? This music is begging a dance, and I seem to be without a partner.”
Isabel’s eyes narrowed just a second, her lips tightening into a scowl, before her artful mask came back down. She stepped back without a word, and gestured Melenaie forward.
Melenaie looked as if someone had just proven to her, without a doubt, that the sky was purple. She blinked her eyes in surprise and nodded. “S-sure, my Lord Philip,” she squeaked. “I’d be honored.”
Phillip smiled and offered his arm, placing his hand atop hers when she took it. When they were out of earshot, he leaned in and murmured, “That Isabel, so presumptuous. I cannot abide useless people.”
Melenaie giggled and looked a little less nervous. “The look on her face is one I certainly will not forget. Thank you for that.”
“No thanks needed my dear. I came over with eyes only for you,” Phillip said with an assuring smile.
He stepped back and took her hand, leading her in a waltz that had just begun. For her part, she had rhythm, and had seemingly memorized every step in the dance, but they came stiff and forced, unpracticed. He could only guess that this had been her only time on the dance floor with any but her father.
They danced for the next half hour, laughing and conversing over various books they had read. She was fairly well read, but she tended towards books without substance, favoring instead vapid love poetry, drama, and stories of star-crossed lovers, white shining knights, and the like.
“What a waste,” he thought with a sigh. “So much incredible material at her fingertips and all she reads is the drivel.”
The next dance was based on an old country dance, with much more touching and more intricate moves than was common in the current trend. They circled each other, palm to palm, elbow to elbow, crossed paths, weaving intricate step into intricate step. Melenaie flushed at each new touch, her eyes getting starry and smitten.
“Too easy,” Phillip chuckled.
The next sequence in the dance called for her to stand still and him to circle around her, one hand out, but not quite touching her shoulders. He improvised a little, fingertips just brushing the bare skin of her shoulders as he circled, stopping behind her briefly. “Your hair looks lovely like this,” he whispered, lips close to her ear, watching the flush of her skin run from her face all the way down her neck and chest. “It compliments your swan-like neck.” He nearly choked on the last cliché. “Goose. At best,” he thought.
He brushed light fingertips up either side of her neck, deftly snatching the beautiful diamond and topaz earrings she had clipped to her earlobes. She was too distracted by his touch, goosebumps running down her skin (and further proving his observation), to notice the theft.
“Thank you,” she whispered, breathless.
The music stopped, and he took her hand, leading her to the side of the room. He took a glass of wine for each of them. “I thought we could each use a little refreshment after that dance,” he grinned as she blushed and nodded, taking the drink and drinking heartily.
Phillip fidgeted on his feet, making a show of soreness. “My lady, I think I shall have to excuse myself for the moment, and return you to your friends. I have had an amazing time, but my poor feet cannot take much more of it. I do not understand how you ladies wear shoes like this. Whichever cobbler decided to make these the fashion this season, should be made to walk from here, one-hundred leagues to the sea, in a pair.”
She chuckled, but could not keep the crestfallen look from her face. “You do not have to leave… Shall I see you again?”
He cupped her chin and smiled, “My dear. ‘Should Destiny itself strive to keep us from one another, it could not prevail. For I would wage war ‘gainst the stars and heavens themselves, though ev’ry celestial body in the night sky come forth to stand between us.’” He cringed inwardly as he quoted the detestable poem.
Melenaie’s eyes took on that starry look again, and she sighed, “Inuvius… Oh Lord Phillip, you are amazing.”
Inuvius had been a wretched highwayman turned-poet, who had written books and books of terrible verse doting on whatever he turned his eyes upon. He had had the fortunate misfortune to die in a duel over some woman, guaranteeing his immortality in the hearts of every desperately lovesick woman ever to live. Phillip was all too familiar with him from his time as a professor in Massent’s University. He could quote the hack, but inwardly it pained him.
“Call me Phillip, dear. I shall request your father’s permission to pay you court, this very evening. I am certain I shall see you soon.”
He walked her over to her friends, and bowed, placing a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. “Thank you for the wonderful time, my dear. I shall pay you call within the week. Be well.”
As he walked off, listening to the buzz of gossip starting around Melenaie, he smirked, satisfied that he had secured his access to the library for as long as he could hold the girl’s interest. He patted the pricey set of earrings in his pocket, and turned his attention to his next conquest; finding the library and the vaults.
Truly it had been a triumph, but in a slightly different way than he was telling it. He had been a member of the guild for years, ‘coerced’ into it after his talents to move within the nobility were noticed. Monroe, the guildmaster, had tugged his leash on Phillip one too many times, the last time nearly getting him revealed to his current mark for who he was. Phillip’s persona was his life, his livelihood, and he was not about to let some drink-addled, short-sighted, cretin risk it.
So, he used his persona as a weapon and went to the guard, claiming blackmail by a member of the guild. He regaled them with tales of his bravery and cunning in seeking out the guild and their hideout. Then, knowing just when the fewest members would be out on jobs, he led the guard in an attack. The few friends that he had in the guild had been warned to be away that evening, and thus escaped the slaughter. Other than the two or three members who were out on jobs and Monroe himself, the guild was decimated. Later that night, when Monroe returned to his safe house, one of his own traps ‘malfunctioned’ and killed him as well. Phillip would have to find those last few members to truly know his secret was safe, but for now, he had a measure of breathing room, and was his own man again.
His story to the raptly attentive nobles diminished his part in the fight somewhat, and obviously left out any of his ties to the guild. He allowed the rumor on the street to play up his deeds, and played humble modesty to perfection. Nevertheless, it made him a hero in their eyes, someone who stood up to the rampant corruption, the infestation of guilds of brigands and rogues in this city. At least it did for this week. Next week his deeds would be all but forgotten. Overshadowed by who was sleeping with whom, who was throwing the next huge party, or something else suitably shocking and scandalous.
“Now, now, I’ve taken enough time with my tale, friends, enough about me. Shall we continue? This is Lord and Lady Marwell’s evening, not mine.” Phillip smiled and ducked out of the gathered circle of nobles. He took up a place near the center of the now empty ballroom floor and bowed gracefully to the musicians on the small stage to the side.
The musicians took the cue, and struck up a slow but cheerful tune. The murmur of conversation began anew, and everyone began to break off into groups and find their places around the ballroom. Phillip took a few steps back, off of the dance floor, and took a moment to study his surroundings.
The ballroom was opulent to say the least. The floor was polished grey stone, dotted with minerals that sparkled brilliantly when the light from the many chandeliers hit them just so. Running around the perimeter of the room, held up with intricately carved pillars of the same polished stone, were private balconies where a small group of people could sit and watch the festivities below, without having to be caught up in the middle of them. They were good for a break, or for plotting, scheming, and gossiping in relative privacy. Hanging from the balconies were brilliant blue and gold buntings, woven from expensive silks and festooned with garlands of Lady Marwell’s roses. Beneath these, along one side of the room, were tables set with rich linens and expensive porcelain, groaning under the weight of extravagant foods and drink (most of them inedible to the common palate).
To the other side of the room, groups of people mingled and chatted, each playing their own little game with the other. The women wore the fashion of the moment; brightly colored dresses, corseted tightly on top and cut daringly low, with huge skirts that blossomed out at their hips and swept the floor, making them look like little bells floating across the room. The men’s fashion varied a little bit more. The young peacocks wore the latest in fashion; lace cravats, well tailored silk or satin overcoats, soft linen shirts cuffed with more lace, finely tailored pants with garters and hose, and small, feminine shoes. The older gentlemen ran the gamut of fashion, some in the latest, some in slightly outdated styles, the others in styles that were the rage when they were young. A few military men, young and old, were scattered about in their best dress uniforms. All in all, the clash of colors and fabrics as they milled around the floor was almost mesmerizing. Combined with the warring clouds of potent perfume emanating from nearly every body there, it was enough to give one a headache.
Phillip took mental note of those he needed to seek out this evening, and made his way across the room. He mouthed platitudes here, to stroke the ego of a ‘friend’ he hadn’t spoken to in a few months. He rode his reputation there, securing himself an invitation to the next grand party. All the while, he palmed small trinkets, a pearl and emerald button, a simple ring set with carnelians, a silver pocket watch; things that, if missed, were easily chalked up to simply being lost in a night of drunken revelry.
He eyed a small group of unmarried young women, not too far away, heads close together in gossip and giggling. Most were likely being pursued tonight by one young lord or another.
One however, toward the back of the group, he was fairly certain would not be. Her name was Melenaie Allion. She was a nice enough girl, and intelligent, an intelligence such as comes from reading books, and not practical experience, however. Unfortunately, she had been cursed with her father’s looks. She was slightly tall for a woman, and thin as a rail. She had not been blessed with curves in any sense, and in her straw-colored dress she looked more like a broomstick than a bell. Her hair was the same mouse brown as her eyes, and pulled tightly up into a bun on top of her head, exposing a high forehead and thick brows.
He grinned inwardly, “A loss for them. She may not be the jewel of the ball, but he who wins her favor, wins quite the rich prize.”
Not that any of the young men were likely to see it that way. The prize to be won in gaining the interest of the girl came in nearly unfettered access to her fathers libraries. Her father was extremely wealthy, to be sure, and she stood as the only heir to inherit his wealth. However, most of it was caught up in the largest private library in the city.
The great Lord Allion had built a new wing onto his vast manor, devoted entirely to his books. He was said to have books and scrolls from all corners of the world, on every topic imaginable, some hundreds of years old. It was even rumored that he had one or two extraordinarily rare tomes on magic. Forbidden tomes, such as those, were hunted down and destroyed mercilessly by the church.
To have one in one’s library was a great risk, unless one had already curried favor with someone in the high echelons of the clergy, of course. It was well known that Lord Allion was a favorite of the current Hierarch. His home was graced by one of the rarest gifts the church bestowed upon their most faithful followers, an automaton. A clockwork maid, such as which was only fashioned by the artificers of the church.
Phillip had a passion for books in general and the secrets that could be learned from them, that bordered on obsession. When it came to books on magic, he crossed right over the line into obsession. He would do anything he could to get ahold of them. This collection he had to get a look at.
He strode up to the group of women, with his most charming smile, and bowed deeply, “Good evening ladies. I hope this night finds you well.”
A couple of the younger girls giggled and hid behind their fans, shyly. The older ones boldly looked him over with appraising eyes. The eldest, and certainly the most striking one of the group, with long curling blonde hair, curves to make any hourglass jealous, and large blue eyes, grinned a catlike grin and purred, “Welcome, Lord Phillip. Your presence enriches our little gathering. To what do we owe this rare pleasure?” She extended her hand to him, making the assumption that she was the only reason he could be interested in their little group.
“Ahhh vanity. Be careful little girl, I have been playing this game for longer than you have been out of swaddling clothes. I have learned not to be so obvious in my intent,” he chuckled to himself.
Gently, he took the girl’s hand and laid a soft kiss on her knuckles, locking his stormy grey eyes on hers, and turning up the charm. “Ahh, dear Lady Isabel, words like honey, as always.” He grinned as she blushed, unable to hold his eyes. “I shan’t bother you overlong. I came simply to ask an indulgence.”
A self-satisfied grin spread over her face. “Absolutely…” she began.
He took his eyes from Isabel’s, and turned his gaze on Melenaie. “Might I rob your friends of your company, Lady Melenaie? This music is begging a dance, and I seem to be without a partner.”
Isabel’s eyes narrowed just a second, her lips tightening into a scowl, before her artful mask came back down. She stepped back without a word, and gestured Melenaie forward.
Melenaie looked as if someone had just proven to her, without a doubt, that the sky was purple. She blinked her eyes in surprise and nodded. “S-sure, my Lord Philip,” she squeaked. “I’d be honored.”
Phillip smiled and offered his arm, placing his hand atop hers when she took it. When they were out of earshot, he leaned in and murmured, “That Isabel, so presumptuous. I cannot abide useless people.”
Melenaie giggled and looked a little less nervous. “The look on her face is one I certainly will not forget. Thank you for that.”
“No thanks needed my dear. I came over with eyes only for you,” Phillip said with an assuring smile.
He stepped back and took her hand, leading her in a waltz that had just begun. For her part, she had rhythm, and had seemingly memorized every step in the dance, but they came stiff and forced, unpracticed. He could only guess that this had been her only time on the dance floor with any but her father.
They danced for the next half hour, laughing and conversing over various books they had read. She was fairly well read, but she tended towards books without substance, favoring instead vapid love poetry, drama, and stories of star-crossed lovers, white shining knights, and the like.
“What a waste,” he thought with a sigh. “So much incredible material at her fingertips and all she reads is the drivel.”
The next dance was based on an old country dance, with much more touching and more intricate moves than was common in the current trend. They circled each other, palm to palm, elbow to elbow, crossed paths, weaving intricate step into intricate step. Melenaie flushed at each new touch, her eyes getting starry and smitten.
“Too easy,” Phillip chuckled.
The next sequence in the dance called for her to stand still and him to circle around her, one hand out, but not quite touching her shoulders. He improvised a little, fingertips just brushing the bare skin of her shoulders as he circled, stopping behind her briefly. “Your hair looks lovely like this,” he whispered, lips close to her ear, watching the flush of her skin run from her face all the way down her neck and chest. “It compliments your swan-like neck.” He nearly choked on the last cliché. “Goose. At best,” he thought.
He brushed light fingertips up either side of her neck, deftly snatching the beautiful diamond and topaz earrings she had clipped to her earlobes. She was too distracted by his touch, goosebumps running down her skin (and further proving his observation), to notice the theft.
“Thank you,” she whispered, breathless.
The music stopped, and he took her hand, leading her to the side of the room. He took a glass of wine for each of them. “I thought we could each use a little refreshment after that dance,” he grinned as she blushed and nodded, taking the drink and drinking heartily.
Phillip fidgeted on his feet, making a show of soreness. “My lady, I think I shall have to excuse myself for the moment, and return you to your friends. I have had an amazing time, but my poor feet cannot take much more of it. I do not understand how you ladies wear shoes like this. Whichever cobbler decided to make these the fashion this season, should be made to walk from here, one-hundred leagues to the sea, in a pair.”
She chuckled, but could not keep the crestfallen look from her face. “You do not have to leave… Shall I see you again?”
He cupped her chin and smiled, “My dear. ‘Should Destiny itself strive to keep us from one another, it could not prevail. For I would wage war ‘gainst the stars and heavens themselves, though ev’ry celestial body in the night sky come forth to stand between us.’” He cringed inwardly as he quoted the detestable poem.
Melenaie’s eyes took on that starry look again, and she sighed, “Inuvius… Oh Lord Phillip, you are amazing.”
Inuvius had been a wretched highwayman turned-poet, who had written books and books of terrible verse doting on whatever he turned his eyes upon. He had had the fortunate misfortune to die in a duel over some woman, guaranteeing his immortality in the hearts of every desperately lovesick woman ever to live. Phillip was all too familiar with him from his time as a professor in Massent’s University. He could quote the hack, but inwardly it pained him.
“Call me Phillip, dear. I shall request your father’s permission to pay you court, this very evening. I am certain I shall see you soon.”
He walked her over to her friends, and bowed, placing a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. “Thank you for the wonderful time, my dear. I shall pay you call within the week. Be well.”
As he walked off, listening to the buzz of gossip starting around Melenaie, he smirked, satisfied that he had secured his access to the library for as long as he could hold the girl’s interest. He patted the pricey set of earrings in his pocket, and turned his attention to his next conquest; finding the library and the vaults.