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"I'll be out for the day. Take the time to reorganize my records. Familiarize yourself with them. It's about time, Alastor, that you become more useful."
And it was.
Two months he'd spent, the first of which was becoming accustomed to the particular sensibilities of his more-than-distant boss. The second? It was coming to terms with the realization that...
I'm too soft.
Alastor did not have the disposition for secrecy and manipulation. He was a boy with a vast understanding of academia, one that caught the attention of a Mr. Agathon of Argothia. Particularly, it was his propensity for remembrance. Where it took another the need for repetition and commiting to memory, Alastor had an advantage. One that to a discerning man such as Agathon, was indispensable. The rest? He'd determined it could be acquired, or meted into him by the hands of the Fates.
Alastor was inclined to agree.
He wasn't sure, however, if he was ready for it. He'd been thrust into this position by other hands, desiring a more private affair in Euttica for himself. But, he couldn't refuse such a commanding hand. So, regretful as it was that he was here, the boy had made the best of things. Up until he was face-to-face with the beast he was pit against.
Disorganized? What a nightmare. Agathon has pitted me against a hydra.
there were dozens upon dozens. Hundreds of heads hammered into thin sheets, sprawled about on the desk, littered underneath. All of them were labeled by date, but... it was irrelevant, for so scattered they'd become through perusal that no longer could they be called anything of use. But, there they were, waiting for him with faded ink and frayed edges.
These sheets are not destined for posterity to begin with. Surely, to the apprised, they might make sense.
Alastor began well into the evening, and sent for his parents so that they'd be aware he would not be returning home. With an open portcullis venting out the cannibis-infused air, and another bringing fresh air from an inviting breeze, the work began.
He spent hours re-scripting old cases onto new pages, compiling notes and summarizing them from the new. Then, he compiled them into groups, based not on date, but assembled geographically, then using the referenced dates to create a composition that both he and the master informer could find useful. By the time he'd finished, the supply of cannibis he'd brought with him needed to be replenished by a courier, and both of his wrists were more than sore from the labour.
But, he'd done it. For the past year, all of the cases were organized in this manner, grouped together and stowed in bins across the office by province. All open cases were organized to be at the top, sorted in order of importance.
Troubling...
Alastor had not been privy to the workings of his nation, but given the opportunity... his disdain for being kept out of the know was replaced by a persistent and very much troubled disposition.
So much of this seems... slanted. I can't tell what's right anymore.
But, he did as he was told. He recorded notes exactly as they were, and well into the next day, Alastor was continuing his organization of the office. Bins were slated into spaces, engraved with their appropriate, pertinent location and individual files granted additional labels for additional provinces that might've been involved. Vasiliadon, for all that it was, had a mountain of paper, disassembled and slated into the particular families and lack thereof involved.
Common-born, nobility, and royal families seems ideal, further detailed by time and left to Agathon to do with as he pleases.
As Alastor allowed himself an opportunity to rest, he inhaled the fumes of the cannibis incense that burned in the corner, allowing his troubled feelings to dissipate in the familiar embrace of intoxication that he worked so much better in.
Sixteen hours.
He'd counted it down in the back of his head, by the minute... ticking it away as he scripted to his heart's content. With no Master Informer in sight, Alastor was left to his work, reveling in the familiarity of it despite the troubling news that the embrace of cannibis was needed to properly digest.
Gods help us, he thought, as he took another breath of the incense cloud, putting out the burning end before tossing it out the portal and to the outside world. Little by little, it would dissipate, but the good feeling was there to stay.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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This is a TRAVESTY.
"I'll be out for the day. Take the time to reorganize my records. Familiarize yourself with them. It's about time, Alastor, that you become more useful."
And it was.
Two months he'd spent, the first of which was becoming accustomed to the particular sensibilities of his more-than-distant boss. The second? It was coming to terms with the realization that...
I'm too soft.
Alastor did not have the disposition for secrecy and manipulation. He was a boy with a vast understanding of academia, one that caught the attention of a Mr. Agathon of Argothia. Particularly, it was his propensity for remembrance. Where it took another the need for repetition and commiting to memory, Alastor had an advantage. One that to a discerning man such as Agathon, was indispensable. The rest? He'd determined it could be acquired, or meted into him by the hands of the Fates.
Alastor was inclined to agree.
He wasn't sure, however, if he was ready for it. He'd been thrust into this position by other hands, desiring a more private affair in Euttica for himself. But, he couldn't refuse such a commanding hand. So, regretful as it was that he was here, the boy had made the best of things. Up until he was face-to-face with the beast he was pit against.
Disorganized? What a nightmare. Agathon has pitted me against a hydra.
there were dozens upon dozens. Hundreds of heads hammered into thin sheets, sprawled about on the desk, littered underneath. All of them were labeled by date, but... it was irrelevant, for so scattered they'd become through perusal that no longer could they be called anything of use. But, there they were, waiting for him with faded ink and frayed edges.
These sheets are not destined for posterity to begin with. Surely, to the apprised, they might make sense.
Alastor began well into the evening, and sent for his parents so that they'd be aware he would not be returning home. With an open portcullis venting out the cannibis-infused air, and another bringing fresh air from an inviting breeze, the work began.
He spent hours re-scripting old cases onto new pages, compiling notes and summarizing them from the new. Then, he compiled them into groups, based not on date, but assembled geographically, then using the referenced dates to create a composition that both he and the master informer could find useful. By the time he'd finished, the supply of cannibis he'd brought with him needed to be replenished by a courier, and both of his wrists were more than sore from the labour.
But, he'd done it. For the past year, all of the cases were organized in this manner, grouped together and stowed in bins across the office by province. All open cases were organized to be at the top, sorted in order of importance.
Troubling...
Alastor had not been privy to the workings of his nation, but given the opportunity... his disdain for being kept out of the know was replaced by a persistent and very much troubled disposition.
So much of this seems... slanted. I can't tell what's right anymore.
But, he did as he was told. He recorded notes exactly as they were, and well into the next day, Alastor was continuing his organization of the office. Bins were slated into spaces, engraved with their appropriate, pertinent location and individual files granted additional labels for additional provinces that might've been involved. Vasiliadon, for all that it was, had a mountain of paper, disassembled and slated into the particular families and lack thereof involved.
Common-born, nobility, and royal families seems ideal, further detailed by time and left to Agathon to do with as he pleases.
As Alastor allowed himself an opportunity to rest, he inhaled the fumes of the cannibis incense that burned in the corner, allowing his troubled feelings to dissipate in the familiar embrace of intoxication that he worked so much better in.
Sixteen hours.
He'd counted it down in the back of his head, by the minute... ticking it away as he scripted to his heart's content. With no Master Informer in sight, Alastor was left to his work, reveling in the familiarity of it despite the troubling news that the embrace of cannibis was needed to properly digest.
Gods help us, he thought, as he took another breath of the incense cloud, putting out the burning end before tossing it out the portal and to the outside world. Little by little, it would dissipate, but the good feeling was there to stay.
This is a TRAVESTY.
"I'll be out for the day. Take the time to reorganize my records. Familiarize yourself with them. It's about time, Alastor, that you become more useful."
And it was.
Two months he'd spent, the first of which was becoming accustomed to the particular sensibilities of his more-than-distant boss. The second? It was coming to terms with the realization that...
I'm too soft.
Alastor did not have the disposition for secrecy and manipulation. He was a boy with a vast understanding of academia, one that caught the attention of a Mr. Agathon of Argothia. Particularly, it was his propensity for remembrance. Where it took another the need for repetition and commiting to memory, Alastor had an advantage. One that to a discerning man such as Agathon, was indispensable. The rest? He'd determined it could be acquired, or meted into him by the hands of the Fates.
Alastor was inclined to agree.
He wasn't sure, however, if he was ready for it. He'd been thrust into this position by other hands, desiring a more private affair in Euttica for himself. But, he couldn't refuse such a commanding hand. So, regretful as it was that he was here, the boy had made the best of things. Up until he was face-to-face with the beast he was pit against.
Disorganized? What a nightmare. Agathon has pitted me against a hydra.
there were dozens upon dozens. Hundreds of heads hammered into thin sheets, sprawled about on the desk, littered underneath. All of them were labeled by date, but... it was irrelevant, for so scattered they'd become through perusal that no longer could they be called anything of use. But, there they were, waiting for him with faded ink and frayed edges.
These sheets are not destined for posterity to begin with. Surely, to the apprised, they might make sense.
Alastor began well into the evening, and sent for his parents so that they'd be aware he would not be returning home. With an open portcullis venting out the cannibis-infused air, and another bringing fresh air from an inviting breeze, the work began.
He spent hours re-scripting old cases onto new pages, compiling notes and summarizing them from the new. Then, he compiled them into groups, based not on date, but assembled geographically, then using the referenced dates to create a composition that both he and the master informer could find useful. By the time he'd finished, the supply of cannibis he'd brought with him needed to be replenished by a courier, and both of his wrists were more than sore from the labour.
But, he'd done it. For the past year, all of the cases were organized in this manner, grouped together and stowed in bins across the office by province. All open cases were organized to be at the top, sorted in order of importance.
Troubling...
Alastor had not been privy to the workings of his nation, but given the opportunity... his disdain for being kept out of the know was replaced by a persistent and very much troubled disposition.
So much of this seems... slanted. I can't tell what's right anymore.
But, he did as he was told. He recorded notes exactly as they were, and well into the next day, Alastor was continuing his organization of the office. Bins were slated into spaces, engraved with their appropriate, pertinent location and individual files granted additional labels for additional provinces that might've been involved. Vasiliadon, for all that it was, had a mountain of paper, disassembled and slated into the particular families and lack thereof involved.
Common-born, nobility, and royal families seems ideal, further detailed by time and left to Agathon to do with as he pleases.
As Alastor allowed himself an opportunity to rest, he inhaled the fumes of the cannibis incense that burned in the corner, allowing his troubled feelings to dissipate in the familiar embrace of intoxication that he worked so much better in.
Sixteen hours.
He'd counted it down in the back of his head, by the minute... ticking it away as he scripted to his heart's content. With no Master Informer in sight, Alastor was left to his work, reveling in the familiarity of it despite the troubling news that the embrace of cannibis was needed to properly digest.
Gods help us, he thought, as he took another breath of the incense cloud, putting out the burning end before tossing it out the portal and to the outside world. Little by little, it would dissipate, but the good feeling was there to stay.
Ever since her mother had announced her pregnancy Pia had felt off. It was a strange sort of anxiety that pooled in the pit of her stomach and only added to her usual level of worries. Instead of leaving Tisiphone with one of the maids, the woman had wrapped her daughter in a sling around her torso and covered them both in her himation. They were dressed warmly to combat the chill of the season, but without anything exceptional that would mark them as what they were. The wife and daughter of an absent king might have been targeted, especially by those who believed Irakles' lies, but a simple noblewoman and her child would likely be left alone.
She'd written the letter and enclosed a sketch that Imma had done of Tisiphone, the picture showing her blonde curls and big eyes, as well as the smile she had learned to share with the family. It was heartbreaking to know that Stephanos was missing this, that he was being dragged into a war that they had been working to avoid. A war that again was the fault of Irakles.
If the damned old man hadn't been so cruel and determined to take the throne for himself, none of this would have happened. She would have given birth in the palace with her family nearby, her husband wouldn't have been declared a traitor and had to flee from the city to save their lives. This war would not have started if Stephanos had been there to talk to the Egyptians when they arrived, as he had planned to do. Her sister would not now sit on the throne in a palace that was rightfully hers. And Stephanos would be ableto see his child growing up.
Given the difficulty in the world, she didn't know who to turn to in order to get the letter and sketch to her husband half a world away. In her short reign she had come to know the master informer as a trustworthy man, though clearly more loyal to the throne than a person. She was hoping that getting her letter in the next lot of correspondence being sent to the war front would be something within his abilities, else she had no real way of getting anything to him.
The office was one she was familiar with, giving a knock at the door before letting herself in and stopping short with her head tipped to the side. The boy, or perhaps a young man at the desk wasn't someone she'd seen before, but the stuff in his pipe was certainly familiar. Pia cleared her throat as she pulled her himation off of her head now that it was no longer needed to protect from the wind.
"Excuse me, I was expecting the master informer. Is he not in?"
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Ever since her mother had announced her pregnancy Pia had felt off. It was a strange sort of anxiety that pooled in the pit of her stomach and only added to her usual level of worries. Instead of leaving Tisiphone with one of the maids, the woman had wrapped her daughter in a sling around her torso and covered them both in her himation. They were dressed warmly to combat the chill of the season, but without anything exceptional that would mark them as what they were. The wife and daughter of an absent king might have been targeted, especially by those who believed Irakles' lies, but a simple noblewoman and her child would likely be left alone.
She'd written the letter and enclosed a sketch that Imma had done of Tisiphone, the picture showing her blonde curls and big eyes, as well as the smile she had learned to share with the family. It was heartbreaking to know that Stephanos was missing this, that he was being dragged into a war that they had been working to avoid. A war that again was the fault of Irakles.
If the damned old man hadn't been so cruel and determined to take the throne for himself, none of this would have happened. She would have given birth in the palace with her family nearby, her husband wouldn't have been declared a traitor and had to flee from the city to save their lives. This war would not have started if Stephanos had been there to talk to the Egyptians when they arrived, as he had planned to do. Her sister would not now sit on the throne in a palace that was rightfully hers. And Stephanos would be ableto see his child growing up.
Given the difficulty in the world, she didn't know who to turn to in order to get the letter and sketch to her husband half a world away. In her short reign she had come to know the master informer as a trustworthy man, though clearly more loyal to the throne than a person. She was hoping that getting her letter in the next lot of correspondence being sent to the war front would be something within his abilities, else she had no real way of getting anything to him.
The office was one she was familiar with, giving a knock at the door before letting herself in and stopping short with her head tipped to the side. The boy, or perhaps a young man at the desk wasn't someone she'd seen before, but the stuff in his pipe was certainly familiar. Pia cleared her throat as she pulled her himation off of her head now that it was no longer needed to protect from the wind.
"Excuse me, I was expecting the master informer. Is he not in?"
Ever since her mother had announced her pregnancy Pia had felt off. It was a strange sort of anxiety that pooled in the pit of her stomach and only added to her usual level of worries. Instead of leaving Tisiphone with one of the maids, the woman had wrapped her daughter in a sling around her torso and covered them both in her himation. They were dressed warmly to combat the chill of the season, but without anything exceptional that would mark them as what they were. The wife and daughter of an absent king might have been targeted, especially by those who believed Irakles' lies, but a simple noblewoman and her child would likely be left alone.
She'd written the letter and enclosed a sketch that Imma had done of Tisiphone, the picture showing her blonde curls and big eyes, as well as the smile she had learned to share with the family. It was heartbreaking to know that Stephanos was missing this, that he was being dragged into a war that they had been working to avoid. A war that again was the fault of Irakles.
If the damned old man hadn't been so cruel and determined to take the throne for himself, none of this would have happened. She would have given birth in the palace with her family nearby, her husband wouldn't have been declared a traitor and had to flee from the city to save their lives. This war would not have started if Stephanos had been there to talk to the Egyptians when they arrived, as he had planned to do. Her sister would not now sit on the throne in a palace that was rightfully hers. And Stephanos would be ableto see his child growing up.
Given the difficulty in the world, she didn't know who to turn to in order to get the letter and sketch to her husband half a world away. In her short reign she had come to know the master informer as a trustworthy man, though clearly more loyal to the throne than a person. She was hoping that getting her letter in the next lot of correspondence being sent to the war front would be something within his abilities, else she had no real way of getting anything to him.
The office was one she was familiar with, giving a knock at the door before letting herself in and stopping short with her head tipped to the side. The boy, or perhaps a young man at the desk wasn't someone she'd seen before, but the stuff in his pipe was certainly familiar. Pia cleared her throat as she pulled her himation off of her head now that it was no longer needed to protect from the wind.
"Excuse me, I was expecting the master informer. Is he not in?"
Alastor was in his reverie of completed work, and just as he heard the shuffle outside the door, he felt the beginnings of fatigue, how it waxed against the bridge of his nose and how his eyes wanted so desperately to fall shut. But, he'd wait it out. He'd let Agathon relieve him of duty, then allow himself the leisure of taking a day or two off. He'd well earned it by this point, and perhaps it would be just a smidge of revenge when the master informer had to work out this sorting system for himself.
Or, just leave and leave it to Alastor to explain it when he came back. Certainly, he had notes to add to the sorted stacks, and he was just about to make his argument for being able to leave before he realized.
You're not him.
Instead, a figure that stood just a few inches lower than him, holding a swaddled baby and what he presumed was some sort of correspondence in her hand. The way the himation whipped from around her shoulders told him that she wasn't just coming to drop something off, but there was more to it than simply that. In her gaze, he could read a sort of determination, implying the urgency of her business before she spoke. It was rather plain for him to see that she expected someone else. Who'd expect Alastor of Vasiliadon in this office? A nobody, beaten down by a prince, torn up by the loss of a cherished friend (and whatever else she was), his presence was little more than an echo agrip the litany of peasants that worked for the crown.
"Unfortunately, he is indisposed. But, I'm pleased to be of assistance, Miss..."
Taking a closer look at her, this woman had the bearing of nobility, if not higher still. The vassal houses held a similar stature, but they did not simply waltz into an office like this themselves. It was those with the power of royal blood behind them that tended to act with this sort of secrecy. But, he couldn't imagine why until...
Young child... Correspondence with the master informer...
Unfortunately, it was before Alastor's time, or he'd have known Olympia of Mikaelidas by the sight of her. A former queen, disgraced by suspect pretenses. He couldn't draw a definitive conclusion, as it could just as easily be some other woman in that very same. Xene of Mikaelidas? Not the current queen, certainly. He'd seen her once or twice since his return, though he drew no closer, mostly out of fear of the Crown prince's fists all over again.
He wondered sometimes, exactly what and where he needed to avoid to not suffer for his future's sake.
I can show my credentials like some sort of lanky guard. But, losing my anonymity is an equally grim prospect.
"If you'd like to wait around for him, I'm sorry to admit that he didn't tell me when exactly he planned to return."
The smell wafted out from a portal, little by little, and the Master Informer's apprentice had no intention of lighting up again until his guest was satisfied. Alastor felt the strain of sleep paired with the guiding hand of his high tickle at his senses, a pleasing shiver that worked down his spine even as he prohibited it from showing up on his face. There really was nothing to hide from the woman, but the mask of professionalism need remain in place at all times.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Alastor was in his reverie of completed work, and just as he heard the shuffle outside the door, he felt the beginnings of fatigue, how it waxed against the bridge of his nose and how his eyes wanted so desperately to fall shut. But, he'd wait it out. He'd let Agathon relieve him of duty, then allow himself the leisure of taking a day or two off. He'd well earned it by this point, and perhaps it would be just a smidge of revenge when the master informer had to work out this sorting system for himself.
Or, just leave and leave it to Alastor to explain it when he came back. Certainly, he had notes to add to the sorted stacks, and he was just about to make his argument for being able to leave before he realized.
You're not him.
Instead, a figure that stood just a few inches lower than him, holding a swaddled baby and what he presumed was some sort of correspondence in her hand. The way the himation whipped from around her shoulders told him that she wasn't just coming to drop something off, but there was more to it than simply that. In her gaze, he could read a sort of determination, implying the urgency of her business before she spoke. It was rather plain for him to see that she expected someone else. Who'd expect Alastor of Vasiliadon in this office? A nobody, beaten down by a prince, torn up by the loss of a cherished friend (and whatever else she was), his presence was little more than an echo agrip the litany of peasants that worked for the crown.
"Unfortunately, he is indisposed. But, I'm pleased to be of assistance, Miss..."
Taking a closer look at her, this woman had the bearing of nobility, if not higher still. The vassal houses held a similar stature, but they did not simply waltz into an office like this themselves. It was those with the power of royal blood behind them that tended to act with this sort of secrecy. But, he couldn't imagine why until...
Young child... Correspondence with the master informer...
Unfortunately, it was before Alastor's time, or he'd have known Olympia of Mikaelidas by the sight of her. A former queen, disgraced by suspect pretenses. He couldn't draw a definitive conclusion, as it could just as easily be some other woman in that very same. Xene of Mikaelidas? Not the current queen, certainly. He'd seen her once or twice since his return, though he drew no closer, mostly out of fear of the Crown prince's fists all over again.
He wondered sometimes, exactly what and where he needed to avoid to not suffer for his future's sake.
I can show my credentials like some sort of lanky guard. But, losing my anonymity is an equally grim prospect.
"If you'd like to wait around for him, I'm sorry to admit that he didn't tell me when exactly he planned to return."
The smell wafted out from a portal, little by little, and the Master Informer's apprentice had no intention of lighting up again until his guest was satisfied. Alastor felt the strain of sleep paired with the guiding hand of his high tickle at his senses, a pleasing shiver that worked down his spine even as he prohibited it from showing up on his face. There really was nothing to hide from the woman, but the mask of professionalism need remain in place at all times.
Alastor was in his reverie of completed work, and just as he heard the shuffle outside the door, he felt the beginnings of fatigue, how it waxed against the bridge of his nose and how his eyes wanted so desperately to fall shut. But, he'd wait it out. He'd let Agathon relieve him of duty, then allow himself the leisure of taking a day or two off. He'd well earned it by this point, and perhaps it would be just a smidge of revenge when the master informer had to work out this sorting system for himself.
Or, just leave and leave it to Alastor to explain it when he came back. Certainly, he had notes to add to the sorted stacks, and he was just about to make his argument for being able to leave before he realized.
You're not him.
Instead, a figure that stood just a few inches lower than him, holding a swaddled baby and what he presumed was some sort of correspondence in her hand. The way the himation whipped from around her shoulders told him that she wasn't just coming to drop something off, but there was more to it than simply that. In her gaze, he could read a sort of determination, implying the urgency of her business before she spoke. It was rather plain for him to see that she expected someone else. Who'd expect Alastor of Vasiliadon in this office? A nobody, beaten down by a prince, torn up by the loss of a cherished friend (and whatever else she was), his presence was little more than an echo agrip the litany of peasants that worked for the crown.
"Unfortunately, he is indisposed. But, I'm pleased to be of assistance, Miss..."
Taking a closer look at her, this woman had the bearing of nobility, if not higher still. The vassal houses held a similar stature, but they did not simply waltz into an office like this themselves. It was those with the power of royal blood behind them that tended to act with this sort of secrecy. But, he couldn't imagine why until...
Young child... Correspondence with the master informer...
Unfortunately, it was before Alastor's time, or he'd have known Olympia of Mikaelidas by the sight of her. A former queen, disgraced by suspect pretenses. He couldn't draw a definitive conclusion, as it could just as easily be some other woman in that very same. Xene of Mikaelidas? Not the current queen, certainly. He'd seen her once or twice since his return, though he drew no closer, mostly out of fear of the Crown prince's fists all over again.
He wondered sometimes, exactly what and where he needed to avoid to not suffer for his future's sake.
I can show my credentials like some sort of lanky guard. But, losing my anonymity is an equally grim prospect.
"If you'd like to wait around for him, I'm sorry to admit that he didn't tell me when exactly he planned to return."
The smell wafted out from a portal, little by little, and the Master Informer's apprentice had no intention of lighting up again until his guest was satisfied. Alastor felt the strain of sleep paired with the guiding hand of his high tickle at his senses, a pleasing shiver that worked down his spine even as he prohibited it from showing up on his face. There really was nothing to hide from the woman, but the mask of professionalism need remain in place at all times.
The news that the master informer was indisposed drew a sniff of disdain from the former queen, looking over the lad before her with a curious gaze. She didn't recognize him, but then again given how little she'd had to do with the master informer prior that didn't surprise her all that much. It was a last ditch and desperate hope that the man would be able to pass a message to Stephanos, much less be willing to do so given how little he'd done to help clear her husband's name. It was beginning to appear as if the trip had been wasted, but she wondered if the young man could be convinced with a coin to slip her letter in with other correspondence.
"I need to get a message to my husband. He is in Egypt, with the Greek forces." Pia didn't specify who she or her husband were just yet, best to test the waters and see what this new person said in regards to the possibility of a message being passed before she tried to use any kind of clout or bribe to get what she wanted. Tisiphone gave a little whine which drew her mother's attention, rocking and bouncing slightly as she held the girl close to encourage her back to sleep.
"Is that something you could do without bothering to wait around for the master informer's leisure?"
The man was already on her list, one of those who would be severely reprimanded if and when she managed to clear Steph's name and get them back in a position of power. To take things back from the sister who ignored her and took everything she had ever wanted. Perhaps if this boy proved useful enough he could see himself rise when she was finally back where she belonged.
A purse of coin at her belt gave a jingle, her hand reaching in for a small sum to tempt his answer and cooperation from him. "Could you ensure this reaches my husband's hands? It contains important news about our family."
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The news that the master informer was indisposed drew a sniff of disdain from the former queen, looking over the lad before her with a curious gaze. She didn't recognize him, but then again given how little she'd had to do with the master informer prior that didn't surprise her all that much. It was a last ditch and desperate hope that the man would be able to pass a message to Stephanos, much less be willing to do so given how little he'd done to help clear her husband's name. It was beginning to appear as if the trip had been wasted, but she wondered if the young man could be convinced with a coin to slip her letter in with other correspondence.
"I need to get a message to my husband. He is in Egypt, with the Greek forces." Pia didn't specify who she or her husband were just yet, best to test the waters and see what this new person said in regards to the possibility of a message being passed before she tried to use any kind of clout or bribe to get what she wanted. Tisiphone gave a little whine which drew her mother's attention, rocking and bouncing slightly as she held the girl close to encourage her back to sleep.
"Is that something you could do without bothering to wait around for the master informer's leisure?"
The man was already on her list, one of those who would be severely reprimanded if and when she managed to clear Steph's name and get them back in a position of power. To take things back from the sister who ignored her and took everything she had ever wanted. Perhaps if this boy proved useful enough he could see himself rise when she was finally back where she belonged.
A purse of coin at her belt gave a jingle, her hand reaching in for a small sum to tempt his answer and cooperation from him. "Could you ensure this reaches my husband's hands? It contains important news about our family."
The news that the master informer was indisposed drew a sniff of disdain from the former queen, looking over the lad before her with a curious gaze. She didn't recognize him, but then again given how little she'd had to do with the master informer prior that didn't surprise her all that much. It was a last ditch and desperate hope that the man would be able to pass a message to Stephanos, much less be willing to do so given how little he'd done to help clear her husband's name. It was beginning to appear as if the trip had been wasted, but she wondered if the young man could be convinced with a coin to slip her letter in with other correspondence.
"I need to get a message to my husband. He is in Egypt, with the Greek forces." Pia didn't specify who she or her husband were just yet, best to test the waters and see what this new person said in regards to the possibility of a message being passed before she tried to use any kind of clout or bribe to get what she wanted. Tisiphone gave a little whine which drew her mother's attention, rocking and bouncing slightly as she held the girl close to encourage her back to sleep.
"Is that something you could do without bothering to wait around for the master informer's leisure?"
The man was already on her list, one of those who would be severely reprimanded if and when she managed to clear Steph's name and get them back in a position of power. To take things back from the sister who ignored her and took everything she had ever wanted. Perhaps if this boy proved useful enough he could see himself rise when she was finally back where she belonged.
A purse of coin at her belt gave a jingle, her hand reaching in for a small sum to tempt his answer and cooperation from him. "Could you ensure this reaches my husband's hands? It contains important news about our family."
A husband in Egypt?
This was nothing surprising to Alastor, for many women's husbands were in Egypt, their very lives hanging in the balance in the midst of political squabbles that felt, at least to a boy like Alastor, entirely avoidable. However, the logician within him understood the nature of man to expand erratically, how the dark ambition within the puffed up chest of a ruler could swell at the audacity of being challenged by another's.
How dare they, the sarcastic grumble swept through his mind. He was lucky to have family whose skills were far better suited off the battlefield, who were so needed to run one of the larger smithies in Taengea that they were not asked to lay down their lives and limb for the cause. As for the boy himself? He was deemed unsuitable, more of a detriment to those on his side than a threat to anyone who would stand against him.
While Alastor was pleased to avoid the violence of war altogether, his (by definition the master informer's) desk was littered with intelligence, further reconnaissance that told a different story from what Agathon presented. To pass information to the battlefield for much of anyone, let alone a wife of influence... he wasn't sure that he was allowed to refuse. Not by, say, Agathon himself, but by his own morality. The protégé of the Master Informer offered his best smile to the woman, though perhaps it would seem unnatural upon his youthful countenance.
"Sending correspondence is hardly something I'd wish to bother Senator Agathon with, my lady."
He placed careful emphasis on the title, growing more and more certain of his suspicions. He thought on it more, considering among the men in the royal houses, who had gone to war? According to the reports he'd studied, the force sent to Egypt was very small. It wasn't in the realm of his understanding to place the logic of such a move, but regardless, it narrowed it down tremendously, if his instincts were to be believed.
You are Lady Olympia of Mikaelidas.
Was she still called that? Or was she a Leventi, again? The young protege figured it might be a sore subject, but seeing to the particulars of the exiled king's situation... Then he heard the jingle of coin. Alastor was taken aback by the nature to flash money for such a small ask from him. If he took a bribe for a trifle like this, then it spoke to just how susceptible he'd be to such tactics in the future. Shaking his head, Alastor waved off her efforts in doing so.
"There's no need for that, my lady. I'll be sure to have whatever missive you need sent to Colchian command. From there, I'm certain that any message will reach the prince."
He wondered if using that term of address might sting, given the scandals that were thrown at this woman's feet. It wasn't his place to delve deeper, or at least... it was, though he wouldn't be so callous about it as to do it so... overtly.
"You may take a seat, lady Olympia. If you please."
There was no need for further subtlety. With the concern the woman showed in coming here directly, seeking after the Master Informer himself, it would be unwise to continue along the premise of ignorance.
"Is this news meant to be a secret? If you would like, I can write it in a cryptogram. Familiar enough to be known but not so much so that if information falls into the wrong hands, it will be intercepted."
The reality of this ask was that Alastor could not provide her the assurances she was asking for.
"It is likely for this information to reach your destination for it. However, given that I am unable to oversee that delivery personally, it is impossible to guarantee it. My apologies, but I would like to help in any way I can."
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A husband in Egypt?
This was nothing surprising to Alastor, for many women's husbands were in Egypt, their very lives hanging in the balance in the midst of political squabbles that felt, at least to a boy like Alastor, entirely avoidable. However, the logician within him understood the nature of man to expand erratically, how the dark ambition within the puffed up chest of a ruler could swell at the audacity of being challenged by another's.
How dare they, the sarcastic grumble swept through his mind. He was lucky to have family whose skills were far better suited off the battlefield, who were so needed to run one of the larger smithies in Taengea that they were not asked to lay down their lives and limb for the cause. As for the boy himself? He was deemed unsuitable, more of a detriment to those on his side than a threat to anyone who would stand against him.
While Alastor was pleased to avoid the violence of war altogether, his (by definition the master informer's) desk was littered with intelligence, further reconnaissance that told a different story from what Agathon presented. To pass information to the battlefield for much of anyone, let alone a wife of influence... he wasn't sure that he was allowed to refuse. Not by, say, Agathon himself, but by his own morality. The protégé of the Master Informer offered his best smile to the woman, though perhaps it would seem unnatural upon his youthful countenance.
"Sending correspondence is hardly something I'd wish to bother Senator Agathon with, my lady."
He placed careful emphasis on the title, growing more and more certain of his suspicions. He thought on it more, considering among the men in the royal houses, who had gone to war? According to the reports he'd studied, the force sent to Egypt was very small. It wasn't in the realm of his understanding to place the logic of such a move, but regardless, it narrowed it down tremendously, if his instincts were to be believed.
You are Lady Olympia of Mikaelidas.
Was she still called that? Or was she a Leventi, again? The young protege figured it might be a sore subject, but seeing to the particulars of the exiled king's situation... Then he heard the jingle of coin. Alastor was taken aback by the nature to flash money for such a small ask from him. If he took a bribe for a trifle like this, then it spoke to just how susceptible he'd be to such tactics in the future. Shaking his head, Alastor waved off her efforts in doing so.
"There's no need for that, my lady. I'll be sure to have whatever missive you need sent to Colchian command. From there, I'm certain that any message will reach the prince."
He wondered if using that term of address might sting, given the scandals that were thrown at this woman's feet. It wasn't his place to delve deeper, or at least... it was, though he wouldn't be so callous about it as to do it so... overtly.
"You may take a seat, lady Olympia. If you please."
There was no need for further subtlety. With the concern the woman showed in coming here directly, seeking after the Master Informer himself, it would be unwise to continue along the premise of ignorance.
"Is this news meant to be a secret? If you would like, I can write it in a cryptogram. Familiar enough to be known but not so much so that if information falls into the wrong hands, it will be intercepted."
The reality of this ask was that Alastor could not provide her the assurances she was asking for.
"It is likely for this information to reach your destination for it. However, given that I am unable to oversee that delivery personally, it is impossible to guarantee it. My apologies, but I would like to help in any way I can."
A husband in Egypt?
This was nothing surprising to Alastor, for many women's husbands were in Egypt, their very lives hanging in the balance in the midst of political squabbles that felt, at least to a boy like Alastor, entirely avoidable. However, the logician within him understood the nature of man to expand erratically, how the dark ambition within the puffed up chest of a ruler could swell at the audacity of being challenged by another's.
How dare they, the sarcastic grumble swept through his mind. He was lucky to have family whose skills were far better suited off the battlefield, who were so needed to run one of the larger smithies in Taengea that they were not asked to lay down their lives and limb for the cause. As for the boy himself? He was deemed unsuitable, more of a detriment to those on his side than a threat to anyone who would stand against him.
While Alastor was pleased to avoid the violence of war altogether, his (by definition the master informer's) desk was littered with intelligence, further reconnaissance that told a different story from what Agathon presented. To pass information to the battlefield for much of anyone, let alone a wife of influence... he wasn't sure that he was allowed to refuse. Not by, say, Agathon himself, but by his own morality. The protégé of the Master Informer offered his best smile to the woman, though perhaps it would seem unnatural upon his youthful countenance.
"Sending correspondence is hardly something I'd wish to bother Senator Agathon with, my lady."
He placed careful emphasis on the title, growing more and more certain of his suspicions. He thought on it more, considering among the men in the royal houses, who had gone to war? According to the reports he'd studied, the force sent to Egypt was very small. It wasn't in the realm of his understanding to place the logic of such a move, but regardless, it narrowed it down tremendously, if his instincts were to be believed.
You are Lady Olympia of Mikaelidas.
Was she still called that? Or was she a Leventi, again? The young protege figured it might be a sore subject, but seeing to the particulars of the exiled king's situation... Then he heard the jingle of coin. Alastor was taken aback by the nature to flash money for such a small ask from him. If he took a bribe for a trifle like this, then it spoke to just how susceptible he'd be to such tactics in the future. Shaking his head, Alastor waved off her efforts in doing so.
"There's no need for that, my lady. I'll be sure to have whatever missive you need sent to Colchian command. From there, I'm certain that any message will reach the prince."
He wondered if using that term of address might sting, given the scandals that were thrown at this woman's feet. It wasn't his place to delve deeper, or at least... it was, though he wouldn't be so callous about it as to do it so... overtly.
"You may take a seat, lady Olympia. If you please."
There was no need for further subtlety. With the concern the woman showed in coming here directly, seeking after the Master Informer himself, it would be unwise to continue along the premise of ignorance.
"Is this news meant to be a secret? If you would like, I can write it in a cryptogram. Familiar enough to be known but not so much so that if information falls into the wrong hands, it will be intercepted."
The reality of this ask was that Alastor could not provide her the assurances she was asking for.
"It is likely for this information to reach your destination for it. However, given that I am unable to oversee that delivery personally, it is impossible to guarantee it. My apologies, but I would like to help in any way I can."
