vpstandings

A Clandestine Meeting of the Interminably Lachrymal Order of the Deniable Moth

Pt 1: Ariel

Arriving back at Stormguard, Ariel allows Constance a chance to freshen up before calling at her door. She can tell immediately, as at breakfast, that something (obviously the forthcoming meeting) is weighing on his mind. His personality is usually light and airy, but he seems subdued – the phrase ‘under a cloud’ springs to mind.

“My lady, I trust I am not interrupting anything important?”

“Prince Julian is settled and I am completely at your disposal Ariel,” she replies quietly.

“Ah! Good!” Ariel seems a little shifty. He looks up and down the corridor as if afraid someone might see him at Constance’s door, though they meet informally every day more or less. He drops his voice, presumably to avoid being overheard, and asks, “May I have permission to enter your chambers, my lady?” There is a tremulous note of apprehension in his voice.

“Why of course!” Constance stands back to give Ariel entrance and has a quick peek outside before she shuts the door to her chambers.

Ariel slips into the room and, most unusually for such a non-tactile person, places a gentle restraining hand on her arm, ensuring the door is shut as quietly as possible.

“Pardon the lèse noblesse, lady, but it is best that this matter remain unknown to the wider public, even unto mine own house. Ahem! Um… It… er… cannot have escaped your attention that our sovereign – may his reign never end – has seen fit to withdraw the charter for the Interminably Lachrymal Order of the Deniable Moth? That our Order is therefore, regretfully, no longer interminable, having been terminated.”

“You have already made me aware of that fact Ariel. But why the need for such secrecy right now – and with the scrying skills of your House are we entirely in privacy here?” she enquires with her voice low.

Ariel seems uncomfortable and looks down as he shuffles his feet. “It is, of course, a breach of etiquette to spy upon an honoured guest… but then we are at war… and we cannot assume that the powers-that-be, who so summarily dismissed our Order, will be so remiss as to not observe its members to ensure they do not contravene Royal Fiat… and we are, after all, about to do just that…”

Constance laughs very slightly. “Both my Lord Warden and I have been at the receiving end of such breaches of etiquette Ariel. But, if I am being observed what are the risks and how might they be mitigated?”

“The risks are serious, though probably worse for me than for you… probably.” Ariel reaches inside his robe and produces what looks like a folded tablecloth. He looks around and moves to the least cluttered wall. “Would you please help me remove this tapestry? We need to hang this in its place.” He waves the tablecloth.

Constance raises an eyebrow in curiosity and immediately moves to remove the tapestry from the wall.

Ariel lends two hands, having grown a stunted appendage on the spur of the moment just to hold the tablecloth. Once the tapestry is down and neatly laid over an adjacent sofa, Ariel unfolds the tablecloth and with Constance’s help hangs it in place of the tapestry.

Unfolded and hung, the tablecloth depicts a sunlit garden seen through a wicket gate set in a hedge.

Ariel holds out his hand to Constance. “My lady, please walk with me.”

Constance stares at scene consideringly and then turns her gaze on Ariel. She mentally counts to three, checks her weapons and then takes the offer of Ariel’s hand.

Ariel escorts her into the tapestry, opening the gate with his left hand, and then they are in the garden.

“We have just passed through a portable portal, no different to any you might find in Stormguard, save that it can be moved around and hung at will. It will make it that little more difficult to follow our progress, though it may make our return a little… fraught. Please, walk this way…”

Close up, the garden has all the appearance of a typical formal garden laid out in any country house estate, but something about it makes Constance’s skin crawl. It’s hard to put a finger on it. Is it the way each plant is completely individual, with no two alike – no species? Or the faint taint of putrescence under the sweet scent of flowers? Or that, instead of birds, winged reptiles and large insectoids flit about, some bristling with outsized stings or ovipositors? Or maybe it’s the way many of the flowers turn their heads, following them as they pass by, flicking foot-long whiplash tongues, trying to sting her into submission so they can consume her living body?

Yes, that’s probably it.

Ariel leads Constance by a complex route through the flowerbeds until they reach a dark hole in an artificial mound at the far side of the garden – an odd place for an ice-house, but that’s what it looks like.

“Here we are. Please enter, my lady.”

Constance baulks at the entrance. ”Ariel. This garden, this... place, it is unwholesome to me. Where are you taking me to?”

“Oh?” Ariel sounds slightly disappointed. “I had thought you might appreciate the natural environment, from my scant knowledge of your background.” He shrugs. “Forgive me, lady. We must follow a roundabout route past appropriate sentinels to ensure our security, but we are about to leave the garden…”

He leads the way into the ice-house and suddenly Constance is in an entirely alien environment. It is a large, open-plan office, deserted at night. Desks and workstations stand in crooked ranks, each bearing a computer monitor, each a different geometric shape, no two alike.

Again Ariel guides Constance through the office towards the far wall, which is a huge bay window with a view of city lights. As with the garden, Ariel chooses a circuitous route through the desks and Constance just knows that any other route might be quite fraught.

As with the garden, things react as they pass: small lights click on, items of electronic equipment hum and a rectangular box mounted on the wall swivels to follow their progress – a dark eye watching over a red security light.

Of course Constance knows nothing of such environments; the closest equivalent she has experienced is probably the inside of Castle Karm. This looks similar but feels different – no stench of undeath, but no less unsettling for all that.

Constance tries to retain a map through the rooms in her head. Her senses are heightened as she follows Ariel through such an unfamiliar environment. She is trying to identify why she is feeling so uneasy.

Well, aside from the likelihood of attack if she strays from a completely non-obvious path, or her utter unfamiliarity with hi-tech office environments, or the obvious sense of being watched by potentially malevolent non-human ‘things’, Constance cannot help feeling a pervasive, insidious sensation that the watcher is not so much hostile or inimical, as just very, very ‘other’.

Despite the lack of an obvious path, Constance has no trouble recalling the route Ariel leads her through – though she’s been long enough in Chaos now to know that the way back is not necessarily the same as simply reversing the way forward.

Ariel halts before the huge bay window which bulges forth from the side of the building the office is in. Far below Constance can see lights moving in what looks like a street. It’s a city such as Constance has never seen before, brilliantly lit – so bright it eclipses the stars.

“Now, I must warn you that the next bit is a little disconcerting.” Constance suspects her guide is guilty of a ‘little’ understatement here. “But just keep hold of my hand and all will be well.”

Constance’s eyes widen at the alien environment below and the brilliance of the lights. Remembering the circumstances of her arrival at Spectral and near loss of her stomach contents she takes her eyes from the scene below, nods stiffly in reply and takes Ariel’s proffered hand as she gazes at his face.

They step forward together into the glass of the window but instead of a portal taking them to another place, instead the glass proves completely non-corporeal. In perhaps the nastiest health and safety violation ever, Ariel and Constance walk through the window and find themselves plummeting down the face of the building.

If Julian has thought to inculcate a knowledge of mechanics and/or ballistics in his daughter, she can probably calculate in the time available that at three meters per floor, and an acceleration due to gravity of a little less than ten meters per second squared, it takes fractionally over six seconds to fall sixty floors to the hard paving of the street below.

…It feels far longer…

Constance stifles a scream by clamping her teeth together. Ariel’s hand might be bruised. Ariel’s teeth gape wide in what Constance is astonished to realise is rapture – he’s enjoying this!

Downward velocity gathers apace and the street seems to rush closer ever faster – damn, those paving stones look hard! Then suddenly, just as they are about to be smashed to pulp on the hard, hard ground, the street and the lights go away and they land, with only a slight jolt, in utter darkness. Constance feels dampness all around, in the ground, in the air – something else also pervades the air, it smells here, it smells a lot.

Ariel lets go her hand, she can hear him chuckling to himself. “I really like that bit, so invigorating!” He chuckles again. “Please bide while I create light.”

Constance chases the word for Burst of Toughness from her mind as her brain reminds her that she has hit ground level and is still alive. “Ariel. The air spirit from the Tempest. Of course you would enjoy such an experience,” and gives the entity a small smile. “I am not sure your warning to me was quite sufficient!”

Looking in the direction from where his voice emanated, Constance sees two eyes glow red momentarily. The next second a torch flares as Ariel holds it aloft.

“Oh?” He sounds slightly disappointed again and it occurs to Constance one of the reasons for this route might be his idea of entertainment. “Well, nearly there now. Pray, walk this way…”

“Perhaps it will be more exhilarating next time Ariel,” she responds. She follows him closely and her eyes strain to pick up any physical details around her – anything that might be the source of the smells about her.

Oh the source is very easy to find – they are walking through a brick-lined sewer. Thankfully their feet follow a solid walkway raised an inch or so above the stream of ordure below. Ariel is again leading her through a complex series of turns and Constance gets no sense that the sewers actually ‘flow’ to or from anywhere.

After a while it occurs to Constance that Ariel might have meant ‘Prey, walk this way’ since there are undeniable signs of predators all around – small creatures nest in niches and crevices in the brickwork but larger creatures – much larger creatures – lurk in the mire. She spots a tentacle as it briefly breaks the surface and soon after the wink of an eye betrays something crocodilian almost completely submerged.

But then Ariel announces “Here we are” and halts before a door. By torchlight Constance sees words in a language she cannot understand, however she also notes three symbols or glyphs which she has no trouble translating as ‘danger’, ‘death’ and ‘great pain’. Ariel knocks on the door in a short but complex rhythm, obviously a signal to someone within.

Constance keeps her hand on her dagger and keenly listens for movement around her. After the rap at the door she whispers, “Where have you brought me Ariel?”

He puts a finger to his lips just as the door is opened by a fearful reptilian creature that luckily Constance recognises as a fellow knight of the Order.

“Who is it, Dolchstoss?” growls a deep, fussy and officious voice from within.

“Zerstörer and Vorneweg, Herr Ubermeister,” hisses the reptile, with forked tongue.

“Ah, then let them in, we must not let our brethren wait at the door.”

Ariel leads Constance into what looks to her eyes as the same chamber they met in before, though the way to it has changed out of all recognition. As Ariel enters his form changes into a boiling fury of thundercloud shot through with tiny lightning flashes.

The rest of the Order is in stalls around the inside of the chamber decorated with their colours and arms. Ariel’s and Constance’s stalls are to either side of the Balrog’s.

The full Order, titles and their forms, in order of precedence, is as follows…

Ubermeister: Lord Sorpovin of Jesby – balrog

Zerstörer: Lady Constance of Amber – human

Vorneweg: Lord Ariel of Pheon – air spirit

Nachtherrin: Lady Rhanda of Vaal – vampire

Hartmann: Sir Vrachos of Petrus – animated statue

Eisigenrache: Sir Raureif of Winter – frost demon

Todmaschine: Sir Tupac of Yupanqui – cyborg

Grossehinrichtung: Sir Jahangir of Moghul – elephant with hand on trunk

Strahlendflieger: Dame Rachael of Seraph – angel

Dolchstoss: Sir Kageorgis of Spandrel – reptilian

Blitzstrahl: Sir Balarama of Indra – iron bodied human with golden hair

Eiferer: Sir Bo of Shang – oriental humanoid – deceased

Wunderschontod: Sir Hunac Ceel of Toltos – obsidian butterfly

Obviously, Bo of Shang is dead but almost everyone else has already arrived except for Rachael. Interestingly, Sir Bo’s stall still bears his arms.

[FYI, Constance has never openly displayed her arms before, since until the recent battle she was supposed to be keeping a low profile, but Julian has schooled her in the family heraldry.

In theory, all Oberon’s children could use the unicorn rampant on green with a mark of difference, but that would mean all of them wearing near identical shields and banners, which is unflattering to Amberite egos and frankly impractical on the battlefield, where the troops need to identify their particular lords at a glance.

Julian’s banner is very similar to Oberon’s unicorn rampant on green but Julian replaces the white unicorn with a grey horse. Constance can either difference Julian’s arms in some way or she can choose a different design entirely of her own choosing – it’s up to you.]

[Constance adopts the banner of a black horse rampant on green. Sadly very Lloyds Banking group but there ya go]

Constance acknowledges the Order members with a gracious nod. Curtseys to the Ubermeister and waits for a lead from Ariel or an invitation to take her stall.

Since all the other members are already ensconced and Ariel heads straight for his, it seems permission to sit is not needed. Unfortunately for Dolchstoss (Sir Kageorgis of Spandrel), his stall is right next to the door.

“Just Strahlendflieger to come now,” comments the vampiress.

The elephant-headed Asian warrior turns to Constance, “May I offer my heartfelt congratulations on the freeing of Prince Julian from bondage.”

The vampiress chimes in, “It is exactly the sort of thing our Order is… was… intended for.”

“Thank you both for your sentiments. I am both pleased and relieved at the outcome,” Constance smiles as she takes her stall.

An enquiry comes from the statue, “I trust your father is unharmed?” but before Constance can reply he is answered by the frost demon…

“We understand an arm is still healing but that injury was not inflicted by Karm.”

Constance addresses the Frost Demon. “Eisigenrache, your understanding is correct. Karm are merely responsible for my Lord Warden’s incarceration. His being drugged, me being lied to and their distinct lack of hospitality and inability to control their creatures is clearly another matter.”

The lizard man leans forward, his forked tongue flicking from his lips, “Lady Zerstörer, if you or His Royal Highness are seeking retribution for insults inflicted, might I offer the services of my house; Spandrell have certain gifts and much experience…?”

“Forgive me for enquiring, Dolchstoss,” interjects the obsidian butterfly in tones like the chiming of a gem of pure crystal, “But aren’t Spandrell about to be exiled…?”

Constance observes their interaction without speaking. Exile for Spandrell is news for Cousin William.

Dolchstoss’ eyes flash for a moment but his voice betrays no emotion, “Spandrell has been exiled before, never for long.” The forked tongue flicks the air again, as if tasting the butterfly’s words. “And those who set themselves against us seldom tarry long upon our return.”

“Brother knights!” growls the balrog from the highest chair, next to Constance, “we do not threaten, cajole or antagonise each other, especially at such a time as this.”

Both knights rise and bow to each other. “Your pardon, Dolchstoss, I meant no harm by my jest.”

“Likewise, Wunderschontod, my brother-in-arms need never fear Spandrell.”

Then comes a complex knock at the door. The butterfly resumes his seat while Dolchstoss lets in a radiant, wingéd angel – Constance recognises Rachael.

“Forgive my late arrival, brothers and sisters, a previous engagement ran late.” Furling her wings, she takes her stall, leaving only Sir Bo of Shang’s vacant.

“Entirely understandable, given the circumstances,” Ariel speaks for the first time from the other side of the balrog, to Constance’s left, “And are congratulations in order, sister?” Constance observes the vampiress next to her smirking.

“Not yet but soon, thank you Vorneweg.”

Constance gives Rachael a warm smile. She waits for Rachael to sit and looks expectantly to the Balrog.

Rachael smiles back, briefly but warmly, before looking to the balrog, who waits for everyone to settle.

“Brethren, as you know, this Order is dissolved by Royal Decree. Therefore this meeting is not happening and, should anyone ask, we are just a few like-minded friends enjoying pleasant and convivial companionship. Agreed?”

Starting with Ariel on his immediate left, his eyes sweep the other stalls and all present acquiesce until his gaze finally reaches Constance on his right.

Constance returns his gaze levelly and gives a slight incline of her head in response.

“We all know that our charter has been withdrawn but not all of us know why.” The balrog seems serene and Constance finds herself wondering if you can tell when such a demonic entity is smiling. “Vorneweg, can you summarise for us?”

The formation of mini-storms that is Ariel somehow looks as if it was hoping without much hope that he wouldn’t be called to speak but fatalistically accepts the task.

“One of our Order, the entity we know as Eiferer…”

“And that should have been a clue…” mutters the vampiress, sotto voce to Constance.

“…on behalf of our matron, took it upon himself to exact vengeance in the Opera House upon Lord William of Amber, who dealt with him summarily.

“Lord William’s grandmother, Queen Cymnea of Amber, took it upon herself to raise the issue in Council, asserting that this act of violence was in direct contravention of His Majesty’s directive that a truce with Amber should stand until after the funeral of the late King of Amber. His Majesty saw fit to find in her favour.”

Constance maintains her silence. Listening closely to the conversation and trying to read the individuals speaking.

“Well brethren, there you have it.” The balrog’s voice oozes self-satisfied pragmatism. “Now the question is, what do we do about it?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then the cyborg exclaims in a machine-like voice, entirely lacking inflection, “First, we must venerate Eiferer as a martyr to our cause.”

Rachael, sat next to him, stares aghast, too shocked to speak.

“Really?” Constance interrupts. “A zealot – a new member of the order took it upon himself to try and kill a soldier of known ability, fails, dies and you seriously believe he is a martyr? Seriously!” she finishes very coldly. “Where have his actions got our non-existent order?”

“Zerstörer has a point, Todmaschine,” the iron-man with golden hair weighs in with Constance, “for Eiferer to act thus, so precipitately, achieved nothing, and brought castigation down on our heads. We are an order and should not act alone.”

“Even supposing the attack on Lord William was just?” Rachael finds her voice – her cheeks are flushed with anger.

“Hear, hear!” comes from the vampiress and the elephant-headed warrior and it seems the cyborg is alone until the butterfly chimes in…

“You jest, Strahlendflieger; all here know it was he who killed our matron.”

“I do not actually, but I now know what some of you believe.” Constance pauses. “I have recently taken part in and observed an opera which gives a very different interpretation of who is responsible for our Matron’s death and I have a question arising from it. Was the account of politics delivered by the Opera consistent with your understanding of events?”

Ariel stirs uncomfortably and when he opens his mouth it’s with obvious reluctance. “I think we all… experienced the opera you mention. Obviously it was intended to stir muddy political waters and has done so successfully, but it was nonetheless historical fiction, not history itself.”

“Exactly! Thank you Vorneweg!” Todmaschine rallies to his cause. “And I go further: it was propaganda, pure and simple, intended to besmirch our sovereign…”

“Who is quite capable of besmirching himself,” interjects the vampiress, dryly.

“…I say that Lord William is known to have destroyed Diptera in its entirety, including the Kaiser and Kaiserin, and to this day claims the title of Rimlord Bane.” Despite his fiery diction the cyborg’s voicebox betrays not one scintilla of emotion.

The statue speaks for the first time. “It is true that Lord William directly caused the demise of the Deniable Moth, and I would be the first to advocate vengeance against his person…”

Rachael and Constance open their mouths to remonstrate but the statue raises his hand, bidding them let him finish – his voice is the epitome of reason.

“…but yet there is a time and a place, and with His Majesty announcing the truce, that time cannot be now.”

Constance frowns slightly. “In that case, I have a request and a question of my fellows. Give me another version of the events that occurred. Then tell me how William actually killed the deniable Moth? He may have been used to destroy House Diptera but he did not make the decision not to rescue the Moth from the Abyss. The person, or people, who made that decision are her murderers. Not William of Amber.”

Rachael clearly agrees with Constance but generally around the Order there is a shaking of heads.

“Your logic is flawed, Zerstörer,” golden-haired Blitzstrahl advises gently, “if a knight be struck down by an assailant, you cannot claim his death lies at the hands of another who may have interposed a shield but did not so do. It is the assailant, who strikes the blow, who has the main culpability.”

Grossehinrichtung nods his elephant-head sagely, “And even so, that assumes it may have been possible to save her – all her house expired, none were saved, ergo it was not possible to save anyone.”

“If it were not possible to save anyone, how was it that both Augustus Swayvil and Lord William were saved?”

Todmaschine replies first, metronomically, “By what intelligence do you know this? Were you there?”

“Of course I was not there but I would very much like to hear your version of the event,” she replies mildly.

“I think what Brother Todmaschine is saying, somewhat obliquely, is that it is only the opera that suggests His Majesty was involved at all – if we assume, as I’m sure we’re meant to, that ‘Magnus’ is cognate with ‘Augustus’.” Again it is the cold, hard voice of the statue that breathes reason into the discussion. “Ergo, without the opera, any other version would leave him out.”

“Which leaves Lord William as the sole perpetrator of a genocide,” concludes the butterfly.

“Again,” says Constance brightly. “I have not been given an account of the events surrounding the death of the Moth. I would like to hear all of the accounts of her death with the exception of the one given in the Opera. I would also appreciate it if the accusations made against Lord William concentrated on an alleged murder rather than a genocide.”

The balrog growls from Constance’s immediate left. “Zerstörer, I find it hard to understand why you are being so obtuse, is it deliberate? There was only one survivor. How many accounts do you think there are?”

“I regret my behaviour Ubermeister,” she inclines her head towards him. “Might it be more fruitful to return to your opening question instead?”

“By his own admission,” chimes in the butterfly, evidently feeling the topic still has wings, “and public gloating by ‘foul and despicable’ Ascaris, Lord William slaughtered a house of over a hundred entities, plus demons, with not a single survivor.”

Ubermeister continues to eye Constance sitting next to him and does nothing to stop Todmaschine continuing in the same vein. “An entire house annihilated – what is your definition of genocide?”

Everyone goes quiet. Ubermeister slowly smiles.

Constance calmly replies, “Please do not let us resort to name-calling, Wunderschontod. Todmaschine, a commonly recognised definition of genocide is that it is a deliberate act committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a group. Although Lord William may have committed an act which caused a genocide, it has not been determined if the act was deliberate or, indeed, if he was aware of the consequences of his action which was, after all, one of defence.

“Now Ubermeister,” she returns his smile, “might we return to your agenda?”

“Certainly, Zerstörer.” The balrog’s tone is warm and engaging but Constance gets the distinct impression that he feels a point has been scored. More to the point, he clearly feels a score against Constance is a score for him.

Looking round the table, Constance can see that Rachael is aghast, while the vampiress and the frost demon look uncomfortable. The cyborg and butterfly are preening themselves. Everyone else either has little emotional investment in the argument or are simply too hard to read – Constance puts the statue and the elephant-headed warrior in the latter category.

“Now brethren,” continues Ubermeister as serenely as it is possible for an 8-foot balrog to sound, “Hartmann made an interesting point before our little digression; you seem to think Eiferer’s challenge was mistimed?”

“Hmm? Yes… well my point was that, whatever the justice of the deed, Eiferer should never have embarked on such a course without the support and authority of the Order.”

“How many agree with Hartmann?”

There follows general acquiescence from Ariel, the vampiress, the frost demon, elephant-head and the golden-haired iron-man but only Dolchstoss speaks…

“Eiferer was incompetent, had I wielded the blade, Lord William would never have seen his assailant.”

“Spandrell had their chance, yet William still walks,” observes the frost demon, witheringly.

Constance remains still and listening. At some point she flicks a glance at Rachael, who has been quiet for some time now. During the argument over William’s genocidal tendencies, she seemed aghast at the turn of the conversation and since Constance’s capitulation she’s avoided catching her eye. She’s still not looking at Constance but there’s a glimmer of steely determination in her expression.

“Eiferer acted with our permission,” states Ubermeister, to general astonishment, “and he did not act alone.”

The butterfly giggles in the silence.

“Your pardon for being just a Ranger, Ubermeister, but do I understand ‘our permission’ to mean the permission of the Order or your permission?” Constance asks.

“The two are one, Zerstörer – I am Ubermeister, am I not?”

“Of a now disbanded Order, Ubermeister. I applaud you! You have taken a gifted and useful group of individuals and caused the dissolution of an entire Order. Do you share blood lines with Oggil perchance?” She finishes, speaking mildly with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Constance!” exclaims Ariel, forgetting himself, “…I mean Zerstörer; you cannot speak so to the head of our Order. Where is your sense of propriety?” Many, but not quite all, around the circle, shake their heads in disapproval. Rachael even blushes. Only the vampiress smirks.

“I might regret the slur on bloodlines,” Constance acknowledges. “My point stands.”

“No, it does not!” interjects the statue, coldly. “Do you think this is a democracy? Ours is an Order, Zerstörer. Furthermore your words were extremely intemperate and ill-considered.”

“Or do you think casting ridiculous aspersions on the lineage of our members does you or your arguments any credit?” This is from Rachael, who is finally making eye contact – she looks angry, but it’s a cold anger, Constance realises she’s that type.

Constance hears a snicker from the vampiress.

“No!” Constance pauses. “No. It does not. My words and tone credit me not and I... unreservedly apologise for them.” She bows her head deeply to the Ubermeister and to her fellows.

“Excellent!” growls Ubermeister with delighted bonhomie, “Such marvellously well-oiled contrition, daughter of Amber, and I trust it not a whit – please be sure that if you utter one more word in such vein to any of us here you shall be dismissed from the Order forthwith. Do I make myself clear on this?”

Constance catches audible sighs of relief from several around the room, including Rachael, though from his reaction she’s not sure Ubermeister hears them. She thinks the butterfly hears at least one, though, from the way his head swivels to his right. But evidently some in the Order were expecting a more serious response.

Constance mentally notes the names related to the sighs of relief and does not move from her current position nor does she speak.

Rachael and Blitzstrahl, sitting between her and Wunderschontod, definitely seem relieved; so is the vampiress to Constance’s right and possibly the frost demon beyond her. The statue and elephant-head are too hard to read. She thinks Ariel avoided sighing by simply holding his breath.

“I asked, Zerstörer, if you understand my meaning?”

“I understand your meaning, Ubermeister,” she replies.

“Wonderful!” Ubermeister surveys the rest of the Order. “Now, where were we?”