This place was too beautiful.
Aranya stood on an open balcony, and breathed deeply as a soft breeze carried the fragrances of different flowers and oasis plants, with the misty scent of water, weaving over her skin and through her raven hair like invisible ribbons caressing her. Rariv'sha Muerte's island truly was a paradise, with it's natural beauty, its marvelous architecture, and the hospitality of its queen leaving nothing to be desired. The night spent here had been restful and content, the morning dawned in breath-taking views of the rising sun and a delicious breakfast.
This was an exotic realm that Aranya would not dream of saying "no" to re-visiting.
The magical defenses that the madame had hired the arcanist for had been executed perfectly.
Aranya reached out to the enkindled core with her senses, getting a feel for the pulse and pattern of its power and raised one hand in a arcane gesture, keeping sync with it. She shifted her focus to the six rune marks that she had placed around the island, and extended her other arm fully, fingers spread like she was catching at individual strands of a spider's web, and slowly drawing them together. Madame Rariv'sha Muerte watched silently, keeping track of the other woman's movements with a twitch of her index finger. Lord Ebonsteele kept his gaze flickering between between the madame and the work of the arcanist, silent, keeping his words and his thoughts withheld. Aranya began incanting unfamiliar words under her breath, as the power began to crackle around her slender fingers, weaving an fusing together. Then she made slow, smoothing gestures, keeping her awareness on the shift in power, until it all settled into a new rhythm. The arcanist took a deep breath. "It is done," she said.
She could feel the whisper of her own energy's fingerprint in the distance when she closed her smoldering green eyes.
Unfortunately, that was not the only thing that the Thalassian sorceress could feel.
Very close to the madame's abode, a grand, magnificent tree grew.
It reeked of dark magic.
Aranya was particularly sensitive to magic, even for an elf, and the tree was of such power that it left her feeling a little bit uncomfortable, physically. She said nothing about this to the madame, however. The arcanist had worked for clients and benefactors who were inclined to darker energies numerous times in the past. As long as everyone upheld their end of the arrangements, she didn't make judgements or pose questions about what they did.
… So what left her feeling so uneasy about it this time?
A thought, repetitive and unwelcome, came to the forefront of Aranya's mind. If a second personification of herself had been standing next to her, she would have smacked it and said, "Stop it, shut up."
Kurel.
Thoughts of the horned elf seemed to constantly skitter around the edges of her mind like the scorpid he so embodied, darting into the light and then lurking away in the dark again. Ever since their last meeting. He'd given her a small ivory scarab token with its wings closed. On the underside of its flat belly was something akin to a map, without clear directions of where, and Tanari hieroglyphs etched into the bone edge.
"Don' ge' hung in the middle, bu' you do. You go lookin' where you ain' supposed to. Askin' wha' you ought no' an' ge' yourself in deeper than you should, you show this. You go compliantly where you taken, you tell'em everythin'. Where I am. What I'm doin'– where to fin' me. I'll come ge' you out of it."
What the fel did it all mean?
Aranya placed her palms together by her chin, her fingers interlacing and steepling in front of her mouth, her index fingers to her lips in ponderous thought, her fel-kissed gaze looking into infinity at nothing.
Rariv'sha had the scent of dark power around her. It was unmistakable. Interesting thing was, Kurel did, too. Yet, the scarab queen had every indication of having embraced the powers at her command, while the captain seemed… stupidly lucky. Aranya knew from personal experience, possessing power without taking responsibility for it was dangerous.
You had to either master it for yourself or someone else would step in and become master for you.
How was Kurel keeping things under control, given his obvious aversions to magic?
Mavas, came the immediate guess. It made sense. The warlock obviously cared about him, and had his trust. It wouldn't be a stretch to believe that he had done something to allow Kurel to go day to day, walking around like a powder keg with no fuse yet attached to it. Aranya only hoped that however it was done, that it lasted.
Turning one palm up, the phoenix-mage breathed, "Felomin ashal…"
Fire appeared in her hand, and she uttered a name to it, "Grell…" Aranya thought of the gregarious sprite who belonged to Opheron, and now assisted her in her role as the new head of the Eclipse Syndicate with his master's retirement. "Grell, do you hear me?"
"Miss Rainy!" Squeaked the voice of an unsurprisingly excited Grell, and Aranya smiled wryly, eyes a-twinkle. The little sprite never could get her name quite right. Rainy was the closest he could manage to Aranya, and so it stuck.
"Grell, I need you to get a message to Hawke," ordered the arcanist. "Tell him I'm ready for a day, time, and place. He'll understand once you tell him who sent you, and don't let him intimidate you just because he's a warlock."
Aranya turned and leaned back against the balcony, one elbow resting on it lazily. "Then I need you to make an appearance to the Land's End home of Colpeia Beamgully - the 'math-mage' friend of mine I told you about."
Some very excited utterances of delight at finally getting to personally meet the Tanari illusionist filtered through the flames from Grell.
"And remember to use those impeccable manners Opheron and Althaea taught you," said the arcanist. "You're to finalize arrangements with Colpeia and her sultana for me to meet with them to discuss a formal trade arrangement between the Eclipse Syndicate and the Eclipse Weaver tribe as their international partner." Pointedly, she added, "I want the best buyers from all the known worlds for them. Whatever loops we have to pull over any sanctions or tariffs that would normally get in the way, we'll do it for them."
"Grell see Captain Horns, too?" The sprite asked. Amazingly, Aranya succeeded at not laughing. He could only mean Kurel.
"Why? What about him?" Aranya asked.
"Business for Captain Horns!" Grell squeaked. "We be very good business, Miss Rainy," he insisted.
Aranya thought, for a long, hard moment. "No," she said.
All kinds of blustered, confused sounds fed back to her from the flame. Clearly such a decision made no sense to the sprite.
"You're to make no approach to him yet," said the arcanist firmly. "He's already heard that I'm the Eclipse Syndicate's new head. Whether or not he was paying attention at the time doesn't matter, he was there - standing right across from me - at General Winters' ball when I said it. He heard." Aranya turned to lean forward over the balcony now, one hand resting on it. "And I mentioned Opheron's name, among other things, the last time I saw him. He's not a fool, Grell. You drop only the right few words in the right places, but no more than that; those words will get back to his ears and he'll put the pieces together on his own."
Her tone went a notch softer, "I just need to have more behind me by the time that he does."
"Other business before Captain Horns' business?" Grell asked, sounding like he wanted to be sure he had that straight and that it was what she really wanted.
"Yes, Grell," answered Aranya with a smile.
A pause followed. Then the question, "What if Captain wants Miss Rainy to talk before other businesseseses?"
"Then you let that be my concern, whether he decides to be cross with me or decides he just wants to discuss," answered Aranya. "As to other matters, don't worry yourself about the prospects in Gadgetzan. I'll be handling those myself, personally. I'll be discussing deals in Silvermoon tomorrow that should get things in motion with that, and I also need to talk to Halenvar about an idea that could benefit the Scions in this as well. Shorel'aran."
Aranya closed her fist, and the flame doused, along with its connection to the hearth-fire of Opheron and Althaea. She bent down, as if to scratch the inside of her ankle, but in truth she was brushing her fingertips over the ivory scarab that Kurel had given her, slipped just beside one of her boot-knives.
I swear, for once, it's not because of how I lack trust in you, she thought, but didn't say aloud. It's because I'm suddenly afraid of how I may be starting to.