I would like to thank the discord group as usual, and I will also simultaneously regret to inform everyone that my Crimson Flower playthrough is going very, very, very slowly. I finished the Zanado chapter and I'm gonna go for Lonato's head, hahaha…happy Friday.
"My good sir! I would like to introduce you to a colleague of mine. Perhaps that might help expedite the process…you don't want to stay here longer than necessary, and neither do we…"
The man looked well, all things considered. He showed no signs of emaciation, and, apart from his dirty clothes, the shackles pinioning him to the wall, the difficulty he had adjusting to the spelled light illuminating his cell—the very thought of having a prisoner involved in all this suddenly made the situation far more frightening—he seemed to have all his faculties in order.
"I take it this doesn't actually mean I'm to be released any time soon?" The prisoner licked around his cracked lips. Stubble roughened his face, already craggy with years of sun, salt, and sweat.
"Of course not, but you're welcome to ask either way," was the mysterious Blackmailer's (they had to have a title at this point) flippant reply. They withdrew the sheaf of papers from within their gaudy silk robes and waved them in the captive's face. "First things first, sir—"
"Gregor. Won't have you calling me an 'it' or whatever."
"I don't really care, but thank you for being polite, I suppose. Now…Gregor. Whence you came by these? They look very important."
He had no idea how long Gregor had been kept down there; knowing the Blackmailer, however, it involved devious subterfuge, some awful secret or two held dangling over its victim. He wondered what exactly this Gregor was hiding to end up in…wherever they were. All he knew for certain was that this lay far below the known foundations of Ylisstol Castle. The stale air reeked of centuries of damp. Not even rats seemed to have braved these levels, dark and secluded as they were. A chilling atmosphere kept his breath bated, waiting, hoping not to find something else waiting in the gloom. But all he saw was Gregor, chained to the wall and staring back with a stubborn resolution.
The Blackmailer obviously did not like that, of course.
"Think about how strange your circumstances were when we met, yes?" They fanned their rouged face delicately. "We all know that it's far better to save yourself any future difficulties rather than try to play the hero. I imagine you've got a wife and little girl waiting back home…don't you want to see them? Shouldn't that child get to see daddy again, safe and sound?"
They were threatening him? Oh no, no, he most certainly did not want to get mixed up in that sort of business. "N-now see here, you! What are you doing, skulking about in–in wherever we are, handling a p-p-prisoner of all things! What does that have to do with the Plegians?"
"If you'd have bothered to let me finish talking, then you would have learned in good time that this man here is responsible for having provided passage to that particular Plegian you spend so much time moaning over. Can't enjoy the simple pleasures of a preamble without a sermon," they scoffed, rolling their eyes.
The…Gregor brought him to Ylisstol?
Coin was precious these days. Lucky as he was to stay within the castle's walls enjoying all the privileges that came with it, one would have to be wilfully ignorant to the poverty that war wrought: interrupted trade routes, fields lying fallow and rotten, marauders prowling the countryside on the hunt for the weak and vulnerable. That the need for money forced Ylisseans to stoop to taking on Plegians…had they no decency? No shame? At the very least any respectable man, or anyone calling themselves a man, ought to have a sense of patriotism, of piety, of love for home and country and the desire to stand against all that threatened it. Ylisse had barely come out of armed conflict that pitted it against her sworn enemies…yet this Gregor thought nothing of bowing and scraping to one of their highest enemies of all.
The Blackmailer knew his thought process, could read his expression as easily as a picture-book. Either he was far more transparent than he thought or they were simply very practiced schemers. Neither prospect did little to quell the burning in his heart.
"See how much more straightforward it is when I do most of the talking?" they laugh-hissed.
He could not find it in him to respond.
Gregor stared calmly from the wall, but the harsh little light swinging hostilely in his face brought out a stubbornness, a clear challenge in his eyes.
"Now then…back to the task at hand." The Blackmailer sorted through the documents until they found the writ bearing that ugly wax seal. They flipped it lazily, painted nails scratching softly over the parchment. "This was found on your person, Gregor. Its contents…well. They certainly paint a rather odd picture." They cleared their throat so ostentatiously that one might think they would actually cough. "'This Writ is to be proof of my Authority. I am charged with organising a Search Party to locate His Highness Prince Daraen and bring him to Safety by the Power of the Theocracy of Plegia.' My my! That certainly is a mouthful…"
"Oh, get on with it. What do you want?" Gregor sighed.
The Blackmailer frowned, so clearly unused to not having a scared audience—and one that talked back as well. Back-talk was never tolerated. "I'm not done. Let me finish."
"Gold? A favour? If you want something from the Plegian's t'ain't me who's the right one to ask."
"These were in your possession."
"Got them papers, found the lad, got shipwrecked together, brought him here, left to go back home. Nothing simpler to it. All that fuss, and clapping irons on me, all because you let some silly notions fly into your head."
"You are a journeyman of sorts, yes? Mercenary is much too crude a word, I think…but it's rather obvious to see that you know your way around a sword, and those instruments in your bag tell me sea-work is something you are familiar with. The Plegian hired you. If the job is done, then why keep a contract for a search party of all things?"
"I can be forgetful sometimes. War's confusing and the lad's people were worried for him. I did my job and got paid and that's it."
"And yet," the Blackmailer drew out the word with relish, "the coin in your pouch is wholly Ylissean. Not a single Plegian samtar in sight. Odd enough for a Plegian to rely on the services of an Ylissean, but to pay an Ylissean in Ylissean gil is odder still."
Gregor started to laugh. It was a wheezy, salty old-dog sound, rough and cheerful in a way that spoke of many years of dealing with nonsense. "Ya daft? 'Course I'd want to get paid in gil! I've no interest in going all the way to Plegia right now, and the lad can't exactly go his way through Ylisse with Plegian money, can he? Come back and interrogate me when you've somethin' substantial to ask!"
The Blackmailer smiled serenely, seemingly unperturbed. He knew better than to trust first impressions though, and wavered between pitying Gregor's lack of forewarning or wondering what exactly they were planning now that their prisoner was laughing in their face.
Something told him they were actually rather good at interrogations.
"I think you're lying, Gregor. I think you're hiding something from us. Something suspicious enough about that Plegian. It's only natural to be curious, don't you think?" They kept smiling.
"What I think is that you're absolutely mad," Gregor said.
"From madness comes great visionary genius simpletons like you are incapable of ever understanding. I have ways of getting what I want. Knowing things I need to use. And you, smelly, wretched dog that you are, have no hope of hiding them from me. I know something is afoot with that boy," they hissed, terrifyingly cold and sharp and all pretense of congenial smugness gone. "Whatever it is, I will find out. And you will be very, very sorry for even thinking you could talk down to me."
There was something foreboding about seeing the Blackmailer lose their composure, drop their usual grinning act. Ah, they had been so careful about introducing themselves with airs of silvery secrecy. Of total control. But when a challenge arose to that image…
Not for the last time, he wondered if this was worth it.
Regardless of how correct anyone is or not over who the schemers are, I'm still committed to staying silent over them until the reveal chapter actually comes up. Our next chapter is far more lighthearted though! It's supposed to be Funny™! So don't worry too much—the negativity won't be so strong here.