Cirron found himself cringing with every word the glowering nobleman spat out. At this point he really didn't know what he thought of this entire affair, what he thought of this fabled Phantom Grey who'd suddenly appeared in the cell next to his. All he knew was that the Phantom's fervent words caught him in a net of intensity, and he felt himself vehemently agreeing. Wives and children scrabbling in the dirt for food! Yes, for the past months, yes! Even now, as he languished in prison, his family could be homeless, foodless, starved to -

He forcefully shook himself out of it. Pressing his unkempt face against the bars, he began gruffly, "You believe... you believe you can save us."

---------

"Skilled warrior?" Jais piped up, having tuned into their conversation after a moment of observing an incomparably interesting stalactite on the ceiling. He scowled. "I'm right here, you know. Hasn't your mother ever taught you that it's impolite to talk about people behind their backs?"

Breaking into a jog to catch up with both quickly striding superiors - and nearly walking into an abrupt turn in the tunnel wall - he added, "This compliment session is great and all, but it's hard on my physique. Can't you slow down? And by the way, you seem to have forgotten that The Genius got himself landed in prison like some damsel in distress. I say we should simply leave him there, but then again, that's just me."

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The Phantom turned, eyes flicking to regard Cirron with all the passionate intensity of before. Their depths, hard and unyielding before, softened marginally. "Believe? I know." He released his grip, tight enough to crush, on the bars. It seemed ridiculous, now, to think that mere bars could hold this wild tiger of a man.

But momentarily the impression was gone and he was a grey-cloaked figure again, who lowered himself to the soiled straw with a glint in his eyes. "Young fool," he muttered. "They all think that, every one of them."

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Nat practically floated, if such a thing was possible for a gangling man with two left feet on his hands instead of his feet, over to Ardan. His eyes sparkled, and he was all about to go on a wonderfully theoretical spill about money- when the boy asked his name.

Now who, in the name of all things average and normal, asks a chap's name upon meeting? This was ludicrous.

"Uh, Nataniel, Nataniel Trovoglyst." he said, nodding sharply in an impressive (or so he thought) manner. "No need to stand on these formalities though; let's move on shall we?" He nodded again, mostly to himself, in a superior fasod. "The matter is, we are so low on useful men here you know. Men who aren't going gallivanting off for that pitiful leader, the Ghastly Ghost, er, whatever it is they call him. Not like he doesn't DESERVE a little rescue party now and then, but there's no get in it."

He pulled out a small bag of coins from inside his coat, which was woefully limp.

"See?" he said, he brow wrinkled in mock distress. He returned the bag back to it's place with a wrenching sigh, and looked inquisitively at the boy.

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<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Elizabeth staired at the back of Cato's head. Maybe it was a bad choice to trust him. she thought, but shrugged it off, and looked around, looking for signs that would indicate that the Phantom had been captured...

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(}--{)Imagination Inspires Ideas -Zandain(}--{)
Married Cloud Strife 9/17/08

"Oh inn's! I know this town better than my own mothers face!" (Which was quite true, since he had never met his real mother.) "Positively abounding with inn's, flourishing all over the place. Brilliant idea, that, we'll find and inn and I'll tell you more of my plan."

Although his face was positively twitching with impatience to leave this place already (what was it called again? The Devil's Teeth?) he also found the idea of food strongly appealing. And at all costs, he must keep this fellow happy if he was to aid him any in his, departure.

Putting an amicable hand on Ardan's shoulder, he turned him sharply to the left and walked a ways down an ill-paved path. Every couple of moments he would slow his pace and smile cordially, secretly wary of the steeds. Horses, for some odd reason, never seemed to like him, or appreciate his light person. It wasn't like he was a fat, pompous lord, wearing all sorts of irritating material and spurring a horse on to a speed which would have been a rough jog for even a lighter man, much less one who possessed a bit more weight on their person than they probably should. And the horse would tolerate this lord with angelic patience; but when Nataniel set a foot near them they attempted to bite off his head. Despicable beasts.

By an uncanny streak of luck, the busy street they were on led straight up to an inn of a smaller sort. It was painted a bright shade of blue, and carried a certain air of cheery warmth about it. As they reached the entrance, Nat held up a hand in Ardan's face.

"Now just give me a minute with the innkeeper son," (Nat insisted on calling everyone "son", even should they be no more than two years his junior), "...and you take care of your horses there," he pointed a gangling finger towards the beasts, stepping backwards as he did so with what reminisced of slight fear.

One, two, three confident strides, and he was inside the inn. The keeper looked at him with dull eyes. "Name and business," he said in a voice nasal and slightly inebriated.

"Why Therence... my good old lad, how pleasant to see you again!"

The man stared at him, swaying in his seat a bit, and noted "My name isn't Therence."

"Of course, of course, and I suppose you don't remember me either, do you?" Nat replied in a joking sort of way.

"I can't say that I do..."

"Of couse you can't, don't want people getting jealous of me do you?" He grinned presumptuously, and added, "I'll take some ale and a warm meal, that table-" jerking his head to the corner, "and see that no one disturbs us. Thanks Therence! You're primo."

"My names not-" but before the boggled man could finish, Nat had sauntered off again for the door.

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<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

"Curse you, show me the Phantom!"

Eledhe spoke the words yet again, performed the magical gestures yet again, and glared at the stubbornly blank mirror for the umpteenth time. It was an affair nearly the size of an entire wall, that was still mockingly reflecting her own image. It was that of a dark-haired mercenary-turned-mage, practically crimson with fury. Eledhe muttered a few choice words and turned away, resisting the temptation to throw something breakable.

"Having trouble?"

She whirled. The smaller mirror lying on her cluttered desk, an affair sized more nearly to the spread of her fingers, was speaking. Eledhe snatched it up and glared. "I'm not in the mood for games. Talk."

"And I thought you were passably intelligent." The smirking sorcerer in the mirror met her glare coolly.

"I am."

"Then you'll discover presently that a certain trinket on the Phantom's person prevents him from being scried." The smirk widened. Eledhe found herself desiring very much to curse profusely.

"And I suppose you know how to remedy this."

"Indeed. He's in a cell, yours to liberate. Regent's dungeons, second level down, third cell from the left in the first aisle."

"I'll thank you not to patronize me, Redegias, I can find him quite well enough on my own." Eledhe flung down the mirror, not bothering to continue the conversation. She'd given the Phantom the very trinket that prevented him being scried, an oversight that already she was berating herself for. Well. At least plans were now progressing.

The dark-haired young woman charged out of her extensive chambers, pausing to carefully lock the door behind her. Those she needed to talk to would be down a level, to the right, and - ah. Kjan, who she needed, and the Princess, who she didn't.

"Ah, the very one I'm looking for." Eledhe sauntered forward, pointedly ignoring Silvryn. "Kjan, glad you made it back in one piece. Unfortunately I think a comrade we both know is going to need some liberating. T'will require venturing back out into Regent's territory." She smiled. Eledhe knew exactly how attractive she was, and how to use it. "Such are the benefits of scrying."

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(ok I keep getting left behind ... and sence my character isn't all that inportant to the storyline ... I think I'm gonna just drop out of this one ... Thanks)

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Jate smoothly mounted his dark bay horse, but fumbled the reins for a moment. The gelding danced underneath him, but Jateyani regained control with a slight pressure of his thighs. Hunting, the best activity ever in his opinion, was regrettably forbidden by anyone except for the Regent while on the Regent's grounds. Thankfully, mere riding wasn't.

Whistling to Raba, his dark chocolate laborador pup, Jate turned Manlaus toward the western gate. As he began the long ride through the Regent's hawking field, he pondered what the Phantom had said to him. Every time he thought of the end, his face heated and anger surged through his veins, but each time it receded as he replayed the other portions of the conversation.

"So, the Regent is the bad guy, huh?" he murmured. "Or is he just so blind to other views that he will say anything?" The animals gave no reply. Jate continued to meander through the tall yellow grasses, lost in thought.

A rumble of distant thunder brought him back to the moment. He looked up at the sky and saw dark clouds beginning to roll in over the tops of the high, distant mountains. He turned Menlaus back towards the palace, determining to have another talk soon with the mysterious man who held himself like a king.

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going on a journey through my old claims

[I've decided that we've been sitting around talking about rescuing the Phantom for too long. whoever in the Phantom's Keep feels like coming, tag along]

What an ugly shirt for a guard to wear. If he were Regent, he'd make absolute certain that everyone under his command had aesthetic fashion taste or risk being hanged -

The fact that he nearly fell off the crenellations abruptly jolted Jais back to earth. Gingerly stepping over the Unconscious Guard with the Horrendous Shirt (UGwtHS), he proceeded to dart nimbly along the battlements of the Regent's castle to the next guard tower, where he instantly melted back into the shadows.

His wonderful dead grandmother must have decided that she loved him that night, because their Quest to Rescue the Damsel in Distress That Really Wasn't a Damsel (QtRtDiDTRWaD) had progressed remarkably well thus far. Clouds obscured the moon, so the only lights were the marching torches of the stupidly stupid patrols who were more concerned with cracking the flagstones with their clanking sollerets than really being efficacious.

Jais scanned the courtyard below him for any signs of observant sentries. Sentry #1 - sleeping. Sentry #2 - glaring quite vehemently in the wrong direction. Sentry #3... flirting? No, no, and NO, he was doing it all wrong! And the maiden blushing and batting her lashes in front of him obviously had flawed taste in men -

For the second time in five minutes, he nearly fell off the ramparts. Pausing to glare at the offending crenellation, he remembered his duty and flourished his hand in a signal-but-not-quite-a-signal at his companion rescuers, crouched in the shadows at the previous guard tower.

Second-level dungeons, Eledhe had said. He'd always fancied her, but her lofty self was even harder to attain than Silvryn. He wondered if the slap she'd offered him on his birthday had been a sign of affection. Shaking his head, he extracted a length of rope and eyed the entrance to the dungeons, which had a quaint little keep all to itself. His eyes slid up to the keep's roof. Twenty feet away, forty feet off the ground. He tied his end of the rope to an arrow and glanced around at his party members. The fact was that the last time he'd shot an arrow, he'd nearly taken off the Phantom's head. Unintentionally, of course. But it was best not to chance it, especially on a QtRtDiDTRWaD like this one. He handed the bow to Eledhe.

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Ash crept along the roof behind Jais and Eledhe. Once he had found someone able to fill him in on what was known about the Phantom's sudden dissapearance, the young man had immediately decided to join in the impromptu rescue mission. He had joined the group, full of bravery, fortitude, and resolve.

Now, forty feet above the ground, those helpful feelings were failing him. He'd never been overly fond of heights. These heights, though, were even worse. The dim light made it hard for him to see the ground, and easy for him to imagine it was several hundred feet farther away.

He closed his eyes and turned his head back to the comforting solidness of the stones. He watched as Jais readied an arrow with a length of rope tied to the end. He followed the man's gaze to the dungeon keep. His heart skipped several beats. What were they doing? Were they expecting him to shinny across that rope from rooftop to rooftop. No, that couldn't be it.

"Erm, what exactly is our plan here?" he whispered to Eledhe.

The effectiveness of Eledhe's scathing look was rather diminished by the fact that her face was shadowed, but the meaning was clear. Dimwit. "Guess," she hissed out the corner of her mouth in his general direction, aiming carefully with the bow. Too much talking! Were they all utter novices to the art of planning a rescue?

The arrow flew straight and true, and in an instant had quietly embedded itself in a solid wooden support beam. Eledhe tested it, tugging hard, and seemed satisfied. She secured the end of the rope to a handy stone protrusion from the wall and motioned to Jais to go first. She would go last - and frankly, she was quite sure that she was the only one with the necessary agility and skill to untie the rope and swing over to shinny up it. No trace must be left. Liberating a criminal was a crime in itself, inside connections and plots or no, and Eledhe did not intend for the plan to go awry. Her plan, in any case. As for the others...she could care less.

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Ash felt his stomach turn. They really did expect him to- He felt a bit faint for a few moments. He had been expecting a simple break-into-the-courtyard-and-get-to-the-prison-type rescue. But <i>this</i>.

He took a deep, steadying breath and tried to steel himself for his turn on the rope.

Meanwhile, Kjan was tightening the final knot securing a now-unconscious guard to the wall. It simply wouldn't do to leave a trail of bodies -unconscious or no- as a telltale sign of their presence, nor could he stand to leave the poor man on the hard ground like that. Therefore, after a bit of quick thinking and a considerable amount of creativity, Kjan had devised a contraption involving two candelabra and a well-hidden length of rope that not only left the guard standing (or really more like hanging) upright, but kept him looking somewhat alert and on guard. Come to think of it, it was probably the most qualified for his job the guard had ever appeared.

His work there finished, Kjan moved on, his almost-might-have-been-blue cloak allowing him to blend seamlessly with the shadows as he crept along. Break in without getting caught-- check. Disable the guards-- check. Unlock the gate....Blast. Moving as quickly as he dared, Kjan made his way back over to the unconscious guard and relieved the man of the cumbersome keyring dangling from his belt. Check. Means of getting the heck out of there as fast as humanly possible...they'd worry about that when they got there.

Satisfied with himself, Kjan once again melted into the shadows. Now came the fun part.

Jais sighed. He was always the one going first, of course. He was the guinea pig. If he died whilst on the rope, all the better for the rest of them - they'd find a better rope! He stood on the battlements and glared at the rope. Right. So now he got to play gypsy and tightwalk the rope forty feet above ground.

A glance at his impatient companions told him that if he fell, no one would miss him.

He uttered another profound sigh. When the courtyard beneath him was clear, he endeavored a nimble dart-but-not-quite-dart across the rope. Twenty feet was a long distance when you're the one essaying it, and Jais's arms flailed like pinwheels as he stumbled across the tightwire. He felt himself losing balance the last five feet and launched himself into the air, hoping on all his nonexistent luck that he'd gain firm handhold on the prison keep's roof. He landed just short, dropping like a lead weight until his arms shot up and his hands grabbed the rope. He was now swinging precariously from the tightwire, hanging by hands alone.

He hated his grandmother.

Gritting his teeth, he swung himself onto the roof. Landing unceremoniously, he rubbed his painfully raw palms and looked expectantly across the expanse at his party.

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Eledhe contained her scorn at this doubtful method of crossing on the rope. Why couldn't he just have shinnied up it hand over hand? Why? This rescue would have been so much easier alone...

Black attire melting into the shadows, the lithe she-mercenary motioned to Ash, his apprehension not lost on her. Again - why her? Stars, the Phantom and his second-in-command were the only rebels with a modicum of sense! If Eledhe had been the type, she would have thanked her lucky star that more of them hadn't decided to come. But she didn't believe in luck. If this succeeded, it would be due to skill. Her skill. And then - a smile flitted across her lips, there and quickly gone - the Phantom would have to trust her.

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Threng let out a grin at Jais's rope crossing antics, but only a small one. He had worked himself back into the mind set of an assassin. His job was get the job done quickly and correctly, no if ands or buts. There was no time for fun. He swung onto the rope and crossed it with one leg curled over the rope, pulling himself along with his hands. He grappled to get onto the roof; he had come at it both backwards and upside down, and pulled himself up, silent as bat.