FAOLAN
COURT Shardless; Seelie-sworn
TITLE Seelie Marshall's Hound
OCCUPATION Bodyguard, Assassin, Spy
ABLE TO FAST-TRAVEL
Teleportation between the gardens of Caer Glaem & Caer Scima
Teleportation in Dorchadas at night
Teleportation to Lancelot's side
Cleg
RESIDENCE IN 2,701 Caer Glaem
RESIDENCE IN 2,702 Caer Glaem
MAJOR EVENTS
HIGHLIGHT
Description [ ✖ ]
HIGHLIGHT
Description [ ✖ ]
HIGHLIGHT
Description [ ✖ ]
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PLANS
- Keeping an eye on Lancelot both in Caer Glaem/the White Citadel and on his travels.
- His mission for Lancelot to connect with all of the agents stationed in the cities closest to Caer Glaem.
- Becoming Spymaster under the direction of the Seelie Marshall should said mission be fulfilled.
- Watching over Bridei when Lancelot is not around and making sure that he is safe.
- Possibly spreading more positive sentiments towards the Seelie court (or at least positive sentiments towards Lancelot) in the form of ballads.
- Upholding his oaths to the best of his ability.
SUMMARY OF KNOWN DETAILS
TBA
TIMELINE OF EVENTS
| SPRING IN 2,701 (Mar, Apr, May) |
- MARCH - Gwen is happy to see Faolan alive again. Faolan spends most of the month hiding from the cold under Lancelot's charmed blankets with Bridei, and feeling guilty he won't let him light a fire.
- APRIL - Faolan starts to hear harp-playing everywhere, both in and out of his dreams, and his emotions go off of the charts. He resents harps, and he resents what they mean to him. He would never destroy an instrument in or out of his dreams however so he will be affected the whole month. There are significant interactions with Lancelot and Guinevere during this event.
- MAY - Faolan accompanies Lancelot on the first of his many Public Relations trips, this time to Parrais.
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| SUMMER IN 2,701 (Jun, Jul, Aug) |
- JUNE - As of the month before, the lockets and the fairy rings do not work, and as such, communication with agents stationed out in cities has become a challenge. Lancelot assigns Faolan the task of traveling to them and communicating in person, since it is easier for him to travel around than most others these days, being shardless. He starts out with Treun, where he participates in the Melee competition of the Tourney and is bested by Connor early in the running. Lancelot is there to soothe his bruised ego. Also at the Tourney he speaks to Aragorn, Lucrezia, and Natasha. He also meets with the agent in Treun before continuing on his mission south to Leathann, where there is no agent stationed, but he spends a while investigating in their stead.
- JULY - From Leathann Faolan does a massive traveling loop back up to Parrais on his mission for Lancelot to meet with the agent stationed there. And from there he goes on to Doanna for the final stop in his journey, where he discovers that there is some unrest after the hangings that take place there. He speaks to Diarmuid and they exchange information, before he returns to Caer Glaem to share his findings with Lancelot. (All throughout the mission he has been checking in here and there, to let him know that he's alive, and because Bridei misses him.)
- AUGUST -Faolan accompanies Lancelot to Leathann for more Public Relations on behalf of the Seelie court, and tries desperately not to be in the way during the Festival of Lights. While he's there, he takes some time to investigate this new Oracle (and possibly work on establishing a new agent in the city?).
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| FALL IN 2,701 (Sept, Oct, Nov) |
- SEPTEMBER - Faolan returns with Lancelot to Parrais for more Public Relations touring.
- OCTOBER - On the 25th of October, the Drabwurld celebrates Samhain once more. Faolan attends, and reminisces about last year with Lancelot. He spends less time brooding than he did last year, and even accepts a few dances, including one with Gwen.
- NOVEMBER - Faolan spends much of the month on regular duties. When word of the escaped convicts from the prison colony in Leathann reaches Caer Glaem, it makes him uneasy - are any of these people a threat to Caer Glaem itself?
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| WINTER IN 2,701/2,702 (Dec, Jan, Feb) |
- DECEMBER - Having won the Hunt last year, Lancelot will apparently get it into his mind that he doesn't need to take it seriously this year, thereby ending up getting himself cursed into becoming an animal this go around. An otter, to be exact. Faolan must then watch over him, Lady, and Bridei the three of them for the next few days until Lancelot is himself once more. Any gifts he receives for Yule he struggles to return in kind, even if his own gifts by comparison are likely not as fancy or expensive as those that are given to him.
- JANUARY - Faolan accompanies Lancelot back to Treun once more for more Public Relations touring on behalf of the Seelie court. He checks in with the agent stationed there, and puts out feelers as to what might be going on with the Fortuna family, after the Governor was forced to abdicate his position. (The 26th marks Faolan's return from death, an event that is possibly worth celebrating?)
- FEBRUARY - Faolan travels with Lancelot back to Leathann again for another Public Relations visit on behalf of the Seelie court. (If he has established an agent in Leathann at this point he will check in with them.) Also during this month, on the 14th, Bridei turns one year old.
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| SPRING IN 2,702 (Mar, Apr) |
- MARCH - Faolan joins Lancelot and all others defending Caer Glaem by decapitating the skeletons of the risen dead, and is largely unsettled by their appearance.
- APRIL - Fairies start to go missing from Caer Glaem, leaving everyday tasks unfinished. Faolan knows how to make do without them, although it is an inconvenience in certain aspects. This too is concerning, however, and he wonders what it could mean going forward...
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Although that is not why he is there. Well. It is not the first objective as to why he is there. His main goal is to liaise with the agent that Lancelot set up within the city. A task that, Faolan is finding as he travels from place to place, is easier said than done. They are referred to as agents for a reason. Underground. Under no circumstances must he reveal why he is there to anyone other than the agent themselves. It puts a rather difficult task on Faolan's head, of course, but he is used to such circumstances. It's refreshing, fitting himself into such a role again. This is what he is good at, what he has spend years perfecting the art of. And he relishes the chance to put those skills to good use.
Lancelot had not given him all that much to go on, in terms of locating these agents, although that, Faolan knows, is understandable. He knows the man as he was when he selected him for the job, not as the persona he has put on to fit into the city itself. A large wall of a man, Lancelot had explained him, a fighter, who goes by the name of Kay. Excellent in hand-to-hand combat, with a soft spot for that large ginger cat that likes to hang about the training grounds back at Caer Glaem.
Faolan has been supplied with the right means to convince the agent to speak to him - the question and answer that Lancelot had established as a form of security should such a thing be necessary, the other man's seal, and what information Lancelot has to share on him. Of course, those things all mean nothing if he cannot locate him in the end. Where would a man like the one Lancelot had described have established himself in the city, Faolan thinks to himself, as he settles down for the first night in the city, housing Ciar, his cleg, in the stables of the most reputable inn he can find within the city - the Sweet Sow, they call it.
It takes him a few days of searching, which is alright in the end. As Faolan spends more and more time out on the streets - easy to blend in and not attract the negative attention of before, now that he is shardless - word spreads like wildfire of the hangings. He keeps an open ear for any gossip that might be useful - gossip is, Faolan has found, more useful than one might think in tracking down leads. One just has to know how and where to look, and as luck would have it, Faolan does. He does not go out of his way to investigate the hangings themselves though, or who is behind them. His main goal is to locate the agent.
And locate him he does. Where would a fighting man spend his time in a city like this? What does any warrior do during times of peace but find another job and bide their time waiting for the next battle to come. So too, as luck would have it, Faolan finds Kay - not in the midst of some inner city brawl, as Lancelot's description of the man may have suggested, but loading a cart full of barrels in the back alley of one of the shadier districts of the city. Barrels that look rather extremely heavy, and that Kay doesn't seem to be having to waste much effort with at all. Faolan isn't sure that he'd be even be able to make one of them budge, let alone lift one.
He's careful in his introduction. Has to be, considering he doesn't want to spook the other man off nor does he want him to call in the cavalry on him. Whatever cavalry that might be - Faolan doesn't know whether the other man might have reinforcements or not. Acts the part of the wayward traveler - which in a way he is. Pretends that he hasn't been in the city before, that he's not much of a city type, him. That he's gotten turned around with all these buildings that all look the same and he'd appreciate being set straight. The man's manner is gruff, but not unkind. He's not about to waste his time on an absent wanderer though, that much is clear. He doesn't rise to the occasion of a conversation, and certainly doesn't do more than point Faolan on his way and set about his business again. So Faolan decides to try the code. If anything, it will just seem like he's out of his wits and the man will ignore him completely, end of story.
"There's just one more thing," Faolan says, lightly, stepping forward to get the other man's attention. Making sure that his hands are free in case he has to reach for any of the knives he has concealed about his person. "Which way does the cockerel face when he cries?"
The man rises to his full height from where he's been stooped, reaching for another barrel, turning to look down on Faolan, his eyes dark and guarded. It's an odd phrase, but not that odd. Still, the man gives his answer. Gives the answer. "Into the rising sun."
Faolan nods, his eyes intently focused on the man's, as he reaches very carefully into the satchel he is carrying, and pulls out a little bag, the contents of which he empties out onto his hand. Lancelot's seal. He holds it out to the man for him to examine, but he knows to be careful what he says aloud, especially in a place like this. "It seems that I'm more lost than I thought. I don't suppose that you could show me somewhere to stay? Your time will be compensated, of course." He closes his hand around the seal, and puts it away in his bag, watching Kay carefully. His big hands clench into fists - it's obvious that he doesn't like not knowing who Faolan is or why he should know such a phrase, why he should have Lancelot's seal on him, but they're not going to be able to cover that until they're out of harm's way.
"Know of a place," he says, gruffly, glancing down at the cart. It's going to make him late for his delivery, stopping like this. "It'll cost you, mind," he adds, pointedly.
Faolan shrugs. "I can pay." Or rather, Lancelot can. He gave him a fair chunk of gold for this and Faolan's been budgeting it well, for reasons such as this. So Kay nods and leaving his cart for the moment, leads Faolan down the road, up another, on such twists and turns that if Faolan didn't know it was for his own security, might have questioned whether the other man was trying to get rid of him. Finally they happened on an alley that, roughly and abruptly, Kay pulled him aside and into.
"State your business and what the hell it is you think you're doing here with that," he says, pressing Faolan into the wall. To any passer-by, Faolan thinks, it may even look like he's being mugged. Well-done on the agent's part, but he hopes it doesn't actually come to that.
"Faolan," he breathes, a hand coming up to rest on the other man's fist in the front of his leathers. "His Hound, as they say. The lockets are useless, you know that as well as I. Short of losing contact, he thought it best to send someone along. And that would be me." He glances towards the mouth of the alley. "You don't have to like me, and you don't have to want me here, but I'm asking you to trust me, and he is as well. It's why he gave me the seal and the code. You can ask him all about it when things are back to normal but for now this is what there is."
Kay frowns at him, his fist tightening. Faolan wonders whether his feet are still touching the ground. "You're not one of them," he says. Them. Shardbearers. Seelie. Faolan's not quite sure which he means, but he shakes his head regardless.
"No, I'm not," he confirms, honestly. "But I've sworn my life to him, for better or worse. Here." He holds his hands up to show that he means no harm, before reaching to tug his shirt aside. The brand of the Seelie court rests there on his skin, above his breastbone, where his shard might have rested, if he'd had one anymore. It would be rather an elaborate step to take, as far as a cover is concerned, so after a moment, Kay's fingers release some of their tension, his eyes some of their hostility as well.
"How'd'you get that, then?" he asks, his eyes flicking from the mark to Faolan's.
"Your queen. Brought me back to life. Don't know what it means but I figure I'm as good as property now." Kay winces slightly, so Faolan sees that as his cue to continue.
"Listen, all I'm looking for is information, for him," Faolan says. "Whatever you can spare. What's been going on in the city recently? What does he need to know about? Anything you would usually report to him, report to me. I'll see that it goes through the proper channels, I swear to it."
Whatever he's said (whether it's the promise or perhaps the part about dying Faolan's not entirely certain) it must have been something right, for after a moment, Kay's setting him on his feet again, with a look of almost embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Don't know my own strength at times. You alright?" He goes so far as to straighten the front of Faolan's leathers out for him, where his massive hand had been gripping and pulling at the material.
Faolan has the decency not to gape as he finds himself suddenly fussed over. "I imagine I'll live," he says, wryly.
Appeased that no permanent damage seems to have been done, Kay glances once over his shoulder to make sure that they're alone, before turning back to Faolan. "I'll make it quick," he says, although given what he's seen of the other man's temperament Faolan honestly can't see the man doing anything but. Still, he nods, and crossing his arms across his chest as he leans back against the wall, he settles in to listen.
The Cult of the Fox is training its members in anti-shardbearer techniques, Kay says, which goes along something of the aura of the sentiments hanging about the city, Faolan knows. The Cult is big in the shardhunter circles, and it would seem that the masks that they wear to hide their identity have immense magical power, although Kay doesn't have further details on that subject. He's going to try to infiltrate, perhaps he'll have a better understanding after he does.
Faolan nods, grimly. Infiltrating the Cult of the Fox is a dangerous game, but what other choice is there of understanding them? He only hopes that Kay understands what he's doing. He seems a fit choice for the city, but no man is without his weakness, a fact that Faolan knows all too well. He thanks the other man for his time and efforts, offers him what he hopes will be enough to cover the work that he's lost and then some, and hoists his pack on his back.
"Ah," Faolan says, pausing on his way out. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where I can find you again, should I need you? Look awfully suspicious, chasing every man with a cart down I can find," he continues, before adding, lightly, "and I'm not particularly keen on being tossed about in another alleyway, if it's all the same to you."
As Faolan predicted he would, Kay looks almost abashed at that last comment. He reaches up to run a hand over his short-cropped hair, thinking for a moment, before he gives his response. "Got a room," he says, giving Faolan the address. "Leave a note. Time and a place. Do my best to be there, if I can."
Faolan nods, and having the good sense to know when to excuse himself when a conversation (if one could call it that) has reached its end, does exactly that.
His business in the city is not done, after all, not by a long shot. His ear ever to the ground, he sets off on the way back to the Sweet Sow, only to be waylaid by a familiar face that he had not anticipated seeing here. Diarmuid. Diarmuid who, it would seem, would speak with him, if he has the time. A man's work is never done, Faolan thinks to himself, as he names a time and a place for such an encounter, and does what he can in preparation for it.
He does not regret agreeing to meet with the other man, as luck would have it. Quite the contrary, Diarmuid proves to be almost as informative as the agent Kay himself. These masks, not only are they magical, as Kay had suggested, but the magic on them is such that it masks the very deeds of the wearer as well. Some sort of memory charm, perhaps? Diarmuid suspects it could be shard magic but Faolan is not so certain - the Cult hates shardbearers, why would they use such means when there are other ways of doing magic here in the drabwurld? No, Faolan has something of another theory, especially when the name Martin Maskmaker is shared with him. It may be coincidence, as he says to Diarmuid, but the name is awfully close to that of Damrtin, the sorcerer with a fondness for Reynard and his cause, and whose shop, as Faolan had spotted on an idle pass by, seemed to be closed up. Especially when the idea is presented that the shardbearers that were hung were less than quality people. Something Damrtin had said about Reyard sticks in his head and comes to mind at such a time: Ever stopped to consider that while both hosts of shardbearers are chasing the good Fox from sea to sea that they can't be warring with each other and trammeling yet more good folk underfoot? I pose it to you: another front is precisely what the War seems to need. He wouldn't put it past a man like that to come to the aid of the Cult, in Reynard's absence...
Of course, there is another name that is mentioned as well. That of a woman named Molly, a chandler with a modest storefront on Crann Darach, Diarmuid describes. Alyosha's contact, although he has no more information on that, simply that it was suggested that someone speak to her. Someone native. Another mystery to be solved. Faolan leaves their conversation with quite a lot on his mind, and quite a lot that he'll have to address with their agent again before he leaves the city. At least Kay seemed to have warmed up to him in the end, although it's difficult to tell, with a man like that. Faolan thinks retrospectively he should have mentioned his cat more or something. Ah, well.
So it is the next morning that Faolan finds himself walking by Molly's storefront himself, just in passing, trying to catch what information he might from first glance, before setting to the city to try and find what sort of information he can get about the woman there as well. Why would Alyosha suggest her? What sort of a contact would she be, in reference to the masks and the hangings? What is her opinion on shardbearers? What is said about her that might suggest how she fits into all of this? These questions need answered before Faolan sends himself into the fray. And send himself he will - send a native, Diarmuid had said, and he can't risk Kay in such an unknown. He's shardless, he'll pass. He's going to have to, if he wants whatever it is that Alyosha thinks that she's got to offer...
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A chime rang as he swung open the door, and from an old counter she smiled, both hands going to the small of her back, pressing, offering more support to her rounded belly.
"New face! Racks just to the right, if you're not lookin' for anythin' in particular. Time-candles are marked with the dye-rings."
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As the chime rings and Faolan steps forward into the shop, he smiles in response to her greeting, taking her in. Another child on the way indeed. Just what is Alyosha playing at, sending them into her life like this, regardless as to who or what she is?
"As a matter of fact," he says, "I do hope that there's something that you can help me with. I've a friend who suggested I look into this place." He glances around, surveying her wares but also trying to determine if they were alone or not, how private a space it might be, or whether he's going to need to see if he can't get any sort of private consultation elsewhere. "You've come highly recommended, I'll have you know."
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She wasn't alone behind the counter; a somewhat older man, serious-faced, poured steaming wax into metal molds, and from the living space upstairs all could hear the patter of children's feet. To the left were racks and racks and racks of candles.
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"Ah, well," he says. "It's. Rather a personal matter. If there's somewhere we could...?" His information - Alyosha's suggestion - did not include the mention of speaking to anyone but Molly herself. If it is a cover, it's possible not even this man should know. He's looking to speak to her in private, if he can. He's hoping such a request makes sense. In such a place as the drabwurld, they should sell candles with little spells in them as well? Charms and such? To help one fall in love or to grant one easier sleep. He's got a cover story, if need be - one not far off the truth, really. The best lies are closest to the truth, after all, he knows that for a fact.
He even goes so far as to look slightly embarrassed to have to request such a thing. Mostly because he is. If he has to use his cover to get them privacy for certain, he's admitting to things that he would rather not have to about himself, certainly not in front of strangers.
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"You'll forgive me for asking," he says, glancing at the man warily, "but do you share all of your business so openly?" There. A double-edged question. For a man looking for a private consultation about a possibly controversial object, and for a man looking for a private audience with what he's beginning to believe might have been a mole planted in the city gods only know how long ago, it would make sense as something for either Faolan or his temporary cover to say.
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"State your name, allegiance, and business,.. and state it fast, else show yourself out."
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"Faolan," he says. "Aly sent me." Indirectly, but that's irrelevant. "Seemed to think we should do business together, you and I." As for his allegiance. Well, that's a bit more complicated. He's hoping that mentioning Alyosha sending him will cover all that's needed. He isn't sure how well-received the Seelie Marshall's Hound might be, regardless as to how discrete he considers himself to be. "Was she right?" He'll purchase something, if that will help her make up her mind about him. He's been planning on it, anyway. Suspicious to spend this much time in here and not return with anything. They've got a lot of mouths to feed, besides.
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"If you'd been sent, you'd have a seal, she'd have informed you of procedure. She informed me to be expecting an outlander go-between for a friend who'd reached out in a pinch. Never, don't you dare ever claim to be sent by a person who didn't send you direct-like. If this were a hole of the Lark's, you'd be wearing a red smile on your throat and no one would find your body."
She moved a sand-and-hourglass timer up beside the knife. It wasn't large.
"This is all the time you have, to avoid suspicion. Three minutes or so. Talk fast."
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"She told a friend of hers to come and speak to you, and being unable to do so himself, I am here in his stead. I meant no disrespect. She gave him your name and your location and left the conversation at that. You will understand why I had no idea how to approach you," he explains.
"This friend I speak of serves her as well, and I hope that makes a difference to you when I say that he sent me to you with an inquiry about information." He glances at the hourglass, then back at her. "On the masks. And a fellow named Martin who seems to be connected with them. Anything you might have uncovered. Please. I will not take any more of your time than I must, I assure you." Although Faolan might have another request of his own up his sleeve, if he can finagle it. It would be useful, after all, to have more than one contact within the city....
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"Martin Maskmaker? You could've asked any child on the street who he is; the first shardbearer, an ancient hero. Not all believe he's truly serving the Cult, but rather that they use the masks to encourage the rumour to gain support. None but a fool would stand against Martin." She thinned her lips. "The masks themselves are Old Magic. Spelled to undo memory; can't look on them with your own eyes and remember aught about their wearers except the smallest details. Likely have other powers, as well, but I'm under orders not to send men in to make contact. Too dangerous. Formed of leather of some kind, I'd bet shardbearer."
"Anything else?" One minute left.
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"The man I work for. Aly works for him. Check with her if you want. He has an agent in Daonna, that's why I'm here. That agent is doing their best to gather what intelligence they can for us, but they cannot maintain the same circles as you, I am sure." Not Kay, looking as large and frightening as he does, while Molly owns this shop and has her children, being in the condition that she is. The look he gives her is straightforward and serious. "What work do you do for her, and would you consider widening your contacts? I can speak to her about it. Work through her, if that would suit." He understands how dangerous the situation in this city is - how changing too much in her own routine could set off unwanted flags.
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"I manage six agents in Daonna, three who travel upriver, another three to Redgate, another six in the western wildlands. Local gossip, topics of interest, the Commander's projects, Midnight Court ops, the works. I don't work with any agent I don't pick and groom myself."
As she was speaking, the last grain fell. She moved the timer back down behind the counter. "Take two candles, exit quietly, no fuss. Don't let me see your face in here for a season."
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Conversely, if that's not an option, he'll just take some of those time candles and be on his way. He has to ask about this first, though.
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"Oh, you must not have had children, yet. The rune for sleep, it looks like this, with the point at the top, stamped and inked and spelled in," she sketched it out in the air with a forefinger, "Most young mothers learn it to help babes-in-arm. Most of those on the rack are scented, you may want to give a sniff before taking."
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"No children," Faolan confirms. "Not exactly. But plenty of use for something like this." He straightens, a pair of candles in hand. "Thanks," he says, quietly. Motioning with the candles but indicating far more. He steps forward to the desk, she's sitting behind, placing some coin on it - knowing it's probably more than they're worth, but with a family the size of hers, he doubts that she's going to be turning the offer away. "Good fortune to you and yours."
fin~