Message for you Ma'am (Cecilia)

[Arthur Woodson]

Arthur skulked through the forests and woods as he crept closer to the impact zone of the Castle that fell from the heavens.  The territory he was in currently was near the impact zone, the northern tip of it's territory was damaged.  He'd spied a Prota siege force near the Castle in the distance, approaching that would be unwise.  So he skirted around it, sticking to the territory to the south.  That was when he saw it, a lone messenger, heading out of the territory, but not toward the siege camp or the battle around the Castle.  It was something that was worth checking out, and so with all haste he would chase down the messenger, leaping from a tree, his mask shifting to resemble a carving of Alex Malice as five fists slammed the poor man into the ground, breaking his neck.

After ruffling through his pockets and finding out what his message was, and where he was going Arthur would drag the man's body into the woods before stripping him of his clothing and changing into them.  It seemed his next stop was the Crimson Kingdom.  

Arriving days later, his clothing travel worn, and with a slight hint of blood from the air of this blood soaked land Arthur made his way to the Castle.  Stopping just long enough to try and appear presentable, he was meeting with someone important today.  His faithful mask hung at his hip.  Today he was going to put a different face forward. 

[Cecelia Riddel]

He would be stopped at the castle gates!

"Halt." One guard would step forward as he approached. "State your business." Wearing the messenger's uniform would help tremendously with whatever explanation he offered, the second guard standing at attention but not expecting any form of difficulty. Not form one of their own; it was the more violent residents they were concerned with.

Once inside, he would be escorted to the study where Cecelia was beginning to make herself home before she went mad. Arthur would see that blood not only permeated the air, but the castle itself seemed to be built of it. Chanting and the smell of blood filled the room as zealots remained, still homeless and still sacrificing blood to appease whatever caused blood to fill the air in the first place. Qi users or normies, it didn't matter. They continued as they always did until they could be relocated.

"You may enter," came a quiet feminine voice when Arthur's escort knocked. Nodding at the messenger, the guard would open the door and let him pass. Cecelia herself was facing the window, hands clasped before her. Turning towards the door as it opened, she recognized the messenger garb and felt her heart lift for the first time in days. She bit back the relief she felt, or tried. The messenger could be for anything.

"Yes? How may I help you?"

[Arthur Woodson]

Arthur would guess on how they saluted and would put a hand over his heart, standing at attention. "I've come to deliver a message from New Carolina."

Apparently, it was passible enough as he was brought into the castle, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight and smell of the place. Vagrants filled its chambers doing crude sacrifices to whatever impotent God they worshipped as far as he could gather. He was unsure if it was more sickening or pathetic. He didn't hold up much hope for what awaited him in the chamber beyond. But he had come this far, he wasn't about to back out now. There was still much to learn.

He would enter when allowed, surprised to see this room was nicer than the others. Not just in furnishing but in upkeep. He half expected to see a rotting carcass on a table with starving ghoulish beings ripping it apart with their teeth. Instead, he was brought before a pretty and petite woman. Young and the quiet tone hinted at inexperience and discomfort. A new ruler he supposed. The vagrants probably ate the old one.

"I have come to deliver a message Lady...?"

He had no idea who she was, so he hoped she would just tell him.

[Cecelia Riddel]

"Of course." The pale pallor of her skin was about the only hint that some of her thoughts might echo Arthur's own on this place. Nodding at the explanation, she would step forward, gesturing him to one of the desk nearby as she did the same. He must have traveled to the point of exhaustion if he wasn't aware of whom he was speaking to. Unless he had more than one message?

"Lady Riddel, if you please." Her voice grew more solid as she spoke. Celia studied his face for a moment, noting the features. Not unpleasant, but unfamiliar to her. Perhaps it was from a different territory than she expected, after all.

"Whom do you represent?" She held out a gloved hand to accept the message he bore.

[Arthur Woodson]

He reached into his bag to extract the message that would have the seal of New Carolina on it. Handing it over to the young Lady Riddel.

"I've come with news from New Carolina."

He would wait, leaving it at that. The less he said, the better.

[Cecelia Riddel]

Again the flutter of relief, like a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Whatever had happened, someone was well enough to send word. Perhaps they hadn't been harmed in the fall, after all, but it was too close for her comfort.

"Thank you." She nodded and touched a finger to the seal, another small pang of homesickness, before looking at him again with her brows knitting a fraction.

"Forgive me, sir, but I don't believe we've met." He wasn't the messenger she'd sent. "Is the messenger I sent unwell?"

[Arthur Woodson]

"My apologies Lady Riddel. I am Arthur."

He gave her a small bow, stuck up nobility lived off of this stupid crap like it meant something.

"Because of the damage to the area, and the battle at the Castle it was decided he would be better suited there. I was sent in his place."

The lie rolled off of his tongue easily, he felt no sympathy for the man he'd left to rot in the woods. A stranger and a worm of these dysfunctional sycophantic elites.

[Cecelia Riddel]

"Then thank you, Arthur." She nodded, the distress easing with the explanation as she broke the seal on the letter. It was simple enough; much would be changed with the fall. Hopefully not too much.

She reads over the message, hoping from word from her family!

[Arthur Woodson]

The message had news that her immediate family was safe and well, but there were some areas of serious damage on the outskirts of the territory. They request whatever medical or military aid that the Crimson Kingdom can send as siege camps use their land to stage their assaults.

Arthur keeps standing there, wishing he'd been able to break the seal and reseal it to know what was being said.  But confident that a reply would be sent, and that would allow him to act. 

[Cecelia Riddel]

A relieved smile graced her face as Cecelia began to read, fading as she continued. They were safe, but this territory did not have medical aid to offer unless they needed blood. She shifted so that she stood closer to the center of the rug that covered most of the room just thinking about it. Military aid, though, that she might be able to do something. Or Jericho. Or Ramses. She would need to get exact numbers from them. Depending on who she spoke with, it would likely lead to an argument, but they weren't a neutral territory. If the Crimson Kingdom wanted aid from Zekunft, they would have to provide it, too.

But how many to send? How many could they afford, let alone be willing? She would need to speak with them, soon. Refusing to show further signs of distress, Celia rolled the parchment back up instead of wringing her hands and pulled a fresh paper and pen out to send a reply.

"Please see that my father, Lord Randal Riddel, gets this." She hastily wrote her response, expressing her relief that her family was well. Also included was an assurance of military aid to help enforce their defenses within the coming week.

"If he is unavailable, his Commander, George Randall, will be able to accept it." She remembered the man in name more than by face. Last she'd seen him, she'd been a child, but he was in charge of peace in the territory beyond the guards nobility acquired.

[Arthur Woodson]

He would take the written response, tucking it away in his bag. Doing his best to keep the relief off of his face and remain impassive. But it was hard, he was so used to wearing a physical mask that he'd forgotten that he needed to keep his actual face a mask as well.

"I will see that it gets into the right hands."

He'd look around the room, his gaze turning to the door behind him briefly. He needed more before he returned however.

"If I may be so bold as to ask you a question?"

[Cecelia Riddel]

It was an acceptable answer, one that gave her relief a sense of strength. Part one of the struggle was over, or nearly. Whatever she had to do later, she couldn't miss the fact that the messenger was looking around as if uncertain. Or perhaps checking to see who else listened in the room? There was only the one guard with them at the moment with the door shut.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

[Arthur Woodson]

"This place. What is wrong with it? There are people camped out in the outer chambers doing blood sacrifice. I did not think this would be the kind of thing you would encourage. And the air, it tastes of blood."

And not in a good way, it was stale, fetid, impure.

[Cecelia Riddel]

She nearly laughed at the question. What wasn't wrong with this place? A pained smile touched her lips, but she stayed silent and let the messenger speak his mind. It felt like she was speaking to a fellow member of Zekunft, someone who disliked this as much as she did and expected better. Detested this mess she had somehow inherited, even if only for a short while.

"You're not wrong. You have heard the story of the Dragon who ruled over this land before he passed, I assume? The blood is from war and carnage when he abandoned it, then came back for it. The blood mist in the air is a permanent stain from it." She hated it, and no amount of social control could fully hide her shudder at her words.

"Getting them to cease is a work in progress." One that would be ending soon, if she had any say in the matter. Out of the castle, then out of the territory. Somehow.

[Arthur Woodson]

"I am surprised you did not stop it immediately."

She was weak.