~Prolouge~ Visit from the Messenger

Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink. She was doomed. The wooden planks of flotsam that she had cobbled together after the shipwreck were coming loose. She was sitting on a floating coffin with makeshift oars, her white hair billowing with the dance of the dry, briny air. It was like Satan’s sauna out there, in that big, blue tomb. The emptiness in her soul matched the spiritless sky and the featureless waterscape around. The days were the worst. The remorseless sun bent his full will against her survival and he was winning while she felt like she had been stabbed by a million, white-hot spears. Her blood simmers, brain stews, and even her bones seem to smoulder in their meaty carcass. Dead person drifting. That’s who she was. She was floundering in a sea of divine-blue quicklime and there was no escape. Her tongue felt like a slab of lead, cloven to the roof of her mouth, with throat parched and lips that are chapped and flaky.

Nothing and nobody could save her now.

"Goddamit." The cursed poured forth from her mouth, white lips pressed close into a straight line soon after, as an audible gulp trickled down her throat. The fact that she was drenched in sweat only made reality worse, for it clashed with the reality within her sleep; nightmare, as they called it. Being pulled out of it and into the land of the awake was just like stepping out of frazil-cold water right when you see the gates of death looming up front.

Pale fingers clutched the edges of the blankets that were wrapped securely around the woman's lithe frame, pulling it off with a swift move and stepping off the bed - letting warm feet touch the freezing stone floor. The lady rubbed the sleep from her eyes, making her way to the little faucet and splashing her face clean, "You need some fresh air, Aedre." She assured the bundle of muscles beating feverishly in her chest, and pulled on a comfy full-sleeved, turtle-neck over jeans. The thought of grabbing the flower that usually adorned her right eye never crossed her mind as she stepped out the dimly-lit room and into the shadowy corridors where nothing but draught had its playground.

Three floors slipped past her feet without realization, as Aedre's mind was plunged deep in memories and thoughts of her own - but as the second floor of the citadel neared, an ominous magical presence, daunting in its aura and significant in power pulsed into her alertness. It was someone she'd never met before; heck, it was a unique ambiance - one whose kind she'd never sensed before. The white-haired female ambled closer to it - to the point she was standing right beneath the mammoth of a spider that had glued itself to the ceiling without realizing. She was still afflicted by the drunken stupor of sleep, "Wha----" The word came out in a hushed whisper of surprise and contempt and disgust, as Aedre backed away while a small orb of Space gathered within the palm of her dominant hand - she was taking that repulsive creature down.

Disgust filled her chest with bile when the arachnid's optics zoomed on her direction, glowing in a bright, ethereal color of claret - and soon descending by attaching its behemoth of a body to a thin, woven thread of silk. The dip triggered the woman's impulsive side, as she let the coalesced Space in her palm to unfurl in a violent fashion, such that it blew the spider apart, seemingly killing it in the process. She'd caused a few bits of the ceiling to shatter away with the detonation, and considering how old the mansion was - it was definitely not the brightest idea on the young Crawford's side. She was usually a bit too collected to dash and pull herself into such a predicament, but the terrible night had played far too many tricks on her; unsettled the generally calm woman to a bothered mess.

'Better pay Harrigan for the repairs when he gets back.' She noted, while her crimson gaze swept past the severed body parts of the colossal spider that had strewn all over the floor - coupled with the dirty mixture of rubble. She wasn't feeling the magical pressure that had warned her in the first place, so the first assumption was that it was safe to move on. However, something still weighed in her mind, like a premonition - a spontaneous spark of intuition, perhaps? The female's lips felt a cold sigh escape them, as she withdrew her thoughts from the depressing roll that they were on tonight. Apparently, the surreal images that haunted her in sleep somehow had a web of control that extended into the land of the awake as well.

She back-pedaled for a couple of steps, taking note of the mess so that she could direct some lowly-pawn of the guild to clear it up the moment dawn breaks the cover of Spooky Forest. Albeit, the moment she turned, was the moment she knew that her intuition had hit a home-run before. The ambiance returned, softly, like a swelling river in monsoon, and she heard her own deep contralto beckoning, "Hello Aedre."

The woman with the acolyte-white hair stood abruptly still in her obstructed path, 'By a damned spider, nonetheless.' She closed her eyes for nothing less than a second, a moment of composition, and turned back, all the while knowing that a body was on a bolt towards her. She was knocked into a wall with nothing but a dull thump, and finally witnessed a splitting image of herself staring her down, "I do like the way I look." Aedre whispered in a low breath, a smile breaking her withheld features, regardless of whether the man heard her or not. She witnessed the gaze held in slit eyes glowing in an alarmingly carmine light, the same as what shone in the spider's eyes, 'So the bug was not really a bug, huh?' The mane of white had shortened, framing a sharp, crude face of a male with surprisingly thin aspects adorning his face, 'Could've just kept my face instead.' The fun in the sarcastic thought drained by just an inch when he placed a blade on her throat though, and she waited for the message. For some reason, she already knew the cause behind this young man's arrival, now she needed nothing but the reason - so she heard his monologue calmly, not a twitch disrupting her expression.

"Your reason to be here is almost obvious, darling. Even a madman doesn't run to the most isolated piece of Fiore to kill the second-in-command of Savage Skull. So, an impulsive blood-lust was out of question. It couldn't be revenge, because I'm sure I've never seen this pretty face of yours before. The next option to be weighed was indeed a favor.... and every lil' buggy on the dark side knows that threatening is the cheapest and most efficient way to get things done your way...." The woman's dialogue assumed a pause, as a sly smirk worked its way up her lips and a sword appeared in her dominant hand - poised neatly with its tip aimed to plunge into the self-proclaimed Emissary's torso as she continued, "... Don't be under the fallacy that you're the only one with the charm. Oh and if you do kill me, you're not getting even a speck of dust from this place to help you in your endeavor. A settlement that is mutually agreed upon would be substantially beneficial... wouldn't you agree?"

The bestial curve never abandoned her assailant's lips while she made her point, and it was a feature of him that only intrigued and amused Aedre further. There was an unwavering aura of intransigentness in him, something she was not-so-unfamiliar with, for she possessed it herself when it came to being the dominating personality in a verbal battle. Not in such desperate amounts, but enough to not bar herself when faced with some random stranger showing up on her front step and threatening to kill her. For then, it was a subtle art; an almost relentless fight of not giving in.

The white-haired woman witnessed the man's fiendish display of mirth echo in the dark corridor, and it failed to extract any reaction but a small smile hinted with bemusedness from her side. The guild that this man was standing in right now had far more horrible individuals with far more cold-blooded personas. At this point in time, nothing and nobody who failed to fit in the mold of a normal person bothered her; lest her years of experience in what she believed to be her home would've been a waste. “Oh my…. My my…. Dear, you honestly think I need you alive for my plans?” She heard him, and Aedre did nothing but nod earnestly; as obedient in answering his question as a toddler in kindergarten.

And while she did so, the gripping hold on her feet didn't go unnoticed; but she never moved an inch even when a blob of nanites swarmed around her blade-holding hand and thus made it impossible to attack their owner. Only a second later, when the nanites had fit into their designated places, did she gaze down at her feet - her smile broadening by a barely perceptible measure, 'Breakable.' And as she brought back her vision to the white-haired man in front, she noticed his appearance shifting from her own lithe frame, to Harrigan's regal holding to one of the guild's founder; Lichborne. And the moment he shifted back to his normal form, was the moment the nanites collected on Aedre's hand fell off - as she triggered a blast strong enough to shoot it away, “You see? I can assume the role of whoever I need to, to make certain my wishes are fulfilled… but I don’t think that would be much fun, it would be better to let you live and have a more enjoyable show for My Lord wouldn’t it?”

A chuckle escaped the young Crawford's throat, her smile widening into a grin of genuine amusement, "And you think that the power of this guild lies in its manpower? The grunts that mop the floor? The ones that hold the power that you need listen to no one, mister. Or well, only follow you when they feel like it. And believe me, it requires some real charm to persuade them - not threatening skills."

The blade positioned at her neck was glowing by then, and Aedre was more than willing to learn of this young individual's plans. Albeit lacking honey-sweet powers necessary for assuaging, he did have a raw, bullish approach and the woman respected that enough. So when he mentioned Clover and assault in a single statement, Aedre knew this meeting wasn't a total waste after all.

"Dear, dear, only if you could've sent me a letter in advance, sire~ This meeting was dragged for no reason at all.... But, then again, I suppose you have no idea about how much the Savages love Clover. If you're interested in the story, I'll share over a cup of hot beverage. Maybe we can also discuss how you plan to do pull this off and.... well, about this Lord you spoke of earlier?" The questioned ended with nothing more than an arched eyebrow and a tilted face that was brimming of questions.

The woman witnessed her assailant, cum possible-ally's body withering into insignificantly sized nanites; looking just close to a mighty sand castle being kicked to the paltry resource that it was. For a split moment, she naively pondered on what would happen if a storm blew close by and whipped it all away. How incomplete would the man before her be? And as she drowned in her thoughts in a dizzy manner, Aedre came upon the realization that she had no guarantee if the male before her was a male at all. He seemed like a maestro at camouflage, before anything else.

The one who identified himself as the Messenger of Death mentioned his paucity for sweet beverages, and figuring out his meal didn't faze her much, 'No human would hate tea anyways.' She mused, a bemused curve working its way up the thin line of her lips. There was something off about this man, whoever he was, whatever he was. The snow-haired woman knew better than pressing for his real identity, for working in the shade of Fiore brought forth certain defensive instincts among individuals. She was well aware of the downsides of furtive freedom - the ability to look after your own back, make sure no action brought about your downfall, or worse; capture.

Particles that had made up the young fellow's lithe frame just a few moments ago were now carpeted all over the structure that made Savage Skull's stronghold; a metallic patina turned raven. A muted source of light floated over the Emissary's figure standing next to a small table - a diminutive replica of Pegasus' hometown towering with pride on the wooden base. Her hands woven firmly behind her back, Aedre covered up the gap between her and the model in a couple of long-strided steps and poured over the facsimile with curiosity; red pools gleaming with jubilancy at the miniature of destruction.

As the plan was elaborated upon, the woman soaked up the instructions with ease, occasionally nodding, all the while scrutinizing the man before her for any falters in his poise. She knew Harrigan wouldn't have a problem with a well-planned attack on the town of their nemesis', but he certainly would if the guild was tricked into a hoax by a random stranger.

"Before I cement this deal of helping you... two things; provide me assurance that you're not tricking this guild into a story of an attack. Perhaps, an incentive that acts as a promise of future actions... Secondly, who is this lord that you mention? You see, I respect privacy, but having lived in conditions of uncertainty, I incline to a point where I refuse to trust blindly." The woman spoke, her approach and words towards the man being much more bureaucratic this time. Pliant was the word she liked to live by.

The clink of a single specie resounded dully against another beneath it when the albino female pinched it up between her thumb and index. The bloody irises of hers were hard as thick chunks of frazil when she examined the authencity of the metal - years of expertise shining beneath the core of her demeanour. A well-rounded familiarity with a cornucopia of wealth and riches was one of the shining aspects of having Crawford blood flowing in your veins. And of course, it was the boat that kept that damned family's egos afloat in the cutting seas of fate and the games it plays. Those nugatory, albiet valuable pieces of gold and rubies and diamonds ran the world on their superficial fingertips - lighting up the beholder's or the wishful's eyes with a shine of greed and lust. She really couldn't blame them, or anyone else, to be honest. They only danced to the steps that would be rightfully titled the doctrine of mankind. And she pirouetted to it too - the crème de la crème that made the world voracious.

There was also the offer of getting all that laid in the vaults of Blue Pegasus; and Aedre could think of many ways that it'd benefit the Savages. It was not as if they didn't have enough money already, but there was something within the spirit of the underworld that kept the men working in it vying for more and more. More anything is better; was their mantra - perhaps, the greed that rested within every human was intensified when they were left face to face with boundless freedom. A lack of the sense of being confined left the spark of capturing everything in the vicinity, everything that they laid their eyes on.

"Sure." A single word agreeing promptly to the idea of quick and easy money. Of course, it wasn't income gained by acceptable means, but there's no such things as clean money, is there? All the money in the world is dirty, in some way, because there’s no clean way to make it. If one gets paid in money, somebody, somewhere, is suffering for it. And, to be honest, money wasn’t the root of all evil. Evil was the root of all money. The evil; is but, universal human flaws.

"As for your other question, It’s the God of Destruction, and I am afraid I am not worthy to say his actual name, but trust me when I say this… If he appears you will get the greatest award of all…" The messenger articulated, his body spinning in a crazed frenzy which left the hints of a cringe on Aedre's face as witnessed the strange, voluntary motions. And it wasn't just his actions that perturbed her, but the word God as well. It felt as if the emissary could turn out to be a religious fanatic in the end. She didn't mind it in particular, as it didn't affect their plans... but there was something about religion and the notion of God that had unsettled her for the entirety of her life. But, she knew, that sooner or later, fate makes everyone meet everyone; the fanatic, the drunkard, the waster, the betrayer, the ruthless mind, and the hate-filled heart. Fate loads the dice, of course, because then everyone can usually find themselves pitying almost all of those people.....

"So, tell me my Dear. Do we have a deal?"

.....And it’s impossible to lack trust in someone you honestly pity.

"Indeed, we do."