Deceive the Deceiver

Log Info

• Title: Deceive the Deceiver

• GM: Riptide

• Characters: Telamon

• Place: Shining Chalice meetinghouse

The Shining Chalice meetinghouse, early evening.

Sunset has its beautiful moments in the autumn. The sky is painted like the golden leaves on the trees, accompanied by hues of oranges and reds that take the breath away with the beauty of nature, but the comfort of the violet that heralds the dark blue of night creeps onto the stage of the sky is a remarkable color all of its own. It's an evening that promises clear air, crisp wind, the slight chill of the harvest and all that comes with it, for autumn is supposed to be the season in which all mortalkind enjoys the result of summer's labor and prepares for the colder promise of winter.

Yet that violet matches the clothes on what appears to be a beautiful woman, gorgeous in every measure, her lips tinted a dark red to contrast her pale skin. The graceful features of her sildanyari heritage only serve to compliment her effortless beauty. She wears an easy smile that reaches the eyes she wears, a splendid blue. Her dark hair is worn in easy waves down to her waist. Needless to say, she catches eyes, at least a little, as she approaches the Chalice.

"Might I speak to Master Lúpecyll-Atlon?" she asks in pleasant tones, a refined air that befits the stereotypical station of the membership of the Chalice. "If you need a name to pass along to him, tell him that Oisea Lúpecyll is his gentlelady caller."

The steward at the door is momentarily at a loss for words, but recovers near-immediately. "Ah... I will see if Master Telamon is receiving visitors, milady. But please, come inside." He opens the door wide to let Oisea step into the hall, instead of keeping her on the porch. Then the servant swiftly moves away, down the corridor.

After a couple minutes, the steward returns, and politely bows. "Master Telamon will receive you, my lady. Please, follow me." With that, he leads the elegant elfmaiden down the corridor to a heavy door, which he knocks on politely before opening it. "The Lady Oisea Lúpecyll, Master Telamon," he says, stepping aside so she might enter.

The room inside is a study, shelves burdened with books and scrolls, a broad desk with some notes and a tome on it as well. The man himself has risen to his feet, his dark eyes regarding the woman with a cool regard. Dressed in a ruffled silk shirt, black trousers, and boots, Telamon Lúpecyll-Atlon seems to be just another noble dandy -- till one sees the soft glow in his eyes.

Oisea Lúpecyll gives a polite nod to the steward and follows him through the corridor, her expression going from polite to disinterested rather quickly the moment that she does not have to speak to the steward. The polite smile, however, returns the moment that the door opens to reveal Telamon. She enters the room and curtsies only a little before Telamon.

"Salutations, kin," she says. "I have come here to your meetinghouse to speak with you in the hopes of privacy--as what I bring to speak of are matters of concern to the bloodline." Her blue eyes are so pleasant, but the smile seems to be a rather constructed mask. "I am a relative of your wife through her father's bloodline--a cousin. My apologies that we have not met before now."

She seems utterly unperturbed by the fact Telamon's star-flecked eyes glow.

GAME: Telamon rolls detectBS: aliased to sense motive: (17)+25: 42

Telamon arches one dark brow. "Greetings as well, Lady Oisea." He gestures for her to take a seat opposite him at the desk, before returning to his own. Steepling his fingers, his dark eyes regarding the woman.

"Your arrival is something of a surprise, my lady. Beyond Glorenacil, I was unaware the Lúpecyll line had many more members. Indeed, the family seems uninclined to pursue the way of the wild rose." He tilts his head. "But, you are here, and I suppose that counts for something. On what matter would you speak?"

"We are a family of wilting roses, it is true," Oisea says with an almost wounded tone to match the pout on her face as she takes the seat indicated to her. It's a look that might move a lesser man to comfort her out of sheer aspiration for more beyond that. "There are not many of us left. Attrition is a matter that has always plagued our family, especially with the... arrangement that has seen many members of our bloodline taken to Quelynos and to die childless and heirless there. It is then that our fate as a family seems to rest entirely on this... 'cadet branch', to use the human phrasing for noble lineages, that you have formed with my relative."

Oisea smiles more brightly then. "In fact. I have come because I have heard blissful news. You are expecting a child with your wife, are you not? The first babe born of the Lúpecyll-Atlon line." She speaks so benevolently; it's a rapid turn from the doom and gloom of her expression and tone from before. "I trust you are looking forward to fatherhood, Telamon?"

GAME: Telamon rolls spaceBS: aliased to Bluff+3: (20)+28+3: 51

Inwardly, behind mental walls and mirrors, Telamon takes a deep breath. Don't blow this. If this is who I suspect it is -- or even if they're just a patsy -- I need to sell this just right.

"It did not have to be this way, my lady. I was able to reach an accord with the Feathered One. But as I noted, rumor and myth and legend can distort a tale all beyond truth. It is a sad state of affairs, and one of the things that Lana and I have sought to resolve."

At the mention of his child, Telamon carefully layers his outward expression. There's the expected joy, but apparently hidden behind it, a certain tension, a certain coldness. And beneath that, a deep sadness. "Indeed I am. When I came to Alexandria two years ago, I did not expect all the turns my life would take. But it has been quite the journey, nonetheless."

Oisea tilts her head to one side, a sparkle of something in those blue eyes of hers that suggests sympathy. Her lips part for a moment before she speaks. "But there is always something to rumor, is there not?" she asks more quietly, more gently. "While it is a happiness you have embarked on, Telamon, and certainly I hope that your relationship with my relative is one that is filled with naught but joy--I am... How shall I say it best..."

She clicks her tongue two times before she adds, "I am not so beholden to my blood ties to take my relative entirely at her word if I believe there is probable cause for discord in the family tree. And I do believe there is discord. Brewing beneath the surface like a pot allowed to boil too long on the hearth. The rumors..." Oisea lets that last sentence hang in the air, and it's clear that it's a prompt for Telamon to respond to.

As if realizing what his face might be showing, Telamon's expression seems to close back up into that polite, slightly blank look again. "Rumor can contain a grain of truth, though the reality of said grain is often not so clear. Not everything is as cut and dried as it might seem to be."

He takes a deep breath, his starry eyes focused on Oisea. "So far, the rumors are just that: rumors. This is Alexandria, my lady. You'd have to flatten half the city to stamp them out, and crucify every Crimson Pen author. No... I must endure, as I have endured before, as I will endure in the future. The moon always rises."

Oisea looks almost sad as Telamon speaks. She even leans in a little and holds out her hand as a comforting gesture. "Oh, a dignified gentleman you are," she says, "but you needn't place others above yourself if there is good and credible reason for... Possible subterfuge. I know well the difference between a tale of thrill and excitement for the populace to lap up, and that which bespeaks a quieter story--but a sad one all the same."

She draws a breath. "For I have inquired with some individuals--the mundane people, those who have come into contact briefly with yourself and your wife and have little invested into lewd texts of your personages as a result. And what I found was unnerving. Were you aware that your wife and the individual known as Zalgiman were spotted leaving your temporary abode together? Alone in each other's company, traipsing then around in the Market District like a couple? Some months ago--months long enough, in fact, to line up with the... conception of a child that is due to be born later this year?" She speaks of every item so gently, almost apologetically. Like each one might be a dagger wound to Telamon's heart.

The blank, composed expression never falters, but behind it Telamon seethes -- though not, perhaps, for the reasons 'Oisea' might expect. After a moment, he coughs, before continuing, "Dignity, my lady, is more than mere window-curtains. Such rumors... anger me, but it is best to treat them as the yapping of dogs, while the caravan moves on."

His eyes grow ever colder at her testimony, though, and his fingers grip the edge of his desk. "Cor'lana had sought to cozen intelligence out of Zalgiman, to assist us in our campaign against the werewolves. It was no more than that." The last word has the tiniest hitch in it, as if Telamon is trying to convince himself.

Oisea frowns deeply to see how Telamon reacts, and she withdraws the hand that she'd offered to him, seeing that he prefers instead the grounding of the desk rather than her more physical comfort. "I would like to believe such, Telamon, but... Your wife had such devotion to someone who appeared to be only an ally. Why else would a woman go to the Temple of Vardama almost daily for weeks? Why else would she write and perform poems of longing and regret, and write lyrics about such for the musical performances put on at the Theatre District? The child may very well be yours, Telamon, if you were also intimate with her in that time, but... I would, if I were in your shoes, ask if she was truly faithful."

She sighs deeply. "It is not a notion I entertain lightly. And truthfully, it would still be a child of the bloodline as it is born of her womb, no matter who the blood father might happen to be. But I do care about the reputation and appearances of the family..."

The woman waits a moment before she offers, "If it may please you, perhaps there is something you might be able to do. To put your mind at ease."

Indeed, it might be safer not to touch Telamon, as there's an air around him. The snap of winter, the light in his eyes. After another few moments, Telamon speaks, 'attempting' to refute the argument. "She is inspired by her experiences, but that does not mean her lyrics and poems are truth." He deliberately doesn't mention Lana's visits to the Vardamen Temple. "We swore an oath. She is faithful, as am I."

The denial sounds weak, but Telamon forges on, closing his eyes a moment before opening them again. "I am listening. I hate the thought that she might have... strayed. I do not wish to believe it, but... I must know."

"I am a spellcaster of some ability," Oisea replies. "In fact, I specialize in divination. I have been gifted with magic to show visions that might be otherwise obscured to all but talented seers. I know that you and your immeasurable magic talents have access to resources, but given that I am right here--I can show you a vision right here and now that can prove or disprove your wife's infidelity. One that cannot be altered by the protections that your wife has surely put into place on herself if she is hiding something from you."

She smiles somewhat gently. "It would be my great honor to assist you in any way that I can, Telamon."

Telamon stares back at Oisea, his gaze measuring. "Diviners have been known to misinterpret what they see, and not every vision is a true one." He lets his eyes drop to the desk surface, staring blankly for a moment, before picking up his collected papers and shoving them haphazardly into one of the tomes, clearing the space.

"No... it is better to know, or to at least seek the truth. One cannot live in an illusion." His dark eyes look suitably worried. "Cast your spell, Lady Oisea. Whatever happens I will not flinch from it."

"Down to the depths of my heart, Telamon, I certainly hope this to be one great misunderstanding. That your wife has held true and that she has not betrayed you. While those of my family have not always been kind to your wife, I harbor no such ill will, and had initially planned to come here to reconcile such matters until I heard... the rumors, and deemed them more important to put to bed first." Oisea looks and sounds deeply apologetic for everything. Those blue eyes sparkle like she's almost to tears in thinking Cor'lana has strayed from Telamon.

She holds out her hands then, and she murmurs quietly before an image appears, hovering above her hands. It's one of Cor'lana and Zalgiman, in the room where very commonly the family takes tea together. They are holding hands as they are seated, Cor'lana's violet eyes filled with tears, and then--

The sorceress moves in, kissing Zalgiman firmly on the lips. After a moment, he reciprocates. It's an image that devolves into a more steamy moment befitting of a Crimson Pen novel.

"I'm sorry, Telamon," Oisea calls out over the image, and she claps her hands shut as clothes are being shed. The very last flicker of the image sees them kissing again, a betrayal, a dagger for the heart, before it vanishes. Oisea breathes in deeply. "It appears--our fears are true."

GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (1)+25: 26 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (3)+25: 28
GAME: Telamon rolls spellcraft: (13)+23: 36

He nods stiffly. "Your sentiments are appreciated, Lady Oisea. Begin your spell." Telamon's face is that blank mask again, devoid of expression or emotion.

It lasts until the image of Lana and Zalgiman appear, and then begin to entwine. His face seems to fracture almost, and he whirls around to face the window. "Enough!" The air around the sorcerer turns icy cold, frost forming in fractal patterns on the floor around his feet and flickers of magical energy appearing around him before dissipating. Tel leans against the window, his shoulders heaving for a moment, before he repeats it. "Enough. I... I do not know what to do."

GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (19)+25: 44

There's a second that Telamon catches out of the corner of his eye as he reacts to the sordid image. It's a twinkle in Oisea's eye. A twist of the lips.

A smile.

But it disappears so quickly that if Telamon hadn't caught it in the way that he did, one could easily have missed it. She takes a deep, almost ragged breath, as she runs her hands through her hair, putting the fine strands out of place. Like she's so concerned she's lost all concern and care for her immaculate beauty.

"We have to do something, Telamon," she says, "but what that is--that is up to you. Perhaps you could confront her quietly sometime in the coming days or weeks. I can keep gathering evidence in the meantime. That way, she cannot deny it when you tell her that you know."

Then she looks deeply apologetic. "For now--you should act like you don't know a thing. But keep an eye on her behavior and where she's going when she leaves your house. Zalgiman may be dead, but if this rumor is true--what of the other rumors of the Temptress of Alexandria? All leads must be investigated. And I aim to find the truth."

For long moments, Telamon does not face her, his shoulders shaking slightly. Leaning against the window, at the autumn rolling in. After a time, he pulls a handkerchief from his tunic, wiping his face with it as he straightens up, tucking the kerchief away again before turning around. His expression is once again blank, an obdurate wall to hide emotions.

"We do, Lady Oisea. There will be... complications. My family will need to know, in time, as will Cor'lana's remaining kin. It is... unfortunate." The last word comes out in a grating tone. "It appears I did not know her as well as I believed I did. Or perhaps that Zalgiman's words were honeyed to capture her ears." His starry eyes seem cold now, dark. "Is there a way I can contact you, a place I can meet with you to share notes?"

"She very clearly initiated, Telamon," Oisea says quietly, an aching sort of sympathy in her voice and face. "And I have no inclination of besmirching the memory of the dead by implying he had anything to do with seducing her when she is so clearly the transgressor." Her last word has an undeniable weight to it.

She sighs then. "I am in residence here in Alexandria for the time being," Oisea replies. "I find myself renting a house from a nice gentleman in the University District. I can write down the address for you, if you'd like. You may come over for a chat or send a messenger at your leisure, whenever you may like."

His eyes flinch at the word, and it's clear he does not wish to believe it still. And yet. He swallows slowly. "I cannot make this decision yet. There is much at stake here, more than even Cor'lana and myself. But I will seek counsel from you in the near future. For now... I must..." He pauses again, then says, "Continue on."

He draws forth a quill and parchment for Oisea to write upon, inking the quill with a practiced movement. "Please do, Lady Oisea. And then... I must ask that you excuse me for a time. I must... consider this."

Oisea takes the quill from Telamon and writes down the address to a house in the University District. It's a street name he recognizes. In fact, it's one that's not far away at all from his house. He's certainly walked past the street enough times to recognize it. She passes the quill back to him and nods soberly, making her way back to the door.

"My apologies again, Telamon," she says gently. "I know the pain you must be feeling right now is... one that sits deeply at the core of a man. To be betrayed so--it must feel like your world is ending."

She purses her tinted lips together for a moment. "Do take care, Telamon," she says, before she moves to open the door and depart.

Telamon reaches down to ring a bell on his desk, and the steward arrives. "Yes, Master Telamon?" he says politely.

"Please escort Lady Oisea to the door, Arik. After she is safely on her way, come back here." As the steward escorts Lady Oisea out, Telamon draws the curtains over the windows, before sitting down at the desk, staring at the address. His expression is still blank, as Arik returns.

Tel looks up, and Arik nods. "She took a rickshaw, Master. Ah... do you need anything?" Telamon offers a small, faint smile. "If you could, start a pot of tea? I have some things to review here." The steward nods. "Of course, Master!" and departs again, leaving Telamon alone.

Or so someone might think.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. The blank expression dissolves, as does the 'wounded' look. His face is now focused as his mind reaches out.

(Lana. We have a bite on the line. A lady by the name of 'Oisea Lúpecyll' came by to express her dismay over the rumors, and to supply 'proof' you had strayed with Zalgiman. She gave me her address -- the scary part is that the house is not that damned far from ours. Gods, I am so glad Verna consecrated our home.)

(I'm pretty sure this is the Corpse-Eater himself, not some patsy. So I think we should start quietly letting our friends and family know where he lurks. I've got an open invitation to speak with 'Oisea' -- a shame I'll be bringing some friends along, hm?)

Telamon opens his eyes, and a hard smile creases his face. "'Tis double the pleasure to deceive the deceiver."