Forgo glared through the slits of his helmet at the reflective white blanket covering the corpse of the Constant of Fury, the Ninth Pale Spear. It seemed taboo to see so much white untarnished by the sin-cleansing purple seen accompanying abiding Humans and Elves alike. But the white blanket was used to symbolize the ideology that in death, the Magister permanently cleanses Elves of sin and imperfection before passing into the afterlife; thus, no purple was needed, as the dead were already absolved of all sin. But only for Elves. A sharp crunching noise caught Forgo's attention and he scoffed, returning his gaze to the Exarch sitting at the end of the table on which the Constant lay. He was eating, cracking bones open and slurping out the marrow within with a revolting expression of euphoria on his face. Forgo rolled his eyes in disgust and stepped closer, running his armored finger along the slick ornamental table of the dining hall. His scribe trailed him awkwardly while he gestured at the cooked bird on the table before the Exarch.

"You would eat at such a time as this, Exarch?" Forgo hissed. "Why, yes." The Exarch smacked his lips with every second that he chewed on the moist flesh of the cooked poultry. "Should I not, Pale Spear? The Magister abhors waste." He tore into the other leg of the bird. Forgo thought he could hear the Exarch's tongue slapping against the roasted skin of the leg, dragging it across the surface sluggishly before ripping a chunk of the flesh from the whole. He chased the mouthful with a swig of blood-red wine with a grotesque, emphasized gulp, and continued.

"Would you like some, Forgotten?" The Exarch spit out chunks of un-swallowed skin and strands of meat as he spoke. He chuckled and wiped his mouth with the rag dangling from his collar. "It is the Gravel Vilbird. I had it sent here from the Centaurian fiefdoms and cooked to perfection."

Forgo recognized the name of the feathered creature. The Vilibird was one of his topics of study assigned to him in his training as a Pale Spear. It was prominent in the Centaurian and Wood Elven regions, but the Gravel Vilibird, in particular, was listed as a heavily endangered species when he was young, so he was certain it was nearly extinct by that period. It was a turkey-sized flighted bird with mottled grey feathers that liked to blend in with piles of gravel. Urbanization and the Magisterium's increasing need for food drove them to extinction, like so many others. And the Exarch was devouring one like a starving jackal. Forgo quelled the shouting in his consciousness and changed the subject.

"I've seen your guardsmen arresting potential Bluntears in the streets as ordered." Forgo glanced down to his gauntlet, squeezing it by the wrist with his other hand and moving it slightly as a passive tic. "And my Rites are investigating another safe house as we speak. Any news to report from your end, Exarch Sylus?"

The Exarch grunted and nodded. "Mh. Yes. The Fourteenth Pale Spear, the Spine of Affliction, has been killed by the warlock Fahlnem."

Forgo scoffed and clenched both fists, averting his gaze from the Exarch as he continued. "The Spine ambushed him on an empty train. She was to occupy or incapacitate him before reaching the Railsource checkpoint, where the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Pale Spears from Ianann were waiting to finalize his capture. Instead, they were met with two halves of a burnt corpse." The Exarch expressed no tangible change in emotion while he spoke. "Did you know her?" The first sign of curiosity Forgo had seen out of the Exarch.

"Yes." Forgo met the Exarch's eyes again.

The Exarch made a single exhaled chuckle noise. "Well, she was arrogant. Didn't bring a fireteam of Rites with her. Moron rather deserved it, if you ask me."

Forgo seethed from behind his helmet. He changed the subject again. "Anything from the Crown?"

The Exarch shook his head and took another gulp of wine before pausing. "Well," He took a moment to ponder, sending Forgo over the precipice of impatience. "I suppose so." He left it there, and Forgo clenched his fist. "And?"

The Exarch chuckled condescendingly at Forgo and spoke. "Patience, boy. Haste is a virus that burns us from within and violates our mind." He pushed himself away from the table and stood from his chair, tearing the napkin from his collar and letting it flutter to the floor. An attendant hurriedly retrieved the platter of Vilibird for disposal and the Exarch grabbed him by the arm, yanking him from his path. The jolt of movement thrust the platter of Vilibird from his hands, sending pieces of the meal to scatter along the floor. The sound of the platter clanking on the floor made Forgo's scribe cringe.

The Exarch grabbed both of the attendant boy's shoulders, yanking him into place in front of him. "WERE YOU NOT LISTENING, CHILD? NEVER ACT IN SUCH HURRY." The Exarch backhanded the attendant and shoved him toward a guard, lowering his voice but maintaining his sour temper as he spoke to the guardsman. "Get him out of here. I don't care what you do with him." The Exarch was breathing heavily and his hands shook violently. His crazed eyes glanced back to Forgo. "What was it you were saying, Spear?"

"Nothing. I'm going to work on the next hit. Keep up your work." Whether good or not.

"That's cold," Fahlnem complained, as the 'doctor' applied a brown salve to his bruises. Miranda watched with her arms crossed and continued. "Before we can get someone into the checkpoint to see if your equipment is there, we need to lessen the pressure on the city. Since you got here, the city's been put on lockdown and nobody's allowed in or out except for Crown officials."

"And that lockdown includes the checkpoint?"

"Correct."

"So I impersonate a Crown official. I'm an Elf."

"They probably still wouldn't let you into the checkpoint. Verified officials typically travel by more elegant means. At any rate, what we need right now is more help. More and more of our safe houses are probably being raided as we speak, and our list of available resources is short enough as it is."

"Can't I just go to each safe house, beating the asses of any shitheads that show up?"

"The Exarch's footsoldiers are nearly endless. I doubt even you can take out a whole city garrison, plus some Lilac Rites."

Fahlnem grumbled. Miranda's expression and raised eyebrows asked him if there was anything he wanted to say. He shook his head and she continued.

"We'll need to evacuate the safe houses, so we need a diversion. That is something I trust you to do." Miranda poured herself a cup of water and took a sip. "However, you're probably the highest-priority mark in the Elven kingdom. If you start burning people, the lockdown will get worse, and more Pale Spears will show up. So a diversion is also out of the question."

Fahlnem frowned. "Can you get to the point? I know you have a plan, so tell me what it is."

Miranda smirked. "You don't like that I'm talking a lot because that's what you like to do." She set the glass of water down and continued as Fahlnem put on a grumpy expression. "Essentially, I need you to break a fellow mage out of jail."

Fahlnem stepped back outside of Argus' house. He wasn't well enough to help Fahlnem prepare the ambush for Ciron, but he said he would do what he could if things escalated. He also said something about trusting Fahlnem to handle himself against a non-mage, but he was feeling unsure of himself at the time. He walked around the Irythil estate, surveying points of entry that he thought Ciron would use as he passed by Argus' hired Elven workers. They were tending to beds of vibrant flowers and lattices of grapevines, maintaining herb gardens, and observing the feeding patterns and population amount of the small pond of fish that lay next to the arched opening through the estate's walls that led back to town.

Fahlnem settled on the wall bordering the thicket as a point of ambush, with a fallback point of Argus' home. He wanted to take as little chance as he could, simultaneously betting on Ciron making his way into the estate via the very same thicket. Any other path to the wall would be too open, and Fahlnem was sure that Ciron wouldn't risk getting spotted under the shroud of night. "But at the same time," Fahlnem pondered, "would he? Something as simple as a dark cloak could hide him against the gaze of any guard at the estate, and the walls are easy enough to scale. He could just follow the coast 'till he saw the estate and circle to the back, climbing the wall behind Argus' house. Then he's in."

He paced with frustration. He felt like Argus was too uninvolved in the ambush; too carefree. He was a powerful mage and a visionary, so Fahlnem assumed he wouldn't take a single chance. Perhaps he trusted Fahlnem too much. Perhaps he already had a plan against Ciron and was just letting Fahlnem entertain himself. All of these thoughts crossed Fahlnem's mind as he unintentionally used overthinking to pass the time, minute after minute.

With a sigh, Fahlnem arose and traced his hand along the wall of the estate as he walked the perimeter.

Fahlnem re-buttoned his shirt and stood up from the chair, absent-mindedly thanking the rebel that patched him up. "I thought I was the only mage around. If you had another mage, why isn't Erumar freed? One mage alone could change a lot."

Miranda tilted her hand in a sort of 'so-so' expression. "We had to keep him hidden while the Constant was around. She had grown complacent, which lead to her death, but she was still nigh-unstoppable and terrifying to fight against."

"Alright, so who's it gonna be?" He began donning his armor.

"The mage's name is Desmond. He uses magic to make people sick and he can grow things. Flesh and bone though, mostly."

"Never heard of a magic type like that. What else do you know?"

"Very little. He says very little, and he treats his magic like a weird sort of pet. He's eccentric, but he's also incredibly powerful."

"What happened? If he's so strong, how'd he get arrested?"

"Technically, he's still undercover. Last time we had contact with him, they didn't know he was a mage, so he's being held as a normal citizen in the Erumar prison. If he was found out, though, he's definitely dead by now."

"Oh, sweet. Perfect. Alright, so what's your big plan on how I get in and get him out?"

"You'll be impersonating a Crown official. You're an Elf, which is one resource we've never had before. You're also an asshole, so it should be easy to act."

"I'm a better actor than I am an asshole," he said defensively. "Either way, I like this plan. If what you said about the lockdown is true, then it makes sense that I can't just storm the place and take Desmond into the sunset."

There was silence between the two for a moment. Fahlnem spoke up with an expectant look on his face. "So...?"

Miranda arched a brow at him. "That's everything. Get to it." She crossed her arms. "We'll be here."

"You don't know which cell Desmond's being held in? No clue how many guards I'm gonna be facing in case I get caught?"

"No, Fahlnem. I told you we're short-manned. It's been months since we've had contact with Desmond. The person tasked with helping him in the prison was probably hanged for impersonation." She flung her arms in the air in frustration. "We have no clue."

"So if you have so few people to spare," Fahlnem crossed his arms back at Miranda, furrowing his brows. "How the hell are you going to find out if my shit is in the checkpoint?"

Miranda sighed and walked over to a rickety table at which she began to write a letter, probably to send to another rebel safe house. "We'll work it out. The rebellion is still your best chance at getting in and out of the checkpoint alive. Hey," she glanced back at him with a condemning smirk. "Worse comes to worst, you can just use us worthless humans as fodder. You are an Elf, aren't you?"