Closed [Velindor] Drunk Man's Poison

[Chameleon]

49th Summer 517

Gladeos was a man with few secrets. Not for lack of trying. No one would call him a boring person, with a life that lacked the interesting details ripe for secrets. Most considered him the opposite, for he had plenty of stories to tell. Of cities far and wide, into which he smuggled whatever had been called illegal there. After all, smugglers always seemed to have interesting stories about their work. Of the mistresses he kept behind his wife's back, despite her being well informed about them all. There was said to be one in every city he had visited - two if he had forgotten about one.

Yes, he had plenty of things about him that would be perfect for a secret or two. Only, nothing could remain a secret with him for long. His tongue was far too easily moved with a bit of alcohol, whether it was in the deeply distilled rum that he drank or something even stronger.

And so, as he was often found on these sorts of nights, the man was sprawled at the bar of the Stallion's Rear, clutching a dirty glass and trying to pour its empty contents down his throat. "Have I told you about Melissa... Ah, Melissa. Tried to sell her half a crate of rattlesnakes and she paid me back in scorpions!" With a petulant sounding whine, he banged a large, grubby hand against the table and yelled for more ale.

His friend, sitting beside him with a bored expression and a purse that was slowly draining, sent a nervous signal to barman to ignore him. Another drone later, and he had had enough.

Gladeos didn't just talk about all his secrets when drunk. He whined, moaned, and spoke gibberish the whole time. And his friend wasn't quite certain why he had decided to not only put up with it, but fund the noises too.

"Alright. Get up. We're going out." His hand met the man's shoulder, then froze. Gladeos wasn't budging, and despite his drunk state, his chest bulged out impressively, as did the muscles as he tightened his arm. "Please?" There was a second of silence. Then the drunk man shook himself and pulled away from the bar.

"I can take myself out, thank you." The voice was a gruff warning. The man wobbled away, slipping just before the door and catching himself on another's chair. "I'm good." The door gave way under his hands, and he fell onto the street outside, clutching his head at the shock. "I'm good."

It was quieter outside, no one exactly near enough for him to actually be speaking too. But there were a few people dotted here and there, and he nodded at each and every one of them. Then again, his head bobbed up and down continuously anyway as he toppled left and right down the street.

Suddenly, he barged into another man. He blinked, a few times, catching himself just before the two ended up on the floor. The drunkenness was apparent on him. The sorry state of his clothes, the way he walked - even from the smell alone, you could tell. "Excuse me fine sir," he replied in slurred words, replied to whatever that man had said at the way he had collapsed into him, "Excuse me. Here."

His handkerchief was out, dabbing at what could have been a spot of mud on his shirt. It seemed, there was no getting away from him.

[Velindor Calendula]

Soft silver light draped the city of Alvadas in a soft glow that cast deep shadows in the spaces between buildings, where Leth’s gaze did not reach. The rooftops themselves were a landscape apart. A writhing network of gables and chimneys awash in the silver light, with small clearings for large spaces where citizens gathered to drink and make merry. In a dark corner where two buildings met, above and across from the Stallion’s Rear, Velindor Calendula clung, the tiny hooks in his hands and feet ensuring his grip to the stone walls remained secure. Silver hair spilling down his back,Velindor sat, motionless, his golden eyes fixated on the building across the street. A pang of hunger lanced through his stomach, accompanied by a long, low moan and the familiar, almost comforting tingle of fresh venom upon his tongue. Two days, he thought to himself irritably. This had all better be worth it!

Velindor was not accustomed to starving himself out of habit. Indeed, he rarely went more than half a day without eating something, either fruit or fauna. But tonight was special. Tonight, he needed to be lethal, and his venom at its most potent. That, however, was not why he was staking out the Stallion’s Rear from the shadows. His venom was only part of the equation, and his hope was for the Rear to supply him with the other part. Fortunately, Velindor did not have to wait for very long; Symenestra may have been natural climbers, but they were certainly not infinitely strong. A flash of yellow light marked the opening of doors from the Rear’s large, well-lit interior. A single man exited, and Velindor was pleased to see the noticeable sway in his step. More importantly, the man had exited alone.

The Symenestra’s muscles ached as he slowly crept down from his hiding spot, his golden gaze sweeping to the left and right, taking in the scene. A few pedestrians dotted the street, but beyond that, the area was deserted. And quiet. That was important. Turning towards the Stallion’s Rear, Velindor sighted his mark within a few feet, keeping his head down as he placed himself in the drunk man’s path. While he had anticipated some impact, the collision still threw the Symenestra to the ground, and he made a show of groaning as he stood, placing a hand to his lower back.

“Excuse me, fine sir!” the drunk man spoke, apprehension noticeable in his voice, though not as much as the slurring influence of alcohol. Before Velindor could speak further, the man had grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and began dabbing mud from Velindor’s sleeve. The Symenestra couldn’t help but let a flash of disgust cross his golden eyes, though he fought to regain his composure. Anger wouldn’t serve him now, and the near overpowering stench of alcohol on this human confirmed that he was perfect for the task at hand. Velindor took a deep, calming breath. Inhaling through his nose before letting a long, just audible exhale cross his lips that could have been mistaken for a sigh, though whether of exasperation or relief it was hard to tell.

As Velindor breathed, he focused his mind and felt his Djed well up within him, ebbing and flowing with the rise and fall of his chest. Placing his long-fingered hand over the drunkard’s and gave a calm smile. “Don’t worry,” he spoke in smooth but accented Common, “just calm down.” At each phrase, Velindor pushed with his mind, willing djed into his suggestions, attempting to make them ever so slightly more compelling. Colors swirled at the edge of his vision. Velindor ignored them. “Come now,” he spoke, no longer infusing his words and thoughts with magic though he kept his djed reserves close to mind, “you should get some rest.” With what he hoped was a friendly smile, Velindor offered his arm to the strange, drunk human. Confidence and poise were everything, in his experience, when it came to winning the hearts and minds of lesser beings. “Here, won’t you let me walk you home?” This time his suggestion was accompanied not with any magical attempt at compulsion, but rather a small niggling sensation of trust, given form by Velindor’s djed as he attempted to win this worm over. Step into my web, little human, Velindor thought with a sly grin.

[Chameleon]

Calm down? He could do that. Ignoring the fact that his urge to actually listen to the man was much stronger than usual, he pulled back, wobbling a little at the movement. The handkerchief was folded, albeit very badly, and stuffed down a pocket inside his coat. His hands shifted back to his body, and remained there, as still as rocks.

Then the strange man - Gladeos had only just realised how strange he was, with the almost translucent skin and long dark silver hair - spoke again, this time with much less success. Without the djed infused words, Gladeos interpreted them as they were, and nothing more. A command.

If there was one thing the drunk couldn't stand, especially in his drunken state, it was being told what to do. He pulled himself back from the extended arms quickly, puffing his chest out despite falling smaller than the man before him. At least Gladeos had actual muscles, visible ones, large intimidating ones in his drunken mind. Height meant nothing if the pale man had nothing to support him with it.

He wasn't going to be bossed around by anyone, especially not a strange stranger like this one. "I know when I need to get my rest." Although his words were still slurred, there was a lot less drunkenness in them: at this point, the man knew exactly what he was saying. "Don't tell me what to do!"

A fist was raise, although it lacked most of the menacing feeling to it. When Velindor spoke again, he finally lowered it. Maybe he should trust him.. Maybe it was a good idea to listen...

Then again, he wasn't a child! He didn't need this man to walk him home!

"I can go home myself!" he snorted petulantly, and spun quickly, marching in the opposite direction. At least, attempting to. His foot slipped on his second step, and the heap of the man landed sharply on one knee. A few moans later, he pointed back at Velindor. "Help me up. Help me get home."

Ah, yes, that was better. He was giving the commands, so of course, everything was just as he wanted it. "I know a man like you." Even if Velindor hadn't come closer, he would have started talking to him, addressing the street as if it were the pale man. "I remember... I can't remember. People didn't like him very much though. I remember that much. It was... In Syliras? No - I don't think so. Where do you come from, you?"

He pointed towards the direction of his house - or where he assumed his house would be. "That way!" One arm reached round, balancing himself on the pale man, imposing enough that warned he shouldn't try slip out. But Gladeos trusted this stranger - trusted him to take him some of the way home, at the very least.

[Velindor Calendula]

Velindor couldn’t help but allow his grin to turn into a true smile of satisfaction as the drunken fool complied with his first suggestion. The anxious blotting of the handkerchief ceased at once as the human scrunched the handkerchief together and stuffed it back into his pocket, swaying a bit with the influence of alcohol. Unfortunately, his mark did not remain calm for very long. It would seem that, without the help of his djed, direct suggestions were more likely to stir this man to anger than to elicit cooperation. The human puffed out his chest as he pulled back, no doubt to make himself appear larger and more intimidating. In truth, despite the obvious height disparity, this display caused a niggling sense of nervousness to tickle at the base of Velindor’s skull. Appearances are often deceiving, and while Velindor did enjoy a relative size advantage, the truth was that even a human of only average strength was more than capable of doing serious damage to his slender, delicate bone structure.

As the drunk continued his posturing, Velindor himself backed away slightly, reaching his right hand down to subtly finger the small vials set within the leather bracer on his left wrist. The first of these was Lilyweb, a dark purple liquid that caused physical weakness, but it required injury as its delivery method. For Velindor, that meant getting in close enough to make a scratch with the sharp obsidian-colored hooks on the ends of his fingertips. Too risky, even with a drunk, the symenestra concluded mentally, though his golden gaze never left Gladeos’ figure, lest the drunk be spurred to more aggressive actions. For now, all the drunk did was talk, although Velindor tensed visibly at the raised fist. His fingertips brushed the second vial. Lost Tongue, perfect for drunks that talk too much, Velindor thought, though again he would have to get closer for it to be effective. Worse still, it took effect only through ingestion, to which Velindor was just as susceptible as his target with the fine mist of poison.

Still, as Velindor watched, it looked as if he may not need to resort to his poison supplies after all. The raised fist drooped noticeably, lacking any real threat or menace. Perhaps his emotional influence was having a real effect? When the drunk spun on his heel, Velindor frowned. It would not do for his quarry to get away so soon after he’d begun. But then the sodden fool tripped on flat ground and drove one of his knees into the street with an audible crack of bone on stone. Velindor allowed himself a short exhalation of amusement as he rolled his eyes. Petching drunks, he thought as he made his way towards the prone figure, they can’t even leave with dignity.

“Here I am,” Velindor spoke smoothly, trying to erase any hint of frustration from his voice, “I’m here to help.” He bent to one knee and offered his right hand to grip the drunk’s wrist and pull him upright. While Velindor was neither muscular nor particularly strong by human standards, the multitudinous microscopic hooks across his skin gave him load-bearing capacity beyond what appearances and physiology might otherwise imply. So it was that Velindor was not overly put-off by the heavier human leaning onto him, though personally, the symenestra would have preferred to keep an avenue of escape open, just in case. As the drunk man spoke, Velindor did his best to adopt an interested tone.

“Indeed? That is remarkable, we Symenestra are not common outside our home to the east.” He spoke in a measured cadence as they began a hideous three-legged shuffle down the street draped in Leth’s silver radiance. This had the potential to be a very long walk, Alvadas being, well, Alvadas. Velindor figured he’d at least steer the man towards a more amenable disposition. Focusing on his djed reserves once more, Velindor pushed with his mind while keeping the feeling of trust close to the surface. Colors swirled again at the edge of his vision, and the throbbing ache at the base of his skull intensified. Velindor blinked a few times to clear his vision before continuing. “You don’t say? I’ve never been to Syliras myself. Sadly, it’s true that my people are often maligned and shunned in certain areas,” Velindor trailed off, this time shifting his emotional focus, ever so slightly, from trust to one of pity, and accompanied this emotion not with a push but more of a nudge. He didn’t want pity to overrule the man’s trust and confidence, such as it was.

As they continued walking, Velindor pondered how best to answer his companion’s question. “Well, originally, I hail from Kalinor as do all of my people. Of late, however, I have found myself a resident of this wonderful city!” The excitement in his voice was sincere, for a change. Velindor had grown rather fond of Alvadas during his relatively short stay so far. “And you? Where are you from?” Velindor rather expected the man to ramble some drunken answer to that, so as they walked in the direction the human had pointed, he began to ponder his new predicament. The symenestra needed to find a way to direct this drunken mess of a human toward his own home, without alerting the man to what he was doing. After about a chime or two of shambling along in their rather awkward pose, the two came to a crossroads, which gave Velindor an idea. A crazy idea, but perhaps his human prey was just drunk enough for it to work.

Reaching down into his left pocket, Velindor took a calculated step backward with the same foot, placing it directly in the path of the other man’s right with the intent of tripping the larger man back to the ground.

If he was successful, Velindor would retrieve his enchanted housekey from his pocket as he approached the fallen man. “Egads, how clumsy of me! Will you allow me to help you up?” Push. More swirling colors. Velindor blinked again as he grasped Gladeos’ hand to pull him up. “Here, I think you dropped your key.” Push again, and now Velindor could taste the familiar coppery twang of blood in his mouth. He needed to be careful now, as he was starting to test the limits of his magical art as he knew them.

In the event Gladeos remained standing, Velindor would feign a fall himself, again cursing his own clumsiness. When he managed to regain his footing, Velindor cast a weary glance at the human as he felt the pulse of his own key. “It’s this way,” push “isn’t it?” Push, as Velindor pointed in the direction his key indicated, back towards his own home, and hopefully farther from anyone that knew this man. The taste of blood on his tongue made him uneasy and anxious to be done with this trickery. He had simpler methods arranged at his cottage.

[Chameleon]

"Symnestra!" the drunk called out, as if he was the one to have named the race, not the creature before him. "Yes, it was that. Do people like you?" He moved to poke him in the chest, then realised it was a hard task to do when he was also leaning on the man, so instead poked him in the side, laughed, and continued pressing his weight onto him.

Any malice, however, that could have accompanied the action, was missing, Gladeos feeling like he could trust this man like his best friend. Maybe he even was his best friend. His mind was too intoxicated to really figure that detail out.

The pity, though, was lost on him.He wasn't one for pity, something he knew even while drunk. Instead, he shrugged the slight feeling loose, wondering whether to try poke him again. The man nodded as the other talked about himself.

Then questions were asked, and he poured into his drunken nonsense. "Born and bred an Alvad, although my dad's from further that way, Lhavit, and my grandmother on my mother's side is all the way from Zeltiva. You heard about Zeltiva, have you? Been there myself, plenty of times. I'm a sailor, you know. Got me own boat. Big one. Taken her everywhere that she could land. Gotta be the best sailor there ever was, 'cept maybe that... that... she wrote a book. I never read it though. Forgot her name. I should write a book. Got far more interesting things than her. Want to hear?"

The man was about to launch into some great story, without even waiting for a reply, but a trip stopped him. He was barely able to stand upright himself, so the foot - although he blamed a stone - in his way sent him flying. He thudded on the ground, scraping his knees as he did.

Taking the hand, he almost pulled the smaller man down. Almost. Somehow, he managed to balance himself fully, shaking his head roughly at the fall.

A key was pushed into his hands. He didn't even notice it, considering his mind was too preoccupied with the fall.

Although a strange sensation had overcome him. One he wasn't certain about. Maybe the hypnotism had been used wrong, or received wrong, but his trust in this man flickered, and for a moment he thought that it had never been there in the first place.

Then again, it could easily have been blamed on the fall or his drunkeness, both of which could have easily messed with his memory.

"Who are you, get off me!" He shook him loose, spreading his feet to remain balanced. "Go away! I'm going home, now, so go away!"

Then, following the key that had been given him, he stumbled down the street, watching behind him. Maybe the man was a thief, that was why he got so close, to steal his things. Either way, he didn't want to see him again,or those fists would be thrown.

oocThe house is just around the corner, so it's not far at all, and Gladeos is heading straight there. You can try some more hypnotism or follow him, or whatever you want
Then we can get to the fun poison stuff!

[Velindor Calendula]

Everything seemed to be falling into place for Velindor, at least at first. While the larger human nearly dragged the thin Symenestra to the ground in the process of being helped up, Velindor managed to keep his footing. Even better, his drunken companion of the evening didn’t seem to question the key pressed into his hand as Velindor stepped back, brushing himself off. ”This is almost too easy,” he thought to himself with a smirk playing across his face. A smirk that soon soured into a grimace of confusion. Whether the impact of falling to the street had crossed something in the human’s head, or Velindor had been too liberal in his use of magical influence, the drunk man seemed to have completely forgotten the last few chimes, treating Velindor not just as a stranger, but as a potential threat.

As his intended victim strode away, full of indignation in a way that only copious amounts of alcohol could provide. ”Petch,” Velindor cursed silently as his mind churned through possibilities. The warm taste of blood in his mouth, along with the pulsing throb near his temples, were real and visceral reminders that further use of his magical talent was far too risky. Not for a simple drunk. While keeping an eye on the departing drunk, confident that the man would be following the key straight back to Velindor’s own home, the Symenestra removed the vial of Lilweb poison from his leather bracer. Popping the cork, Velindor dipped the razor sharp ebon claws of his index and middle fingers into the vial, coating them each with a thick purple liquid.

Replacing the cork and vial, Velindor took a moment to smear the poison across his claws as evenly as possible. Lilyweb caused mild loss of physical strength, something he would need if the human decided to be confrontational. Inert enough to mere touch, he would need to scratch the man’s skin in order to weaken him, so getting close would be the first problem. To that end, Velindor kept to the shadows cast by Leth’s silver light, trailing behind Gladeos. When the drunk cast a glance behind him, Velindor gasped and quickly pressed himself to the brick wall of a nearby building. Thinking quickly, the Symenestra pressed his hands and feet to the rough stone, and with the characteristic grace of his race, Velindor clambered up onto the roof, casting an eye down to the street to follow the drunk man from above.

Fortunately for Velindor, he didn’t have to follow the drunk for very long. After a single turn, the Syemenestra recognized the roof of his small cottage. He crept along the ridge of buildings, waiting for Gladeos to come closer. In his mind, Velindor crafted his plan of action. As drunk as he was, the large human would no doubt fumble with the lock, giving Velindor time to descend to the side, doing his best to stay out of sight as he crept close enough to strike while the human’s back was to him. For that matter, he also needed to keep the great buffoon from making a racket. Alvadas may have been a shifting city of illusions, but a large man crying out in anger or pain would not go unnoticed, Velindor suspected. To that end, he drew the second vial from his wrist bracer,

Lost Tongue, that would do the trick quite nicely. Velindor knew that he would probably need the tongue-thickening poison at some point in his little experiment, his only lament was that he would need to poison himself first in order to affect his target. Once the drunk man had entered Velindor’s home, and assuming the Symenestra had managed to approach undetected, Velindor’s next step would be to inhale a whiff of Lost Tongue himself before quickly exhaling it through the doorway. So far, the night had had its ups and downs, but Velindor had high hopes that everything was still falling exactly into place, albeit in a more circumspect manner than he’d intended.

[Chameleon]

Maybe Gladeos noticed him following. Maybe Velindor managed to hide in the shadows quick enough. It didn't really matter, because he was too drunk to care. When the Symenestra disappeared onto the roofs of the buildings, he couldn't notice him, whether he cared or not, and for the rest of the short journey, Velindor remained unseen.

Although drunk, Gladeos reached the doorway of this little cottage a tiny bit confused. He didn't remember living in a place like this. Under his breath, he was muttering something, inaudible to anyone who wasn't standing right next to him. "Petching illusions, messing with my petching house." Stupid Ionu. Every time he did something for himself - bought a nice big house for example - the illusions would reclaim it and make it look awful. So what if it was bought with smuggler's money? Didn't mean those petching illusions-

Between his angry muttering, and how he rattled the key in the lock, thick drunken fingers having lost all their mobility, he didn't notice the man appearing behind him. He was far too much focused on the unimportant things.

Finally, the lock gave way, and the door opened immediately, much to the surprise of the man who was expecting something that would take a little more force to push open. He toppled forward, following the door as he pulled the key back out, but caught himself on some piece of furniture he didn't recognise before he could fall completely.

Actually, he didn't recognise any of this.

Illusions weren't meant to work indoors. Which meant he wasn't in his house unless the city really wanted to mess with him. So where was he? The man started to turn and trek back out of this measly cottage, when something blocked his way.

That strange pale man. The one he didn't like. "You-!" his voice rose up, then something was exhaled in his direction. Without meaning to, Gladeos took a large gulp of the faint green mist, and tried to yell again.

This time, nothing but gurgled nonsense came out. Gladeos tried again, but it only got worse, the man panicking now that he couldn't make any noise from his mouth at all.

Instead, he reached out to the chair that he had caught himself on. Fingers curling around its legs, he pulled it round, swinging hard at the pale man's face. At the last moment, his fingers slipped, and it flew through the air to meet him. Meet him, or fly out of the cottage, depending whether the first happened or not.

His mouth tried to move again, but nothing came out, and he was filled with another rush of rage. He just wanted to yell, and question and warn, but he couldn't, and it was terrifying him.

Next thing he knew, he was charging, head down like a bull. He was large enough to do some damage to the fragile looking man standing there. Just because he couldn't speak didn't mean he was helpless.

So he was going to charge straight at Velindor, and out the door, if he could make it.

[Velindor Calendula]

At first, it seemed that fortune was once more turning towards Velindor as his initial plan unfolded. While the drunk man cursed at the spider’s lock, unaware that he was still under observation, Velindor carefully picked his way face-first down the wall to his left, taking refuge behind the corner as he reached the ground and reoriented himself. Peering around to eye his prey, Velindor slid into motion once he heard the lock turn and the door to his small cottage creak open. The spider popped the cork on his vial of Lost Tongue as he stepped into the doorway, just in time to see the drunk man trip over a nearby dining chair. Velindor exhaled the poison just as his opponent turned to face him, a spark of recognition flashing behind his alcohol-reddened eyes. Even as Velindor’s tongue thickened in his own mouth, he could see his poison taking hold of the human, as his jaw worked without producing sound. “A welcome change, in my book,” Velindor noted mentally. Even in the murky shadows of his cottage, Velindor could see clearly, as he dilated his pupils to take in more of Leth’s silvery light from the doorway and the small dirty window on the adjacent wall. When Gladeos grabbed the leg of the chair, Velindor had a hint of what might be coming next. That look of recognition had not been a friendly one by any stretch of the imagination. The spider reacted to the oncoming chair by sidestepping left, pushing his door completely open, slamming it against the wall. “So much for not making a racket,” Velindor thought as the wooden chair clattered to the cobbled street outside. When next the enraged drunk ducked his head to charge Velindor, the spider thought first to contain him into the cottage. After all, it would be damn near impossible to lure the man back again if he escaped. Using the closest thing at his disposal, Velindor slammed his door shut. If he was lucky, the drunk man was inebriated enough to slam headlong into the barrier, leaving him stunned enough for Velindor to safely approach. If luck was not smiling on the spider tonight, however, he supposed he’d best come up with a very good plan B, lest he inadvertently allow his home to be ransacked by an angry drunk human. His thoughts turned to his two Lilyweb coated claws on his right hand. “Getting a scratch in with both should put us on more even terms,” Velindor thought to himself, golden eyes fixed on Gladios and his next move.

[Chameleon]

The man, in a drunken, furious, mess, charged headfirst into the door. There was a cracking noise - the wood seemed to have splintered where the impact was made - and Gladeos toppled back, mouth wildly spitting out silent curses. His eyes blinked wildly, and furiously, at the Symenestra beside him, and out came a fisted hand, trying to sweep out.

Head pounding, with that familiar ringing noise in his ears. Sprawled on the floor, still reeling from that impact. The first punch would have easily missed: would have missed even if Velindor stayed perfectly still and didn't react with the blow. But it was followed by another, as the man steadily rose up from the ground. And another, and another. Wild punches, with little control, but given the man's size, plenty of strength.

Velindor had two choices: take the blows, or dodge out of the way. And with the strength of the blows, taking them would hurt. A lot. For a Sym with weak bones...

While he hit out, trying to keep the man away as well as trying to actually hurt him, the man backed into the door. With a heavy movement, he pushed and pulled at the handle, taking a moment to decide which was which, then let the whole thing open.

As he fell onto the street outside, a face looked up, a man who had heard the chair smashing, and had been looking out for Gladeos. Gladeos' friend, a long-faced, bearded man with pockets that were always being emptied, looked up at the commotion. Although he spared a glance for the drunken man on the ground, his eyes remained focused on the shadowy creature inside.

Then something snapped, and he started shouting, louder than what should have been expected from any man. "Help! He's being attacked! There's a... mugger! Thief! Brute! Anyone, come help!" He continued to shout, a controlled, almost calm tone to the words, but remained a decent distance away, trying to peer in closer.

The noise of footsteps began to sound. Other voices - not as clear, these ones, but still voices - shouting in response.

It seemed like it was game over. If Gladeos had been hard enough to control, surely it would be impossible with a small crowd. It was as if the city was sensing just that. But, instead of deciding to condemn Velindor, it wanted to give him a second chance. At the other end of his tiny cottage, another door appeared. It was small and wooden, and barely noticeable, but creaked open for the Symenestra, whispering for him to make a quick escape.

He had a second chance. One in which to do whatever it was he wanted...