The Touch of the Devil's Hands

[Omen Tailamont]

For the first time in nearly a decade, The Hand of Treachery imagined, Empathy Abbey was the center of a swirling vortex of conflict and political change. He wondered briefly how the monks and pilgrims within it's walls felt about that. The answer didn't actually matter. Like so many things, it was a tool to be used as needed and discarded when no longer useful.

Omen Tailamont rode- as he had so many times before- past it's high stone walls, the Hand of Guile, Rojhan D'Amavir close in tow. They were rapidly approaching the area where, just hours before, he had finally run into Dramora, the Mistress of Virtues confirming that she was- in fact- back in Yew. The altercation between the two had eventually escalated into a fight. He thought for a second he could still see some of her blood from where he had left her unconscious body laying in the grass. "Does the name Dramora mean anything to you?" he asked as they rode along.

Rojhan thought for a moment before answering. "Vaguely," the younger man shrugged as he continued. "I've heard it some time over the years.' Omen only nodded as they continued along the road. His gaze swept against the wood-line as they rode and he knew that out there, somewhere in the shadows also rode the Hands of Retaliation, Blood and Slaughter. The three would be careful to remain out of sight, however, should the need arise, he knew they would be ready.

A flash of white through an otherwise sea of dull colored robes towards the Abbey caught his gaze. "It couldn't be..." he muttered to himself. Gillian Gryphon and her white dress were headed towards the Abbey. "Not twice in one day..." The two men heeled their mounts into a quicker pace and veered towards the Governor of Yew.

They slowed again and finally came to a halt in front of her. Omen watched as her eyes closed briefly and she seemed to mutter a curse under her breath. "Twice in one day?" she asked the Hand of Treachery.

"Rojhan," Omen motioned to the dangerous man. "May I introduce Gillian Gryphon. She's the one responsible for the brutal attack we suffered in the Abbey the other night. She sent her foreign army of blood-thirsty mongrels to do her dirty work."

The Hand of Guile considered the woman. "Do you often send people to attack innocent citizens and disregard Yew law not to shed blood within the Abbey walls?"

Gillian regarded to duo coldly. "I didn't send anyone to do anything," she spat, "You've been misinformed, I'm afraid." There was another brief pause. "Since you bring it up, however, you claim to be from Yew, do you not?"

Omen nodded. "I've considered this place my home for many years, that's true. As has Mikael."

"Then, I wonder, how can you be so accepting of The Hand's attacks on innocent Yew citizens?"

He waved her words away. "MIkael D'Amavir has always stood as a protector of Yew. At no time have any innocent people ever been harmed under his watch. He would never stand by and allow that to happen."

"Not like Aedon did," Rojhan offered, adjusting in his saddle. "He didn't lift a finger to help as unarmed citizens were brutally attacked... within the Abbey, no less. What do you call that?"

Again Gillian regarded the two men. "Aedon has only ever protected Yew. He's a good man."

Omen laughed. "Aedon has only ever cared about one thing: seeing his precious Glade prosper. He'd gladly throw the entire city to the wolves if it meant the Village of Aegis would survive," The Hand of Treachery shrugged, "He's a tyrant."

"That's not true," she stated flatly. "Aedon has stayed while so many others have come and gone- including yourselves."

"That's what tyrants do- they stay and suck the land dry of everything that is good and decent. And now, the two of you invite armed foreigners with no regard for Yew law or customs... You both show your true colors."

"I didn't invite them," she insisted once again.

"You need to talk to Aedon and your husband about that," Omen shrugged. "They both readily admitted to me that they were here at your invitation- and given your ties to Skara, you can see how that paints a very damning picture."

Gillian only shrugged. "My ties to Skara Brae don't run as deeply as you've been led to believe. I'm from Britain," she glared at the Hand of Treachery "and, I didn't invite them here. I don't want them here."

"Then send them home," Rojhan chimed in, shrugging his shoulders. "Send them back to Skara."

Her icy gaze shifted to The Hand of Guile. "You send them home if you want them gone so badly."

"You are offering to concede the enforcement of the law in Yew to The Hand?" Rojhan asked.

"I haven't decided yet," she answered.

The Hand of Treachery was actually having trouble believing what he was hearing. "What would it take to sway that decision?" All of the time he had spent maneuvering and plotting, weeks of careful preparation and information gathering had all come down to this moment. It was sooner than he had anticipated, to be sure, and, he had thought they were weeks, if not months away from this point; yet, here it was- unceremoniously thrust upon him due to a seemingly random ride near the Abbey! The Abbey that had seen so much history over the years was about to be witness to yet more.

The Governor of Yew considered Omen's words for a moment before answering. "You would have to promise that the innocent families of Yew would not be harmed in any way."

Omen absorbed the not unexpected words. Who was to say who was innocent and who was guilty of anything? Especially considering that Mikael D'Amavir's Hand was about to be appointed the enforcement of the law in Yew! "I promise," he said almost immediatly. "No innocent citizen of Yew will be harmed," he watched the young woman closely as he spoke the next few words. "In exchange, you will reaffirm Mikael D'Amavir as the Protector of Yew, as is his rightful title. You will declare it to be inviolate, now and forever."

Gillian only nodded.

"We would need the decree delivered in person as well as in writing," Rojhan added. "Do that and we will take over the protection of Yew."

Gillian nodded again. "Give me forty-eight hours to make my decision and make arrangements."

Omen Tailamont nodded. "As you say, Govenor," he offered with a smile. "We'll be in touch, m'lady."

As Gillian Gryphon made her way away from the men and towards the Abbey, Rojhan turned to The Hand of Treachery a final time. "I don't know what you are talking about, my friend," he said with a slight smile. "I find her to be quite reasonable."

The Hand members departed, heading back towards Dread Keep. For Omen Tailamont, his bad day had just gotten slightly better; at least he could soften the blow of his attack on Dramora with the news they had finally secured The Hand of Terror the City of Yew.

Omen Tailamont >H<
The Hand of Treachery
ICQ: 22265202

"The only way to make good is to be bad."

 

[Jordan Thyme]

F.. my luck she muttered. Twice in one day. The urge to turn around wedged itself in her throat. She disregarded it, sucked up her big girl leggings and strode toward them. Two. Three. Four. Five. Were they roaches? One by one the moved into view. Barbs fired flatly back and forth. The only emotion between Omen and herself were the edges, bits of emphasis and counter squabs.

"You ran here from your hometown."

She could have answered a thousand different ways to that. Yew was home now, or The Seas had been home once. It didn't matter what word she spoke. Home was a fairy tale concocted by those who needed something to fight over and pick apart. Her Port of Safety, as she was calling it, lay solely with Thom.

"You invited them." She'd unceremoniously uninvited them too in the same breath, but chaos had clearly wiped that part away.

"You want them gone, get rid of them."

"You'll Concede protection of Yew to the Hand?"

Forty-eight hours to consider it. Forty-eight hours to all but declare all bets off with people she'd trusted at one point or another. Her eyes glazed with the stirring of anger just below the surface. People who'd failed both Thom and herself time and time and time again. "When you put it that way..." she said aloud letting the words trickle out the same way the Hand trickled out of the shadows earlier that evening..

 

[Omen Tailamont]

Omen Tailamont watched the assemblage from deep within the shadows of his hooded robe. He watched as the so-called-king asked and answered questions and the gathering of people he had quickly come to despise rattled off the myriad of atrocities committed in Yew and Skara Brae by Mikael D'Amavir's Hand. He shook his head slightly and it took everything within him not to laugh out loud. The King of Britain was a long way from Yew. Quickly and deliberately, The Hand of Treachery stood and moved towards the back of the small wooden shack to where The Hands of Decay and Blood stood flanking the door, both equally garbed in dark, flowing robes that hid their identities. As he passed The Hand of Decay, the mage leaned in close and whispered softly: "I've heard enough," he said, the rage building in his voice. "Any one of these people that sets foot in Yew... dies." Malekai nodded. "And, bring me Gillian Gryphon." With that, the dark mage pushed past the door into the cool evening breeze and disappeared into the night.

His magic took him quickly to the dark, cold stone of Dread Keep. Angered, he pushed past the Hand guards at the Keep's outer doors and headed for The Hand of Terror's private study. He wound his way down corridors and up a winding stair case before finally coming to stand in front of the thick wooden entrance that stood between him and Mikael D'Amavir. Without hesitation, he knocked quickly and pushed the door open. The Hand of Terror sat, relaxed in an ornate chair, reading a large, leather bound book by candle light, looking up only as The Hand of Treachery entered.

A dark smile crossed The Hand of Terror's lips. "You look positively filled with rage, my old friend," he closed the book and placed it delicately onto the nightstand beside him before returning his gaze to Omen "Something wrong?"

"The Governor reneged on the arrangement," The Hand of Treachery spat the words.

Mikael D'Amavir shrugged. "We knew she would," he stated flatly. After a moment of consideration, Mikael shook his head slightly and chuckled, almost to himself. "Stupid girl," he muttered. His gaze shifted off into one of the room's far corners as he spoke. "She would have been better off accepting our aid and shelter..." Mikael's hand absently caressed the leather lining of the book he'd been reading as he considered his words.

Omen nodded in agreement. "Now she's alienated both sides and, after tonight, she's in danger of being removed from her position."

The Hand of Terror's gaze shifted back to Omen as he spoke and, for an instant, he looked at him in a manner that made the mage feel like it was only then Mikael had even realized he was there. Mikael exhaled sharply, almost sighing. "No matter," he continued. "Her removal is still necessary, is it not?," his hand moved from the book, brushing across his greying beard. "Nothing has changed." He regarded his old friend with a smile. "Do I not still own these lands?" he asked, "Am I not still the Protector of Yew, hmm?" Mikael stood and moved quickly across his study to a small wooden table near the window. He grabbed a small decanter filled with red wine and poured a glass. "Continue collecting the tax revenue and enforcing my will upon the populace. If anyone gets in your way, show them Hand justice."

Omen nodded. "I ordered your Hand to kill any of the mongrels from Skara Brae and Trinsic if they set foot within Yew."

Mikael D'Amavir whirled on the mage so quickly that Omen thought for a split second that he meant to attack him. Instead, The Hand of Terror calmly took a drink from his wine glass. "Rescind the order," he demanded, "Immediately."

"A message must be sent..." Omen insisted.

Mikael D'Amavir waved his hand dismissively, "By all means!" he growled. "Send whatever message you think appropriate, but, I'll not have all out war in these lands." The Hand of Terror moved across the room again, this time stopping in front of the Hand of Treachery. "But, we move on, my old friend," he smiled again. "The meeting is set?" Omen Tailamont nodded. "Excellent... then, lets move on."

"As you wish," Omen conceded. "I'll stand down The Hand in Yew when it comes to the Alliance." Omen's gaze met Mikael's "What of the Govenor of Yew?" he asked.

Mikael D'Amavir took a long gulp of wine and smiled. "Oh no," he whispered dangerously. "She's a dead woman."


Omen Tailamont >H<
The Hand of Treachery
ICQ: 22265202

"The only way to make good is to be bad."