C O N. v o .C A T I ON
con·vo·ca·tion | \ ˌkän-və-ˈkā-shən
1a: an assembly of persons called together to a meeting
b(1): an assembly of bishops and representative clergy of the Church of England
(2): a consultative assembly of clergy and lay delegates from one part of an Episcopal diocesealso : a territorial division of an Episcopal diocese
c: a ceremonial assembly of members of a college or university
2: the act or process of calling an assembly of persons to a meeting
Seasons of winter had passed since Blue Owl had flown across the roof tops of sleeping Ishgard, but his feet knew the way. Every slippery patch of ice on every loose roof tile tested his hard won but, lately, seldom used abilities as if though it were his first time. But the snow blanketed the sound of his coming and made the familiar climb up the side of the Cathedral less perilous than he would have thought.
Below and beyond him the city stretched and blurred into the graying haze of that evenings falling snow even as Saint Reynaulds graven stone face pressed against him in the oppressive way only Ishgard could. The rough texture of his gloves and the cleats on the soles of his boots slipped on the ice as he gripped carved stone effigies of what once had been dragons until he reached the first buttress that connected the cathedral to the buildings surrounding it. Only when his feet found solid ground did he lift the mask very slightly to take in a breath of fresh but stinging cold air.
“Blue Owl has become a slow hunter.”
He slipped and fit the mask back into place over a smile of recognition it would not do to show here, amongst Them.
“Has time clipped his wings?”
“Dulled his claws?”
“Enough.” The first voice in its deep timbre cut across the others, impatience and amusement mingling together in the single word. “It has been...some time, Blue Owl. We Welcome You.”
‘We Welcome You’. The words were as old and familiar as the city that slept below where they stood, and they echoed from behind the mask of the Black Rat. Green Dove and Red Bat stood on either side of Black Rat and, aside from the faint colors that adorned their own otherwise plain masks, they blended into the night as he did himself on the buttresses before and beside his own.
“Black Rat? A different voice behind a familiar face.”
“We Are Many, We Are Everywhere, They are Few.” Black Rat crossed his arms one over the other across his chest, fists touching the opposite elbow.
“Green Dove.”
Her voice might have been pleasant were it not for the slightly unnerving tone behind her words. Green Dove placed a hand over her heart and bowed, the gesture mocking in its grace. “Unnoticed We Conquer.”
“Red Bat.”
“We Hear, We Listen, We Remain.” Red Bats hands clasped together at the small of his back.
“Blue Owl.”
He placed hands on the opposite shoulders, his posture rigid and his head bowed. “Silence Best Becomes Us.”
The four gathered relaxed as the Ritual completed, the Names given and the Sayings sung. Black Bat sighed and placed both hands on his hips with the shake of his face. The rodent like features of the dull black mask did nothing to add to the gesture but, then again, that had always been the point. “Did our forebears ever think that would get so tedious and long winded to do each time?”
“Have you ever heard of an abbreviated secret society, Rat?”
“No, Dove, but have you ever heard of a schedule?”
She leaned her weight on one leg, her hands mockingly resting on her hips as Rats did. “Nope. Isn’t that a seasoning?”
“Owl.” Bat had always been the punctual, practical one of the group, even more so than himself. “It -has- been a long time. We’d thought you’d left. For good.”
“Flown the nest even, and without a goodbye.”
“Why did you come back.”
They watched him as Owl took in a deep breath and reaffirmed his solid footing on the stone buttress he stood on. ’Why did you come back?’. Another voice had asked him that same question not too many days ago, but he knew the Others would not accept the same answer he had given her and he gave none.
“Fine.” Bat could not hide the annoyance in his voice, but it was not his annoyance Owl had come for. “What do you want.”
“The Vigil that took place at the forum for the not so late Lord Ezra. I took it you all were there.”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately.”
“More or less.”
“And were you convinced of the Ladys ‘grief’ as much as I was?”
Dove audibly scoffed and crossed her arms, all the answer from her he was going to get. Bat merely shook his head as Rat muttered something that more or less was a no, all three still steadily fixed on Owl.
“His death was inevitable.”
“ Just so. Which one of you did it.”
It was hard to confuse the Convocation, but for once he thought he had managed it. Rat, Bat, and Dove looked to each other in a silent exchange before they afforded Owl their attention again. “None of us.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You might find a lot of things hard to believe, Owl. Things have changed since you’ve been gone, alliances have shifted. It’s no longer ‘the poor’ and ‘the wealthy’ anymore. Bloodlines have been called into question, the civil unrest between Foundation and Pillars has reached a level we’ve never seen since the Lord Commander spread the truth that heralded the end of the War.”
Dove huffed. “On the back of a dragon, no less.”
“And the Convocation hasn’t been called for nearly two passing of seasons. The Four have more on their plates to deal with now than inner house inheritance and money scandals. Ishgard is no longer the place we inherited from our fathers, and neither is our Task. Lord Ezra is only the newest death that’s happened, but if it is on any hands it is not on ours”
“The High Houses might call upon the Convocation to deal within the Four, but they would not waste our time and their money on a bastard ascended to Lord Brume Rat of a minor noble house.”
Owl had no reason to disbelieve them. Dzemael, Haillenarte, Fortemps, Durendaire- these were the names they served. He hadn’t even heard of House Reaufort until the vigil. “Tell me of his death.”
“Died in his sleep, or so they say. Chocobo dung, I say. Young men in good health, newly raised to a position of Lord with humble beginnings as a by blow half breed bastard of the Brume do not die peacefully in their sleep.”
“He could have been poisoned.”
“Suffocated.”
“An induced hemorrhaging of the brain.”
“But instead he was found in his bed, peacefully dead without any probable cause other than poor health.”
“And a body left behind is a poor blunder.” Owl knew that much from his own experience. Left behind bodies were not a trademark of the Convocation. “Meant to be found and exploited.”
“The Brume has been angry for a long time, Owl. Personally I want nothing to do with it, and if you know what’s good for you you won’t dive into this. It was enough that you killed that Dzmael boy, the last thing we need for you is to stick your knives into another body where they don’t belong.”
“Dove. We’ve all killed for personal reasons.”
“Maybe, Rat, but never a second son of House Dzmael.”
“He deserved it.” Owls voice came out rougher than he had intended, a snap that cut across Dove’s own growing anger. “Did they ever find a body? No. Did they ever suspect the Convocation? No. Did the third child that succeeded his position complain? No! So you do not get to, Dove.”
“That’s over with...it’s done, Dove. Owl.” Bat has always managed to corral them back into point, and little about that had changed. “We can’t control what you do, but neither can we help you if you choose to pursue this. Ask yourself..is it really worth the effort? Is it really worth risking your life, your legacy, in this venture. and if it is, what do you stand to gain from it. One death will not change things and we of all people know that.”
Rat, Bat, Dove, and Owl. Their legacies were knives for hire and silent death in the dark. The unspoken word whispered between the Four looking to remove ‘obstacles’ from their path. Yes, they, of all people, knew that. “I will inquire with the Fleas, then.”
“Inquire if you must, but do so in secrecy.”
Owl shrugged, finding some amusement in Bat’s obvious suggestion. “Silence DOES Become Us.”
“Fine. Can we call the Convocation to an order, then?” The three men nodded to Dove’s request, snow already gathering on crown and shoulder alike. “And next time can we PLEASE do this in front of a bloody fire.”
“Have you ever head of a secret society that spoke about their plans in a tavern, Dove?”
“This is not the place we inherited from our fathers, Rat. Learn some damned code or something.”
- - -
He was shivering by the time he made it back to the ground, over the rooftops and into the unlocked window of his upper story room. Time spent in the temperate lands of first Dravania and then Gridania did nothing to help him adapt back to the cold of Coerthas, and the ink in the awaiting well at his desk had nearly solidified after a hot bath and the awakening of the almost dead fireplace. As ever Ald Sohl was unaffected by the chill in the room, but nonetheless looked up from where he was curled up on the desk at Silene’s approach. The automaton watched Silene write the letter in silence, but scoffed at the name written upon the front of the parchment.
[”Thou dost know the irony that thy letter is to kin of the deceased Dzemael slain by thy own hand?”]
Silene set the silver gray sealing wax over the lone candlestick on the desk and watched it melt. Long pale fingers traced over the first curling letter of ‘Elphanse Silmontaix’.
“Considering all we have been through, Ald Sohl, I thought you would be used to irony. At least our life is never dull.”
[”Never dull. Verily, those are the words for it.”]
@eaotheelf for mentions
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Character Summary: Breandan
alias/nicknames: Audthildr’s Bane became something of a figure larger than the knight who wore the epithet once upon a time. He accepts nicknames and shortenings of his name with acceptance, depending on how good faith the individual seems.
gender. Goes by he/him.
age. ‘Adult’. Early 30s
zodiac. Pisces
abilities + talents. A consummate soldier and professional warrior, trained most diligently in lancework and military strategy. Dragoon Stuff (tm) Some passing familiarity with other weapons styles, largely academic anymore. An architect’s eye for ruined places, some hand at carpentry, a quiet love of stories of distant places and older times.
alignment. lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true
religion. Faithful to his patron deity, Halone, in an idiosyncratic and superstitious way that’s a little more country than the rigid Orthodoxy of the city. He studies the examples of the Fury’s Saints (Daniffen, Reinette, Finnea, etc) and maintains a few backwoods Shroud beliefs he can’t quite seem to let go of.
sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath
virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience
languages. Speaks Common Eorzean well, and the elezen dialects of Ishgard and Gridania. Sort of conversational in a Viera dialect from the Golmore Jungle. Knows some spicy Bozjan swear words (and maybe from a few other places, too)
.
family. Brighid Ducaille (sister), Silvestre Vigneaux (brother-in-law-to-be), Severine Sauvageot (sister in all but name), Elphanse and Aramis Silmontaix and Egrine and Rhaya Mhakarraca (’Cousins’)
friends. A man who ‘knows a lot of people’ should be said to have many friends and connections. Breandan doesn’t consider himself a fast one - his nature and career makes keeping those connections intensely difficult at times. He counts among them but certainly not exclusively: the magician, Mazin Khin and his companion Morgan O’Faolain, his coworkers Otolin Stone, Yellow Rose and Cao Xiaohu.
sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other
relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated
libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent
build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other
hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black
eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (golden yellow)
skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other
height. 6.9″. Perfectly average height.
scars. A litany of physical ones, starting with the iconic one across one cheek and ending with any number of cuts and slashes or dragonfire burns. The scarred-over rasp of his voice suggests some internal damage there. The most recent of these isn’t even physical - a kind of crack in his aetherical makeup that at least seems to have been treated and is mending well.
dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future
A few songs that remind you of them:
Dangerous - Son Lux
Underground - MISSIO
Time to Go - John Vanderslice
Change on the Rise - Avi Kaplan
Icarus - Bastille
tagged by: @brightrind
tagging: @bookbornexiv @autochthonousone @tea-and-conspiracy @houserosaire (and anyone else who would like!)
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