Notes

Dear friend,

Thank you for your last letter, I hope this one finds you in good health. The information you've provided turned out immensely helpful - the Whitehaven residence turned out to be exactly the way you presented it on your sketches. You understand why I have to keep your assistance a secret, at least until the right time arrives. But it is you that allowed us the success in this heist. And to you, the Glove should forever be grateful, yet again.

Allow me to pay you back with information of my own, one that you won't find in those precious tomes of yours. It is well known to me, and to our three Brothers, that recently you decided to pursue your more cryptobiological interests. That's why I think it is time for you to leave your private treasure of knowledge and perform some field research. As you said yourself, most of the scholars performed dull analyses of more "magical" creatures, devoid of any imagination or practical applications that reach beyond alchemy.

I've found numerous mentions of one of the beasts you listed in your last letter. Turns out that Lady Lyanna of Whitehaven has a serious problem with what can only be a basilisk. As one of the ledgers we stole states, the issues only appeared a few months back, in the southern most wine cellar. The creature seems to have made it's lair in there, for reasons unknown. I figure this is a perfect opportunity for you to investigate and broaden your research.

With best regards.

Forever your friend,
Zarrus

~o-----o~


Lady Lyanna, Southern winery. A young, slender man stretches his legs, leaning back against the spotted trunk of a birch tree. He folds a letter in half and puts it between the pages of the tome laying beside him on the grass. Closing the book, he relaxes, enjoying the warm rays of the sun tickling his skin, where it isn't covered by the colorful, rich robes. His choice of clothing was very deliberate. A little flamboyant, a little too glamorous, with pieces not really fitting each other at the first sight. A long, dark purple coat was strewn across the saddlebags. The man's chest was covered by a purple, vest, delicately trimmed with gold. The bottom part of the vest was covered by a broad leather belt with many hoops attached, each holding up a tiny pouch. The man's muscular legs were covered with maroon, baggy pants that ended inside the black riding shoes. His lean, but strong forearms were mostly concealed by well fitted leather bracers. Rays of the sun dance on his chest, reflecting from an intricate pendant. Thin golden chain, holding up five finger-shaped trinkets: a thumb made of iron, index finger from stone, a silver middle finger, the ring finger is just air, glimmering and glistening, and the pinky finger seems to be a living flame locked in a tiny shape.

The man stands up, putting the pendant back underneath his vest. He stretches his back, a serene smile plastered to his face. It feels good to be back South. It feels good to leave the northern post for a while and come back to the land of the warmth. A finch starts its song somewhere in the distance, as the man gathers his camp, straddles the horse and continues down the cobblestone road between the fields.

The Whitehaven manor stands proudly in the distance, a marble wonder atop of the hill. It is one of those residences following the latest trends in architecture. Not built for defense, it was a place for balls and comfort. A huge terrain closed off by a fancy fence, in this case made of chiseled stone. The only road, sectioned off by an iron gate, led through the perfectly preserved gardens towards the white, pompous residence. At the edges of the estate were the staff buildings: the wineries, a smaller household for the staff to live in, wood sheds, pantries.. all that carefully hidden from the renowned guests' eyes. And of course, as the latest trends dictate, the hedge maze. What for? But of course to keep the illusion of decency during the party. A maze offers plenty a dark corners for the inebriated couples to express their affection in.

As the man approaches, two guards cross their halberds to block his entry into the residence. The man stops his horse and gets off, his boots making no sound as they hit the ground.

"I'm sorry Sir, Lady Lyanna doesn't expect guests at this time of the week" Says one of the guards, lowering the halberd and stepping towards the newcomer. "I'm afraid you will have to-"

"She will gladly accept my help" The guest interrupts him, brushing the invisible dust from one off the bracers nonchalantly. "Please inform her, that I am here to solve the problem with the Southern Winery"

Taken off guard, the gatekeeper glances over his shoulder, at his older comrade. The older man nods calmly, and the younger one's attention returns to the newcomer.

"If you could please wait here while I inform the lady of your arrival, mister..."

"Draconius. Draco. She won't know me though, so..."

"Ah. Okay. Wait here, I'll return in a moment." The young guard enters the property, marching towards the estate. Draconius stares at his back for a while, before turning his eyes to the older guard. The man changed his stance now, his halberd rested against the wall, his arm laying calmly on the handle of the sword. Draconius quickly classified him as experienced and deadly. He snaps his fingers and materializes two rolled cigarettes packed with dried northern weeds.

"You smoke?" He says nonchalantly to the guard, lighting the cigarette off the embers in the stand near the gate and breathing in the smoke.

The guard takes the cigarette and inhales, letting the smoke out with a relieved sigh.

In a brief conversation Draco learns that Lionel, the guard, doesn't hold "Lady" Lyanna in the highest regard. Or any of those young rich noble kids that build mansions just to show off their riches. And that Lionel had to drag four petrified bodies from the southern winery himself, before the area was separated from the rest of the grounds. They would send word for some adventurers to slay the beast, but of course, Lady Lyanna wanted to keep things quiet, afraid of the dent a real danger in her estate would cause to her reputation.

Eventually the younger guard returns to his post, grabbing the halberd and standing straight in the assigned spot. Draconius would bet a thousand gold coins that everything the guard did was exactly like he was told. Not waiving from his training for an inch.

"Lady Lyanna agreed to meet you, Sir. She's awaiting you in the alcove in the garden, behind the house. You can leave your horse here, it will be tended to and returned to you upon your departure."

With a silent nod, Draconius leaves the horse with the young guard. Creating one more cigarette out of thin air, he reaches out to the more experienced of the guards and, shaking his hand, leaves the little gift in the man's grasp. As the gates open, he turns his back to both of the soldiers with a soft smirk. A quick peek into the young one's mind revealed his anger and jealousy of the uneven treatment.

Setting out on his path towards the mansion, Draco lets his smirk widen into a full blown smile. Causing mischief and little competition was one more thing he missed, locked in his recluse up north. And now... he inhales the warm air of spring, enjoying the smell of flowers. He's walking through a meticulously shaped and groomed garden, thriving with life. Bright, colorful flowers grew all around the path, attracting butterflies that danced in the air, giving the mansion and the surrounding grounds a feeling of paradise. And indeed, what isn't heavenly around there? The day was warm, but not hot. A soft breeze made the air fresh, and the flowers were just too beautiful for any place other than Arcadia itself.

Or at least such a comparison appears in Draco's head as he walks the pathway to Lady Whitehaven's recluse. The wide gravel path splits to surround a huge marble fountain with a statue of a masked couple in a loving embrace in the middle. The water flows in arcs from tiny holes around the statue's socle, landing just short of the wide fountain edge, no doubt designed for sitting and kept perfectly clean at all times. What catches the visitor's attention though, is the tiny holes at the corners of the figures' eyes. Like the water could be directed there, making the masquerade couple cry. A detail surely ommited by most of the guests.

Behind the fountain stands the mansion itself. A big gravel square in front means that the entrance itself can be reached by the more... bulbous of guests with little effort. Or by dames in dresses that could get spoiled by a short walk through the gardens. Briefly pondering the purpose of buying cloth that frail, Draco turns to the entrance itself. A flight of low stairs leads up to a beautifully designed portico on each of the sides, four marble columns guarding the door from the front. Approaching, the house from the front, Draconius starts stepping up in the air, standing on the invisible steps of his creation and, without breaking the smooth stride of his step, he phases through the railing between the middle columns, standing in front of the big oaken door.

As he raises his hand to knock, the right wing door opens silently, without as much as a creak.

He squints, slightly surprised. Lowering his hand as the door stand open, he rolls his shoulders preparing to meet the lady of the house. Entering, he notices no staff members by the door. It must have been opened by a discreet enchantment, or an intricate, well-maintained mechanism. Either of the two, though the guest's bet would lie on the latter, since he couldn't detect a single sign of magic in the vicinity.

The hallway was built with marble stone. It was white, the tiles on the floor carrying an intricate design. It was easy to omit, didn't dominate the guests' attention, nor did it cause the feeling of confusion too pompous a design can cause. The interior was decorated with great taste, big comfortable armchairs and ebony coffee tables indicated a large number of people could wait here for quite a while before being greeted by the lady of the house.

"Welcome to Whitehaven, sir Draconius." A warm, low female voice greets the man from upstairs.

Draconius' heart doubles it's speed as he looks up. His hand instinctively goes to his belt, brushing the dagger in the sheath. Not wanting to reveal his surprise he casts a quiet, silenced spell. His heart returns to it's normal rhythm. He redirects his hand to one of his many pockets, as if he wanted to check it's content.

Lady Whitehaven walks down the stairs slowly. Wearing a simple emerald dress, she keeps her right hand on the railing of the wide marble stairs. The dress ends by her ankles, exposing her feet in emerald stilettos. Her left leg slides out from the high cut in the side of the dress, exposing her milky, perfect skin all the way up to the side of her hip, ending just where her underwear should be, teasing anyone that looked. The green cloth hugged the woman's round, fit hips, her small waist and pushed her full breast up with a tightly tied corset. Above the two enormous mounds the woman's body was exposed, short of an emerald choker made of green silk with a golden ring attached in the middle. Her red locks curled down to the top of her breast, covering an otherwise enticing display, her stunning green eyes judging the visitor silently.

Draconius tilts his head down in a silent greeting, hiding his astonishment. She can't be, that's impossible. She's dead, and even if she didn't die that day she'd be hundreds years old by now. A relative we missed in our investigation? That's impossible, Morgan sure covered every single lead we had, and ever since then both Zarrus and Zariel kept track of any indications about possible new clues reappearing. So... just a trick of fate? In the infinity of time the same set of traits, the same identical look is bound to reappear eventually, in the infinity of possibilities... But she's so identical, can it be it's just a fate playing a cruel trick on the Glove?

"My lady" He finally lifts his head to look up to Lady Lyanna, the woman now smiling down to him gracefully. Draconius, now with a confident smirk, stands up straight, locking eyes with the woman. Same flaw in the left iris, a tiny speck of blue in the emerald wells of her gaze. But that's impossible, she died. She died. She... "Excuse my prolonged silence, your beauty took my speech away." He reaches out, helping the woman climb down the final steps, a gesture of pure courtesy. She giggles, accepting the compliment, her slender hand barely touching his. The sultry look she gave him sends a shiver of excitement down his spine.

"Draconius..." She tastes the word, taking his left arm, leading him towards the main door. The left wing opens on it's own again, letting the couple out of the mansion. She cuddles up to his side, laying her head on his shoulder. He didn't have a woman in such a long time... He closes his eyes for a second and lets the air out his nose, forcing his body to calm down. "It sounds familiar. It was..." She takes a small pause. Draconius can't help but breathe in the delicate, rosy perfume she uses. It smells beautiful, but the scent of a woman still carries through, titillating his senses. Calm down... "...it was that man from the legend, wasn't it? One of the five gods that created the Order of the Iron Glove or something like that? My history teacher always scolded me, I have trouble memorizing names" She giggles, obviously embarrassed by the gap in her education.

She guides the confused mage outside, across the beautiful, well kept grounds, towards a white wooden gazebo, partially covered with ivy. And he lets her lead him, of course he does. A woman as beautiful as her, she could do many things with him. Many, many things. His thoughts begin to wander into a forbidden territory, full of gentle touches, wet sounds and sultry moans... CALM. DOWN. You know you can't allow this to happen, for Morgan's sake. "Yes, My Lady" He answers with amusement badly hidden in his voice. Lying was always natural to him. After all, what's a master illusionist if not an amazing actor, using the fabric of reality as his own stage? "My father was always fond of the tale. Unfortunately for him, I was the only son my mother gave him. I only have sisters. Four of them, to be precise, at least in this way my father would honor the glove." He looks down at her face, winking. The woman rewards him by sliding her hand from under his elbow and moving his arm around her waist.

If she's really Her, then she would know me. Recognize me. Or maybe she forgot my face? Or she's a better actress than I remember? What am I even thinking, there is no logical possibility she could have survived until now, just forget it.

Gravel crunches quietly as they walk, lady Lyanna Whitehaven doing an amazing job keeping her balance in her stilettos. They sure add no less than four inches to her height, and even now she's only barely able to lay her head against her shoulder. "No need for formalities" she says, looking away from him, her red locks flowing down his chest. Looking down would give him a great view of her full breast and the conflict within him grows. Even though it couldn't be Loretta herself, he would feel bad taking a woman so identical to her. It would be a betrayal of Morgan's trust, and Morgan is the one to decide everything about this woman. It's the only just way to do this. "A savior coming to free me from a vile beast deserves to use my first name." She cuddles up to him further, her breast squeezing against his chest. "When the guard approached me, I was afraid that you would be a simple brute, a mercenary type kind of a gruff." Her voice lowers, dancing on the verge of a seductive whisper, the woman still trying to maintain the illusion of decency. "You turned out to be different than what I thought. Completely different."

"I'm sure that my appearance surprised you" Draconius answers quickly. He keeps the tone of his voice innocent, as if he doesn't realize the woman's advances. His instincts win over as he can't help but glance down for a split second. Get a hold of yourself, you're not an animal driven by instinct. Scolding himself in his head, he realizes that meeting lady Lyanna drove the basilisk out of his mind for good. "And I assure you, what I lack in brute barbaric strength and a materialistic, primitive approach, I more than make up in subtlety and a bit of a magic touch"

She giggles at the joke. Her scent is intoxicating now, her touch feels like they're both unclothed, as if her breast presses against his chest naked. "I'm sure your touch is magical, dear sir, but I never doubted your ability. I'm sure you could... tame... any beast you want..." Her fingers now touch his chest briefly before she pulls away almost completely, the only contact between them now being his arm around her waist.

Surprised by his mind's betrayal, Draconius sends a probe out in search of active charms, detecting the use of magic in the vicinity. His vision turns grey. Only the uses of magic, be it a spell, charm, enchantment or natural magical aura would light up in his eyes. Now given an excuse, he gives a long look to lady Lyanna, his face with the expression of bashful admiration. Her curvy, female form is only painted in shades of grey, not a single dim glow betraying the latest use of magic. Blinking twice, he disperses the spell, unable to look away for long seconds. She's not charming me, but at the same time I seem to be under a spell. Could it be that my body needs a woman this much? Gods, why does she have to look like this...

"It's rude to stare, Draco!" The lady giggles, walking into the gazebo first, the man following her two steps back. The only furniture in a small, rustic gazebo seems to be a small coffee table now with two cups of hot tea on it, two comfortable armchairs covered in white fabric and a big leather chaise longue, surely able to comfortably hold two people. "You don't mind I call you Draco? It only seems appropriate now that you can use my name too..." She looks at him, fluttering her eyelids seductively and he has to pry his eyes away from hers, continuing to look around the gazebo. A green curtain of ivy separated the inside from the prying eyes of the outside, leaving only the opening for someone to walk up the stairs and rest inside. The otherwise dim and intimate interior, even at the peak of the day had to be dispersed by a couple of iron lamps holding undoubtedly magical torches. At the woman's invitation, he sits in one of the armchairs and as she closes the curtain, separating the two from the outer world completely, Draco's mind betrays him once more, and he can't help but feel a stirring in his loins as his body follows the wild fantasies forming in his head.

The beautiful host sits in the chair across from his, her face innocent as if she's talking with one of the many guests at a ball, seemingly unaware of the intimate setting. "There, now it's just you and me, Draco" She says softly, turning towards him and leaning over the table, yet again giving him a perfect view of the top of her breast. He looks away, instead focusing on the tea served in the cup. Soft, mild smell of South Threstone, with just a hint of chamomile. High end mix, expensive. South Threstone being a powerful aphrodisiac too. Yet again cursing at the gods for playing cruel tricks with his fate, he leans back in the armchair. As soon as he's back from this escapade, he must find a woman for pleasure. Desire makes him weak. Sighing, he looks away, blatantly ignoring the looks of a stunning woman beside him. Gods, her smell...

"The basilisk, Lady Whitehaven. How long ago did it make it's lair in your winery?" He asks, his voice strained, trying to return to neutral topics and resist the temptation.