Tidus spun around at the door opening but upon seeing Donovan his gaze softened. He was about to let loose with a fury but seeing it was his friend and a very concerned party, his face softened. Growling lowly he saw the guard and nodded as he left and made note to talk with the captiain before the end of the day. He walked over and shut the door taking a deep sigh, "I swear some of them have rocks for brains." he walked over and began pouring a couple cups of tea as Bianca made her partial account of the day. With a deep and mock irritated sigh, "You see my dear Adviser, your beloved here has been taxing her already burdened system far too much." nodding slowly he saw the fear in his patience eyes, "Oh very well," he shook his head laughing a little, "You see her system being burdened is all your fault my friend." Taking a deep breath he motioned for Donovan to sit in a chair he pulled up beside Bianca's bed. Once he was seated he told the soon to be father the bing news.

With the news cast he offered Donovan a cup of tea similar to one he now sampled, "It will calm you. None for you however," he motioned to Bianca, "I have to run to town and get certain items for our mother to be. You may wait here with her Donovan, I want her to rest for the rest of the day and sleep in tomorrow if she can." he looked between them, "... that means nothing to get her worked up." he looked at Donovan sternly before chuckling and walking behind a curtain changing from his clinical robe into his more known white robe with gold edge about it and containing a number of hidden tools of his trade. Grabbing a bag he stepped to the door, "I'll have the servant stay at the door in the event you need help. But I'm sure you have plenty to talk about. I will return as quickly as I can."

He closed the door behind himself when he left and gave the servant instruction not to go snooping about the room or eavesdrop on them. After that he got his horse after it was saddled and he left the confines of House Dilysnia and into town to get his required components.

He in turn gripped her hand hard. “A condition? What condition?”

As he sat and heard Tidus’s words, it all sank in. A dizzying effect took him. He was going to be a father! He looked to Bianca—and she looked beautiful, if uncertain how he would react—and recalled their early passionate moments together, their joy and exhilaration. A warm smile played over his features.

Suddenly nothing else mattered: the house, the death of Harvold, the painful state of Cerise, the assassination attempt; none of it truly mattered. He felt like he was lifting off the ground, floating, flying into the sky and looking down upon the network of Variens streets and avenues, with the rows of houses and affluent lords and ladies who were all going about their daily business. But they were all so far away. They were a different world away.

Did other people experience emotions like this? He had buried himself in work for all those years, slavishly toiling with studies, balancing books and entering-into negotiations. Had he been a fool? Had he wasted those years? He had, he thought. But then another thought struck him: would he have met Bianca if it had all been different?

He was so glad it had worked out the way it had.

So Donovan’s smile was wide, and his eyes held great joy. He sat the cup of the bedside table, then kissed Bianca fully on the lips—deeply and passionately—then just stared into her eyes.

More than words.

Dazrath had taken up prime position watching the Dilysnia stables and exit compound.

Right from the outset of this objective, Dazrath had investigated gaining entry into the house. He had firstly snuck beneath the city and into its network of sewer tunnels. House Dilysnia had two main cisterns, on opposite wings of the house, which fed excrement down pipes. But the pipes were too small to crawl up.

There was also a water well on site, but there was no conceivable way of getting to that and climbing up from there.

Thus, direct entry over the walls had been the only option. His ring of stealth was handy, because it rendered him invisible, but it did so only for short lengths of time. The ring would begin to burn his finger until he took it off, whereupon it would take hours to cool down again. The assassin’s finger was somewhat blemished as a result. There were times when Dazrath had worn it to lengths of excrutiating pain; when he knew he had to adapt to it and remain unafraid in dangerous moments.

Yesterday, when Dazrath had encountered Rammas, he’d acted too quickly. Now there were even more wards and guards in place to deter a direct attack. Wards, Dazrath found, were not easy to unravel. The spellcaster would often put some kind of code or hallmark into the weaving, making dispel attempts time-consuming.

So the assassin decided that an attack was necessary outside the compound. He had earlier watched the house advisor Donovan Konvarc’h depart on matters of business, but he was not the mark. Tidus Zephir was the targ—and there! The wizard was coming out.

Dazrath grabbed his crossbow, fled the window sill and descended the wooden stairwell, bounding down four and five steps at a time. He left the building after a quick glance around, and then sprinted nimbly down two backstreets. Dilysnia residents always used the same route to get to town and he hoped to bisect Tidus’s path and take him out from there.

It transpired that the wizard would indeed pass that way, atop his saddled horse. The black-cowled assassin deftly shuffled and sidestepped, a well-practiced movement effectively unfurling the cloth of his cloak. As it opened, the assassin withdrew a throwing dart from his chest strap and into the palm of his right hand. Dazrath threw the dart toward the mounted wizard, waited, then lifted his left-hand and fired the readied black crossbow bolt for the rear of the horse.

The move was two-fold; one, he hoped the dart would negate some ward placed around the mage, and two, the crossbow bolt may cause his steed to buck and disloge him—possibly even trample him. The wizard likely had a ring of warding, or some barrier over himself and the horse even, but he waited to see. Dazrath had also meanwhile began slowly mouthing the syllables to a fire spell which would incinerate a small area. There were a few passers-by at this stage of the morning: they would get to watch some spectacle.

Tidus had been quite exhilarated by the much needed good news. The last thing he had wanted was for Bianca to have some strange illness. It would have stressed Donovan, the already overworked house advisor, and would have utterly defeated Tidus' spirit. But that was far from his mind now. As soon as he passed the gates he suddenly snapped to his senses though his face still showed the joy he just experienced with Donovan's great reaction. He was alert and a great many enchantments, many of which were imbued in his cloak. One great secret that no one but him and his ancient master knew laid within and he wasn't about to divulge it now, not in his greatest time of need.

A pendant on a long metal braid lay at low at his chest, and rather than warding him from physical attack it warned him! The rarely heard but not forgotten and quite familiar sense came over him and he lay flat to the horse's neck and rolled off to the side opposite the projectile and it soared clear of him. As he was using his steed as a shield the arrow hit its rump and sent it bucking and tore away knocking the magician backwards into the dust.

Tidus was furious, his joy for his friends faded and a deep seeded anger bubbled forth like a hot spring and many times as hot. He got to his feet the dust still in the air from the angry equine and thats when the dust leaped up and swirled around him furiously and then shot outwards like millions of tiny stinging bees with a force that would most likely hit the assassin and even a few of the other travelers. He didn't care that they saw, he would however be sure not to cause undue harm to them and hopefully this would signal them to get away quickly. This spell was a minor but effective one and would allow him to prepare his next spell.

Dazrath dropped the crossbow as he watched the mage lie flat and evade the throwing dart. The bolt flew true though, and the horse effectively knocked the wizard out more into the open. The cowled assassin watched the dust swirl and come at him, but it didn’t affect his concentration immediately. Well through his own spell, and seeing the mage had evaded the attack, he finished the fire spell. A small six-or-so-foot circle of searing fire errupted in proximity to the wizard.

The professional assassin had survived arid sandstorms in the Moot’jlan desert before, and clad in his black cloak and cowl the dust did little to really affect him, buffeting his form but definitely lessening his vision and sight. The assassin did not stop his full-out assault though. He had a fair assessment of the scene ahead in his mind, and donning his ring of cloaking, he turned into the sudden tempest at an angle, making to cut through it toward the area of the fire and the wizard. It wasn’t easy at all moving forward; progress was slow. His next spell began playing through his mouth despite the syllables being lost in the miasma of air and dust: an anti-magic field. It was crucial to Dazrath’s survival that he hamper or hamstring his opponents’ main strength: spellcasting. Now that he had cast a spell in an attempt to fry Tidus, one which he expected to fail but hopefully severely dent his wards, he needed to prevent the mage from seeing and, moreover, attacking him. The anti-magic spell was a tough one for him, it required time and proper tonal inflexion: hard when you couldn’t hear yourself. But Dazrath was still confident . . .

Tidus knew to expect something new and since he had trouble tracking the man when he made his blunder back at the house he figured that the assassin had some sort of magical help from the start. The question was, how versed was the man. Better to go with the most dangerous possibility, he though quickly. One of the first things he had been taught by his old mentor was most learned magic users knew some form of anti-magic spell. Secondly he was taught that not all anti-magic spells worked as planned. For instance one that barred elemental use didn't really work on the other forms. Much of Tidus' library of spells were forms of elemental magics. He however had an excellent teacher and had been forced to learn many circles of the arts.

Tidus had begun moving in his sand storm when the flame erupted and gave the mage a start. He didn't want the place or himself to go up in flames, and this led him to rattle off a spell to turn flame into water. It was a tough spell but often it seemed that those capable of the more advanced seemed to be able to grasp those better than the simple. And so the spell to turn one thing into it's opposite completed and the flame turned from the glowing amber and red to cool hues of blue-green and the came crashing down coating the road and turning it to mud. This served a two fold purpose. The first made it more difficult to walk and quietly and secondly it was far easier to see and hear feet in the squelching and slurping imprints that a good thick and deep mud would create.

When the mud was created he narrowed his eyes in the sand seeing something odd. The sand was stopping on something... something moving. Tidus cursed mentally and muttered softly, "invisibility..." while he understood the need of an assassin to use such things he immediately assumed it was an item much like his pendant that was imbued with such magic. It was taxing for a person to continually conjure a lasting affect while producing more instantaneous attack sorts, even for him. Most of what he had done thus far had merely been placing things that would continue into motion, sand storm for instance merely needed the wind to get started. Now the wetted mage made for another sort, and almost growled out his next spell. He was not a natural at manipulative spells so he had to actually use a few words to perform psyonic abilities. But the words were few and soon a heavy shock wave shot out from its center, Tidus, outward in a lesser form. At full force and focused it would likely turn one's insides to jelly but in this form it would disorient, knock the wind out of and probably damage the more sensitive areas, like the throat and the vocal chords beneath, hearing and one would feel like a horse briefly sat on their chest.

Unfortunately such spells tend to like to come out full force so the most difficult portion of these is to only allow as much force out as needed or to spread it about a large area. Tidus did both, since a circular wave went out from him he needed to restrict the power very little but still was taxed. He hope this would soon bring things to a halt and he began to prepare a paralysis spell one that would almost completely drain him but would secure the assassin nicely for transport. He would take the man back to the house and gain further information there. He knew the Inspector would be upset with him but he couldn't allow the chance to get away and he would find out what was going on, why, and who was behind it all.

Dazrath had thus far relied on his attacking advantage, using his equipment and prepared spell for his early charge. He hoped the fire would keep Tidus occupied while he advanced stealthily and cast his next spell.

The wizard coped well with the blaze though. Too well, to be honest. The assassin had chosen an elemental spell which seemed to be trivial and second-nature to the mage. It didn't physically hamper him in the slightest. Dazrath knew then he was in danger. At a stage where time and preparation were fundamental elements to his own spell, he walked a wide bridge which at could be knocked out under him

To compound matters, the clever mage rattled off a water spell. The flash flood turned the ground to vicarious mud, making his stealth-like advance something of an even more underprivileged undertaking. Dazrath realised the ring he wore was practically useless now, but kept it on nevertheless.

He quickly dipped into his cloak and procured another two throwing darts. The mage would be casting a spell and it was necessary to try and thwart the effort. The darts were thrown through the dwindling sandstorm, more hopefully than anything else, even as his guttural eastern tongue scuttled through and finished the spell. However, his sixth sense told him it wasn’t going to be enough. Perhaps something about Tidus’s stance and bearing spoke of calm authority and Dazrath knew he was up against a powerful mage here. The assassin decided he would retreat from the street. The sandstorm had prevented him from getting close, so he took bigger jumps forward, veering off further from the muddy area, vaulting for the stall of a small fruit vendor as Tidus’s spell was unleashed.

The weak elemental anti-magic field could not hold back the psionic force, which coursed through the atmosphere. It was not the outer wave which connected with the assassin, but the full central assault itself. Retreating, Tidus had shot it right down Dazrath’s chosen line, even if the wizard couldn’t see him. As the assassin dived through the air, the force hit him hard and lifted him higher. So high in fact, that his cowled head squarely hit the top of the vending stall, the clatter (and magical force) sending boxes of apples, oranges and melons tumbling from the booth. The assassin groaned in pain, and fell, slumping over the overturned upper area of the stall.

"We'll need to be married," Donovan spoke, his eyes gleaming at her. There was laughter, a true carefree laugher from his heart: "Or we'll have a petty scandal with the nobles—not that I really care, incidentally. They'll already be gossiping. It would be for us. For us and the child."

His mind had been ticking over, thinking of their scintillating expeditions of intimacy, to imagining the swell of her beautiful womb and the eventual birth of their child. And so the magical flight of fancy came to touch down on the grounds of reality upon wings of providence. "Will we have enough stability here at House Dilysnia, or should we move away from here? Perhaps buy a small place further north of Variens? I suspect I could find work easily in a town council."

Bianca would want to stay here, get married certainly, but would probably think him foolish for wanting to leave—to leave his work, his friends, and all he had here. Bianca would also see him fighting with himself on whether to raise a particular issue. There was something in his eyes now . . . was it a distant fear?

Donovan would never see Bianca harmed, if she was or was not carrying child, but this joyous revelation prompted him to tell her something important, something to sway her possible thinking. She had probably heard already, but he spoke the words all the same.

"An assassin attacked the house yesterday. If we are married and have child, would we want to stay and be at risk here?"

Married. Oh, from the first moment she had laid eyes on Donovan on her arrival at the House Dilsynia she had dreamed of it. She had dreamed that he would be the one. He after all was the one who took her heart and made her experience love, he was the one who taught her the touch of a man and made her into a true woman. And now he was the one offering her a lifetime of security and happiness, and most likely more than her mind could list! Her mind fluttered off into a world of wishful thinking and the possibilities that would come - the experience of raising a child with Donovan, having a family. Family was not something that Bianca was able to have anymore since her Mother and Father, and all that she had known during her upbringing had horrifically perished in the flames that consumed her village. But now God was giving her a second chance for a family, and a happy filled life.

"I would love to be your wife, Donovan!" happiness radiated from the raven haired Venus, "To hell with whatever gossip!" she said. Well shaped brows arched quizically as she noticed the sudden worry in her lovers eyes, and a gasp came from her as the past days events were revealed. It was apparent that Bianca had not been informed on such diar information, the look on her face proved it. "Oh my.." she said softly, "I had not heard of that, darling, but.. These dangers are everywhere in these lands. But whatever your choice be, I will always choose to follow. Dilsynia has been your life work, has it not? I would not want to take you from it.. Our child could have the finest of educations here, and the finest of the finest to watch him or her." once more her hand searched for his, gripping it tightly.

Donovan Konvarc'h: *Donovan saw the emotion overtake Bianca and he kissed her deeply then stroked her hair gently. “We will be married then.”

“Yes, the assassin attacked. He killed a monk from Kardenstone, a monk in our very own house gardens, Bianca. It was dreadful. I don’t believe that you can go out to town now, at least alone. Perhaps our marriage should wait until these dangerous times have passed us—if they do.”

Bianca De'Amionette Bianca kissed back with no arguments, she kissed him with as much love as always and possibly more. Things were oh so joyous today so far, something that had started off terribly was warming up into better waters. Her arms stretched out and wrapped around his neck and shoulders, lovingly pulling him from the chair into the comfort of the bed. As she informed her of all the horrid events that sparked some fear in her darling Donovan she pulled him close, welcoming him with the warmth of her body. He was close enough to smell the perfumed oils she had dabbed about her body, it was something new and quite exotic. It was something she had purchased while in Variens from a traveling merchant. The name was Cherry Blossom, a tree that had oriented from foreign areas.

Bianca De'Amionette Though, it was bound to sooth her soon to be husband, along with her plump breasts which pressed to the hardness of his chest. "No need to worry darling, I will ask one of the house servants to do me the favor of running into Variens for me once a week. After all, in my condition, I doubt I will be able to do that tedious ride." her head rested upon his shoulder. "And if you would like to put a pause to us being married, I will agree to whatever you wish. You have my heart, darling." of course in truth Bianca could not wait to be married to Donovan, of course the reasons being positive, excitement and being utterly head over heals for the man!

Donovan Konvarc'h: Donovan nestled into the love of his life, embracing her warm, enticing form. Even though ill and slightly flushed, her fullness and attractiveness did not dwindle. He drew in her perfumed scent like drinking a fine intoxicating wine and felt himself growing firmer. He didn’t resist the sensation. “You will have to take it easier,” he approved, his hand gently roving over her form, traversing places of pleasure. “You were pushing it yesterday shopping.”

“There would be advantages to staying here,” he agreed. “I don’t think Deston—if he takes up position—would object to our coupling and continued residence here. Our future is important, I want to look after you and do the best for you and our child.”

Bianca De'Amionette She too took in his scent, welcoming the well known musky scent of the man she was prepared to spend the rest of her days with, as long as she lives and beyond that. Donovan's roaming hands were luring out Bianca's own ongoing lust for him, lashes fluttering shut in leisure, soaking comfortably in his and her lust like it was a warm bath on a cold day. She began blushing on top of her flushed cheeks as she felt Donovan's member harden slightly, 'What harm could it do us now?' she though and laughed in her mind. "I say we go along with the advantages, I say it would be a wise choice for our family." Bianca spoke, another wave of joy flowing through her from the chance of being able to say 'our family'.

Donovan Konvarc'h: The advisor was finding it hard to hold back from a sudden wave of longing. The man had a notorious aura of pride and professionalism, a complex if logical mind, but Bianca was one best equipped to unclothe him (so to speak), and draw him from the world of political affairs. She was his soul mate and his truest friend and with a flutter of her eyelashes she could lift him from the life he had known. “Then we will wait a time, and be married accordingly. News today is joyous. With child, and informal engagement!” he laughed.

Tidus' amulet, as before warned him of the incoming projectiles. Though his reflexes weren't anything to scoff at, he was still no trained assassin and he leaped to the side just a second too late escaping one but leaving the other protruding from his shoulder. He cringed and had a slight flashback to his childhood how he used to spar with his father and how he beat him and often left him with open wounds in their rounds. Snapping out of his brief trance he saw that there was a wrecked stall and he muttered a few words to quiet the winds of the sandstorm. The winds stopped and the dust and dirt settled. He looked to his white cloak that was now showing crimson around where the bolt protruded from. Reaching up with his other hand he pulled it out with a soft cry of pain and he placed it into one of the many hidden pockets in his cloak and made his way to the stall.

Over at the stall he could see where various fruits and boxes appeared to lay around a void and he began feeling for limbs finding first one arm and then another he quickly found the hand and pulled the ring from his finger and shoved that into yet another of the hidden pockets, of which he seemed to have endless supply of. He gave a loud whistle and his horse came trotting back up snorting, being rather irritable with the bolt sticking from his hindquarters. Tidus took some twine that was in one of the saddle bags and placed it between both hands bringing them to his mouth as he whispered softly before binding the assassin hand and foot after stripping the concealing cloak and cowl from his face and shoving them into the saddle bags again. Moving he moved to slide the man onto his good shoulder and then flopped him on the back of horse and bound him there with more of the "blessed" twine. Once fixed in place, the assassin is thoroughly by one very familiar with secret storage and keeping things close at hand. The items he found he stored in yet more pockets inside his cloak seeming to still have room to spare.

He began to feel the weariness from all of his spell casting but the mage managed to climb into the saddle and start off back to the house as quick as he could. The horse would be tended when he got there, he would tend himself, and then turn to the assassin... Tidus would have answers! He wouldn't be the cause of risk to his friends and the closest thing he had to family.

Dazrath had been undone. The assassin always threw himself against his targets with a disarming assault of violence and unswerving tactics. Upfront and with intent, when Dazrath ditched his swagger and dropped his pretences, he became a deadly force to be reckoned with. This time, however . . . the assassin had realised, mid-fight, that he was up against a more powerful opponent than he had prior-to envisaged. His tactics were rendered obsolete; useless. There was no backup plan. Ironically, Tidus had been prepared even if the mage had not anticipated his initial attack.

The unconscious assassin came-to groggily as the horse returned to the compound. He felt severe pain in his head, shoulders, back, ribs and his bottom. The subtle movement of the horse felt jarring. Still, he knew immediately that he was in the hands of his captors and would likely face inquisition. Dazrath had trained himself to become immune to certain forms of punishment, but there was every reason to fear the capabilities of this wizard now—in any arena.

The injured mage made it through the front gates and onto the premises. He got a few odd looks from patrolling house guards as he moved around to the stables hopping off his horse handing it off to the stable boy, "Ensure you see to this creature's injuries... I will be using one of the store rooms..." He moved to the back of the horse and slid the assassin from it and onto his shoulders grabbing his bag with one hand and heading off to a store room flopping the man down on a crate rather unceremoniously he shut the door and latched it glancing back at the man before opening his bag and reaching in and pulling out a glass container with a powder in it. Pouring some of the powder into his hand and shoved it beneath his cloak and pressed it to the wound on his shoulder wincing painfully as it stopped the bleeding and kept infection out.

With that problem taken care of he took another vial and drank it tossing that down into the bag he turned back to the assassin and sat him up on a crate and stood before him, "Who are you and why were you after me? Or perhaps the better question is who put the price on my head?!" he frowned staring at the ruthless killer as his mind worked on how to get the information he wanted out of this assumed uncooperative source.

Meanwhile the stable boy handed the horse off to an older more experienced hand and then unsaddled the horse before snooping through the saddle bags. Upon finding the assassin's weapons in them he took the bags over a shoulder and ran into the house and began pounding on the door to Tidus' room as the woman out side tried to silence him and keep him away from the door, "Master Donovan!! It's about Master Tidus! His horse is wounded... and he's bleeding himself! He brought a man with him! You need to come now!" the woman outside hissed a silencing gesture at him as she pulled him away, "SSSSSSHHH! He's in there with Lady Bianca... she's fallen ill and needs her rest! Now off with you!" the boy stammered, "B-b-but there's weapons in here... Master Tidus never carries weapons! So they have to be the other man's... I think he tried to hurt Master Tidus!" The arguing continued outside the room while back at the stables...

...Tidus, seemingly revitalized by the vial he drank sent a small jolt of lighting from one of the man's shoulders to the other, "Just know that this is the least I can do to you... battering your body is nothing compared to the torment I can induce in your spirit. Have you felt the pain of your soul separating from your body only to be slammed back into it again?" the cold look that now consumed the mage's eyes was as foreign as a thunderstorm in the desert, and could likely be just as devastating to its host.

The bound Dasharath Mefetzashe sat on the crate, his cowl discarded. He was still slightly reeling from the pain, but he did his best to hide it.

His face was dark and almost swarthy-looking but his skin complexion was remarkably smooth. His eyes were a steadfast blue, an uncommon colour in his birth land of Moot’jlan. Those orbs did not convey pain, inner displeasure, resentment toward the mage or annoyance at his having being beaten and caught. Dazrath had buried his emotions and was showing his willingness to endure pain. He remained quiet as the wizard subjected him to his initial questioning. Who are you and why were you after me? I am no-one and was to kill you, he thought. Who put the price on my head? The Royal Court of Variens.

The lightning jolts were painful. Dazrath’s guard even slipped, a grimace of pain showing on his features; his teeth clenched. The wizard saw the reaction and seized on the opportunity to needle him. “Have you felt the pain of your soul separating from your body only to be slammed back into it again?"

Dazrath had to privately admit he hadn’t been subjected to that particular trick. He had suffered a spate of mental psionic attacks before, but nothing like the mage described. It could be a ruse, but he suspected not. Despite the potential repercussions, the assassin chose not answer Tidus, did not so much as utter one syllable.

The assassin resumed the repetition of a mantra in his mind. It bolstered mental strength and prevented mind-reading. From the outset, Dazrath had shelved what he knew to be the truth and populated it with a new truth, a truth that his steely mind adopted and firmly believed in. He was intent to hold on tight to this belief as the mage tried to slap him down. Openings like that would be a danger to him.