The streets were still bustling in the early evening. People milled about. There were less tasks in Egilrun than of most other places, given the limited damage done to its infrastructure, but the power of Egilrun's industries were needed for the repairs across island. What affected the rest of the island affected Egilrun as well, and so the burden fell on them to provide assistance. As perhaps it should. Woe wasn't entirely convinced if he was being honest, but Egilrun he knew couldn't stand on its own. In spite of some pull toward secession from the rest of the Island, Woe knew that it was a bad idea. Were he more ambitious, or short-sighted, he might consider breaking away. But these were destructive thoughts. And he wouldn't entertain them another moment.
He walked through the streets unheeded and unnoticed for who he was. Just another body in the crowd through his shadow cloak and sought after isolation. The combined powers of Chamadarst and Kuvarakh complimented each other well for those who wished not to be disturbed on their business. He, however, was not so blind to the activity around him. There was an atmosphere, certainly, of discontent. People sharing hushed words of enmity for the council, others supporting it. Opinions clashed openly in the street sometimes spilling into verbal or at a stretch phyiscal altercations. It was to be expected. People had lost family in the other villages and cities. These secessionists couldn't think that their ideas would land well.
Eventually he arrived at his destination, the Glassblower's Guild. He had a good rapport going with its mistress, the Qi'ora Muir-Cham-Pend. She knew much of the workings of glass, all of them as far as Woe could tell. She knew how to temper it, how to forge weapons even. He knew her mark when he saw it. The unmistakable irregular M. The same that had appeared on the legs of the Blanched Centipede's seal.
He was ushered into the main office, and there made to wait longer than he expected when he revealed who he was to the receptionist. "I'm here to see the Guild Mistress."
The receptionist bid him wait, and went out back, supposedly to fetch Muir-Cham-Pend. Woe while he was waiting, held the twin of the glass dagger that was in his office. It bore her maker's mark, and was a work of exquisite craftsmanship, no doubt. Sharper than steel, and tempered to take a beating. Of course it was not quite weapon grade, no glassblower could attain that, as far as he was aware. Glass was made to be broken, afterall.
He wasn't made to wait half a break, at least, before she finally showed up at the front. She bowed her head respectfully toward Woe. "Lord Egg, good to see you."
Woe gave her a smile, and nodded his head to her in turn, respectfully. If she was part of any conspiracy, it'd do little good to put her on edge immediately. He had to wait for an opportune moment to bring her to heel, afterall. That is, if his line of questioning led him to suspect her. He wasn't entirely convinced that the maker's mark on the signet wasn't a easily explained coincidence, or else happenstance of having designed some signet jewelry for someone.
At any rate, she would know and recognize her own mark, as well as Woe did. And he had the seal on him, to show her. Which he did before he said anything. He waited to watch her reaction, which was muted and subdued, hard to read. "What is the meaning of this, Lord Egg?"
"You recognize it."
"Yes, it's from a piece we handed out to several people. They made a large order of geminite from the mountains, and asked that we mix the alloy into various types of colored, tempered glass. The result was marvelous, I'd have you know. Although it's... unlikely you'll see the signets up close."
Woe shrugged, "It seems one of the number you gave this signet to, has been sending threatening letters to people who are marked, magicked, or otherwise spirit-bonded or cursed. I would like your cooperation in locating these individuals."
Muir-Cham-Pend frowned, and looked closely at the wax seal. "Hmmm... Very well Lord Egg. Shall I give you access to my sales records?"
"I was really rather hoping to take advantage of your impeccable attention to detail and memory. I'm not much of one for pouring over papers and ledgers."
The guild mistress seemed to consider those words for a few moments, and thenl ifted her head up, and swept her hand into a beckoning motion, bringing him behind the door leading into her offices. "We do keep extensive records on our unique jobs. You wouldn't believe how often a miscreant will think to make their mark with a special piece, standing out from the rest of the downtrodden rabble, only to expose himself on paper to anyone with the authority to look into it. Shameful, really."
Woe shrugged, "Pride is a terrible liability."
"Indeed." She said, as she sighed and brought out the large ledger. She began searching for the appropriate date, according to her memory. Her fingers grazed the pages, until she came upon a passage that lit up her face. "Ah! Here... Several indivdiual pieces were ordered by this one person... Oh..."
"What is it?" Woe's eyes followed her finger to the part of the page she was searching, but couldn't make out the text. It was written in Vorkelian, as it happened. Figures.
"This says... but that's impossible. The Crystal Blade was put away ages ago."
"You're saying..." Woe said, pinching the bridge of his nose and furrowing his brow, "You had the name of the Crystal Blade, someone assuming his name, ordering a large commission, and you didn't notice it." He was skeptical to say the least, but it wasn't unheard of for even the very preoccupied craftswoman to let details slip under her eyes. But something about it bothered him. The mortalborn, just then, wished he could understand Vorkelian.
"Anyway, alright, someone impersonated the Crystal Blade or stole his name. Pang Kinsell. Could it be someone who knew him well? What did they look like?"
Muir-Cham-Pend shook her head, and gave an apologetic look to Woe, "I'm sorry, we don't give composite portraits of every high commissioner. Is there anything else?"
"When were these orders made and, yes..." Woe said, and took out the black-glass dagger from his cloak of hiding. He placed it on her desk, for her to see. It bore her maker's mark. "This. Did you send me a pair of these?"
"You? No no no, these were a commission by.... yes I remember, Saw Dustin. The sawmill boss." She smiled, pleased that she remembered and probably imagining that she was being helpful.
This only deepened Woe's sense of consternation. "Saw Dustin, then how did it end up on my door?"
"I don't know." Muir shrugged, "Perhaps they changed hands several times, until they fell into ones that felt you deserved them?"
Woe doubted such innocent conclusions. But he was not of a mind to press the matter for now. The Glassblower's Guild was important in Egilrun, and held a lot of political clout and sway. He couldn't afford to make open enemies with them, even if they were keen to a plot against him.
"Fine..." Woe said, sighing, and moved to leave, after picking up the dagger from Muir's desk.
He made his way back out of her office, after bidding her farewell, and headed back out onto the streets where it was still fairly busy. He looked up, and saw a flying wide-wing span descending upon him, giving him a sudden startle. Then he saw it was Egil. "Egil.... I told you to watch the girl."
"Watch I did. She left!" Egil quarked, "Took the evil dagger!"
Woe frowned, "Evil dagger, what are you..."
He sighed, and strode forward in the street anyway. Before long they found themselves in the middle of the market square, not far from Woe's offices. There was a crowd forming, and it looked like they were gawking at something stuck on the speaker's podium. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then he saw her. Gierdre Crystale. Her heart pierced with the black-glass dagger, the companion of the one now hanging from Woe's baldric.
He stood, dumbfounded and confused, before a finger jutted out from the crowded throng. The unmistakable red fox fur hate with MEGA stitched onto it. Saw Dustin?
"There he is! The Murderer! The Lord Egg that you've all come to trust, is nothing but a lowly assassin! The rumors are true, and I have proof, from his own associate, who had a hand in Faith's death, no less!"
The crowd rumbled at Dustin's assertion.
There were elements about, who looked reluctant to act until several of their number, bolstered by a few bouncers from the Watcher's Guild, moved on him. He summoned a whip to his hand, from his shadow, and wound it around himself to ward them off. "You're making a mistake."
"There's no mistake!" Dustin said, "Look, the murder weapon's twin lays there on his baldric! Arrest this man!"
So saying, Dustin came forward himself as if he might offer added muscle to the effort of arresting Woe. He had in his hand a large and wicked looking man-catcher polearm. Which he brandished in the Egg's direction.
Woe summoned the wings to his back, and with a sudden gust of air, rose above them all. But not before Dustin's mancatcher caught him by the ankle and heel. The spikes of the mancatcher dug into his boots, and his flesh, finding purchase under his muscle and skin. Woe seethed with pain, but wasn't about to let him win, or have his day. He whipped the pole-arm with his shadowy weapon, and used Shattertouch to destroy it from butt to the hook and tines. It shattered sure enough, but pieces of it lodged in his foot as he flew away.
He made distance, dodging what crossbows he could as they fired at him from below.
Woe knew it was reckless to try and run from the accusations, it was not going to look good as far as proving his innocence. At least of Faith's murder. But what else could he do? He wasn't about to rot in a prison to await his fate. He needed to find a way to prove his lack of guilt.
Soz joined him on the wing, and soon enough allowed him to ride on her back as they flew off toward the West. The wound on Woe's left heel stung, but he could endure it at least until they made distance and found a place to lie low.
