[Yasmine] With the sun beginning its final descent below the horizon, the air is crisp and cool enough that the heated warmth rolling off the burbling waters of the rocky pools and eddies make for a sensory wonderland for an evening spent outside. Yasmine takes full advantage of these conditions, sat upon a padded lounge with nary a care in the world and a stein of white liquor in hand. Given the company she intends to keep, it seems like the perfect accessory for the occasion.


[Chanse] It would be a stretch to say that the big former innkeeper was dressed to keep a low profile. Not with Eurusi-style garb, and certainly not with fireweave, though the hood might help. The large, powerfully built man prowls into the room with a surprising amount of grace, considering his size, those gold-flecked dark eyes looking carefully about the room as he pulls off his hood, making certain they are alone. His deep voice has a hint of gravel in it, "Been a while, Yas." Those dangerous eyes look meaningfully around the room, "You've done well for yourself. Climbed far higher than most woulda ever thought. I didn't have much doubts, though." He pauses before coming in further, "Your mind is sharp enough that it'll cut most, so I figure that if you sat and thought about it, you might have some guesses why I'm coming around."

When the former innkeeper prowls into the room, and comes clear into her line of view, it's with open interest that the Eurusi-style garb and fireweave he adorns himself in is studied by Yasmine. Gold-flecked green eyes narrow themselves into slits, more out of deep contemplation than immediate suspicion of the man most presume dead. "Not long enough, Chanse," she decides after a deep drink siphoned off her stein of liquor, hardly a flinch to detract from the teasing lilt of her Prodigal-accent. "Not long enough." Bare legs are thrown over the side of her lounge, rising gracefully to her feet to assume the role of hostess with a smooth flick of layered robes to shield her swimming chemise from sight. "And it is warm compliment, coming from you. Very hard work to maintain, but it gets easier and easier the more tricks of commerce trade I learn from Rook. He is a good teacher of these things." A pause, her head falling to a slight cant to consider his words. "Unfinished business, I'd presume. Surely what ever drew you here has nothing to do with me; at least, not solely."

[Chanse] The scarred face of the former spymaster doesn't betray much, with just the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he prowls in, "A bit with you, though more likely what you're thinking. About the emissaries, and what happens with the Compact in the long run. There's a lot of people making a lot of guesses about that, Yas." He doesn't walk directly towards her, moving instead at an angle as if to avoid coming too close or being threatening, though it's difficult for him to leech any kind of implicit threat out of his powerful frame or the confident way he moves, even if it was not tied to his reputation. "About you in particular, you might be very interested to know there's going to be some problems coming with the ravashari. In the Oathlands, say. And that could splash all the way back here, and on other ravashari."

[Yasmine] If the Ravashari were intimidated by the knowledge of the former spymaster's reputation, or the wave of implicit threat natural to his powerful frame, he isn't given the luxury of seeing it from her. That angled approach is observed with an arched brow, a humored smile stretching itself over full lips while she turns away from him to reach for a spare glass sat upon a sidetable behind her. Her head tilts, allowing gold-flecked eyes to slide back toward him with interest as a fresh drink is poured for him from a bottle of whisky. "The Compact is in an upheaval. Tensions everywhere. People using every opportunity they can to get even; point fingers of blame wherever they feel like. The Great Road backlash is too convenient after the dignitaries' arrival. Some think it's those pesky, naughty fanatics worshipping Malar. Or other groups with Cardian ties," she muses, daring to encroach, nimble steps eating away the distance until the drink can be pressed into his hands. "What trouble comes to my people, Chanse? What is going to happen that is so far-reaching across the entire Compact back to here from the West?"

[Chanse] The former spymaster pauses as she begins to approach, taking the wine glass but not drinking from it just yet. There's a glitter of dangerous interest that shines bright in those dark, gold-flecked eyes, holding hers thoughtfully as he drops his voice to murmur, "Now Yas, you wouldn't poison an old friend, would you? I didn't come here to kiss a viper." His thumb taps thoughtfully against the the side of the wine glass, but he doesn't wait for a response before continuing, "Your people are being blamed, not without some justification, for some dark deeds in the Oathlands. The purges happening against the prodigals are in part because a few clever members of one Ravashari clan were trying to blackmail different leaders and got in way over their heads, and some some of the loudest voices hope by exterminating the lot of them, all evidence can go away."

In the Lyceum, the war along the Oathlands and Lycene border appears to be spreading. After an early victory at the Wineroad Pass, Marquessa Magdalena Daveiga has continued to repulse Fournier attempts to dislodge her forces, and blocked most Oathlands travelers trying to reach the Lyceum along the Great Road. Despite many of the Oathlands being willing to treat the conflict as a private war between vassals of House Malvici and House Lyonesse, the interference in trade is changing that, with some Oathlanders considering it an outrage that Lycene forces backed by sellswords haven't yet been driven from the Oathlands. And that might serve to explain some of the other incidents.

In the city-state of Rivincita, House Daveiga's domain, the wedding between one Lord Marcellus Daveiga and the former Lumen Whisper is attacked by assassins, with several of the wedding party being slain and the bride and groom only being saved as the attackers mysteriously spontaneously combusted, which unfortunately left no one to question. Many are blaming House Fournier, but hiring assassins to attack holy ceremonies isn't really like the Oathlanders, so some believe it was traditionalists in the Lyceum giving an unambiguous vote of disapproval towards an ennoblement of an illegitimate child of Bisland blood. Others in the Lyceum are certain it was the Oathlanders, just relying upon their reputation to escape consequences.

[Yasmine] The ravashari looks upon the former spymaster with an expectant look, paler eyes flickering up from the glass held in his hand to brazenly meet his own. A caress of fingers passes along the back of his forearm to seize hold of his wrist, urging the wine glass high until her lips can nestle against the rim and take the first drink. "The poison would not be in the wine," she surmises, an impish smile blooming into a dangerous grin as teeth snap to pantomime a viper's bite near his fingertips. "But in my bite, upon my lips. Sweet poison, blissfully painful end." Every word a silken caress, light and flirtatious. Even in the face of danger of her people, she cannot remain serious too long. "What were they attempting to gain from blackmailing different leaders? And with what, Chanse?" Her brows knit, expression contemplative. "I imagine it is one of these Houses who were eagerly turning on Prodigals that they angered?"

[Chanse] "You really are sweet poison, Yas. I should be more careful of you than I am." The tugging at the corner of his lips threatens to turn into a crooked grin, as his eyes hold hers with a teasing glint and he takes a long, meaningful drink from the wine glass. He pauses afterwards, not answering her immediately, and his words chosen with exquisite care. "Already guessing the right things. The ravashari were hired, helping track things down for a certain someone, and trading for old house secrets going all the way back to the Reckoning. Little pieces of puzzles, to find... things." He makes no move away from her, his powerful body staying close to hers, and looming perhaps unconsciously, "It's treason to deal with Abandoned, as everyone knows, some of the people most loudly declaring what a threat they are... well, they had understandings, and might be a bit more pragmatic than honorable."

[Yasmine] "The very sweetest and most addictive. Having you come back for more and more," she  affirms with an addictive confidence, nearing on brazen arrogance. Silent laughter alights within her eyes, appeasement plain within her expression when he finally drinks of the wine. As quickly as she's pleased, her expressive features are schooled into a scornful look, an accusation heavy in the air. "Who is this certain someone? -Which- House? It is not polite to drink my wine and then tease with half the information, Grayhope. Spill." Her voice falls into a hushed murmur with her demand, the hand upon his wrist sliding high to cup against the back of his forearm, tugging until there is but a sliver of a distance left between them. "The Marquessa of House Keaton wishes to be my patron. It could turn into a convenient opportunity for me to look into this. See what I can do, but... Here you are, with all the answers. Your danger is more fun than going into the unknown."
"Careful, Yas..." The large spymaster's frame bends over as he leans his face close to hers, his deep voice having a hint of silk as he moves to murmur conspiratorially into her ear, his lips almost grazing her ear but never quite touching, "I'm not addicted yet." It's a flirtatious gesture, but not without more than a hint of danger in it, as he pulls his face back to create a touch of distance. "And that certain someone is the same one who ran this 'Gray Forest Fellowship'. Called 'The Prodigal', or some such. I'm not really sure what he's looking for, something about ancient rings and weapons." He pauses, a significant one, weighing still his words carefully, "And I know Beaucage was one, that name came up"

[Yasmine] A sly smile tugs at the corners of her lips marginally, sweeping her palm high over fireweave and Eurusi-style garb to gently cup against his nape. Fingers dare to glide higher, burrowing into hair to fist and pull just enough to sting against his scalp. "But you will be." His flirtatious gesture, that hint of danger, is returned with a challenge underlying behind her own silken murmur with lips pressed daring to brush the line of his jaw. "The Gray Forest Fellowship," she echoes after him, recognition near immediate. "I know of the group and the one who calls himself The Prodigal." He's studied at length, every pause and measured choice of words observed keenly. "There is something you are not telling me, Grayhope. Leaving out, teasing around." It is less of an accusation, perhaps a question

[Chanse] The big man's head leans ever so slightly lower in response to her pull, and there's a small stiffening of his jaw as her lips brush along with a subtle motion of a swallow in his throat, as he keeps his expression carefully under control to meet her challenge, his body language suggesting he's resisting the urge to reply in kind and restraining himself, "We'll see, Yas." He nods slowly along with her recognition of the groups, and his face is carefully neutral when she mentions he's holding back. "Can't tell you everything, Yasmine. You know my own employers wouldn't be wild about me letting a few things slip to a gorgeous dancer, even if she's an asset."
[Yasmine] The former spymaster is offered a moment of merciful reprieve from the ravashari's manipulative touch, distance growing between them as she leans away to gather his wine glass and drink lightly from it. "You already are," she muses, another smile hidden behind the cup's rim, eyes bright with mischief. "I don't want to know everything, Chanse. Just enough to decide how to protect my family and interests; maybe even more of my people, but that's ambitious and flirting too close with danger." A light pause, seeming to consider her words before asking, "What are they trying to distract the Compact's eyes from? It is too suspicious; how the shit-show just keeps building like a delicious theater drama. It is a clever tactic, you know. Using chaos on a stage to keep the audience blind to what comes next, or already happening. Blindsiding for next act.."

[Chanse] The former spymaster narrows his eyes in a hint of a scowl at her, "Yas, you are infuriatingly attractive when you look smug. It is hard to be professional and ignore that." Still, the conversation fortunately turning to the dire, he's able to smooth his expression once more, "From everything I've been told, which is not nearly as much as I'd like, Ruin is more..." He waves a hand expressively all around them, "... a vague force. Feeds off of the breakdown of civilization and fuels it in turn. Peace between hostile groups helps cool the waters down from a boil, and the more powerful the belligerents, the more it matters. Something like that." He holds up a hand, "Now I can say that my employers don't take 'Ruin' seriously, they see it as very much an Arvani problem, so unfortunately they might appreciate efforts to counter it, but not left a finger. Well. Talon."

[Yasmine] That hint of a scowl just makes her all the more infuriatingly smug in the moment, eyes bright and mocking. "I am not asking you to be professional and dour, Chanse. You are no fun when it is all bad news this, terrible threat that," she affects a dangerously bored expression, her body turned with the slightest pivot of feet as though she might very well leave. As mercurial as she is, it's a possibility. "So, it may not be in anyone's best interests to let the hostilities run unchecked for much longer," she gives a pause, chancing a fleeting glance back at him - as though her interest in him was renewed. "Even if they have no interest in it, don't you? You're worried."

[Chanse] "Arrogant skylords always underestimate Arvum. They are unbelievably powerful, but they have a blind spot for this place, and that's going to cost them some day. That's all." Chanse Grayhope shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair in a harried gesture then wags a finger at her, "And you, Yasmine, are maddening! I would much rather talk about -you- than the dark and dangerous threats lurking and impending boredom that could chase you off. So, on -that- note..." The big man crosses his arms, "What kind of plans do you have for your House Champagne? I have a feeling that you know a thing or two about the unbelievably powerful that have blind spots and underestimate things."


"It is not only the skylords who make the mistake of underestimating Arvum," Yasmine surmises, that maddening smile of triumph making its smug return when Chanse switches gears to turn the conversational spotlight upon her. "If you wanted to know what I'm intending to do with my house, Chanse, you only had to ask. No need to bore me to tears and dangle yourself like delicious bait I cannot have." A hint of laughter is lost, bright and unburdened as she begins to walk away from him. Not out of the room, at least - only to a lounge, pouring herself upon it in a luxurious stretch of limbs. "I want to increase House Champagne's spheres of influence. A few merchant ships are nice, but to be able to discreetly tip certain things into our favor is the prize I want. Maybe seize trade routes along the Great Road under the greatest threat of halting vital trade to Arx, negotiate with the Shav'arvani clans within those areas just enough to grant immunity in return for helping them to stay alive - out of reach of the blood-thirsty wanting to murder them all. It's the small investments, the calculated risks that net the biggest gains some time, no?"