Syria had waited until the aptly titled 'Mr. Cruz' had vacated the Great Hall, leaving her alone with her thoughts, embarrassment and urges to follow the man and hurl something at his explosive hair just to see if it would bounce off and make him angry.
There was still something about him that seemed extremely familiar to her. His name and face especially. Trying to recall what this was, Syria crossed the floor to the bar on the far side of the vast Hall and settled herself upon a stool, placing her parcel on the counter with care. Something rattled within, and she yanked her hands back, staring at the package, afraid she'd broken something.
"It was probably his fault, the hooligan...manhandling my package like it was, oh dear.." she didn't dare finish her thought aloud, already feeling the blush turn her face into a tomato's shade of red. Tomatoes...red...red hair..
"For god's sake!!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing, fists thumping into the counter, making the package jump. More rattles came from it and she sighed, figuring that it if was broken now, it would still be broken later, and began to tear into the the twine and packing material.
When she was finished, she was left with a golden box with intricately hammered and carved designs and clawed dragon's feet for corners that was about the size of a large notecard, and on top of which sat...a notecard, shimmering with her Grandfather's small, neat, extremely familiar script. Upon closer inspection, though, it seemed rushed to her, like he had written it on his way to an engagement of some sort. Syria felt a twinge of irritation at this. The man sends her away from home to investigate alternate sources of magical property and he couldn't take the time to sit down and properly pen a letter to her"
Syria huffed and put the card down on the counter, writing face down. She needed to calm herself and proceed with a level head. It wouldn't do to get frustrated now...as it seemed that this was another one of his so called Puzzles.
She pressed her lips together as she lifted the box from the wrapping. It was heavy, about the weight of a brick, for something so small, and it surprised her, causing her to put it down quickly. It landed with a thud and the rattling sounded again. She sighed with relief. At least neither of them had broken anything. The side facing her was dominated by eight dials, each engraved with a black number more befitting an antique clock. Touching one, Syria realized that they spun, revealing the numerals 0-9.
"...a combination lock.." Why would he give me something that's locked..?"
Something Mr. Cruz had said wormed its way into the forefront of her mind, although she would be dead before she was able to remember his exact words.
'If ya be somebody else ....such a mess it'd be..'
Was Grandfather really worried that this would fall into the wrong hands" Was that why he used the unorthodox carrier, the security measures, the locked box..
Come to think of it, this did fit the pattern of his behavior lately. He had been unusually secretive and anxious in their communications. It worried her greatly. Forgetting all of her anger, Syria reached for the notecard, flipped it over and read.
Granddaughter,
I can only pray this finds your hands and not those of others. I would have liked to warn you beforehand of the unusual service I had to procure to make sure this got to you, but there was no time. I hope you didn't have much difficulty with Axton Cruz's services. He is an unsavory character, but I have reason to believe his occupational morality will rule out...
"That's where I know him from!! The man accused of selling intelligence and, well, pretty much anything else to underground organizations...They never caught him...I cannot believe this.." Her free hand jumped to her chest and she sat pondering this. She had been mere feet from a wanted man, taken items from him...He had her picture!!
She swallowed as much of her unease that she could manage and forced herself to continue to read. She had not wished for her Servant more than at this very moment, but refused to summon her. She could handle this without Rider. For now.
I also hope that you appreciate the severity of the circumstances that have befallen us. All is not well here, but I do not wish you to panic. Continue your research as I have instructed. The reasons will become known to you when you are ready.
In the meanwhile, my dear, keep this box close to you, and the secret it holds. For I truly believe that, even though late in coming, your ability will be the deciding factor in this War.
All my love, Grandfather
In the small amount of space left, centered on the card's surface, were the words: An hour of contract is the key, to unlock one's predetermined destiny.
"What the hell does this mean?" There had to be more to this...Syria looked on the back side of the card, but there was nothing, no hidden words or images. None on the underside of the locked box or hiding in the wrappings. Her frustration was climbing by the second, as was her anxiety.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean, Grandfather?" she whispered harshly. "You do not merely tell your only granddaughter things are not 'all well at home but do not panic' and expect her to stay put."
With a huff, Syria flounced from the stool and gathered the package, resisting the urge to just smash it with a trusty spell.
Her Grandfather had gone through this much trouble for a reason, he had sent this to her for a reason. But she was not going to sit around and twiddle her thumbs trying to work out that reason.
At first light, tonight if her mood didn't choose to shift, she was going to pack and return home immediately, research and this place's potential be damned. She smiled darkly to herself as she pushed out into the stickiness of the evening.
Grandfather couldn't rightly expect her to behave in any other fashion.
Syria did not realize the glint of a pair of malevolent gazes following her in the shadows of the night.
There was still something about him that seemed extremely familiar to her. His name and face especially. Trying to recall what this was, Syria crossed the floor to the bar on the far side of the vast Hall and settled herself upon a stool, placing her parcel on the counter with care. Something rattled within, and she yanked her hands back, staring at the package, afraid she'd broken something.
"It was probably his fault, the hooligan...manhandling my package like it was, oh dear.." she didn't dare finish her thought aloud, already feeling the blush turn her face into a tomato's shade of red. Tomatoes...red...red hair..
"For god's sake!!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing, fists thumping into the counter, making the package jump. More rattles came from it and she sighed, figuring that it if was broken now, it would still be broken later, and began to tear into the the twine and packing material.
When she was finished, she was left with a golden box with intricately hammered and carved designs and clawed dragon's feet for corners that was about the size of a large notecard, and on top of which sat...a notecard, shimmering with her Grandfather's small, neat, extremely familiar script. Upon closer inspection, though, it seemed rushed to her, like he had written it on his way to an engagement of some sort. Syria felt a twinge of irritation at this. The man sends her away from home to investigate alternate sources of magical property and he couldn't take the time to sit down and properly pen a letter to her"
Syria huffed and put the card down on the counter, writing face down. She needed to calm herself and proceed with a level head. It wouldn't do to get frustrated now...as it seemed that this was another one of his so called Puzzles.
She pressed her lips together as she lifted the box from the wrapping. It was heavy, about the weight of a brick, for something so small, and it surprised her, causing her to put it down quickly. It landed with a thud and the rattling sounded again. She sighed with relief. At least neither of them had broken anything. The side facing her was dominated by eight dials, each engraved with a black number more befitting an antique clock. Touching one, Syria realized that they spun, revealing the numerals 0-9.
"...a combination lock.." Why would he give me something that's locked..?"
Something Mr. Cruz had said wormed its way into the forefront of her mind, although she would be dead before she was able to remember his exact words.
'If ya be somebody else ....such a mess it'd be..'
Was Grandfather really worried that this would fall into the wrong hands" Was that why he used the unorthodox carrier, the security measures, the locked box..
Come to think of it, this did fit the pattern of his behavior lately. He had been unusually secretive and anxious in their communications. It worried her greatly. Forgetting all of her anger, Syria reached for the notecard, flipped it over and read.
Granddaughter,
I can only pray this finds your hands and not those of others. I would have liked to warn you beforehand of the unusual service I had to procure to make sure this got to you, but there was no time. I hope you didn't have much difficulty with Axton Cruz's services. He is an unsavory character, but I have reason to believe his occupational morality will rule out...
"That's where I know him from!! The man accused of selling intelligence and, well, pretty much anything else to underground organizations...They never caught him...I cannot believe this.." Her free hand jumped to her chest and she sat pondering this. She had been mere feet from a wanted man, taken items from him...He had her picture!!
She swallowed as much of her unease that she could manage and forced herself to continue to read. She had not wished for her Servant more than at this very moment, but refused to summon her. She could handle this without Rider. For now.
I also hope that you appreciate the severity of the circumstances that have befallen us. All is not well here, but I do not wish you to panic. Continue your research as I have instructed. The reasons will become known to you when you are ready.
In the meanwhile, my dear, keep this box close to you, and the secret it holds. For I truly believe that, even though late in coming, your ability will be the deciding factor in this War.
All my love, Grandfather
In the small amount of space left, centered on the card's surface, were the words: An hour of contract is the key, to unlock one's predetermined destiny.
"What the hell does this mean?" There had to be more to this...Syria looked on the back side of the card, but there was nothing, no hidden words or images. None on the underside of the locked box or hiding in the wrappings. Her frustration was climbing by the second, as was her anxiety.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean, Grandfather?" she whispered harshly. "You do not merely tell your only granddaughter things are not 'all well at home but do not panic' and expect her to stay put."
With a huff, Syria flounced from the stool and gathered the package, resisting the urge to just smash it with a trusty spell.
Her Grandfather had gone through this much trouble for a reason, he had sent this to her for a reason. But she was not going to sit around and twiddle her thumbs trying to work out that reason.
At first light, tonight if her mood didn't choose to shift, she was going to pack and return home immediately, research and this place's potential be damned. She smiled darkly to herself as she pushed out into the stickiness of the evening.
Grandfather couldn't rightly expect her to behave in any other fashion.
Syria did not realize the glint of a pair of malevolent gazes following her in the shadows of the night.