[Otherworld, New Camelot] The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter

Behind a dilapidated house, on an abandoned street, in the midst of the expected foul smells, two pillars of black smoke flowed before revealing New Camelot's newest guests. A woman with sun-kissed skin, draped in comfortable linens and cotton, illustrious flowing black hair resting on her shoulders. A man dressed similarly, albeit much more pale in tone, a seemingly permanent frown adorning his relatively handsome visage. The two looked tailor-made to the scrappy streets of the burgeoning city. Indeed, New Camelot had seen plenty of prosperity under Vortigen's rule. Yet, as was the case with many such supposedly great kingdoms, New Camelot's triumphs had come at the cost of its less fortunate residents. Not to mention the rivers of blood necessary to make it what it was.

Otherworld was a different plane and despite the Starlight Citadel parading itself as Otherworld's capital and the seat of its just rule, it wasn't all that separate from the rulers of old, who turned a blind eye to its smaller troubles. Which was why it worked splendidly for Guinevere. Her connections within the kingdom ran deep, yet nobody had managed to track said connections back to her specifically. The Dark One was cunning to a fault, after all.

Since its second relocation within Otherworld, New Camelot had expanded in size, reaching beyond its arbitrary walls, enveloping the area around it into Vortigen's domain. To shape as he saw fit. And for all its faults, it was a prosperous domain. But again, it was the seedy underbelly where Guinevere sought her target.

Mordred would notice that his fae friend was not with them. No, Meggan was safely tucked away in a place where he could not reach. Guinevere was known to honor her deals, but not before she got what she needed. And before she would use his magic, there was something else she was after.

The pair made their way down the streets, seeing peddlers and beggars at every turn. Both of them were disguised as people bordering on aristocracy. It was the perfect middle ground. Their path would eventually lead them to a tavern. How expected. Tried and true. The best informants and old acquaintances typically made their homes in such places. Whether as clients or, in some cases, owners. This was the case of the latter.


The Blind Badger was their eventual destination. The tavern's doors unveiled an expected sight: a lively locale with seemingly endless liquor, gambling, and the general activity of "shooting the shit" as modern vernacular would put it. A tavern brawl was never far behind in such places. Mordred would likely take note of Guinevere's difference in demeanor here, as she made her way effortlessly through the establishment as if she knew everyone there. An effective part of her disguise. With the lad in tow, the Dark One made her way to the counter, where its bartender was enjoying a moment's respite. Guinevere lazily slouched over, looking at the barkeep with intent.

"Gold in today?"

Her voice was noticeably different, all the while still carrying the same timbre as her actual voice. She sounded eerily similar to the people visiting the place. Though still being clear that she was above such rabble. The man behind the counter didn't bear her too much mind, though seemingly knowing who she was. Her apparent identity anyway. A sign that she wasn't a rare sight. His nonchalant and familiar words would confirm it.

"In his office. You owe him for last time."

Guinevere smirked, knowing full well what he meant. Instead of a direct answer, she instead tapped the counter, prompting the barkeep to retrieve two shot glasses, filling them to the brim (and slightly spilling) with an unknown liquid. The Dark One threw a glance at her companion, seemingly a suggestion to down one as she was about to. The liquor was potent, yet it made its way down her throat with astounding ease. A slight burning sensation tickled her for a moment before pushing herself off the counter, making her way to the said office on the tavern's second floor. Whether Mordred took the shot was his prerogative, but it was clear that the shots were on the house for whatever reason.

The upper floor of the tavern was noticeably more quiet. Only the murmurs and hints of life below gave the sign that this was still the same building. A relatively standard door stood between Guinevere, her companion, and the still mysterious Gold. Guinevere knocked thrice before opening the door on her own volition. The room they would enter was more ornate than anything else in the establishment. A surefire sign that this was the office of a relatively well-off man.


The only thing more pertinent than the office's decor was the man sitting behind a sturdy desk, intensively writing something in what looked to be a ledger. He was younger than some might have expected and much more rugged in appearance than someone in charge of such an establishment was thought to be. Yet he exuded an aura of confidence, one that had been formed throughout many years of practice. Weakness was not in season in New Camelot, at any time of year.

His writings ceased when he noticed Guinevere. Though he knew her by a different name. He wasn't exactly surprised to see her. No, he seemed more annoyed than anything. Mordred could probably relate to that on some level. The silence was broken by his words.

"I'm sure you're disappointed to see me alive, Eleanor."

"Eleanor" smirked mischievously, not all too different from Guinevere herself. Her other name was a strange one to those few who knew her true nature. A name that was in diametric opposition of everything she stood for. A meaning that carried light within, as well as grit and unyielding. Well, perhaps it wasn't so different after all. At least by Guinevere's standards.

"Not in the slightest. I'd only say that had I tried to run you through myself. You're still useful to me, Gold."

Gold winced at the mentioning of that name. One that he had tried to shed for a long time, without success. He had become to reluctantly accept it, but that rebellious streak remained. He gave "Eleanor" a look. It had clear meaning. A desire to know what she was after and to get it all over quickly. It was evident that their relationship was a complicated one. She, for once, agreed with his stare and got directly to business.

"Cedric, I need the Ember. I saw it. A vision. Otherworld's greatest time of need. And the Dark One is involved. It won't be long before they come here and take it from you. Help me and we'll do what the powers that be are too ignorant to."

Gold's eyes narrowed, unsure whether to trust her. Yet, her words carried truth. A cadence of desperation, a tone of righteousness. Despite their untold history, it was still between them, exceedingly palpable. Cedric sighed, an admission. He had known Eleanor long enough that even if she wasn't telling the whole truth, her underlying message was clear and it was something he couldn't ignore. But before he could provide a semblance of agreement to her old friend, his eyes darted to Mordred. A man he had not seen before. His suspicion grew. His question then was aimed largely at Mordred, yet his words addressed primarily Guinevere.

"Your friend. Who is he? Some lone stowaway you dragged along? I know you have a habit of brining along those who want nothing to do with your mission."

What Cedric said was clearly indicative of a pattern in "Eleanor." In his version of their history, she had constantly brought new people to him, claiming them to be allies. He had been burned before by trusting her. Yet her goals always seemed to be valiant. Her choice in companions, not so much. But it was clear enough that he was likely willing to help them, despite her companion's enigmatic allegiances.

As he finished his question and following sentence, Guinevere turned towards Mordred as well. Her expression changed slightly, speaking a thousand words without a single utterance of one. To hit her point home, she projected a message into his mind through the aid of a simple unspoken spell.

"Choose your words carefully. If he snuffs us out, the blood of these innocents will be on your hands, dearie."