Private Knight-Time Activities

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

As soon as Cora's telekinetic grip took hold of the camera, Drystan rolled out from the corner and sprinted toward the door. He came to a quick stop, immediately assessing the locking mechanism. Speed was of the essence—not because he doubted Cora's ability to hold the camera in place, but because every passing second of a frozen feed increased the risk of drawing attention.

The lock was simple. Ancient. A traditional metal keyhole, the kind large enough to peer through. From his pocket, Drystan retrieved a pick and tension wrench. The absence of his left arm made the process more challenging, but with the pick held between his teeth and the wrench in his remaining hand, he worked quickly. Within moments, a soft click rewarded his effort, and the door handle gave way.

He eased the door open and signaled for Cora to follow. Once they were both inside, he closed the door behind them, locking it exactly as it had been.

The study was unassuming—spacious, with shelves lining the walls, a large desk at the center, and ample lighting fixtures placed for practical reading and writing.

Drystan took a brief moment to scan the room. No signs of surveillance.

"Let's start searching," he said quietly. "Ledgers, journals, correspondences—anything useful. There's a bell that signals the next round; should ring before the hour's up, depending on how long the matches run. Keep an ear out while we dig."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora kept her telekinetic hold steady until she slipped past the open door. As soon as it clicked shut, lowered her hand. Hopefully, the momentary pause in the camera's feed wouldn't even be noticed - and if it was, it could be attributed to a minor mechanical error.

After all, Ukatis didn't have the highest grade tech.

Grund's study was unassuming. Neat and orderly, as to be expected of a nobleman. Cora's eyes landed on a globe flanking one curtained window. From where she was standing, she could see the green and yellow swaths depicting Ukatian landmasses, almost blending into the blues of the ocean.

A memory tugged at her attention. She and her younger brother, Dominick, would occasionally sneak into their father's study as children. The Ukatian globe, with its lacquered surface and spinning axis always fascinated them. Father always scolded them, insisting that it was not a toy.

The recollection lasted less than a moment. Her eyes fell to the desk, and a gloved hand tested the drawer nearest to her. It slid open with a groan, unlocked. Such sensitive information wouldn't have been left so accessible, but it was important to search what they could.

"…sixteen barrels of ale?"

Cora frowned as she held up the receipt, only placing it down after the initial wave of judgement had passed. Most of what they found wasn't immediately suspicious. A dull correspondence regarding the legal trade of one harvested crop for another here, a roster of house servants there.

It wasn't until Drystan had picked the lock of the last drawer did they find something interesting.

A plain, nondescript book. Handwritten pages. A diary of sorts.

Cora frowned as she leafed through the entries. "…It's written in High Ukatish. A language only taught to the aristocracy of this world." She glanced to Drystan before scrutinizing the symbols on the paper. She was rusty. It had been at least a few years since she'd spoken, let alone read the noble dialect.

"This entry was written eight months ago. It says…'I've purchased a healing amulet from a cloaked traveler claiming to be a mystic. I have reason to believe that he is a former Seer cast out for traitorous conduct, but he's assured me that his magick is the sort that brings aid to the sickly. I only hope that it will be enough."

Drystan Creed