ROLEPLAY

Canillia enters a warehouse in the underbelly of Yrkanis.

The place smells of dust and damp,
The meagre light from the oil lamps casts flickering shadows on the rough-hewn wooden walls.
In the center of the room, a worn and cluttered table is surrounded by a few mismatched chairs.
Sitting there, Lyssan's uncle, an imposing homin with graying temples, smokes a bone pipe, his piercing gaze scrutinizing Canillia as she approaches.

- Well, mates, who's this? Little Canillia, back in the neighborhood,

said the uncle in a husky voice, a smirk on his face.

- Sit there, girl.

Canillia settled down opposite him, instinctively adopting the language and accent of her childhood.

- Hi, Uncle.
It's been a while.

- Yeah, a long time.
You've come a long way from the back streets of Yrkanis.
Now you come to me. What do you want, girl?

Canillia rested her elbows on the table, crossing her fingers.

- I'm not going to make a big deal out of it.
I've heard you have a certain Ser Ciochini Cuisi who owes you a lot of money.

Uncle raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

- It can be done.
Why do you care?

- I want to buy back his debt.

Uncle burst into a low laugh, shaking his head.

- You want to buy back his debt?

Listen, girl, business is business.
You've never been a rapist, but you're not tricardy, and your arm isn't as long as it used to be.
So, what can you offer me in exchange?

Canillia held his gaze, impassive.

- I can give you something more precious than dough: a favor.

Uncle stared at her for a moment, then smiled slowly.

- A favor, huh?

You know, in our world, what a favor is worth.

But tell me, what do you want to do with this cave?

Canillia leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

- Let's just say I need him to do me a little favor.

Uncle nods slowly, taking a puff on his cigar.

- Okay, girl.
I'll assign this debt to you.
But remember, a favor for a favor.
One day, and that day may never come, I'll come and ask you to do something for me.

Until then, consider this debt as a gift for your success.

Canillia nodded, aware of the weight of this commitment.

- Got it, Uncle. I never forget anything.

Uncle smiled, satisfied.

- Good. Now go do what you have to do. Now go do what you have to do.
And remember, family is everything.

Canillia stood up, shaking hands briefly with her uncle before leaving the warehouse, determined to carry out her plan.

Ciochini Cuisi awoke in total darkness, a dull pain pulsing in the back of his skull.
The air was thick with humidity and a pungent musty smell.
Her wrists and ankles were shackled, the varynx leather biting into her skin.
The heavy silence was only disturbed by the steady drip of a water leak somewhere in the darkness.

Suddenly, slow, measured footsteps approach his position.
A door creaks open, letting in a flickering glow that casts dancing shadows on the walls.
A feminine figure emerges from the frame, her robust stature reminiscent of a Fyros.
Her face remains concealed under a hood, her rough accent betraying a foreign origin when she speaks.

- Ser Ciochini Cuisi," she murmurs in a husky, almost growling voice.
You have incurred a significant debt to influential people.



Ciochini Cuisi swallows hard, his dry throat making every word painful.

- I...
I don't have the dappers.
Not yet...



The woman steps forward slowly, her boots scraping the floor.
She leans in close to the archivist, her face still in shadow.

- Time is a luxury you no longer have, Ser...

The terror-stricken man shakes all over his body.

- ...However, there is an alternative.



Ciochini Cuisi's heartbeat quickened, a cold sweat beading on his forehead.

- What a...
what kind of service?

The woman rises to her feet, towering over Ciochini Cuisi.

- My employers want the original of a specific document.
Nothing complicated for someone in your position.
On the other hand, if you do not wish to be implicated by your employer,
You will ensure that no trace remains of the document's existence.

Ciochini Cuisi nods frantically, hope reborn in his befuddled mind.

- Yes, yes, of course. Anything you say.

The woman turns away, heading for the exit.
Before disappearing into the shadows, she throws over her shoulder:

- Don't fail, Ciochini Cuisi.



The door closes with a sinister creak,
plunging Ciochini Cuisi back into oppressive darkness,
alone with his tormented thoughts and the weight of the threat now hanging over him.

Ciochini Cuisi strode hesitantly into the oppressive gloom of an isolated clearing near Davae.
The surrounding trees formed a menacing enclosure, their gnarled branches seeming to close in on him like the claws of terrifying monsters.
Every rustle of leaf, every crack of twig beneath his feet echoed in the nocturnal silence, amplifying his growing anxiety.
The air was heavy and laden with humidity, making his breathing labored and accentuating the clamminess of his skin already covered in cold sweat.
In the center of the clearing, a hooded figure awaited him, motionless and impassive.
Sagaritis's pale glow filtered through the foliage, partially revealing a tattooed face with hard, inexpressive features.
When she spoke, her pronounced rocky accent cut through the silence like a sharp blade.

- Did you bring what we asked for?

Ciochini Cuisi swallowed hard, feeling his throat dry and knotted with fear.
His hands trembled violently as he held out a folder, aware that the slightest misstep could seal his fate.
The homine seized it without a word, breaking the seal with a precise gesture to check the contents.

- Good," she murmured after a moment. You've done your part.

Ciochini Cuisi tried to control the tremor in his voice, but it betrayed his latent terror.

- So... that's it? My debt's forgiven?

The hominin slowly raised her eyes to his, her piercing gaze piercing him through and through, as if probing the depths of his soul.

- For the time being. But remember, Ser Ciochini Cuisi, the Shadows have a long memory.
Don't give us a reason to come back and see you.

An icy shiver ran down the Ore Altae employee's spine.
As his mind raced, he imagined the dire consequences of another encounter with this hominid or her kind.
He nodded frantically, instinctively taking a step back, as if to put some distance between himself and this thinly veiled threat.

With a sneer of contempt on her lips, she looked Ciochini Cuisi up and down.

In a sharp voice, she blurted out:

- Gey-gey-zakun, la-gey-zas urkyan, get out, you make me puke.

The homin felt his stomach knot.
The idea of turning his back on this homine petrified him.

He backed away slowly, his gaze fixed on her, looking for a sign of leniency that was nowhere to be seen.
Shadows danced around them, accentuating the unknown woman's menacing aura.
Under the pressure of her piercing gaze and growing anxiety, he felt his legs wobble.

Panic gripped him, and he was unable to bear the unbearable tension any longer.
He turned and ran, stumbling in his haste to leave the oppressive clearing that seemed intent on engulfing him.
All the while knowing that, despite this frantic race, he could never really escape the shadows that now pursued him.

Under the veil of night, Canillia slipped silently through the winding streets of Yrkanis.
The shadows were his allies, every dark corner a potential hiding place.
She knew the city like the back of her hand, every hidden passage, every secret entrance.
Her objective: the Lakes embassy, where she knew Fleur de Tuber, her mentor and long-time friend, was working late.

After defeating the security devices and forcing the locks of the discreet service entrances,
she entered the Tryker embassy she knew so well.
Without hesitation, she slipped through with the agility of a feline.
The corridors were deserted, with only the distant echoes of the guards.
She progressed cautiously, avoiding lit areas, until she reached Fleur's office.

The door was ajar, revealing the flickering glow of a battered old Tryker lamp.
The hominin slipped in quietly, settling into the shadows and waiting patiently.
Later, footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Fleur entered, closing the door behind him, before jumping at the sight of the figure sitting in his armchair.

- Lake winds, Cani! You almost gave me a heart attack.

Canillia smirked, rising gracefully to her feet.

- Sorry, Fleur. Old habit...

Fleur shook her head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in her eyes.

- One day, your "old habits" will get you into trouble.

She shrugged, then her expression became more serious.

- I have something important to show you.

She took a folder out of her bag and handed it to Fleur.
He took the document, opened it and scanned the lines, his face closing as he read.

- This is the file and contract which, under the name Hubae, binds Aelyne to Ore Altae.

Fleur looked up at Canillia, a worried gleam in her eyes.

- How did you get this?

She looked away slightly, hesitant.

- Let's just say I had to use some... unconventional means.

Fleur sighed, running a hand through her graying hair.

- Cani, do you realize the risks you've taken?

She nodded, determined.

- For Aelyne, it was worth it.

A silence hung between them, laden with unspoken words and shared memories.
Fleur placed the document on her desk, crossing her arms.

- All right, then. We've got that contract. What do you propose now?

Canillia approached, placing a hand on the desk, her gaze locked on Fleur's.

- You're his uncle, his only close relative.
To all appearances, Ore Altae no longer has any proof of its contractual relationship with Aelyne.
It's up to you to decide what you want to do with it.

Fleur closed her eyes for a moment, weighing the weight of this responsibility.
When he opened them again, a new resolve shone through.

- Okay, Cani. I'll think about it. But promise me one thing.

She inclined her head, attentive.

- More... "unconventional" methods.
We need to proceed with caution.

Canillia smiled mischievously.

- Oy, Fleur, but you know me, I can't promise you anything.

He sighed again, but a smile softened his features.

- Go on, off you go before someone sees you here, and give Lea a kiss for me.

She nodded, then, in one fluid movement, disappeared like a draught, leaving Fleur alone with his thoughts and the contract.