Osiris Fraternal Order

Prologue (Part I)

Xoriet Ysabel Montresor's obsidian eyes had shifted to the unusual dusky gold they usually assumed when she was bothered the moment that her uncle had left her room. She was leaning against her desk, arms crossed, gazing out of the large window. Due to the nature of the precise hour, her dark hair was pulled back in loose knot that had all but fallen apart. Even her feet were bare, something that only happened while alone. Both of them bore traces of what had once been intense scars from exposure to a fire, the imperfection thus something that she preferred to conceal.

She had not expected the order to come quite so suddenly, which was why she had refrained from sleep earlier that evening. Xoriet cast a lingering look at her bed and sighed with evident regret. So much for sleep. There was no time to rest when decisions had to be made, and a departure arranged. In a handful of hours.

"Begin preparations at once. You are to deploy to Osiris at dawn."

The words were like weights, bearing down on her conscience and leaving her unable to experience any particular emotion. She knew why they could not simply remain in Equilism, why it was necessary to relocate to Osiris. Xoriet had long-since discovered her uncle's secret deal with Death. The knowledge made her slightly ill, but she concealed her distaste and private dismay regarding his appalling activities with an expert veil of indifference.

Just the thought brought the ghost of a grimace to her lips. Xoriet did love her uncle, but she did not really like the idea that he was conversing with Death regularly. Sometimes she thought he might have an idea just how disturbing she found the rumors that surrounded him, and, by extension, the Monstresors as a whole. She was the heir, yes, but she would inherit a house which truly made her the Daughter of Death. A fitting title for someone whose entire life was stained with blood.

Death had always, always followed her, like a curse designed especially for her. Her parents had scarcely been the first to die around her, but they had been the most devastating impact of all. And now she was living in a house which entertained Death itself on a basis that could be called regular. Death was something she would never fully escape from.

Finally she sighed and walked away from the window. The faint chill in the room as she changed into more appropriate clothing was compounded by the cold marble floors beneath her bare feet. Her chosen apparel, a dark red linen shirt and tight black pants tucked into thigh-length boots were finer than anything she would wear normally, but this was something she could absolutely not fail. The future of the Montresors depended on what would happen next.

Glancing at the mirror, she tied her hair back from her face and pinned it severely. Then she splashed cold water over her face, the temperature of the water leaching out the color of her skin and leaving it even paler than its usual alabaster. Finally, as she dried her hands and face, she deemed herself presentable.

She then selected a robe of solid black, with stripes of dusky gold similar to her eyes around the hems and cuffs of the garment. The fabric was light to enable movement, and warded off the rest of the chill. She glanced over it again, shrugged, and moved to exit the room.

Despite any agitation she might be feeling behind an absolutely expressionless face, the door closed softly behind her.

Part II: The Fleet Sails At Dawn Xoriet paused before the door leading to the meeting room for this excursion. She eradicated any apparent wrinkles in the material of her robe by smoothing her hand over them until they simply disappeared. Next she brushed imaginary dust from her loose sleeves with equally brisk movements. Though it was largely superfluous to do so considering the pristine condition of her current attire, she had a compulsion towards tidiness, particularly when placed in a public situation. Pristine or not, she still used the reflective surface of the brass door plate to check her face as well. Not a hair out of place in the tight knot she wore her black hair in, makeup eschewed because it was a nuisance in the field and unnecessary, no trace of unwanted emotion on her face. She nodded, satisfied by her quick assessment, and opened the door without further pause.

There were seven men in the room, all wearing garments similar to hers - largely black robes with function in mind rather than appearance, with faint trim of orange or red to mark them as people not of Montresor blood, but of loyalty to the house and its members. She scanned their expressions briefly with dispassion. One of the keys to managing people in situations of this nature was to show none of her internal discomfort on the matter.

A new land, and a new group of humans, all unaware of...

No, no, this was a bad time to think about that. She suppressed the thoughts that had bothered her occasionally since the order was given by her uncle.

"All right, gentlemen," Xoriet said decisively, no trace of any indecision to be found in either voice or appearance. "The order has been given. We depart for Osiris at dawn, by the decree of Lord Blaine Zeorus Montresor. How far along are the preparations?"

One man, an middle-aged, burly fellow who identified himself simply as Saiphel, met her gaze rather insolently. He ignored the brow she quirked in response to the presumption, aware that she would do nothing to rebuke him. "Those preparations are long since completed," Saiphel said. His voice was as coarse as his tanned and pockmarked face, but his words were cultured.

Another man snorted at that, glanced at Xoriet with mild alarm, and cleared his throat.

"Did you leave something out, Saiphel?" she asked dryly.

He shrugged. "Well, we are still installing the last of the two-way mirrors."

Xoriet looked to the man who was supposed to be in charge of installing the devices. "What is the hold-up?"

"One of them was broken by a careless idiot," the man said, appearing decidedly uncomfortable at the sudden attention he had garnered from his inability to complete his job in time. "We have a new one being shipped in. It should be finished within a day."

The sudden flash of danger in her now-golden eyes made every man in the room cringe back. "Truly, I am disappointed," she said, her tone glacial. "If it does not reach us before we make it to Osiris, you will have to pay reparation for this delay. Lives can easily be lost with the sort of carelessness that you have displayed today. Are you so very eager to die?"

He stammered something unintelligible that she supposed was an amalgam of apology and denial.

"Well, you are excused for the moment. Until that times, a smaller mirror will have to serve us." Her displeasure was still quite clear, but her voice was milder. "I highly suggest that you do not reveal such incompetence a second time."

Xoriet was wearied by the front she was putting on for their benefit. Still, she had her role down flawlessly, and would never reveal her actual nature publicly.

"You know what to do, people," she said with iron decisiveness, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "We sail at dawn."

"Yes, Lady Montresor."

In the dark hours of the morning before sunrise, Lord Montresor and Xoriet arrived at the docks. He was dressed in an ornate black and orange robe and rode a tall blue-grey horse. As was usual whenever he left home, he also wore the face paint traditional for Dûnish nobility in designs of scarlet, violet and white.

Uncle and niece dismounted as they approached the Montresor flagship Firewalker. Moored nearby were two other ships that led House Montresor's modestly sized fleet, Mirage and Queen of the Night. Xoriet would be departing at the helm of Firewalker. Montresor would follow with the other two ships three days later. There were final arrangements to be made before he could depart himself.

As they boarded Firewalker, Montresor paced the deck, gazing out over the sea between Equilism and Osiris. He turned to Xoriet abruptly, abandoning his reverie.

"I have called for your brother to return from his travels and join us in Osiris. If he agrees, he will take the helm of Mirage and I will follow on Queen of the Night. Whether or not we are in sight, do not turn back even for a moment. You cannot afford to wait for us. Safe travels, niece."

The Lord of Dûn deboarded his ship brusquely before riding off into the sunrise, leaving Xoriet behind to gather the crew and depart.