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There was little more satisfying to the master of secrets than finding a thread and pulling upon it to see what came unravelled. It was a delicate business, for things were rarely as simple as the first appearance suggested, and often those loose ends could tear down an entire tapestry if one were not careful.
Cicero of Aetola was a man well-used to playing the careful game of extracting what he could, when he could, without bringing the whole world crashing down around him. It was a skill honed over many years, over his entire career nurturing contacts so they blossomed into informants, pressing gold into palms where needed, and more to his liking, using information as currency in its own right. He could often be outspent in gold, after all, but secrets? There were none in Athenia that could boast knowing as many, and the preservation of such things was often more valuable than coin.
He had been flexing such muscle of late: there were those within the city that played at spying themselves, and it amused Cicero in equal part as it irritated him. It meant he had to just make doubly sure the pull on the reins of those within his network, testing and reaffirming loyalties and ensuring he had eyes on the eyes that did not belong to him. Amateurs, for the most part, they were not hard to shadow, and therefore it was not difficult for Cicero to know all that they ran off to tell their masters. Nor for him to know who their masters were.
It was keeping him busy, but above and beyond what he did in the shadows, there was the more public face of his role that he could not ignore. The investigation into that trouble at the Loutra, for example. He had to be seen to give it due attention, even though it was of little interest. Hadn’t the Stravos done a fine job of making Princess Emilia the target of the wrath of the city’s underfed? Was it surprising that someone with half a brain would realise that a statement such as a dead girl and a message in blood would draw more attention than throwing fruit? It was one dead peasant compared to the scores who died each day. Still, he had followed the trail back to a small group working out of the lower levels. It would not be long until he had a name he could present to….whomever asked, he supposed.
It would be one thing he could remove from the extensive ‘to do’ list that he kept nowhere other than his head. And if his day went as planned then perhaps another might be addressed too.
The family Stravos seemed a perpetual thorn in his side, an itch he wished to scratch, an irritating piece of gristle between his teeth. Never one to underestimate, he had kept a close eye on the individual members of the house since Persephone had fled. It did not take much to see how they tried to exploit the situation for all that they could, that much even a blind mute would be able to ascertain. Something that had caught his attention though was the development than Lord Keikelus had taken up temporary residence away from the Stravos Manor. That made Cicero curious and so a conversation with the Master of Trade had been added to his agenda. When whisper had come to him that the very man had been seen arriving at the library that very day, well it made it the easiest of happenstance meetings. The spymaster was almost part of the furniture at the scholeio, he had grown up amongst its halls, and the library was one of his thinking spots. Finding the man he sought browsing the stacks, Cicero materialised by his side in that impossible way that he did just to unnerve people sometimes.
“Lord Keikelus. Seeking to improve the mind?” he drawled, taking quick note of the tomes that the man lingered by. “I’m glad I ran into you, actually. Might we talk a little?”
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There was little more satisfying to the master of secrets than finding a thread and pulling upon it to see what came unravelled. It was a delicate business, for things were rarely as simple as the first appearance suggested, and often those loose ends could tear down an entire tapestry if one were not careful.
Cicero of Aetola was a man well-used to playing the careful game of extracting what he could, when he could, without bringing the whole world crashing down around him. It was a skill honed over many years, over his entire career nurturing contacts so they blossomed into informants, pressing gold into palms where needed, and more to his liking, using information as currency in its own right. He could often be outspent in gold, after all, but secrets? There were none in Athenia that could boast knowing as many, and the preservation of such things was often more valuable than coin.
He had been flexing such muscle of late: there were those within the city that played at spying themselves, and it amused Cicero in equal part as it irritated him. It meant he had to just make doubly sure the pull on the reins of those within his network, testing and reaffirming loyalties and ensuring he had eyes on the eyes that did not belong to him. Amateurs, for the most part, they were not hard to shadow, and therefore it was not difficult for Cicero to know all that they ran off to tell their masters. Nor for him to know who their masters were.
It was keeping him busy, but above and beyond what he did in the shadows, there was the more public face of his role that he could not ignore. The investigation into that trouble at the Loutra, for example. He had to be seen to give it due attention, even though it was of little interest. Hadn’t the Stravos done a fine job of making Princess Emilia the target of the wrath of the city’s underfed? Was it surprising that someone with half a brain would realise that a statement such as a dead girl and a message in blood would draw more attention than throwing fruit? It was one dead peasant compared to the scores who died each day. Still, he had followed the trail back to a small group working out of the lower levels. It would not be long until he had a name he could present to….whomever asked, he supposed.
It would be one thing he could remove from the extensive ‘to do’ list that he kept nowhere other than his head. And if his day went as planned then perhaps another might be addressed too.
The family Stravos seemed a perpetual thorn in his side, an itch he wished to scratch, an irritating piece of gristle between his teeth. Never one to underestimate, he had kept a close eye on the individual members of the house since Persephone had fled. It did not take much to see how they tried to exploit the situation for all that they could, that much even a blind mute would be able to ascertain. Something that had caught his attention though was the development than Lord Keikelus had taken up temporary residence away from the Stravos Manor. That made Cicero curious and so a conversation with the Master of Trade had been added to his agenda. When whisper had come to him that the very man had been seen arriving at the library that very day, well it made it the easiest of happenstance meetings. The spymaster was almost part of the furniture at the scholeio, he had grown up amongst its halls, and the library was one of his thinking spots. Finding the man he sought browsing the stacks, Cicero materialised by his side in that impossible way that he did just to unnerve people sometimes.
“Lord Keikelus. Seeking to improve the mind?” he drawled, taking quick note of the tomes that the man lingered by. “I’m glad I ran into you, actually. Might we talk a little?”
There was little more satisfying to the master of secrets than finding a thread and pulling upon it to see what came unravelled. It was a delicate business, for things were rarely as simple as the first appearance suggested, and often those loose ends could tear down an entire tapestry if one were not careful.
Cicero of Aetola was a man well-used to playing the careful game of extracting what he could, when he could, without bringing the whole world crashing down around him. It was a skill honed over many years, over his entire career nurturing contacts so they blossomed into informants, pressing gold into palms where needed, and more to his liking, using information as currency in its own right. He could often be outspent in gold, after all, but secrets? There were none in Athenia that could boast knowing as many, and the preservation of such things was often more valuable than coin.
He had been flexing such muscle of late: there were those within the city that played at spying themselves, and it amused Cicero in equal part as it irritated him. It meant he had to just make doubly sure the pull on the reins of those within his network, testing and reaffirming loyalties and ensuring he had eyes on the eyes that did not belong to him. Amateurs, for the most part, they were not hard to shadow, and therefore it was not difficult for Cicero to know all that they ran off to tell their masters. Nor for him to know who their masters were.
It was keeping him busy, but above and beyond what he did in the shadows, there was the more public face of his role that he could not ignore. The investigation into that trouble at the Loutra, for example. He had to be seen to give it due attention, even though it was of little interest. Hadn’t the Stravos done a fine job of making Princess Emilia the target of the wrath of the city’s underfed? Was it surprising that someone with half a brain would realise that a statement such as a dead girl and a message in blood would draw more attention than throwing fruit? It was one dead peasant compared to the scores who died each day. Still, he had followed the trail back to a small group working out of the lower levels. It would not be long until he had a name he could present to….whomever asked, he supposed.
It would be one thing he could remove from the extensive ‘to do’ list that he kept nowhere other than his head. And if his day went as planned then perhaps another might be addressed too.
The family Stravos seemed a perpetual thorn in his side, an itch he wished to scratch, an irritating piece of gristle between his teeth. Never one to underestimate, he had kept a close eye on the individual members of the house since Persephone had fled. It did not take much to see how they tried to exploit the situation for all that they could, that much even a blind mute would be able to ascertain. Something that had caught his attention though was the development than Lord Keikelus had taken up temporary residence away from the Stravos Manor. That made Cicero curious and so a conversation with the Master of Trade had been added to his agenda. When whisper had come to him that the very man had been seen arriving at the library that very day, well it made it the easiest of happenstance meetings. The spymaster was almost part of the furniture at the scholeio, he had grown up amongst its halls, and the library was one of his thinking spots. Finding the man he sought browsing the stacks, Cicero materialised by his side in that impossible way that he did just to unnerve people sometimes.
“Lord Keikelus. Seeking to improve the mind?” he drawled, taking quick note of the tomes that the man lingered by. “I’m glad I ran into you, actually. Might we talk a little?”
Going to the Scholeio had been a guilty pleasure decision. One steeped in a need to have his mind working, moving once more. He was currently looking for a law book, wanting to really delve deeper into the trade agreements of many years past. They changed on a dime, and often. Keikelius himself had written numerous in the last few years as the Master of Trade, having left the running of the Stravos to his only son.
Elias had still found a way to muck it all up.
While he was distanced from his family and aiming to give the impression that he had no interest in working on their side of things, he still had work to do. With the Senate doors having opened, if only just once, that had spurred a quiet need in the lord to do something other than plot and scheme and sneer at his son's mistakes and poor choices.
At first, the man trailed the stacks, not entirely sure what he was looking for to start with, but soon stopping in the more law-related section of the library and trailing his fingers along the spines of a few of the tomes. He had just gone to reach for a tome on maritime trading, something he knew an extreme amount on, but something that could always be refreshed, pausing when he heard the spymaster's voice at his shoulder. Keikelius was not a jumpy man. Things did not surprise him. He did the surprising. He did the dirty deeds that others would not. The image of him beating Elias only weeks ago flashed in his mind and he shut it out rather sharply, turning to look at Cicero.
"The Senate doors have opened, that means it is time to work," Lord Keikelius noted in answer to Cicero, not looking anywhere but at the man's face. For the spymaster to have come to his side that must have meant that Keikelius had information that the man wanted. That, or he had done something of interest to call his attention. Keikelius knew exactly what that action had been, but he was willing to drag the lord along for just a bit longer before sinking his teeth into that impending conversation. "It depends on where you wish to speak," Keikelius finally noted when Cicero asked for the two of them to have a conversation.
Keikelius glanced around the library, his expression revealing nothing but the slightest bit of discomfort at the idea of having to speak in public about things that he might want to keep closer to his chest.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
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Going to the Scholeio had been a guilty pleasure decision. One steeped in a need to have his mind working, moving once more. He was currently looking for a law book, wanting to really delve deeper into the trade agreements of many years past. They changed on a dime, and often. Keikelius himself had written numerous in the last few years as the Master of Trade, having left the running of the Stravos to his only son.
Elias had still found a way to muck it all up.
While he was distanced from his family and aiming to give the impression that he had no interest in working on their side of things, he still had work to do. With the Senate doors having opened, if only just once, that had spurred a quiet need in the lord to do something other than plot and scheme and sneer at his son's mistakes and poor choices.
At first, the man trailed the stacks, not entirely sure what he was looking for to start with, but soon stopping in the more law-related section of the library and trailing his fingers along the spines of a few of the tomes. He had just gone to reach for a tome on maritime trading, something he knew an extreme amount on, but something that could always be refreshed, pausing when he heard the spymaster's voice at his shoulder. Keikelius was not a jumpy man. Things did not surprise him. He did the surprising. He did the dirty deeds that others would not. The image of him beating Elias only weeks ago flashed in his mind and he shut it out rather sharply, turning to look at Cicero.
"The Senate doors have opened, that means it is time to work," Lord Keikelius noted in answer to Cicero, not looking anywhere but at the man's face. For the spymaster to have come to his side that must have meant that Keikelius had information that the man wanted. That, or he had done something of interest to call his attention. Keikelius knew exactly what that action had been, but he was willing to drag the lord along for just a bit longer before sinking his teeth into that impending conversation. "It depends on where you wish to speak," Keikelius finally noted when Cicero asked for the two of them to have a conversation.
Keikelius glanced around the library, his expression revealing nothing but the slightest bit of discomfort at the idea of having to speak in public about things that he might want to keep closer to his chest.
Going to the Scholeio had been a guilty pleasure decision. One steeped in a need to have his mind working, moving once more. He was currently looking for a law book, wanting to really delve deeper into the trade agreements of many years past. They changed on a dime, and often. Keikelius himself had written numerous in the last few years as the Master of Trade, having left the running of the Stravos to his only son.
Elias had still found a way to muck it all up.
While he was distanced from his family and aiming to give the impression that he had no interest in working on their side of things, he still had work to do. With the Senate doors having opened, if only just once, that had spurred a quiet need in the lord to do something other than plot and scheme and sneer at his son's mistakes and poor choices.
At first, the man trailed the stacks, not entirely sure what he was looking for to start with, but soon stopping in the more law-related section of the library and trailing his fingers along the spines of a few of the tomes. He had just gone to reach for a tome on maritime trading, something he knew an extreme amount on, but something that could always be refreshed, pausing when he heard the spymaster's voice at his shoulder. Keikelius was not a jumpy man. Things did not surprise him. He did the surprising. He did the dirty deeds that others would not. The image of him beating Elias only weeks ago flashed in his mind and he shut it out rather sharply, turning to look at Cicero.
"The Senate doors have opened, that means it is time to work," Lord Keikelius noted in answer to Cicero, not looking anywhere but at the man's face. For the spymaster to have come to his side that must have meant that Keikelius had information that the man wanted. That, or he had done something of interest to call his attention. Keikelius knew exactly what that action had been, but he was willing to drag the lord along for just a bit longer before sinking his teeth into that impending conversation. "It depends on where you wish to speak," Keikelius finally noted when Cicero asked for the two of them to have a conversation.
Keikelius glanced around the library, his expression revealing nothing but the slightest bit of discomfort at the idea of having to speak in public about things that he might want to keep closer to his chest.