Downtown Druid

Dantes and Jacopo climbed off the backs of their pigeon mounts and skittered onto the soft moss bedding that covered Dantes’s garden. They morphed into their usual forms and Dantes walked over to where he kept his food. He took a loaf of bread and broke off two generous hunks, giving one to each of the pigeons. They eagerly took them, and flew off before even saying thank you, not wanting to risk their prizes being stolen by other pigeons that might be watching. Dantes didn’t blame them, he’d certainly fled with goods and no thanks exchanged more than once. Of course, he’d been stealing the goods at the time, so the thank you likely would’ve seemed more than a little bit mocking.

He moved to the small basin he kept, and filled it with water. He then took a cloth and began cleaning Danglar’s blood off himself, smiling as he remembered the satisfaction he’d felt when he’d snuffed his life out. The only thing that could’ve made the day better, would’ve been if he’d been able to kill Godfrey as well, but it seemed that was beyond him, at least for the moment. With the right plan, weapon, or ally he was certain he could be beaten. Maybe with those formerly known as the collared. Magical assistance would certainly be beneficial, though he was hesitant to call on their aid unless he absolutely needed it. Wane had indicated that whatever they were working on was time sensitive, and Dantes wanted to avoid calling on them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Until then though he’d have to find some way to mitigate the damage Godfrey could do, or to at least find a way to remove him from his part of the board. He seemed to be able to sense the transactions that were made throughout Rendhold, but how specifically could he detect them? Was he able to track every purchase or trade of coin that Dantes made? What of goods and services? Greed wasn’t limited just to coin, so would his powers be? Even beyond that what about what Godfrey had said about have the blessings of more than one god? Greed was obviously one of Godfrey’s patrons, but who might the other one be? All of the abilities he’d demonstrated so far indicated only Greed, but perhaps the god of Merchants? There were too many unanswered questions, and that made Dantes nervous. It was going to take time to have everything he needed to take Godfrey out. Until that was possible he had to work to mitigate his own weaknesses.

Dantes spread his awareness across his gardens, his attention going through every tree, branch, root, flower, stem, and bud of all of the life that was connected to him. He blinked, absorbing just how much all of it had grown. The gardens that he’d started were rapidly growing beyond the bounds of the sealed off zones of the city in which he’d started them. Trees were peeking above the barriers that blocked them off, flowers sent luxurious scents well beyond their bounds, carried by the winds from the sea. He even detected several small patches of plants that had become connected to him because the gardens had sent seed pods and other means of procreation far beyond their bounds. Dantes had heeded Clay's advice and attempted to make the gardens less inviting using thornbushes, and planting flowers that would attract some bees and wasps from outside the city, but there was only so much he could do.

His gardens were, in his mind, his greatest vulnerability. He wasn’t sure of how much knowledge Mondego and Godfrey had about druids, but even with none it wouldn’t be difficult for a layman to figure out that they’re connected to nature. If they found his gardens and targeted them, he would be severely weakened. He didn’t think their destruction would hurt him as much as when his blood garden was purged by Gavain, but there would definitely be a heavy price to pay. He needed to diversify. He had plans for exactly how he’d do that after Mondego was taken care of, but he needed to consider ways to keep himself functional in an emergency.

In the Pit he’d had the idea to hide small caches of supplies all throughout the cave systems that spread throughout it. He’d remove stones, leave his own personal marks, and memorize where they were. That gave him security. Even if his well hidden home there had been found, he wouldn’t have been starting from square one. That was a model he could use above ground in Rendhold as well.

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He moved to his smallest garden, where Clay liked to store a large number of his gardening tools as well as a large cache of seeds he’d stored for planting. Dantes picked the lock, wondering why Clay would go through the trouble for that, and found the cache of seeds. He took a small canvas sack and filled it with seeds. Then he filled two more. Once he was done he returned to his main garden and placed all three sacks on the ground. He sat between all of them, and drew all of his focus into himself before spreading it through each of the bags. He went through each individual seed, of the thousands that there were, and he forged a threadlike connection between himself and them. He knew there were downsides to what he was doing, but the volume would more than make up for any other problem.

When he was done, he kicked over the seed bags and sent out a message to all of the rats and pigeons not just nearby, but all across the city.

In seconds rats and pigeons were swarming across the seed, eating it whole, getting stuck in their feathers and fur, and generally enjoying themselves. When they were done, he sent out a second message.

Spread!

They didn’t need to be told twice, and they immediately began to make their way all across Rendhold. They spilled seed in sewers filled with wastes, on harsh patches of ground, in gutters filled with water, and even in those private gardens maintained by the elites in uptown. With each seed dropped, he would push a little bit of extra life from himself into them, encouraging them to take root wherever they landed. Those seeds not spilled directly, would be dropped with a bit of their own fertilizer later, and that would have its own benefits for them. It was a messy, possibly impermanent solution, but for the limited time and ability he had at the moment, it seemed like the best option he could work toward. He’d just need to apologize to Clay the next time he saw him.

When the seed was completely cleared, he sat with his back against the largest of the trees and closed his eyes. Danglars was gone. Half of those who had wronged him had been paid back in kind. Mondego and Mercedes were all that remained. They were going to be the most difficult to take care of. Both of them were better supplied, had more support, and were more cunning than Danglars and Gaspard. Danglars may have been smarter than them in his way, but he wasn’t as clever. Both of them were also far better equipped at protecting themselves. His own encounter with Mondego had shown that he’d only become more lethal since Dantes had been in the Pit, and while Mercedes now seemed more concerned with shopping, he’d definitely noticed no decline in her musculature since he’d been gone either. In the past he’d seen them both handle multiple opponents at once without issue. Their danger was further increased by whatever additional power their marks granted them, and whatever support they may receive from Godfrey.

Dantes had his own advantages, but it was still a difficult thing. That part of him that had so relished driving his stiletto into Danglars back until he was dead wanted to risk it all and just head right for them, with an army of vermin at his back and a dozen wands hidden in his false arm. He took a breath and cooled that part of himself. He stood up and moved to the makeshift desk he’d used to write the letters from Madame Forteville to Danglars. He wrote two words, “You’re next,” and sealed it with the mark of office he’d stolen from Danglars all those weeks ago. When he was done he gave it to a pigeon with the instructions to drop it from high directly onto Mondego’s front steps.

When he was done, he found himself still sitting at the desk, looking at a blank piece of paper. This time, he put the ink and quill to the side, deciding to write in his own hand with one of the newer fountain pens. He looked at the blank piece of parchment for several minutes, clenching his jaw, before he finally brought himself to put pen to paper. The message was short, but it seemed to take him forever to finish it. When it was done, he tied it to a pigeon's leg with a heavy sigh, and sent it after the other one. Except that one wouldn’t be just dropping the message in the middle of Mondego’s manor, it would be seeking a specific window.

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