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>3 SUCCESS: Hidden Code. Within your subtle correspondence you have implemented a second code, based on the placement of certain letters in sentences. You are relatively certain Sir Gilbern would be familiar with, and few others, so you are able to pass on highly detailed information. Unless intercepted letters are brought to the attention of someone supremely accomplished in counter-intelligence, the true nature of your correspondence is unlikely to be revealed. Hidden Code bonus to future reports.
Your whitecloak ermine, a gift from the Fae enclave, curiously sniffs at the parchment you inscribe with your hidden messages to the Ordo Reginate. Oddly enough, this task brings on a wave of reminiscent memories from your childhood.
Your household uses a code of their own devising, a practice quite common among the older noble houses of Canton. As children you would leave or pass along messages to one another with various iterations of that code, the aim of the game being to inevitably arrange some sort of prank that would almost invariably leave you or your brother Damien as the butt of the joke. Intercepting and decoding your sister’s manipulations became a matter of self-preservation, despite being a man destined for a focus in the martial arts rather than scholarly interests.
Halina might have had the cleverest wordplay, she was adept at both deciphering and altering codes for beyond what one would expect at such a tender age. Anastazja never had quite the knack for it, relying on her looks to get what she wanted rather than subterfuge. And little Maryla was always more interested in playfighting with sticks, which you were always happy to oblige despite the odd admonishment from Mother. Roselyn was the gamemaster of course, pulling the strings of your other sisters and even yourself on occasion with the promise of reward or at least being spared collateral of whatever mischief she had designed. Few things sparked more alarm in those youthful days than finding a discarded note somewhere reading something like ‘Bees and Little Bear both like honey in their porridge’ and having no idea what your siblings had cooked up. That foreboding served as a persuasive incentive to get half-decent at this cockamamie game of theirs.
Drafting your letters with the vague messages and a hidden variation of the code you don’t doubt Sir Gilbern will recognise, you realise that this is much like those games. A dangerous game, where the stakes are the wellbeing of your nation if you succeed… and the distinct possibility of an agonising end under a torturer’s blade if you lose.
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