Standing by the door, Verik clutches the small book of notes in his hands tightly, working to keep his expression neutral as Akiros works to get the spy's confession. Look at this one's resigned bravado, this smug bastard, as if after being caught he holds the high hand. Intolerable! Like Ludovan all over again...can it truly be these spies and murderers are so disciplined in their training that they can not be turned? Or are we just predictably weak in our response, as Taisper was trained to believe? As Morai-Thrune would sneer? Must be have a gibbet yard with corpses aplenty to show we shouldn't be trifled with?
Suddenly stepping forward but still a pace or two behind Akiros, Verik's left hand clutches his key symbol and intones, "Ruhz Untelnelt Woantiacl ub yrel Binly Jaohy, lruf yril tiluntelnhz awelcy ub ihh icyelcy yrel ocuqqulelt siwry act cospelnl ub zuon elyelncah qhacel! Hely ril fihh act nelluhjel vnosphel pelbunel yrel iceljiyaphel!"
To the captured spy, Verik's prayer causes a brief flash of light and a tilting of the room about him, the walls of the room fading to show an endless barren plain of golden-eyed Abadarian hounds facing him from all directions, snarling and stalking toward him in a slow deadly pace, with the hint of giant-sized golden statues beyond. The scene lasts for only an instant to him.
Clearing his throat he says with cold eyes but a practiced and patient calm, "Answer the Marshal and confess all that he asks, spy, else my next incantation will extract a permanent price." Verik takes a measured step backwards then to the door, watching.
The spy's face pales at Akiros's threats, clearly rattled by his sudden change in heart. He does not quake, however, when Verik summons a vision of doom to threaten him. "Fine, I'll tell you. My name's Hal, and I'll tell you what you want to know. I'm a thief and a spy, sure, but I've got debts to pay and a life to keep on living. The other side isn't paying well enough for me to bring their secret to the grave, but you're not going to win me over by threatening to off me. I'll give you a clue as a sign of good faith: my employer is one of your neighbors. Let's say, five hundred gold for what I know? Twice that and I'll report back whatever you want to hear."
He is withholding information - clearly - and knows that it's his only real chance for survival. He's rather desperate and will probably spill his employer for his life and a nominal fee.
Verik scoffs at the 'offer' from where he stands behind Akiros and shakes his head derisively, but does not interrupt.
The nobles watching Berrin's speech seem somewhat impressed, at least inasmuch that he did not devolve into a sputtering fool. It seems that low expectations work in his favor. The words seem sufficient for the task at hand, though earn him no friends, admirers, or supporters at court.
Lord Lebeda - gritting his teeth - accepts Berrin's speech and steps forward. He speaks to Surtova and to the court at large. "This man has been a steadfast ally to House Lebeda and to the Throne. House Lebeda will speak for Berrin Myrdal and offer him a banner to be raised in the common defense."
Noleski Surtova stands up and brushes himself off slightly. He looks to the crowd and to Berrin, then speaks in a surprisingly reedy voice. "On behalf of the absent King, I accept the petition for the ascension of House Myrdal. Should he swear fealty, House Myrdal shall be granted title to be passed from father to son, with all land and incomes attached. Do you swear to the defense of House Lebeda, to raise your banners whenever called by your liege?" He draws a sword, prepared to formally raise him once he kneels and makes the oath.
The vision begins to fade around them until Nikolai's own room swirls into view. Tandlara's image grows translucent and her voice echoes through the room. "You must slay both Winter and Summer, for their war with each other will threaten all that we have worked for, and their champions as well. So long as either lives, the other will not rest. As their champions fall, they will raise new ones."
Sensing a certain chill in the room Berrin holds his chin high and his back straight though he can't help but glance around nervously as he waits for Lord Lebeda to pick up were he left off. When he finally accepts Berrin, after what feels an eternity, Berrin lets out a sigh of relief, and when Noleski Surtova stands up and accepts too Berrin feels his head start to swim with shock, relief and doubt. Shocked, because he didn't really believe that he'd be raised to nobility, relieved for now he could make due on marrying Aylene, whom he'd grown to respect and admire more and more, and doubt, because now he'd bear responsibilities for real.
Stepping forward in a daze Berrin takes a knee before Noleski Surtova and says in a voice that sounds surprisingly strong in his own ears, meeting his eyes; "I so swear."
The spy's face pales at Akiros's threats, clearly rattled by his sudden change in heart. He does not quake, however, when Verik summons a vision of doom to threaten him. "Fine, I'll tell you. My name's Hal, and I'll tell you what you want to know. I'm a thief and a spy, sure, but I've got debts to pay and a life to keep on living. The other side isn't paying well enough for me to bring their secret to the grave, but you're not going to win me over by threatening to off me. I'll give you a clue as a sign of good faith: my employer is one of your neighbors. Let's say, five hundred gold for what I know? Twice that and I'll report back whatever you want to hear."
Sense Motive:
Akiros takes a step closer, his cloudy, cursed, disturbing eyes boring right into, and through, the prisoner. He knows he has shaken the man, and that despite his bravado, the man is desperate for his life. Turning his head slightly at Verik's scoff, he returns his full focus to the spy, this 'Hal'.
"Yes, you will tell us what you know, Hal. There are no threats here, Hal, there are simply facts. It is a fact that you have been caught, and proven, to be a spy here in our sovereign nation. It is a fact that the penalty for this crime is to hang by the neck until dead. It is a fact that this is to be your fate." with each statement of fact, Akiros takes another step closer until he is standing just before the man. From his immediate proximity the Marshal allows his not-insignificant height and bulk to further intimidate the spy.
Allowing several beats to pass by while Hal considers his immediate fate, Akiros finally leans down, right in Hal's face and growls "You, Hal, are already a dead man." Standing up straight again Akiros takes a step back "You have but one chance to avoid swinging from you neck, and that chance is rapidly fading. So I shall make it crystal clear to you. Tell us, this instant, everything you know about your employer, and their reason for sending you here, and you have my word that your life shall be spared and you shall be set free. Make your words of worth to us and convince us of their truth, and we shall also give you enough gold to flee both here and your former employer, say 60 gold. That will be more than enough to get yourself a pony, a saddle and provisions for a long journey. These are your only two options, Hal. Die. Or give us every scrap of information you have and take our gold and flee Brevian lands forever, never to show your traitorous face anywhere near here again. And I warn you, my companion here, blessed by Abadar, can easily discern your lies from the truth. So Choose wisely, Hal. Choose NOW"
Lord Noleski Surtova, Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, lays his sword upon Berrin's shoulder as the general kneels before him. It is no accident that this places the petitioner in a position of vulnerability and supplication. "In the name of Pyotr Rogarvia, King of all Brevoy, Blood of Choral the Conquerer, Lord of Issia and Prince of Rostland, and Defender of the Lake of Mists and Veils, I witness this pledge and bless it in the light of all the gods. In the name of King Pyotr, the fons honorum, I bid thee to ascend into nobility. May you serve Lord Lebeda well, and serve the Dragonscale Throne as he does. I name you Boyar Berrin Myrdal. Your title, land, and monies shall carry to your descendants for all time. Rise, Boyar, and be recognized." As Berrin stands, the assembled nobles clap in polite applause for the newest member of their ranks.
The spy hangs his head down low, clearly ready to make a deal. He looks back up to Akiros - fortunately not quite in his face anymore - and nods once slowly. "It was Pitax. King Irovetti hired me himself to come spy on your kingdom. I've been here the better part of a week, learning all that I can. I was supposed to log all defenses, in and out of the castle, and all notable persons. Once I finished, I was to return to Pitax to report what I had learned. Whatever happened next, if the King wanted it just for information or for more nefarious purposes, wasn't my business. Those goggles should act as proof, as they were augmented by Irovetti himself, and only work if you've got some sort of implant that he made me get. That's all I know. Are you going to let me go now with my gold?"
After the spy tells his tale, Akiros glances twoards Verik, to see if the Arch Banker's magics were able to divine the truth or falsehood of the story.
With the vision of the witch fading slowly from his mind, one phrase remains among them all. Kill them both, and their champions.
Nikolai had lost his taste for senseless violence, but not for killing. He was beginning to discern who deserved death and life. Not that he held the scales of judgment in his hands. Only that he saw that most deserved as full a life as they could make for themselves, and some begged the question of how justice might find them.
Sobeit, he thought. If I must bring the sword to the Summer King after Choral, I must have an army. Even now those words made so little sense. An hour ago, Choral the Conqueror was the culmination of Nikolai's ambition. Kill one titan to bring peace to the world before you die. Now, CHoral was a means to an end, a rung on a bloody ladder.
Where will I find my army? he thought. How will I raise my banners?
A ray of sunlight fell onto him from his tiny window. He looked out to the north, contemplating all that had been set before him. Forgiveness. Redemption. The assassination attempt. The gifts from nobles, clearly trying to cover their options should Nikolai gain power.
He stared for a long moment out the golden glass, and began to nod. His eyes resting on the roads north and east, he chewed his lip for long seconds before turning to take his greatblade off the wall and running toward the Great Hall.
Verik watches the exchange intently between the pair, and briefly meets Akiros’ gaze when he turns to look to him.
Almost startling himself into motion with whatever he was thinking, Verik shifts his gaze to “Hal” and takes three steps forward towards him, so that he is side-by-side with the Marshal and just to his left. Clearing his throat, he speaks with a stern but measured tone. ”The terms of your bargain with the Marshal are generous, so consider yourself quite fortunate and fulfill those terms fully. I will verify the truth of what you speak, and you will agree to it as well as any additional questions he and I ask while the Golden Key is present. Do so, and the terms of your bargain will be met including the gold; you will find that we here in Newhaven are men who keep our oaths and promises once made. Now then…”
Verik puts a hand in the air above Hal and utters his incantation in Celestial, even as golden motes of light coalesce into a shining golden key () which hovers just a foot or two over the spy’s head, the space of their room filled with a slight chiming sound.
Once he is satisfied that the prayer is firmly in place, the Banker nods and begins to speak again. ”Hal, tell us your true name, and what you consider to be your beloved homeland, whether it be city or country. Then repeat what you just told the Marshal before, so that we may judge it true by your words. Once that is done, I have the following four questions for you to answer.”
Verik raises his hand to tick off each question with a finger as he speaks. ”Firstly, did King Irovetti of Pitax entreat with you in person on this, or were you answering to his spymaster or some lieutenant of his court? Secondly, what debts do you owe that you would risk such a fool’s errand? Thirdly, you were careless enough to be caught here, but adept enough to get into the castle without detection, so what weakness did you exploit to gain entrance that we can correct?”
”Fourthly…” Verik frowns then as he looks down at the spy as he tries to construct the question, something clearly bothering him. ”…I am familiar with the terms ‘augment’ and ‘attune’ but you said implant for the goggles to work…like flies laying eggs in meat?” The Banker’s frown turns to one of incredulous revulsion. ”You had this implant done willingly, or was it forced upon you?”
Hal looks incredibly cross as Verik casts his spell, but doesn't object. "My name is Halorouth Callmanov, and I was born in Restov. I don't know if I'd call it beloved, though. I ply my trade in spying, mainly because it's easier and more rewarding than digging ditches or whatever fool's work I'd have there. Irovetti is an egotistical, paranoid man who would never trust a spymaster, so I dealt with him directly. He implanted this in my head." He leans his head to let Verik inspect it closer. A small metal stud shines out of his temples, barely noticeable behind his hair. "Look, the pay was good for what I thought would be an easy job, and he said it wouldn't have permanent effects. He also threw the goggles in. I used the well to get in. There's an aquifer under the castle, and that thing pulls a bubble of air around your head when you go underwater. I'd recommend putting a grate at the bottom, though I imagine no one would know about it without the goggles. I'm not an assassin. Just a spy for hire. I'm pretty good at it, and it looks to me like your spy network is lacking a bit. I'd be happy to work for you if the pay was good..."
It is clear Verik is somewhat repulsed by the metal studs just beyond Hal's hairline, but he tries to focus his attention between looking at the man's eyes and the image of the shimmering key above. Throughout it all, the key seems to chime contentedly and does not fluctuate in intensity.
Finally, he nods at Akiros and then shrugs noncommittally at their captive. "I suggest no alterations to the Marshal's bargain with you, Halorouth of Restov, to the sum of sixty crowns and freedom for your confession and information given both truthfully and freely. You wish to negotiate another separate bargain beyond this one? It is not in my purview to do so, but perhaps the Marshal is in an entertaining mood." He points at Hal directly. "If it were up to me, know well that your terms would go well beyond the normal standards of coin for services rendered, and you would be required to both serve penance and repent for your past misdeeds. Yet, Newhaven has been a realm of second chances for the willing." He points towards Akiros. "You stand before one such man who knows this more than most."
Turning to Akiros and taking a step back, Verik says, "The Truthtelling will not last much longer, so if there are any questions you wish to ask that he needs to answer for his terms to be fulfilled, please do so. He cannot be compelled to answer, but if spoken his words must be true while the Key shines."
Berrin remains kneeling for a moment after Noleski dubs him boyar, blinking at the steward, not fully realizing the short ceremony is over. Standing as the realization sinks in he grins widely at the steward and nods in appreciation, turning to Lord Lebeda his face grows somber. "I won't let you down, m'lord." he says earnestly and, with a wink at Jemini, turns to find Aylene.
Stepping up to her a content smile grows on his face as he takes her hands in his and brings them up for a kiss. "Well." he says, breathless at the implications of it all. 'I'm nobility!' he thinks in amazement as he looks into Aylene's smiling eyes. "That's over then. Guess deciding a date comes next, eh?"
Looking around the room Berrin wonders is the ceremony is really over, short and sweet, or if there is more to come.
Akiros watches the exchange between Arch Banker and spy with great interest, nodding his head in satisfaction as the questioning is done.
At Verik's words regarding second chances, and considering how blessed he has been in that department, he spends several moments regarding Hal, seemingly in deep thought.
Finally he speaks "It is true our spy networks have become...weakened, of late, due to certain difficulties I shall not address at present. Halorouth Callmanov, if, and I say if because my asking is not yet an offer, if the decision should be made to not only spare your life but allow you a 'second chance' and have you come work your trade for Newhaven, would you swear by all that is holy, on pain of your eternal torment, to give Newhaven your full and unswerving loyalty? What could you tell us to possibly convince us that you would not simply betray us to the highest bidder, as you now betray King Irovetti?"
When the stand-in-king pronounces Berrin a boyar, Jemini is one of the first to get to him to hug and congratulate him. A slight breach of protocol, but she can live with it. With a half-serious-half-smirking face she adds: "Don't get ahead of yourself, now that you're a vassal to my father, he'll put you through your paces. He might not have warmed up to you as a person yet, but he's too shrewd to let a new resource go to waste."
Hal looks at the two of them like they're somewhat mad. "I'm not really looking for redemption. Like I said, I'm a spy - not an assassin. I sell information, not murder. These hands are clean. That said, Irovetti is a madman. I don't particularly want to work for him, but I did so for the money. I'll be happy to sign a contract - complete with your magical truth-telling spell - pledging my sole services to you as long as you keep paying me my rate. I've got no contract with him, though I imagine he'd probably hire an assassin if he found out that I broke his imaginary 'social contract' that he is always rambling about. One stipulation I'd need is that you send back word to him that I've been executed for spying and that I kept my mouth shut the whole time. You can say that you used some magic to speak with my corpse. I was using one of my favorite aliases, but that's a small price to pay for good pay, stability, and not having to look over my shoulder at my completely crazy employer. And I don't swear on 'all that is holy' because that's not my personal belief system. I'm more of a carrot guy than sticks."
Verik hears a cough from behind the captured spy. Lurking in the shadows - somehow - his cousin Taisper stands in the shadows of the room. He looks somehow awkward and comfortable and nods his head for Verik to come over. The Banker ignores Hal's confused look as he walks behind him to speak to Taisper. The young man - currently on sabbatical from his official and unofficial duties to the Church of Abadar - whispers to his cousin. "I got your message. He doesn't have an aura of good or evil, nor of law or chaos. I used my Sight on him," he says almost guiltily. "Don't tell Ilyana. He's not a believer, but he still seems sympathetic to the ways of the Master. Make sure that the Contract is ironclad and that the pay is good, and I don't think that he'll betray us. Besides, if he does, Irovetti is the least of things that he should fear."
Nodding at his cousin, Verik murmurs in reply, "Agreed. It's not what I would have thought to do, but this seems to be a better bargain than most we've had to swallow in the past two years." Briefly putting a hand on Taisper's shoulder he adds, "Thanks for coming. I feel better knowing that you've had a look at things, though I suppose I made too much of it with my paranoia, so I hope you were not taken away from something important at home."
Turning back to walk in a measured pace around Hal, he returns to the side of Akiros and spreads his hands wide. "As I said before Halorouth of Restov, it is not in my direct jurisdiction to debate the terms of another bargain with you, but it is Marshal Ismort you shall come to equitable terms with. However, if he agrees I shall endorse the terms of the Contract and write it up myself. Your beliefs and views of the divine are not necessarily my concern as long as you hold to the terms once signed and sworn."
At the cough and seeing Verik walk over to his cousin lurking in the shadows, Akiros is more than a little surprised, and annoyed, to find the Inquisitor there without, as far as he knows, specific invitation. However the only sign of his feelings is a single, raised, eyebrow.
Watching the exchange and Verik walking back he nods once in agreement after the Arch Banker finishes speaking, adding "It seems we shall be able to reach some sort of accord after all, Halorouth Callmanov." then, with no small surprise to all others in the room, Akiros smiles, finding, despite himself, that he actually somewhat likes this straightforward, honest, in his own fashion at least, man. "In fact, I think you may just be exactly something we've been needing Hal. There has been, and without doubt will be in the near future, more than one enemy knocking on Newhaven's door, and without a proper spymaster, we have been blinded at a time when we cannot afford to be."
In one rapid movement Akiros steps forward and draws his dagger. Pausing for a moment in front of the bound man, he once again looks deep into his eyes. Coming to a final decision, he nods again and steps behind the chair, slashing the bonds on wrists and ankles with two swift, powerful strokes "I suppose these shall not be necessary anymore" he explains as he steps around in front once more "After all, we can't be having our new spymaster bound like a common criminal, can we?"
Stepping back he sheathes his dagger and motions for Hal to stand We shall indeed have those contracts written up and have word reach Irovetti. The idea of lying directly to him does not sit well with me however. Perhaps as the first test of your new position we can have you come up with a rumor of your execution that reaches Ptiax and their King indirectly. Something that he can 'find out' through his own information network"
His smile fading somewhat, he gestures towards the back of the room "Oh, and you may as well meet Inquisitor Taisper Stoz, cousin to our Arch Banker, Verik. Inquisitor Stoz has been very effective at, shall we say, ensuring that criminals in Newhaven never go...unpunished. I myself am Akiros Ismort, Marshal of Newhaven. Although I suppose you knew all of that already."
Envigored by his new direction, Nikolai leaves his room, sword in hand to go looking for the Founders.
Verik puts up his hands in apology. "Just 'Banker' if you please my good Marshal, though one day I may earn that esteemed honorific if we do well here over the years."
Obliged to talk about his cousin since it was mentioned, he gestures in his direction and says to Hal, "Master Stozs here is a Champion of the faith, proven both in the battles of Stagfall and the Dragon's Head. As for the other, it is by my proclamation that the Bank of Abadar here actively...ahh...assists the offices of both the Marshal and the Warden to bring outlaws and oathbreakers to justice, should they seek to flout or flee it. In that respect it is not so different from some city-states which declare bounties for fugitives. Do not break your agreed oaths Hal, else you may find my cousin's arm very long indeed."
With a deep breath and the attempt at an amiable smile to the others, Verik says, "There now Master Hal, that is the last I shall say of 'sticks' as I believe you understand us. Let us deal with your injuries if you will permit it."
"Akiros, I propose under proper supervision that 'Master Hal' gains some rest wherever you think best, and then we pick up with hammering out the details of this new arrangement later after the evening meal?" Verik seems pleased with himself at the suggestion. "It would give me a chance to check on my people as well as some arrangements with a visitor from the south I was entreating with."
Remembering a thought he snaps his fingers and adds, "Oh, and I can ready Hal's sum of sixty crowns by that time, so that he can negotiate with you in full freedom of what he already has. This room is a bit drafty - Akiros, Taisper, shall we continue our thoughts on our way down to the Founder's Hall?"
Akiros nods, smiles, and claps Hal on the shoulder, clearly pleased with the turn of events. Opening the door to explain the new situation to the Guardsmen, Akiros finds Nikolai just about to knock on the door.
Taking a step back, the Marshal invites the former Stag Lord into the interrogation room, and between he and Verik, they catch the heir Rogarvia up on all that has befallen thus far regarding the new Spymaster.
That is excellent news, Akiros. Nikolai is still unpracticed at diplomacy, but his earlier vision inspires him to action. It feels easier today, these issues of leadership.
I do not think we must use agents to send word of Hal's death. I propose we play at executing him publically and let word travel. How fast this word travels to different factions might tell us who has spies in our city, and who must learn from ordinary channels.
He hefts his greatsword and swings, slowly. He turns the flat of the blade at the end of his arc and slaps Verik's shoulder with blunt force. I have need to begin looking like a man who can catch assassins and spies. Let me "kill" Hal before witnesses. After his face is seen on the street, we will burn a cadaver, and Hal becomes a new man, ready to earn our coin and our trust. His first tasks would be to locate the spies who tell their masters of his death, and to recruit those he chooses. We send a few hands to their heads of state, from those Hal does not choose, and begin to send the message that spying on New Haven is a fool's game
Nikolai llooks for Berik's eyes. If the plan is flawed, speak it, Banker. I am new to this charlatanry. But I believe it accomplishes your purposes and sends a strong message. Few will gamble that Nikolai Rogarvia plays at cloak and daggers, nor that I killed someone with a single stroke. Irovetti will hear, as will others. How quickly they hear may tell us something.
Verik's good humor instantly erased the moment that Nikolai had met them outside the door, he scowls visibly and absently smooths his cassock-style vestments at the shoulder where he was 'tapped' by the massive blade. He tries hard to meet Nikolai's gaze with his own as if it is no great matter with him, though clearly it takes effort. "First, if you are going to violate my person with that monstrosity of yours, you should at least have the decency to name the blade as I had asked you many times before, so that I can record it for the histories."
Taking a deep breath to settle himself and looking askance at Akiros for assistance, he responds to Nikolai's notions. "Now then, Nikolai Rogvaria, I owe you a proper answer. A flawed plan? No. Overall a good strategy, but it needs refinement. We are 'not' in the business of hunting hands and sending them off in baskets to our neighbors and rivals. This spy, Hal, has not even agreed to a formal arrangement yet, but I can tell you now that he is not a cold killer, and we dare not push him to be so casual in choosing men that would be bloodied without due cause."
Tilting his head slightly as if in deeper thought about his plan, Verik adds, "As to the ruse of Hal's death and your part in it, well it is...it is a sound one Nikolai Rogvaria, as much as I can judge such things. Only, let Hal have a false face beforehand when he is revealed and executed, so that he does not have to don disguise every day afterwards if he does not wish to."
Looking down on the cleric, Nikolai notes two things. First, the banker looked him in the eyes. He couldn't remember that bwfore. It gave him a measure of respect for the clergyman, though Nikolai despised his arrogance. Second, he noted Akiros said nothing to support either man. He recognized the irritation that brought as a remnant of old Nikolai. He pushed it away.
I will name my blade when I am not bothered by pretentious suitors, spies, and assassins, banker. As ever, you think to insert yourself while you should be listening. The spymaster must wear his own face when he dies, and live in the shadows after, as spies do. If he has an associate, or even a rival, they might mark the corpse as other than he. Also, he does not take hands except he catches spies and rogues he cannot use. A missing hand is hard to hide. A few missing hands, and future spies will forsake their old employers. The taking of hands today shortens negotiations, marks spies forever after, and makes it less likely we have to take hands in the future.[/]
The big man sheathes the sword on his back with a practiced move. He turns to the door, but stops short of leaving.
[b]We are on the brink of war, banker. If you can promise me to listen when you are outside your element, and in mine, then I can promise not to return to the Nikolai you helped slay. Think on it.
"Insert? Insert myself while I should be..." Verik's face turns that furious shade of crimson that Nikolai and perhaps only a couple of others seem to foster in him. For a moment he just sputters as his hands clench into fists, his voice rising an octave in outrage. "You asked me and then I insert when you don't get your unquestioned fawning loyalty? Phah!"
He points a finger at him and shouts scornfully, "I'll bloody well give my oath to "listen" when you take your prideful arrogant threats and stuff them down a bloody bugbear's backside! That should only take you ten years to figure out...or...or never!"
Perhaps to the shock and amusement of some, Nikolai remains calm, even seeming to ration his words as he responds. I meant, Verik, that you spend more time thinking how to respond with wisdom than you do listening. I asked for your opinion, but you sought to teach a man of war about how to punish spies. I'd thought you would prefer taking hands over taking heads. As I said, think on it.
He starts toward the door again, this time not stopping as he remarks, Akiros, tell him the men of the Sellen do not lie with goats or bugbears. We wouldn't want the banker to embarrass himself.
Outside the door, Nikolai looks for a watchman. He barely acknowledges the man with a nod before asking, Where is Jemini?
"Was that a joke?" Verik shouts it loud enough for Nikolai to hear him, though it was clear the retort was one of surprise and not expecting an answer. The look on Verik's face is one of anger now mixed with confusion and disbelief. Quite simply, the scion of Rogarvia had him flummoxed.
Still pointing to the door where Nikolai left, Verik looks over to Akiros and incredulously asks, "Did he just make a joke? Since when did he ever show a sense of humor?"
Perhaps not anticipating an answer from Akiros either, Verik exhales in exasperated fashion and closes his eyes, withdrawing his hand to rub his temples as if beset with a sudden headache. "It...it is not our way to start chopping heads or hands or any other parts off of our enemies Akiros, else we are no better than Irovetti or the Surtova whelp or any of the rest of them. There is no basis in our laws..." Then how do I explain Alexius or any of the rest of Taisper's hunts - stop Stop just STOP!
Verik pauses uncomfortably, his words trailing off as he seems stuck in formulating the rest of his sentence. "...it...Cogs and Keys I don't know Akiros. All I know is that we didn't fashion Newhaven to behave like Cheliax, no matter how effective the 'results' could be. I have no mind for this shadowy business of spycraft. Perhaps it is enough to proceed with this plan of 'execution' of Hal, provided that he agrees to the terms negotiated by us tonight. Other than that my only thoughts are to assist your men tomorrow in breathing the water so that we can grate up the castle well."
The beauty of Candlemere Lake shines upon Sanctuary Castle on the second anniversary of Newhaven's founding. A cool wind runs over the sun-warmed city in the crisp morning of the wedding of Boyar Berrin Myrdal and his bride Aylene, the daughter of Baron Maegar Varn. Aylene wore a delicate white dress with her red hair in ornate braids running down her back. Comfortable as she might be in trousers and boots, she seems happy to be wearing the traditional white dress of a bride.
Most of the city - and nobles and commoners alike from outside the city - came to watch the ceremony in the square overlooked by Sanctuary Castle. With Banker Verik Jarrow officiating the ceremony - which was punctuated by a blessing from Jhod Kavken in the name of Erastil, Varn's patron - Berrin and Aylene were joined in marriage. The bride held her sharp tongue the entire time, though she and Berrin shared many sardonic looks at one another during Verik's speech(es). Jemini proudly announced the Boyar and Boyara Myrdal to the cheers of the people of Newhaven. With a mug of Bokken's best in hand, the happy couple sauntered into the square to dance. A group of citizens playing the traditional music of the Brevic frontier, outfitted with folkish lutes and fiddle-like balalaikas, plays a happy tune for the happy citizens.
Newhaven's ruler sits at attention in the chair that tops the raised platform upon which the Founders sit to watch the ceremony. A full year after her sudden return to life in the very same square, Jemini presides over the celebration of their burgeoning nation. The events of the winter weighed on her shoulders, but the arrival of spring and the marriage of her good friends made the challenges seem like distant memories. The winter began mildly, but a sharp drop in temperatures and a food shortage nearly caused a riot. Oleg Leveton, ever-cautious and prepared, sent much of Olegsgrav's stores in a massive - and well-guarded - caravan. The people of Sanctuary survived the cold snap, which passed when the new year arrived. The early arrival of spring heralded an early start to the planting season, making it likely that they would be able to refill their stores and those of Olegsgrav easily, with enough extra to sell. The mild weather also brought a surge of trading, with a few more of Narthropple's caravans coming through unmolested from the south and heavy trading between Sanctuary and Varnhold. Zander's Wardens had heard neither hide nor hair (so to speak) of the trolls or their allies, but Varn's southern frontier reported multiple skirmishes with the native centaurs pushing into Varnhold. These worries of rule slip from her mind when she sees Berrin and Aylene slip rings on each other's fingers.
Kesten Garess interrupts from his seat to her left. Her loyal, level-headed diplomat had sent a formal petition of redress over the winter to Pitax in retaliation of the spy captured by Akiros. King Irovetti responded with a herald declaring the accusation an insult that they would not brook, and relations had been icy since. Both she and Kesten know that her father, the closest Brevic noble, would never let Pitax do more than rattle its saber, so the matter remained quiet. Several Wardens, however, scan across the East Sellen watching for any movement from the paranoid king's army. Like the rest of the worries, it remains in the back of her mind even as Kesten speaks. "We've come a far cry from a little border fort. Had I known that my exile would be the best thing to ever happen to me, I would have done it sooner. I wish that the rest of the noble houses could see clearly what we are doing here instead of plotting over their uneasy truces."
Aylene leads Berrin by the hand for the traditional first dance. It seems that everyone wants a handshake from the Boyar, including his bombastic new father-in-law. He appreciates the view of his bride from behind, noting that her warrior's strength translates wonderfully into her form-fitting white dress. She had whispered a few times to him the ways in which they would enjoy the consummation of their marriage later that night. While neither the fiery Aylene nor the worldly Berrin were virginal, they had agreed to wait until their marriage was official. (It was, however, her idea, and Berrin made several sensible arguments against it.) She wanted their coupling to mean something, to be more respectable. She pulls him close as the string instruments hum out a tune popular in the frontier. She whispers in his ear, "We're married now. I may be a wife now, but I'll have you know that I'm still going to fight in the battles. You may be my general and my husband, but if you think that you're going into battle alone, you'd better get used to sleeping alone." While her tone is joking and quietly loving, Berrin knows far better by now than to argue. He also knows that she wields a sword better than most men, and rallies the soldiers better than any herald. Reggie swoops between their feet, nipping and yapping happily. Some of the young children, Jemini Leveton included, chase the thylacine happily as Reggie's tail wags uncontrollably.
Bedecked in his Abadarian garb, Verik smiles as he looks upon the happy sights around him. The happy jaunt played by the musicians causes the rest of the citizens to join Berrin and Aylene once the slow strings halt. Ilyana Stosz - his cousin-in-law now - dances with Taisper, who seems ill at ease but tries his hardest to please his wife. The inquisitor looks up at Verik with guilty eyes, as if he is afraid to enjoy himself or his own bride instead of devoting his whole being to Abadar's will. Elsewhere, Myra Kobach tries to get her humorless and stoic husband Dominic to join her on the dance floor. The barrister seems more intent on giving disapproving looks to his daughter Katia, who got dragged into the square by the fun-loving Galen Laviil. The young girl, blossoming into a lovely young woman who will be of marriageable age herself in a few years, laughs at Galen's over-the-top japes and ridiculous dancing. He notices Ayna Amitel looking somewhat winsomely at him, causing him to look away quickly somewhere else.
Gerda Ryton, the matron of the Keyhouse that the Abadarian initiates live at, walks up beside him. She keeps a close eye on her wards, the younger of whom play innocently with the maypoles and animals and the older of whom join in on the dancing while trying to evade her sight. The matronly middle-aged woman treats Verik like any other of her charges by pressing straight into his business. "I'd like to see you getting married next. When are you going to find a nice girl and settle down? There are some pretty young lasses here today. All you'd have to do is ask one to dance and they'd be smitten with you, so upright and earnest."
"Aye, truer words are rarely spoken here or in Brevoy," Jemini nods with an odd admixture of a smile and misery. "I suppose it is far too optimistic to hope that there was but one spy and that the matter is now dealt with and well behind us." Jemini sighs a little, "The intelligence from my father suggests that King Irovetti is paranoid and power hungry, which is another way of saying that relations with Pitax are essentially one-sided. I would recommend sending a small gift as a token, perhaps a small cask of Bokken's finest - but I fear I'll set all the wrong flags, and being accused of trying to poison the king of Pitax would be the least of our worries." Jemini rolls her eyes a little, "This is why I favor Verik and the counsel making decisions. This is right up his alley, even if he doesn't admit it."
Akiros pays scant attention to the festivities, as his mind is elsewhere. First and foremost, Elspeth returned to her family's estate in an attempt to mollify her father and restore some order to her family. She promised Akiros that she would return as soon as possible, but it has been the top thought on his mind since she left. Secondary to that, however, is the security of the wedding and the anniversary celebrations. Considering that an army of dragons attempted to sack the city during the last time they convened an event, he coordinated with Zander's Wardens to keep an eye in all directions for marauders. With a series of signal towers stretching to each horizon - hardly permanent, but good enough for now - they will have ample warning if Choral sends another army. His spear-wielding guardsmen patrol the event, looking for anyone out of place. Hal, whose loyalty Akiros still wonders about despite the (outrageous, in his mind) salary paid by the treasury, lurks atop the castle's parapets. Poor eyesight prevents Akiros from seeing him, but he doesn't doubt the man's competence. If anything comes to disrupt this event, it will have to appear just like Jemini and Nikolai did during the previous year's festival. He hopes that this is an unlikely event, though one never knows. He ponders to himself about putting Verik's considerable crafting talents to a system that would bar magical disguise or teleportation in order to provide even more security for the castle.
With security on his mind, he sees Zander - Orlovsky, not Whitestag - stroll by. Akiros has long thought to speak to him to find out more about the mysterious Phelix. His instincts inform him of the enigmatic bodyguard's cold heart, but that is not enough to go on. Orlovsky spent much of the winter back at New Orlovs, but returned to Sanctuary in the early spring with his deadly valet in tow. Perhaps now would be a good time to do so.
Ever a man of duty, Akiros sighs and forefully puts his thoughts and worries about Elspeth for the moment and tasks himself to concentrate fully on his job.
Seeing the Orlovsky heir pass by, something clicks that he had been meaning to speak to the man about for some time now. Deciding that now looks like the perfect time to do so, Akiros takes several long strides and catches up to him Zander, a moment of your time, if you will?"
When the cordial noble stops his stroll and agrees to speak, Akiros, ever the straight forward one, dives right in "Welcome back, Orlovsky, it seems our fair Sanctuary is to your liking, yes? But enough of pleasantries, I have a question of some import to ask you; this manservant of your, Phelix I believe, who is he? And do not try to tell me that he is just some simple servant. I know a trained killer when I see one. And more, that one is cold, I see it in his eyes. Frankly, I do not trust him and having his type roaming free in my city is a risk I am not overly fond of."
Diplomacy:
This Zander had never given Akiros specific reason to dislike him, and to all accounts fought well during Dragonshead. Yet even before he exiled himself from Brevoy, Akiros had never been very good with nobles. Yet this time, perhaps because of their shared experiences in battle, or maybe due to their love of Newhaven, Akiros seems to strike the right note with the Orlovsky heir.
Nikolai Rogarvia ponders all that has changed in a year. He and Jemini were returned by Pharasma, only to find that the trek through the afterlife was the easy part of his journey. The people trust him more than they did, especially after he readily defended them from his former allies. Some people from the city do not believe that his judges should be dissolved, but most at least seem willing to give him a chance now. Even Ilyana Stosz, who brought forth the charges against him, tolerates his presence willingly. Unlike Jemini and the other Founders, he has no fans or devotees, and he stands alone amid the bustling crowd. Thus, when Oleg and Svetlana Leveton walk up to him, Nikolai feels surprise. He knows of the pair, having heard about the frontier family that his bandits robbed on a somewhat regular basis, but hadn't ever spoken to them in person. Svetlana puts out her hand - cautiously, he notices. "We didn't get a chance to really meet you before we left for Olegsgrav last year. We wanted to extend a greeting to you." Oleg, who has a stump where one of his arms was severed at the elbow, says nothing to him.
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Verik taps his foot to the music contentedly as he watches the first dance continue on, slightly relieved that Berrin did not trip on his steps and the first pass with Aylene while everyone was watching. Now that the others have joined in, he smiles even as he tries to stifle a yawn. To Verik, the last fortnight has been a veritable blur of long hours, little sleep, desperate diplomacy and tense drama amidst an overarching constant worry of all things that might and could go wrong. With the realm’s holy Taxfest Festival just the day before, the second anniversary of Stagfall and the nation’s founding today coupled with Berrin and Aylene’s wedding, the High Cleric of Newhaven found barely enough time to keep his devotions and physical regimens in place and nearly nothing else. Thankfully, mercifully, all of his clerks, initiates and other devoted performed in excellent fashion, working tireless hours without complaint, each one striving to fulfill their duties to the overall plan. Somehow, it all came together. With the bulk of the tasks now completed, he could finally relax somewhat, and his brethren could truly enjoy the festivities. He watched them dance, watched them play as children and gather as adults. Today they were happy, even as Newhaven proudly proclaimed itself as a beacon that would not be diminished. Verik was happy too. Except for one nagging, continuing worry that was not in his power to resolve – that being his cousin’s peace and happiness with Ilyana. For that, Verik just had to hope, to trust, to nudge and gently encourage where he could…and despite his personal distaste for games of chance, perhaps to even believe in a bit of luck. After all, stranger things had happened to Verik here in the Stolen Lands.
To that end he raises his tankard of cider and takes another healthy draught, smiling and toasting the ongoing dance as well as a pair of townsfolk which offered greetings as they passed by. Verik’s eyes try hard though to catch Taisper’s during the dance, and when they meet again he subtly but explicitly smiles at him and nods encouragingly. Verik knows his cousin does not invoke the orison, but he silently whispers his thoughts to him anyway. Feel joy cousin! Be blessed! This is the day to feel part of the land you strived to keep whole! Love her and feel the strength of those bonds and vows that you keep safe and whole!
Focused as he is on Taisper and Ilyana in the dance, Verik barely registers Gerda Ryton’s admonishment of his own status, that is until she clears her throat and stares at him with a gaze that would wither most children’s bravado in an instant. ”Hmmm? Oh yes yes, Madame Ryton… apologies for my lack of hearing.” He turns to her and respectfully answers her inquiry with a patient tone. ”What was that now? Oh yes that, well…yes well it is true that I should like to take a wife at some point…ahh in accordance with the directives outlined in the Order of Numbers of course. That being said, the spouse of a Banker, Founder and High Cleric would have to put up with a great deal of adversity and be expected to work for a great deal more. Certainly most “pretty young lasses” would find that life to not be not of their choosing, nor would I seek one out to impress that life upon her without a mature, full understanding of what it entails.” There now, that is all true, but is that enough to get her from prying further of me?
Apparently the answer was not satisfactory to Gerda, as she humpfed and started pointing out the solid qualities of several maidens that she thought would be precisely suitable to the arrangement. As the first dance ended he smiled and nodded and drained his tankard, all the while desperately looking for a way out of the discussion. Finally, he saw his opening. ”Oh look there is Huntmaster Kavken over there – is he calling me oh yes I think he is and you know how testy the Erastilans can get! High Cleric business of fostering understanding you know – lovely to chat with you Madame Ryton and I shall take your advice in high regard yes I shall and goodbye now!” Verik bows three times even as he is walking backwards and then moves off in haste around the square.
Stopping only when he is safely out of sight behind assembled gatherings of townsfolk, he refills his tankard with the first drink he can find (this time with a heavy mead brought in from a local farm) and sets off towards the raised platform where he can just spy out Jemini and Kesten seated over the masses around him, all the while shaking his head. It’s not that he didn’t want to marry someday, not at all. It was a common misperception that clerics of Abadar did not marry – whether due to confusion with the Prophecies of Kalistrade out of Druma or simply that Abadaran devotions had no place for a spouse and family. In fact, the Order of Numbers had an entire section espousing the virtues and ethics of marriage, the clergy leading by their own example, considered a foundational part of successful civilization. Verik himself pointed this out to Taisper several times in their private talks shortly before his own marriage.
The problem, of course, was that notions of love, romance and happiness had absolutely nothing to do with selecting a spouse per The Order of Numbers. Emotion had no valid calculation on the Abadaran scales, which valued an arranged marriage by peers and elders as perfectly sound. Dowry adjudication had whole pages devoted to it in the Order, whereas what made a successful match between husband and wife distilled down to two or three sentences. Years ago that expectation could have suited Verik just fine, taking the worry and ‘foolishness’ out of selecting a wife, but now such an arrangement filled him with dread, his chest tightening at the thought of it. Maybe that’s why so few of us in the clergy do marry, as we’ve all come to the same conclusion in truth, but respect the Master too much to voice it aloud. Much easier for us to focus on the contracts and ceremonies of others than deal with our own hypocrisies. He shakes his head and takes a drink of the local mead while walking, screws his face up as he tries his best not to spit the awful stuff back out, and weaves his way towards the Founders platform.
The risen Staglord arrives in his best red-and-gold regalia. Others might have finer cothes, but the contrast between unkempt savage and reformed warrior are striking enough. Hid red velvet shirt is chased with long golden dragons across the cuffs and collars, and his red dragon pelt stylishly covers his right arm to the elbow, disappearing behind his back to form a diagonal point on his left side. The flattened dragon snout lays over his right shoulder, clamping down on a golden ring, anchored in the wing that folds under his left arm. The velvet and leather affair is striking - scales, shining leather, and gold trim. His sword, lately called (i]Dragonsbreath[/i] by a few bards, was peacebonded and scabbarded on his broad back.
Nikolai knew this day would come. Pretending to be interested in the sycophants who only cared about his possible claim to a throne was easier. Looking a former victim in the eye as an equal - he had not been tested in this way, yet.
Svetlana, he begins with an awkward combination of forced eagerness and genuine humility, I am pleased to see you looking so lovely. It is my honor to be in your company today.
He bows, aware other eyes are on his behavior. He tries not to show his awareness.
Verik nods as he passes the pair of guardsmen at the base of the steps to the Founder's platform. Making his way to the top, he addresses the pair cheerfully even as he sets down the tankard he was carrying with a look of dismissive disdain at if it contained curdled milk.
"Ahhh! Jemini! Kesten! I thought I spied you two up here! No turns at the Brevian jig yet you two?" Almost uncharacteristically, he gives them a wink and a conspiratorial nod. "Me neither, but this isn't Council you know and sooner or later someone is going to insist." His gaze lingers just a touch longer upon Jemini than he would have preferred, noting his prided craftsmanship of the cloak about her shoulders and the circlet upon her brow paled in comparison to her sheer natural beauty and presence - as if nothing he could ever have fashioned could do her justice, never mind outdo her. A full year now, and he truly felt he had largely dealt with his emotions concerning her for some time, but there were still times she stole his breath. Like now. Feeling his cheeks warm he gave a rather dramatic cough for cover and said, "Too much talking by me today...parched! I came up for something suitable to quench it."
With a flourish he turns and starts looking across the decorated table with all of its fine foods and spirits. He starts sniffing at a couple of decanters and bottles, looking for wine worthy of his palate, chatting as he does so. "Yes my friends, too much talking for me these past two days - I'm sure you've all said it behind my back, and I am adept to detect all falsehoods as you know, so don't say you didn't. How I am maligned so!" Verik says the last with mock sincerity as he finally selects a decanter of wine that seems to agree with his inspection, and pours some into a clean goblet, examining the color critically as he does so. "You know it wouldn't be so ill for me if either of you would use your considerable talents at persuasion to procure some proper Iomedean cleric to take on mission for the unused shrine you had built in the castle. Then I wouldn't have to preside over every prayer and ceremony...at least the ones Kavken doesn't want to do, which are most of them."
Verik takes a sip and nods as to its taste, then sits and joins them at the table. "Cogs, you'd think with the way news travels from here that some of the Iomedean clergy would have heard about Dragon's Head by now and come a running, or at least one green chap to divert from the Mendevian Crusades and solidify your gains here!"
Zander Orlovsky smiles broadly at Akiros, even as the Marshal cuts straight to the point. "Who, Phelix? You're reading too much into the man. He is a retired soldier and bodyguard, nothing more. I trust the man with my life. You have nothing to worry about, Akiros. Phelix would no more harm anyone in this city than he would me. Now, can I get you a drink? I heard that the lovely Elspeth has briefly returned to New Stetven, so you must have time now for some drinking with a comrade in arms. When will you make an offer of marriage to her? I know that you are no nobleman, but love and happiness means more than a title. Besides, you still have the security of your esteemed and trusted position here to offer, which I'd say is more valuable than title because you earned it here." He starts looking around for a servant to request some ale or drink.
As Jemini assesses her next move with King Irovetti of Pitax, Kesten listens quietly. Just as she mentions that Verik's counsel would be appreciated, the Banker walks up to them. "We're in the middle of a conversation about dancing the Brevic jig with Irovetti after he sent a spy against us. Considering the number of dance partners hungry to spin us around, we must at least show him that there are consequences to his actions. Jemini believes that we should try to make peace with him with gifts. What is your opinion?"
Oleg keeps a wary eye on Nikolai's sword, as if cautious that the former bandit king might strike them down in public. He rubs the stump of his arm unconsciously, apparently not forgetting the battle that he lost it in. Svetlana tries her best to remain as sunny as possible. "Thank you. Have you been to Olegsgrav yet? My husband has been working hard at making it a hub of trade to rival Restov. We've got a long way to go, but we're proud at what we've done so far."
Just as she finishes, little Jemini Leveton runs up to her mother and latches onto her leg. The little girl giggles wildly, apparently having chased Berrin's animal until nearly wild with giddiness. Less than two years old and still quite unsteady on her feet, she smiles up at Nikolai and lets go of Svetlana. She steps heavily on the ground - as much as a girl weighing around twenty-five pounds can - as she clomps up to Nikolai and grabs onto his leg. Nikolai can't help but realize that if Kressle and Happs - his subordinates - had killed the pair standing in front of him, this little girl clinging to his leg might have never been born. She begins to squeak in a high pitch, "Up! Up!"
Svetlana laughs at her daughter, with her eyes filled with a mother's love. "You can pick her up. She'll cry if you don't, and it's the saddest sound in the world."
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Dressed lightly in stylish clothes he wouldn't be caught dead in on a normal day and bedecked in finery and jewels Berrin was feeling good on his weading day. The weather was good, warm but cool, the food was good, plentiful and filling, and he had a smile plastered to his face resulting from his own and the party goers good spirits as well as a good buzz going from Bokken's Ale. Looking around at the smiling faces from his high seat of honor Berrin looks at his mug and suddenly bangs it on the table, denting it severely, and raises it high. "Just rewards for just work!" he toasts, seemingly to himself though many readily recognize and take up his prayer to Cayden Cailen, and takes a long gulp.
Feeling a hand on his arm he turns to see his beautiful wife pulling him from his chair, insisting it was time to dance. Smiling even wider he follows her down from the dais and to the dance floor through a solid gauntlet of handshakes and clasps on the shoulder, one particularly fierce from his legitimate father-in-law, the king of Varnhold.
Enjoying the view of Aylene's backside as they make their way Berrin resists the urge to carry her off to the privacy of his, their, rooms. A bit disappointed as she turns and steals his view he forgives and forgets as soon as he finds her eyes, those deep, fierce, sparkling green eyes, so perfectly colored to match her fiery red hair. Lost in her gaze, and his thoughts of the enticing rewards looming on the horizon, Berrin takes a moment to realize she said anything, and another to recall what it was. His face brightening he twirls her as they dance with the thylacyne and children running around their feet, laughing at the notion of leaving her at home while he rode off to make war. "Aylene, my love, you should know better! I would never sleep alone! Reggie would never back off if I slept in his cot!" he laughs, still twirling her.
Stopping abruptly Berrin takes the outraged Aylene's hands in his and raises them to his lips and looks her in the eyes, serious. "Aylene. You are beautiful as you are headstrong, fierce as you are playful and fearless as only a warrior can be. You rally better than and man under my command and you could take all of them on in a fight, everyone loves you and respects you, all of Newhaven would die for you, including me. To leave you to play housewife would be the stupidest, meanest and most disrespectful thing a man could ever do to you. You are not a trophy to be pulled out when the boys gather, Aylene. You are free and fierce and I love you for it. You are beautiful and strong and I love you for it. You are you, and I love you for it." Gathering her up for a tight embrace as the song ends he whispers in her ear; "I would never want you anywhere but at my side, Aylene, I am you husband and your general, but you, you are my wife and my best commander. You command my heart as you do my men, with absolute love and loyalty."
It's less the girlish smirk and disarming dimples that cause Nikolai to forget himself, than the actual name of the little girl. Though sheepish at first, Nikolai extends his hand until the little girl takes it, then curls his forearm up, the toddler swinging and cackling as she gains altitude. Her weight is as nothing to him, but as she climbs higher, her mirth relieves a great weight in the former Staglord. He lets her play, even allowing a smile to come to his face. Looking over at Oleg, he sees the caution and bitterness in the old man.
A new lesson. It is one thing to be sorry for your sins, he thinks quickly, another to forge loyalty from those you have wronged. As little Jemini plays high above the floor, Nikolai turns to answer her mother.
Your work has been admirable. It is my hope that your future bears much prosperity and happiness. Please know that I will do all I can to keep Olegsgrav safe and at peace. And if our enemies threaten you, I will pledge my life and estate to defend you.
He looks at Oleg with as much meaning as he can, still unpracticed with things like drama and gravitas. I owe you nothing less.
With his wine goblet in one hand while waving the other expressively, Kesten's topic seems to go unheeded by the High Cleric as he continues on about a proper Iomedaean presence at the castle's shrine. "...after all it's not as if we are requesting a full company of the Knights of Ozem from Lastwall! Can we not have but one Iomedaean find honor and value to come this way?" Verik takes a healthy drink of his goblet, apparently on a roll. "I tell you this Jemini, provided they observe the forms and present themselves openly for a charter, I would gladly grant any true Iomedaean cleric with the ability to draw a sword from their scabbard the opportunity, whether they be young...or old! Truly, if he one had only one arm and had seen seventy winters and could barely stand from the weight of his armor, I would welcome him." He takes another drink, amused now with the vision forming in his head. "In fact, if the cleric had seen eighty winters, was one-armed and one-legged and had to be carried on a cart with a team of seven white goats wearing silver bells to herald his coming, I would not flinch in the slightest and would welcome him with open arms. Well that, and a Pharasman I would welcome nearly as much, though we probably need to build and consecrate a proper graveyard for Sanctuary first..."
Verik drains the goblet and looks over at Kesten's irritated grimace at his question being ignored and sighs, adding, "Oh very well Kesten, if you insist on spoiling the occasion with yet another dour discussion on Pitax." He reaches over and drags the decanter next to him at the table, pouring more into his wine goblet to make it full again.
"That is good, I must find where that came in from..." Verik swirls the wine a bit in admiration, before taking a small sip and addressing the question put to him. "Kesten, you yourself took gifts down to the Mivonese for the trade mission before winter. Some would call it mere bribery perhaps, but you both know such things can be seen as a sign of respect, or an appeal of flattery, or a means to make negotiations more personal between the parties involved." He stares at his goblet for a moment, considering the matter more deeply. "Irovetti of Pitax I suspect cares nothing for relationships, viewing ill intentions for everything. The only "gifts" he would appreciate would be on the order of sheer tribute and subjugation. Shall we then give him the full proceeds of our mountain mine, or cede our side of the Sellen to him? I fear those would be the "gifts" he would think due him...and even then it would not satiate him for long. Unlike Mivon or Brevoy, there is nothing to be gained by Pitax in trade with us, and Irovetti knows it. The better we open the route to Mivon, the more we drain his choke hold on the Sellen trade. Best though to not poke the bear with a spear. Deterrence and delay would be my course."
Jemini smiles a little, infected by Verik's unburdened demeanor,
"A wizened priest of Iomedae you say? Why I could imagine no end to the delightful banter between the eighty-year-old crone and yourself, my good Verik. You do recall, of course, that the most likely representatives of Iomedae would be women, of course? Though, I'd argue that one with a mere twenty-five springs would make a much finer addition - not least because she would be less likely to need replacement a few years after. Perhaps even a mere twenty springs, in the height of her zeal and passions, what you say?"
Jemini pours a little for herself, not without spilling a little - which makes her stare at her hand angrily for a moment. But she's quickly mullified by Verik's response and the quality of the liquor.
On the subject of Pitax she nods dourly, "You're quite right. There's just nothing I can think of we can offer him that would improve the situation between us. Except, perhaps, send your cousin to visit him. I understand that his work here as a spymaster has been invaluable in securing our future."
"I would counter that Hal has been well worth his value as spymaster since the 'arrangement' last Fall, at least in shoring up our defenses here against intruders and interlopers. As for Taisper..." Verik looks out across the crowd to the center of the square and Taisper dancing with Ilyana, his face too distant to try and interpret. Has he allowed himself to learn the value of simple happiness and mundane joys, or does he view himself as merely trapped in a gilded cage of guilt, just another penance to suffer for the Master? He swirls the wine in his goblet absently as he stares out across the square, then gives himself a start and forces a smile and innocent shrug back at Jemini. "He's been working on being a good husband and step-father, but to your point he's always watching out for us here. I don't know about Pitax, but maybe a scouting trip to the East Sellen's edge would be good for him, just to get him out and about with the thaw."
Lightly smirking and shaking his head, Verik changes course and says, "As to what I say about your young Iomedaean maidens, well, I mean of course they can be women, and I'm not preferring an old man or any such nonsense!" He blushes slightly and adds, "Now don't get me all twisted up in implying I women can't do as well as a man, else Aylene will try and thunk me over the head with a plate." He takes another drink and waves his hand in the direction of the north. "Bah! All the hale and hardy Iomedaeans - men and women - all of them head up to Mendev these days for honor, duty and glory...what is Queen Galfrey even on now, the Third or the Fourth Crusade?" With a laugh and a hand-slap to the table he points back to Kesten Garess. "Ha! There is your Pitaxian trade Kesten, the ability for Irovetti to bilk whatever gold, magic and blood that he can manage from the Crusaders on their way up to the Lake and Mendev."
Seemingly, Kesten is not too amused at his jest, but on a glorious day like today in their hard-fought homeland Verik is unfazed. He does appear to be feeling very good from the wine, and drains the last of his goblet with a flourish before standing, a smile growing across his face.
"Come on Jemini, it is time you extended your fine example of leadership to the dance, or else some damned fool like Grigori will arrive and claim you are too good for all the rest." He extends his hand. "Shall we?"
Aylene holds him tight as they dance, clearly overcome by the emotion of the situation. She wipes away a tear of happiness before kissing him lightly and whispering back to him, "I love you as well. I'd have fought my father tooth and nail if it had been any other man he wanted me to marry, but you're everything that I want." She curtsies as the song ends, looking quite different from the bloodied warrior woman she can be in battle.
Maegar Varn, father of the bride, approaches the happy couple as the song ends. His booming voice echoes over the crowd while the musicians lower their volume to a barely-noticeable jaunty hum. "A toast!" The crowd cheers at the suggestion. "My daughter has been my life for many years, but now I must let her go and recognize that I am not the only man in her life. I have watched her grow from a stubborn little girl playing at knights to a proud woman as strong and fierce as any knighted man. Many nights, though, I stayed up in worry. It was not because of the responsibilities of being the baron of the kingdom that bears my name. Rather, I worried that my free-spirited daughter would never grow to love a dainty, soft nobleman from the north!" The crowd laughs appreciatively at his poke at Brevic nobility. "But, as soon as I met Berrin, I knew that he could stand up to my daughter. I am happy to say that I have gained a son, and a fine one at that! I know that I don't have to worry about Aylene returning home with a complaint that her husband is weak and foolish - because we've all seen that Berrin is not the least bit weak." The crowd roars at the good-natured ribbing. Aylene laughs loudest of all, pulling on Berrin's arm.
"Now, I wish to purchase a dance from the bride, my beautiful daughter. For my payment, I offer these." He pulls a pair of rings out of his pocket and holds them out. "You are as one person now. You must protect one another and defend each other from all those who would bring harm upon you and this nation that you had pledged to defend. I hope that these will help." Aylene takes both rings and places one on Berrin's finger, then her own. She hugs her father, who hugs her back tightly. The musicians begin to play a bittersweet tune for them. Maegar Varn and his daughter - now Aylene Myrdal - dance together happily while the crowd looks on. As the song ends, Varn throws his hands in the air. "The bride and groom are for sale!" The crowd erupts with applause, knowing that many more speeches await.