"Lady Moncrief, matriarch of house Moncrief and plenipotentiary of the Supreme Elect in the People's name, with her retinue" the Captain replies boldly striding toward the guard, her cape fluttering behind her in the chilly Kuthona sunset.
"She's expected to dine with Lord Thorn while discussing matters of national interests. As for our swords" she pauses for a brief moment, staring at her interlocutor with half-closed eyes, "meaning no disrespect to our gracious host, but as an Eagle Knight officer tasked with protecting a high-ranking Andoren dignitary, I believe my orders override any instruction you might have been given regarding your Lord's security" she flatly, almost nonchalantly states without breaking eye contact. The piercing intensity in her gaze, however, tells a whole different story.
The guard's face blanches as his eyes go wide, and then flushes crimson as he shoots a glance at his companion and the squad of nine guards to his immediate left He opens his mouth to protest, but when he looks back at Alysandra, he fails to say anything.
There's a key second where everybody is watching him, and then he coughs angrily and nods sharply. "Open the gate! We've got important guests coming through. Hurry up about it!"
His companion rushes back to take hold of the gate, and pulls it open in a wide, feathery arc. The first guard then gives a curt bow, but as Alysandra passes him, she catches a glimmering light in his eyes that can be nothing less that detestation.
The night is quiet around her. Up this high, Sebi feels almost like she's walking amidst the stars instead of them hanging over her. She takes long strides through the gate, saying only "My gratitude," to the guards.
The night is quiet. She remembers as a girl long shadows trailing into her room accompanied by strange voices. Some laughing and some stern. Some used her name. Little, broken whispers beneath her bed and behind her closet door, and she would run to the closest of her aunts' rooms, aunt Wren's room, and she would throw herself onto the bed, fear shaking her hands, wetting her face with tears.
"Your fear is a disgrace," aunt Wren would say. "What do we do with the monsters behind our doors?
And little Sebi would say back, "We...make them obstacles. Use them all up, to be ready for the next ones."
And aunt Wren would say, "The monsters never stop coming. There's always the next one behind some other door."
And each night young Sebi would say over and over in her bed, "Obstacles, obstacles, obstacles," under the covers, peaking out occasionally at her closet door.
As they made their way to the front doors of Thorn's mansion, she wondered if another monster lay behind them, and what she would do if it turned out that there was.
As Cawmirth waxes philosophical to her, taking plenty of time to make his point that he agrees with Kinch's stance, for the most part, Callista tries to hide her grin. At various times of his dialogue she makes as though she is trying to get a word in, though she is perfectly content to let him speak his peace. She couldn't let the Professor think that she was actually starting to enjoy his lengthy soliloquys, could she?
"My dear Cawmirth, I can change my appearance if you give me but ten minutes, but I agree with you. The best lies are the ones that are laced liberally with truth. I shall let you have your say to Kinch, then, and seek to sweep up the remnants should he not respond to your impassioned requests to represent Alastor on the national scale. I am pretty decent at reading people, so I shall be able to hopefully figure out if the man is sincere in his dealings with us." With that, she walks along beside the tengu, cursing her short legs as she struggles to keep up with his strange, bird-like gait.
As they approach the huge Inn, Callista glances about nervously. She had hoped to confront the man in the privacy of his own home. People were usually comfortable and secure in their dwellings, more apt to let their guard down. Plus, with his earlier performance, she was worried about the possibility of him whipping the crowd in the Inn into a frenzy if he suspected (rightfully) that these two were agents of Almas.
She takes a steadying breath, putting on a confident smile, and holds the door open for Cawmirth, gesturing him inside as she peers in the crowded building with her pale eyes, hoping to find the skilled orator.
Your group mounts the platform, and one of the guards closes the small gate set in its perimeter fence so that you are safely enclosed. Then, with barely a shudder, the platform begins to lift into the air. It is not a perfectly vertical ascent, but rather steeply diagonal, as it hugs the cliff face smoothly. The great gate and the guards below dwindle in size, and your view over Alastor widens and becomes more awe inspiring as you rise ten, twenty, then thirty yards up in the air.
A broad balcony extends overhead, with a perfect rectangular cutaway toward which your platform ascends. It slots into the cutaway and then stops, and a new guard steps forth to open the small gate.
The balcony into which you've arrived is large, but only perhaps a fifth of the size of the ledge that's been incised into the cliff face before you. A garden has been grown across the rocky floor, with strange and delightful ferns and plants blooming bountifully on all sides of small, white rocked paths. Small waterfalls run down the cliff face above you to trickle down in delicate cascades into pools, and soft, multi-colored balls of light float enticingly between the bushes and through the shadows.
Faint music comes from the far end of the balcony, where a string quartet is playing beautifully, and here and there you can make out guards standing to attention, half hidden in the shadows. At a quick count you can make out another ten or so men.
Aurion Thorn steps forward, a glass of wine in hand. He's wearing elegant evening clothing, richly attired and tastefully subdued.
"Ah, Lady Moncrief. You honor my home with your presence. And I see you have come with a full retinue." He glances approvingly over Alysandra and their four guards. "As is only fitting for a lady of your stature. Come. Your guards may await you here. I have a table set for us deeper within the garden."
That said, he offers his arm in a gentlemanly manner, and smiles.
Getting to the inn door takes a fierce combination of tact and determination. Opening the door allows a blast of hot air to emerge as if Callista were prying open an oven. A wash of loud conversation, music, and laughter flows out over them, along with the smells of hot food, sweat, and spilled ale.
Everything is lit a buttery yellow by the burning lamps, and a massive hearth large enough to roast an ox within emits both light and heat across the crowd. A vast bar spans the far length of the room, where people are packed four deep, and a small army of servants rushes back and forth along the bar's interior, as well as running flagons to the packed tables. The spaces between the tables are packed with standing men and women, and all of them seem eager to debate and argue.
"...yes, well then the council can bloody well stick its resolutions up its collective cloaca, because we're not going to..."
"...madness, if you really think about it, for if we revolt, who guards our backs when Cheliax comes for our throats? We need..."
"...and then I told her, ma'am, that's not a baby's arm, that's my very own club of love..."
Numerous chandeliers hang low over the assembled heads, burning brightly and dripping wax, and a band of musicians play a giddy reel on a distant raised platform, the strains of which are barely audible over the furor.
A broad set of steps leads to the second floor from the back of the large common room, and of note is the group of men standing with their arms crossed on the bottom step and blocking all passage to the higher levels. Of Kinch himself there is no sight.
Callista's expression quickly becomes more relaxed as the atmosphere inside the Inn, though full of debate, doesn't seem as toxic as it might have been. She grins at a particularly raunchy comment from a patron, leading Cawmirth towards the line of standoffish-looking men at the base of the steps.
Once there, she smooths out her yellow dress, dipping into a shallow curtsy for whichever one appears to lead the small band (or barring that, the biggest-looking one). Her lips crease into a friendly smile as she gazes at said fellow, green eyes sweeping him up and down in an appreciative manner. She stands with her back slightly arched back, one hand on her hips, cocked slightly to the side, clothed in a conservative dress yet still putting her ample curves on display.
"Good day, gentlemen. My associate and I were wondering if we might have a word with Councilman Kinch? I pray he is accepting visitors at this time." Her smile, full of confidence, remains on her face, her expression one that is not used to being told 'no'.
Lavinia regards the guard's hateful stare with a casual, mocking smirk as she strides past the gate. With Rahgnall, Edvard, Nyle and Seberg standing at the four corners of the levitating platform and she herself putting her body between Sebi and the exit, the Captain has little chance to witness the breathtaking vista slowly coming up on display beneath them. Instead, her attention is focused on far more practical details: the number of guards, their disposition, the mansion's layout, possible holes in security as well as potential escape routes – a mechanical, well-ingrained routine performed every time she enters an unknown location.
As they reach the balcony, she's the first to step down the platform, followed by the Matriarch and the rest of the retinue. Upon noticing a distinguished, well-groomed young man she surmises can only be Aurion Thorn, she deliberately steps aside to allow Lady Moncrief to properly greet their host. She waits for the two of them to make their way into the garden before addressing her comrade-in-arms.
"Wait for me here and if somebody asks, tell him I had a call of nature. I believe some reconnaissance is in order" she whispers to her squad, waiting for the opportune moment to slip away and blend into the garden's shadows.
Sebi curtsies low and then takes Thorn's arm and lets him lead her onward. "Very well, my lord." She looks back at her guards and nods. As they walk, she casts her eyes about the place saying nothing for a few moments, taking it all in. She wonders how many have seen this sight. She wonders what sights this place has seen, too.
After the moments pass, she says, "You have built quite a life for yourself here, Master Thorn. I believe even the Supreme Elect himself would be jealous of the view and your environs."
She spares no glances back; she keeps her eyes forward.
There are four men guarding the base of the steps. They are puffed up with self-importance, glaring out over the crowd with a combination of self-righteousness and pride. Their leader is a large man, bald but with a fierce brown beard, with arms like a smith and a chest like a rain barrel. He's wearing a canary yellow shirt under a leather vest, and stares down in bemusement as Callista approaches.
She can see him melt right before her eyes, his eyebrows going up and a tentative smile crossing his face before he catches himself and scowls. The other three crowd in close, clearly trying to get a better look at her, but the leader coughs loudly and leans so as to bark in Callista's ear and make himself heard.
"Mister Kinch is in an important meeting. Top level stuff. He's entrusted me with making sure riffraff don't go disturbing him." To mark his words, the bearded man stabs himself in the chest with his thumb. He looks mock seriously at Callista, and then leans in again. "However, you're clearly a fine lady, and thus I might be willing to turn a blind eye if you promise to have a drink with me when you come back down. What's your name? Mine's Blind Oliver."
He grins at her, showing a fine set of strong white teeth. The other three men nod to each other in mute approval of Blind Oliver's tactics and dating acumen. Who then looks past her at where Cawmirth stands, and frowns.
"What are you? Her pet?"
Lord Thorn walks gracefully by Sebi's side, and at her compliment he waves dismissively, and shakes his head as if refuting her words. "I do not enjoy this finery, this pomp and circumstance, though of course I'll admit it does provide one with material and sensual pleasure. No, these are but the trappings without which I couldn't execute my function as a man of my station. You must understand how it is, given your lineage; we are born into wealth and power, and certain things are expected of us. If we do not perform as expected, then we are not taken seriously. I'm glad you enjoy my garden and view, but my heart, dear Lady Moncrief, belongs down below, with the people."
His words are spoken with an almost sorrowful intensity, and he turns and glances at Sebi, his expression frank, open, and without guile.
Their path rounds a curve and reaches a small central open space. White gravel covers the ground, and an ivory table carved to resemble a tree supports a sheet of cloudy glass on which silverware and plates are laid for two. Lord Thorn pulls a chair out for Sebi, and then moves to seat himself.
"I'm so glad you accepted my invitation. I have much to ask of you, to learn and absorb. We must work together if we are to steer this city through these dangerous times."
Sitting, he leans back as a servant approaches and pours white wine into Sebi's glass. "The city is a tinder box, and Kinch an arsonist ready to set the world aflame in service to his blind principles. While I must admit some sympathy with his point of view, given what I can only call neglect on the part of the government to our needs, I cannot countenance his folly. Not unless the entirety of the people force my hand. We have to divine a way to persuade him to our side before its too late. But how? Coercion defeats our very purpose. As does kidnapping or arresting him. All those are contrary to our nation's ideals. Reasoned argument? I've considered challenging him to an open debate on the Plynth, but that is an all or nothing gamble. Were I to lose, the city itself would be lost, and I cannot refute certain statements of his. Have you learned how low our garrison is? We are practically without a defense."
Thorn voice has grown impassioned, and he suddenly stops, as if becoming aware of his own intensity. He sits back with a self-mocking smile. "My apologies. This is all I think of, day and night. So please, tell me. How did the Lady Moncrief herself become an envoy for the Supreme Elect? What are your thoughts on our current situation? What do you recommend be done?"
Alysandra picks the perfect moment to step away. Sebi's retreating back is almost gone from view around some bushes when a series of harsh screams from above draws the gazes of the guards around them, who all peer up into the night sky by reflex to try and spot the errant griffin patrol. At that moment and with calm confidence Alysandra steps away, her form shifting and becoming identical to those of the guards, and soon she ghosting down a different path from Sebi and Thorn's, yet one that stays close enough that she can overhear Thorn's words.
To her ears, he truly does sound sincere. She watches the couple sit, have wine poured, and then Thorn leans forward, speaking passionately to Sebi, displaying a mixture of emotions that range from frustration to hope to determination. Alysandra finds a shadowed spot to the side of the small clearing in which to stand, and there becomes motionless and ignored.
From her new vantage point, she can see a small door carved into the cliff face at the very back of the garden, away from the balcony. A servant emerges from the door, puffing slightly, and hurries toward the table, a covered tray in hand.
Otherwise the guards are arranged as follows: six by the balcony itself, and two at either end of the edge where the flat garden ground meets the uncut cliff face.
Her eyes crinkle in amusement at the man's clumsy advance, though she does then let her eyes widen as though with excitement at his offer. Taking her hand off her hip, she crosses her arms in front of her at the wrists, the picture of a demure lady. "Callista. Like Calistria. Surely you've heard of her, yes?"
She lets the hint settle in before a sly smile appears on her face, green eyes alight, "I appreciate you knowing that I am certainly not riff raff, Blind Oliver. You truly seem to have an eye for such things. And why must you make me buy my audience with Councillor Kinch with a drink when I would have been happy to oblige you for nothing? Why, I'm surprised you aren't married, such a handsome fellow as yourself."
Turning back to Cawmirth, she grins, starting to walk towards the wall of men, then through them, the whole time talking, "Oh, Cawmirth here? He is my traveling companion, though not in THAT regard, if you get my meaning." She winks lewdly at Blind Oliver before continuing. "He really is rather clever, if a bit bland. Don't let his manner catch you off guard, though. He is processing all of this right now...every word of this exchange, every action you and your associates are making. He will be sure to report favorably to the Councillor that you let the 'right' people through, and kept the wrong ones out." She grins again, continuing up the stairs (if allowed to).
Sebi takes the glass into her hand, feeling eyes on her from everywhere, even seeing a few translucent pairs in the reflection. She lets a sip roll onto her tongue, savoring it for a moment before putting the glass back down.
"Well, Lord Thorn, I believe honesty is the best approach here." She waits for a moment. "As to my involvement in this most important of diplomatic missions, I was called upon to lend my talents by the Supreme Elect and so I packed my things that day and was off. I must confess that the Supreme Elect's letter came as a surprise, but as you must know, the Moncrief name does not hold the power it once did. It seemed an opportunity to increase my family's standing.
"And so to be truthful I am quite perplexed as to what is transpiring here in Alastor. To think that our countrymen would forsake the freedoms that unite us at the first sign of adversity. It's not like the Alastor I was told stories of as a girl. The griffons dotting the skyline, a hardy people."
Sebi lapses into solipsism for the briefest of moments. "I wonder what their ancestors would think of them now."
She looks up and shakes her head, the girl coming back. "Forgive me. Um, let us talk of more pleasant things. How are you Lord Thorn? Have you fared well in the winters here since..."
She takes another sip of wine, this time a fraction more hurriedly. She does not let it linger.
|
Content enough to just shuffle along inside and let his more personable associate do the talking heretofore, Cawmirth's eyes narrowed a bit at the pet comment. Not so much because it honestly bothered him, as he'd long ago grown rather inured to such insults, but rather out of sheer annoyance at how utterly trite it was. Leave it to some backwater yokel to have to scrape the bottom of the cognitive barrel for the half-congealed leavings of monstrous humanoid insults.
Cawmirth cleared his throat, glancing to Callista. "You know, candid observations tend to go better if the people being observed aren't aware of it."
Still, as friendly as Callista was being with them, Cawmirth didn't see much harm in shuffling up to Blind Oliver, peering up at him for a long moment before speaking. "Blind Oliver, is it? It's good to know Kinch has men he can trust. Certainly, my investigation seems to have turned up signs that trustworthiness is not the most common trait to be found around Alastor these days. Factionalism... an ugly thing, truly."
Cawmirth gave a small shake of his head. "Certainly, your loyalty is not in doubt. But, let's find out about your judgement, hm? A beautiful woman and her, admittedly bizarre, companion appear, saying they have an urgent message to give to the councilor. Now, it's very well possible that they are exactly the kind of ne'er-do-wells you've been instructed to ward off. Rootless drifters just trying to take advantage of the naivete of countryfolk."
Cawmirth pointedly glanced around the collected men, as if appraising each, before he looked back to Blind Oliver. "You seem canny men. Smart enough to know this whole region is a powder-keg just ready to go up. If you really want to keep us out, there is little we can do. We certainly couldn't compete with your force of arms. So, we would wait, and the soldiers your intelligence network doesn't even know about would come a day's march closer and Alastor would be a day closer to an open conflagration."
"Am I a pet? No. I was given my job because I can think independently and show the initiative to help my employers. And I think you aren't a pet, either. You're the kind of man who knows how to vet visitors, figure out who has a valid reason to come in or not, and make the call as to whether a few minutes of Kinch's time is worth it when every hour is an hour of hoofbeats and infantry boots marching on this city."
Cawmirth made a phlegmy, throat clearing sound. [b]"After we deliver our message... well, there's plenty of time for drinking with my beautiful friend and regaling us with how you came to be called 'Blind Oliver'."
A silent sentinel, Lavinia lurks in the shadows engulfing the garden carven into the stony face. Every muscle in her body is clenched, a predator ready to spring as she eavesdrops on the moonlight meeting between the Matriarch and the Lord.
Blind Oliver and his men gape at Cawmirth as the tengu delivers his speech, their eyebrows rising higher as their jaws drop lower. As one they lean forward, crowding in to hear the scholar's words, though their expressions of confusion and focus indicate a perhaps less than complete understanding.
When the tengu finishes, they blink as if awakening from some idyllic reverie, and glance at each other. Blind Oliver rubs at his bald pate, frowning as he tries to marshal his thoughts.
"I can't rightly say I understood all of that, Mr. Cawmirth, but you're right about one thing. Blind Oliver ain't nobody's pet, especially not those blue bloods down in Almas."
This gruff sentiment is met by vigorous nods from the other men.
"Initiative and independence," says Blind Oliver a little more loudly, clearly trying to recall the gist of Cawmirth's rhetoric. "That's what we're all about, round here. Other than drinkin' and f!++in', if you get my meaning, miss." He spares Callista a wink here to underscore his point.
"However! We're loyal men, and we mean to keep Kinch appraised of all goings ons that bear on his decision makings, such as they are, such as we can divine them. Which is why I'm going to personally escort you both upstairs, and make sure you gets your audience lickety split. Those hoofbeats you're talkin' about ain't getting much closer without his hearing your words, not if Blind Oliver has his say on the matter."
There's another round of guttural agreements from his fellow guards, who clap him on the back and shake their fists in the general direction of Cheliax as Blind Oliver mounts the steps to the second floor. The noise from below fades a fraction, becoming a muted roar as of the ocean heard from within a grotto, and they step out onto a broad hallway.
More men and women stand about here, but these have the looks of important folk. Wealthy merchants, stern faced patriarchs, a few clerics, several martial types with their weapons hanging from their hips. Conversation slows at the sight of the trio, but Blind Oliver simply juts his chin and breaks the crowd with it as if he were forcing his way through pack ice. Down the broad hall, past open doors wherein groups sit on beds and around desks drinking wine, and to a broad door at the very end before which two more men stand guard.
"Stand aside, Peg. I'm bringing Mr. Kinch some important messengers." Blind Oliver grabs the door handle and yanks it open, and steps forward into the suite beyond.
This is clearly the nicest accommodations in the inn, with the first room being a large living room of sorts. Around the circular table are seated seven men, with Kinch directly opposite the door, smoking on a pipe and nodding morosely as he listens to a strident young man whose tirade cuts off at Blind Oliver's appearance, his finger stabbed in the surface of the table.
"Please be excusing this interruption, lords and ladies, but I've got a couple of folk here who have impressed upon me the utmost gravity of their need to be speaking with Mr. Kinch, post haste. This is Mr. Cawmirth, who's much more than just a mangy bird, and his delightful companion, Ms. Callista."
He then executes a little stomp accompanied by a curt bow, and backs out the door, pulling it closed behind him.
The seven people at the table regard the pair with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Kinch blows out an oily blue cloud of smoke and leans back, his chair creaking. Up close his wild gray hair and weathered features cut deep by lines of hardship and strong emotion give him an even more striking appearance of a people's prophet. "Well. Blind Oliver is most assuredly the most enthusiastic guardian of our privacy." His voice is gravely from what must have been a day speaking at the Plynth. He examines the pair with a frank gaze. "So. How can we of service?"
Callista offers Blind Oliver a sultry raise of her lips at his comment about what the men of Alastor were all about, truly amused by the words of the ladies' man. As the man continues his speech, then personally insists on escorting the duo to see Kinch, the priestess's green eyes flit over to meet Cawmirth's for a moment, a ghost of a smile appearing and then fleeing before she starts off after the man.
As the trio moves through the throngs on the upper hallway, Callista keeps her face forward, but lets her eyes linger over the faces in the room. Her walk is one of confidence and swagger, her strides long but still allowing for her characteristic sway as she follows Blind Oliver. Any smiles offered by those in the crowd are met with a smile of her own, letting her eyes roam over a couple of the better-dressed noblemen in a crude, appraising fashion. It never hurt to create opportunities for one's self.
As Blind Oliver begins to let himself out, Callista smiles and nods at him before turning to address the seven in the room, her curtsy low, her head bowed as she dips. When she rises, she wears a wide smile, a polite smile, and says, "Blind Oliver knows important visitors from those you truly wish kept out, good Councillor. As your man said, I am Callista, a merchantess, and this is my colleague Cawmirth, and we humbly ask for a few moments of your time as the Professor here goes over some things with you."
Aurion Thorn listens with polite attention, leaning forward slightly, his glass held in one hand, an eyebrow raised as if in expectation of stirring and inspiring words from Sebi. He nods as she expresses her confusion over the events that are transpiring in Alastor, and then looks confused himself as she suddenly switches tracks and asks to speak of less pressing matters.
"How am I? I wish I could answer that question without referring to more serious matters, Lady Moncrief, but alas, my thoughts bend always toward our current situation. Perhaps it's unhealthy, to not cultivate private goals and hobbies aside from politics, but I find that everything seems petty and unimportant compared to the welfare of my city."
He leans back and sips his wine contemplatively as he studies Sebi across the table from him. "You were chosen by the Supreme Elect for this mission, were you not? He must have granted you certain powers so as to be able to effect change for the better. Would you mind sharing with me what powers he delegated to you, and if you have determined how best to use them? Time is, as they say, of the essence, and perhaps we could coordinate our moves so as to ensure the greatest chance of success."
Sebi controls how much wine she takes in. Only the minimum amount of sips to avoid seeming odd or out of place. Not too much to impair judgement, but just enough for the whispers to stop. Warmth travels through her veins, expanding, multiplying. But then something cold starts to creep in, consuming the warmth.
She says, setting her glass down, "Say I were to have full access to the Supreme Elect and the powers that go along with that position. What would you suggest I do with such power?"
She changes the subject again, blinking and looking around: "You are surrounded by beauty everywhere you look up here. How long did it take to build such a place? Did you have a hand in it?"
Lavinia listens intently to the game of cat and mouse which is taking place among the bushes and ferns of Lord Thorn's aerial garden. The Lord always thrusting, the Matriarch subtly evading and counterattacking, each keen on finding out his opponent's hand without showing his own. She wonders how long this charade will go on, before they'll be able to at least get a hint of Thorn's true intentions.
|
|
Cawmirth was rather pleasantly surprised that he'd been able to convince their good friend Blind Oliver to lead them along quite so swiftly as he did. So he shuffled along with nowhere near the saucy aplomb with which Callista carried herself, simply keeping his shuffling, hunched gait as they went upstairs and along into the conspirators' inner sanctum.
That there was a group of men didn't particularly please Cawmirth. And had there been a casual air about the place, he would have taken the time to chat a bit with each of them and try to sniff out any hint of a Chelish accent from any of the lot. But, with all those eyes on him, he sadly didn't have the freedom to make sure there weren't spies in their midst. Ah well. Who ever said they'd be working under ideal conditions.
"Councilor Kinch, I was sent here on official dispatch from the Undersecretary to the Supreme Elect, along with several companions, to conduct an investigation here in Alastor. I'm aware that, on its face, that likely disposes you rather poorly towards me, or at least your speech earlier today would give me reason to believe such. But, as a lawfully elected official and, as far as I can tell, the only person with a real understanding of the concerns of the vast majority of the people of Alastor, I only felt it right and proper to share my findings with you."
Deflecting his attention from that rather direct stare he'd given Kinch, Cawmirth lifted a claw, his head quickly glancing to each side to address the circle of Kinch's companions in his next few words. "Antipathetic towards Almas as you all may feel, I imagine you haven't had an agent of the council with any autonomy come here in quite some time. Else, things wouldn't have deteriorated to this point... and, tempting as it might be to simply vent your frustrations on me with boot and fist, I hope we can have a civil enough discussion that I may, at the very least, record the truth of your grievances such that the People's Council might not be so blind to what transpires in the far reaches of our dear nation. Though, it is my hope that we can do more than just that, for all our sakes..."
Cawmirth inclined his head forward rather humbly, hoping he'd at least thrown a little water on all that smoldering anger that had built up towards the capital for so very long.
Aurion Thorn rubs his forefinger lengthwise across his lips, eyes growing heavy lidded as he studies Sebi and considers her question.
"Had I the full power of the Supreme Elect behind me? I would not have - well. Nevermind. There is no sense in criticizing the past. But if I could affect the future... I would arrange for a personal visit himself. Should the Supreme Elect appear on the Plynth and address the people, with his greatest knights arrayed behind him, well, that would make an impact beyond any other."
His smile is bitter. "Not that I expect him willing to carve out the time for Alastor. We've never been a priority."
He then follows Sebi's gaze around his home. "Why thank you. I'm pleased that you like it. I did in fact have a hand in its construction; it was my idea to build a vertical residence, instead of adhering to the traditional grounded plan. And why not? With magic and power at my beck and call, why should I not avail myself of its uses? Not all power need bend toward martial use; don't you think the world would be a better place if we focused our energies more on aesthetics and pleasure and less on dominance and war?"
His smile is a complex thing, at once winsome and undercut by his own ironical sense of how naive he must sound.
Cawmirth's words immediately cause the seated men to stir and glance at each other when he declares his identity. They shift their weight, mutter and growl, and their expressions darken into scowls.
Kinch, however, remains relaxed at their center, his only movement being to cock his head slightly to one side as he continues to listen, his expression gravely polite. Cawmirth powers on, stating his hopes, and when he finishes one of them men pounds his fist on the table and bolts to his feet.
"Well, look what the Supreme Elect has seen fit to send our way, an olive branch and a nice turn of words just as we're getting serious about figuring out our own solution. You speak reasonable words, Master Cawmirth, but you'll find us needing more than that, and if you know -"
He cuts off abruptly as Kinch raises his hand and sits forward. Chagrined, the man realizes he's not voicing Kinch's position as he'd hoped, and sits down, deflated.
All eyes are on the bearded baker. He studies Cawmirth openly, and then turns his eyes upon Callista.
"Welcome, envoys. I'm impressed that you braved the crowds below without a number of guards at your back. Your coming up all the way here speaks highly of your ideals. Your intent, as it were. I'll hear you out, at the very least, and give you a 'record of my grievances'. Please, have a seat. You'll find us a hostile audience, but not, I hope, an uncivil one."
He slides his gaze over to the man who had erupted but moments before, and then leans back, heavily callused palm indicating a couple of chairs that Callista and Cawmirth may pull up to the table.
When they've done so, he laces his fingers over his stomach, sits back, and regards them.
"Grievances. Where to begin? In no particular order. How about the war with Taldor, a war that could have been avoided with more tact and diplomacy? We're far removed from the eastern border, but word has reached us of the tempers and foolishness that have cost this nation so many lives. That have drained our own city of its most promising youth, and lowered our defenses to a criminal degree."
A surly nodding and grunting meets his words.
"The war with Taldor is grievance enough, but now it's left us exposed to Cheliax. Who have somehow taken the Iron Keep, and now stand poised to march into the Windburn Vale. Whose oversight and negligence allowed that to happen? And who shall pay the cost? You've no doubt come to ask us to set aside our complaints for the nation's greater good, and face Cheliax with an army made of our women folk, elders and children, armed with sticks and stones and patriotism." He pauses a beat, and his eyes glint with a harsh light. Again the mutter of agreement from those assembled.
"Our taxes are ruinously high. Even as we labor to send gold and goods to the east, our businesses close, our people sink into poverty, and the jails are filling with those driven to crime by necessity and despair."
Again he pauses, and again his companions rumble their discontent.
"Now, you won't debate the parlous state of affairs. I know that much. You're clearly no fool. But you'll argue with me as to our decision to secede. Well, it's a gamble, there's no doubt about that. But we've had to make a decision. Stay with the country that's treated us worse than we'd treat a miserable cur and by doing so risk slaughter, or risk ourselves with a lawful nation that will spare our lives and recognize us an independent entity, much like many of the others that surround Cheliax?"
His question hangs in the air.
Though Kinch's words ring with passion and sincerity, something about the very tail end of his argument catches your attention. The briefest flicker as he looks away as he speaks about turning to Cheliax. The slightest change in the timber of his voice. Exceedingly subtle, but which trigger a suspicion on your part that he's not comfortable on some deep and hidden level with his own words or position.
Kinch's words ring with passion and sincerity. He's clearly calm and righteous both, and his disdain and anger are carefully masked under his civil manner. This is a man grounded in a faith that he's doing what's best for his people.
"How interesting." She hears the words crawl through her mind as Thorn speaks.
Yes, she thinks. Interesting indeed. The chance that Thorn has been seduced by devils has certainly gone up. I'm sure a devil would love for the Supreme Elect to show in Alastor. It'd be child's play after that. No opposition at all.
Sebi recalls her lessons on the lower planes. If there's one thing that is certain about the legions of hell, it's that they covet power in all its forms, and power over others is so very sweet to them, irresistible really. How Thorn answered that question... Still, she thinks, It does not prove that he has been turned. He either has been corrupted and is unaware of the trap this conversation is, or he is aware and toying with me. Or he is uncorrupted. For now, though, I will proceed as if he is aware of it. Hubris may be an ally, instead of blindness. He certainly has the home to accompany it...
She says, "That is quite a bold move to be made, but sometimes the victor is the one to take risks. Still, with Cheliax so close, I would certainly fear for our country's leader in Alastor. What if there were assassins! It sounds like a plot in those awful books they hawk at the markets these days, swashbuckling men and the women in chains just waiting to be saved."
And let's see if he's been having us followed.
"Like that Cawmirth Ravenheart fellow. What a barrel of wasted words those books." She shakes her head in disgust while watching Thorn. She's done it so many times for so many trivial things with acquaintances that it comes so naturally. Sometimes she thinks those high-born parties are just thrown to criticize anything else but themselves.
The priestess moves to quickly take one of the proffered seats, sinking onto the chair slowly, crossing her legs at the knee as a lady should. Her eyes widen slightly at the display from the first man, a knowing smile creeping onto her lips at the sycophant's attempt to curry favor with Kinch, only to be cast to the side as the councilman took over with a more diplomatic tone, unlike the one used in his powerful speech earlier.
The green eyes never waver off the man's face as he speaks, in practice because it was considered rude to not meet a man's eyes when he spoke. It went deeper than that, as Callista studied the man's facial expressions, listened to the rise and timbre of his voice, searching for clues as to what made the man tick. Although calmer, his speech contained the same passion for his people as earlier, a powerful force of will that threatened to wash away the Calistrian's own more professional opinion on the matter.
And then there it was...when Kinch was mentioning the lesser of two evils. She focused again and could hear it. Though his words contained the same magnetism as earlier, she detected a hint of confusion, a bit of discomfort, as he finished his argument.
She smiled widely, cocking her head just to the side, "Independent entity, or vassal state? The difference seems to be slim where Cheliax is concerned." Her smile is gently put away, replaced by an earnest look. "As you've said, we are not here to gloss things over or to pay lip service. Almas' obsession with the war with Taldor has been a main factor in this situation arising, we all can agree. But friends, think of this as an opportunity in our free democracy to better your own lot in life! With so many of our fighting men on the Taldan front, and with yourselves as the main buffer between Cheliax and the heart of Andoran, now is the perfect time to posture for more representation in our country. For a larger piece of the pie with regards to resources."
Her green eyes turn to Cawmirth, looking for him to add on. In truth, it was all show. Callista was just playing a role, at this point, knowing that to deviate and try to leave this sought-after meeting early would spell danger for her and her associate. So they must try to sway Kinch, all the while knowing he was un-swayable.