The following day, around noon, Marcanth seeks out Sophiel once again. "Ambassador...I'm terribly sorry. But she's at it again..."
Baltor sighs, and then turns to Sophiel. "Perrhaps the best thing to do is let herr speak. Ignorre herr. It is clearr that herr intention is to harrm yerr rreputation. She is morre skilled vith herr vorrds than ye arre, so you addrressin' herr in public vill only grrant herr crredibility."
"Like a child that crries to get attention, I believe she'll leave once she doesn't get said attention. Aside frrom that vhat can ye do? She has commited no crrime as farr as I know, so ve can't do anything to herr, since this once again vould give herr lies crredibility."
He pauses before continuing. "On the otherr hand, this situation is strrange. Vhy vould a trravelerr go to such lengths? Perrhaps she has darrkerr intentions." He looks at Chrysa, wondering if she has discovered anything.
"No, no!" shudders Sootscale instinctively, wondering for a moment if he was wise to invite this dangerous creature's help. "Gotta keep quiet about you. Maybe you drink a little from kobolds before they die, to satisfy you. But Sootscale will give traitors a fiery finish!"
Vincent grins at the king's response, it is satisfying to see that he still inspires the appropriate fear. "I will refrain from eating as much as possible." He says, not mentioning that kobold blood is like cold sludge, and exactly as appetising.
"So, who is your first lead?"
Sootscale lets out a relieved sigh. "Good good. Sootscale will have suspects arrested and brought to you."
After some chatter in Draconic, some of the nearby kobold guards gather together and move out.
As the arrests begin, things begin to unravel quickly! Arrays start to turn violent, and onlookers who had not been showing which side their allegiance was on began stepping in and fighting! Before long, the warrens are in open civil war!
After a talk with Soph, Chrysa slips into a nondescript nobody. Slightly stoped, small smile, and little ideas who is vastly interested in the verbal woman with such an amazing perspective. Not because she is pretty and dressed for much warmer weather, nope, not at all.
Chrysa the nondescript nobody tries to gather as much information as they can about a certain public speaker but is finding the task more than a little infuriating. The people of Soph's land just don't like gossiping. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM. the pregnant woman seethes internally.
So instead she decides a suggestion made by someone who should remain nameless (for political reasons) has merit. Getting blood from the irritatingly attractive woman. As another completely nondescript person, this one with as bland a face as one could possibly imagine, she slips up next to the woman while another person is passing by and prick her forearm with a small needle.
Sootscale starts ranting and raving in Draconic as everything he's built disintegrates. "No, no! My people, how can they all turn on me? How can they not see the glorious future they're throwing away?"
Baltor sighs, and then turns to Sophiel. "Perrhaps the best thing to do is let herr speak. Ignorre herr. It is clearr that herr intention is to harrm yerr rreputation. She is morre skilled vith herr vorrds than ye arre, so you addrressin' herr in public vill only grrant herr crredibility."
"Like a child that crries to get attention, I believe she'll leave once she doesn't get said attention. Aside frrom that vhat can ye do? She has commited no crrime as farr as I know, so ve can't do anything to herr, since this once again vould give herr lies crredibility."
He pauses before continuing. "On the otherr hand, this situation is strrange. Vhy vould a trravelerr go to such lengths? Perrhaps she has darrkerr intentions." He looks at Chrysa, wondering if she has discovered anything.
Sophiel doesn’t respond to Baltor when he chimes in, though she does stop leaving. She balls her fists a bit, ”you may have disagreed with my decision - but you could have told everyone I wasn’t lying. She’s alone, there’s a few of us here. I’ve supported every one of your efforts, and respect your opinions, but you hurt me, I suppose, to prove something. But it doesn’t mean I was wrong. Sometimes there are no ‘good’ decisions…” Sophiel trails off and then focuses looks the dwarf in the eyes, responding to his criticism ”and I know, we can’t beat her in dialogue because she will only lie - I would think that was more disgraceful to you than anything I did…” she mutters.
But she holds up her hand as Baltor explains, ”this is not a problem we can ignore. With a few people, working together, we could have had a chorus of voices to challenge her - but it that is over. We could have. I expect we cannot now - so the alternative is other methods. I have some ideas - words are powerful but my country is named for the first speech word meaning ‘wisdom’. The people who came here did so knowing that they are expected to have wisdom, as well as wits and virtue, and honor. They are not so easily swayed by honeyed words, but the truth is that we could be more transparent. If we can beat her it will be through that transparency of the written word.”[b]
She appraises the dwarf, [b]”I could use your help if you were so inclined, though. I need to know as much as I can about her. If you have any magic to that end - I would appreciate you expending it. You would not need to compromise your morals, but merely ask of Torag and his kin about her and the best way forward. I welcome any advice they might provide, especially about how she uncovered so much so quickly. Make no mistake, she is here to destroy me- no less than the assassin’s rapier which I defended myself from last month.”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Sootscale starts ranting and raving in Draconic as everything he's built disintegrates. "No, no! My people, how can they all turn on me? How can they not see the glorious future they're throwing away?"
Vincent, on the other hand, sets to work in a much more practical way. With his sword in hand the diminutive vampire cuts a swathe through the rebellious dragon-kin. His small stature, a weakness in the upper world, is a positive boon in the tight tunnels and soon kobolds are fleeing left and right from the 'fire demon' and his gleaming sword that has been unleashed upon their home
Sophiel doesn’t respond to Baltor when he chimes in, though she does stop leaving. She balls her fists a bit, ”you may have disagreed with my decision - but you could have told everyone I wasn’t lying. She’s alone, there’s a few of us here. I’ve supported every one of your efforts, and respect your opinions, but you hurt me, I suppose, to prove something. But it doesn’t mean I was wrong. Sometimes there are no ‘good’ decisions…” Sophiel trails off and then focuses looks the dwarf in the eyes, responding to his criticism ”and I know, we can’t beat her in dialogue because she will only lie - I would think that was more disgraceful to you than anything I did…” she mutters.
"Yerr supposition is vrrong, Sophiel, and, please, do not insult my intelligence orr my integrrity. I have not said anythin' in yerr favorr not to punish yerr decision, but just because I'd thought my vorrds vould be morre harrmful than anythin'." He explains. "I'm avarre I'm not good vith vorrds in the sense o' sayin' vhat people vant to hearr and, honestly, I'll neverr be, since I have no patience forr this trrollshit."
"I'm thankful that ye have supporrted my efforrts, but do not think this vill affect my thinkin'. I'll supporrt yerr decisions if I believe they arre corrrect. If I believe ye arre vrrong, I'll advise ye against 'em, but I'll neverr sabotage ye."
"If ye do vant to know, in my opinion, I find both lies and the use of mind-affectin' magic equally bad. Neitherr arre against the yerr laws, howeverr." He raises his hands, not wanting to escalate this discussion that he believes is pointless. "The Forrgefatherr and His Kin arre not verry concerrned vith intrrigue, specially if it doesn't involve dvarrves, but I'll ask 'em neverrtheless."
The fighting turns to a kobold favorite: guerilla warfare and terrorist tactics. Traps are set. Hostages on both sides taken. The battle lines often times run even separate individual egg clusters warrens.
What started as a skirmish has erupted into a formal civil war.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Sophiel invited the woman, this 'Mariana Courtesa Del’Varine' to speak in the theater, formally. But the woman was canny, she knew her power was in the square, and she kept that edge.
The first day when the woman came out of the bedraggled inn, Sophiel met her, addressed her concerns, more and more about the mind control - but Sophiel pointed out that she already addressed those points, and scoffed - would we have any new ground to cover? Sophiel only barely held her own because of Chrysa's practical arguments, and Marcanth's diligent rhetoric. Chrysa was almost mocking Mariana, eating a treat most of the time as she helped dismantle the woman's arguments with a quick rhetorical jab, any time Sophiel struggled. Marcanth's mind catalogued every argument the woman made, and pointed out every fallacy, every retread of pointless pontification. Sophiel had not professed to be perfect - and she still wouldn't, but it appeared at the end of this first round of debate that the wise people of Tri Firinnean were not taken in by tired arguments. Mariana left in a dignified huff, upset at not making better progress.
The next day, the woman changed the setting, she wandered through the university, barging in on lecture halls and labs, mocking the students - pointing out that this education was in service only to Sophiel's need to make people owe her. Some of the students agreed and became angry. The administrator began to lose ground in the debate, especially since she arrived late, and left many arguments unchallenged in her haste. Eventually Sophiel regained her footing and drew the masterful debater to a standstill - only by using pure logic and a deep understanding of the laws, and the model of precedent, was she able to arrest some of the slide of the students into anarchy. The woman retreated to the inn for the evening, as Sophiel plotted her next move.
Realizing she had to take initiative, Sophiel sent an announcement that she was inviting the woman to a debate, and not vice versa. She had a podium set up at the theater, and now - the crowd energized by the new challenge of skill, began to swell. Sophiel began her explanation by way of a history lesson, going through all that was known about the history of government in Avistan, and in the River kingdoms. How the Swordlords lost their freedom to Brevoy - and how the country had become sclerotic. This time, Mariana was put on the other foot, as she had arrived late, and was not as well-versed in the history, but Sophiel was polite, and summarized what she could. Providing example, after example, after example, Sophiel showed - no proved - that the power to rule this country would not be hers. That there was no way it could be. The people there - and elsewhere in the country - they already had all the power - and they merely need wish for Sophiel to go, collectively, and she would have to or lose credibility. With a smile, she noted to Mariana "it seems I am a pretty poor tyrant if the ultimate power is in their hands. None of them even have to live here - they all came of their own accord. If I tried to rule them - they would leave - and I would have an empire of dirt." Mariana had no effective comeback to this, and the day ended with Sophiel close to finishing the bard off.
The last day, the three debaters were at the inn when Mariana awoke for the night, eating breakfast. Already, a sizable crowd had formed, some peeking through the windows. Sophiel stood, and bowed, extending her hand, "this, I think, may be the end - but my last debate will be about morality. What it means to be a just person, a good person. And why whomever you work for - I should hope to convince you to work for us, instead. If I can't, you will still be free to go, or come as you please." The woman stared daggers, caught flat footed again, clearly having underestimated the diminutive ruler, or been told something false. Sophiel gestured for Mariana to sit, and ordered her food and wine, and they spoke at length about the meaning of charity, mercy, and justice. How principles of ethical philosophy could be applied in the creation of a society where people treat others according to a common bond - what was owed to one another on a basic level. Chrysa in particular, and not without some menace, noted that this system wasn't perfect, malefactors could come in and try to disrupt something decent people tried to do, and that sometimes malefactors must be dealt with for the greater good. With a light touch, Sophiel shook her head, "if we go down this path, we lose credibility, and she would win" with a gentle voice, she notes to Mariana, "we don't want to win anything, just make a safe place in a world of cruelty. Please join us, you have had a hard life - and have not deserved what has happened." Sophiel goes into extensive detail in Mariana's life, pointing out everything she knows, item by item, and nodding with understanding about why the decisions were made when they were, even as Mariana sputters indignantly, "you have nothing to be ashamed of, you are not a bad person Mariana, you just need the right people to believe in you." She smiles, and stands up as the woman fumes in her seat, "you could find people who believe in you here," she gestures to the folks staring in from outside, and some nod, though others are a little disgusted with her still, "sometimes wounds take time to heal - but I would like to be your friend if you'd let me." She bows deeply, and moves over to the woman, hugging her tightly, and then she and Marcanth leave the inn. The crowd scatters, and the woman stands, diminished somehow, in the inn.
The innkeeper chuckles too himself, as he clears the plate "you didn't know what ye were gettin' into, did ye miss," and steps away, chuckling to himself even more.
------------------------------------
As the dust settles on the Civil War, Sootscale has prevailed, but not without severely compromising his kingdom. Openly accepting Vincent's help was a dark turn, no doubt fueling his opposition's fear of the influence of outsiders. There was no turning back now.
Sootscale tries to speak magnanimously to his people. "Citizens of Silvermine, you know that I have shown great mercy in allowing those who fought against us to swear their allegiance to me once more. We must come together to heal not only our physical wounds but the wounds of our spirit."
He then turned to face the captured enemy leaders. Each of them tied to an enormous pyre. He wondered if there would be a plot to free them, now that they were standing there so openly. Sootscale almost hoped for it. He wanted to cut down the remaining partisans. But if they did not come, it would not be so bad.
"Each of you are guilty of unspeakable crimes to your fellow kobolds. And each of you have refused to swear loyalty to me and to the kingdom. You are an open wound upon our kingdom. For you, there is only one treatment. To ensure that the kobold body will heal, the cancer must be ."
Sootscale spread his wings to their fullest extent and rose to the air above the pyre. He then breathed alchemical fire in the best imitation of a dragon he could muster, setting aflame wood and kobold alike.
.
As the traitors burned, Sootscale found their collective screams incredibly satisfying.
Vincent stays away from the 'victory' celebration. While Sootscale may well not have won the civil war without him the vampire is canny enough to understand that his presence made the situation worse before it made it better (and only then after several brutal massacres - for a race descended from dragons the kobolds were remarkably slow to grasp the idea that the best thing to do against a vampire in the dark is to run). So there is no need to spoil Sootscales's triumph and he watches from a long distance away, a faint wisp of mist in the dark.
It is satisfying watching them burn though.
Sophiel built an orphanage, and directed the Andoran contractor to help with the printing press, which was lucky because there is open bickering between some prominent figures in town, specifically some minor nobility from other lands who had hoped settling in a fledgling territory would provide them more opportunities to advance their station.
The press allowed them to air their grievances, and the orphanage created stability as a social welfare state took care of a few of the child refugees of various countries in the river kingdoms have migrated to Gliocas searching for a better life.
Sophiel finallly expanded the holdings to take Silvermine and a sliver of Shadowfall, and she hoped that such stability would improve the lives of the remaining kobolds still loyal to Sootscale.
With Mariana out of the picture, Sophiel focused on improving their station next. She arrived with Baltor and Chrysa soon after Sootscale had dispatched the traitors.
Well-dressed in the style befitting the people of Silvermine, she carried satchels and packages on her buffalo down the twisting but smooth and well travelled passages from the surface holdings which marked three cave which led to the cavern of Silvermine. As the passed, she nodded in friendly greeting to various folks they passed, aiding them as she could.
She found Sootscale and Vincent organizing the remainder of the people near the still smoking corpses of the traitors. If she was put out by the scene, she doesn’t show it, and she moves towards King Sootscale. Following the tradition of the kobolds, she paced in front of him, and then hissed in Draconic, inclining her head briefly before snapping back up and baring her teeth.
”King Sootscale- what is the meaning of this? You kill these of your clutch-mates, those who were our right to rule together? Those who might bring glory and treasure to our horde? For what reason - were they traitors? Did they think you weak? Explain!”
Sootscale is taken aback as Sophiel arrives and issues a very public challenge to him. "Oh, Administrator Sophiel! I did not expect to see you here so soon . . ." But Sootscale realizes that her rather public confrontation had elements of theater. And he feels his confidence return.
"Yes--I, I killed them. These are the wicked ones who wanted a return of the kobolds to the dark ages, when we cowered alone in our hovels, jealous of the riches of others. Before our reach extended across the land!" He spat toward the already burned corpses. "I still gave them a chance to return to the fold, to throw themselves upon my mercy. But they refused. Traitorous fools! They bring not glory and treasure, but destruction and poverty."
Chrysa finds the faint wisp in the dark, only because he lets her of course. Crossing her arms and leaning against the wall next to him, while watching the theater, she asks the shadows "Did you have fun?"
Sophiel narrows her eyes and hisses, continuing in perfect Draconic,
"So they were the ones that were weak. You were clever to find them - and kill them. They were weak ... and you were strong. The strongest Kobold. A King!"
She extends a hand,
"We must join together. I will value the strength you have, and the strength and valor of those who follow you."
She raises her hands and looks over those that are gathered,
"Your king is still your king, and you follow ! I am only the administrator - a clerk of sorts, who manages things for him. But to gain more treasure and glory - King Sootscale has worked to reform my laws to meet your needs. We are now focused on progress! See how our quarries, mines, clay pits, and sawmills bring profit to our people."
She smiles wryly,
"We are wealthy beyond imagining because we are all the same clan, all are a family. You will join our family, and we will be brothers and sisters. In our family - we do not care if your skin is soft or hard, or furry, or bronze - this does not matter in the matter of profit. ALL who work towards the clan are welcome. You have proven your loyalty to your King, who has struck a deal to make you even more wealthy - but this will only remain true if you stay loyal."
She narrows her eyes,
"I slay those who cross me, as your King has. An assassin tried to kill me ... they were turned into a weak, powerless creature. Like the traitorous kobolds - weak, stupid, and now dead."
Suddenly, she claps her hands together, and gestures, as the builders approach and begin construction of the new dance hall. The hall is built in the city, a place for gambling and relaxation, and to ensure the kobolds had a place to blow off steam.
******************
When alone, Sophiel looked at Sootscale cautiously, "I hope that works, I really do want your people to be safe. It's my charge now. From now on - these are our citizens, and they are afforded due process. Traitors will be dealt with appropriately. This is the only way that they'll ajust to life with us, if they can trust us."
She exhales, "and those who wish to leave, who may seek a better life - please let them. I saw many in the crowd who were skeptical, they can take classes at the university, raise families on the surface - whatever they want. We are all in this together." She fidgets uncomfortably, as she knows her requests are somewhat presumptous, "the people on the surface need to trust the kobolds, the other humanoids, and the giants. They have prejudices too, unfortunately. The longer we live together, the easier it will become I think."
*********************************
------------------------------------
After Sophiel's visit to Silvermine, she extended some of the holdings to a river space in Shadowfall, as well as the old ruined castle where Annalla and Isabella lived. Long since abandoned and emptied, she sighed with regret at what might have been, and looked at the bloodstains on the castle walls where the rebels managed to take control. Eerie winds whistled through the ruins, but Sophiel held her head up high, and worked to clean and restore some of the space as best she could, though she left the ruin alone.
In addition to the new gambling/dancing hall in Silvermine, she finally restored the castle in Tri Firinnean, calming all of the unrest throughout Gliocas as there was finally an extremely well-fortified place for the citizens to escape to in case of attack. Tri-Firinnean was now a small city, humming with trade along the lakes and rivers, raw materials and refinement of the ore, and enough food stores to last the citizens through siege and storm alike.
Chrysa finds the faint wisp in the dark, only because he lets her of course. Crossing her arms and leaning against the wall next to him, while watching the theater, she asks the shadows "Did you have fun?"
Vincent reforms into solidity and grins at his 'favorite aunt'. "Some." He says simply. "I've learned that I'm very good at tunnel fighting but I have a lot of natural advantages there. Since King Sootscale is well know for his fire they had a lot of counters for my magic, but few for my blade. Honestly it got boring after a while. Playing the 'big bad vampire'. Anyone would think I was fearsome or something."
He offers Chrysa one of his genuine smiles, the ones where he doesn't hide his fangs and nods towards her stomach. "You're doing well. I could tell you the gender if you like?"
Chrysa can well imagine Vincent being a lovely terror in these tunnels, and nods appreciatively. Her hand slides across her belly, tenderly, not defensively when he mentions the little one. She practically beams, a restrained Beaming of course, but still there when she answers "Yes, that would be wonderful."
When alone, Sophiel looked at Sootscale cautiously, "I hope that works, I really do want your people to be safe. It's my charge now. From now on - these are our citizens, and they are afforded due process. Traitors will be dealt with appropriately. This is the only way that they'll adjust to life with us, if they can trust us."
"Due process . . . like the trial you had, right?" Sootscale snorts, clearly unimpressed. "That would have been a very troublesome way of dealing with the traitors. And if you had a trial and did the execution, friends of the traitors would not have liked you. They already don't like me--maybe they will come to trust you, as I do."
She exhales, "and those who wish to leave, who may seek a better life - please let them. I saw many in the crowd who were skeptical, they can take classes at the university, raise families on the surface - whatever they want. We are all in this together." She fidgets uncomfortably, as she knows her requests are somewhat presumptous, "the people on the surface need to trust the kobolds, the other humanoids, and the giants. They have prejudices too, unfortunately. The longer we live together, the easier it will become I think."
"I can't tell kobolds where to go or not go. If they want to live on the surface, they can try. There are kobolds who work in the gold mines in what were Chrysa's lands. It has been a good start for improving relations between kobolds and warm-- and humans. Maybe if I teach alchemy in your university, some will come. If you are okay with classes being taught in Draconic."
Chrysa can well imagine Vincent being a lovely terror in these tunnels, and nods appreciatively. Her hand slides across her belly, tenderly, not defensively when he mentions the little one. She practically beams, a restrained Beaming of course, but still there when she answers "Yes, that would be wonderful."
Vincent leans in and places one cold ear on Chrysa's stomach, listening intently for some time. "There's not much difference in heartbeats, especially at this kind of age." He says slowly, "I would have to taste your blood to be sure, but I believe you are having a daughter. Congratulations Chrysa."
He smiles. "So, do I get to be godfather?"
Chrysa beams even brighter, a sun dawning on a dark world kind of beaming, she holds her breath for a moment imagining, looking briefly more vulnerable in her hope and joy than Vincent has probably ever seen her.
His question brings her back, but just barely "I cannot imagine a more qualified person to protect and teach her, so if you were willing, I would be honored to have you be so."
---
Chrysa leaves soon after to see to her own affairs back at the Fall. A few days go by before Sophie is delivered a mental Sending from Chrysa's Pharasmian priest. "The lady of Shadowfall needs you as soon as possible, along with your closest allies. The one called Vincent is especially important to collect. Please."
Once Sophie manages to arrive, the Fall's attendants quickly lead you all to her meeting room. Chrysa is in her chair, all dark wood and leather, her attention focused on a three-foot wooden box propped up at an angle with its lid on the side next to it. In the box is another smaller box draped in silk.
The lady of Shadowfall is holding a note that is easily seen written in an elegant flowing script the word 'Loyalty'.
She seems lost in thought.
Sophiel nods at Sootscale, ”of course. You are the best chemist in half of a league, at least. Most of the students know Draconic, and for the others - well, they can learn if they want to learn from the best. And you can tell the students how you lost your eye, might be a fun story.”
She nods again, ”As to the traitors - I should explain - I didn’t interfere with your punishment - you had the right in your own lands to deal with it as you saw fit. But I also saw that it also solves the problem of getting rid of your worst troublemakers, and will save us a lot of trouble in the future. That’s one reason I didn’t stop you, you know. But from now on, though, we have to be fair and follow the shared rules. At least try them. No more slaughter without a trial. Due process and all that.” She wipes off her brow, ”damn, it is bloody hot down here, isn’t it.” She gestures and some of her followers - druids - including one kobold - approach, ”see that some who wish for them get potions of comfort to handle the heat.” She doesn’t take one, and merely fans herself and turns back to Sootscale, ”anyway - you can manage the affairs here as you like, or you can join my cabinet. Whichever pleases you more. So long as we don’t hurt people that we don’t have to. You are probably the smartest person I know; if you see holes or errors in the laws, then we can discuss it - so long as you set aside your biases and try to think about it objectively.” She inclines her head respectfully to the kobold.
**************
Sophiel arrives a few minutes after the message was sent with everyone in tow. She looks annoyed a little. ”Chrysa, you said you’d be back within the day. The dream eaters could have killed you.” She looks a little pained, ”and the baby! Come - why all the skullduggery. This is quite unlike you, recently.” Sophiel looks around, and spots the box in the quarters, ”damn! I should have been watching you!” She makes a strained noise that sounds like aghh and throws up her hands in frustration.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Chrysa’s dark eyes leave the small box, and focus on the Soph. “Good you are here.” she says simply, having not noticed you before that moment. She rises, taking the note she has and slips it onto the table. “I have decided to change my fate. It is a simple thing to decide in that moment where you realize there is no other choice really, where you look back and See that you have been running your entire life. Not from the Fey and what they did to you, but from those that should have loved you, protected you, comforted you.” she brushes off dust from her armor, concentrating on it for a moment.
Black leathers with dark red highlights, her two swords that have cut so many. Her coal colored horns have not been filed this day, curving wildly through her red hair like sharp roots. The lady of Shadowfall in all her glory and deadly grace.
She raises her eyes to look at each of them, lingering on both Vincent and Soph. “I am Chrysanthemum of House Surtova, daughter of Domic and Lynoza Surtova, niece of King Noleski Surtova of Brevoy.” she pauses to let that sink in for a moment “All I have told you has been the truth. I was taken by the Fey, my family did not approve of my appearance afterward, so I fled into a life of banditry before I was even ten.” her hands slip to her swords for a moment, her leather encased gauntlets wrapping around their hilts. “I had nothing to do with them until I was ‘found’ before the Swordlords needed people to come reclaim this land and my aunt…” Chrysa’s control slipped for a moment, and such Hate filled that word, ‘aunt’, her hands gripping the swords tighter. “... needed someone she could ‘control’ to protect her interests.”
Slowly she forces her hands to relax “I have given her what she needed to stay sated, and more important to Stay Away. But that changes today.” she walks toward the box, stopping in front of it, before turning and pulling the silk away from the smaller box inside.
There nestled securely in a bed of straw, is the head of a man, missing its lower half, only the parts above his upper teeth remain. And even more unsettling…it has been animated with undeath! In its current state, it can’t even make a noise, just looks around hungrily with its eyes, which settle on you with intent with no means to fulfill it.
“This was my watchdog. A man named Kragath. A man who after a year of watching decided to give his loyalty to me instead of her. And this is the result.” the head’s cheek muscles twitch, trying to bite even though it has nothing to do so with. “With this Natala Surtova wishes to solidify the hold she has had on me. But she made a fatal error.” her head tilts to look at her belly, where She is growing. “My aunt doesn’t know about the gift this man gave me before he was killed.” another pause for her hands to caress the slight swell, like she is cradling the little bean inside her. Her head raises again “When she does find out, she will seek her death sooner or later. Doesn’t matter if it includes killing me. Doesn’t matter to either of us.”
“For each of you, I would kill, burn, torture, and even swallow my pride and compromise. But for her…” she dips her head again to look with a soft smile “... I will go to war.”
Looking back up at Sophie “I apologize Lady Medvyed, near dearest of my heart, but the Fall is mine again. Keep the lands you have taken, and sever all ties you have with me. Borders will be closed. And any fallout that happens due to this will be left at my doorstep. Same for you, King Impeek, whom my respect has been earned countless times and my life has been saved by even more.” To Baltor, she simply nods. Their short time together has not formed any tight bonds as of yet.
Lastly while the others are processing, she turns to the vampire child “Vincent, I request your aid, if you are willing, to kill my aunt.”
Sophiel folds her arms, and scoffs, then looks around, puts her fingers on her lips theatrically, raises her eyebrows, and moves to Chrysa - almost dragging her (gently) outside to the courtyard, and gesturing for the others to follow silently.
Once everyone’s in the Sylvan hideaway, she turns to the rogue. ”no. How do we kill the b@@!@?”
Chrysa's smile tugs up, just a little. "You have a nation to protect, Soph. If you take part and this goes bad, it will be destroyed."
Sophiel waves her hand, dismissively ”I could pretend that she’ll destroy Gliocas anyway after she kills you, or something equally calculating,” she rolls her eyes and pretends to scheme with her fingertips ”buuuut that reasoning would be a lie. Live together; die together. Plus, if Gliocas can’t figure out what to do without me, what the f@$* have I been doing all this time?”
She puts her hands on the table. ”You know Brevoy better than I do, so - I assume you have a plan. What is it?”
Chrysa pauses, reaches out to cup the side of Soph's head then leans her own in to rest their foreheads together. A warm soft moment that have been too few of late.
Pulling away she says "I know my aunt's home well enough, but my knowledge is too spotty. I was a child when I fled, but even now after subtle attempts to gather as much as could without arousing suspicion, it is too full of holes." pacing for a moment she thinks aloud "The best potential is misinformation. Closing the borders and turning all my eyes inward to find how she knows what is going on. I am mostly gone, but this was delivered when I was here. So she has her own eyes. Whether it is spies or magic." she looks to Vincent, "This is what I'd like your help with. Once we know how she is seeing, we can cloud it with information to bait someone within reach. Not her, she is too smart to come unless she is certain of her own protection. But someone else we can milk for information to formulate a plan of attack."
Chrysa talks through the night, laying out her plans, listening to the other's suggestions, weaving it all into a plot of patience and ruthlessness. It will not be quick, she knows this but it will be worth it.
Sophie agrees, appreciating the gesture but she’s obviously thinking, she sits down, and calms her nerves ”okay. Okay. Fine. We will have problems we need to address, though, and will need to communicate and work together more. We can split up.”
She nods again, ” Baltor, Sootscale, and I will keep expanding, gaining resources - we need the resources to challenge Brevoy - and allies. Like the Swordlords. If we can challenge the king in arms and magic - they can switch allegiances - maybe by that time our magic will be strong enough to challenge whatever secret strength your family has.”
”But yes, we can keep up the ruse, but we need power and coin. Fast. We need to get powerful faster than they expect. Together.”
Lastly while the others are processing, she turns to the vampire child “Vincent, I request your aid, if you are willing, to kill my aunt.”
Vincent nods. "For my liege lady and my god-daughter, Natala Surtova will die." His assent given he says little more until Sophiel has spoken her piece and he can talk to Chrysa alone.
"It need not take so long, depending on your message." He says softly. "I can be spared here, I have no official role and Sootscale's problems are well in hand. Give me someone who knows Brevoy and whose loyalty you trust and I will go north. We can find your aunt, spy on her and then end her life before anyone even knows that there is a threat to be feared."
Baltor listens and thinks, trying to decide what is the proper thing to do. This was not why he joined the ladies... he intended to help in building a good place out of the Stolen Lands, not for assassinations and war.
"I'll vithold my vote and my prromise o' help until ye have gatherred morre inforrmation." He finally says. "I rrespect ye, Lady Chrrysa, and sympathize vith yerr feelin's o' rrevenge, but my place is herre, helpin' ye in the buildin' of yerr nation."
As Baltor speaks, she considers attempting to correct her motivation to kill her aunt. But while the protection of her growing daughter is the most important goal, revenge will always be a part of it. So she says instead "Thank you Baltor, that is more than I could ask for." inclining her head in mutual respect.
Later when alone with Vincent, she thinks "Finding who can be trusted will be the first step. " she pulls out a map of her city, drawing her finger around it all "I'll build walls, start documenting travel in and out of the city, and start hunting for her eyes. Masking them if I can, subverting them if possible, and putting them out if neither other option can be done." she looks to the city for a moment, lingering here and there, then back up to Vincent "I'd like your help with that first. Your abilities, mentally, magically, and as a hunter will be invaluable." her request is laid out as such "If you believe spying on her instead would lead to success..." she nods in thought, not finishing it.
"My help is yours however you need it." Vincent replies warmly. "As for loyalty... I can compel it, if need be. Once under my influence it would take a mage of considerable power to wrest control from me which should be easily avoided. But as you wish to fortify Shadowfall first then I will remain here with you. Command me as you wish Chrysa, although I will bring my children if you are willing. I'm not sure exactly how we'll handle Xamanthe, but I don't like leaving them alone for too long and they will be useful. At night at least."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
------------------------------------
Sophiel leaves the meeting in almost tears, standing at the exit to the hideaway, waiting for Chrysa to leave along with Vincent. The sadness soon curdles, and she looks furious at the rogue, and with a curt swish of her cloak and click of her heels.stalks away angrily, her fists balled, her nose upturned.
By all observers, in the courtyard of Shadowfall, there has been a tremendous falling out. She gestures, and Marcanth flaps over as she walks. She whispers something to the gathlain, who's expression hardens and he nods. She, Sootscale, and Baltor quickly make their way - this time with guards - back the borders of Gliocas. How a good percentage of the army had snuck onto Shadowfall, it wasn't clear, but the escort was heavy.
The woods and northern border of Gliocas were now watched at all times, with all roads patrolled regularly. Sophiel was obviously loathe to build fortifications - but in the end she put it to a vote through the newspaper.
In this case, many of the people of Gliocas, upon learning of the schism- of the betryal of Chrysa, were more than anything - confused but felt that aggression was not to be warranted. New watchtowers would be built here and there - and the ranger militia would prove enough of a deterrent for now.
Meanwhile, Gliocas moved towards Baltor's holdings and grabbed the last remaining resource-rich lands nearby. The dwarf seemed to be interested in largely keeping his own settlement, and the trip back towards Gliocas seemed particularly tense, for whatever reason, but Gliocas did not move on the town or mine - yet. Instead, the road network was improved a great deal, and Sophiel prepared to take all of Varnhold next month as well. She would finally be able to extend the protection of the people they saved - and would open up another border between Gliocas and Brevoy.
To ensure the people remained on their side, she built a divinity college in Bogha Foirneart, a place to study religion, almost all religion and the associated philosophy, further afield from the analytics of Trinity. It would be built adjacent to the temple, which would be reconstructed as well.
Looking at the fleeing Soph, she sighs, worried at least some of the act is settling in her dearest's heart. Instead of going to her, she instead answers Vincent. "Your children are welcome. I would never suggest separating a parent for a child" she pauses and amends her answer "Unless the parent needed to be killed." Not in relation to Vincent, but for transparency since more than a few orphans in her care are a product of horrible parents then did not deserve the joy of a child.
Shadowfall builds walls. Since speed is of the essence, her many lumber yards are put into use, clearing huge swathes of woodland, to build thick tall well-patrolled palisades. Plans are made to use include stone quarries later.
The fury of the baroness combined with the skill of her builders has the dark city locked up in no time flat.
Then there is silence.
Broken only by the frequent screams in the night.
All know that someone has betrayed the lady of the fall and she will have blood.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Oriol is seated on an overturned barrel, outside the Two Foxes, as he eyes a table inside the tavern. He watches a bald man with a long beard. Not young, but also not to old. A couple scars in his arms and muscles that betray a life as a soldier.
The door opens and serving girl appears with a bowl of stew and a mug of ale. "Please, return the bowl and the mug." She asks, perhaps a bit fearful. Oriol smiles and nods, taking a couple coins from his pouch, more than what the food and drink would cost.
"You surre zat man has ze rring? Ze verry same rring?" He asks as he reaches for a ring in his pocket to show the girl again. She looks at it and nods. She is sure. Oriol smiles and sighs in relief, and adds another coin for her. "Zank you, miss." He then points to the food. "This is verry good. Vkusnyy! It means delicious." The girl gives him a half smile then returns inside with a fast pace.
Oriol could not blame her, after all, since she was probably a little scarred of him. Oriol was a large man and since he was wearing his plate, he was even larger. His armor was distinctive, since it looked a bit mismatched, with one arm being painted in various strong colors and strapped with silk tissues, also of various colors. On tope of his armor he was wearing an embroidered shawl, clearly meant to be used by a lady, and on top of that he was wearing large ring earrings. At his waist, a greatsword was sheathed and besides him, set against his leg, there was a longsword.
His meal finished, he sets it besides the window and gets up. "Ze last one, Hallana... ze last one..." He grabs the longsword. "...and then you'll be free of this revenge." he adds without his Iobarian accent. "Ve vill be frree." He then enters the tavern.
"YARRNICK VALLS!" He yells, and the man he was watching looks towards him in reflex, betraying himself. Oriol offers the sheathed longsword to him, ignoring the worried looks of the other patrons. "I've brrought you svorrd, Yarrcick, in case you do not have one." Oriol notices the eyes of the other patrons on him and notices some hands moving towards their swords. "Zis man, hiding among you, is crriminal frrom my land. He killed my vife..." As he explains, he moves towards Yarnick, who is still seated in shock, perhaps wondering how he was found so far away from home.
"HE LIES!" Yarvick finally has the courage to reply as he gets up, looking around for support. "I do not know him! Never met him before and have never met his whor..." His last word is interrupted as Oriol swing the pommel of the sheathed sword at his face. Yarnick looses balance, falling back. Oriol then grabs the man by his arm and begins to drag him along the tavern, towards the exit, noticing that the man indeed had the ring. At this point, the serving girl that brought food to him before, had already left, probably to call the guards. If Yarvick had friends among the other patrons, apparently none were that close, for they decided against helping him.
Once outside, Oriol releases the man and throws the sword at him, then gives the man some room to get to his feet while drawing his own sword. Oriol's greatsword leaves its sheath already bloodied, and as the blood drips and hits the soul, it sizzles. "You die tonight, Yarrvick. You can chose to die as varriorr orr as covarrd."
Yarvick kicks the sword away and crawls back a bit towards the crowd quickly forming. "He lies! Call the guards! GUARRDS! Get away from me, frreak!" Oriol can't notice how little accent the man shows. He certainly has put an effort in looking like a local.
"Covarrd it is..." There is no joy in his statement as he steps forward and, thanks to the huge reach of his blade in conjunction with his size, he buries his blade in the man's skull, making blood, bone and brain fly towards the horrified bystanders. Oriol looks towards the sky as some raindrops hits his face. He sheathes his sword. "It is done." He says and then, apparently agreeing with himself, he adds. "It is done."
Swords and spears are now pointed at him. People are speaking. People are angry and scared...
Most of the people lived in one of the larger settlements of Gliocas, as the space between the cities was oft reserved for the wilder citizens, but hamlets had sprung up - carefully managed by the druid constables - and this was one of a few of these. Little more than a few greenwood buildings and earthworks, the hamlet of Caer Nabog mostly catered to beings comfortable near the earth and under it.
Their constable was Hork Flintheim, a scarred miner with calluses on his hands and feet. Oft covered in soot and dust, Horn’s skin was pale but hair was coal black, and so were his eyes, canny and calculating. He wore a simple miner’s outfit, and holly and mistletoe around his neck, with little else to identify him by his station beyond the filthy badge on his unkempt collar.
Oriol is standing in what passed as a square in the hamlet by the river in near the mountains when Hork emerged from the mine structure, an elegantly designed building where the distant echoes of pick on stone could be rarely heard from time to time. He was followed by a nervous-looking kobold with red scales, also with holly around his neck but holding a number of flasks in a bandolier across his chest.
The people of Gliocas were rarely well-armed, but this being an area far from the capitol, some found it more prudent than others. The motley assortment of folk mostly had picks at their side as they hemmed in the tall human, not aggressively, but not without a sense of insistence. The man would have to cut all of them down before he could leave, was the message, and the birds which flew west attested to the likelihood that such an endeavor would not go unnoticed.
As the rain fell, Hork and the kobold approached. The kobold twitched nervously, his small hand resting on the vial, but Hork held up his hand and shook his head slightly, while not taking his eyes off the man who seemingly split another’s head in two in the middle of the street.
Hork raised his chin, ”lad - I’m not sure where ye’ve come from, but we don’t appreciate folk getting dismembered in the roadway. Or anywhere for that matter.” He raises a dirty finger at the sword, ”not sure what you expected from the river kingdoms, but these here are peaceable folk. You’ve interrupted our labor for the day, and mayhaps worse. Ye’d honor us and these good folk by takin’ that sword there and tossing it to the ground, as well as that pouch and any holy symbols you might have. Won’t stay dirty for long, but the dirt won’t bite and neither will we.” He gestures towards the miners who have shown up and nervously are eyeing the big man. ”Don’t doubt you could kill us all with that sword, but the day might end worse for you than it did that fella.” The kobold looks like he’s going to add something but snaps his mouth shut. Horn’s expression is grim, but honest. ”You’ll get a fairer shake here than most places, but we can’t have ye walk-in’ ‘round armed.” The ground trembles a bit and it’s clear that something is burrowing in the area as well.
Oriol is brought back to the present and hears the man speaking to him, though he isn't really happy about the idea of throwing his sword to the ground. "I vill not trrow my svorrd, and if you arre feeling lucky, you arre velcomed to trry to get it! I'm done vith my rrevenge, so perrhaps it is time forr me to meet my vife in death." As he says this, he assumes a fighting stance, a very reckless one, signaling he is not really concerned about his life.
His face then changes from anger to surprise. "WAIT! He doesn't mean that. He isn't ready to die and I'm not eager to meet his stubborn face yet!" Oriol sheathes his sword, but doesn't part from it. As soon as he does that, it appears he wants to draw it again, but there is some resistance between his will and his arms.
"Hallana, stay out of zis matterr. It is my life, I make ze calls..."
"I'll not discuss this with you again, Oriol, now shut up and let me speak! I've told you again and again that you should have informed those in charge of this town about Yarnick, but you'd not list..."
"Zey neverr help, Hallana, now..."
"SHUT IT ORIOL!" The internal wrestling appears to settle as the blade stays in its sheath and Oriol raises his hands in an unmistakable peaceful gesture towards the man speaking to him. "Right, let's see if we can smooth things around here. This thick-headed man here is Oriol and he is very sensible about his stuff... something about his hard life and the effort he made to earn everything he has. He is not a servant of the Gods, so he carries no holy symbols... he is more like a vessel to some of Them."
"Parting him from his sword would not make him less of a threat... to be honest it could be the opposite, since he will be angry..."
"Hallana, do not speak of me like I'm some trroll, orr otherr beast..."
Oriol sighs, annoyed about the interruption. "SO! How about we reach a middle ground until we can explain to you all that happened? Oriol keeps his sword, but if you have some manacles, feel free to use them. He will not resist!" The last part is said as a threat, but obviously not to the man they were talking to.
Hork grumbles, ”alright, yer clearly deranged. If he - or you- or what have you cannot disarm, or will not… we’ve called for the warden. We don’t have cause to manacle folk round here, so that won’t work. Warden will escort you out of the country. The rest of you! - “ He gestures at the other miners, ”clear out before he executes you, too. If’n he’s to kill any more folks, then it’ll be me and Drimb here only.” Drimb yelped, frightened, but didn’t flee, and eyed the big man warily, his hand on a flask.
The other miners looked skeptically at Hork, but cleared off into their homes and the inn as well. Heavy bolts clicked into place, including the door to the inn. it would not be a simple task for the strange man to break his way in, at least. The rain continues to fall, and Hork keeps his distance as the water washes away some of the blood and gore into a shallow gully on the side of the road which seemed to lead away from the tiny settlement. ”Or, you can leave yourself. Border isn’t far.” He points to the north, ”may be you find what yer lookin’ for now, in Brevoy - but yer not followin’ the basic law as we see it. I can’t make you do much lad, other than talk to ya - but I can’t say you are welcome here.”
He holds out his hands in a manner of supplication. ”Or - I suppose you can kill us too - but I expect the administrator won’t think kindly on that. She’s forgiving - to a point, but her patience isn’t endless.” The miner sits down wearily, ”decide what ya want to do, lad, but I’m obliged to try to stop you if you try to hurt someone else.”
"We have nothing against you two, or any other in this town, so rest assured that Oriol has no intention to draw his sword against you." He then moves towards the dead man and removes the ring from his finger. Slowly, he walks towards the man in charge and shows him the ring. The ring is made of iron and quite simple, even if distinctively twisted. Oriol then reaches for a pouch and from inside he retrieves a handful more of identical rings, before tossing this one inside the pouch.
"Zat man vas not local... He vas Iobarian, much like me, and back zerre, he vas memberr of defeated merrcenarry band. Ze last memberr. He and his companions killed my vife afterr she vasn't able to heal his dead leaderr." He eyed the miner. "Ze man vas dead! How could she heal him? Everryone liked Hallana. She vas good to people. She healed zem all, even vhen people had nothing to pay herr, and she vas everrysing to me."
"I von't kill you lot. I'm no butcherr, orr anysing like that... I even gave him svorrd so zat he could have fought forr his life. He chose to die as covarrd." He sighs, knowing Hallana was obviously right that he should have asked the warden, or even this administrator, for help and act according to the local law... most of the time this was futile, but by the way the miner is talking, this time it would probably be helpful.
"You arre rright. I can leave on my own, but I'd rratherr talk to zis varrden of yourrs, orr even ze administrrator if possible. Clearr zis zing firrst. I'm no fugitive and no covarrd."
"Oriol doesn't really think too much ahead of the next meal. He killed the last bastard, so he is a bit lost."
"I'm not lost! I'm just... open to ze destiny..."
Hork raises an eyebrow at the mention of Iobaria, grunting ”hmm” but nods along otherwise. Drimb seems to calm himself down and sits behind Hork as they wait. When Oriol and the other “spirit” finishes talking the dwarf cracks his knuckles. If the rain seems to bother the dwarf it isn’t apparent, but the Kobold looks a little miserable. Hork replies, sighing, but it’s a little hard to hear over the rain, ”well… this is … I don’t quite know what to say to all that. Sila mayhaps will.”
As if on cue, a large hooded figure steps over a rainswept ridge of the moor, a large wolf at their side. They are holding a bow in their hands and the wolf growls deeply - a sound even heard over the rain. With broad strides, the figure approaches, and glances down at the dead man. The wolf sniffs the air, growling still, and the figure raises their chin, and then throws back their hood. The half-orc woman is young, but nearly matches Oriol in height. With a flick of the finger, the wolf sits down, and the woman speaks for the first time, also in a low voice, ”good work Hork. You, your name - ?” she gesture at Oriol with her chin.
Hork interrupts, ”Oriol - he ah, well, killed that man. Gave him a sword but the man didn’t fight back. Brained him to death with that sword.” If Sila is impressed, it isn’t clear, but she frowns, her lips a thin line over her small tusks. Hork continues, ”has nary hurt a soul since then. We’ve been chatting. I’d just as soon get the lads and laddies in town back to work, if you can see it to … well, I let him leave if he wanted but he’s stayed here. Seems to be talking to someone in his mind.” Hork explains to Sila what Oriol means.
Sila keeps her hand on the bow as Hork and Drimb back away, to the mine. The dwarf inclines his head slightly, and then takes a breath, disappearing and bolting the stone door behind him.
Sila barely reacts, ”I’m afraid, Oriol, that Hork put you in a difficult situation. You must understand - this country doesn’t do this. My family - we moved here from across Avistan to break cycles like this. Maybe this man deserved to die, maybe you mean no others any harm. I don’t care. You now have a choice among three options. Come with me to the capitol, with this on your sword.” The woman retrieves a peace-bonding kit - something that will seem to blunt the edge of the sword and will prevent it from being as deadly. ”Bonded until my administrator or a judge can decide what to do. Or leave now, and never return, or lastly … well - I don’t want to say much.” She shakes her head sadly, ”you could kill me easily - I believe you when you say you don’t want to - in a fit of madness perhaps - I hope not - but my family knows you are here. They are watching, even now.” She gestures at the hills - at nothing in particular in the rain. It seems hard to know how something could see the three creature in the hamlet square - but Sila’s confidence is unsettling, ”you would not survive the day. This- this it isn’t something… it isn’t a threat, I’m sorry. I haven’t done this part of the job much before. Please, for everyone’s sake choose one of the other options. This is not Brevoy. This is not Daggermark. We don’t hurt people here unless we have to. We hate it. More than anything. I beg you to choose wisely.” Her voice is calm, but shaking a little. The wolf seems content at her side, and lays down on the ground, unconcerned.
Sila straightens up, and adds, as if trying to ‘sweeten the pot’, ”but nothing will harm you in Tri Firinnean. It is the greatest city within a hundred miles - as far as cities go.” She has a minor look of disgust on her face. ”We follow the freedoms, and our word is bond. If you are telling the truth - I believe So… I mean - the Administrator will know, and you will be free to go or come as you choose. Is that fair?” She reaches down and pets the damp wolf, ”Tulip here doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with you - so that’s a point in your favor. I can ask her what she thinks if you come along.”
"Horrk vas fine. I put myself in difficult situation, but it vas vorrth it. You arre ze varrden, uhn? Sila?" He then points to the peacebond in her hand. "I'll take firrst option... toss me ze sing... I just hope it can endurre ze blood of my blade, since it eats and is alvays hungrry." He then tries to make his weapon safe .
While he appears occupied in working with the sword, he begins talking again. "You are doing fine, girl, don't worry. You'll get used to the job... just show a bit more confidence, otherwise stupid people might mistake your caution as weakness." There is no mockery in his voice, just an advice that he believe Sila could use. "Do you want Oriol to drag the dead somewhere else?"
"Leave it to ze dogs!"
"It is not proper to leave the dead uncared for, even if the dead is an enemy, Oriol. How many times have I told you so? I wonder if you ignore me on purpose, or if you were indeed hit too many times in the head."
"Vhateverr, Hallana, I'm happy zis night. I feel veightless. Let's see zis administrrator, Sila."
She nods, "the land protects itself - when we are dead, it will still be here. So I am a warden more for the people than the country itself."
She smiles politely at the man as he continues, "follow me please, the man will get funeral rites once we leave - there are plenty of priests." She gestures for Oriol to begin walking down the road, taking up a position fifty feet behind the oracle as they marched at the man's pace.
In short order they met up with the gravel road heading west towards the capitol, and began to walk. In short enough order the storm passed, and the sun broke through the clouds, and quickly they gravel road that was saturated with water dried out, seemingly draining elsewhere.
They passed people traveling on the road with the river on their left, who stepped aside at some unknown order from Sila. Men, women, and children traveling from one hamlet to another, and the occasional druid conspicuously wearing a badge. All nodded at Sila, but seemed to regard Oriol warily.
Oriol saw hints that they were being followed. Humanoids and animals seemed to be keeping pace as they walked, somehow directed by Sila. It took until near sunset before the neatly organized stone and greenwood buildings appeared on the horizon, almost suddenly. The terrain was hilly, and though the buildings were tall, they location of the city was such that until one was close, it seemed almost invisible in the environment. Tri Firinnean lay upon the lake to the south, and like the a wheel, roads radiated outward in all other directions, tidy paths that were similarly well-kept. The figures that were keeping pace peeled off and disappeared, and Sila sniffed. "This is where I leave you."
She raised her chin, and another woman approached - one with golden hair in a tight bun and golden skin and eyes, clad in shining plate armor embossed with triangular whalebone enamel pattern in green and white. She wielded a fine-looking fauchard as she walked. Her features were nearly perfect, and she inclined her head at Sila, calling out, "I will see you at home," Sila's lips curled up at the corners, and she similarly inclined her head warmly, but said nothing to the other woman, only saying to Oriol "Andrea will take you to see the uh... lady of the city." She seemed entertained by a private joke of some type, but said nothing else and disappeared to the north.
The radiant woman approached Oriol, and then bowed formally, using clear but slightly accented Taldan "verily - sir Oriol, we are well met. I have heard that you killed a man to the northeast, and wish for the judgement of my administrator. Such judgement will commence as soon as may be accomodated. We have no extensive jails to speak of so I will leave you at the castle. Come." She moves ahead towards the center of the city where a sturdy-looking castle constructed of hundreds of living trees seems to dominate, gesturing for Oriol to follow. The woman passes through the open gate of the castle - there are no visible or obvious gates in this strange place, until they enter a side building in the courtyard, and reach a small holding cell - bound on six sides by bars made of cold iron - including through the floor.
Oddly, the cell seemed to be about as comfortable as a decent room at an inn, with a wash basin attached to the wall and a comfy bed and chair, with a small bookshelf laden with books in the corner, and the shining woman crisply gestured for Oriol to enter, "Administrator Medvyed will be along as soon as she has time. I apologize in advance for any delays. If such occurs, meals will be served regularly. Do you have any dietary restrictions I could pass along to the castle staff?" The woman remains extremely polite, but she seems to be insistent that Oriol wait within the "cell".
Sila doesn't appear to be particularly chatty, so Oriol keeps most to himself. He pays close attention to her, however, as well as the land itself and the people and animals that are following them. He doesn't intend to fight his way out of this new kingdom, but one could never know about the future.
As Oriol notices the silent, but warm greeting between the women, he feels a bit of sadness and when Sila is gone, he can't help himself but to comment. "Ze last sing I've said my vife vas that I loved herr and zis is vhat kept my hearrt frrom brreaking completely. Ve can neverr know about futurre."
As he is brought to the jail, it is clear that he isn't that happy to be locked up, but he doesn't resit. However, before the strange woman departs, he adds. "I have no intention to be locked herre forr long. I'll be patient forr now, but if hourrs turrn to days, said patince vill not hold."
Andrea agrees, ”I understand - but keep in mind that Sila gave you the chance to leave, and that you chose to come with her here to resolve this. On my honor your stay will be as short as can be helped, but we are all quite busy. We have little crime here - so if you would like, we can have an expedited tribunal called - or you can wait to speak with the Administrator. The first option would give you certainty for a time of resolution. The second may be faster - but perhaps not - she is often called away to deal with problems.” The woman’s voice is a little musical, but her demeanor remains crisp and formal - an odd combination.
Once Oriol replies she nods, ”I appreciate the sentiment, sir, she is aware.” She executes a practiced bow, but when she turns to leave, she quite conspicuously doesn’t bother locking the door to the “cell.”
"We will wait then." Oriol says. He notices the door isn't locked, though he remains where he is for now.
"Sir Oriol... never thought you'd be called that."
"Rright? Good forr a change."