It isn’t more than a few hours that Oriol waits, and in the meantime a sumptuous serving of some larger meal is brought to him - the grey metal plate seems to be heavily loaded with food of varying types.
By 7:00 or so, the sun seems to have set, but the castle and city seem to be quite well lit - seemingly via magic in parts, and Oriol can see out the window into the city as some folks begin to retire that all streets are well lit by some type of lamps that cast a cheery glow over most of the environment. Children take the opportunity to play in the street for a little while, their parents chatting together finished with their days work, exchanging drinks with each other and laughing. Oriol can spot bars and restaurants seemingly in the basements of various homes spring to life - though the noise never extends beyond a loud murmur.
Soon after, a woman and an androgynous being approach. The woman is a slight, pale half-elf with dark brown hair, braided into a number of ponytails, extremely delicate facial features, and violet irises. She is wearing short sprigs of lavender flowers braided into her hair and a simple circlet of silver on her head, and simply spun leather and flax clothes, without apparent arms or armor. Hanging from her belt are a few cleverly attached books, and she has a bandolier with a number of stamps and miscellaneous tools and writing implements across her chest. She seems to also be wearing a necklace of a sort, but what hangs down below the relatively high collar of her rough-spun shirt is not clear.
The androgynous being is propelled forward in flight by a pair of vine-covered wooden wings. They are even smaller, and have red hair and seems to have a naturally mischievous upturn to their eyebrows, hidden behind a prominent pair of spectacles resting on the bridge of a sharp nose. The being is holding to their chest a notebook or ledger of some sort, with a pen out. It looks like they’ve been traveling recently, seemingly with dusty boots. Despite the natural air of mischief of the being, this particular moves with clarity and certainty, the actual expression on his face quite serious and controlled.
The woman glances down at the lock and back up at the man in the ‘cell’. She folds her hands in front of her and inclines her head slightly, closing her eyes in the process, and then sitting up.
”So, you. Are. Oriol. I once new a man named Orri,” she looks sad when she remembers something for a moment, ”but you don’t look anything alike.”
She seems to be calculating something, and soon adds, slowly ”assume I know everything that transpired in that hamlet. You can also assume I know a little about the man you killed, and perhaps a little about you as well.” She pauses ”you asked for our judgement for this … crime and so here we are here now, instead of you moving on elsewhere. Why?” There is a certainty to her speech, and certainly a clarity.
After making sure the food wasn't poisoned, Oriol eats as much as he can, being one of his rules never to turn down food, specially when it is good and free.
As the pair arrive to speak to him, Oriol is curious about the strange being, but he postpone that line of question, understanding it is the moment for him to answer questions, not ask. "I know zis doesn't make much sense, but zat is ze point."
"Forr ze last couple yearrs, I vas guided by my rrevenge and I carred not forr anysing else. I've made lots of enemies, and zey vill hunt me." He explains. "Vhen you hunt somesing, if you only follow ze trrail, you'll alvays be behind, and vill only catch it if ze quarrry stops forr some reason. To be a good hunterr, you need to discoverr vhat yourr quarry vill do, so you can be one step ahead."
"I've completed my rrevenge, so I'm not ze hunterr anymorre... I'm ze hunted now and I do not vish to alvays be on the move." Knowing how this would look like, he is quick to make sure he isn't here to hide. "I'm not hiding herre... I'm just denying ze hunterrs ze chance of anticipating my next move. If I can't rreason my next move, my enemies vill not as vell."
Even Oriol seems a bit lost by his logic. "This doesn't make much sense, Oriol."
"Exactly ze point."
He sighs in frustration and amusement. "You'll never bore me, my love."
Sophiel’s brow furrows, ”so - you just want to stay here - in the city? And you wandered here from Iobaria with the spirit of your wife inside your mind? And she argues with you?” She pulls open the gate, ”well, Oriol, and your wife I suppose, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well… I have to say, I agree with her. It doesn’t make much sense. But your story checked out. The man was guilty of those crimes, as far as I can tell. And you managed to pass all my little tests, so I expect you aren’t as dangerous as you appear.”
She sighs ”unfortunatey, any death is examined somewhat carefully now. We recently had some … issues. So we have to have a judgement, and I can’t really be involved any more. This is a new development of sorts.” She tilts her head, ”if you’d like to live here - I think you have to prove to our tribunal and jury that you won’t be a danger to the other people. Is that right, Marcanth? What does the law say?”
Marcanth adds with a smooth voice and somewhat deep voice, ”indeed. We have law against killing people - unless they attack you first. This was your first act in Gliocas, as it were. It sets a bad precedent. Had you spoken to us before executing him, he likely would have faced a trial - with a similar outcome in the end. But everyone here places our trust in the system to be fair and impartial. You can expect as much in your own trial, should you choose to stay.” He looks over the top of his glasses, ”think of this, young man, like a final test that to prove to people who are quite frightened of you that if you have a quarrel that you will trust the system.” He gestures at those around him. ”It isn’t perfect - but this is not Iobaria. We are not warlords. This nation is ruled by the people. It would be by their collective will that they accept someone dangerous to them.”
Sophiel had been watching Marcanth speak, but then turns to Oriol, ”normally we don’t have this rigmarole but if you became a citizen, you certainly would have quite a bit of protection. We are odd compared to most other kingdoms in the area, but we have the resources to keep you safe that they lack, or would not wish to extend to you. We accept anyone who will accept that their fates are entwined with the fates of the others that live here.
She opens her hands ”So then Oriol, and Hallana, actually - if you both agree, you are free to go anywhere you like until the trial. If you do not wish to the trial, you are free to go or come as you like, though you would forfeit the opportunity for citizenship. Assuming you do not kill anyone else, justified or not, within our borders. If that happens again - “ she pauses as if searching for the right words, ”erm - I think it would be best if it didn’t happen again. After all, you know now that we can find the truth and punish criminals appropriately, and fairly. The tribunal will meet in a week’s time, unless I am mistaken.”
Marcanth nods, as if he is agreeing, and Sophiel continues ”until then, you may stay here or wherever you wish to stay, though if you decide one way or the other I would consider it courteous if you would let me know in advance.”
"Not surre if I vant to stay now zat both of you say my plan makes no sense..." He appears a bit lost. "Ve'll see, rright?"
"Ve do not know how she ended up herre." He gestures to his head. "But she does arrgues vith me... she did in life, vhy vould she not do in death? Neverrseless, I'm glad she is herre." He jokes, but appears to be honest that he does enjoy his wife's presence.
"I'm good vith prroving myself to yourr people. I'm varriorr and no murrderrerr. Neverr vas. Ve can do zis trrial, but I'll let you know zat I'm not burrdening you vith my trroubles unless I can also help you in some vay. I vould not be fairr." This part appears to be very important to Oriol.
"We'll be around miss. Do not worry. Iobarians are bounded by their words and vows. If Oriol says he'll stay, he will. Probably touring your taverns in the meantime."
"Not bad idea."
Sophiel looks contemplative for a while as she listens until Marcanth coughs, ”well, I expect your trial would be mostly a formality given what we know, but you may find your,” she gestures, ”and I am including you in that, miss, … your services may be valuable to some folks in the city and elsewhere. If you were to apply yourself, perhaps learn something new in your time here - it would be seen favorably to the tribunal. Or, judging by your size you may find work as a problem solver if not a mercenary. Not all of the beings that live in the wilds are kind, though our rights extend to them as well so long as they are peaceful. Nor are all the humanoids for that matter.” She opens her hands, ”keeping the peace between them in the long term would certainly help me. You might also aid us in planning or building watchtowers. There was recently a schism between our country and one nearby. Unfortunately, we need to protect ourselves from their potential aggression now. Or get yourself drunk. Though we have laws, we try not to inhibit people’s choices for their lives. These are the River Kingdoms still…”
"It looks like you have lot going on arround herre... I'll look forr somesing. Hallana can heal and she is verry good vith herrbs. I can deal vith some of zese prroblems..."
"And cause some more." He interrupts himself.
Oriol shrugs, not entirely disagreeing. "Ze blood Gods do vant varr, so in times of peace, zey sometimes make varr come to me. Orr zey just guide me to vherre zerre is varr... I'm still not surre." He tries to make light of this fact, not intending to worry the administrator.
"I'll also take a look at yourr toverrs and defenses if you vish so, but I zink zis should vait afterr zis trrial. Meanvhile... vherre can I find yourr best ale?" He asks, already eager to walk around the city.
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Sophiel smiles slightly, ”we have a brewery that makes a number of different erm, styles. It certainly is the highest quality, and they have a tavern connected to the building itself where people may try out their new inventions. It’s operated by a kobold - one of my friend’s apprentices - and so some of the alcohol is strong, some has a kick beyond what you may be used to, and she also distills spirits. I could you and Hallana in the evening one day, perhaps learn more about Iobaria.” She looks like she’s remembering something, ”I believe it is called the Hoard Of Plenty, but people often call it HOPs.” She raises her eyebrows, ”Theres plenty of swill around the city as well - we have more than 8,000 people living here after all, but that’s what comes to mind to me.”
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Oriol spent much of the next few weeks carousing and doing odd jobs around the capitol.
When the time for the tribunal came, a tiefling woman came to one of the inns where Oriol was staying to retrieve the oracle. Attractive, with dark hair, small horns, and a thin tail extending behind her, she introduced herself as Namara, Sophiel's consort and councilor. Her voice was velvety and relaxing, and seemed to put the oracle at ease as they travelled the short distance from the inn to the law school. Namara explained, there was no proper courthouse in the city, as crime was vanishingly low - but major questions of law or seeming 'capital' offenses had to be tried somewhere, and Trinity university had an one entire college entirely dedicated to legal matters. The judges in this case would be randomly selected from three citizens that had a minimum competency with the law. Namara squeezed Oriol's shoulder with a gloved hand as she sent him into the largest auditorium of the college - one specifically built to house trials, and then turned and disappeared back into the city.
As was the case for all trials, such an endeavor was open to the public, and would take place over six hours, with the judges retiring for closed-door deliberations taking three additional hours per day. There would be three days of testimony. The first was to be dedicated to documenting the events which occured, and the context behind the actions. The second day was to be dedicated to prosecutory arguments from a representative of the state that argued for some sterner punishment (or in this case for the accused to be denied citizenship). The third day, due to the presumption of 'innocence' written into the base laws, was dedicated to defense arguments. The barristers for prosecution and defense also seem to be drawn randomly from the population of Gliocas, though Oriol noted when he walked into the room that it was clear that all parties were very well prepared. What must have only been described as a spindly-looking, small troll with tremendously sharp teeth, wearing a police-officer's uniform, brought Oriol into the room from the entrance, and in a raspy voice called out, "Defendant #3 for 4712 AR present at Tribunal. The tribunal requires silence from all in the gallery, on penalty of removal from observation - or worse!" He cackled, and a murmur of chuckles echoed within the gallery.
The public gallery was set above the trial floor, and was full, with a handful of folks sitting on steps or on aisles nearby. The population, like much of Gliocas, was motley, and barely a plurality obviously 'human' - with both typical and more exotic beings that Oriol could not quickly identify easily watching curiously and quietly. Hork, Sila, Drimble, Andrea, and even Sophiel are all in the gallery, watching. Hork gives Oriol a thumbs up, grinning, and Sophiel waves and smiles at the man, though the others seem to be pleased to see Oriol here as well, none says anything.
When Oriol entered, he espied the tribunal already seated on the raised platform. The man on the left was a clean-shaven middle-aged man with graying hair and a short smoking jacket. He wore spectacles and his expression was neutral. The woman in the center was smaller-sized, with long braided hair festooned with ribbons and large, slanted eyes of deep violet wearing flowing clothing. At her side is a pair of delicate gardening shears, and she smile kindly at Oriol. The last tribunal member appears to be a reptilian person, a lizarfolk wearing a vest with a few pockets filled with various tools and writing instruments, their form hunched over a little as if they were slightly uncomfortable. Their black scales reflected the light that magically illuminated the room, and the lizardfolk seemed somewhat expressionless.
Oriol's defense barrister was a small black bear wearing a broad sunhat with a flower in it, sitting on a mat in the designated area. The prosecutor seemed to be none other than Marcanth, one of Sophiel's advisors. Marcanth approached, along with the bear, who introduced herself in a low-bearlike voice as Doctor Ardent, of the philosophy professors at the university. They instructed Oriol to seat himself at the table near Dr. Ardent. Marcanth moved over to the doctor and Oriol and shook both of their hands, as well as bowing to the judges. Oriol and Ardent did the same. Oriol noticed there were a handful of other beings on this level with them, including, seemingly, a living, empty winged helmet that rested quietly on a nearby table, with glowing dots of light eminating from the shadows inside the helm. There is also
The small young woman lifted up her shears and tapped the small wooden disc at her desk, and in a clear voice called out "and thus the Trial for Defendant #3, Oriol Argerich of Iobaria commences. Good day, Mr. Argerich," she looked down, and smiled beatifically at the oracle, "our understanding is that you plead not guilty to the crime you are accused of, murder in the first degree?" Oriol nodded, "is this correct, doctor?"
Ardent raised a clawed paw, and in smart-professional sounding voice, agreed, "yes, your honor. We intend to prove that the death which occurred was not only justified, but was required by the law of both Gliocas and Iobaria, such as it is. A debt was incurred many years ago, and the 'victim' in this case had sealed their fate long ago."
The small woman gestured with her shears at Marcanth, who rose up out of his seat, his wings flapping slowly, and in a quiet drawl, responded, "your honor, we intend to prove that not only should Oriol be imprisoned for three years for this murder, that at the end of the imprisonment he should be exiled from Gliocas for a period no less than three years, based clearly on the base laws. We would also content that Oriol has proven that he is not well-suited to be a citizen of our country," he inclined his head towards Oriol, "with all due respect to you sir." The sharpness of his voice increased as he spoke until he ended with almost an air of menace and finality.
Ardent sniped, crisply replying ”stop being theatrical, Marcanth. I wrote half the blasted laws, twice don’t lecture us about what is and isn’t appropriate. Not in my den.” Her voice dropped to a growl, but Marcanth seemed unimpressed and looked like he was about to respond when the male judge tapped his own gavel with a tat tat sound. With a tired voice, he interjected ”there will be a time for this, both of you. Enough. Ardent, your presentation of evidence.”
For the next two hours the bear meticulously laid out the events that led to Yarrnick’s death. Marcanth objected to certain points, and on occasion the tribunal of judges had to overrule him on the inclusion of various items in the evidentiary record. The lizardfolk judge seemed to listen carefully, but did not speak, only raising a claw to signal affirmation or putting it down to signal disagreement But Marcanth was relentless, and managed to find a handful of arguments where the actions noted by Ardent were too sympathetic towards Oriol, though the fey creature was always fair if not charitable. When this ended, Marcanth took his turn describing the events, skilled as he was with rhetoric, his description of Oriol was subtly ungenerous. Ardent picked up on many of these, and had the characterizations overruled, but not all. The last two hours were dedicated to talking about Iobaria’s history and legal system. This was substantially less contentious, and even Marcanth agreed that there was little in the way of legal authority to turn to in the stricken land, for any purpose. He did nail down a potential location for extradition, a fort in the southeast near the lake, but even he was obviously unenthusiastic about the idea.
After six hours of arguments, the guard noted that the time for deliberation was to commence, and Sophiel flew down from the gallery, touching the ground and manifesting a small trapdoor in the natural stone that extended into the room. With a raspy cackle, the guard raised his claws, ”out you all, or I’ll gobble you up and use your bones for toothpicks!” Some of the observers chuckled, but others seemed somewhat nervous, and the room empties quickly.
Marcanth approached Oriol, while Ardent, sighing, popped open a jar of honey and began to devour the contents - comb and all. The fey creature noted, seemingly genuinely apologetic ”this is nothing personal. For my part, I hope that you get to stay. But we are all obligated to make the best arguments we can so that the Tribunal may rule in a way that comports with the nature of the situation. If I did not try to expose the true nature of the crimes, events, etcetera,” he gestured with his hand, making circular motions ” - the credibility of our system would be lost. Please don’t hold it against us.”
I Ardent licked her paws, adding ”and if we win it will put to rest all questions from any citizen.” Marcanth nodded and moved to his desk to organize his paperwork, while Ardent yawned ”I would normally be sleeping this time of year - still not used to it. Come back tomorrow morning. I trust you will know where to this time” and waved a sticky paw dismissively. Sophiel approached from the trapdoor and raised her shoulders, ”sooooo…” she asked, oddly expectant for Oriol’s reaction, ”a bit different than you expected I’d wager. Don’t give up hope! Ardent and Marcanth are both clever but I think you have the truth on your side.” She patted Oriol on the back and escorted him back to his inn while Marcanth packed up his things and respectfully bowed to Ardent, the fey creature simply flying over the roof with his briefcase, towards the castle.
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The next morning Oriol managed to get himself to the lecture hall of the university, without assistance. He found the Ardent and the judges waiting, though the gallery was less full.
Marcanth came in a moment after he did, and he looked a little tired, wearily holding his satchel in front of him. The small judge nodded and said, ” the second day of the Trial of Oriol Argerich will now commence. This is the third meeting of the tribunal in 4712 AR. Please begin Marcanth.”
The little fey nodded and seemed to look for something, taking a few moments. So uncharacteristically disorganized was this behavior that the tension built - as if the gallery was waiting for something. Marcanth’s eyes found what he was looking for, and the small man got up.
In a resonant and melodic voice, the fey began, ” I had to work for much of the night to find this. Your honors, the prosecution submits into evidence the base laws, the constitution of Andoran, these two history books documenting conflict in this part of Avistan … and the treaty between the Outlaw Council and the Ruler of New Iobaria - dated 4328 AR.” A murmur went through the gallery.
He flew the documents over to the judges, ” as we all know - these lands were once part of a greater collective river kingdom ruled by the so-called Outlaw Council out of Daggermark. 4328 marked a minor apex of their organizational ability - and they ruled the lands on which we are now standing, to the eastern edge of the steppes and the border of Iobaria. Short-lived - for they were and are somewhat… disorganized.”
He retrieved a pair of small tomes and begins to read excerpts from them, making note of territorial claims, historical events, and what seemed to be a narrative of growing conflict between the council and New Iobaria. To finance their own luxury, it seems, the council would send out thieves and bandits - well supplied and armed, to nearby countries. The precursor to modern Brevoy eventually had the council over a barrel, and the council withdrew, and the attacks stopped. Other neighbors could do little to stop the depredation - given the wealth of the Council, it seemed difficult. But New Iobaria had not fallen to the drakeplague yet, that occured in 4519 AR - their king escalated the fighting to a full-blown war. Troops fought ambushes, cities were razed along the border.
Marcanth explains that the rogues of the council kept escalating the fighting until the losses on both sides began to be too great to bear. An armistice, or peace treaty, was signed - but so great was their disgust with each other that it was agreed that the border between the river kingdoms and Iobaria would remain closed in perpetuity. Trespassers from one country or other would-be returned - and any crimes committed in one country by a citizen of the other could be resolved by returning the citizen home - or by using the law of the home country to prosecute them.
He noted, ” for me, this was anecdotal until I found a copy of the treaty. This is the very one. Judges - you will note the language here.” He handed it to them, and they read it carefully. The young woman frowned and hands it to the lizardfolk, who read it expressionlessly, then handed it to the man.
Marcanth turns to the gallery, ” this treaty is unique - I have never seen anything like it. That extradition policy was to be tied not to the country, but to the land itself - the council and all successor states within both borders, demarcated by explicit land boundaries. He begins to read them, and then Marcanth retrieved a new map from a scroll case - and with an ink pen with a thick tip - he magically suspended the map in the air and drew the boundaries, based on the description. Ardent was watching carefully during this time, and objected, noting that many magical events had occurred in the intervening years and that the many historical descriptions are apocryphal. Marcanth conceded the point - but then brought out a series of old maps that show that the borders, as drawn, had in fact not changed. The fey then pointed out that the hamlet where Oriol killed the man would always lie within any configuration of borders, no matter what.
The lecture hall was silent. Marcanth's three hours of argumentation were finished. Ardent growled, "the defense concedes, with a minor objection, that a treaty was written hundreds of years ago - so what? Why do we have to follow it now?" Marcanth shook his head, "I'm getting to that, madam. But first, a break for water." He moved over to the desk and took a drink. Ardent whispered to Oriol, "this is not good, young man." Marcanth returned to the center and addresses the judges and the gallery again. "Unfortunately, the base laws - being written on the River Freedoms, were written in such a way to give precedence to all preceding laws, titles, grants, etc, where the base laws did not override them. This was important to ensure that the beings that have lived here for the last thousand years or more were not displaced. This was deliberate. What you didn't know when you wrote that, Ardent, was that there was this stupid treaty. And you certainly couldn't expect an Iobarian to mete out justice against another criminal within our borders." He points out the basis of their justice system is that of the Andoran criminal code, which explicitly tries to give deference to past precedent whenever there is an ambiguity with the law.
After four hours of arguments, he begins to concede that everything Oriol did was more-or-less justified, and would have been perfectly acceptable in almost any municipality, outside of the borders of the River Kingdoms. But here, because of various ambiguities, the minimum sentence would be three years in prison, regardless of all other circumstances. He also concedes that most of the other kingdoms would not even bother with this, being more chaotic and lawless than Gliocas. He goes into detail about what he knows Yarnnick did, conceding everything, and even notes that Oriol gave the man an opportunity to defend himself. "I understand what Oriol did. I empathize. But if he had simply gone to Hork, we would have apprehended that scumbag and given him a fair trial - like this. We would have probably followed the same law. We have an obligation to take emotion out of these proceedings. To find the TRUTH." Marcanth raised his voice, "that is the bedrock of our principles that we have built together. If we do not respect the clear, written, law, we are no better than the Bandit Council. We are no better than Daggermark. We would lose all credibility. Oriol Argerich must be, at the very least, exiled from Gliocas. Or, if we are being completely just - he should be imprisoned for a period no less than three years, should he choose that punishment. That is what our laws demand, and if we ignore precedent we get into a situation where we have no laws. What would we be then? Ask yourself, judges, if we wish to go down this path. We know what happened with Mariana when we were loose with enforcement. We tried to protect ourselves but we opened ourselves to a vicious attack that required months of concerted work to fix. People lost their jobs, some folks were angry and were injured in the fighting. We have an obligation to follow the strict reading of the law for the greater good. Vigilantism may be necessary for other countries, but not here." He inclines his head and returns to his desk, not looking Oriol in the eye.
The courtroom is quiet, and Ardent puts her snout into her paws and groans. The male judge taps his gavel, "well, Marcanth. As always, you have a penchant for the theatrical. We will deliberate now, the tribunal is in recess until tomorrow morning." He taps it again, and the young woman doesn't meet Oriol's eyes. The lizardfolk, on the other hand, is staring at the accused, considering him, though it's hard to tell what he's thinking.
Marcanth departs first, seemingly, quickly, and Sophiel descends again as the gallery empties. She makes a deliberation chamber again, and the judges climb down. She turns to Oriol and Ardent once they are gone, "Ardent, I hope you have something up your... erm... sleeve." Ardent snapped at the administrator, "NO. No. I don't, Soph. I don't. I'm going to try, but this... damn." She shakes her furry head, the flower in her hat wiggling comically - a surreal juxtaposition with the gravity of the situation. Sophiel squeezes Oriol's shoulder, "Oriol, Hallana, we will figure out what to do."
The oracle had been mostly silent, so Hallana hadn't really spoken to Ardent, or spoken up at all. Ardent blinked, "what? Who is Hallana?" Sophiel tilted her head, "Oriol's wife. After she was murdered, my understanding is that she joined her spirit to Oriol. Sometimes she speaks to us instead of him. She's a lovely woman." Ardent put a claw onto her chin, looking contemplative, and then excused herself, leaving the lecture hall and trundling off towards the library.
Sophiel shrugged, and turned back to Oriol, "well... I can also pardon you... but the last time I got involved, our country literally had a propaganda war about it. I really don't want to do that. I hope Ardent will come up with a good counterargument." Oriol nodded and returned back to his inn, alone.
**********************************
On the third and last day of the trial, Oriol was the first to arrive, dressed smartly - and as the others came back into the hall, the young female judge looked at him sympathetically. The other two were completely serious, but the lizardfolk seemed keenly interested in Oriol again.
Ardent came into the room last, this time, pushing a cart with a dozen books. Marcanth was sitting quietly at the prosecution's bench but did raise his eyebrows at the display. Ardent waved him off, "you aren't the only one with access to a library, Marcanth." She moved over to her desk and piled them, checking the spine and organizing them quite deliberately, then turned to the judges. "Judges of the tribunal," she began in a low voice, "the defense must concede what the prosecution stipulated. But - " and she raised a single claw, "that is not the whole story. Your honors, we request that these books be entered as descriptions of historical records and precedence for the case in question" Marcanth agrees, " such may be stipulated without question." The male judge notes, "agreed, but not all books are completely accurate histories, Ardent, so please be mindful that we have to examine them during deliberations."
She retrieved a book, and the book is a history of crime and punishment in Andoran. She begins to explain the development of the theory of innocence until proven guilty, one of the stipulations that are very explicit now in Gliocan criminal law. It talks about how the state began to organize and manage criminal punishment systems for the express purpose of protecting against unjust or hasty prosecution. To stop vigilantism. Ardent agrees that such a reading would have required Oriol to bring Yarrnick to prosecution.
She then goes into detail about the errors in testimony, summarizing that a number of books how varying perspectives may grant equally valid interpretations of events. She raises another book, which goes into detail methods that magic may cut to the truth of a situation, calling out the individual, useful spells for this purpose. She also goes into detail about the counter-acting spells which can block it, asking Marcanth if it seemed likely that the truth was being obscured but Marcanth concedes that none likely were used in this case. "So. We know the truth. We know this would be a gray area, morally, legally, and ethically. In almost every other circumstance, this man would have received nothing more than a fine. And we would punish him for something that he had no control over? That people long-dead wrote down, for reasons that had nothing to do with him?"
Marcanth got up, "what other choice do we have? The administrator can pardon him -" Ardent snapped, " she hasn't been elected yet, Marcanth! She has no mandate for that. Do you really want to set aside morality for just the law? This isn't his fault. He made a mistake - he can pay a price, but he has nowhere else to go. We welcome everyone here." Marcanth has no response, but shakes his head slightly.
Ardent then exhales, and picks up another two books, "even if you refused to concede all of that, we cannot punish him for this crime." She taps the first book, and explains that the tome was a history of spirituality, named On the Nature of Souls. It goes into detail about this, and she notes it's considered to be something of an authority on how the afterlife works. She points out that all good and evil religions all seem to agree with this, with minor derivations. She then picks up another tome, which is a history of famous oracles throughout history - those cursed, or blessed as it were, with different powers. She notes that from time to time, more than one being may inhabit the same body. She noted that, theologically, this didn't necessarily violate Pharasma's tenets either, as the conjoining of spirits or souls was not, strictly speaking, a haunting, or undead.
She pointed at Oriol - "there is substantial evidence that when Yarrnick and their crew murdered Hallana, instead of her soul departing for the afterlife - that it merely joined the love of her life. Isn't that right, Hallana?"
Oriol, who had otherwise not spoken more than two words during the trial, looked uncomfortable, but then their expression changed slightly, and a slightly more feminine voice spoke, "I don't know much about that, Doctor Ardent, but I know that I remain with my husband until he's ready to let me go."
There's a muffled gasp from the gallery. Marcanth stands, "what does this have to do with anything?" Ardent points at the previous books that she noted, "it has everything to do with the case. Even if you concede that Oriol must pay for his crimes - what possible justification do you have for making his wife, a victim pay for them as well? They inhabit the same body, for all intents and purposes! You would be punishing an innocent woman. The victim of this whole dark affair! Such an act would violate the core principles of this country. We agreed that it would be better to let murderers go than to ever. To EVER, punish the innocent unjustly. Innocence is presumed, and there must be a preponderance of the evidence that proves that the being committed the crime. Hallana was nearly able to stop the killing. She helped Oriol surrender to the authorities and convinced him to submit to our judgment. Her only crime was not being able to stop her husband from getting vengeance... for her own murder. That is not a crime!" She slaps the book she's carrying, "your honors. You can find a mechanism by which Oriol and Hallana may make restitution. But you cannot punish the body of Oriol with imprisonment or exile if she does not consent. Do you wish to be imprisoned, miss? Or exiled back to Iobaria?"
Hallana speaks again, "no, Doctor, your honors. Your country has been a salve on Oriol's troubled mind. We have helped more people here in the last month than we ever did in Iobaria. That place is a wasteland. It is dead and broken. In some ways, we are refugees fleeing the devastation of the land itself - a cycle of violence that plagues the population in a worse way than even the... plague that has killed so many." She inclines her head, "I do not wish to go back. Oriol and I wish to keep helping - as we can if it would please the court."
The judges watch carefully, Ardent looks back at them, "her rights are paramount. Marcanth - you agree that she inhabits his body, now?" The prosecutor blinks once, and nods, "by all accounts, that is accurate, Doctor." Ardent continues, "then we have no other choice - but the judgement, as always, rests with the tribunal. I rest our case."
The young woman with the shears looks troubled, and sighs, "well, this is particularly difficult, isn't it? Judges - let us confer once last time. Please, all, return in three hours for our ruling." With that, Sophiel made another deliberation chamber, but the guard did not order everyone out. Some of those in the gallery stretched and left to get food or drink, others chatted with each other in a low voice. Hork came down with Drimble, and extended a meaty, but relatively clean hand to Oriol. "Well, lad, er, and miss, ye showed excellent restraint after ye killed the man. When we gave our reports, they weren't exactly glowing but they were accurate and fair, and that was in your favor. Ye have done well here, by all accounts! Even Drimble wanted to show his thanks, right Drimble?"
The kobold shuffled forward and said, quietly, "... yes, Mister Hork. Thank you Sir Oriol for not killing us all. I hope you can live here and protect us ..." The kobold then scurried behind Hork. It was clear that Drimble was relatively young. Hork grinned under his beard, "no matter what, I hope you see, lad, we gave you a fair shake. Good people here. Trying to carve out some reason in a world that isn't reasonable."
Sophiel approached as well, and opened her hands, "though there haven't been problems along the way. Someone clever once made an adage about omlettes and eggs. In our case we literally obtained roc eggs for that purpose! I agree. I hope after all of this that you wish to stay, as well."
The judges emerged after the full three hours of deliberation, and everyone returned to their seats. The young woman exhaled, her expression neutral, and the other judges remained stoic. "In the matter before the court, by a vote of 2-1 this tribunal finds the defendant Oriol Argerich, guilty of the crime of manslaughter." There was a gasp, and a lot of talking from the gallery. The young woman's expression grew grave, "we are not finished. Order! We must have order." The lizardfolk scrached his claws on a piece of metal in his hand, a shocking sound which was extremely unpleasant.
He then spoke, a low, raspy and accented voice with sybillance "Miriam - it is time for me to sssspeak. Tribor, should anyone ssspeak again, remove them. Issss that clear, all of you?" The courtroom quieted down immediately, "assss sssshe said, he is guilty of manssslaughter. But the punisssshment may not be... meted out. Imprisoning Hallana or exiling her for hissss crime would violate the sssstandard of this country. It would bring ussss dissshonor. They are free to go. If they wissh to become citizensss, Hallana will be granted ssssuch without question, but Oriol mussst face jussstice of a sssort. He will be required to work for the executive - whether it be Ssssophiel Medvyed or sssome other person that is elected, in whatever capasssity they require, for a period of no lesss than three yearssss. There is ssstatute supporting this. Otherwissse, they are free to come or go assss they choose." He pauses "The judgement is final, but judgement may be appealed onssse we have ssset up the proper channelsss for thisss." He looks at the others, "next year? I do not know thissss. I return now to my home. Good honor to all, and glory to Gliocas. May the green mother protect us all." The young woman nods, and turns back to everyone, clapping her hands together, "that's it! An exciting and dramatic end." She then smiles at everyone, and hops down, her shears over her shoulder, though she does not dally within the court for long. The middle-aged man lingers a bit, and moves to Oriol, extending a hand, "erm, best of luck to you both," and he also departs. Marcanth approaches Ardent and Oriol last, smiling, "well played, Ardent. You countered my technicality with your own. But that was the fairest outcome, and the most moral one. I sometimes forget that is the most important goal. I am glad you won. Oriol, Hallana, I hope you are satisfied with the judgment, and that you consider making this your home. I believe you would fit quite well in our country's collection of oddballs and misfits." He collected his papers as Ardent put the books back on the cart. The bear yawned, and scratched herself, "alright, both of you, best of luck and all that. I'm off to bed." She trundled off, out of the room, as did the others in the courtroom.
Sophiel hesistantly asked ”well, you are back where you started- but you are free now at least. The burden of justice has been removed from everyone. All that’s left for you to do is decide if you wish to stay here. I believe you would both fit in well, but your fate is your own. Your choices now, are your own. Let me know what you decide.” She shakes his hand warmly, and moves to leave the lecture hall.
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After the whole thing, Oriol feels a myriad of emotions. First and foremost, he is tired and bored in levels he thought would not be possible. He is relieved as well, and both amused and surprised that his crazy mind was the reason for him to be released.
"Rremind me of neverr again brreaking any laws arround herre!" He points at both Ardent and Marcath, somewhat joking. "Zank you, I guess. In honesty, I do believe you two should be locked up, forr no sane being is supposed to like such borring vorrk!" Turning to Sophie, he continues. "Make it mandatorry forr people to attend zese trrials an no one, I guarrantee, vill brreak any laws everr!"
"Oriol, be polite, please. Everything went well enough for us... you should be grateful to all of them."
"And I am! Mostly because it finally ended!" He begins to walk, towards the outside. "My ass isn't used to be in chairr vith no good food and drrink... let me know vhich vorrk I'm supposed to do, but please, nosing that involves sitting and listening to smarrt people talking!"
Sophiel laughs in relief at Oriol’s appreciation, ”I think you got the wrong idea. We only have tribunals for very important reasons. You were simultaneously accused of manslaughter, and asking for sanctuary.” She smiles slightly, ”or did you think every offense was tried like this? Most things aren’t really illegal - we tried that and it drove people crazy! And all of this - “ she gestures at the hall, ”came about for a different reason. The country has evolved over these last two years. Maybe we will change them again! I know it doesn’t matter much to you, so I won’t go into detail...”
She sighs, ”the point is that the country is extremely diverse. It came to pass that my choice was between destroying my ‘enemies’ or working with them. This is the consequence of choosing the latter. We couldn’t figure out any other way. As for work, let me know if you’d like to stay. The work would be dangerous. More dangerous than anything you’ve ever experienced.” She drops pretense ”the fates of thousands. Possibly TENS of thousands of people rest on decisions that we will make in the work I need to do. There’s rewards too, but you may die in the process. I know it is boring but - think. carefully.” She shakes his hand and leaves the university.
"Good frriend of mine died because he swallowed brroken chicken bone... ve all die eventually, and I'd rratherr die doing somesing dangerrous, zen sitting in chairr in my own piss. Storries arre betterr at least." He explains. It is obviously he is joking a bit, but he is also serious.
"If it needs to be done, and you zink I can do it, I'll do it. Simple as zat."
"We'll stay. This place seems like a good one to raise a family... have children..." There is hope in his voice, dreamy hope.
"Not again, Hallana... ve trried. It did not vorrk."
"She was the wrong woman, that is all. You'll find another one and I already promised that I'd not interfere... too much."
Sophiel nods at the man, "well, I have survived trolls, vampires, liches, assassination attempts, mad fey, and all manner of personal indignities. I don't need a bodyguard, per se, but I expect what is coming will be worse than everything else that has come before. And I can't do it alone."
She leaves Oriol and Hallana to their thoughts.
*****************
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The month was a simple one - a gathering place for Tri Firinnean run the elections, and building up infrastructure in Bogha Fòirneart. The northern city is built mostly in the woods, suspended on platforms above the ground. The academic complex is sprawling, covering many, many stout trees, and the university was christened to study three major religious philosophies - those of Erastil, the Eldest, and of Pharasma. They intended to start the archeological excavation of the ruins as soon as possible, as well, before the temple is rebuilt.
Gliocas expanded somewhat, expanding to claim more landmarks within the stolen lands including the Shrike Cascades and Crooked Falls. Gliocas also built a substantial number of roads to provide to access these, and the sprawling road network was built to the very edge of the country, just next to what was once Varnhold.
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Oriol was freed, and given a job if he wanted it and the citizens of Gliocas seemed inspired that their justice system seemed to be working.
True enough to the promise and the plan - Varnhold swore fealty to Gliocas. All of the people that Sophiel saved from Vordakai, still living in the city itself, had already moved in - but it was a hard life. The threat of attack from random bandits was and possibly Brevoy - given the schism between the stolen lands and the northen country - was too great, and the people already trusted Sophiel because of what she did. She immediately connected the cities via road, and built out a connection to the last landmark in the area, along with a quarry, a farm, and new fisheries for the eel delicacy would serve as a tremendous export for the discerning folks in Mivon and elsewhere.
As for the settlements - a new Museum was built in Tri Firinnean, ready to claim interesting and valuable artifacts of history. She also directed another bardic college in the northern city, as well as a Barracks. The Barracks were to be a place of defense for Bogha so that the army could protect against possible attacks from Shadowfall. Now that the town hall was built, Gliocas began preparing for the first parlimentary elections which would determine the direction of the country.
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With he annexation of Varnhold complete, things fall into a bit of a routine…as nerve wracking as that may seem. And the nation is growing. A few months ago, a man by the name of Loy Rezbin arrived and swore fealty to Administrator Sophiel, and offered up his services in the efforts to construct a town within the woodlands to the west. He assures everyone that he has brought with him all the supplies necessary to handle the founding of the town without straining Gliocas’ resources at all.
A few months pass, and the village of Tatzylford has grown up to be a quite prosperous little town built upon the location of the Tatzylford den near the Skunk River. Loy Rezbin was elected mayor. And things have continued to be peaceful in town.
Then, a messenger arrives…
With the first round of parliamentary elections over, the only candidates running seem to be old hands in their communities. There’s remarkably little acrimony - as the districts representation system seems designed deliberately to encourage compromise and comity. In results that surprised few - Sophie is elected then as administrator by near unanimous consent - a voice vote in the parliament. Slightly embarrassed, but obviously extremely proud - the administrator promises that the next five years will be as prosperous as the last few have been.
She sets her sights on upgrading the roads in every city, providing waste disposal systems, running water, and other almost… luxurious facilities which will improve the quality of life of every citizen that chooses to live in the towns. She also promises to upgrade the road network extensively, and build fortifications in the wilds to support defensive armies and to guard against attack. She notes that if all goes well, in a few years she will try to have a fast-portal transportation system built - though the costs are quite extensive. She also promises transparency and accountability in all things.
She always watched over Sootscale and Vice versa. She had grown to trust Oriol and Hallana to some degree, and he was often nearby - though the strange Oracle was not always privy to her private conversations. She wakes up the sleeping kobold, holding a letter, and whispering loudly ”Sootscale! We have something to do. Look here - “ and she hands him a missive.
Sent to him via Pm on discord. :D
Chrysa lets her horse slowly walk toward the grounds near the Wyvernstone Bridge. She lets herself feel bad about A Horse instead of her favorite Mule. Impressions are what they are. Stupid Impressions.
Still, her jet-black warhorse is rather nice looking. Abyss is his name, and in his dark leather barding with red highlights, he matches her own armor perfectly.
Her whippoorwill has been hanging around the area all morning, to catch ambushes, while her mistress watched from afar. Looking like one is supremely confident nothing can go wrong is much different than actually THINKING nothing can go wrong.
A slow steady walk towards whatever new hell the stolen lands want to throw at her. Even if it is just a bloated noble wanting to 'talk'
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"No, no, not time to wake yet," says Sootscale groggily. He buries his head beneath a pillow, but Sophiel's insistent prodding forces him awake and he reads the missive. He then rubs his eyes and reads it again.
"Sounds like a tricky trap to me," says Sootscale in draconic. "Why don't we pick some neutral ground to meet, huh? Stupid humans. Who is Baron Drelev anyway to ask for this."
Sophie nods, and responds in the same language, ”a good question. I suspect he’s a pawn of our enemy - whether he knows it or not. They’re trying to set the terms of any negotiations, to exert control and power. In any event, it sounds like I should show up - because I can’t show weakness. I’d like you to come too, as you’re the representative of the second largest province - though I honestly probably need help with keeping everyone safe. To that end, I’ll ask Oriol - he’s proved useful.” She ticks off people using her fingers, ”I need to let the newspaper know so they can send a representative and have Marcanth come too - he is our lead diplomat.” She grins, ”maybe they sent a message to Chrysa and we can see her too. I miss her … even if we will likely end up … arguing at any meeting. And Vincent, too.” She raises her eyebrows knowingly. ”We need any excuse to work with them on more exploration or tomb-raiding. Right?” She pats Sootscale on the arm.
At some point she leaves Sootscale to his own devices and sends out the missive to the other countries of the river kingdoms - and then moves to gather supplies - harnessing Dictum and Mayhem to the trusty wagon. She leaves the other advisors in charge but invites Marcanth - as the primary foreign diplomat - to come along. As she explained to Sootscale, she asked one of the journalists at the Gliocas Gazette to come along to document what happens and report back to the people. They choose a young, energetic woman with ink stained fingers who hops onto her own horse and follows.
With some haste, she drives Sootscale, Oriol, and Marcanth to the meeting place, with the reporter following along behind, the trip west through the forest going somewhat quickly thanks to the roads.
"Hm, you want me to come as representative of kobolds? Sounds like bad idea. Much easier to keep low profile, no? Maybe I disguise self as halfling, hm? But I don't know. Maybe alternative is to have all kinds of weird creatures. Like Oriol!"
He comes along with the group, curious to see what comes of it.
Sophiel nods, "don't forget, everyone here is a weird creature in some way."
Just before they leave, Sophiel and Sootscale put the finishing touches onto a project they seem to have been working on for a long time. She lifts the vial up to her nose, and sniffs it. "Well, Sootscale, bottoms up, I suppose" and with a smooth draught drinks the entire thing.
She blinks a few times, then says, "well, I'm not dead at least. Okay, you could probably drink yours. I'm sending Marcanth out with these two, then."
The gathlain appears at her side, and clears his throat, then says, "you must make haste, mistress. You have dwelled here too long; this testing could have waited until after the conference- you need me there."
The administrator says, sharply, "we will have time, in the end, I made my decision. If you go quickly you might even beat us to the spot."
She nods at Sootscale, "drink it when you will - and ensure that the one for Baltor and Oriel do not get mixed up. The reagents I added are particular, remember? Just a few more things to get together." She moves and finishes packing.
Chrysa and Vincent, astride Abyss, notice an older male gentleman pulling a cart on the side of the road. The man has a hunched back, and long white, wispy beard. His cart is filled with bottles and jars of all types, and he shuffles to move out of the way as Chrysa's group approaches, seemingly grumbling. He's dressed in rags, of a sort, and seems dirty - an incongruous sight within Gliocas, though his presence alone is somewhat odd in the wild spaces between settlements.
Vincent had been hoping to ride Beaky, but his owlbear cub, while greatly improved in size thanks to regular feeding, has yet to attain his full size and until he does Vincent is holding off turning the animal. Until that happens he's having to use more convention means of training and those are having mixed results.
Beaky sees the diminutive vampire as a flockmate, which is good, but any attempts to train him into particular skills have so far failed and after Beaky nearly ate a trainer Vincent has called a temporary halt.
Thus he's perched behind Chrysa on her huge black horse when the old man is spotted and he dismounts with easy grace.
"Are you well Grandfather?" He asks politely, his usual facade of a pleasant young man firmly in place. "May we help you in some way? Or make purchases from you?"
Chrysa stops the absurdly huge horse, close enough to talk to the old man, but not close enough they can't get away if needed. People discount others from the dress, but she knows everyone can be a danger, or a source of information.
She'll give a 'resigned' smile to the cart puller like she is indulging the boy with her by stopping.
The old man says, ”don’t pay me mind. You folks are busy, busy busy. It looks like. Dressed up for a ball or some such? Strange part of the world for that, but I’m just a poor herbalist” He scratches an itch on the side of his body, ”eh? Though, if you bought one of my elixirs it might pad my pocket for a spell. I have three left.”
He gestures, and it wasn’t apparent before, but three of the vials in his small cart are full. One with a deep crimson liquid. One that appears to be a mixture of preserves and some sort of creamy substance. The last looks like a clear fluid, filled with suspended pieces of fangberry, flecks of silver leaf, and pieces of mushroom.
The old man grins with some missing teeth, ”eh heh heh, three, yes, but perhaps only one of these will suit you each. A lovely turn of fate, I think, to meet you in this narrow road.” His eyes glance down at the clear one, ”hmmmmmmm, though this may be for others, this elixir doesn’t look to be for you. Maybe later, yes? Eh heh!” he emits a sharp cackle and clutches his chest, coughing for a second. His long, pointed nose twitches slightly, ”you’d do me a kindness if you would buy these two at least, less to carry for a weary back. Only three silver a piece.”
Chrysa counts out the coins, handing them to Vincent, continuing the ruse of indulgent guardian. She also knows he can disappear into gas if this turns bad. "Any news from your travels? The road has been quiet for us today.
The old man hands her the vials gingerly and pockets the coins in a pouch at his hip ”mmm, just an old peddler you know, but one hears things on their travels. Trouble is brewing in the west, there’s always some upstart in the stolen lands seeking to tear things down, I hear!” He nods sagely, ”plotting and scheming is too much for these weary bones, much simpler to be an elixir merchant.” He looks into the trees, distantly, for a few moments, his eyes wide in an odd way, as he fiddles with a piece of string on his shirt, and then back to Chrysa, looking her in the eyes. ”But you look to be a smart young woman, you know who to trust.”
Vincent hands over the coins with every appearance of interest and excitement but his sharp mind is assessing the man closely. He knows a lot, or at least knows how to give the appearance of knowing a lot...
Just before they leave, Sophiel and Sootscale put the finishing touches onto a project they seem to have been working on for a long time. She lifts the vial up to her nose, and sniffs it. "Well, Sootscale, bottoms up, I suppose" and with a smooth draught drinks the entire thing.
She blinks a few times, then says, "well, I'm not dead at least. Okay, you could probably drink yours. I'm sending Marcanth out with these two, then."
The gathlain appears at her side, and clears his throat, then says, "you must make haste, mistress. You have dwelled here too long; this testing could have waited until after the conference- you need me there."
The administrator says, sharply, "we will have time, in the end, I made my decision. If you go quickly you might even beat us to the spot."
She nods at Sootscale, "drink it when you will - and ensure that the one for Baltor and Oriel do not get mixed up. The reagents I added are particular, remember? Just a few more things to get together." She moves and finishes packing.
Sootscale quaffs the concoction that he and Sophiel have devised. Years of self-experimentation and development of his mutagen meant that he understood his body most of all, so as it works through his system, Sootscale feels his body and mind grow in strength, toughness, clarity, and stature! The overall effect is to make Sootscale look a little more dragon-like.
"It works, it works!" cries a delighted Sootscale in Draconic. He only wish he could have somehow restored his lost eye in the mix, though being a cyclopean kobold was almost starting to feel normal now. "Yes, we must get this to the others, so we will be ready to meet with our dangerous new adversary."
"Perhaps we should accompany him for a while Auntie." Vincent says guilelessly to Chrysa. "We aren't in a rush and there's safety in numbers right?"
It's an odd request from Vincent, he isn't usually concerned about safety after-all, so something else must be going on.
Chrysa keeps her eyebrow in check, as it wants to raise up in question. Instead, she sighs heavily, like she is being put upon in great degrees. "Okay nephew, it won't hurt to go slower." she stays on the horse though.
The old man nods, ”thank you young man, thank you. A guard would be good until we get to the next settlement, though I would go faster if we could hook my cart up to the horse. Looks big enough.” He fishes around in a sack sitting at the bottom of the cart and retrieves a harness, holding it up. ”I like mules more, of course, but one makes due.”
Before he approaches, he pauses, ”though - before I trust you folks with my business, heh, I would know - do you support Gliocas? We are close to that… country, if you can call it one.” He blinks slowly, and then scratches his ear. ”Not a fan of them - their druids! Can’t sell potions when folks make ‘em free, and too stubborn to learn a new trade.” He narrows his gaze.
"Thanks Auntie, you're the best!" Vincent says with a smile, throwing his arms around Chrysa. "He says our enemies are watching us." He whispers in the hug. "He's more than an old man."
"So," He adds, turning brightly to the pedler once more. "Can you tell me about travelling? Have you had adventures? It must be very exciting! I don't get to travel much."
Their enemies may be listening and may well know who, or what, Vincent is. But he still isn't going to make things easy for them!
Chrysa accepts the hug, even ruffles the 'young' man's hair. Her eyes watch everything all the time anyway, so scanning the area is not out of the norm for her. Though if Vincent's eyes have seen nothing, they are truly well hidden. "When you are all grown, you can travel all you want." she says with a huff.
His eyes glitter, and he cackles ”I’ve travelled quite a ways - further than most folks. Many adventures - I suppose, though nothing like you’ll have, I expect.”
He coughs and bends over for a moment, and then coughs again. ”on second thought, maybe you folk should move on without me - I expect fine folk like you, big folk, have important business.”
Chrysa looks down at the old man, hacking up a lung. "Big folk?" her voice turns a bit icy, straightening and pulling in a slightly larger belly than normal. "Yes, I believe we might need to move on quicker than you can manage. I hope you find the home you are looking for."
He grins, and his wispy beard waggles slightly, then waves off the pair from Shadowfall, ”yes, powerful folk with means, of course. Ahh, maybe I’ll see you again, then.” He returns the harness to his cart and takes over pulling it from Vincent as the pair moves along.
**********
The approach to the Wyvernstone Bridge is different for the different groups. Sophiel, Sootscale, Oriol, Marcanth, Penny, and the two bison approach from the south. Chrysa and Vincent from the northeast, on a narrow road outside of Gliocas.
They arrive within the same day, with Sophie’s entourage not late exactly, but arriving later. The woman is dressed in a plain dress, and is driving the two bison as Marcanth flies above, watching the road with his bow drawn, and Penny rides in the wagon, reading, a cap upon her head.
The “neutral ground” appears to be on the western side of the slough, just across the bridge, with a small camp set up.
Nearby, but not within the camp, are a number of different people. South of the camp are gathered something of a crowd. Nobody is easily recognizable, and the group is seems to be subdivided by allegiance. Some of the groups have banners, some colors, others obviously common heritage, but some stand with no markers at all, their faces obscured.
Among these are elves, lizardfolk, many humans (some with the obvious bearing of nobles, some with obvious marital training and dueling swords at their side), a few gnomes and halflings, what looks like a small fey creature with iridescent wings standing near a a similarly-sized elfin creature that fidgits and has a haggard look about it, most prominently. There also is a hooded man festooned with daggers on a black courser, watching everyone that is assembled, the only one that has remained mounted. At the western edge of the throng is an enormous, animate oak tree with knobby knotted branched arms that seems to be positioned to provide shade in warm afternoon. The two obviously fey beings seem to be staying close to this being.
But most striking, and well-removed from the throng, on the other side of the camp to the north, is a well-armed man in a visored helm wearing spiked black full-plate and a greatsword astride what appears to be a large, animate, preserved silver dragon corpse. The corpse stares with dead eyes at the assembled creatures - with the man astride the dragon similarly stoic. No other creatures seem to be willing to approach that side of the camp.
The camp itself seems well-adorned, and a bookish rat-faced man sits at a portable writing desk while a strapping handsome man of clear Brevoy heritage paces nearby. A substantial number of well-armed, strong men with animal hide armor and heavy weapons stand nearby, watching all approaches cautiously.
That morning, Chrysa will cast endure elements and fastidiousness on herself. And yes she will drink the potion.
New to the region, Oriol knows none of the people around the meeting and as he notices that most of them are capable of handling themselves in combat, he taps his buckler, infusing it with power just in case a battle starts.
"Lots of people, uhn? Verre zey supposed to be herre?" He asks Sophiel as he walks besides her. Oriol traveled alongside Penny, giving room for Halana to speak with her as much as she pleased. Oriol was never a good rider and his heavy armor made it even trickier, so he was glad to flatten his ass on the wagon.
Sophiel responds quietly, ”that was the goal. That man - “ she points at the one in the camp, ”invited me, and it looks like my old friend Chrysa, only. But it was a matter of regional importance… so I took the liberty of telling some other countries in the River Kingdoms. I think I recognize most of heraldry or people themselves, but I’m not sure…”
Vincent meanwhile, in keeping with his youthful appearance (it's helpful that everyone expects young people to be stupid sometimes), heads straight for the man on the dragon and proceeds to examine the undead creature with a discerning eye. When he speaks however he's definitely putting on his act.
"Wow! A real dragon? How do you get it to sit so still?" He asks the rider guilelessly.
Being a kobold concerned about his own affairs and those of his people, Sootscale has no idea who all these assembled folks are--other than the fact that they're all threats!
"Does Sophiel have so many enemies?" says a concerned Sootscale, suddenly wondering if surrendering kobold independence was really the right choice for his people.
Among the southern group are representatives of Artume (some nobles), Mivon (the Swordlords), some unknown nobility, what look to be representatives of Tiressia (the fey, including your old enemy the quickling), the tree is a treant and may be representing Sevenarches, the lizardfolk must be from Orthult, one half-elven man, elves with dress marking them as nobles of Kyonin, the gnomes look to be from Uringen, and the halflings and remaining humans have the heraldry of Liverthane. She notices the half-elf speaking to the elves, and these people looking askance at the treant.
The man with the daggers is clearly Jendo Dugmin, third in command of the daggermark assassin’s guild. He’s obviously not bothering to hide his face.
The Brevoyian in the main camp is clearly Baron Hannis Drelev, a handsome and strapping man with a headstrong attitude who Chrysa recalls led a settlement just on the west side of the hooktongue, Fort Drelev. He is guarded seemingly by members of the Tiger Lord barbarian clans, and the “clerk” looks to be Imekus Stroon, a wizard of some skill and renown that is brother to Quintessa, the Baron’s wife.
Vincent knows the man to the north must be Krovax Draverian who seems to have claimed a sizable amount of land north of Pitax. It is said that he values necromancy highly, and uses the undead as laborers for the use of the living. The silver dragon he rides is obviously dead.
Sophiel laughs, ”no, no! Of course not. Though I think that dagger guy tried to kill me, the dragon guy is clearly evil, and I think the people in the camp lured us here to a trap - that is the man who summoned us, Baron Drelev. The folks to the south I invited on a whim - thinking maybe we could make friends if I let everyone know about this… diplomatic summit.” She winks at Sootscale. She turns back to Penny and the others and explains who the people assembled are, ”I would like to start trading with them, and perhaps create a military alliance against outside threats. Especially given how Brevoy has cut off contact with us, and Shadowfall seemingly looms at our borders menacingly. Plus this Drelev character I think wants to destroy the country too and rob us blind, though who he is working with I couldn’t say. Anyway, we are hear to speak to him in particular, so, let’s get at it.”
As they ride in slowly, Chrysa tells all she knows about each group to Vincent. The more each of them know about their enemies and allies, the more they can use this meeting to their own advantage.
As Vincent goes to chat with a dragon, Chrysa takes the more mundane visits, talking to the Artume nobles about opening trade between the Fall's fabrics and their leathers. Chatting with the Swordlords about recent troubles in Brevoy, about alchemy with the gnomes of Uringen, avoiding the entire Tiressia deligation, so on.
Sootscale chuckles at Sophiel's plan. "Ah, invite many folk here so harder for them to make ambush. Very clever, Administrator! But, did you really have to invite fey folk? Chrysa probably not happy." Sootscale wonders what kind of trouble she and Vincent are getting into.
Oriol agrees with Sootscale, though he adds. "Unless severral of zese people arre togetherr to brring herr down."