"Or maybe there's a massive brawl between unhappy groups," he suggests, struggling to get oriented. "Who is the hooded man on the horse? That man seems ready to fight, or run."
”Well, most of these folks are pretty decent, they could be our allies if we worked on that. These are the ones I spoke to. That guy with the daggers is one of the bigwigs from Daggermark, in the assassin’s guild. He likely knew I was targeted or was involved. I expected someone from there would come - and his presence sends something of a message I think. Perhaps a wary apology? Otherwise why not watch from hiding? I think he wants a truce - perhaps we could try figuring out what could make that happen.”
She gestures at the quickling and pixie ”they’re an independent safe haven for the fey that we are sworn to protect - they deserve to at least know what’s going on. And I had no idea Chrysa would come either- we haven’t spoken in months. Are you getting this, Penny? Ezekiel?”
The woman has been scribbling curiously, some shorthand, ”er, yes miss. Zeke doesn’t catch the visuals so I need to build the narrative. Um. Am I supposed to leave out the scheming?”
Sophiel shakes her head, ”just tell the truth about what happens. We talked about this. Our armor against accusations of corruption is radical transparency. But I don’t feel as if I’m obligated to spill my guts about every little thing.”
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"Perrhaps an apology." Oriol nods to Sophiel. "Orr perrhaps he is decoy... and ze trrue assassin is hidden, counting on you loverring yourr guarrd. Show one blade, attack vith ze oder."
"Not everyone and everything is trying to kill people, Oriol. Stop messing with Sophiel." Halana intervenes.
Oriol laughs. "Trrue, but as grrandmoderr used to say, 'odin preduprezhden - polovina odnogo spasena'... vhich means somesing like 'one varrned is half one saved'."
"I think you mean 'a warning is half a saving'."
She claps him lightly on the shoulder, ”thanks for the vote of confidence Hallana. Remember, I already killed one of their assassins, alone. Little me. And anyway, I’ve got a big bodyguard with me now, and his lovely wife.” She grins, ”If we came to blows I expect Chrysa and Vincent could help us too - she may be angry with us but … “ She looks like she’s going to add something but hesitates. ”Discretion. Remember, our country is outlandishly rich and we can make it worth their while. She’s extremely practical.”
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.
The man on the dragon’s back’s eyes are obscured, but he obviously looks down at Vincent. ”you kill it first.”
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.
The nobles seem open to the idea, and perhaps creating a guild for clothing manufacturer to compete against other cartels in the region. The Swordlords of Mivon seem to eagerly be looking for allies strong enough to bring the fight against Brevoy - having defied the unification so long ago they openly seem to wish to get that part of their country back as a homeland. The gnomes are happy to speak with Chrysa, but they also seem to often steer the conversation back to having someone fix their town’s problems as a condition of any trade. The others are amenable, though each seems interested in getting help for their problems as a condition of further contact but the treant of sevenarches and those of Liverthane seem to have little interest in Chrysa. The Liverthanians are especially on-edge at the presence of the dragon.
Sophiel’s group eventually approaches the main camp, having after nodding to the others assembled.
"Yes, Sootscale must find Chrysa and talk. It's been too long." He doesn't break ranks yet to go off on his own, though, looking to Sophiel for her thoughts on the matter.
Sophie thinks and nods, seemingly understanding ”go on. But quickly, and remember there are eyes and ears unseen here as well. Enemies we do not even know of that seek our deaths, or worse. We talked about discretion, so I trust you to exercise it.”
The man on the dragon’s back’s eyes are obscured, but he obviously looks down at Vincent. ”you kill it first.”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.
"Was it a great battle?" Vincent asks, examining the dragon closely and with a slightly covetous eye. "Killing a dragon must be quite an adventure! Would you tell me about it?"
Chrysa doesn't promise anything but makes plenty of mental notes. Anything from their requests, to their favorite foods, fabric, who their guards were watching, so on. One never knows which piece of information will be useful.
"Hello, great king under the mountains." she greets Sootscale with more respect than nearly anyone there, coupled with more warmth than any. A long low bow, and a smile.
"Greetings, Queen of Shadowfell," says Sootscale in return. His speech is warm, but still far more formal than their usual interactions. He is clearly taking on the trappings of being a diplomatic leader. "Sootscale not king, though. Maybe governor? Viceroy? A little sad, the new title."
He quickly changes the subject. "So inconvenient to have baby stuck with you. Much easier with eggs, like kobolds or dragons. So, Chrysa ready to be mother?"
"It is simultaneously the most pleasing and terrifying prospect imaginable."
"It is a great fortune. Heir to Shadowfell so your queendom live long beyond Chrysa. Your people will feel more secure."
"So, how are Oleg and Svetlana?" Sootscale continues the small talk, clearly glad to just be chatting again after Chrysa's sudden separation from the group.
"Oleg is cantankerous as always, but Svetlana continues to amaze me in her... imagination. They are both well and will appreciate being asked about from you."
"Was it a great battle?" Vincent asks, examining the dragon closely and with a slightly covetous eye. "Killing a dragon must be quite an adventure! Would you tell me about it?"The man on the dragon’s back’s eyes are obscured, but he obviously looks down at Vincent. ”you kill it first.”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.
The man’s voice is cold, and indifferent ”no. It sought to apply its foolish ‘morality’ in a crusade against my lands. But in the end the dragon was weak. That was all that mattered. I drained its life force once it was restrelained to keep the body intact. It is useful in these barbaric places, that is all.” He flexes his hands on the reins and there is a slight discordant screech of metal-on-metal.
Almost as an afterthought, he adds ”tell your ‘aunt’ that I would speak with her at the end of this… event, little bloodling.”
"I will." Vincent says, betraying no reaction to the necromancer's naming his kind.
He wanders back through the camp to Chrysa and, once the 'family' has a little privacy, passes on Krovax's request for conversation after the 'event'.
Sophiel organizes her things and then makes her way towards the camp, hopping off of the wagon and crossing the bridge with Marcanth. Chrysa is already in the area, but her eyes glide over the noblewoman- a look of hurt in her eyes that is quickly replaced with that of indifference laced with contempt. She gives a polite wave at the other dignitaries and looks to be approaching them, with Penny and Marcanth following (the gathlain having descended to be nearly level with the ground).
the burly Baron Drelev ceases pacing and calls out, squaring his shoulders. ”Lady Medvyed, last to arrive. I suppose I could not have expected better from someone who invites the uninvited to peace talk.” The menace and rage is barely restrained. The rat-faced man clears his throat, and Drelev continues, ”no, you do not answer to them, you answer to me.”
Sophie blinks slowly, then inclines her head, and approaches the main camp, hands open ”you have me at a disadvantage sir. It seems that I have done you some wrong - and I know not what it could be. Surely I can make amends somehow? Or if the people of Gliocas are at fault - they are not so arrogant that they can’t admit their mistakes. As their representative, I ask: what can we do for you?”
Drelev rolls his eyes, ”more fake accommodating bullshit, woman. Fine. But I know a liar when I see it. I will make it plain. The slough is mine. Hooktongue is mine. And for that matter, that town - Tatzlford, and the entire western edge of the Narlmarches - you will cede them as neutral to be developed by Fort Drelev as we see fit.” He swiftly moves to the desk and grabs a copy of the charter, ”I signed this as well, and I am paying my dues, but your your expansion has prevented our barony from expanding into the rich forests - as you did with Shadowfall. Leaving both of our kingdoms to build in second-rate lands. But Drelev and Shadowfall and others - We have already agreed to form an alliance against your reckless ambition - and unless you wish an invasion by hundreds of our allies in the tiger clan - or worse, you will acquiesce and cease your aggressive expansion, agreeing to my terms.” The man at the desk taps a piece of paper and the many barbarians rest their hand on their weapons menacingly.
Some of the folks watching nearby do the same, but it doesn’t look to be escalating yet.
Sophiel is taken aback, as if she’s had the wind knocked out of her, ”Chrysa, this is entire time? You were never on my side? I…” She looks at a loss for words.
Marcanth touches her shoulder, ”this would violate the freedoms and the base laws, among various codes of ethics, miss. I advise against agreeing.” Sophiel blinks quickly as if processing the information, then seems to wait, thinking.
Sootscale is genuinely quite startled at the news of a supposed alliance between Drelev and Shadowfall. Though he immediately concludes that this must be a complex ruse between Chrysa and Sophiel.
He too leans in to conspire with Sophiel. "How can Drelev claim land where nobody lives? Sounds like nonsense."
Sophiel replies quietly, ”they can’t, legally. So either they have a way to get Brevoy to agree, this is a bluff or intimidation, … or they intended to kill us and make it all a moot point. Legality doesn’t matter much in the unclaimed wilds of the river kingdoms.” She takes a beat, ”or… some other trick. Be on guard.”
"Lady Medvyed, you know and have always known, that I am on the side of myself and my county." she says without emotion, but as her eyes turn toward the Drelev they grow angry "What my dear fellow lord seems to be leaving out of this 'alliance' of his, is what the rest of us get out of this? " her dark eyes then shift to the barbarians "Especially what does the strong Tiger clan get?"
Vincent has been fully briefed, but has no particular role to play in the plan so he stays quiet, taking up position in the shadow of the treant and evaluating all that is said and done with a sharp eye and keen mind.
The Tiger Lords are silent. Drelev clears his throat, ”spoils, trophies, a home. Justice. Much like Shadowfall gets. You wanted the Narlmarches, Baroness - in our alliance we will share in its rich spoils - as we deserve.” Sneering, he turns back to Sophiel, ”your idealism is a weakness, a fatal one. You dither and ask for consensus - betraying the intent of the freedoms. The rule of kings and nobles, like Lady Chrysa and myself. Those destined to rule. Your ancestors, though Stoneclimb is little more than a sty overflowing with pig shit, even they would curse your name, foolish, stupid, girl.” Spittle erupts from his mouth as he rages.
Sophiel clenches her fist, her violet eyes flashing with anger, her self-control momentarily abated, ”Sir,” she intakes breath sharply then let’s it out slowly, ”I would be harming my own people if I did this. They rely on whatever wisdom I may muster - they chose me for that reason. I cannot betray that choice. The answer is no, respectfully. You may, of course, expand as you see fit, and I will as well, per the charter, and we will respect your borders.” She inclines her head, ”I thank you for your invitation. It seems we have all learned something at this … meeting, at the least. Baroness.” She bows at Chrysa and then makes to leave.
Drelev throws down the paper he was holding, ”as to be expected. Fine. Return to your dungheap. Baroness, the gauntlet has been thrown now, in any event, we expect your forces to move from the north. They do not have enough of an army to resist both of us, and their ‘druids’ are at the capitol anyway.” He laughs at Sophiel, ”oh, you thought this was a request? This was a demand, and your refusal will now cost many of ‘your’ people their lives. Best of luck fighting a two-front war.”
Some of the onlookers shift uncomfortably as the ‘negotiation’ concludes and Drelev begins to pack up. The man on the dragon stares a moment and then kicks his feet, and the dragon takes flight and moves west.
Chrysa inclines her head to Soph as she leaves, as much respect as she can show at the moment. As the baron rails, rages, and spouts nonsense, she smiles and shakes her head. She whispers, so softly that only an undead boy with superb sense could hear "does he ever realize I've not agreed to do anything? The man is a blithering idiot, now as he has always been. How do you think he got the tiger lords on his side, that is the only thing interesting about this entire get-together." she looks toward the departing dragon and mentally adds, well there is that at least.
Sootscale snorts in anger, and most definitely drinks his Mutagen, his appearance becoming ever more like a little dragon. He looks to Sophiel and nods his head toward Drelev as one hand drifts toward his explosives--he clearly needed nothing more than a subtle nod to begin the bombing!
"And so, ve have varr." Oriol says to Sophiel as she turns to leave. "Told you zat varr follow me." He says this in a tired way, much like would a smith being requested to forge a huge amount of blades.
"How could this be your fault, Orion?" Halana asks, apparently tired of asking this same question over and over again.
"It is not my place to underrstant ze Council of Blood. I'm herre to enterrtain zem, until zey decide I'm no longerr useful." He replies and then adresses Sophiel once more. "I've neverr been on losing side of varr."
"Indeed..." Vincent replies softly, he looks over at the barbarians and his eyes flash for a moment before he looks away.
Sophiel gestures her hand, pushing down as she exhales, "no, I don't care. He say what he wants. Thank you Oriol, I appreciate your help. You have both been valuable..."
Marcanth flies down, "administrator, during this parlay. It seems that Drelev - he's mustered troops to attack. The new town in the Narlmarches seems the target. A woman came - rushing to speak to the mayor, but they didn't believe her. Only when our scouts saw evidence - many giants I believe, this man has made powerful friends - coming from the northwest." He blinks as if relaying a message, and shakes his head, "it was all I was able to pick up - the message was provided to me through two intermediaries - the magic is not reliable. What shall we do?"
Sophiel runs her hand through her hair, "f$@$" she mutters, "we need to get back to Gliocas, to get our defensive forces mustered and move to the west, I don't have time to go to Tatzlford now." She turns to Sootscale and Oriol, "can you three head to the town, in my absence? I believe we will be very busy. It cannot fall. These people joined us, sheltered under our protection. And, ah... this is an inconvenient time but..." From around her neck, she retrieves a chain with two rings, "Sootscale - we need our friends to help. You know who I talk about. Slip them these rings, and only then can you speak to them about what's needed. Only then. I apologize Oriol, Hallana, all will become clear."
She shouts over her shoulder, "an attack? Drelev? While we are 'negotiating?' You see?" She gestures at the other dignitaries, "this was all a ruse to distract us. He moves against a settlement now, while we are here" She shouts, obvious bitterness creeping into her voice.
Drelev snorts, "I don't know what you're talking about, strumpet. If your own people are rebelling against you, fighting back against your oppression, it is not my place to stop it. Perhaps you should keep them in a tighter grip. Please them more. With your body, if nothing else. I hear that's all it is good for." He laughs, but the tiger fang barbarians just stare, as if not understanding. The wizardly type just rolls his eyes and continues packing.
The dignitaries begin murmuring and talking amongst themselves.
Sophiel says to the assembled dignitaries, "this is something we can resolve ourselves, but if my messenge was accurate - you all may find yourselves a liability to him. I recommend all of you head to Tatzlford yourselves, now. It is the safest, closest settlement. My troops will come when they can, and my trusted advisors will see to the defense in the meantime." She exhales, "it is the safest place. Otherwise, if you wish to return home, stick together. You are witnesses to his treachery. He will not forgive this. I apologize to you all for bringing you into this mess - but I do not wish any of you to be harmed. I'm sorry, though, I must, must go."
She returns to her wagon and moves to depart with Marcanth and Penny.
Vincent follows the conversation for a few moments and then slips away. Shortly afterwards one of the barbarians grunts to his fellows and heads for the nearest trees, clearly intent on relieving himself. Once he's out of sight behind the trees however he stops still, like a breathing statue.
"Tell me what is going on." Vincent says softly from his position in the shadows. "Why are your clan following Drelev? What has he promised you? What is the plan?"
Sootscale takes the rings and nods. "Sootscale expected treachery from Drelev. Sootscale will go to Tatzlford and bring our friends." He beckons Oriol to follow and goes in search of Chrysa and Vincent.
Oriol spits as Drelev throws insult after insult at Sophiel. He wanted to draw his blade and chalenge the man to meet his fate sooner than later, but he'd not disrespect Sophiel's authority.
He could not resist to throw an insult back, however. "A tighterr grrip? Please people morre?" He makes a clear gesture with his hand, as if he was stroking something big. "Speaking frrom experrience, uhn? I see how you securred Tigerr Clan alliance, Mylorrd." He laughs.
Sootscale goes to seek out Chrysa once more, in Draconic. "Maybe we're at war now. But war is not good for either side. We should continue to talk, when the time is right. Send my regards to your nephew." He bows close to Chrysa, and as he does so, slips a pair of rings to Chrysa.
It's a rather clumsy attempt. He sure hopes nobody cares about this interaction.
Chrysa accepts the handoff of rings with a frown and a nod. Later as she is leaving, she is sure to tell Vincent, while in earshot of enough other ears, "I believe they might be gifts, a request he didn't want HER to see, to hold a spot in the Fall for him when her lands are gobbled up."
"Soph has been busy it seems." she says softly to Vincent when they are at a far enough distance from the others.
"And subtler than she used to be." Vincent replies. "The enchanting here is quite special. Beautifully constructed. I wouldn't use it to change your form though, that will have lasting consequences."
He does slip his ring on though - Aunty Sophie has done spectacular work.
"So, what now? I couldn't learn anything from the barbarians. I'm going to have to learn hallit? Kellid? Whatever language they speak. Do we go to aid Sophie or not?"
"Hallit. I can give you lessons someday. Or we can invest in a spell that allows you to speak any language." she pauses "Soph gave us these for a reason, so I assume she wants to talk, privately." she slips her own ring on and contemplates if the lady will be coming to them or they need to go to the lady, as others.
Sootscale pretends to depart, but in fact follows Chrysa quietly. Chrysa may or may not notice. Vincent almost certainly does.
After the two put on their rings, the kobold whispers quietly to them. "Time to regroup in Tatzlford," he says. "Ipmeek go there with new friend."
He waits for any desired response, then slips away once more to find Oriol. "Ready to defend Tatzlford? Find horses so we can move fast."
"Of courrse I'm rready!" Oriol answers as if the question was stupid, but he is in fact joking. "I hate rriding." He shares with Ipmeek. "I once got kicked so harrd in ass zat I think I brroke zat ass bone. Neverr ze same afterr." He points to his coccyx, having no idea of the bone's name. "I'm glad ze Gods decided I like women."
He looks at Sophiel's entourage and remembers they have not brought any horses. "Luckily ve have no horrses. Perrhaps Sophiel can send us closerr to Tatzlforrd vith herr magic... zat one zat makes us enterr trrees and is terribly unpleasant."
He motions Ikpeek to follow as he reaches Sophiel. "Hey, Sophiel, could you make tree shit us closerr to town?"
"What?" Halana asks, confused.
"Make trree shit us... it vas how I felt, as if I had come out of ass, comprressed and squeezed, but it was trree." He explains, as if it was obvious.
Sophiel looks up, and frowns ”eww.” She pauses ”and… anyway, that isn’t how trees shit, Oriol. Not really. They don’t make much waste at all - plants are much more efficient than we are at dealing with nutrients. But yes, come on - we have to find a tree. I can get you a few miles away - but the flora here isn’t exactly the same as that in Tatzleford so you’ll have to hoof it. Oh.” She pauses, ”you may have help in the town, I know some other people who help us from time to time. Don’t be alarmed - Sootscale can explain later.” She finishes packing up the wagon and looks around, spotting a large swamp cypress. She says to Marcanth, ”a few minutes, at most.” She touches the tree and a large crack appears, ”Come on.”
The trip is disorienting, as usual, and deposits the two about 8 miles south of the town, along the banks of a river. Sophiel follows and says, ”it’s just as good as teleport for people who know about the ecology of various places. And it doesn’t hurt the trees, thankfully. Thank you both, and try not to die.” She hugs the little kobold, and salutes Oriol with a crisply affected gesture, and then steps back into the tree, disappearing.
Chrysa sighed, she really needed to talk to Soph at one point about priorities, but Impeek can't be forced to deal with an army of giants on his own. "So I guess her plan is to have us Change our appearance so the lady of the fall and her dashing young nephew isn't seen defending her people."
Unless Vincent has a better idea, she leaves her horse to fend for itself. Horses can do that, and shift into a raven-haired young woman of ampleness and doe eyes. "Off to save those that can't seem to do it for themselves." and she starts to walk.
"Good, good. Thanks for tree teleport!" Little Sootscale returns Sophiel's hug, then begins to walk north, speaking with Oriol. "Know that Queen Chrysa is our ally, no matter what Drelev thinks. As for Queen Chrysa's "nephew," well, he's looked like little boy for maybe hundred years? Vampire. Seems to like us because we killed vampire father. Maybe. For now, powerful ally."
Unless Vincent has a better idea, she leaves her horse to fend for itself. Horses can do that, and shift into a raven-haired young woman of ampleness and doe eyes. "Off to save those that can't seem to do it for themselves." and she starts to walk.
"I really need to spend some more time with my spellbooks." Vincent says, sort-of-but-not-really to Chrysa. "There must be easier solutions than this..."
Rather than using Sophie's ring to change his shape the young man morphs into a large wolf and lopes along at Chrysa's side. In this shape he seems large enough to ride if Chrysa was so inclined...