The Marquees gave Riveh a little curtsy in return, making her colorful ball gown puff out around her even further. Coupled with her rainbow hair, the gnome looked nothing so much like the world's most extravagant cupcake. And yet. The ifrit got the distinct impression that the tiny woman was not to be underestimated. There was wisdom in her large eyes, and he found himself wondering how old the senator was exactly. Figuring out the age of a gnome by sight was a notoriously treacherous gamble, what with the race's odd aging process. The only actual wrinkles he could see were laughter lines. That and some rather adorable dimples as the Marquees smiled up to him.
"Of course, my friend, of course," she replied. "It wouldn't do not thanking our future queen's savior, would it?"
Ah. It would seem Riveh had come across another making no secret of her loyalties.
"Well, I say that, but unless those bees came particularly well endowed - with stingers, say, as long as I am tall - then I very much doubt the good Princess was in any real danger. She's quite capable, you know. Adept with the sword. Partly why I admire her. Not that this diminishes your gesture! It was very good of you. If it's the thought that counts, then acting on those thoughts counts double. Besides, I rather enjoyed the show. Woosh! Ha ha ha ha!"
The Marquees was a strange mixture of dignity and levity, although her high-pitched laughter in remembering the ifrit's fire definitely leaned on the latter.
"I do love a good magical display," she says, looking up into the open-aired senate garden. Fireworks were still exploding above Oppara regularly. "But tell me of yourself, Sir Geminus. Where do heroes such as you hail from? Have you ever seen Verduran Forest? What magic do you practice?"
True to her gnomish self, Starborne was apparently grasping at some thread of discussion she could engage herself with. The little folk were so very flighty. But Riveh had actually seen Verduran, at a distance if nothing else - Meratt, the county that was his birthright bordered the ancient forest. Could he allow himself to admit this to the senator?
Riveh bows again, "As you say, we must all do our part for the realm. I am glad I not only succeeded but also entertained. You do my little act too much honor."
When the gnome mentions Verduran the young ifrit nods slowly and says, "I have seen it, although I have never walked under the boughs. It is said to be a great forest, a true wonder." Riveh pauses and then ventures, "I am not sure you caught my surname, among the confusion? I am Riveh Geminus." Then, deciding that perhaps a gnome Senator doesn't keep up with the neighbors, "My family once governed much of Meratt, which runs to the edge of your people's forest. Perhaps we had political, economic links in the past? If so, I am sorry to say I do not know of them, my father died before he could pass on such knowledge to me..."
"Meratt?" Senator Starborne's multifaceted eyebrows bobbed about in surprise as her already large eyes grew wider in surprise. The effect was undeniably amusing, but Riveh thought he could see that he had just caught her interest. This was usually a good sign with gnomes. "I know Meratt, but to my knowledge it's governed by... No, hold on now. Geminus does sound familiar..."
The long eyebrows set to dancing again as the Marquess frowned in thought.
"Oh yes! Yes, it's true, isn't it? House Geminus. Oh, I am sorry, my friend, but that was before my time, you see. I was just plain old Tanasha Starborne then. Hadn't been elected. I never met your father."
They had apparently hit upon one disadvantage with elected officials By their very nature, their memories were shorter than those born into office. The Geminus line had fallen from power before Marquess Starborne had even entered the world of politics.
"But I do recall your name now. How could I forget? The scandal, oh my... Even Wispil heard of the Geminus bastard. That was you then? The tiny babe that uprooted an entire noble house? Well, look at you now, all grown up and handsome, saving princesses in need of rescue, ha ha ha ha! The world's a funny old place. And a cruel one. So very cruel."
The gnome clearly found some measure of entertainment in Riveh's strange life story. Despite the somewhat harsh words, however, there was obvious sympathy in her eyes. That, and a great deal of curiosity.
"No, my friend, in Meratt I mainly correspond with Baroness Voinum. Are you familiar with her?" He was. Well aware of the circumstances within the target of his desires, the ifrit knew that Voinum was another minor noble of Meratt who now answered to the Lotheeds, much like Baron Okerra whom he had met earlier. "Oh, she's a grouch!" the Marquees laughed. "Such a character! I do enjoy my visits with her, infrequent as they are. She oversees the lumber industry in Meratt. Mind you, by all rights it's the Lotheeds I should be speaking with, but they never seem to be able to make the time. Always with their noses in their books. Or perhaps they think me beneath them. Who knows? They certainly wouldn't be the first! Ha ha ha ha ha!"
The conversation with the spirited gnome had led the two to a quieter corner of the garden. A well trimmed rose bush, featuring deep purple petals, flanked them to one side while a marble cherub, as big as Starborne herself, was at the other. The noblewoman probably couldn't even be seen from here. And as Riveh then found out, this had probably been her intent.
"So. Are you about to tell me that you would never do such a thing to little old me if you were lord of Meratt?"
The question was asked with a great deal more force than anything else said by the tiny woman up to this point. The smile was still in place, but it didn't reach the eyes.
Riveh inwardly stifles a grimace as the Senator labels him 'the Geminus bastard'. Yes, he knew that was strictly (and legally) sometimes viewed, but it was disheartening to hear that the old gossip still flitted around. How many people today, despite a smile or a nod, went back to talking about his families past after he walked away? Was there a black cloud following him all day, dogging his attempts to gain political allies? Is that why Martella considered him a joke?
Then, even as the suffocating clouds of self-doubt enveloped Riveh, they were banished when the gnome adds a short stinger.
The young ifrit actually stops in his tracks, surrounded on all sides by low rose bushes. Narrowing his eyes he looks down at the young looking gnome, whose whimsical features are somewhat cherubic themselves.
Business? Already? An offer given without any pressure at all from Riveh. What did that say of the Lotheeds? Perhaps not all was well in Meratt?
Breathing slowly Riveh replies, "I would like to think my family's history speaks for itself on matters of respect and management." A long pause, where Riveh glances around the fair garden before adding, "Are you suggesting you, and Wispil as well, might not be... opposed to a change in management and perhaps a renegotiation of trade ties?"
At Riveh's reply, the tiny woman's tight little smile grew tighter still. Why did it feel as if he had just confirmed some suspicion of the Marquee's? Why did it feel like he had just stepped into a bear trap?
"Did you do it?"
The question was posed with all the pointedness and sweetness of a sugar coated dagger.
"The bees - was it you?"
The ifrit's stomach sank as he realized what the gnome was asking.
"It would have been a simple enough scheme. Supply an accomplice with the agitating agent, have that accomplice use the waitress as an unwitting patsy to place the substance in the apiary, and then swoop in when the bees went on their rampage. Voila - the downtrodden young man without prospects turns into the hero of the hour. Even wins the Princesses's favor. Which all comes in very handy when he's plotting to take back what he believes to be his birthright, Meratt."
It felt as if the enormous eyes were staring into his soul.
Then again... Did she actually believe him to have done this? Or was this all a daring method of feeling him out?
Riveh is surprised by the gnome's tone and question, turning to look down at her. The Senator's eyes are hard and penetrating, having lost that whimsical, child-like air. In it's place was searching sarcasm.
Still, in this at least, no lies were needed.
Easily meeting the Marquess's' eyes the ifrit says, "I did not do it, and frankly have no idea who did. I knew nothing about bees before seeing that servant girl agitating them." A short pause and then a bit of a smile, "Although, as the philosophers state, it is hard to prove a negative. How can I prove I didn't know about the aborted attack?"
Then, going on, "As for the Princess, while I am happy to help Her Majesty, I don't think I exactly swept her off her feet. She did not seem overly impressed, which is probably wise. It was, after all, a minor 'rescue'.
The effect really was remarkable. From one second to the next, like a dark cloud passing over the sun, the gnome's countenance went from falsely foreboding to sunny and genuine. She looked up at him with her impish smile.
"Hm. Do you know, Sir Geminus - I believe you."
She then burst into laughter again, tilting her head back and giggling into the night sky.
"Aw phooey! And here I thought I was being awfully clever! I was really rather excited at the prospect of perhaps uncovering a little collusion. I felt like a proper capital conspirator for a minute there. Such a shame. Oh, gilded Oppara with her schemes and subterfuges! If this isn't a sure sign I've been away from Wispil too long, I don't know what is. Stavian's fire, the capital is getting to me."
An enormous sigh escaped the tiny woman.
"I'm sorry, my friend. I don't wish to be rude, but I trust I haven't offended you. You know how it is when ideas take hold of one. And as for Meratt's leadership... well, the good Lotheeds have influence and power. With such qualities come many alliances. That said, alliances are not necessarily friendships. Those require charm and cordiality, qualities the honorable Count Lotheed is conversely absent of. You may take that however you will."
While the Marquess apparently didn't think of herself as one with the Taldan nobility, the conspiratorial smirk she gave the ifrit seemed clear enough to him: no, Senator Starborne would not at all be opposed to a change in management in Meratt.
When Starborne says she believes him, Riveh gives a smile, "Must be my trusting features."
He listens to the rest gnome's words politely, cataloging them away. This Senator could be a potent ally and even if not....they would be part of his family's network, if he was able to resurrect the Geminus structure. Also, she was just fun to listen to. Much like Kalbio, she seemed a little out of place in the sterile world of intrigue. At the very least, this woman would laugh as she stabbed you in the back.
Riveh bows at her last remark, "I shall do my best to shower any potential allies with both charm and cordiality, present company included." A brief pause and then, "As well, as consideration of realities."
Then, with the air of small talk the ifrit adds, "How does Wispil stand on the matter of the succession? I noted your beliefs match mine, but does that extend to the district at large? I do not know much about your homeland I am afraid."
"Realities..." the Marquess repeated, sounding almost a little... melancholic? The impish smile never faded, nor the air of whimsy, but the expressive eyes took on a somewhat more serious light.
"Yes, my friend, you are both charming and cordial. Which is not just one, but two of the reasons we're having this conversation. Thrilling as the idea of Oppara's intrigues are, I'm not overly fond of them. Some call it 'The Great Game', even among the aristocracy, were you aware? One noble house toppling another's chess pieces, maneuvering their pawns to become queens... It's a fitting enough allegory for the internal politics of the aristocracy, I suppose. But so few seem to care about all the pieces sacrificed during play."
The look the gnome gave Riveh spoke volumes: the senator believed she was conversing with one such toppled chess piece.
"It's why I support her, you know - Princess Eutropia. She does care. And it's why I'm speaking with you. Because it's my hope that when it comes your turn at the chess table, you won't sacrifice your pieces all willy-nilly. I'm hoping you'll use that charm. Play your game as ruthlessly as the one that saw House Geminus fall from power, and you shouldn't expect much sympathy from me. On the other hand, should I in the coming months hear of a clever chess player in Meratt painting the pieces green, introducing all new ones mid-play, and snogging his opponents... well, that's my sort of game!"
So. 'He who fights monsters', eh? The multicolored marquess was cautioning the ifrit that any potential aid from her came with strings - she did not and would not support any callous conqueror, no matter how well justified in his cause. This was important information to know for would-be conqueror Riveh, and something he would do well to remember. Unfortunately, the young man was rather distracted.
Why was that flower moving? The rose bush immediately behind the gnome, the one with the deep purple petals, was... shifting, ever so slightly. Riveh initially did not understand what his eyes were seeing, but the flowers seemed to be rippling, like dark water under moonlight. What in the world...? He suddenly saw. It wasn't the purple petals moving; it was what was on them: flies. Fat, glistening flies were crawling all over every single rose on the bush. Hells below, the entire bush was alive with the things, crawling in and out among the leaves. There were so many that for a second the multitude of glistening carapaces made the entire shrub look like one giant fly's head, bigger than the Marquess. There had to be hundreds, thousands, far more than the bee swarm earlier. Wha...
The ifrit looked down to see a brownish-red root climbing over his fine shoe, looking nothing so much like an enormous, pulsating vein. Everywhere around him the well maintained short grass was morphing, turning longer, wilder, indecent somehow as the fine green lawn slowly made way for the coarse undergrowth only found on diseased land. And with a start he realized.
Oh no. Oh gods. It was him. It was beginning. It was the taint within him. It was corrupting the senate gardens.
"Sir Geminus? Are you alright, my friend?"
Riveh's blood chilled at the sight of the unwholesome, buzzing flies. When Starborne asked him if he was well, his reply was no lie.
"Um...no, actually. I feel faint, perhaps the bee stings..." He shakes his head, not having to feign the queasiness in his belly. "Excuse me....well met, Senator, and wise words..." He barely has time to mutter before fleeing, heading for the far porch. It was somewhat rude and he hope he did not burn his bridges with the gnome senator but remaining would have been worse.
Far worse.
He left the elegantly trimmed gardens as quick as he could, avoiding whatever remained of the knot of his admirers. Now we no time for social sparring, he had to get out of this garden before the Dark Tapestry set up shop here. The ifrit did chance a glance at Kalbio however, and gave him a small wave to follow if the young man wished. Riveh himself had no appetite for food at the moment, and merely saw the shaded portico as salvation. Like a child playing 'the floor is fire', Riveh let out a sigh of relief when his feet found the cool, hard tiles of the building.
A bizarre sensation ran through the ifrit as he made his swift exit, leaving a surprised senator behind. A strange tugging feeling, as if something at his core was tethered to the gardens, a hundred strings of twine tied to grass, bushes, marble, even the sky. It almost prevented him leaving, more so than the strange undergrowth beneath him; that wilted into a grey paste at his approach. But leave he did, feeling the strange tethers, the scourge within he now realized, snapping as he walked and making every step easier. It was this thing inside him, reaching out into the world to befoul it. Riveh could tell that he had left before it could take its hold, however. Its tendrils had not done any permanent damage. Looking about the senate gardens, they seemed as pristine and stately as could be. There were no shrubberies composed of a million flies nor crazed roots cracking marble. There were, unfortunately, a fair number of people staring at the young man's retreat, though.
There was nothing to be done about that. Kalbio of Breezy Creek for his part abandoned whatever aristocracy he was entertaining as quickly as he could manage at seeing the ifrit's wave.
"Riveh? You alright? You lookin' a little off kilter. Someone say sumthin'?"
The bumpkin-cum-lord seemingly didn't have a false bone in his body, and here too his concern shone through his broad face. Despite gaining quite a few fans thanks to the Princess's speech, Kalbio apparently had no wish to abandon the first person here to give him the time of day.
Riveh waves away Kalbio's worries about the gnome-ish Senator (if the weaver even saw the diminutive politician). "No, no, Senator Starborne was very polite. I just....forgot something. Something that troubled me."
That was an understatement but not really a lie. In the excitement of the moment, with the bees and the Princess he had forgotten his little connection with the unholy and eldritch Dark Tapestry. It would be unwise to forget again.
"You did not need to come with me, you know. If you preferred being the center of attention?" Riveh gives the weaver a bit of a smile, letting him know it was all right to be honest about it. A little fame could be a potent thing. "Your work is amazing, you should be congratulated. It is more impressive then frying some bees, that's for sure."
"Do you still want to get something to eat?"
His bright eyes sweep the food, looking for anyone of interest or note.
"Eh, it's just weavin', Riveh," the freckle-faced youth responded. "I mean, I like weavin' and all, and I'll always be grateful to ma and pa for givin' me a livin'... and now being here and all. But you can shine a rock til it's gleamin' and it still won't be a gem, you know? Putting yourself in harm's way like that... that's rare."
Smiling cheekily, he added after a few steps across the marble, "And that fire gout was pretty darn swell too."
Conversation flowed easily enough as the two made their way over to the supper tables, with the ifrit understanding that while Kalbio was not at all unsociable, he could be overwhelmed by attention; entertaining a multitude of aristocrats wasn't something the weaver could manage for long without feeling 'foolish'.
All discourse had to be halted, however, at the sheer decadence on display once they came upon the food. This was no formal dinner, as would be rather inappropriate at this late hour, but rather rows upon rows of tables laden with a smörgåsbord of cold and hot dishes, much of it light fare, some of it decidedly not - the intent was clearly for guests to eat as they pleased: easily managed finger foods for those wishing to stay on their feet and mingle, and arranged seating for those seeking something more substantial. Regardless of one's wishes, you were clearly in for the best; the variety and sheer artistry on display was staggering. Riveh frankly had trouble recognizing most of it at a glance.
And if he was having trouble...
"Uh... Wus that there?" Kalbio had to ask an attending waiter, pointing to a tray featuring... tentacles?
"This, Sir, is a truite saumonée au bleu with early harvest vegetables and sea broth, served with a rich hollandaise sauce on the side."
Kalbio's query as to whether there was any 'possum pie' anywhere elicited about the response one might have expected. The last Geminus meanwhile, was scanning the crowd to see if he could spot any noble gathering centered around his hated enemies, the Lotheeds. He had yet to see any of them so far (with the exception of his own patron, apparently), but supposedly they were due to serve the very special vintage Riveh had spoiled earlier here. Unfortunately, a table supporting something halfway between outrageous dish and art installation was wheeled in to general applause just then, stealing his view. It had to be said though, that the dozen roasted peacocks, all artfully arranged with skewers so as still to be alive, painted with colored chocolate to emulate their beautiful coating with kebab spits of exotic fruits standing in for their magnificent tail feathers, was pretty darn impressive.
This said, there was one person the ifrit recognized. But then one would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to recognize him.
Golden trumpets blared as anxious servants rolled out a massive red carpet down the middle of the senate building. The gathered masses' murmur quieted down almost immediately as they parted before this scarlet line being drawn. The rustle of a thousand gowns was heard as people knelt, the nation's finest bowing their heads in supplication. And a royal crier announced what was already obvious, "Grand Prince Stavian III, emperor of Taldor and all her colonies! All hail his royal majesty!"
This was him then. The supreme ruler of the most supreme nation on earth. He walked down the carpet flanked by his Ulfen Guard, all massive northern brutes with no affiliations to Taldor's bureaucracy, ensuring their loyalty. This was the first time Riveh had seen his highness in person. Sad then, that the sight of him was almost disappointing.
He appeared almost... shabby. Which was not to say that his clothes and jewelry were substandard - perish the thought! The man was clad in the best money could buy, to say nothing of his headpiece, Taldor's ancient Primogen Crown. This money could not buy; it was in the most literal sense possible priceless. But somehow all this ostentation only served to highlight the almost ratty appearance of the man wearing it. The emperor was a small man, made smaller still by a poor posture. The baggy skin of his face looked tired, like someone who had gone without sleep, and yet his eyes appeared very much alive - too much so, in fact. There was a manic light in them that Riveh could only recall having seen before in the drug addled and mentally unhinged. He walked hurriedly and awkwardly, never sparing a glance at anyone within the multitude bowing before him, and, unless the ifrit was much mistaken, muttering to himself throughout.
Riveh can't help but smile when Kablio talks about gems and rocks, "Things are what we make of them, my friend. Is a gem not merely another rock, just one we happen to fancy and value? Doesn't mere glass sparkle just as bright? I think your tapestries bring far more into the world then mere magic does, and clearly the crown agrees. They aren't exalting me, now are they?"
Riveh hides the edge of bitterness in his tone...mostly.
The amusement/horror over Kalbio's food request is quickly overshadowed when the sovereign himself steps into the area. Riveh, of course, joins the bowing and kneeling nobles, respecting the font from what all blessings (and political powers) flow. The Emperor of Taldor....what better summation of the history, the prestige, the sheer power of the state? Concentrated in one man, whose blood runs all the way back to the misty realm of antiquity. How awesome, how monumental, how....disappointingly average. The small, somewhat weedy man with a fevered expression was nothing like the cool, powerful colossus he was usually portrayed in imperial art. Riveh knew such things often exaggerated but had never guessed it was to this extent....
As he walked Riveh muttered to Kalio, "I assume you have met him before? When you were being selected for the Exalted ceremony?"
"Naw, never," the weaver whispered in return, the two muttering to each other like school boys at assembly. "I saw the castle an' all, but only ever met this, uh... I dunno, committee? Real formal types. They was the ones I talked to."
The hem of the Grand Prince's royal cloak, shuffling feet within, passed their vision too quickly enough, followed by a multitude of massive northerners. People continued to kneel for a good long while, although most dared to look up at this point. Only when two attendants worked their way up the red carpet, rolling the whole thing up, did the gala resume normal function, albeit with only one topic of discussion. The most casual listening in by Riveh confirmed that there was general wonder at the emperor's appearance. Why had he only arrived now, so late? Where was he off to in such a hurry? Why the... brusque behavior?
This uniformity of conversation made it all the easier for the ifrit to suss out one aberrant gathering, exactly the one had been searching for.
"What is this hideous swill?!"
At a round table stood a exclusively male group all holding wine glasses. Even at a glance one could see that these were very dignified men used to very dignified conversation. A familiar wine bottle stood on the table. Ah, good. While Riveh had missed the lead up, he was just in time to witness the fall-out of his sabotage, o joyous day.
"*PFFT!* A bearded gentleman spat out his mouthful in a great big spray, leaving red in his mustache. "4567 Shivroquem Piquant?" said another. "If that's a Shivroquem, then I'm a Qadiran war-strider! Lotheed, what the hell are you playing at?!"
In a minute the table was awash in angry accusations and spilled wine both. Most were furious, accusing the one Lotheed of trying to win favor with them by way of a fake wine.
"And you couldn't even do that right. The bottle is clearly false! If I fall ill because of your spoiled swash, I'm holding you responsible!"
"G-gentlemen, gentlemen, I, uh, I can't imagine what's happened... Some sort of misunderstanding..."
It was curious though; the young man fielding all of this ire, not much older than Riveh himself, was clean shaven, long haired, and obviously completely taken aback - and also unfamiliar to him. Riveh had a fairly good understanding of his nemesis household, as he should, but he didn't think he recognized this particular Lotheed.
But was Titus the only Lotheed representative at the gala?
The other figure, more measured but still clearly displeased, was Count Orlundo Zespire. Certainly not as prestigious as Duke Talbot, Orlundo was a senator and held the influential title of one of the country's canal administrators. The mighty system of canals crisscrossing the nation was the envy of other kingdoms, ensuring swift trade and travel throughout Taldor. As such they also required significant upkeep.
Riveh is too distracted at the Lotheed's discomfiture to place him, but really what value was a name? here was his foe, confused and under siege. granted it was the battle of words and opinion instead of sword and spear, but not less important for that. Whatever game Martella was playing with him, he at least got to embarrass this whelp.
With a grin, Riveh suddenly decided he should take the field himself. Nodding to Kalbio, inviting him if the young man wished, Riveh walked directly into the circle of very distinguished (and annoyed) nobles. If anyone looked familiar, from the bee incident, Riveh made sure to catch their eye and smile, playing on that tiny bit of fame.
"I think you are wrong there, good sir. I think it is a real bottle of Shivroquem. I should know, it was laid down in my father's home." A pause while everyone connected the dots and then Riveh pushed it, "Geminus, of course."
Riveh peers closely at the bottle, "Oh yes, it is quite real. It has probably just been improperly stored. Either from ignorance or lack of suitable facilities." Riveh sniffs in disdain, "Of course, what do you expect from those who inherit such finery instead of earning it?"
Out of the corner of his Riveh watches the young Lotheed, wondering what his reaction will be.
Although the young man intruding upon the group came across as just a little too eager, as if he had just been waiting in the wings, his words caused enough of a stir for people to focus on these over any social faux pas.
"Geminus?" said a stern-looking man with a studded gold circle somewhere between headband and crown adorning his bald scalp. "It is my understanding that Shivroquem is a Lotheed label. Who are you? Who is your father?"
"Ah," realized a middle-aged man with thoughtful blue eyes, seemingly more measured in temperament than his companions. "But it hasn't always been a Lotheed label. You recall, Duke Talbot," he said, looking to the bald one, "the Geminus affair, twenty odd years ago."
A murmur went through the party as the men, none of them young, seemed to remember Riveh's sordid family history. The moniker 'the Geminus bastard' was heard several times. At his side, Kalbio merely stood and nodded gravely, trying to look serious and clearly having no idea what was going on. But interestingly, he wasn't alone in this. The nominal host of the group, the one the others had referred to as Lotheed appeared rather lost himself. Lost and incensed.
"Now you listen here," the young man said, advancing upon the ifrit. "I don't know who you are and frankly do not care; if you think you can simply wander up and sling accusations at me, then it doesn't matter who you are! Question my honor and I will exercise my right to defend it!"
No one could fail to notice that the Lotheed had very purposefully put his hand to the hilt of his sword, a very ornamental affair if its scabbard was anything to judge by. Was he actually proposing a formal duel? A serious air took hold over the table. Duels were an antiquated but time-honored tradition in Taldor; few were the noble houses without some old story of a young son of theirs lost in single combat. Good then that the bald Talbot dispelled this grave atmosphere almost instantly.
"Oh shut up, you silly boy. Honor... pah! The Geminus bastard merely specified how you managed to spoil an excellent vintage. Or if we're perfectly honest, how your in-laws managed to. I'll say it as it is: you're here as an errand boy."
Oh. Now Riveh recognized the young man, currently bug-eyed in fury and humiliation, although it was understandable that he should have forgotten. The dark haired man was Titus Lotheed-Casava, recently married into the family. Hardly a 'proper' Lotheed at all. The ifrit thought he could recall that Titus had a reputation as a bit of a foppish fool, not at all like the academically inclined Lotheeds. Conversely, he was supposedly a master swordsman. Realizing his son's intellectual failings, the elder Casava had found him the greatest fencing instructors money could buy, ensuring that his son was at least good for something.
But was Titus the only Lotheed representative at the gala?
Riveh did his best to hide a smile when the grand old lord upbraided the Lotheed upstart. What better outcome could the ifrit have hoped for? His first day among the great and powerful and he was already twisting a knife int he guts of his great foe. Granted, Titus didn't seem like a grand mastermind but still, every little was a gain.
Riveh did eye the blade at the man's side for a moment, wondering if the upstart might dare to draw it. Riveh felt no fear of course. What did he have to worry about from some pampered noble son? Technique in a classroom was one thing but had this man ever struggled for anything? Ever worked a day in his life?
For a single moment Riveh pondered pushing Titus into a rash declaration but then decided that would be unwise. Better to have the grand notables here dismiss him as a easily irritated child.
Instead Riveh bowed to the two wine drinkers and says, "Riveh Geminus, at your humble services my lords. If you have any further questions about wine, consider me your humble servant. Good day gentleman. Come Kalbio, let us leave these men to ponder better wines and better times."
"Where do you think you're going?"
The disdainful words were immediately followed by a manicured hand on Riveh's shoulder. He had barely turned to leave the dignified group before their humiliated host apprehended the ifrit. It would seem that the stories were true: Titus Lotheed did not have enough sense to know when he was beaten.
"Really now, Sir Lotheed..." the mild-mannered gentleman from earlier piped in. Putting one's hand to another was clearly every bit as frowned upon as unwarranted duels.
"No no, Count Zespire, you are quite right," Titus shot back, holding his other hand up in a mollifying gesture to the dignitaries. "A duel is out of the question. It wouldn't be right for me to kill this knave over some soiled wine, you are all quite right. Easy though it would be..." This last was said with a superior smirk to the Geminus.
"But an insult remains an insult and I demand a chance at reprisal. Is this not a nobleman's right?" Some of the gentlemen made vague assenting murmurs and nods. "Exactly. So Sir Geminus, whoever you are, if you purport yourself to be such an expert on food and drink then I challenge you, not to a duel, but to a meal. We shall dine on purple worm aspic!"
A hum went through the gathering at this suggestion. It was clear that not all approved, but something in the proposal clearly had the gentlemen intrigued. This interest was perhaps what prompted poor Kalbio, still utterly in the dark as to what was going on, to ask:
"Whut's, uh... Sorry, but what's purple worm aspic?"
Titus's sneer at hearing the weaver's dialect could not have been more pronounced had Kalbio lifted dung up to his nose. "Hmph. If we are to judge a man by the company he keeps, then I think I know all I care to know about you, Sir Geminus..." Young Kalbio looked rather crestfallen at this comment. "The purple worm aspic is a jelly made from and containing the meat from the tail of the fearsome purple worm, titanic and very poisonous beasts who roam the deep underground. Brave knights of Taldor who would fell such monsters would give their comrades the opportunity to prove their own bravery by preparing this dish. If eaten correctly, it's harmless. If not... death by poison would follow. A test of instinct, noble education and vigor. But then I'm sure the good Sir Geminus already knew all of this." Another smirk followed.
Titus Lotheed-Casava's mean little eyes in his otherwise handsome face bored into Riveh, and the gazes of the gentlemen behind were no less piercing. All eyes were on him. What to do?
Riveh is caught completely off guard as Titus changes from rather predictable violence to....culinary challenges? Purple worm aspic? What was this man going on about? In a hurry, feeling many eyes upon him, the young ifrit racks his brain.
For a moment Riveh can't recall anything but then Titus sneers at Kalbio, inducing a weirdly calming anger to burn in the ifrit's mind. He recalled then a traveling salesman who had tried to sell his mother 'purple worm meat', which had obviously proven to be a scam. He had read up on the subject, a passing fancy one day.
Riveh glances around the crowd then shrugs, "Certainly, enough to know the difference between legend and truth. I accept your challenge, although I am surprised you decide to meet me on the culinary field after being so recently routed. Who is providing the meat itself? You'll have to forgive me if I don't trust your family chefs considering..." Riveh waves vaguely at the spoiled wine.
The young ifrit glances around at the assembled nobles and says lightly, "Would anyone like to volunteer as judge and arbiter? Someone of taste and good character unlike my supposed rival? Someone who knows spoiled wine when they see it."
Riveh takes a moment to give Kalbio a little grin.
An approving murmur goes through the group as Riveh accept's Titus's challenge. As for the Lotheed himself, the ifrit detects barely feigned disappointment behind the high-minded mask - most likely the man had hoped to regain his standing by scaring Riveh off with the potentially lethal dish (which the ifrit knew wasn't actually all that).
"Heh! I had rather been looking forward to that wine," said the bald nobleman. Was his name Duke Talbot? "but this display will be a nice consolation price. Honestly. Boys and their pride..."
"Were we really any different at that age, Duke?" commented the mild-spoken one. "They still feel the need to prove themselves. This is a good thing. As for the circumstances for this little competition, Sir Geminus, I'm sure the kitchens can provide. And on the topic of arbiter, might I suggest...
"I will do the honors, of course!" said Duke Talbot. "Am I not the most senior of our gathering?"
"... I was going to suggest the young man, actually." The blue-eyed gentleman turned to Kalbio, smiling, to the evident surprise of everyone else present. "Kalbio of Breezy Creek, was it? He is His Majesty's chosen this year. It only seems right."
The next few minutes were predictably occupied by nothing but handshakes and congratulations as the older gentlemen wanted to meet and perhaps ingratiate themselves with the Grand Prince's favorite. Titus Lotheed-Casava, however, was once again humiliated, dismissive as he had been of the weaver, and stood by stiff and sour-faced. For his part, Riveh thought he could see Kalbio take some coy pleasure in this fact, grinning back at the Geminus.
"Naw, that's alright," he finally said on the subject of judging. "Wudn't be right for me to take, er, Duke Talbot's place, me being the sapling to his oak. I'm not even a proper blue-blood yet!"
It was then decided that Duke Talbot would judge the proceedings. In swift order a very alarmed waiter was dispatched to the kitchens with a very specific order, and everyone was seated at the table. It would take a bit of time for the food to be prepared, but the competition had everyone in high spirits, with some of the grand gendarmes even taking bets on the thing. During this, Riveh managed to pinpoint the identities of the gentlemen, two of them being of particular interest to his own cause.
One was the Duke Georgi Talbot II, a staggeringly rich fixture of Taldor's aristocracy. Supposedly Georgi maintained a vast trade empire, exchanging all manner of mundane and magical goods throughout Taldor and the Inner Sea region. He used his position to push for greater trade reforms, allowing him to make further inroads with former Taldan territories, such as Andoran, Cheliax, and Galt.
The other figure, more measured than the boisterous duke, was Count Orlundo Zespire. Certainly not as prestigious as Duke Talbot, Orlundo was a senator and held the influential title as one of the country's few canal administrators. The mighty system of canals crisscrossing the nation was the envy of other kingdoms, ensuring swift trade and travel throughout Taldor. As such they also required significant upkeep.
Word of the little honor contest apparently slipped out to the immediate gala because when waiters finally arrived with the fated dish, the table had quite the audience of other guests standing by to spectate. Riveh and Titus were seated directly opposite each other, the Lotheed having glowered at him throughout, and before both was placed a small plate on which rested the famed purple worm aspic. People cheered as the dish was revealed, but to the ifrit it was frankly not the most appetizing sight. A purple jelly, as befitting its namesake, in which there floated some choice cuts of meat. Thankfully, it was not a large affair.
"Alright, gentlemen!" Duke Talbot sang over the crowd. "You are here to defend what little honor you have. Brave knights of Taldor have felled and eaten the mighty purple worms for as long as there has been a Taldor! You now hope to ape them! This is a test of etiquette and fortitude, and I wish neither of you luck because you shouldn't need it. Begin!"
Riveh raises an eyebrow in surprise when Count Orlundo Zespire suggest Kalbio as the judge. Why had the mild-mannered man suggested the weaver? It certainly hadn't been due to Kalbio's innate bearing and sophistication. Had it merely been a gesture to ingratiate himself with the next Exalted? Or had the Count noted Kalbio's obvious connection to Riveh and hoped to maneuver the dispute into the ifrit's favor. And if so...why?
Still, it had not happened and Duke Talbot was judge instead which was as much as Riveh could have hoped. Clearly the rich nobleman had no love for Titus and that was all Riveh wished. Still, when the older man chides them about a lack of honor Riveh decides to say something. The Lotheed man might be a whipped dog, used to such language but Riveh was not.
"Pardon, Lord Talbot, but are not the heros of tomorrow the striplings of today? A wise man withholds judgement of an investment until you see the returns." He says this politely, fully acknowledging Duke Talbot is many levels above him in the social and political worlds, but also making clear he will not be walked over quite that easily. Weather is is wise remains to be seen.
In a moment however he is seated at a bizarre combination of duel and dinner, confronted with a rather unwholesome looking mass of meat and jelly. Quickly, he looks over the specialized forks.
Happily for him, the book he read all those years ago had mentioned the proper technique. Riveh sent a prayer up to the surely long dead author's obsession with table manners. Who would have thought knowing to hold the fork at the proper angle would be so valuable?
Unfortunately the same author had never bothered to diagram what meat, exactly, should be eaten and what should be avoided. To the untrained eye it all looked the same.
"Nonsense," Talbot offhandedly dismissed the ifrit's economical metaphor, despite it being tailored for the wealthy tycoon. "A wise man knows the return of an investment before any money is exchanged."
While being chided was perhaps disappointing for Riveh, the duke did not seem at all annoyed with him. Talbot appeared to expect little but folly from young men by the mere fact that they were young; this was certainly patronizing, but on the other hand it also ensured that he didn't take any potential insult to heart. The nobleman could be a difficult target to approach for the ifrit unless he proven himself somehow.
But then, that was exactly what he was doing with this little dining challenge. Focusing on the task at hand, Riveh looked over the specialized cutlery provided. Yes, his noble upbringing did not fail him. Grabbing a long handled fork specially built for purpose, he confidently attacked the purple jelly. Of course, he couldn't help but look up to see how his opponent was doing, and was very pleased at the sight of an increasingly red-faced Titus.
The Lotheed had apparently overestimated his own knowledge of dining etiquette. Wielding the entirely wrong equipment for the job, he was slowly realizing his mistake and sawed at the aspic with fury. Riveh sat back to eat with satisfaction as various spectators commented and smiled on Titus's blunder.
Despite the competitive nature of the meal, the whole experience turned out fairly relaxed. There was little in the way of cheering from the spectators, something that wouldn't be befitting Taldor's finest, most choosing instead to offer polite encouragement amid conversation. The one exception was rural Kalbio who watched the proceedings with as much fervor as a horse race.
"Ooh, ooh, that one, Riveh! Watch for that one!" he helpfully called out on errant pieces of meat. "That one'd right there don't look right! A buzzard wudn't touch that! Watch out!"
Even with the weaver at the table, however, the Geminus was perfectly able to listen in on discussions and caught one interesting tidbit. As might be expected, the Grind Prince's sudden entrance was still on everyone's minds, with people pontificating on his tardiness. Supposedly others in the gala saw him head directly for the upstairs floors of the senate, otherwise closed for the occasion. What's more, gossip said that he was shortly followed by High Strategos Maxillar Pythareus, supreme commander of Taldor's military. Apparently the two had something to discuss.
Eventually, however, Riveh managed to finish his dish. Purple worm aspic had turned out a great deal more palatable than appearances suggested - very savory with a faintly acidic aftertaste - and he laid down his cutlery on a very neat plate with only a few choice scraps remaining. Approving murmur surrounded his side of the table. The spectators' interest had risen in anticipation of the contest's conclusion. But while the ifrit was confident he had followed proper etiquette to the letter in appearance, his stomach told him that not everything was right; something was actually very wrong down there.
But if Riveh's internals were in disarray, this was nothing compared to Titus's display in full view. The Lotheed had started the challenge poorly and never recovered, leaving his plate (and surrounding table) a mess of purple jelly and juices. Obviously massively frustrated, he tried to hide some lilac stains on his fine clothes as Duke Talbot inspected him.
"Well," the bald nobleman started, easily catching everyone's attention. "It seems these fine young men's challenge is at an end, and that I must deliver some verdict thereon."
Silently his scrutinizing eyes fell on the ifrit, first on his immaculate place and then himself. At this very moment, with the Duke watching, a nauseous Riveh felt something rise from his stomach. There was no doubt; he really had eaten some toxic part of the meal. Just when he thought he was about to hurl, he summoned all his willpower and gave Talbot a straight-faced smile. A moment of tension followed.
After which the Duke nodded in approval and turned to the Lotheed. Here it became obvious that the contest was won. While Titus frankly did not seem as affected by the toxic meat as Riveh, it was perfectly obvious that he was affected, unlike the Geminus. The young man gave a little burp while his angry eyes swam.
"What is there to say?" Talbot called out in verdict. "Sir Lotheed challenged Sir Geminus over a perceived slight to his honor. Lotheed chose the contest, Lotheed chose the venue, and Geminus accepted. Sir Geminus could have refused him at any point. He graciously did not. And now he has soundly trounced his challenger. Sir Geminus is the clear winner!"
Cheers and congratulations ring out for Riveh as Titus immediately rises from the table, humiliated and clearly furious.
"This isn't over, Geminus!" he says as he departs the gathering, hurrying away on shaky legs, perhaps looking for a toilet. Riveh could frankly do with one himself.
Despite his insides feeling like a den of writhing snakes, Riveh forces an easy smile on his face as listens to Duke Talbot's judgement. Far more potent then any tonic is Loetheed's lean, humiliated face turn bright red. Who needed healing when one had victory over your foes?
When the man gives a remark better suited to melodramatic novels Riveh can't help but laugh (although this is does tempt his insides to emerge rather forcefully).
"Really, Lotheed? That's the best you can come up with, a tired line better suited to a children's storybook?" The young ifrit then smirks, "Very well, till my next victory then." And turns, dismissing the retreating man. It would have been nice to tail him, and follow him back to his masters and perhaps glimpse the shadowy Lotheeds.....but to do that would require leaving the aura of victory.
Instead Riveh turned first to Kalbio, "Thank you for the support, Kalbio, sorry you missed out on the chance to judge. Would have been most amusing."
Nodding to his friend, the young scion of House Geminus bowed to the crowd, saying, "Thank you all for being witnesses to the first step in a long but certain journey."
Was that taking things a bit far? No, Riveh decided, it was not. best to make his claim here and now, fresh after victory and the newest Exalted at his back, so these lords and ladies could make their judgements. Let them attune to the arrival of a new house and let them spread rumors....better to make waves on his own terms, then to let loose lips run without guidance.
After this (small) bombshell Riveh casually strolls over to Count Orlundo Zespire, the mild-mannered blue eyed man who so intrigued him.
"You honor us young men, watching our sport with such interest." Riveh says, making sure Duke Talbot does not overhear the little jib at the older man. "I hope we proved suitably engaging?"
The Count turned his lidded eyes towards the ifrit.
"You did, Sir Geminus. You did. To my great shame. I really should learn to enjoy these gatherings for what they are instead of looking to the empty posturing of young men to divert myself. It's unbecoming of an older man. And then again. By your admission said posturing wasn't so empty after all..."
Referring to Riveh's little war declaration, certainly recognized for what it was by some and apparently Zespire among them, the Count took a slow sip from his wineglass. He had a slow deliberation to all his actions, the ifrit noticed, even his speech being measured and methodical. There was an understatedness that permeated the man's whole being. He was not as gaudily dressed as other guests, and, really, one would have trouble picking him out in a crowd of similarly middle-aged men - average height, fading light brown hair, a lined forehead speaking of experience, an utterly ordinary build... There wasn't much that set him apart in appearance.
And yet standing before him one couldn't shake the impression that this was all a ruse, that the bow only appeared still because it was drawn and taut. Zespire reached out to Riveh and smiled, mildly.
"It is good to make your acquaintance, Sir Geminus. It is my great privilege to introduce myself as Count Orlundo Zespire."
Ah. The hand. The hand was rough. Interesting.
"So. Should I be worried about a coming Lotheed-Geminus feud?"
Riveh takes in Zespire practical clothes, cool demeanor and mild manners. These attributes don't make the ifirt underestimate the Count, indeed, it raises him in estimation. Such things meant Orlundo was a cool customer, controlled and reserved, and therefore wise at the game of politics. A worthy foe...or ally, which Riveh sincerely hoped the older man would be.
And yet...the rough hand. Riveh knew the man was deeply involved in the critical canals of Taldor but surely the Count did not stoop to work himself? Relics of a misspent youth? A hobby, perhaps? Or maybe running canals was more physical then Riveh imagined.
"The pleasure of our meeting is all mine." Rivh says smoothly, taking the hand and giving it a firm shake. He had a feeling Zespire would appreciate a little physical strength in a grip.
At the Count's question of an upcoming feud Riveh smiles however, "Coming? The feud is older then myself, it is not my fault the Lotheed and court have both discounted us. Old sins do not go away unanswered, my Lord and time does not heal all wounds."
The young ifrit looks at the servants gathering up the remains of the dinner battle. "But putting that aside, why would you worry, my lord? Surely this is a great chance for...how did Duke Talbot put it? Return on investment. "
Riveh turns back to the lidded eyes, "Frankly, just my presence alone should be a boon to you. The Lotheed will be looking to shore up alliances with everyone, and I am sure someone of your caliber will be sought after. Who knows what they may offer?"
Then the young man grins and says, "But I am sure they would not ask what I am about to. What would you like them to offer you, Count Zespire? If you had the ruler of Meratt at hand, what would you ask them for?"
Riveh's firm handshake yielded little, literally speaking, in that the Count's hand did not yield; the measured grip never budged. Whatever else could be said about the man, he was clearly stronger than appearances suggested. As for the ifrit's assertion that this family feud had been a long time in the making, Zespire merely nodded, patient as the grave.
"You're right of course. Of course you are. The sins of the father - fathers even, Lotheed and Geminus both - carry on to the sons, however unjust that may be. The conflict never ended. Foolish of me to suggest otherwise. I apologize, Sir Geminus."
Senator Zespire looked into his glass for a moment, seeming very thoughtful indeed.
"Of course, you realize then that said conflict similarly will not end when you strike back? I assume that's what you're doing here? Amassing power in order to strike at House Lotheed? Befriending His Majesty's next Exalted..." Here the Count's blue eyes turned to Kalbio who had apparently found a dessert he enjoyed, "Rescuing the Princess... And now approaching myself. All ploys for political power. If successful, all ploys that will restore the Geminus name to honor. For all of a few decades before some long lost Lotheed scion grows up and it all starts over again with the roles reversed."
The heavy gaze fell back onto Riveh.
"Unless of course you are willing to do what old Mercater Lotheed should have done and strangle every last babe of your enemy's family in the crib."
The somber statement was delivered with all the weight of a kitten on a pillow, the senator still speaking in his low, measured voice. Despite the words, however, his eyes did not appear at all condemning. Instead he just looked a little sad.
"I apologize again, Sir Geminus. The old should be able to talk to the young without it all turning into a lecture, but this is a skill that somehow eludes me. I merely feel it my duty, as an older gentleman to a younger, to ensure that you understand what it is you are undertaking. You ask me why I should be worried and this is why. Because everything is connected. Forgive me for speaking like an old mariner, but a lifetime on the canals has taught me that everything is connected. All water runs together and all streams meet. Deposing a noble house... This will have dire consequences one way or another, some of them unforeseeable."
The Count took another sip from his wine.
"Forgive me if I have misjudged your intentions."
River allows his smile to shift toward a somber look when Count Zespire discusses how his rival family should have had them all strangled in their beds. The canal master was not someone to underestimate.
"Do not apologize, my lord. I have nothing against a man who takes their thoughts to the logical conclusion. I think it shows a firmness and soundness of mind." A short pause and then, "Although I am not sure Lotheed using violence was the logical end. Destroying my family was one thing, but having us killed? A risky plan whose only benefit would be realized many years later."
Riveh lets the older man finish speaking, even as he grabs a glass of wine from a passing servant. Already the young ifrit is growing accustomed to a constant stream of servants around him.
Sipping at he replies, "No forgiveness needed, but I do think you misunderstand my intentions. While I do confess getting pleasure out of defeating my little rival here today, my ultimate goal is not vengeance. I am not here to wreck a horrible revenge on the Lotheeds."
A quick breath, "My goal is much simpler. I wish to re-gain honor and station of my House. To return my family name to the prestige it once had and it's ancestral rights and privileges, that were taken away by lesser men with petty goals. I only want that, and nothing more. Let the Lotheeds have their own estates and manors, I care nothing for them. Even where I able to, I would not chase them. Victory does not lie there."
Then a small smile, "You might think me naive, thinking the Lotheeds will agree to a truce on my terms. Perhaps, but all I can say for such future troubles is this, which I read in a learned book once. '“It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till.'"
Riveh finishes the small glass of wine easily, hoping to ease his still painful stomach. "I hope I have not bored you my lord, or worse, proven to be short-sighted."
Like a matchstick in the dark, the senator's somber expression was lit up by another mild smile as Riveh assured him his dire projections were unfounded. Something said evidently met Zespire's approval.
"I am glad to hear it, Sir Geminus. Really, I am."
The count looked to the table for a second, the scene of Riveh and Titus's silly little contest. "If everything is measured by its effect upon the world, then honor is a truly terrible thing. Wars have been fought over honor. One slight begetting another, begetting another, escalating until blood flows and land burns. What does this then say about us noblefolk, supposedly defined by our honor?"
The blue eyes took on a far-away look, as if the man was reminiscing on something now gone. "Please understand that my 'logical conclusion' is not one derived through a wish for retaliation over wounded pride. Quite the opposite; it is simply the most realistic route to peace." A pause followed. "But not the only one. I am not yet so old and arrogant as to suggest otherwise. Perhaps you are naive, Sir Geminus, but naivety is a luxury afforded young men. If you are genuine in wanting peace with your enemies, then I wish you all the luck in the world. But a word of advice from an older gentleman who has seen something similar before, if you'll forgive me: the trick to breaking the vicious cycle of noblemen claiming revenge for their honor, is realizing that honor can never be claimed. If your honor is taken by another, then you never truly had any."
A sigh slipped through the Count's nose. "Sir Titus Lotheed-Casava is not an honorable man. He wasn't when he challenged you, and was no less so after his loss."
Zespire looked to Kalbio for a few seconds who was currently relating some tale or another to an increasingly incredulous Duke Talbot. "But then perhaps you need no reminder that worthy people may be found in the strangest places. You may care to know that I have traveled a fair deal in my time, and have seen too much to share the opinion of much of the nation on your parentage. As for what I'd like from the ruler of Meratt..."
Nothing from the senator betrayed that this was anything more than a purely speculative conversation. "At this stage in my life, I have few wishes beyond attending my duties. Which as it happens is something House Lotheed does me few favors in. I understand that there is a spur of the Meratt canal in very poor condition, not maintained by the Lotheeds. It is a blot upon my career to leave it as such. And..."
Another mild smile followed. "The ruler of Meratt might also give me the name of that book. I'm partial to a spot of nighttime reading, you see."
Riveh decides to avoid a philosophical quagmire and only addresses the Count's more concrete questions and remarks. This was not the time or place to have a lengthy debate on the concept of noble honor and besides, Riveh was quite sure Zespire had given the matter much more thought.
"As for the spur....I am sure any new administrator would consider it a matter of the highest importance to repair all such infrastructure. They would be looking to convince and impress, and would not simply languish on long expired laurels. I'm sure favorable arrangements can be made."
Riveh smiles, "As for the book, well, consider it an open offer."
Then, glancing at Duke Talbot and Kalbio, "Now, let us go and save both of those from each other. I am not sure how long the mutual bemusement will last and the last thing we need is more fireworks."
Riveh holding onto the sagacious book's title as precious leverage for further negotiations earned him another mild smile from the Count, who quickly nodded his assent to the probably well-founded suggestion of saving Talbot and Kalbio from each other. The ifrit's polished shoes had nary taken a step, however, before he felt a strange sensation from another of his garments: his senatorial aide badge. The brass emblem warmed his chest for a second before a familiar voice rang out in his head.
'Good evening again,' sang Lady Martella Coufas's - no, Lotheed's - voice. 'Just wanted to offer congratulations. Heard what occurred in gardens with Her Highness. Well done! Moving up in the world. Happy for you.'
Hm. It was strange. While Riveh heard nothing to suggest that the well-wishings were anything other than genuine, the noblewoman had sounded less... chipper than usual. Perhaps just a result of their vaguely cooler last conversation.
Riveh re-entered the general crowd again, wondering how people were taking him. They certainly had plenty to talk about. Arm in arm with the next Exalted? Humbling a Lotheed patsy with aplomb and grace? Entering quiet and seemingly productive talks with the likes of Count Zespire? Not to mention the whole affair with the bees...Indeed, Riveh hoped his rising star was clear to all. So with that wind in his sails, he ventured forth to do battle on the wild plains of gossip and rumor.
Riveh dives into the small talk, with several goals in mind. First, to come across on a personal level, to 'introduce' himself. He wants to appear bold but not arrogant. Confident but not cock-sure. Vibrant but not overbearing. It wasn't easy to command attention and not come off as a jerk but Riveh does he best. At the same time, there is the political angle. Having just thrown down the Geminus gauntlet, now he must offer himself as a political player. The ifrit does so carefully, not promising anything just...putting the idea out there that he is willing to listen to anyone. A new kid on the block.
Riveh had one great ace in the hole, an advantage that every newcomer had. He could be all things to all people. To those that hated the Lotheed's he was a possible ally. To those who wanted new commercial contracts he was a new bit of leverage (or easy mark). To the traditionalists, he offered a glance back to old power structures. To the bored, he was a fresh new wind. And for the gossips and those who thrived on scandals....well, needless to say Riveh was a walking one.
Snug as a pig in pea-straw, that's how Breezy Creak's Kalbio would have described the last Geminus's ability to navigate high society. Riding high on recent success, Riveh had no trouble ingratiating himself in any conversation at the gala, whether small talk or political debate, with lowly aides or lofty aristocrat, by virtue of sheer charm, confidence and noble bearing. The pair wandered for a time in this manner, dropping in on discussion, introducing themselves, gossiping, and generally just mingling.
The ifrit made some observations in doing this. Among them was that making friends with the Exalted was actually a mixed blessing. Or more accurately, making friends with Kalbio specifically proved a mixed blessing. While the young man clearly appreciated having Riveh as a life line in the gathering, unaccustomed to the surroundings as he was, it was clear that not everyone they encountered appreciated his company. While many found the rural mannerisms a breath of fresh air, or were simply willing to forgive these for the potential political advantages that came with his association, others were downright offended. The more superior members of Taldor's finest sometimes looked upon the weaver with obvious dismay; more than once the ifrit even overheard such sentiments as "the boy being a disgrace to the nation".
It was becoming increasingly obvious why Kalbio had latched onto the first person to give him the time of day.
In all this hobnobbing, Riveh also found more potential allies. Their wandering had finally lead the two to the Arcade of Triumphs, the entry gallery of the senate building. Although both had crossed it earlier, it was only now that they took the time to truly appreciate the spectacular space. The entire floor was a celebration of Taldor's abundant military and political glories. Rows upon rows of banners lined the halls of the arcade, all representing different militia branches or even specific excursions such as the fabled armies of explorations. Some were even taken from beaten foes. This was also the case with the trophies; some of these were displayed openly while others rested behind intricate glass cases, while armor stands and display cases presented countless artifacts belonging to great heroes and soldiers. If this wasn't enough, a score of Taldan Phalanx troops stood at attention, acting as both ceremonial honor guards for the senate and guides to some of the military assets on display. Frankly, if one's heart didn't beat just a bit harder in patriotic fervor here, then one probably didn't have a pulse at all.
"Wow. Look at that one, Riveh."
Boys being boys, Kalbio and Riveh stopped in front of a glass case displaying a highly ornate crossbow on a velvet cushion. More than just fine craftsmanship, if a weapon could said to be a work of art then this was that. Brass inlays and Taldan military symbols adorned the polished wooden stock of the fine crossbow, a name plaque beneath reading 'Dignity's Barb'. It was a thing of beauty.
"Are you young men interested in the history of this item?" A middle-aged woman, the chief curator of the senate collection whom the ifrit had briefly spoken with earlier approached them. "The most famed artifact we have left of General Gerefein of the Seventh Army of Exploration. In his most widely known act, the general turned the tide of a prolonged and vicious battle with a ravenous Kellid warlord. Through the driving snow of a chaotic blizzard, General Gerefein shot practically blind, yet his bolt struck a lethal blow, dashing the warlord from his mammoth mount. Ah, that's a type of hairy elephant. As the Kellid barbarians watched their leader fall, they broke their charge, leaving General Gerefein the victor on that day. Exciting stuff. Of course, this crossbow is unfortunately only a replica. The true crossbow has been lost to time. But it is important that we preserve our history by whatever means possible, no?"
It was in these surroundings that the ifrit come upon further targets for his charms. One such was the Earl Calhadion Vernisant. To Riveh's knowledge this somewhat slight man was the leader of the small coastal city of Riondport, a settlement most famous for being the birthplace of General Arnisant, now national hero of the Shining Crusade. In fact, Vernisant claimed to be a direct descendant of the famed general, although there was apparently some debate to this matter... The Earl was actually just now standing below a banner of the near-legendary Shining Crusade, explaining the history of this excursion to a rapt audience. To hear him talk, one would think he had been there himself.
Actually, hadn't one of Lady Coufas's missions centered around this man? Perhaps something to consider later. Another potential target was Lord Remilliard Kastner, a man unfortunately more so defined by what he was not rather than what he was; more specially, Lord Kastner was most definitely not a devil worshiper. While the Kastner family was among Taldor's oldest, it suffered an unfortunate blight some 70 years ago, upon the founding of modern Cheliax. A good portion of House Kastner defected to that horrid nation, creating two distinct branches of the family: the Chelish Kastners, diabolists and loyal to infernal House Thrune, and the Taldane Kastners, who have tried to repair their name ever since. The young Lord Remilliard Kastner had supposedly taken a very direct approach in this goal, being highly involved in all goodly church affairs throughout the nation. In fact, Riveh was fairly certain he had heard the man was even an ordained paladin.
And last but certainly not least was the Princess herself. There was no potential ally more potent than Her Highness, who had cordoned of a small area with Phalanx soldiers and was lounging in a sofa discussing some matter or another with her dusky-eyed companion seen earlier in the gardens. And speaking of said companion, Riveh, with a little prodding to the gala guests, finally managed to pinpoint her identity. She was Lady Gloriana Morilla, famed for two things in particular. One of these was a supposedly spectacular singing voice; being able to procure the Lady to entertain at an event was said to be a high mark of Taldan fine society. The other was more curious, namely her involvement with the Pathfinder Society. What Lady Morilla's interest was in the far-reaching group was unknown, but her involvement was apparently extensive, going so far as acting as venture-captain in Taldor for the explorers.
The Geminus heir speculated on whether he should approach one of these when he noticed something entirely different. At the edge of the crowd strode a woman. A very tall woman. 'Statuesque' was a word that came to mind, if only to describe her sheer stature and build. Riveh noted that she was headed for one of the senatorial offices lining the building, much like the one he himself and Baron Okerra had utilized for their own private conversation. The young woman was, however, holding a well-dressed but far shorter man by the arm, almost showing him through the door. Oh my. Could this be the good Dame Malphene Trant, daughter of Senator Trant, who Martella had asked him to be on the look-out for? Supposedly the woman was in the habit of bullying junior senators on behalf of her father. Was that what Riveh had caught her doing? The door closed behind the giant woman and very unhappy man.
What way to go? Who to speak to? What avenue to pursue?
The constellation of choices sprawls out in front of Riveh, offering dozens of decisions and possible futures. As always the sheer variety of things happening at one time in the Senate is dazzles the young man.
The numberless potential actions, strings to play on...It was like spending your entire life on a lonely country road and suddenly being teleported to a busy street corner.
Literally so, in some ways.
Riveh does spend a moment to menetally dismiss the historian. It wasn't that Riveh didn't care for history and legacy. How many hours had he spent in the Geminus archives, looking over ragged awards, faded seals and tarnished family silver? These Taldane objects were the same thing just on a national scale. But at least those scrolls had been real.
"A replica?" Riveh says dismissively. Then he turns to the political work that needs done.
"Pick a number, Kalbio." Riveh says airly. 'Between one and...five."
Lord Remilliard Kastner, it was.
"Excuse me," Riveh says to the probably miffed historian, "I see someone..."
Riveh walks over to Lord Kastner, rolling the man's story around in his head. Another man forced to labor for a lifetime over family crimes. A common burden in Taldor perhaps. At least Riveh's parents hadn't thrown their lot in with the Chelish. Then again, many in Oparra would consider the Qadria threat no less horrifying.
Riveh greets the paladin saying, "Greetings Lord Kastner. I did not know you were here or I would have asked you to oversee a little...disagreement between me and another House. A paladin would be a most welcome referee."
The good Lord looked up from a display case, one containing a faded document titled 'the Ballingar Accord', at Riveh's greeting. Remilliard Kastner was a well-shaped man, though perhaps more so by exercise than from nature's hand; whether this made his trim physique more or less admirable was a matter of opinion. Fair hair and blue eyes both adorned the head, but the clean-shaven face was reassuringly friendly and approachable. The ifrit estimated the man to be no more than thirty. Really, the only edge to the Lord's pleasant appearance was the weapon: at his side, hidden away in an ornate scabbard and bound with red thread so as not to be drawn, hung a sword so long it nearly scraped along the marble as the nobleman turned to face Riveh.
"Oh?" he said at the comment of being made judge. "Well, I do live to serve." The words seemed to be meant in humor. But then they said there was truth to be found in humor.
"I'm sorry, but have we met before?"
Lord Kastner was by all appearance not turning away the ifrit, merely looking to learn with whom he was speaking. It was now that Riveh noted a symbol embroidered onto the paladin's fine clothes, directly over the heart. It was a sword overlaid a scarlet wing. Riveh couldn't help but wonder, as he was fairly sure this was not the heraldic symbol of House Kastner, Chelish or Taldane.
Riveh shakes his head but offers his hand, "No, I don't think so. Riveh Geminus, first time in the capital." He nods, "I merely know you by reputation Lord Kastner and wished to speak with you."
The young ifrit drops his voice, "It is a matter where a paladin's confidence may be valuable? I am not experienced in such matters or what order you serve, but the gossip says you are a uniquely honest and trustworthy man."
A somewhat melodramatic pause and then, "Would you like to prevent a possible crime?"
"And uh, Kalbio," added the weaver to Riveh's introduction, speaking as earnestly as always. "Real nice to meet you, milord."
Seeing that the pair were obviously already aware who he was, Lord Kastner did not answer in kind, instead merely nodding to both in greeting, and then politely waited for Riveh to explain whatever concern it was he wished to discuss. The ifrit saw no sign of the nobleman recognizing the Geminus name.
"A crime?"
The nobleman's interest was clearly piqued, although he lowered his eyebrows in wariness. Kastner apparently had more sense than simply leaping into a crusade at the merest hint of injustice, paladin or not. The fact that Kalbio seemed every bit as surpised at Riveh's words might have added to the man's misgivings.
"If you know of any crimes being planned, I urge you to step forward to the proper authorities. There are officers in place at the gala I can direct you towards. If you came to me in fear of being implicated somehow, then I am willing to speak on your behalf - testify to your cooperation - but I must insist you report this."
Everything was said in utmost seriousness, although not without a tinge of human kindness; the Lord was clearly still undecided on whether what he had on his hands was some sort of schemer snitching on his co-conspirators or an innocent informant fearing for their own safety. Whether victim or wrongdoer, he was certainly interested. Victims and wrongdoers tended to comprise most everyone of interest to paladins.
'Kalbio is the next Exalted." Riveh says, hoping to paper over Kalbio's awkward thrust into the conversation.
The ifrit weighs his next words carefully before saying, "Your words are taken under consideration but I don't think I can follow them."
Riveh sighs and ventures on, "I am a man without connections or power, Lord Kastner. To make a long story short, I am in need of powerful patrons to re-gain my family honor and name. One of them used me and deceived me of their ultimate intentions and background. Not only is this an insult, it also makes me think less chartiably of their designs."
Riveh points to Earl Calhadion Vernisant, 'My supposed patron revealed to me they intend to steal a valuable item from that man. Indeed, they offered the job to me, but I declined."
Then the young man looks the paladin straight in the eye, "I understand you feel as if you are being pulled into some sort of game. And yes, in a way you are, but does that change the matter? An unfair and immoral crime is about to take place for purely political reasons. I have told you, in the hopes you will stop it. Does my motive make your actions any less pure?"
"As for the proper authorities...even if I wanted to involved them, would you trust them? You and I both know the guards are far more concerned with keeping the peace and protecting wealth, not blocking crimes. Direct action by yourself, and me I suppose, will achieve far more."
'What do you say?"
Although he was undoubtedly speaking well for himself, Riveh couldn't help but feel his heart sink in tune with the Lord's brow; Kastner's gaze grew more severe by the word. Still, the nobleman was at least listening intently, allowing the ifrit to speak his piece. Only when the younger man had finished did he reply.
"... Sir Geminus was it? I am aware of how certain people in power may prey upon gentlemen only just entering high society, manipulating and utilizing them for their own ends. So understand that I appreciate your position. But I simply cannot agree with it."
He wasn't angry. He wasn't admonishing nor even lecturing Riveh. Lord Kastner merely spoke with the disappointed air of a parent catching their son in a fib.
"There is no one in place here at the gala more capable of preventing any crimes than the senate guard. Even if they weren't to be trusted, a suggestion I reject wholesale I might add, I fail to see what it is you're hoping I can do that they cannot. Are you hoping I will hang about the Earl the rest of the night? No, I am going to pass all of this along to the guard. Out of respect for your own situation, I shan't mention your name. But I urge you to reconsider: by disclosing merely the act but not the perpetrator, you are obliquely protecting this dishonorable patron of yours. It is not right."
This said, the paladin turned from the two men.
"Thank you for your confidence, Sir Geminus. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to warn Earl Vernisant. It was good meeting you, Sir Kalbio. Congratulations."
Riveh watches the paladin go, not saying anything. Lord Kastner was not the type to be dissuaded, and besides, he had been polite and quite correct. Riveh really was one of those scheming vipers trying to entrap him. In any case, altering the guard probably would quash Martella's goals, just indirectly. Surely Riveh's patrons had informants in the guard that would tip her off.
The young ifrit turns to Kalio, "So, what do you think, Kalbio? Was it wrong to try and use my knowledge of both the crime and the paladin? Was it petty of me to try and foil my supposed patron's goals in order to prove a point of my own agency? Or was it merely immoral to try and involve an honest man?" Riveh lets out a long sigh, "Maybe I am just as bad as everyone else, Kalbio. Do you regret taking up with me, perhaps?"
"Aw jeez, Riveh. Don't ask me these things..."
The soon to be lord put one coarse hand up to the thick hair and scratched his head in consternation. Much as he wanted to provide an answer, Kalbio didn't seem entirely comfortable at the question.
"What do I know, honestly? I'm just a country boy. Feel more out of depth here than a pig in Star Bay... I'm sure you did the right thing, in your own way." If this sounded a little noncommittal, then the weaver looked the part. "Sigh. It should be my pa you'd be askin'. He's smart. He'd know what to say. He'd tell ya that 'Honest doubt is better than faith in a pious fraud' or 'Don’t taste every man’s soup, you’ll burn your mouth' or some such. He's got a whole lot of those, my pa. A proverb for every occasion."
It took a second, but the weaver's brown eyes lit up at this. "Actually... he's right, the old man! You shouldn't judge yourself by errybody else. Now, I don't know about this here, er, patron of yers, but you're most certainly not the worst person here. I mean, that Lotheed fella? Guy had his nose so high he'd drown in a rainstorm. That's not you. Yer talkin' to me, after all."
Once again Kalbio, shortcomings not withstanding, showcased an acute awareness of those same deficiencies; the young man really didn't seem to think much of himself.
"Guy tried to, I dunno, buy those older fellas with that wine whereas you jus'... win people over by being all proper and brave and... just being a good egg, you know? Yer alright, Riveh. You'd make a lot better Exalted than me, that's for sure. If anythin'..." Breezy Creak's first son appeared ashamed for a moment before going on. "If anything... I reckon' I'm the dishonest one. 'Cause I've been sticking to you partly 'cause... I thought people would think more of me if I had someone as proper as you around."
Kalbio looked very apologetic at this admission.
Riveh considers Kalbio's words carefully, weighing them with his own doubts and counter doubts in his head. They all boiled down to that very old, and very important question.
Do the ends justify the means?
Riveh smiles, "Your father sounds like a smart man. Maybe I'll meet him someday." Without thinking the young man adds, "I wish I had known my own, maybe he could give me some wisdom as well."
At the last part Riveh claps the weaver on the shoulder, "As for that....we are not so different. At first I wanted to be close to you because of your political connections. I think it is all right if we both used each other, right? Fair's fair and all's square."
"Well, not use worrying about it now, the bolt has been loosed." Riveh says, looking out over the crowd. "Let's go stick our nose in someone else's business. I have an idea there is a bully being cruel behind that door."
And with that, Riveh heads over to the closed door that had so recently seen Trant and a strong armed man vanish through.
"Heh. I dunno which one of us is the horse and which is the carriage," Kalbio smiled in agreement at the mutually beneficial camaraderie, "but I don't rightly care."
The weaver seemed relieved to have Riveh move away from the subject; whether this came from having his guilt alleviated or because the simple youngster wasn't the most adroit with matters of emotion was difficult to say. Most likely both. Regardless, he happily joined the ifrit in 'sticking his nose in others' business', grinning.
And with this in mind, Riveh led them a short hop down a corridor to end up before a fairly anonymous door. Well, not at all anonymous, actually; just as with the room he and Baron Okerra had utilized earlier, this door wasn't just intricately carved but also bore a name: 'the Cydonus III waiting room'. Presumably, it was a waiting room leading to some senator or another's public office, again like the one he had seen earlier in the evening. The ifrit recalled how the solid wood door then had muffled the sounds of the gala quite well.
Putting his ear to the surface now, he determined that the same held true here. He couldn't make out a thing said within. But there was undoubtedly someone there. And unless he was much mistaken, it was a woman doing all the talking.
Kalbio was visibly excited at seeing Riveh at this clandestine work, and nearly tripped over himself as he craned his neck back and forth in his capacity as look-out. The Exalted shook his head energetically. No, no one was watching.
Riveh frowns when the heavy door defeats any attempt at eavesdropping. How is he supposed to formulate a plan without any information?
The ifrit turns to Kalbio and says, voice low, "Stay here, lookout. Whistle or something if someone comes over this way. "
Then he turns back to the problematic door. There is nothing for it, he must find out what is going on, on the other side. he can only hope Trant is busy breaking kneecaps or whatever noble people did in such circumstances.
Carefully, Riveh tries to ease the door open a bare crack.
Thank the gods and the servicing staff both for the immaculate state of the senate building; under the ifrit's hand, the door opened smoothly without even the tiniest squeak from the well oiled hinges. Within, he saw a tastefully adorned waiting room: a plush sofa; a solid secretarial desk; a few oak chairs with golden veins; stern officials staring down from portraits on the walls. It was really almost identical to the room Riveh had seen earlier, with Baron Okerra. But of course, the room's current occupants were plenty interesting on their own.
"I'm sorry, I must have misheard. For a second there I thought you were talking back at me."
"N-no no, please... Dame Trant, p-please..."
A gilded frame nearly fell from the wall as the slight man was shoved into it. The woman, presumably the honorable Dame Malphene Trant, advanced upon her prey, slowly. Heavens above, she really was enormous. Riveh did not have the best vantage point, looking in from a narrow crack in the doorway, but the noblewoman appeared even larger in person. Dame Trant was a strange amalgamation of the feminine and the decidedly unfeminine. In dress and makeup, she wasn't one bit the lesser to any other guest at the gala: sandy-blond hair was intricately set up on her head, adding even further to her height, while her light green gown could almost be called demure; expensive no doubt, but something a blushing debutante could be expected to wear. She was even quite pretty - if the woman was older than the ifrit, then it couldn't be by more than a year or two.
And yet all of this was for naught in the face of her sheer physicality. Standing head and shoulders over the man, Riveh estimated that the Dame could look the good Baron Okerra square in the eye with no effort. She was fairly broad-shouldered too; the dress could not hide the fact that Trant was evidently quite fit.
"'Please' nothing, you pathetic wretch!" she said, pushing the slight man up against the wall. Riveh had trouble making out much of him behind the noblewoman. "I don't want to hear a word out of you beyond 'nay', do you understand? When the Princesses's proposal comes up, you vote against it. Let me hear you say it. Say 'nay'!"
"Please... No..."
"Say it!"
"Nay... Nay..."
"Ha ha ha ha! Listen to you, neighing on command. Are you a pony? Maybe you are because you're certainly not a man. Pitiful. But as long as you know what's best for you... All you bottom-feeders do. My father will be watching. As will I."
The Dame appeared to have something of a sadistic streak in her.
"P-please, my Lady..." stammered the man, now definitively identified as a senator. "Not the Princesses's proposal... I've already promised, um... I will vote on any other proposition, whatever Senator Trant wants, j-just not..."
The voice faltered beneath Trant's gaze, now cold and oppressive. "I see. Can't follow orders, huh? Perhaps this is my own mistake. I've clearly been too forgiving with you." Riveh saw it coming before the senator felt it. The man doubled over as Dame Trant's knee flew up to strike him square in the gut.
"I seems I have to make myself clear. I'll make sure even someone as thick as you understands. And don't worry. I won't leave any bruises. No visible ones, anyway."
Riveh watches the scene with a mixture of smoldering anger at such blatant bullying and violence, along with bemusement at how obvious Trant was acting. Honestly, just shoving a man in a room and beating on him? Is that what passed for political maneuvering among Taldor's finest? These bald threats were a world away from Zespire's cold eyes and Riveh knew which he feared more.
At the knee, Riveh knew it was time to intervene (as usual he didn't consider the physical threat to himself).
Riveh pushes the door open boldly, loud enough to make Trant pause and turn.
"My, my. Is this how business is conducted these days?" Riveh says scathingly. "I thought the dungeons were downstairs....oh wait. That isn't a common street but a Senator. Well, that can't be the proper etiquette."
Riveh pauses and then adds, "Even for a known brute like Malphene Trant. Really, don't you have some puppies to kick or cats to poison?"
The young ifrit looks around the rather imposing woman to the battered Senator, "Sir, I am going to take your wounded silence as a plea for assistance."
Then, as a final insult, Riveh smiles at Trant, "Now, are you going to show a sudden upwelling of lady-like demeanor and leave peacefully or will I have to use force?"
Without warning Riveh channels that weird, unholy power in his veins, and calls on the Dark Tapestry. In an instant he is surrounded by a dark nimbus of anti-light, shot through with distant stars beyond human comprehension. It fades after a moment, leaving behind a strange cloak draped on the ifrit shoulders, forming an elegant mantle. At first it simply seems black, with an oily sheen but if one stared at it too long you saw shapes and colors that slide right off the mind....
The good Dame was clearly startled at the unknown interloper's sudden appearance, and not least at the obviously unnatural slice of the night sky serving as his mantle. However, it seemed to be the words that struck her hardest. Trant's pale cheeks grew red in fury, even outrage. Still, to Riveh's eyes it was apparent that this anger was tempered with caution as the woman took a few steps towards him. Behind her, the young senator clutched his stomach and looked back and forth between assailant and intruder. Did he dare hope?
"'Ladylike', you say? Why don't you be a gentleman and introduce yourself, Sir? You seem to know who I am after all..." Hands on her hips, she added with low menace: "Although I should think that if you truly knew who I am, you wouldn't dare speak to me like that."
The full lips twisted into a nasty smirk. "And magic, Sir? Really? I know guards who would have you thrown out for that."
Dame Trant stood her ground, her searching gaze roaming over the ifrit, still trying to determine what to make of him.
Riveh raises an eyebrow at her complaint over magic, "The guards? I doubt you want to get guards involved with a little dispute such as this, Lady Trant."
Not mentioning his own name, Riveh seizes the moment of doubt and strides toward the abused man, intending to raise him to his feet and escort him outside the room. Part of Riveh hopes Trant will remain confused just a bit longer but most of him doubts the woman will let him go. She seems the type to kick first and ask questions later.
Riveh made to walk straight past the imposing young noblelady, dismissing her in favor of helping the senator to his feet. In doing so, however...
"Perhaps you're right, nameless boy. Perhaps in doing their post-gala rounds, the guards will simply have to find your comatose self after I beat you senseless!"
Even without the senator's look of alarm, the ifrit saw it coming: Dame Trant pulled back her arm in order to strike strike at the interloper, closed fist at the ready.
But Riveh was simply quicker.
As expected, Trant recovers her wits and her nerve. It is clear the woman is not the type to simply be quelled by firm action and words. Violence was her main recourse, not consideration.
Even so, she almost catches him off guard with her striking speed. The ifrit only just manages to beat her to the punch and raises a hand, steeped in divine energy. A glove of dark aura surrounds his hand, which he touches to Trant's chest.
Using that as a momentary distraction he darts forward to grab the arm of the harassed Senator. He does not want to get locked into a long running battle with his female antagonist.