Personal Diplomacy
W02: Mictlan
It's Tariday, Firetide 05 12:01:45 1020. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and rising. Towering white clouds drift slowly through the blue sky. It's hazy and hot, and the glare of the sun seems to drain the color from the landscape.
On this sunny summer day, the rhythmic beat of a griffon's wings heralds the imminent arrival of Erithamiel soaring over the treetops of the forest surrounding Mictlan. Once he clears the treeline, a rider can be seen upon him, the sun momentarily catching brightly off the griffon's barding as he banks to the left, then holds his wings out at their full span to slow. Soon enough, the griffon lands near the treeline, and his rider dismounts, hopping lightly down. The pair then walk side-by-side toward the sacred fire.
The sacred fire is tended by the Shamans, as it should be, though not by all of them present. Un'eth loiters near one of the smaller cookfires, a spit of meat propped high over the heat to slowly roast. Reeds from the river lie nearby, soaking in a large pot, while others are held in claw to be woven together. A green and black mottled hatchling closely oversees the activity from its perch on Un'eth head between her horns.
Ga'Elian, knowing that this community is where some friends of his make their home, he glances about the place a bit, hoping to find... and there she is, the black-scaled druidess with her young. He alters course to approach her and hails when within a socially comfortable distance, in Tradespeak, "Peace on your nest, Shaman." The griffon follows the elf's change in direction and swishes his lionlike tail.
A pace after the arrival of the griffon and its rider, arrives the sound of a cart. It's hearalded not by fanfare, but by the thruff of the wheel over stoon, and the screeak of its joints. Svarshan hauls it towards Mictlan, his expression peaceful, yet...
...determined. Whatever is in the cart remains covered, shrouded by woolen blankets.
"Peasse to you," he says and is stopped nearby, to briefly share words with others of his caste. One of the warriors he speaks with glances towards the cart.
Ga'Elian turns his attention to the Brightscales and his cart. He says, "Greetings, milord. Have you the carcase of a terrifying horror under yon blanket?" He smirks to add a comedic attempt to his tone.
The muzzle opens, Svarshan's does, and the warrior beside him shares that smirk. Starts to hiss, before the warrior walks away.
"One could wissh, hunter," Svarshan says after a time. "But thesse are for defensse. A gift, for the Empress." Now that the inspection is over, he grasps the cart, and hauls it further in--but only far enough. Then settles, as though in for a wait: the tail goes down, the shoulders relax, forming a tripod of sorts.
"...and anyone who followss her," he adds, with a growling undertone to an otherwise warm tone. "Peasse to you."
Ga'Elian responds, "And to you. Oh, ere I forget, I met a Sunblade the other day, called Kiroth." Here, he switches to a whisper: I believe he maybe a willing and worthy candidate to join the Iron Book." Resuming his normal tone, he adds, "I told him that he should look for you for more information, as I'm more of an ally than a member, myself."
"Kiroth..." the larger sith chews over the word, the name. Then, thumps his tail. "We may have exchanged wordss onsse or twisse, but one did not know hiss. Interest. ...did one tell you, one heard of a Portal opening. In the Felwood," the sith-makar says. The cart rattles slightly, clanks, shifts. Whatever is in there, it's made from metal.
This revelation gets the ranger's serious attention immediately. He asks, "A portal in the Felwood? What is known about it?"
A look towards the cart. Then back. "One's sservice iss to the Empress, hunter. One had little time to explore, but perhapss..."
A shift, of heavy form. "Perhapss more will be made clear, ssoon, if one can find the Ssunguard. Thiss--" Svarshan says, with a sharp eye towards the hunter, and his voice drops. "Iss to aid /her/ in the coming timess. Hass one told you of the revelation. Of the gobber?"
Ga'Elian shakes his head. "I've not heard anything remarkable about any particular gobber in quite a long while."
"...they are messy, perhapss. But ssmart. ...thiss one had a theory of Chaoss." Svarshan tilts his head to the side as he regards Ga'elian, and then--reaches back. He draws a short sword and uses it to sketch there in the dirt.
"On thiss sside, we have. Alessandria. Here iss our ssenter. ..." Here, he draws a circle. He lifts the blade then, it hovering as he decides where to draw next.
Then, moves it to the left. "...here, the Binder. ...over here--" to the right, "the People. ...and here...Charn, which hass become more. Mobile. Ssome of their nobless have upped their essperiments on my. People and. You have heard about the renewed alliansse with. The Tyrant and Avarisse." Maugrim and Taara. Svarshan looks up towards Ga'elian to confirm.
GAME: Ga'Elian rolls Knowledge/Geography: (2)+5: 7
Ga'Elian says, "I have heard of the recent doings of Charn," he scowls, "but the rough map shows me that perhaps I have long held a mistaken idea about certain things. Anyway, yes. Charn. Please go on."
"Sssa. And, here--" Svarshan returns the blade to the circle he'd drawn for his people. He draws two lines, coming out from it. "--one hass the pressure of Charn," one line, "--and the pressure of the. Teacher," he says grimly.
A longer, awkward pause. A breath.
He returns the blade to the central circle: Alexandria. "Sso, here, Alessandria. The People are ssome of Alessandria'ss closser alliess. Our Portal openss to. Alessandrian land. The Treaty, iss the firsst of itss kind. ...but the People are under pressure."
The blade moves, and he jobs it at the circle for Asumit, then Charn. "Alessandria is under pressure."
Then, the Spell Cannon, "And thiss iss perhapss, trapped. Enough pressure, and. Alessandria would. Try to fire it, hunter. They would try to fire a trapped weapon to. Protect themsselves from their enemiess, jusst as their alliess--" again, he points towards the symbol for the People, "--are under pressure. Where iss opportunity, hunter, when you harrow pray. Then sspring the trap. In the midsst of their. Den?"
Ga'Elian listens carefully, then says, "I make no secret of my opinion that the Cannon is too dangerous to use. Indeed, were it up to me, I would disassemble the thing and melt the parts to liquid. But, I too have heard some advocate for it, saying that despite the risks, it is effective. I know this not of myself for the last time it was fired was before I left the remoteness of my home tribe. But I am a witness to some of the havoc it wrought."
I gather that the load in your cart may help to release some of the pressure upon your people in a safer, controlled way?"
"As for Alexandria, I became some little time ago aware of a failed attempt by Asumit to seduce the captain in charge of the weapon by employing a succubus. Since that day, I have heard rumor that the guards charged with that task have been issued with Mind Sentinel Medallions."
"Regarding the Teacher, I believe I understand the problem at a certain level, but know not what to do about it, other than to behave toward your people in ways that defy his position, and encourage others to do likewise."
"They are armss for thosse who follow the Empress," the warrior returns in lowered tones, in the language of the woodlands. He offers a partial smile. "The Teacher iss a..."
"...it iss a problem ongoing. The more the People sse of yourss--that not all are hunters-of-flessh, the weaker hiss grip growss. But you ssee, hunter, one hass already losst my. Cihuaa to him." Guarded sadness. A vulnerability behind the steady wall. A slow-draw-in of breath.
Steady.
"Sso I focuss on thiss. One problem. If you have heard more of the Binder and the Canon, it iss more than I have. At thiss point. One only doess not think thiss--" a gesture at the circles. He then reaches out, and wipes them clear with his foot. "--iss incorrect." A look back towards Ga'elian.
Ga'Elian nods. "It is wise in my young experience for one to trust his leaders, his friends, his subordinates, and his faith to do the parts that belong to them. In other words, these problems are too big for individuals to confront, but with due and proper cooperation, each party doing their duty as citizens of Ea in their respective stations, I must believe in the ultimate triumph of life and love and freedom and beauty over those who would seek to dominate and destroy unjustly. Perhaps I am overly trusting, overly naive. 'Twould not be the first time I should be so described."
A thump of tail. "One trussts the Empress," Svarshan says, low-voiced. A look towards the cart, "The intentionss of a ssertain half-dragon of. Thul. Not as much, Hunter. One hass heard him Speak," he says, bleakly. "It iss that power of. Charissma that allowss him to challenge even our mosst honored and. Ssacred."
What is peeking out, from beneath the cart's blankets? Nothing kind. Chainmail. The point of a blade.
Several blades.
"...one hopess for peasse for your people, as well," he sith-makar says, somewhat awkwardly as though realizing--well, his focus is somewhat focused, isn't it? He's never asked--"One heard there were...troubless, up in Sinjin."
Ga'Elian smiles, then acknowledges, "Oh, yes. That was an eye-opening matter. Apparently some remote tribes of my people had a long-standing arrangement with their neighbors by which each would take slaves occasionally from the other. It confounds me that they should be okay with it, but problems escalated when some demon had profaned a site that they regarded as holy. I'm not certain of the details, but I suspect that the demon was vanquished. As remote and savage as Alexandrians would consider my tribe, these other tribes seem even more wild, but their chief elders do seem to have greater awareness of how they fit into the wider circles of Ea in general and the Sildanyar specifically."
He goes on, "Anyway, I came today at the exhortation of a Keeper of your people, one who knew of your sacred fire, but whose accent sounds more Am'sheri than local. He bade me to burn an arrowshaft while singing and then affix the head to my bow in order that it might carry the memory of shedding the blood of evil and thus vanquishing it from this world."
"...sslaves," the sith-makar repeats, his tone flat. Svarshan's quiet for a time, after that. One could well imagine what he thinks of it. The word comes out harshly.
Deeper breath, a breath that draws in the lungs. Makes him brush, push gently against the cart behind him.
"...then one would ssay, to lissten to the wordss of a Keeper. Each casste--has itss role, and the Keeperss are...," he says. He trails off, and looks towards the central Fire. "It iss not for thiss warrior to ssay. But if it iss advisse, and the advisse ringss true--then perhapss. It iss good advisse. What doess your heart tell you?"
Ga'Elian smirks. Says, "He seemed well convinced, and who am I to question it. The practice seems harmless enough, and if it should be beneficial, I'm open to the possibility. Perhaps the Hunter's Dragon aspect has blessings or traditions that his Stag aspect has not." He shrugs, but with a twinkle in his face.
Mrmmm, perhapss," the warrior returns, with a kind of warmth as he looks over Svarshan's shoulder at the sil. "And if your weapon carriess ssuch a. Powerful memory...it would be potent in the handss of a hunter, would it. Not?" A feral grin, with the suggestion of tooth.
It eases. "You sshould know. Mictlan iss only a sstopping plasse, not an origin, a meeting-groundss between your people. And mine. It iss part of our weapon. Againsst the Teacher," he says offhandedly, then. "When sscaled meetss nonsscaled, hiss power waness."
And then, as though that, that had never been brought up, he reaches down, and grasps the cart. "Thiss one iss to take thiss to the Portal, and to. Home. Peasse to you, hunter. One wisshes peasse also, for your kin."
Ga'Elian bows formally, a gesture he'd pick up from the Llyranesi, but has seen used to express deep respect. Rising he says, "And peace to you, to your nest, to your community, to your empire and its Empress. The alliance between our peoples is most honorable and I am pleased to count you as a friend. Indeed, were the naming in my hands, I should be pleased to call you Elf-friend, for your mettle is of the highest caliber. The peace of Eli rest upon you as you go about your errands, Lord Brightscales." <draconic>
The sith-makar halts. Svarshan looks surprised, to say the least. Surprise shows on nearby faces, too--a shock of scale, as Svarshan looks about. The warrior takes a deep breath.
He turns around. "Peasse to you, and your nesst, hunter. One iss honored by your honor, and one hopess to return it. One honorss thiss as one honorss the giftss, given by ssoftsskin to the younglingss on their Naming day--" Oh, /that/ was a controversial event. The reference causes a few flinches; who flinches, it might be interesting to note.
"...as logs which sstrengthen a riverbridge," he says. He thumps his tail then, hard against the earth.
Ga'Elian grins deeply, but allows the warmth of the moment a brief pause to be felt. Then he says, "Well, I suppose we have our errands. I'll not detain you further. He turns and rests a hand on the withers of his griffon then strides with perceptible spring in his step toward the sacred fire where he proceeds to follow the prescribed bidding of one named Kuumvu.