The Chersonese & The Prosperos Sea, Chapter 7

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Zaratan, steelblue
When I was a boy mother once told me
Away haul away, haul away joe
That it looked as if sailors were jolly
Away haul away, haul away joe

The sound of men’s voices rose solemnly in the air as the Blackjack rounded the head of Zaratan island. Or at least Ayanne thought it was the Blackjack. She had long lost track of what name was used when as the sailors that made up the pirate Requiem’s crew had schooled her on life on deck. There was so much to learn and while she had read a great deal on the subject when the man had kept her “prisoner” there was little she knew that was of any practical use.

But that life at sea was never a game
Away haul away, haul away joe
That once aboard the Captain’d hold my chain
Away haul away, haul away joe

She had been assigned the ship’s doctor’s “apprentice” though it quickly became apparent she was easily the man’s equal. That was well. She had a new life to get used to and he appreciated a practiced hand when it came to medical work. Besides there were other tasks she had to learn. Though they had given her a little tiny bunk in a cramped room under the galley stairs with a door that locked, Ayanne had a feeling it might once have been a pantry cupboard, she spent little time there. If she was not turning her hand at medical craft there were maps and charts and logs to be gone over. Ayanne often felt as if Malachi were training her for something, when he was not flat out ignoring her.

But all of her advice I failed to heed
Away haul away, haul away joe
And now it’s a sailor’s life that I lead
Away haul away, haul away joe

Ahead of them loomed a large cavern, its opening easily wide and tall enough to accommodate a ship twice their size. Ayanne stood at Malachi’s right elbow and openly gawked at what she first mistook to be a stone archway framing the entrance, until she realized it was all one piece. Carved intractably with patterns and design so complex she could scarcely make it out except for what appeared to be a lion’s face at the apex.

Suddenly the light changed as the ship sailed forward. From the bright daylight of high noon to the dark shadow of a cave, for a moment she was blinded in the sudden dark, yet when her vision cleared she saw not the gloom of a cavern as she had expected, but in the flickering light of the lanterns that lit the walls, a floating port.

The current they were in flowed straight down the middle, and along either side were row after row of floating dock work. Spanning across the top of the shelter were a number of suspended bridges and platforms, some seeming to house merchant stalls. Fisherman carried their catch from the smallest area where their boats were housed and various people called to each other across the expanse. Had she been anywhere else Ayanne would have claimed she was at a port belonging to a small city.

Once as a young man, my girl did tell me
Away haul away, haul away joe
That as a sailor alone I would be
Away haul away, haul away joe

Ships of all shapes and sizes were lined up within. Some, like them, had just arrived and others appeared to be preparing to depart.

Nearly every one of them flew a pirate flag and all of those had a common base in the design.

Compass_Rose_2_by_Masterchris11.jpg


 
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"Wait. Yes, let us discuss the elephant on the plains." Tattersal leaned forward, subtle voice carrying to the small group around them. The noises of merrymaking and kresnick drowned out his next few words, his eyes locked with Lut Sar's and his hands flaying the air in rapid mudra. In the Nocturne's credit, his eyes were barely able to keep up with the signed accusations, but he could only snatch pieces of meaning.

Kin ...

... treeants

... ... prophet

... ... ... aviary ... glamour, fey,

... deadlan-

Index and middle finger snapped downwards, cutting the tirade short. Tattersal stood and walked to the twilight edge of the celebration, standing at the interstice of shadow and conversing darkly with a great Unicorn. Amaltas' presence drew equal parts curiosity and boredom from the Kaustrian guard. Well were they used to such strange sights from the sifting sands, where giant scarabs and chimeras sprung momentarily from the deeps, only to recombine later into creatures twice as strange, and thrice as strong. Though his horn and glamour gleamed, they were well matched by the raw ferocity gouged into the wet dirt by the elephant-lions in the Czar's throng.

Lut Sar was quiet for a while. Pensively quiet. Dangerously quiet. The claims flickered off his eyes and the kresnick as he drained the cup. An opportune cough from the drink refocused his smile on the merchant and merchantress, silent with expectation.

"Of course." He swept his hands upwards and outwards. "Kaustir has, and always will, rely on trade and Avarath to sustain our nation. In return, we only ask that you continue to accept our ore and whatever scraps we can dig from the desert."
 
A Beautiful Symbiosis, brown
Actions and consequences. If you boiled the world down, refined it to its purest and simplest form, these would be the two components.

Selwyn had this belief lodged firmly in his mind as he took the seat that the 'diplomat' - if she even deserved that dishonourable title - offered to him. Moves and counter-moves. He smiled easily as he was expected to, acted out the demure role of chastened schoolboy so well that surely not a single one of the ambassadors could complain.

He had had his turn, had made his gambit. Now he had to observe the results. Actions and consequences.

All in all, Selwyn thought, the exquisitely clad woman next to him did a remarkable job at smoothing over the undeniable tension that his words had created - as had been intended. The rebuke was just a tad extreme, and he winced at the sharp pain inflicted on his tender flesh. It could have turned out a lot worse, though. Out of the consequences he had anticipated, this was one of the more mild. Not ideal, but he could work with it.

As the woman with the honeyed words finished her unctuous speech, Selwyn began to raise the mug which had been returned to him. But when the great forest-kin general started furiously signing, his expression began to change. Slowly, subtly, the look of contrition melted away. The faintest of grins played at the corners of Selwyn's mouth, his dark eyes glittered with pleasure.

Selwyn didn't understand a word of what was being signed.

Despite his heritage, the nocturne had never really taken much of an interest in the deeper culture of Viridos - other, darker things had always taken his fancy. One didn't have to understand the words to read the body language, however. The tension that had only just dissipated came back stronger than ever.

And though the Kaustrian Nocturne's words, when they came, seemed calm, Selwyn knew better than to speak without thinking. A lion seems calmest just before it leaps for its prey, and this man had the eyes of a predator. Selwyn raised his glass amicably as he pondered his next words. Actions and consequences.

"The forests of Viridos are a dangerous place. Without the ore that your people seem to miraculously procure from your inhospitable lands they would be much more so.

"It truly is a beautiful symbiosis."

Selwyn raised his glass to his lips. Even as he drank the dark red substance, his eyes never left those of the nocturne who was staring back.
 
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Morning had come; a silent stalker entered the Kaustir camp. It was wispy, cold, moist, and it was something that the soldiers were not accustomed to. When Amalia left her tent at sunrise to relieve herself she nearly jumped in surprise. She ran her hand through the substance several times, eyes squinting hard. What was this...?

Her memory prickled in the back of her mind.

"It's fog," she said, and shuddered at how the vapors seemed to muffle everything around her.

But it wasn't just sound that was affected, the surroundings too were whited out. Amalia could only see ten, perhaps fifteen feet in front of her. She could make out the shapes of soldiers walking and starting fires, but sometimes forms would disappear in the clouds, or appear suddenly. It was unsettling, and the woman didn't like it one bit. In the desert one could seen an enemy or friend from afar. This... This was something neither she or many of the soldiers experienced. She swallowed, wondering if an army lurked somewhere in these vapors.

Crouching, the healer struck flint and steel together over a dead fire pit. Sparks flew, landed on a pile of kindling. Nothing. Growling, Amalia tried again, and again.

The sound of snapping twigs made Amalia whirl around. Dagger in hand, Amalia glared into the shifting whiteness.

"Who's there?"

A human form slowly walked threw the fog, it flashed an oddly familiar smile. "I see you've been working on your reflexes while I was away." A hand lashed out from the void and grabbed Amalia's blade hand. "But there is always room for improvement." his voice was calm. Takeda stepped out of the fog "Hello Amalia." He let go of her and gave a long bow. "It's nice to see you again." his trade mark smile was bigger then usual.

But she did not return the welcome.

As her former mentor bowed, exposing his backside, Amalia swung her leg. Bony ankle contacted with his cheek, sending the man sprawling onto his back.

The healer's eyes were bloodshot, brimming with rage and fear. For seconds Amalia lay in a crouched position, dagger clutched close to her chest. The hand was trembling. Her chest was heaving, breath coming in low, harsh grunts. With her ragged hair and sunken eyes she looked more like an animal and less like a human.

Matil limped past the healer and gave a pathetic meow. The disposition melted away like ice on a bed of lava.

"... Takeda? What are you..." The dagger thudded to the ground, blade sinking into the soft dirt. Amalia dug her palms into her eyes, groaning. Droplets of liquid fell from her eyes.

"I'm sorry. You - You frightened me. Are you alright?"

"Well it would appear I need more training myself. Forgive me I did not mean to scare you." Takeda groaned. He sat up and eventually brought himself to his feet. He rubbed the side of his face, and dusted off. "So uh might we go into your tent, we have a great deal to talk about." He had a bit of a nervous look on his face.

The two entered Amalia's tent. "Would you mind if I put on some tea?" He pulled a small leather sack from his Gi. "The east has amazing green tea." he began to heat some water just outside of the tent.

When the swordsman returned he sat opposite to Amalia. "So, you must have many questions for me, but to answer your first... no I didn't find a suitor for you." he hesitated. Amalia's eyes went wide and her breathing rapid. Takeda put up a hand "Wait wait look at this." He handed her a tattered, warn, thick scroll.

The woman was about to utter some excuse, some explanation as to why Takeda didn't receive the message until she unrolled the scroll. Eyes crinkling with puzzlement, Amalia realized that all of these men were suitors, and listed beside their names were reasons why Takeda thought they would suit her. Along with reasons why they were rejected.

Blinking, Amalia closed the scroll and set it down on the ground. She sipped her tea from its porcelain cup; the bitter taste couldn't penetrate her stormy thoughts.

"... You should know that I'm no longer First General. Therefore all of the work you've done is pointless. I am a soldier, with a rank that is inferior to yours or Rakar.

"I understand if you are mad at me. I would be if I were in your place."

Takeda sipped his tea and let out a sigh "Yes I found that out from a very angry towns person when I arrived yesterday." his voice was somber. There was an awkward pause between the two, the outside noises of soldiers going about their orders was the only thing that broke the silence. "I am not mad you Amalia, if anything I though you would never look at me again for failing your request General or not." he looked her in the eye. "Please understand I tried my absolute best in finding you a suitor. Rules were put in place that I would I have applied to suitors for my daughter." he explained. "I'm afraid Viridos just doesn't seem to have the right man for you." a reluctant look washed over his face.

"So both Kaustir and Viridos failed me," she murmured softly. "Perhaps Pegulis would fare better."

The image of a hulking green scaled draken struck suddenly, forcing Amalia to close her eyes.

"What will you do then?"

The swordsman gave a faint smile "Perhaps." he chuckled.

He finished the rest of his tea and set the cup down "Well the winds of change are calling for possible war, and as a solider I must be the one who commands those winds, and if you'll have me I would like nothing more then to be by the side of a student and friend." he smiled. "Also, as I recall I have much left to teach you, unless you've been practicing on your own." with a glint in his eye he raised an eyebrow.

Amalia gave a sour look "Alright alright I get it." Takeda backed off. Again there was a pause, but this time Takeda studied the young woman infront of him... something was off. "There is a darkness about you." he looked to a transformed darker Matil. "What happened while I was away?" a look of confusion and worry ran across his face.

"We were given a mission and we failed," she said simply. "I got demoted as a result."

Matil limped away, exiting the tent through the canvas wall.

"It's odd that everyone I've depended on are appearing at a time like this. I suppose war does that... And if that's the case I should be expecting K'jol at any moment.

"And yes, I welcome you at my side." She lifted her chin, back straight. "Although I'm unsure where I will be if war does come."

"Well rest assured I will be with you where ever you end up." he gave a slight bow. "K'jol you say? What happened to him, as a matter a fact where is everyone? Arania is out securing a tent." he looked out of the tent flaps then shot quickly back to Amalia. "We got her cured by the way. There was a healer there who 'cleansed her body of the demon' and placed it in this small orb." Takeda pulled out the black marble and showed it to Amalia. The swordsman smiled "You would have loved it there, nothing but green hills and kind faces." his face went blank as he remember the town.

"Uh but I digress, what of the others?" he looked to her.

She fought to kept the disinterest from her face, plastering an amused and polite expression for his benefit. "The others? Rakar is here, he has his own tent."

The healer waved her hand in the general direction of his tent. "As for others... I haven't a clue. Lut Sar and the Czar won't tell me. Rakar told me that he was incarcerated, but you can speak to him."

"Incarcerated? I have been gone along time." he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well I thank you for seeing me Amaila." Takeda stood up. He frowned when his gaze reached her face. "Amaila whatever you are fighting you don't have to do it alone. We are still here to help you, General or not. Your spirit is broken, anyone can see that, and I can teach ways to mend it. I know what it's like to carry a darkend soul." he wanted to help her, it was in the tone of his voice, if only she would accept.

Except she wouldn't, waving a dismissive hand towards her former mentor. Her smile was full of warmth; reassuring and abrupt.
"Both you and Rakar are being overprotective of me. I assure you, I'm fine."

Takeda's face hardened "No Amalia, you're not fine judging by the state of Matil. I have seen what hatred and anger does to people who bottle it up. I've seen darkness destory countless lives and relationships." his eyes dug into hers. "Do not brush off the concerns of your friends as if they empty. Enough pity, enough depression, and enough contempt. You must train your mind and body to look past such rediculus emotions and push onward." his voice was that of a commander in the military stern but fair.

He paused for a moment to let his message sink in, never drawing his eyes from hers. "If you never want to see me again after this fine, but know this no one can survive in this world alone." he turned and marched out of the tent, wind kicking the flaps closed.

And as the man left, with the tent flap closed, Matil returned with a limp. The Aux curled herself into a ball at the Crux's knee.
Amalia ran a delicate finger over the sand cat's ethereal body, cooing softly.
 
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For all the vigour and venom that Viridos possessed, it was a remarkably stable climate. The giant canopy only allowed a diffuse glow from the sun above, and at night the wet lands radiated the heat from the day. The kin did not feel temperature as the humans did, the merchants from the silver wings pulling ineffectual shawls around them as they emerged from their guest yurts with the crowing of the cock.

Yesterday, Lut Sar smiled at Selwyn's words but did not say anything. They both turned to watch the silver-gowned men and women dance around the fire. The glaring intensity turned the fabric translucent, and their bodies writhed in the dim silhouette.

Lut Sar blinked. Started. Jumped from his seat, hand on his rapier. The effect on the party was immediate. The Kaustrians stopped their festivities and a calm malice spread over the party. Like a cat who was getting bored of batting its prey to death, more and more soldiers emerged from the edge of darkness beyond the bonfire.

The Nocturne slowly raised a hand to his face, and his gloved hand came away wet.


New Zirako descended into a frenzy of activity. Soldiers pulled the center of the yurts down to form cups for the rain. The Drakens extended their tongues to the sky. Some of the soldiers wept, others slapped each other on the back. A thousand and one mouths, openings, and canteens opened to the clouds above.

The mirth did not last long. The barrels and bellies filled, but the squall did not pass. The yurts buckled from the weight of the water. The Drakens pulled oilskins around themselves and huddled around the blazing fire, desperately stoking its flames as it struggled to boil off the rain. A general panic began to settle over the settlement as the ground slowly swallowed it.

"It appears," the Nocturne shouted over the din of rain and panic, "that we will have to adjourn for today! You are welcome to stay as long as you wish." Another firm handshake, and Lut Sar departed into the darkness, slipping and sliding on the rain slick mud.
 
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As Kaustir tried to flee from the storm, Viridos reveled in it. Not only for the water, which was the lifeblood of any forest, but also for the opportunity it had provided. But, as with all storms, it must come to an end. As the Kaustirians slowly emerged from their hiding places, eyes agape at the damage the rain had caused to people who knew only heat and drought, Tattersal gathered his own. He had learned everything there was to learn from the careful words of Lut. It was time to play his own cards, retreat, and prepare.

The entirely of the Viridos delegation gathered, split into two distinct parties. On the one side, the merchants, huddled by affiliation. On the other, Tattersal’s own soldiers, carefully spaced among Amaltas’ unicorns. The obvious rift did not matter to the general. He could use it.

When Lut finally emerged to greet him one last time and say farewell, Tattersal moved forwards as well. He shook Lut’s hand politely, before turning to gesture towards the merchants.

“A portion of our delegation will not be returning to Viridos.” The merchants who were close enough to hear Tattersal’s words began to shout in protest, but the General turned towards them, his one good eye silencing any further words of protest. “They will remain as a permanent emissary of our nation, and a sign of good faith.”

Indeed, the merchants would not be returning to Viridos, one way or another. Should they choose to abandon the post Tattersal had set them and try and return to the Verdant Realm, well, the forest would provide.

“As a further tribute to the continued peace between our nations, the Cinnibar Clad wishes to present a gift to the Czar.” Once more, Tattersal turned away from Lut, this time performing the mundra of summoning. A lone figure detached itself from among Tattersal’s soldiers, moving forward with carefully measured movements. It was impossible to make out the exact details of the figure underneath the robes she wore, but she was clearly feminine, and had a giant, snake-like aux wrapped around her shoulders. She drew up next to Tattersal, and Chelena’s wide, cyan eyes connected with Lut’s own. She hesitated briefly, before dropping into the deep curtsy of the Kaustirian courts.

“This,” Tattersal continued, taking Chelena’s hand and passing her off to Lut. “Is Chelena. She too will be remaining, as our gift to the Czar.” He bowed politely, performing the mundra of parting in friendship, before turning and walking back to his soldiers without another word. A moment later he was mounted on one of the unicorns, who snorted indignantly but did not react otherwise. At the raise of his hand the rest of Tattersal’s soldiers mounted, and they turned in time away from the Kaustirian encampment, leaving behind a mass of confused, angry merchants.
 
, brown
'A sign of good faith?'

Selwyn's expression was as dark as the thunderclouds from the previous night as he heard Tattersal's words. While others shouted their protests at the general, Selwyn remained mute. An almost palpable cloak of fury seemed to grow around him; several of the merchants surrounding him stepped away from him without quite knowing why they did it. This was unexpected. Unpredicted. Of all the possibilities he had considered, Selwyn had not expected to be in this position.

And there was nothing the nocturne hated more than being surprised.



As the company of soldiers and unicorns made their way to the distant treeline, a curtain slowly dropped down over the venomous fury he was emanating; by the time the company had disappeared, Selwyn's expression had turned to one of cold calculation. He needed to move, and soon, else he'd simply become on of the delegation, an emmissary-turned-prisoner. Turning to look at the gaggle of merchants behind him, Selwyn saw a great body without a head. They were mindless, directionless, abandoned in a hostile environment with nowhere to go but forwards, towards the giant beast that was waiting to strike.

They needed a leader.

"Strike while the iron is hot," Selwyn murmured as he stepped forward. The merchants were confused - surely none among them would question his claim to leadership while in this state. Still, this was a gamble, a risk with repercussions if it went wrong. Two gambits in two days? How uncharacteristic of him.

"I would like to speak on behalf of my fellow 'Signs of good faith'." Selwyn's voice carried above the ongoing babble from the merchants behind him. "I'm sure it is clear from the reactions of my folk that remaining here with the mighty nation of Kaustir was not expected by us. However, this does not mean we will be nothing more than a burden on the supplies which you have so graciously provided. I do not doubt that we can be of service to you."

As he next spoke, his eyes glinted with what was suggested beneath the words.

"And of one thing I'm certain: we can do a lot more for you than our beloved general ever could."
 
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Nightfall to Morning
With rain came life and a vitality that could bring a smile to even a Kin's face. The delegate who had so recently reprimanded Selwyn leaned back in her chair looking up at the sky as the rain soaked her to the bone. Already revealing cloth was plastered close to her skin showing off her well-groomed figure. Tempered discretion told her to ignore the predatory, appraising smile that flashed across Selwyn's face only to be quickly replaced with a veiled tenderness. One had orders, one had personal ambitions, both were looking for opportunities. They tredded around neutral ground at first, each testing the other's politics with the grace of player who knew their sport well. Words drew them closer and when the lights started to be taken down the delegate waved her fellows away as they made mudras of parting. As soon their backs were turned Selwyn leaned forward, his aux Tsalke slipping unnoticed under the table, and placed a hand over one of the delegates delicately groomed one.

"Perhaps we should retire to somewhere warmer." Selwyn's voice was heavy with the effects of his advent. "There is much to discuss."

Morning dawned grey and saw both the delegate and Selwyn already awake, their voices hushed and gentle if sharpened by talk of business. The nocturne merchant lay stretched upon a tousled bed, scattered blankets barely covering his bare form. While the delegate sat at a small desk, a silken robe wrapped around her, penning a letter upon paper that bore the silver wings of Belphebe's trade. Leaving the bed Selwyn stood behind his bedmate, sharp eyes watching her hand scrawl out the note, momentarily glad that the delegates gaze was distracted as a gleeful smile split his pale face for a brief moment.

"It is as we agreed?" He asked running a hand over her glossy hair.

"Yes, I believe both parties will be satisfied with the arrangments." She said rolling the page up and sealing with a bit of wax.


Tattersal had made a bold move, it seemed he wished to leave the controlling heads of the merchants stranded far from his precious port. What he seemed to forget is that Belphebe was not so trusting as he might have liked to believe. Sure, the party she had sent was impressive, but if there was one thing she was good at, it was putting on a show. So while at first her delegates griped with rest of the merchant crew they did so with less enthusiasm than their counterparts. And when Selwyn stepped forward with heavily sugared words it was with four of the five silver covered delegates at his side. The fifth delegate, a leopard faced anima, had not even waited until the last of the soliders had disappeared into the trees to rush back to the tents and begin writing a letter on a narrow strip of paper to the Mistress.

The army marches home but without its supplies. Prosperous nation awaits.

The message was copied twice over and rolled up small enough to fit in the leather strap that was attached to the birds that had been brought all the way from the forest with them. By the time all was secure the soldiers were out of sight and so none of them saw the three small birds that were released, one after another, and took flight on the direction of the jungle. They would quickly outpace Tattersal, and by the time the General returned home, he would get his wish.
 

This trek was not unlike any she had done before. Day after day her foot sank into the sands with the sword's scabbard swathed to her back. When she could, Nu darted between the shadows of the gigantic bone trees that littered the path between the remote northwestern village and Avarath. To the bones, she was the same as a grain of sand. She could not stay very long in their shadow. Ancient whispers chilled the air, and she took a shivering gulp from her waterskin before pressing on.

The start and stop of each journey was filled with grim business. She had traveled across Kaustir for many reasons: watching cult masters froth after a bite of raptor stew, or the blood fountain from the arrowhead piercing their forehead. Some people, like Takeda perhaps (as the weight of the sword on her back sometimes asserted) placed special emphasis on killing items or killing patterns. But the weariness of a desert crossing often erased such predilections. Once, she killed someone with a rock, then started the week-long journey back after scalping him to confirm the kill, a thirty-second reprieve between half a month of walking.

Retrieving a sword was not quite the purpose this time, more of a punishment by a jealous master. When Lut Sar sent her back into desert after nearly bleeding her dry over the ykloids from Dorgrad, she could see the quiet fury in his dismissive gestures. There was no helping it. From a decade of observance, Nu concluded that this behaviour was not confined to any race, but naturally came about given particular circumstances.

The trek each time was long and arduous. Whenever Lut Sar sent her out, desperation bit at her stomach. It did not get any easier with time. When the temperature was the best for walking, how to conserve water, how to forage for food ... none of the lessons accrued mattered when the Sun rose to high noon and desiccated all thought from her mind. She breathed through her nose and drank warm water through a tube taped to her lips. The only company she had until the fire at nightfall was the crunch of sand under her moccasins.

Yet as she arrived back in Avarath, oblivious to all the change before her, she looked back behind her with quiet dignity, at the vast golden ocean she had conquered once again. The desert glowed, a gigantic organism that in her imagination acknowledged her passage. It was but a fleeting feeling; already the memories of the journey were being blown away by the sandstorm approaching the suspiciously empty merchant city.

Still, that instant of nostalgia seemed to make the whole thing worth its while. She reshouldered the sword and moved on.
 
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[dash=gold]
The steel claw clicked a contemplating rhythm on the wooden table. Nocturne to Nocturne, they faced each other inside a double-hide yurt. Rays of sun barely peaking in from the ground were drowned by the uncomfortable blaze of a chandelier from the central pole. Laverna suffered from the blinding light, but she remained perceptive while the other was disoriented.

"Merely a formality." The inquisitor's chin rested in her palm and traced a circle of sawdust with the other. "With Tattersal offering you under such circumstances, I'm surprised Lut Sar didn't have you killed the moment he turned his back."

The gaze of the Sun Inquisitor bound Chelena to her seat. She smoothed the fine Viridosian evening gown for the second time. "I don't understand," Chelena said, her eyes wide and afraid. "Why would he kill me? I'm a gift. A sign of goodwill."

The Inquisitor stood and walked around the table. She enjoyed how Chelena's eyes followed her, affixed by an invisible rod to her claw. "Tattersal knows that the Czar only keeps failed assassins as his concubines and servants." Perhaps a lie; it did not matter. "Does that mean he intends for you to join their ranks as well?"

"I'm a gift," Chelena repeated, stubborn yet timid. She did not flinch as the steel hooked the strands of her dress, the gown sliding down to the floor.

"So you just ... assumed you were going to be enjoyed by the Czar." Wraiths seeped into the room as molten wax from above hissed on the dancer's skin. "In that case, I will have to vet your body."

"What?" Chelena took a panicked breath, her eyes darting back and forth as the wraiths slowly moved closer.

The paralysis on Chelena shattered, and she bucked against the gloved hands cuffing her wrists. "No!" She struggled in vain. Her arms were pulled high, baring her neck and belly, and Laverna cupped the swell of her chest from behind. Her grey claw slid down past the navel, warming up to flushed pink as it searched deeper for unbroken flesh.

"Just tell me why you are here. Not what Tattersal wants you here for." A yelp, and Laverna clicked her tongue. "You've slept with a man before. Did he leave you with any poison?"

Chelena whimpered faintly. Rivulets of blood ran down her thighs, dripping from Laverna's claw. She could hear her breath echoing inside her head, as she fell back to the mantra Tattersal had drummed into her on quiet, sleepless nights. "I have to protect Viridos." Her voice was but a faint whisper, legs limp against the Inquisitor's caress.

A pause. The red claw rang on the table. Disarmed of the symbol of her cruelty, Laverna tenderly held Chelena's cheek and whispered sweet poison to break her loyalty to her master. "How?"

"I must make love to the Czar. Then he'll be mine as much as I'm his. Then he won't invade Viridos."

"..." The wraiths held her as Laverna pulled the dress back over Chelena's shoulders. From behind, she gazed into the Nocturne's eyes through a mirror for the longest time. If that was all there was to her motivation, the Burning Sun did not need Laverna to break the girl.

"The Czar does not like meek girls." She released her and wraiths led her out; Chelena looked over her shoulder but the Inquisitor never turned around, lost in memories of their conversation.

He would do it himself.
[/dash]
 
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[ @E.T. @lynzy ]

Shardis and the Kathram leopard-horse circled each other. The stout animal whinny-snarled, its lips peeled back to reveal the meat shredding teeth. Large, keratinous claws on its hoofs gouged at the dirt. Its ears were flat and eyes rolled upwards. It charged at the anima.

And slammed into the iron bars of its cage. Shardis shivered and pushed Caoimhe on. On one side of the Czar's yurt blossomed a menagerie of Chersonese curiosities. Long ago, the Czar devoured his first collection, and its caretaker was sent on the Long March as part of the failing old. A century of careful cultivation and collection, lost. But the wizards of husbandry, the Kathram, did not sit still. Driven by need and the runt-like constitution of animals in the Chersonese, they bred by skill, advent, or magic, fusing hybrid vigor into anything that wandered into their traps. Herbivore and carnivore bred into omnivores, eagles with teeth, and small, skittish creatures that could combine into one rolling ball of fur. Putting them in cages was easy.

The pair from Pegulis were not here to visit the zoo, though. They were here for Glyph.

gleeph.jpg

"The hazard of prophecy ... "

Caoimhe pushed the plate of gruel, but the mad shaman inside did not heed.

"Does prophecy create the future, or does the future require the prophecy?"

Life, the Kaustrians say, is like a well. It is good until the next bucket suddenly scrapes the bottom.

Something in Glyph's chest wrought his body. The blood he coughed into his hands came out tinged with the various herbs he smoked, more times green and purple than congealed red. As they had approached New Kaustir at the Prosperos shore, his eyes grew dull and he became increasingly obsessed with what he called "his last work. A bobbemyseh. Heheheheh."

Once they arrived at camp, he fished daily with his seersight. It probably did not help with his declining health. Before long, guards showed up at their campsite, and they were brought into a midnight black yurt, a double-hide tent that hid all inside from the sun. A single candle was provided for the dubious benefit of the unNocturne.

"Normally, I don't meet with seers, oracles, or any who claims to be close to dead gods. Since the old gods are just a faded idea, people who claim to be close to them are only but inheritors of those ideas. Deluded fools."

"Yet ... "
In the darkness they could feel the Czar examining his fingernails. "You have been making strange, consistent calls to my people."

He enunciated Glyph's prophecy, desert dialect emphasizing every syllable.

"The Czar will fall and a Mask will take his place."

"I have seen the advent-truth." The old bard peered into the darkness. "But you ..."

"Prophecy, augury, prediction, bone-reading, advents." The Czar leaned into the candlelight, his face dimly lit for the three to see. "Do you know what us Kaustrians call them, Kaustrian? Lies and weakness."

"Traitor of the North. It is good that people weak of mind like you exist, so you can be turned traitor easily."
Spears surrounded them and pushed them from the yurt.

"Dress the good bard up in attire fitting his profession."

"And the girls?"

"What can women from the North do?"

A short scuffle later and Glyph collapsed into the cage, the dried desert grass rattling in the Prosperos breeze. "The hazard's of prophecy ..." The mask was shaped like the giant, wingless warblers that Avarathi hawkers tied to the stalls to attract customers and liven up the streets. Creatures without elegance, their only virtue was a shrill bawk known only for volume and little else.

"Is it fated for the Czar to not hear? Or does fate require that the Czar not hear?" He gripped the cage, staring at the black yurt, oblivious to his companions.

In the tent, Lut Sar scraped the makeup from his face, the dried gelatin that pulled his skin into the Czar's visage. Contemplation wrinkled his face as it disappeared behind a lacquered mask, and he stepped out of the yurt by a hidden flap.
 
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(Collaboration With Tone 6th)


Leonid Kallis was in a bad mood, First he had been told that the engineers felt that repairing the yurts wasn't a priority even though he was damn sure they were doing everything they could to fix theirs. He had soldiers complaining of low rations and the quartermaster was stonewalling him on a response. He was getting more and more frustrated by the moment. Kaustir preserve me he thought as he trudged through the mud away from his mens' tents. The Kaustir army had lost men on the march, but the heavy infantry had been especially hard hit and two other squads that had lost sergeants had been folded into his. Putting him in direct command of more men than he needed or wanted until suitable candidates for promotion could be found. In fact the army was disorganized as all hell and he feared would be unready if assaulted or called to battle. Wooden palisades were just now being put up where eventually the walls of New Zirako would be erected. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride as he saw the engineers assembling and placing the logs We have come far he thought but quickly stirred himself to prevent reminiscing and slogged on-wards towards the inner camps. He had heard of an Elite Guardsman who was more willing to associate with the rank and file than most and he hoped to garner his assistance in preparing the men.

Takeda was sitting in his tent reviewing the plans for the army's next movement, as well as brushing up on Viridos' language. With books in one hand and lunch in the other his eyes focused on each page of knowledge.

"Takeda sir a moment of your time." an elite guard asked from outside of his tent.

"Yes, what is it?" he responded.

"I have a Sargent Kallis here, he says he's been looking for you... and he's from the second army sir." the guard said the last bit in a hushed tone.

*Thud* The book in his hand went shut "Send him in." Takeda sat up and answered in a commanding tone.

"You may enter" the stern looking Guardsman said to Leonid as he held the flap of the tent open and gestured to enter. The sharp eyed man seated inside gave Leonid a look that made him wish he had thicker armor and suddenly Leonid was struggling to remember what he was trying to say. "Uhmm...Ah yes! I would like to thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Sir!" Leonid said falling back on formality as he saluted "I was hoping to speak to you about some of the issues plaguing the army, Sir!" All of a sudden he realized he felt very vulnerable standing in front of this man. "I was thinking that with someone of your standing assisting me we could get some organization back into the army occupying New Zirako, Sir!"

Takeda grinned, it had been far to long sense he'd spoken with someone from the second army. "But uh..." he looked at the solider's badge. "Sargent." Takeda smirked. "If I draw resources to the second army wouldn't that leave my men weaker?" The samurai chuckled. "And leaving my men weak just isn't an option. Now please be so kind as to return yourself to your expendables- I mean soldiers." he waved the dumbfounded Sargent on.

"EXPENDABLES!!" Leonid couldn't help but shout in indignation "You listen here you trumped up Half wit, those men fight and die while you sit back and guard some blue blooded nobles son playing at war!" He shouted at the Guardsman "And all I ask is that they have food in their stomachs and a dry place to sleep before that happens!" He planted his hands down on the desk. "And I'm not moving from this spot until you agree to help them!" He finished in a huff his face having gone a shade of red.

"It isn't wise for a dumb dog to yap at the man with a sword." Takeda said in a low tone. With lightning speed the samurai grabbed Leonid's foot and knee and began to bend them both against the joint. "Now tell me yapping dog are you starting to see the error ah of your ha... your hahahah." Takeda broke out into laughter, releasing the Sargent's leg. The swordsman began to came off his laughter "I'm sorry Sargent aha... You have my full attention now. How can I uh help?" there was still a smile on his face.

Leonid lay on the floor of the tent rubbing his knee. "Ahh..Forgive my impudence, Sir!" He said pulling himself up as the Guardsman began laughing. "It's not a matter of a lack of supplies but a problem with how they're being distributed" He explained keeping a wary eye on the Guardsman. Sun above he was quick Leonid thought as he stretched his knee, the knowledge that his leg could've been snapped made him even more wary of the man. "We have provisions that haven't even been unloaded yet, as well as equipment for making more permanent housing for the troops" he explained "I can't get anywhere with the Quartermasters but with your clout they'd rather swim back to Avarath before they say no". He hoped he wasn't being played a fool here and was even more nervous now than before. "With those taken care of myself and the other Sergeants can begin drills again and hopefully keep the men in order and combat ready" He finished "If we intend to keep The Chersonese then we must be ready to fight for it, and as it stands we aren't."

"Well I'm not sure how much my signature will do you but," he wrote a note down on a piece of parchment "but anything I can do to help the army of Kaustir would be my pleasure." he handed the Sargent his signature. "Best of luck to you Sargent." He smirked.

"Oh! well...uhmm Thank you sir!" Kallis said as he threw out a salute and left as quickly as his now hurting leg would allow. The Elite Guard are stronger yes he thought as he limped his way to the quartermaster But they are also crazier.
 
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So from the outside of a cage Caoimhe found herself firmly tethered. Her leash was long, it stretched almost as far as she could run in a day but its hold dragged her back to that cursed camp again and again. Huts sprang out of the ground as numerous as the grass on which they stood. Fires burned as numerous as the stars, and when the sun settled back over the horizon she watched from a bordering hill as the ground lit up to mirror the sky. Without the sun to obscure the fire's glow she saw the army stretching beyond the horizon and beyond her line of sight. Like some great black tide that had been spread across the plains, filling every crack and fissure that it encountered, engulfing anything that lay in its path. Stalking among the tents she saw pens of plains' beasts that had been overtaken and absorbed into the mass.

With a million mouths to feed the animals that had made it through the long march and those taken as a prize at their journey's end were packed tightly together. Those that weren't valued for food were allowed to wander freely. Packs of dogs roamed between tents scrounging around in the mud for anything that wasn't completely rotted through by the rain. Ah yes the rain, for such an impressive back they floundered like new pups in a river. A great wooden wall was slowly being erected, a deep trench marking where the wooden pylons would follow. Each time Caoimhe jumped the ditch she saw it filled waist deep with water, soldiers and citizens wading through the mess to try and set the walls into the ditch faster than the water and mud that filled the ditch. Having grown in a land filled with little but the cold and damp the wildling had little understanding of their troubles. And little pity to spare, if any. Quick thinking on Shardis's part had resulted in the dracling being stuffed in a bag and quickly shoved out of sight. After they had been thrown out of the tent and they had tried to tend to Glyph, Caoimhe had spent an hour back tracking, crossing her own trail, and even wading through a couple of swollen streams, making sure that no one would be following her steps. Her leash might be short and strong but she refused to bring her child into the camp, she had to find a safe place to keep him, somewhere the cold and rain would not kill him and where soldiers would not find him.

"This drowning rain." She said with a annoyed look at the grey sky. But her dark frown turned to a gentle grin as the dragon gave an angry snort as though in agreement. But she had a feeling her child's growls and huffs of complaint more had to do with the fact she had insisted it stay in her pack rather than trot alongside as he had been doing as soon as the weather had become warm enough. But right now her need to move quickly as possible eclipsed some slight discomfort on the dracling's part.

The only mothers she had seen raise children had been in her own pack mother and some of the other females in the pack. Drawing on those instincts she hunted for a den, somewhere secluded and difficult for most to reach. A high hole in an old tree proved interesting enough for her to make the climb and investigate the nest, but an inch of rain water and termite tracks throughout the trunk drove her back. An hole under the snaking roots of a tree looked to be promising until he caught whiff of a strong musk indicating that the owner of the hold might still be home. As the sky grumbled again with thunder she felt a slight twinge of desperation, her search did not appear to be leading her anywhere fast and she had reservations about leaving Shardis completely along with Glyph in this unknown and unfriendly territory. She had to find a den fast and get her child settled quickly before the rain came again. Finally she managed to find what look like an old den. The entrance was a small hole between two rocks that she had to squeeze, her wings almost making it impossible to make it through, in on her stomach for about two feet before the space opened up around her and reveled a hollow barely tall enough for her to knee upright in and not quite long enough for her to fully lie down in. The ground was hard packed dirt but a spare shirt would serve as the dracling's bedding for now. For all of his adventuring nature the dragon's instincts kicked in and he huddled down in his make shift bed, anxious his mom was leaving but willing to stay put for now.

Now for the rest of her pack. Taking a moment to done her cloak to keep the slow drip of rainfall off her back. The cage that Glyph had been thrown in might have a roof but it would do little to keep wind and driving rain away. These desert people might not know the consequences of bone chill and frost heart but she was not going to let that be the cause of her Grandfather's death. Her knife had been taken by a guard so she attacked a thick patch of broad-leaf elms with her hands and teeth and soon had a large pile of severed branches. Half dragging and half uncertain flying them back proved difficult but the Kaustirians didn't give her much trouble. A few, heavy accented, cat calls in her direction made her frown but none tried to stop her. Shardis found some food aside from the cold gruel that had been served but they had to eat everything raw for the time as any wood they found was to wet to spark. not that it mattered much, Glyph had not touched any of his food and instead choose to sit and stare blankly at the grey landscape. Together they set the branches into the mud and leaned them against the side of the cage, blocking the wind and providing a space for the to retreat to if they weather got bad enough to drive them to shelter.

By the time they finished the rain was falling earnestly once again and they enjoyed their work from the shelter of the branches. For a long while Caoimhe watched Glyph with her head tilted in confusion. Then her head drooped forward and she rested her face against the cold metal bars. Her brow tightened and for a moment it almost looked like she might start crying. Moments ticked by and she stayed frozen, one hand pressed over her Aux as it swirled angrily over her skin. Feeling Shardis's heavy paw on her shoulder a tiny smile managed to make it onto her lips and Caoimhe looked up with a sad expression on her face. Nothing really needed to be said for now, there was much to saw and much to discuss but both needed a moment to think, a moment to feel.
 
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Ilsa Lisbon — Infiltration, #9348EE, Palatino Linotype
The team assembled. Fifteen of Pegulis' finest.

They shed their armor and other worldly possessions, keeping only the cloths and leathers on their backs. Swords and shields traded for cruder spears and bows. Within the privacy of the Ring of Maeshov's shelter, the soldiers took clay and covered each other in it, dirtying their clothes and layering it on their skin like war paint.

Ilsa kept her Watch Pendant to signal to those who would remain stationed on the outside, but traded the rest of her ornately crafted steel for comparatively simpler irons.

Still battling back occasional fits of nausea, she looked over the men and women in the infiltration team whose aim it would be to become captured and assimilated into the Kaustiran army. Her heart saw Pegulians, but her eyes were certainly fooled.

She hoped that would be enough.

-----

It had only taken them several days to be spotted by Kaustiran scouts. Led at the pointed ends of spears and swords, they were marched back to Kaustir's primary encampment. The tips of flags atop masts and the pointed tops of tents peeked over the horizon as they approached, multiplying over the horizon until they had become a sea of warriors and encampments.

"Ilium help us," an overwhelmed Pegulian muttered under his breath. "Ilium help us all."

He was quickly silenced by a sharp shush from a neighboring soldier. Lut Sar and other members of the Inquisition approached, and the spears and blades pointed at the Pegulians lifted and stood at rest. Lut walked at the front of the Inquisitors, and Ilsa Lisbon emerged from the Pegulians to face him. She braced for a ruthless grilling and interrogation.

"Good morrow."

Lut's voice was warm, almost welcoming. "What region of Sunne do you hail from?"

The guard captain stammered, thrown off by his friendly demeanor. After a brief moment of silence, Ilsa responded, adjusting her speech down to avoid arousing suspicion. "We come from North of here, sir. We roam between the fertile and frozen lands."

"Ah," Lut mused. "I have heard of your excellent breeding arts. You must share your secrets with our stablemasters sometime."

The statement gave Ilsa pause. Was this a bluff? No Pegulians were particularly fabled for breeding, but Ilsa had no idea about any indigenous tribes native to the Chersonese. Mentally, she flipped a coin.

"They are our own techniques, sir. We might be hesitant to share without something in return."

Lut smiled wryly at the bargaining offer as he perked an eyebrow. "Being from the North, you are familiar then, with navigating through Pegulis?"

Ilsa nodded. "Aye, sir. We know of the paths through the frozen lands to and from its major cities."

The High Inquisitor clasped his hands together emphatically. "Excellent! Then today is a fortuitous day for both of us. We offer shelter, water, armaments." His hands moved in flowery, embellishing movements to emphasize what a great service he was providing to these nomads. "We can provide you with food, training, and a place to sleep. All we ask is that you lend us your swords, skills, and services, and pledge your loyalties to Kaustir."

In an extravagant motion, Lut unbuckled the Kaustir Insignia from his shoulder, allowing the cloak that adorned his frame to cascade to rest. He held the Insignia in outstretched palm, saccharine smile ever-present upon his face. "Just as a formality, we will need each of you to kneel and to kiss the Czar's Insignia."

Uncomfortable shuffling occurred from the men and women behind Ilsa. Keep your wits, she commanded mentally, though she knew they could not hear. We are so close.

Graciously, Ilsa lowered herself to her knees, cupping Lut's hand in both of hers as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the Insignia, fighting back at the biting, whirling nationalism in her head. The others, though hesitant, followed suit. When the last was finished, Lut grinned and clasped the Insignia back onto his cloak.

"Welcome to Kaustir."
 
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[ @Krimp ]

As if on cue, an old draken slithered from the dense matting of yurts. In the winds of trade, it is said that one must dress like their craft. He was clothed head to toe in garlands of exquisite desert herbs. Only the scavenging draken could survive the blasting desert sands to pluck the delicate incense from the cactus flowers.

The Silver Wing delegation, once muttering their assent to Selwyn's words, grew silent when this Lord of Spice entered their ring. Lords of Metal, Timber and Salt did not receive much praise in the merchant circles. They were the celebrated of the ruler and the common folk, providers of the foundations of any self-respecting empire. Among the merchants, the luxury exporters were the most exalted. It is only because of us, they boast, that we can distinguish ourselves from the termites and ants that build their own kingdoms in the soil - by indulgement!

"That is all said and well for the Hosian merchants." The draken's split tongue tasted the Chersonese. "There is, after all, nothing to be shipped from there but heartwood that hopefully isn't poisoned like the rest of your land. Timber ... that is going into the Czar's palisade, which should have been built from rocks hewn from Dorgrad."

He sat down and poured himself a glass of kresnick, his tongue flicking at it, droplets splashing red and sizzling on the round table.

"The Avarathi have no desire to see the Czar foment chaos. Sunne is a shattered land, but we have had an uneasy equilibrium." The Hosian and Avarathi merchants once hailed from the same stock. Borne from the sand, the glittering city saw a schism drive half of their brethren East, across the Prosperos to find new, uncharted lands with new goods. Little did they know that their actions a hundred years ago would awaken the poisoned jungle.

"What do I see now? Perhaps you are K'Larr's consorts. Do you know what we call him here, on land? The draken who sprouted gills and fled to the sea."

"Tattersal must be convinced to reopen his port, and Pegulis must be placated." More draken slithered from between crawl spaces, kukri clutched in three fingered hands. "I will not have you incite more chaos here."

"The spice must flow."
 
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Unlike Tattersal, who dazzled his way into an audience with Lut Sar, and even Ilsa, who bluffed her way through a difficult confrontation, Coul chose to go through the direct channels. His visit would not go noticed until many days later.


, teal
Only Coul was allowed in the tent. Around the gigantic charred tree stump, he found a diplomat from Kaustir - a young, tired looking Nocturne, bone ash smeared under his eyes to hide the blackness. The rest of the space was filled by what Coul guessed were merchants, for he recognized no official crest.

"Well ... " the Nocturne boy cleared his throat and a scribe to his left held the pen at ready. "Please begin."

Predictably, the table erupted.

"How does the..."

"Avarath deserted..."

"Shipments rotting..."

Though harassed, the Kaustrian diplomat exerted a calm authority. "Please quiet down. The Czar has assured me that Kaustir will continue to purchase goods from you at the proper rates. In fact, you should expect business to continue, seeing as there is much construction to be done."

"Whelp." A large creature stood up, one-and-a-half times as tall. He was completely clad in slabs of iron. "How can we sell to Viridos when Tattersal closed his borders?" Murmurs burst around the table. "What good is your gold if I can't use it to buy plants from Viridos?"

"Maj of Iron, such events are beyond our contro-"

"It appears to me that all these actions are a direct result of the Czar's brash moves." The metal shingles jangled as Maj pointed an accusing finger at the diplomat. "Is he going to purchase all of our brethren's resting stock in spice, herbs, and sulfur?"

"We from Pegulis find it difficult to conduct business with the merchants in this state." Behind the metal mask, twin red pupils swiveled to gaze at Coul as the Pegulian General stood up, palms on table. "We are unsure if the Czar will levy new tariffs as he occupies the Chersonese. This land used to be neutral and we could meet here as a middle ground. But it seems as if the Czar will unfairly influence what used to be free business. We will not be able to move through these lands to reach Viridos either."

"T-trade will continue. The Sun has no intentions to suffocate the merchants that have been so kind to him."

"We cannot trade with ourselves, insect."Maj gave the diplomat a withering look. But it seemed that he would not get an answer today.

~​

"Oh, that?" Outside of the tent, Coul gazed at the golem, two drakens tall and made of unmelting ice. "It is a standard construct many Pegulians have. We use them as beasts of burden in the North. Normal pack animals would not survive the cold, you see."

The Nocturne boy gulped. "I s...s-see." He pulled the mask around his face tighter, nodded at the scribe and they departed.

"The general is bluffing." Lukesh did not merely derive his confidence from bravado. Something else was keeping him informed of the truth. "And what of Tattersal and his puppetmaster?"

"Tattersal firmly condemns your actions, Burning Sun." The adjutant flipped through his notes, scrawled in nearly illegible Inquisitor shorthand. "He claims he will expel all the merchants and blockade the Viridos coast until you retreat from the Chersonese."

"Nothing he does is of consequence. His tree-men will burn soon enough."

"But the merchants, my Sun ..."

"Do you remember K'Larr?" Lukesh tapped his fingers against his throne. "He fled from my shores with three of my best turtle ships. If Tattersal has truly banished all the merchants from his lands, I know where they will end up."

"The sea." His adjutant sounded nervous. "The Lords of Metal and Wood will not be happy, Des'Sun. Governor Orvak will not reduce his output - he claims that it would take a millennium to restart the forges should they ever go out. The Avarathi complain of surplus. Tattersal was their biggest customer."

"Have them direct their shipments to the Chersonese. We will be needing the materials."

"But our coffers ..."

"With thermic gems." The adjutant sensed a growing irritation in the Czar. "Once the farms here bear fruit, we will not need the merchants anymore. What else?"

"H-He," sounds of paper flipping, "he has also left you a gift. He says that you will enjoy it."

The Czar's eyes played over Chelena. The Silver Wings had done her well, dressed in a silver-green gown that switched colours depending on the angle. It sat taught against her belly and cupped the swell of her breasts, stitched expertly with elastic fiber. "A nocturne bitch? I have seen all the nocturnes Sunne has to offer."

The silken gown crumpled in a circle at her feet.



End of Chapter 7
 
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