Ashiakin
10-01-06, 02:37 AM
((This is closed to Vorin.))
“Valsharess is a stubborn whore,” muttered Aerran Ivkinic, Countess of Aok, as the doors of Valshath d’ Isto slammed closed behind them. Several of the others in the group tensed, eyes flashing toward the nearby drow guards that they were all too aware of, wondering how they would react. The collective nervousness subsided when the guards made no move, stood stolid. The negotiations had gone badly, to say the least, and it would come as little surprise to them if there was blood on the palace steps by the end of the day.
Ashiakin and a cadre of others had been sent by Iorlan Rathaxea, the King of Salvar, to treat with Valsharess, Alerar’s queen. They were to discuss and procure increased trade and a military alliance between the two nations. While things had started out regularly enough, it became quickly apparent that Valsharess had no interest whatsoever in Salvar and was merely entertaining the diplomats as a matter of royal courtesy. It had all ended with Countess Aerran calling the queen a “reactionary lunatic” under her breath and Valsharess curtly suggesting that they adjourn until tomorrow morning.
Besides the tactless countess of the western port of Aok (a Salvic drow and a purported expert on Alerar,) Ashiakin was accompanied by several others. Edwin Windry was his reluctant squire, an awkward boy of sixteen suffering from acne and perpetual clumsiness. Vissal, the battle-mage captain of Ashiakin’s personal guard, was an Officer in the powerful Vogruk-Stokes Company. Yesirvn Jaicnec was an Arbiter--a priest in the Church of the Ethereal Sway, Salvar’s state religion. Additionally, Aerran had brought two of her household guard, Vissal had brought three mercenaries from the Company, and three of the Church’s eerie assassin-priests accompanied Yesirvn.
“You should really mind your tongue, Lady Aerran,” said Yesirvn, nervously stroking the gray in his beard. “You never know just who might be listening.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, dear Yesirvn,” she observed wryly, “the guards come with ears as well as swords. They can hear you just as well as I can.”
“I was talking about Her Majesty!” he huffed, wringing the cuffs of his burgundy jacket. “Need I remind you that you are on a diplomatic mission representing your king and that you should never utter such words in the vicinity of a head-of-state? I don’t know how things are done in Aok, but in Knife’s Edge such dissidence is not tolerated.”
“Maybe that’s why I prefer my quiet seaport to Iorlan’s authoritarian playground,” she snapped back. “My family has been ruling Aok just fine for far longer than the king’s family has held Knife’s Edge. Maybe he can learn a thing or two from us.”
Yesirvn’s face grew red with anger and he sputtered. “How dare you! I’ll inform His Majesty of this treachery the instant we land in the capital. Which, thanks to you, is going to be very—”
“Enough,” said Ashiakin quietly, waving his hand to silence them. He ran his fingers through his white hair, pulling out bits of ash that had fallen on it, a by-product churned out through the smokestacks of the industrial menace that loomed before them. All eyes were on him in an instant. Yesirvn and Aerran ceased their bickering.
“We’re going to move away from here,” he said. “I’d rather Her Majesty’s loyal servants not see Salvar’s brightest minds in such disarray.” He motioned to them and stepped away from the palace, Aerran walking on his left and Yesirvn falling in to his right with Edwin and Vissal walking behind them. Aerran’s guards walked in front of them with three of the others on either flank. It was a formation that they all stepped into easily, having grown accustomed to it from many walks between Valshath d’ Isto and the fanciful manor that served as their temporary base-of-operations.
Ettermire treated them cautiously, but politely. Blacksmiths and craftsmen and street vendors would all look up from their work to stare as they passed, the mechanical clank and clatter that usually roared throughout the city dimming to a low hum whenever the Salvarans neared. Occasionally some Aleraran aristocrat would hail them or invite them to dine at their mansion, but those that did approach them were few. The dark elves were a fiercely nationalistic people, and with tensions with Raiaera running high, most of them wondered what exactly their human neighbors to the north were after.
“That was poorly handled,” Ashiakin said as the group moved through the street, dirty drow children scrambling to get out of their way. “Still, I have the feeling that Valsharess wouldn’t have been impressed if we offered her half our kingdom.”
“Preferably the West,” muttered Yesirvn. Aerran shot him a glare, but Ashiakin ignored them.
Instead he gazed up toward the gray haze that obscured the city’s sky, musing. “I’m not sure what Valsharess wants. We’ll go back and rest and think about this. There has to be something that we’re overlooking… I don’t know what her angle is.”
“Maybe there is no angle, m’ Lord,” said Vissal from behind him. “It may very well be that Her Majesty is seeing us out of royal courtesy and doesn’t intend to give us anything. Even if we were to visit her every day for the rest of our lives. You said that your informants were basically telling you that anyway, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, sighing sadly. “I just hoped that there might be some offer she would appreciate. A naïve hope, it would seem.”
“I… I’m sure Val—Her Majesty can’t ignore us forever, my Lord,” piped up Edwin, trying to inject some cheer into the situation. “Like you said, we have the brightest minds in Salvar with us. I’m s-sure we can come up with something clever.”
“Yes, Edwin,” said Ashiakin, dark blue lips curling into a smile, “I think you’re right.”
“Valsharess is a stubborn whore,” muttered Aerran Ivkinic, Countess of Aok, as the doors of Valshath d’ Isto slammed closed behind them. Several of the others in the group tensed, eyes flashing toward the nearby drow guards that they were all too aware of, wondering how they would react. The collective nervousness subsided when the guards made no move, stood stolid. The negotiations had gone badly, to say the least, and it would come as little surprise to them if there was blood on the palace steps by the end of the day.
Ashiakin and a cadre of others had been sent by Iorlan Rathaxea, the King of Salvar, to treat with Valsharess, Alerar’s queen. They were to discuss and procure increased trade and a military alliance between the two nations. While things had started out regularly enough, it became quickly apparent that Valsharess had no interest whatsoever in Salvar and was merely entertaining the diplomats as a matter of royal courtesy. It had all ended with Countess Aerran calling the queen a “reactionary lunatic” under her breath and Valsharess curtly suggesting that they adjourn until tomorrow morning.
Besides the tactless countess of the western port of Aok (a Salvic drow and a purported expert on Alerar,) Ashiakin was accompanied by several others. Edwin Windry was his reluctant squire, an awkward boy of sixteen suffering from acne and perpetual clumsiness. Vissal, the battle-mage captain of Ashiakin’s personal guard, was an Officer in the powerful Vogruk-Stokes Company. Yesirvn Jaicnec was an Arbiter--a priest in the Church of the Ethereal Sway, Salvar’s state religion. Additionally, Aerran had brought two of her household guard, Vissal had brought three mercenaries from the Company, and three of the Church’s eerie assassin-priests accompanied Yesirvn.
“You should really mind your tongue, Lady Aerran,” said Yesirvn, nervously stroking the gray in his beard. “You never know just who might be listening.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, dear Yesirvn,” she observed wryly, “the guards come with ears as well as swords. They can hear you just as well as I can.”
“I was talking about Her Majesty!” he huffed, wringing the cuffs of his burgundy jacket. “Need I remind you that you are on a diplomatic mission representing your king and that you should never utter such words in the vicinity of a head-of-state? I don’t know how things are done in Aok, but in Knife’s Edge such dissidence is not tolerated.”
“Maybe that’s why I prefer my quiet seaport to Iorlan’s authoritarian playground,” she snapped back. “My family has been ruling Aok just fine for far longer than the king’s family has held Knife’s Edge. Maybe he can learn a thing or two from us.”
Yesirvn’s face grew red with anger and he sputtered. “How dare you! I’ll inform His Majesty of this treachery the instant we land in the capital. Which, thanks to you, is going to be very—”
“Enough,” said Ashiakin quietly, waving his hand to silence them. He ran his fingers through his white hair, pulling out bits of ash that had fallen on it, a by-product churned out through the smokestacks of the industrial menace that loomed before them. All eyes were on him in an instant. Yesirvn and Aerran ceased their bickering.
“We’re going to move away from here,” he said. “I’d rather Her Majesty’s loyal servants not see Salvar’s brightest minds in such disarray.” He motioned to them and stepped away from the palace, Aerran walking on his left and Yesirvn falling in to his right with Edwin and Vissal walking behind them. Aerran’s guards walked in front of them with three of the others on either flank. It was a formation that they all stepped into easily, having grown accustomed to it from many walks between Valshath d’ Isto and the fanciful manor that served as their temporary base-of-operations.
Ettermire treated them cautiously, but politely. Blacksmiths and craftsmen and street vendors would all look up from their work to stare as they passed, the mechanical clank and clatter that usually roared throughout the city dimming to a low hum whenever the Salvarans neared. Occasionally some Aleraran aristocrat would hail them or invite them to dine at their mansion, but those that did approach them were few. The dark elves were a fiercely nationalistic people, and with tensions with Raiaera running high, most of them wondered what exactly their human neighbors to the north were after.
“That was poorly handled,” Ashiakin said as the group moved through the street, dirty drow children scrambling to get out of their way. “Still, I have the feeling that Valsharess wouldn’t have been impressed if we offered her half our kingdom.”
“Preferably the West,” muttered Yesirvn. Aerran shot him a glare, but Ashiakin ignored them.
Instead he gazed up toward the gray haze that obscured the city’s sky, musing. “I’m not sure what Valsharess wants. We’ll go back and rest and think about this. There has to be something that we’re overlooking… I don’t know what her angle is.”
“Maybe there is no angle, m’ Lord,” said Vissal from behind him. “It may very well be that Her Majesty is seeing us out of royal courtesy and doesn’t intend to give us anything. Even if we were to visit her every day for the rest of our lives. You said that your informants were basically telling you that anyway, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, sighing sadly. “I just hoped that there might be some offer she would appreciate. A naïve hope, it would seem.”
“I… I’m sure Val—Her Majesty can’t ignore us forever, my Lord,” piped up Edwin, trying to inject some cheer into the situation. “Like you said, we have the brightest minds in Salvar with us. I’m s-sure we can come up with something clever.”
“Yes, Edwin,” said Ashiakin, dark blue lips curling into a smile, “I think you’re right.”