At the Court of the Princess, For AOC, Flex, Riele and Nemai

[E'doa A'nii]

(I'am going to try and pull some foreign amabassadors from various other countries. If you object to my using an ambassador from one of your races please let me know.)

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At first glance, a visitor to Olivia's court might wonder who the princess was. Her half of the palace is a stark difference from that of her brother's: The halls are airy and spacious. Simple, yet surprisingly ornate tapestries line the walls, and comfortable furniture is in abundance. The place as a clean, simple feel, yet it is welcoming,peaceful and home-like. So much so infact, that our lady's court feels much like a living room. Only a careful observer would notice that her highnesses' chair is elevated a short height above everyone else's and is slightly more ornate.

Her highness herself, Princess Olivia McPhereson, is rather... unconventional in appearance. Rather then gaudy, jewel laden dresses of expensive fabric, she wears simple, disctreetly tasteful dresses, which, in their simplicity are surprisingly ornate. One's first impression is that she is a lady-in-waiting or perhaps a visiting noble.

As warm as her 'sitting room', she is very welcoming. and quick to make everyone at home. Her subjects find it hard to accuse her of anything except eccentricity. Which unfortunately poses a few problems of it's own. But the people of E'do like their King and respect his officials. So they put up with Olivia's little nuances, and hope she isn't as crazy as she seems.

It all started when Olivia became Princess. She choose her subjects in a rather...odd manner. Being unable to communicate with anyone, except her most favored companion, and one translator hired specifically for the job, our dear lady choose her servants by feel. Which is as simple as it sounds. She would simple place a hand under the candidate's chin, stare him intently in the eyes and then proceed to sift through his emotions for what seemed an inordinantly long amount of time. (But was, in reality less then sixty seconds.) To the observer, it looked as if she was having a staring contest, or attempting to divine the character of the person's soul simply by looking at them.

This method made her candidates rather uneasy, and her observers rather concerned. If they were very fortunate, and passed the test --how that was accomplished no one knew-- they were given a trial period. If they passed that, they were hired.

Foreign ambassadors had been sent as well, to re-instate relations with the new government. Her method of dealing with them was even more absurd. Ambassadors would be received upon arrival and held to dinner while their rooms were being made. Each room was made to match the specific emotions which seemed most dominating in the person. If the emotions were negative, the room was done to counter them.

Olivia usually had nothing to say, and left it up to the palace entertainment to welcome her guests. Her translators were the one's who really had the conversations, while her ladyship simply watched and listened. That doesn't sound all that bad really, except that Olivia has a very bad habit of staring; much like a statue stares. Since she is very still, people often wonder if she's even paying attention.

Another peice of information which worries everyone is that she is both deaf and mute. People have no measure of her sanity except on testimony of her brother, and since she really doesn't talk to much to people, it seems as if her translator is the one who conducts all the business...

This can cause problems as people attempt to take advantage of the princess, or try not to perceive the proceedings as a slight upon their honor. Everyday brings new surprises from the gentle and mysterious princess and her court. Today she is expecting several nobles. Two wish to negotiate trade agreements, two have come on a relations visit and one has also come on offer of marriage.

What a surpise awaits them upon reception..

--Of course these aren't the only guests who visit the Princess's court. Nobles, foreign dignitaries and even average commoners traipse through it's gentle halls on a daily basis.

[beflexor]

Weave felt the charged air of the people at the court, the excited buzz that most people got when invited to things such as this, as though it were any different from the dozens of other times they had done something like this.

There would likely be talks of the new recording devices, able to capture not only the person's voice, but their image as well. His sister would strike an elegant figure when introducing the new innovation, after all, she'd had a hand in creating it.

People would also speak of yet another snowfall that had occured last week. The frozen water staying long enough for the children to wake the next morning and play in it before inevitably melting.

There would be the smells of his favorite foods, the hum of the lights, he would perhaps find his sister somewhere in the throng and congratulate her...

No, Weave had to remind himself, there wouldn't be any of that here. This wasn't Upside, he wasn't a noble anymore, and his sister, and everyone else he once knew, was dead.

Weave took a deep breath, it was the reflection in the mirror that had taken him back. Seeing himself clean-shaven and wearing his blue and grey silk noble's clothes that he hadn't even looked at for a long time had nearly caused himself to receed into his past life.

His left eye, however, brought him back. A reminder that things were different now, he was different now. No longer a noble but a thief. A man who stole from this world as it stole from him. What once was truly the noble Weave was now only one more guise among many.

One guise among many, he repeated to himself.

He wondered if this was really worth it. While there was a chance Princess Olivia McPhereson had something valuable to take, was it enough? Enough that he would be willing to endure such a stark reminder of what once was?

Weave took a deep breath, exhaling One guise among many, before stepping out of the small inn room he'd rented.

One guise among many.

[Angel of Chaos]

A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence. ~Leopold Stokowski

/\/\/\/\

Zoe wasn't sure whether it was the morning light that woke her up first or the melodious chirping of songbirds just outside her room window. Nonetheless, she woke up feeling unusually refreshed; unlike other mornings she had gone through in the past month and a half, where she woke up feeling very stiff and achy, this morning she felt no pain as she stretched and yawned. The inn bed she slept on was very soft and plush while it still supported her weight perfectly. She hadn't felt this refreshed and energized since the day she wound up on this world.

Zoe had arrived in this city only yesterday, having desired a change in atmosphere after wandering in the wilderness for the better part of a week. Even at her old home, she could never get used to camping, whether it was tent or trailer. Thus, when she was caught out all alone in the wild, she had no idea what to do; all she remembered was how to build a fire and watching out for bears. As a result, most of her nights were restless and filled with paranoia and back pain. When she had finally come across this city, she was so happy that she had practically skipped through the gates and onto the dirt road.

With that in mind, Zoe jumped out of bed and fished out a fresh set of clothes from her pack. She changed into black tights that exposed only her head and arms, a calf-length blue skirt speckled with silver and green, a blue and purple sleeveless top that exposed her midriff, a long purple scarf, and brown low-top boots. She looked at herself in the mirror and undid the bun that held her waist-length purple hair up. She thought for a moment and then decided to leave her hair down only after a bit of brushing to get any tangles out. After taking a brush out of her pack and spending several careful minutes going through the knots, her hair was tangle-free. Finally ready for a good day for a change, she gathered up all of her belongings, picked up her guitar case, and headed out the door.

After enjoying a very hearty breakfast, Zoe skipped through the giant oak door into the already bustling townscape. As she did, she wondered what she was going to do today. Should she wander around and see the sights this town? Or should she just settle down in one part of the town and play her guitar for all passersby? She felt the weight of her guitar case in her discolored hand and figured that she had to probably do the latter.

Zoe then came across a rather ornate palace. One side of the palace had its doors open, and she spotted commoners coming in and going out. This puzzled Zoe a little bit; when she studied the Dark Ages, palaces such as this were not so open. She then shook the thought out of her head and realized that this wasn't the Dark Ages and that this was an entirely different world altogether. So she concluded that it wouldn't hurt to pay the palace a visit and maybe fill it with a little music. So she turned and entered through the open door.

The court inside was surprisingly simple for such a grandiose exterior. It reminded her more of a spacious living room without the entertainment to support it. Tapestries lined the wall, the only sign of ornate decoration. People of various rankings sparsely dot this area, engaging in quiet conversation. Zoe's ruby brown eyes panned the area left and right for any sign of royalty, but there was none at first glance. She shrugged and headed over to one of the far walls to an empty chair. She sat down and opened up her guitar case and took her beautiful Takamine guitar in hands. After quietly plucking a few notes to tune it, she paused and then let loose a beautiful song of chords, melody and harmony.

[Nemaisare]

((Right so, any question needing to be answered about this fellow should be asked of my character thread, lol. but if that can't answer, give me a poke and I'll try my hand at it. But, just so everyone is clear, the magic Aylen is currently using is entirely non-intrusive, apart from the fact that he's stealing thoughts from other people... He is merely picking up on the thoughts that are being projected and not those kept within the mind, if that made sense... In other words, most others wouldn't realise he is using it.))

Life, such as it was, seemed to have moved along without him. Not hat he was a grand player in its coils, but he might have appreciated it if the others had slowed apace to await his return. Of course, that was asking far too much of anyone, particularly of a people who had no notion who he was, and perhaps didn’t even contain an obscure mention of him in whatever their historical texts were. Stone carvings, ink and paper or word and song. Not many did, these days. It bothered him, it did, that he had been so easily forgotten, but maybe, maybe there was the tiniest sliver of hope that it wasn’t entirely. Just as he still recalled those he had come to follow as they worshipped him, perhaps there were those who might remember him. Some remnant of the people he had known. Or maybe, at the very least, life hadn’t moved so quickly as it seemed, perhaps it was only time, and time waited for no one, man or beast or magic. After all, Aylen had no way of knowing just how long he had spent ignorant of the world around him.

Too, much of what he saw around him was new. He’d been quite certain that this part of the island he had found himself upon ought to be somewhat familiar, even if vaguely so. But, well, there was nothing, nothing but the land itself that he remembered. These buildings, the stretches of forests and the humans who had grown farther away from the earth than he had ever expected them too. Everything was changed. It troubled the old spirit, troubled him sorely, but there was little he could do about it.

So, rather than dwell on what he couldn’t change, he decided he would learn about those changes and perhaps, come to realize they were not so terrible as they seemed. There were some very inspiring pieces of art lined along the streets, from the cobblestones to the high arches and thick walls of the city’s perimeter. And the people did not seem hurt by their lack of communion with his element, perhaps, perhaps they had learned some other way, in those long years he had been cursed to silence. Or perhaps it wasn’t so necessary as everyone had always believed. Well, no matter, there was another question curling through his thoughts at just this moment.

What was this building that seemed so open and inviting? A building whose floors were swept by countless feet and whose stones were older than their post? The structure was sound and the design quite pleasing on the eye, and the doors were open. Not that they would have been any sort of deterrent to the spirit, but it was politer to follow the convention of manners. And manners said that one didn’t enter a closed room, or building, unless one was invited. These doors, however, were quite clearly open, as folk of a more solid sort were traipsing through them more often than not, and no harm come to them.

His wizened face lit up beneath its beard, green eyes bright and beady, teeth flashing yellow with age as he stepped into the flow of traffic and entered the courtyard, gazing about with eyes that saw less than his mind gathered, from the stones at his feet and the memories of the earth. From the thoughts of those surrounding his chosen shape, slight and unassuming as it was. Aylen leaned on his staff as he moved, acting his part of an elder man and enjoying the role, for it meant that those who accosted him for his slowness did so respectfully and gave him time to watch, with perfect disregard for the rules of rudeness when it came to staring, the young woman who came along to pluck the strings of some beautifully crafted instrument.

According to the mind of one woman walking by, this musician’s hair was an unsightly colour. Purple, of all the choices out there, simply did not suit her ideas of what hair should look like. Aylen, for his part, was more than a little amused. This wandering was already proving to have its rewards. He sidled over as surreptitiously as an old man with a long stick and brightly patched robes can and listened to the music through the vibrations it sent through the earth and through the ears of the young woman playing the song. And he wished, not for the first time, that he might, once more, have ears of his own.

[Ričle]

The early winter storm left thin drifts of powdery snow in the mountain passes, and over the next several days these drifts turned to patches of crystal-like ice, eventually melting altogether in the feeble winter sunlight. The weather delayed Rhys's journey six days along the road from Caelin Tal to Ty’ranath Kum; the melted snow had turned the ground to slush, and the poor horse that drew the carriage struggled to gain traction in the inches of slippery mud. The wagon slid to and fro, often precariously, and more than once the driver had needed to stop to dig one of the wheels out of a muddy sinkhole.

Rhys shivered visibly. Though he was cloaked and out of the wind, his wiry frame was not built to withstand the cold of a snowy winter. He huddled in the darkness of the carriage, curtains drawn, his thick white fleece-lined cloak pulled around him and his teeth chattering from both the cold and the jarring of the carriage. A tall stack of books sat untouched on the seat beside him, for Rhys was too cold even to concentrate on reading. He and his driver had spent the previous day and a half held up inside an old waystation, waiting for the roads to dry enough that they could pass. There had been no dry wood for burning, and Rhys had used his magic to keep them warm inside the drafty wooden shack. He was, as a result, utterly spent and tired, and had succumbed to the reality that shivering was a more efficient, if less effective, means of sustaining warmth than magic.

Rhys had agreed to make such a miserable journey on account of his friendship with king Halden, who had asked the sorcerer to travel to the neighboring kingdom to aid E'doa's princess. Rhys was gladly willing to oblige, although he would have much preferred to travel north at a more favorable time of year. Despite his trepidation at making the journey so close to wintertime, Rhys nonetheless had a strong desire to visit the kingdom of E'doa. He had king Halden's assurance that the winter storms would come only intermittently so early in the year, leaving enough time for him to complete his visit and depart E'doa before true winter arrived.

The day's journey had been long and tiring. Rhys felt sympathy for his driver, though he knew the man was hardened to this sort of travel. The carriage did not arrive at the city gates until late into the night, for both Rhys and his driver had preferred to continue the last few hours to the city instead of spending another cold night on the side of the road. Ty’ranath Kum was vast, though Rhys could see little of it through the window of his carriage, and despite the lack of people on the roads at the late hour it took them some time to reach the palace once inside the city gates.

Rhys was no stranger to the life of a noble, but he held no expectations that anyone of importance would be present to greet him. He was humbly grateful when a passing groomsman agreed to escort him inside, and Rhys followed the man into a chilly entrance hall. He waited there alone, absorbing the stone quiet of the palace as all of her inhabitants slept, until a gray-haired serving woman arrived to show him to a room. He gave the woman his name and title; she nodded simply, and indicated he should follow her. As he walked Rhys was completely lost in his thoughts and aching for warmth, and stared at the ground all the way to the guest quarters. He felt an overwhelming relief upon his arrival at his room. The anticipated warmth of the large fire washed over him, and the bed looked as inviting as he had envisioned after nearly two weeks on the road. He instantly settled himself in front of the fire, warming himself while several sleepy palace servants brought in his trunk and books. Long minutes passed as he soaked in the moment and the warmth, until he could fight off sleep no longer, and crawled at last into his bed.

Court began the following morning without him; Rhys awoke late and unaware of any particular time when he might be expected to present himself someplace important. Instead he fulfilled his need for sleep most thoroughly, and dressed in a fresh change of clothes - sorcerer's robes; white and trimmed with the ancient runes of his order, and with his white wool cloak for warmth. Sometime midway through breakfast he lost his attention in the depths of a most excellent history text, only to find it again once his eggs were cold and the sun had passed several degrees higher in the sky.

The court of the princess was easy enough to find, though Rhys had little interest in mingling with nobles. Quite a shock went through the room upon his entrance, and Rhys was at once uncomfortable, staring awkwardly at the many eyes that had turned to look upon him. He knew himself to be skinny, homely, and unimpressive; with hopelessly mussed red hair and countless freckles, but at times the robes he wore and the position he held drew a great deal of awe and attention. The curiosity in the room was starved for sustenance, and the nobles looked at each other with guarded, territorial expressions that made Rhys feel as though he'd walked into a predators' nest. He was instantly assailed by a duke and a countess, whose names he would not later be able to recall, followed by a dozen others who questioned his intent and purpose in the princess's court.

Rhys's manners and deference were rythmically perfect, though he felt the press of his book on the inside pocket of his robes and quietly wondered whether anyone might notice if he slipped away into a corner and perused the next few pages. Resisting this urge he endeavored not to cause too great a stir, though he did have trouble deflecting so many the nobles' insistent questions. He tried to maintain that he was present in the kingdom for a short time at the request of the princess, but these few facts did not satisfy the nobles' curiosity and determination to understand his purpose.

At length the nobles began to speak amongst themselves, and Rhys was allowed a moment's respite. He walked amongst the court silently, alone with his thoughts. Several musicians played throughout the large, open room; he noted one nearby strumming a string instrument that he did not recognize and tossed a coin into her hat. Though everything in the room was foreign to him, this musician's dress and music were foreign to this place. She was much more colorful that any of the people he had seen in the city; her attire and strikingly purple hair were dissonant with the more reserved dress of the court nobles and city inhabitants.

A shout echoed across the room, and Rhys's ears were drawn in like a magnet as he realized that he was the subject of a heated conversation. A substantial group of men and women were arguing, and Rhys inferred from the few words he overheard that some of the nobles thought he represented a ploy by the translators to bring the princess under their control. Some courtiers asserted that this was ridiculous, though many clearly believed that the theory was plausible, and others voiced their opinion that perhaps the princess had brought him there to control the translators. Others shouted that no, he was the princess's new translator, or he was there to fix the princess's ailment and help her speak again.

Rhys pressed himself against a wall, attempting to hide and failing utterly. That the court could be so divided and so uncertain of the sovereignty of their ruler was incredible, and dangerous. These nobles clearly lacked solid leadership and were buzzing nervously like agitated hornets. What mess had king Halden sent him into? Truly, such a problem was not something that Rhys could be called upon to fix by magic. Panic entered Rhys's mind, albeit briefly, for he was suddenly grasped by the arm and escorted out of the main hall by a man who urged him to move quickly and not to speak.

"Easy there magician, best keep out of sight until things calm down," the man began, drawing Rhys into a quiet corridor adjacent to the hall. Rhys surmised from the man's garb that he was a palace official of some sort, though he could not discern his rank. "What on earth are you doing here, stirring such a fuss?" The official asked. "Who sent you? If someone's trying to cause trouble it's best if I know of it now, else this lot is likely to tear you limb from limb, magic or no."

Rhys's face was pale and he glanced nervously at the arguing nobles in the next room. "If you please sir," he began, "I was sent for. My name is Rhys, I am a sorcerer and a friend to king Halden of the Kingdom of the Winds. Word was sent that the princess required the aid of a magician, and the king, in good faith, asked me to come."

"Ah," said the man, his eyes lighting up with understanding. "You're one of the ambassadors then! Interesting that she sent for a magic-user, of all things. But don't be alarmed friend, you're expected, along with the rest of them! Though perhaps walking into open court wasn't the best way to introduce yourself to everyone."

Rhys was confused, and the emotion was plain upon his face. "A- ambassador?" he stuttered. "But sir, I'm not from the Kingdom of the Winds... I'm just a traveling scholar who visits there occasionally. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to represent the country."

The official shrugged. "Ah, well, no worries, I'm sure it's all expected," he said reassuringly, patting Rhys rather hard upon the back and providing him with absolutely no reassurance whatsoever. "But I think you'd best come this way, you can meet the others someplace a bit... quieter."

This Rhys had no objection to, and they left the chaos of the court hall, which had grown steadily louder, in the distance. The official led Rhys to a smaller sitting room where, he explained, the princess and the other ambassadors would meet him at their own discretion. Rhys tried again to explain that he wasn't an ambassador, and got another strong clap on the back of his shoulder for his effort. Sighing, Rhys withdrew his book and settled in to wait, feeling more than slightly guilty for catalyzing such an uproar in the princess's court, and worried as to what might be expected of him.

[E'doa A'nii]

Olivia’s court opens early every day, except on the weekends. So it was that today, she had been at it since eight o’ clock in the morning. Today was petition day; the day when the people brought forth their trials and woes. Sir Gyle had left a mess in his time as ‘king’. Despite their desire, the new leaders could not simply restore everything by command.

Houses had been confiscated, farms had been raised, families had been broken, land had been given to other countries in exchange for favors. (Those who acknowledge Gyle as King anyway.) Some of the houses were too dilapidated to be livable. Others were inhabited. Reconstruction takes time, and people cannot simply be dispossessed. Burnt land takes time to become arable. The dead cannot be resurrected. Orphans cannot be adopte don whim, nor can their orphanage be built over night. Land wrongfully given could not be so easily regained.

But today, she had managed to replant three families, aid a few of the impoverished and see the new orphanage completed. In addition she had released over a hundred wrongfully imprisoned people. –Another lengthy process. Wisdom dictated that it would be imprudent to simply release everyone. So the trials that could be redone had to be redone; sentences had to be looked over (those that could be found anyway); the whole legal system had to be redone.--)

All in all it had been a satisfying if wearisome morning; even if the whole total had been but a drop in the ocean of restoration. So it was that about noon her ladyship exited her smaller court and entered the Grand Hall. The Grand Hall was the main entrance room and larger court in which all the nobles and commoner congregated while they awaited audience with her ladyship.

The room always felt uneasy. So much negative emotions. Her entrance caused a small ripple as various nobles began addressing her all at once on a range of subjects. They were ignored. The regulars should know that she could not possibly speak with them all at once. They all should recognize that such things were better left discussed in private. A new vibration pierced the air and stirred something inside the princess. Some kind, thoughtful person was playing music.

Her ladyship loved music. She marveled in it’s magic, delighted in it’s beauty and reveled in it’s worlds. Nothing could so effectively drown out the emotions of others like music. Nothing could soothe her highness more swiftly then music. Even though she could not hear it with her ears, Olivia could hear it with her soul. The soft notes of the happy guitar swept away the cares of the morning and renewed Olivia’s feelings. She could not recognize the girl’s nationality of dress, nor did she recognize the instrument. Somehow, that was not terribly important. Her highness was immensely grateful for Zoe’s music.

So too was someone else: A sage looking old man sat with rapt attention by the wall; thoroughly engrossed in the music. He seemed grandfatherly and kind. The princess assumed he must have a great deal of wisdom, and her desire to learn and know prompted her to take an interest in Aylen.

So because of her gratitude to Zoe and her interest in the aged storyteller she exhibited another of her eccentricities: She invited them both to dinner. Would not Zoe come and play for them? Would not Aylen come and share his wisdom? They need not worry about dress, they could come as they were. Her highness waited just long enough to get an answer, and then she was off to deal with the nobles that awaited her.

Olivia hated dealing with foreign nobility more than anything. Culture differences, political delicacy, and court formality magnified every move and added meaning to every word. Every word uttered had at least four meanings. Every twitch had five. Heaven help the one who could not interpret those meanings and discover two more. Olivia simply could not keep up. She was struggling just to keep all the cultures straight, to manage her own kingdom and help her own people. Dealing with the various goals, intentions and schemes of foreign governments and their inhabitants was just too much.

--Even now, a disturbance was rocking the Great Hall. Someone or some news had caused the whole feeling of the room to intensify into something near panic. Olivia did not know what it could be, but it must be very important in deed. And yet, she had no time to even consider what it might be because she had a whole roomful of nobles waiting--

Despite her voracious appetite for knowledge and her intense desire to be a good ruler, circumstances made it impossible for her highness to learn quickly enough to meet the situation. She was often days behind in discovering the latest news. (A travesty in a world where being the first to know was having the most power). She was terrible at ciphering court codes and secret gestures of the nobility. --If truth be told, Olivia had been a commoner so long, that she was more comfortable with them than with anyone else. She delighted in their joys and cried with them in their sorrows.--So, it was that at her brother’s wise counsel, she had requested of King Hayden of the Kingdom of the Winds to send her a teacher. His highness had been quite prompt in his reply:

He would send one of his most trusted friends by the next boat.

She knew nothing about him save that his name was Rhys, he was a magician, and he was expected today. She did not know how he could help. But if he could do even something a little as to prevent her problems from multiplying, she would be eternally grateful. It seemed as though a hundred new problems cropped up every day to add themselves to the hundreds of problems that remained unsolved. Her highness would have liked to have felt like she had accomplished something truly substantial.

So it was with trepidation that she opened the door to the Meeting Hall.

There were the nobles. More problems.

She listened intently as the introductions were made. She must not forget her manners or their names:

“Tayarmaa Xanadu of Zartan.” (The woman bowed with the grace of a reed in the wind.) She was a strikingly beautiful woman. She had a small, sharp face and beautiful almond eyes the color of blood. Hair blacker then a raven’s wing and finer then silk was tied back in a severe, yet elaborate bun which strangely complimented her face. She wore a silver dress tied at the waist with a red sash. The twin moons of Zartan rested on the bow. Every bit as imposing as she was beautiful.

“Orlagh McCrimmon of the Seanachta.” (She gave a simple curtsy, like any village girl.) Beautiful, in a gentle, guileless sort of way. She had soft brown, chocolate curls that framed her gentle face and cascade down her milky white throat to touch a dress of pale green. Delicate brown eyes seemed to take in every movement. It was hard to believe she was as forceful as her reputation foretold.

“Steele (Stee-lay) Gouldus of the Melogi.” (She gave a deep curtsy, like a dancer to her partner.) She could have been human. Very human. Except for the silver irises in those unbelievably blue eyes. Her skin was an iridescent brown. Her hair a lovely shade of copper. Steele radiated enthusiasm, and wonder. She had a reputation for flexibility. Olivia prayed it was so. She would need all the help and cooperation she could get.

“Evemeona'e Hahpęhe'onahe of the Mapiya”. (She saluted with an entertainer’s bow.) Olivia hoped she could remember that name. Someone would have a difficult name. Eve was the very picture of impishness. How she could be an ambassador, or even accomplish anything amazed Olivia. The Mapiya were renknown for their dislike of anything that even remotely resembled seriousness. Either she really hated her job, or she found a way around that cultural tendancy. Probably the latter because she had the disheartening reputation of being shrewd and cunning.

The last introduction was a bit tricky. He could not be introduced without a kingdom, because tongues would wag. He could not be introduced as an aid to Olivia because everyone would know her incompetence as fact. So he was introduced as an ambassador like all the rest.

“Rhys of the Kingdom of the Winds.” He was not exactly what her ladyship had been expecting. He was skinny, with a mop of red hair and a generous share of freckles. Not exactly the imposing –take-charge kind of guy she had been hoping for. Oh well. If King Halden sent him, he must be good.

As each stood and was introduced, Olivia greeted them according to custom. Then it was her turn to speak. Rather, her attendant spoke.
“I welcome you all, and trust that your journeys have been uneventful. Your rooms have been prepared, and I hope they are to your satisfaction. Dinner will be around nine this evening, we will have entertainment. Until then I am at your disposal.” Obviously they would have to chat one at a time, because no one wanted anyone else to hear anything they weren’t supposed to. Olivia wasn’t quite sure as to how to separate them without showing deference. One could not even meet with someone else first without slighting someone else’s sense of importance or obligation.

Court was so very frustrating.

Thankfully, or not thankfully (depending on how you looked at it) Tayarmaa settled the question of who went first, by speaking before anyone could get anything in.
“I would speak with you.” Her accent was hard, but musical in a cold sort of way. Her tone implied that everyone else could leave now. Seeing as there was no objection, everyone else did. Her highness motioned for Rhys to stay though. She did not want to be left alone with this woman. Tayarmaa ignored Rhys as if he wasn’t even there.

Apparently she had done all the examining that she wanted to do during the wait. She felt… distasteful and determined. Very determined. And arrogant. She completely overrode Olivia’s status as princess by opening the door and motioning someone else in without so much as a by-your-leave. Her highness had not been expecting that. Evidently she was considered nothing more than a puppet, or a powerless girl ruled by her minions. It was an effort not to send a stab of emotion at Tayarmaa, or worse: to manipulate Tayarmaa’s emotions. She must not let the woman anger her. But how did she counter such a blatant disregard for her position? Did she keep the fellow from entering?

Looking at him killed that thought dead in it’s tracks. The man she called in was massive. Easily six feet five inches, his broad shouldered, stocky bulk towered over Olivia. “Nergui Qadan.” The man dropped to one knee and hung his head. Her highness stood stupefied, unsure of what to do. Tayarmaa again saved her the need to do anything.

“He is yours. You will marry him in four months.” A rather short engagement. Something prickled inside Olivia. She would not be dictated to. Not by any noble. But especially not by Tayarmaa Xanadu. --Apparently Qadan thought the whole thing thoroughly common place because he stood (upon Tayarmaa’s command) and proceeded to offer her ladyship the A’Mir Korat.-- Who did this woman think she was?! She had no right to come in there dictating to her like that. In her own country—in her own palace! She would not marry this big oaf! He was an oaf. He obeyed this woman’s command as if he owed her his life. Her highness was not to be a queen. She was to be a puppet of Zartan. And apparently she was deemed weak minded enough to blindly obey the compelling voice of an imposing woman. Well! It was not going to happen!

Olivia’s attendant took a step back. Her highness, while not often angry, was a terrible person to be around when she was angry. At this moment, her highnesses fists had clenched themselves so tight that the nails were actually piercing the skin. It was the only sign of her wrath. For the moment. Then she was stepping around the Zartanian male, and toe to toe with Tayarmaa (who also was well above six feet). The warrior woman met the gaze unflinchingly. And then suddenly, she buckled. Her knees seemed to just give way beneath her.

She toppled right into her servant’s arms. Nergui Qadan evidently thought better of assaulting her highness, because, while he glowered he made no move except to lay his mistress upon the couch. Olivia began signing quite rapidly, ignoring the pain in her palms.

“Tell her ladyship the High Ambassador that I resent the way she has treated me here today. If she is to make any deal with me or my people, she must show me the honor I deserve. If she cannot then I suggest she pack her things and leave. Perhaps her government can send someone who can.” There was a moment of thought. She could not outright refuse an offer of marriage from Zartan. They were just looking for a war; without good reason to refuse, it would be a slight upon their honor and there would be war. –not that she probably hadn’t given them cause enough just now--But she couldn’t accept either.

To be married to one such as Nergui Qadan would be a life of hell for the young and sensitive princess. “As for your offer of marriage: Because you are new here, and our cultures are different, I shall be lenient.” Perhaps considering it would stave off retaliation. Olivia cringed internally. Already she was regretting her display of temper. She should not have done it. But the pressures of palace life were great enough already without the added insult of being trampled on by someone who didn’t even belong to the country of E’do. As the princess she could not, and would not stand for such an outright display of disrespect. She hoped fervently she hadn’t just started a war.

A war would be extremely bad for E’do just now.

“I’m sure you are not used to taking orders from others. As such I shall forgive you and give your offer consideration. But please keep in mind that your behavior here today has not put me in any disposition to favor your offer. You may now go.” Not that she was going to accept anyway. But maybe in twenty four hours she could find a way out of this mess.

And there were more ambassadors to go.

My! She was so glad Rhys was here. After Qadan had left, she sat down on one of the couches with a sigh.

[beflexor]

While Olivia was finding things difficult and frustrating, Weave's feelings were a polar opposite. Finding a kind of comfort in the flow of things around him when he entered. Though he felt a touch strange when eyes weren't instantly trained on him, yet another shadow of his former life, so used to being noticed.

But being noticed wasn't what a thief wanted.

Was he really a thief today? Weave thought. Though his noble's silks were dark, they shone with their silk craftsmanship, and would be visible in even the darkest of rooms. Weave briefly thought about going back to his room, where his dark cloak waited for him, draped on the back of a chair. But it would be counterproductive because, while some nobles wore capes, Weave's cloak was of a rough, but comfortable commoner's linen.

I'm not a noble anymore.

As though to emphasize this, Weave helped himself to one man's coin purse, lightening it substantially. The man wouldn't likely notice for some time, and by then he would know it was too late to do anything about it.

Nobles weren't so swift and calculating, they didn't have a soft touch and good eyes. Weave briefly thought about taking a woman's ring, but it would take too much effort, and he was looking for something of more value.

He looked across the room, seeing the princess's empty chair. By now she was likely meeting others, prattling about one thing or another. Either way, she was busy, quite busy indeed.

Weave slipped through a door and down a hall, making it look every bit as though he were meant to be here of all places, and began to search for Ophelia's bedchamber.

Yes, perhaps dipping his ex-noble fingers into a princess's bedside jewelry box would prove both profiting and entertaining.

[Ričle]

Rhys set down his history text.

A thin, timid young woman entered the room, escorted by an attendant that Rhys could only suppose was one of the rumored translators. Rhys saw not a princess, but a shy, unfortunate girl, eying the visiting nobles as a mouse would a mountain. But Olivia McPhearson summoned her courage, sat upon her raised chair, and the furrowed stare with which she gazed upon the ambassadors only alluded to the effort and concentration she was silently exerting. Rhys admired the girl, who faced her situation boldly despite her handicap, but he instantly knew in the depths of his blood that this situation was a catastrophe. He saw it in the defiance of the other nobles, in the lack of confidence in the princess, and in the unstable state of the kingdom's court.

Rhys wanted to wince when he was introduced as an ambassador of king Halden, but bowed deeply and politely to the princess when his name was called without allowing a single muscle in his face to twitch. Clearly there was some miscommunication about his purpose at the court, but given the nobles' reaction to his presence he judged it unwise to bring this to anyone's attention at the present time. He listened thoughtfully to the princess's welcome, and wondered how indeed such a girl had come to be a princess of this country.

The lack of respect shown by Zartan's ambassador, Tayarmaa, was appalling. Rhys prepared to depart with the others so that the princess and the ambassador could converse, and was more than surprised when the princess gestured for him alone to stay. His mind quickly sought a possible reason for this, and the only one that he could fathom was that the princess did not, as she had stated, consider him an ambassador, but a potential advisor. Rhys smiled. Perhaps there's hope for the girl yet.

Tayarmaa did not notice Rhys once the others had left because Rhys cast a simple spell; so long as he remained still, her eyes would slide away from him while the princess could see him easily. He watched solemnly as Tayarmaa presented Nergui Qadan and insisted that Olivia accept him as her husband. Olivia's anger was apparent to all, including Tayarmaa, and her refusal was both harsh and dangerously accommodating.

The ambassador and her attendants were dismissed, and the princess collapsed on her chair with a sigh. Rhys allowed the spell to fade, and moved over to stand in front of the princess. He blatantly ignored the translators, having no desire to speak or listen through their signing. Instead he crouched until his bright green eyes were level with the princess's, and placed his pale hand gently upon her head. He delved within her with his magic, a very subtle brushing of souls whereby he gained some measure of her self. What he read there of her personality he mostly knew from watching her, but he also found a spark of magic that he had suspected might be there. Smiling, he withdrew his hand, and lifted her chin upwards in a confident pose. Keep your chin up, highness, he thought, confident that she would understand his intentions even without the help of her translators. I'll help you solve this. With an encouraging wink he stood and withdrew to a corner of the room, casting his spell again that he might observe the rest of the interviews.

This post has been edited by Ričle on Nov 12 2009, 06:02 AM

[Angel of Chaos]

Each sonorous note that came out of Zoe's beautiful instrument lilted through the air and entered the ears of those who chose to stop and listen. The notes came and passed, blending and clashing in a concordant dance of lush melody and harmony. A small group of people gathered around her in a loose semi-circle and listened and watched as Zoe's fingers gracefully danced along the fretboard and all six strings. Her eyes were closed, as she could hear each note with deep, reflective insight. Such were the well-trained ears of a dedicated musician.

She finished her song with a slow, soft flourish of harp-like harmonics, and when she finally looked up, she saw the small audience give a polite round of applause out of appreciation for the unique music that she played. Zoe smiled, stood up, and gave a small bow. What surprised her the most was that a few of them were actually tossing some gold coins into her guitar case, as if she were some kind of street musician. But reality hit her hard, and in this world, she probably was a street musician, though her talent said so otherwise.

Among these onlookers was an elderly-looking old man, whose green beady eyes seemed to stare straight into her, as if he were fully holding her playing in very high regard. In fact, amongst the audience, he seemed the most captivated by the music the instrument that produced it, and the musician who made it all happen. There was no doubt that the old man was very impressed by her talent. She smiled warmly at him and thought of another song to play.

Before she could begin to play, however, one of the court keepers approached her, gave her a bow and said, "Forgive the interruption, madam, but I speak for her highness, the princess. She has taken great appreciation in your talent and has cordially invited you to dinner. Simply come as you are and bring your music with you. It is quite unique, indeed."

Zoe's eyes widened, only for a second. She was in the presence of a princess? Her eyes did a quick once-over around the immediate area and saw no princess; just a bunch of nobles and under. But if the princess had truly appreciated her music and invited her to dinner, then she saw no reason not to come. She smiled again and said, "Very well then. Tell the prin--er, I mean, her highness that I happily accept her generous offer." Geez, this new vocabulary thing really takes some getting used to, she thought the last part to herself. The man bowed again and left, leaving Zoe somewhat dumbstruck, yet somewhat beaming as well.

She sat back down and continued playing until dinner was announced, once again filling the room with sweet music.

[Nemaisare]

It was wonderful music, captivating… Aylen’s mind drifted slowly after the ripples that shivered through the crowd as men and women passed them by, each momentarily distracted by the beautiful sounds being created. Somewhere, he felt a stirring, a gradual awakening that fell back into the distance when the music stopped. And so, when the musician turned her gaze upon him, the old man’s look was contemplative as well as appreciative. She had moved not just his mind, but the entirety of his spirit even unto his shape, and that was quite the accomplishment. He wondered if she might be able to do it again. All it ought to take was another bout of plucking those strings and dazzling the air with dizzying movement. It couldn’t be that hard. Then again, there were a lot of things that shouldn’t be too hard, but were. So, perhaps he shouldn’t hope too hard.

Nonetheless, it would never hurt to garner a bit of favour, and a smile harmed no one. The old spirit offered a grin of his own in return, an expression of his eager pleasure that brightened his friendly eyes and squished his cheeks up against them until his face seemed mostly beard and forehead, with the odd sparkle of green hiding in between.

And that was, it seemed, to be the whole of their interaction, for her eyes moved away and her look turned thoughtful, then rather shocked. Aylen, who had not been paying the slightest bit of attention to the happenings beyond this musician, her talent and what it might mean for him, turned his illusory body about and felt through the earth that there was another who had arrived, a man. Who just happened to be worried about how well things were going at home, given that his mother was ill in bed with a bad cough and fever. But that was most certainly not what he was speaking with this purple haired girl about, surely! Aylen turned his attention to the girl’s thoughts and picked up some surprise about dinner and a princess. That was more like it!

So there was a princess in this crowd somewhere? Well, wasn’t that interesting. According to the thoughts around him, she must have been an important sort of princess, which, he supposed, was what princess meant. That she was important. And this girl was going to play for her? And he was invited as well? Wait… Oh! He was! A chuckle escaped the spirit’s mind, echoing roughly, but with good intention and gentle amusement through the minds of those near enough to pick it up. Then, he bowed more smoothly than any old man ought to in response to his own invitation. He didn’t know if the thoughts accompanied the words, but at least they pertained to him, for he was reflected within them, and there was some question about dinner. “Certainly, sir. It would be an honour. Many thanks to you and your… princess.”

The thoughts came as what most would assume was a voice, quavering, weak and genuine, for all he had to work to create that illusion as well. But it would be nice to go to this dinner. Granted, he had no need of food the way these mortals did, but if it was the princess herself who had invited him, then surely she would be interested in him, which would mean that others would be as well. And Aylen, he thrived on attention. He was a retired god after all; his people had shown him what to do…

Then, because he wasn’t really certain he wanted to stand forever lost in the action of listening to notes and long strings of notes, he nodded to the musician and wandered away, weaving slowly through the crowd and ignoring all the fuss that was being raised about someone or another whom he didn’t really care about and took to wandering along beside the old walls. Perhaps he would discover something from them. Some tale or other with which he could expand his repertoire of stories. Walls, when made of stone, did, indeed, have ears, and sometimes, if one was of the proper persuasion, as Aylen most assuredly was, they had eyes too.

Anyone watching at just that moment might have seen the very strange sight of the old, ragged, brightly garbed greybeard with his staff and his holey boots as he lifted a hand to brush it against the finely carved bricks then vanished, slowly. As might any spirit or ghost or shadowy visitor. And he went with a smile and a sigh. It was ever more comforting to have his conscience embedded within the stone. Distantly, there were the rambling thoughts of several tens of people all gathered together, the flashes of music and the more concentrated efforts of a small group, gathered together and waiting to speak with, none other than the princess herself. Aylen pushed those distractions away and settled into the history these walls had witnessed.

[E'doa A'nii]

(Oki doki, this post is going to be rather long, as I have a few nobles to go through so I can get everyone to dinner, and Weave can have a room to rob. So I have taken the liberty of highlighting ya‘lls parts in different colors, so you can TL;DR it if you like. Have fun!)

Riele:
Flex:
AOC: (correct me if I’m wrong about the Melogi)
Nemai:

---------------------------

Olivia looked at Rhys with a questioning yet hopeful gaze. Now he would give her some sage wisdom for the next encounter perhaps? Or even some advice on how to get out of the catastrophe that had been the first meeting? But instead he bent down until his eyes were level with hers. The princess did not know what he was doing. --and her attendant was beginning to object.-- But if Rhys was doing something it must be for a reason. He was sent by King Halden after all. She felt his gentle hand upon her head, and a soft tremor of magic pass through her person. But it was similar to the kind of power she used. A rifling sort. The kind that says: “I just want to see who you are.”

Having done this many times, she understood the necessity of it, and did not remove her gaze from his. --Even though, her translator was having veritable apoplexy over the inappropriateness of the whole situation. Where was the man’s respect that he should touch the princess? And why was the princess letting him?! Had she no dignity?-- The procedure lasted only a moment, and then he gave a warm smile and winked. In that moment she brushed him with the feeling of gratitude. It was going to be all right. He was here to help. Evidently he realized that he was to stay, because he resumed his spot in the corner and recast his spell of in-conspicuity.

He had no idea the gratitude and relief with which that action was received.

No sooner had he seated himself, then Olivia sent her translator out to summon the next noble. While they waited Olivia gathered her courage and summoned her will. It was going to take everything she had just to get through these meetings. It always did. Rowan never had these problems. When he spoke people leapt. His wish was everyone’s command. His underlings did not override him, or talk behind his back. They respected him and followed him. In a way they feared him too. But not the way one fears the wrath of a despot. They feared his disappointment, and dissatisfaction.


Olivia would have given anything to know how he did it. While she had some idea, having grown up with him, she was having trouble knowing when to impliment what she knew, and even knowing if she knew the right things. Her personality was not cut out for this type of leadership. She could not talk with Rowan, because they were both so busy. Her advisors were mostly commoners. The nobles who had been allowed to retain their posts after the coup were few. Rowan had most of them by necessity (as he was king and had heavier, more duties). The nobles Olivia did have were busy as well, and often away in the exercise of their duties.

Both sides of the palace were heavily understaffed. But it helped to know what one was doing. An observer would never have guessed that Rowan’s half of court was lacking in anything. Ah well, at least her side wasn’t a total shambles. Was it? Olivia dreaded more than anything, the disappointment and displeasure of her brother. She wanted to do a good job for him, and for the people of E’do. Which was why she was so glad Rhys was here. Everything was going to be ok now.

Steele Gouldus was ushered in. She gave another curtsy as she entered, never even noticing the magician’s presence.

“Your Highness, I have come to request the permission for my people to work in your ladyships mines.” The E’do, being surrounded by mountains did have a few mines of various ores. Mostly, iron, copper, and lead. Trade would be understandable, but to have Melogi in the mines was a bit puzzling. Her highness nodded, indicating the Steele could continue.

“Mining is a dangerous job. Tunnels collapse, and dangerous gases can cause death and asphyxiation. My people are immune to such problems, being made of metal. We can neither be poisoned, nor can we suffocate. While we can become buried under the rocks, it will not kill us. We need the metal as much as you do; but our service would save you lives. We can find the metal in the ground more expertly then your finest surveyors. We will be able to mine a greater amount more efficiently. We ask only to be allowed fifty percent of what we mine. “

Olivia was inclined to accept such a proposition on the spot. But she hesitated. She did not know enough about mining to be able to tell if what Steele said was true. She would need to talk to someone. To see how the mining was done. To see who was involved. She needed to know. In addition, she needed to understand the current position among the Melogi. Did they not have mines of their own? They too were in the mountains. While it was true that they used a great deal of metal, and crafted it well, she did not know how much they needed.

Or if they needed any at all.

If they were doing as well as she suspected, then there must be another reason for the offer. -Or request, depending on how you looked at it. Long experience told Olivia that most people did not make an offer that sounded that good out of the pureness of their heart. Fifty percent was a large cut. Olivia wasn’t sure she remembered her statistics correctly, but even if the current production doubled she was not sure that E’do could afford to give away that much of their resources. With all the damage done, consumption of almost everything had nearly tripled.

There was a moment of contemplation while she formulated a response. “We appreciate your offer, and I’m sure we can work something out to our mutual satisfaction. At this time however, I am not prepared to make a decision. We can meet again in a few days and discuss it further.” This she could handle. She hoped (She really wasn‘t certain of anything). She thought she had done a good job so far. At least with this meeting. Rowan had not been unwise when he appointed her the task of managing the country’s resources. Having managed theirs for so long, it was almost second nature to her.

Steele nodded, giving a curtsy and leaving with a swish of her lovely deep blue dress. There was hope for this round of meetings yet. This last one hadn’t gone as badly as the one with Tayarmaa.

-----------------------------

Olivia’s bed chamber was a long way from the Hall of Rooms. Or rather, it was at the very end around the corner in a little nook. A hundred rooms made up the fabled Hall of Rooms. Legend held that they were originally individual portals to different worlds. Whatever the case, now they were ordinary rooms, decorated to suit the tastes of the Princess towards the particular noble inhabiting them. Around the corner was her ladyship’s room herself.

It was very simple for a princess’ room. Much more like a village girl’s would be, really. A soft but simple bed was placed near the far left wall. Dressed in simple cotton linens of snow white, it was remarkably unprepossessing. Upon the bed lay a pale blue dress, edged in delicate lace and tied at the waist with a crisp white bow. (Apparently for tonight's dinner.) A large trunk sat at the foot of the bed, in which all her dresses were stored; neatly folded into perfect squares. All her shoes were lined up in front of the chest. A total of four pairs: black, brown and white ballet-type slip-ons and a pair of elegant black and white boots.

A full length mirror hung in the center of the room and was the first thing which greeted the eye upon opening the door. It was framed in wood. Next to the mirror sat a dressing table made of oak. A boar’s air brush sat upon the table next to a pair of small boxes and an assortment of ribbons. All in all the whole room was innocuous. One would have thought it belonged to a favored maid or attendant.

But if one was to look in the boxes on the dressing table, one might have another impression. In one box was a small pile of delicately jeweled pins in silver and gold, along with a small pile of earrings (which ranged in taste from very dainty to excessively large and gaudy). In the other box was an assortment of necklaces. Some with jewels the size of a small bird’s egg. Bracelets too sat in the box, all of varying weight s and design. The nobles had been rather lavish in their gifts. And while Olivia had accepted them, she never wore them.

She could not wear the ones she liked, because someone might think she had a favorite noble. She could not, not wear the ones she didn’t because someone might feel slighted. So she simply did not wear any. Her crown was in the trunk, though, buried under all the dresses, in the secret compartment in the false bottom. This she only wore on the grandest of occasions.

A very astute person might wonder if Olivia was really very happy being a princess. Her whole room seemed to defy the fact that she was one. It practically begged for a little cottage to be around it. The only adornment was on the window, where a pair of gaily colored curtains flapped in the warm and gentle morning breeze.
----------------------

--Tayarmaa! Olivia wanted to moan. Everyone had probably heard of that by now, if not seen it. Great! The princess was not only crazy, she was attacking her guests. That would do wonders for the rock bottom court morale. The last thing she needed was mass hysteria. Her thoughts of despair were interrupted by the entrance of Evemeona'e Hahpęhe'onahe. Eve sauntered right in, barely waiting to be announced.

She did not so much as nod upon entering. She was here to test the merit of the princess. If the princess passed muster, she would suggest an alliance. But right now, she wanted to see what this new girl was made of. The court was ugly. Leadership was lacking. The nobles were in a panic. They had only been confused and disconcerted before. But since Nergui Qadan had been seen carrying his mistress to her bedchamber it had become panic. Evidently her ladyship’s madness was worsening.

She was rumored to be mad, though kind. But then… the Zartanians were a strange bunch. Maybe they aggravated her highness’s poor state of mind. At anyrate, the Mapiya was here to test the rumors and the princess. The prediction did not look good. But one could never tell until one had dealt with the person directly. As impossible as it seemed, there were people who intentionally kept their courts in a state of confusion as a means to sabotage intrigue before it happened.

She was not surprised when the princess did not require a bow, and even accepted the ambassador’s entrance with the resigned air of the weary. She motioned for Eve to speak. (At least she remembered to do that much.) “ I would speak with you on a matter of great importance.” Olivia waited to hear what this matter of importance would be. Eve took a while getting to it, evidently finding her fingernails and her little messenger beads much more entertaining. Olivia might not have tolerated it, except that she wasn’t sure what to expect.

After an unusually long time, Eve spoke again. “Do you have parties here?” Olivia was really not expecting that as the ‘matter of great importance’. She hoped the little woman was joking. Maybe she was. Her kind was renown for their jokes and short attention spans. How was her highness supposed to respond to this?

“…Sometimes, why?”

“We want to trade. We request two hundred thousand pounds of deer guts to be traded in exchange for fowl to be consumed.” Deer guts?! No one hunted deer. No one. The odds of getting an actual deer to shooting a Sheanachta were too high. No one wanted to accidentally shoot an innocent person. Guts from other animals were used instead. They served as excellent substitutes. Olivia began to sign something out in response. Something along the lines of the absurdity of the whole proposition. But Eve was talking again. And what did parties have to do with trading deer guts? Had she meant hunting parties? Or party parties? This woman had a dizzying intellect.

“We could have a party here next week! It would be so exciting!--”

Regardless this was not an offer to be accepted. “We cannot comply with your offer.” the translator began in a voice loud enough to overwhelm Eve’s. “We apologize, but at this time we cannot supply that much, nor would we be willing to.” She stopped there, because her mistress had stopped. Olivia was debating whether she ought to mention something about Eve’s appalling disregard for the lives of others, or if she should just not say anything. In light of her meeting with Tayaarma and the current state of upheaval, she decided against chastising the nomad ambassador. She did not need another incident to add to the boiling cauldron.


“I beg your pardon?!” Things were about to get confrontational. Eve managed to look a very imposing and angry woman, even if she was only three feet in height. At the risk of being rude, Olivia dismissed her. Her highness was uncertain to whether it had been rude to interrupt the little lady in the first place. Was she too harsh in dismissing her? In her desire to prevent another disaster, had she just created one? Olivia felt like wringing her hands. The problems just kept getting worse.-----------------------

People came and went in the crowds that listened to the young court musician. Nobles and commoners alike marveled at her skill, and wondered at her country of origin. Nobles, being so used to seeing five meanings in the simplest of gestures, had even begun to whisper about the young woman’s presence. Perhaps she was a spy? Maybe Olivia had finally gotten wind of some of their schemes. Maybe she was another ambassador? Had her highness left her out in the cold? And the rumors went on and on… There was going ot be a fuss about Zoe at dinner.
Sometime before dinner was announced one of ladyship’s servants came by to ask Zoe what she preferred to have for dinner. Her highness wanted to make absolutely certain that her guests were at home.

--------------------------

So it was that with a mild headache, and a desperate clutching at what she had left of patience and the little --though much larger then it had been before she became princess--store of knowledge she possessed, she summoned her courage and awaited the last noble. If Courage had been human it would have been a bit winded and shaky legged. Courage was working hard.

Orlagh was the last noble for the day. She came in with a deep curtsy and a nod. All she really wanted was to ensure that there would be protection for her people under the reign of the new king and princess. Under Gyle’s dictatorship deer had been as mercilessly hunted as anything else that moved. The Seanachta around E’do were still recovering from his torment.

Would Olivia not guarantee sanction for her people?

Olivia nodded glad of an easy meeting. She would be more then happy to guarantee sanction to the Deerfolk. Hunting of Deer was outlawed, and laws were already being implemented to give penalties to those who were caught hunting deer.

Orlagh seemed content with this arrangement. What more was there to be asked? Compensation could not be given. The dead were dead. What revenge the Seanachta had desired had been more then accounted for in the purging that went on in Rowan's court.

And so the meeting, much to Olivia’s gratitude and relief, was short and sweet. And as the graceful ambassador left the room, Olivia relaxed rather visibly in her chair and tried to gather her wits about her in preparation for supper. She was eager to hear what Rhys had to say. And just as eager to watch him work. So much to be learned. And somehow, the sense of despair, frustration and lostness which hung over her like a cloud felt a little lifted.---------------------------

Most nobles are easily observable. They’re tall and stately with an air of dignified knowledge about them. Or, if not dignified knowledge, at least an air of pompous self-importance. But some nobles, due to certain…discrepancies are not so easily noticeable. Some are downright missed. Off in a little corner, near one of the stone walls stood a group of pixie nobles. Weave walked right by them on his way to the fabled Hall of Rooms. They were tiny, being only three inches in height and so easily missed. Pixies are a strange lot, being only seen and heard when they wish to be. So it was rather easy for them to have ‘private’ conversations in public and none be the wiser.

<Aye, that she is> , Amarie was saying. She was a delicate thing, and vain. But not otherwise a bad person.

<And all these people around here, behaving like a bunch o’ ninnies.> Aranwe was observing distastefully. He was a light hearted fellow with a gift for mischief and a knack for disaster.

<Aye, that they are.> Amarie was very agreeing.

<Wouldn’t it be a barrel o’ laughs to play a trick on the whole lot of ‘em?>

<Aye, that it would.> Amarie was looking a bit excited; though in truth she was dreading his suggestion. Last time he had suggested something, the whole pixie court had been renounced as a disgrace upon the earth and the Kingdom of Man (as the pixies called it) had spent twelve whole years sorting out the mess. That had been over three hundred years ago, and the humans had still not gotten over it.(pixies were a distrusted and disliked lot in that particular kingdom to this day) She had to admit though, it had been a good joke. <Now, don’t you go gettin’ any ideas Aranwe! The Queen won’t like it if you create another disaster for 'er.>

<Ah, what’s a little harmless fun? It would liven things up a bit. Wipe off some of those awful frowns. The question is, what would be a stickler?> Amarie should have known better then to protest Aranwe. Resisting him just made him all the more eager to carry out his plans. He was stubborn that way. And right now he had that crafty look he got. Only he was a little short on ideas. She was so glad that their friend Aylen the Earth Giver wasn’t there. That would be all Aranwe needed. Those two were like children together. Worse. They were worse then children.

[Nemaisare]

Hmmm, terrible… Humans could be so very dangerous to their own. So very cold and cruel. He’d seen it before, countless times, and still it surprised him. What lives they led were of no consequence against one act of murder, or one gift of kindness and the reason behind those actions be damned to unimportance. Aylen would never understand it, but he wasn’t sure he even wanted to try. To enter the mind was to become something similar, at least for that small moment. He did not want to become anything like these humans he wandered among. To have the capacity to kill without remorse, and to spill blood across the stones in such rivers… No, he would not risk that chance, for all he knew there were others among the humans of sound mind and spirit, others who would have stared with horror just as he did, and who might even have done something about it.

Well, he could do nothing to change the past, but he could take those memories from the stone. They made this place darker, shadowed it and spread the grief that had gone into those moments. The fear and pain and tears. The heartless laughter and the dark voices. It was not right that amid this new life that young human and his sister had brought to the palace such memories should have to exist. He would not destroy them, however, no, he would find one place where they could survive, and perhaps remind those of what could be. But they would blight this place no more.

When he stepped clear of the stone awhile later, the old man had his back bent beneath a weight that had not been there before, and his eyes were sad as he leaned on his staff and looked around at all the people, ignorant and not. But then, his mind settled upon something he had not been expecting to come across, and Aylen’s eyes settled upon three tiny figures. They could hide beneath the notice of humans, but using illusions and magic against one who was, for the moment, nothing but both didn’t really work. The old man smiled and straightened, the weight lifted from his shoulders by the seemingly insignificant little beings. One of whom was, coincidentally, thinking about him at just this very moment.

He knew them all. Aranwe, his partner when it came to thinking up tricks. Amarie, a beauty among her kind, who more often than not managed to find something nice to say, so long as one didn’t insult her appearance. And Adrwe, who came beneath only his mother in importance, and yet who was the least concerned with such drivel. The pixie prince was, at the moment, standing a short way off from his two companions, staring at the crowd with a frown of contemplation, and, comparing his thoughts with the others’ it was quite clear he was not including himself in their conversation.

Aylen approached them slowly, keeping up the illusionary act and wondering if he would look like a fool for speaking to them. After all, none of the humans seemed to have remarked their presence. Which seemed unusual… Ah well, he was quite certain old men such as he appeared to be were allowed to have the occasional lapse in sanity. Perhaps no one would notice if he thought quietly.

“A good day to you, my little friends.” His thoughts wove into theirs with a less subtle approach than he managed with humans, after all, they were closer to his own kind than were humans, and trickery didn’t work so well on them. “I am surprised to find you here. But then, perhaps it is surprising to find myself here as well?”

He added that last when he noticed the shock in their reactions. Was it truly such a surprise that he had shown up here? Wherever here was… Well, perhaps, all things considered, but Aylen didn’t really know what all those things were, so he wasn’t certain what he ought to be considering. <Aylen! What has become of you?!> The prince hurried closer, until he was standing almost beside the old spirit’s worn out boots. <You are gone for so long and come back with nothing of yourself!> He stuck his small hand directly through the cracked leather. Not showing any sort of surprise that he could do so, though the concern and curiousity in his thoughts were touching.

Aylen shrugged his reply. He’d known they wouldn’t be fooled so easily, not when he knew for himself the body was not real. “It is a long story, Adrwe. And I must find something else to tell to these humans tonight, for I have been invited to their… dinner…” He dearly would have liked to know how long was so long but that too, would have to wait. He was certain they could provide him with something new and entertaining none of the humans attending would have heard. That or they could keep him occupied until the aforementioned dinner began.

[E'doa A'nii]

And there he was. Amarie frowned her mock frown. She was delighted to see him, and his timing was almost impecabble. Almost. That's where the frown came in. How dare he show up right when Aranwe was getting good and ready to wreak havoc upon another kingdom?

Her sympathy went out to the Children of E'do.

All the same she was delghted to see him. So the mock frown changed into a dazzling smile, complete with genuiner adient brilliance. <Aylen!!!> She greated the disembodied god. She jumped up and down and did cartwheels. All of which were undignified for any noble. Any noble except a pixie of course. She wasn't too concerned about where hi sbody had gone. Gods could alwaysmake others, couldn't they? And even if they couldn't the pixies could give him one.

Aranwe's greeting was less exuberant gymnastics wise, but no less warm. <Aylen you old bugger! Good to see you again. It's been quite awhile. Where have you been?> And he grinned his rogue grin.
<You seem to have lost some weight, lad.> Lad was used loosely as Aylen was much older then Aranwe. All the same Aylen had lost weight. He'd quite litterally melted away into nothing. Nothing but the spirit that was left of the god he used to be.There was concern there. It would take a lot to do that much damage to Aylen. What had he been through? But Adrwe had already asked that question. Questions like that shouldn't be asked twice. That amounted to nagging and rudeness. So Aranwe focused on the task at hand.

<Another story eh?> Aranwe frowned a thoughtful frown. <Why don't we make one?> Amarie cringed. Here it came. <We'd have to have something awful important so it'd be exciting. We could hide it and leave the place huntin' for years.> This was said with so much relish that one would have thought Aranwe was discussing the most exciting event of his life.

<But it'd have to be something very imprtant and very special. Only not so important as to bring the country to ruin.> Amarie held her breath. He hadn't completed his plan. Perhaps there was hope yet.

<"Why don't you tell us that long story Aylen?"> Amarie loved stories especially when Aylen told them. Andnow would be a great time to change the subject.

[beflexor]

As Weave stepped through the Hall of Rooms, his walking slowed, but his breathing grew fast. He tried to slow it, the sound of his moving air could be heard from a distance in the quiet, but found he couldn't. He backed up to a wall and slipped down into a sitting position, wishing he had his cloak around him for comfort.

There was a tightness in his stomach, but it had nothing to do with the usual thrill of stealing. This was different, it had a familiar feel to it, a specific taste of magic.

Weave wasn't sure if he'd blacked out for just a moment, except for him this hall was static, but he'd suddenly slouched down the wall several more inches. A thought had crawled to the forefront of his mind, and it must have been what jolted him back.

The Hall of Rooms. Weave was intimately familiar with portals and their magic, and so he'd tried to find out all he could about anything to do with them, their having played an important part in his past.

The Hall of Rooms was just a fairy tale though. His feelings had only been a panic attack, a kind of remembered trauma from leaving Upside, the city dying in his wake. It was only a memory, brought on by a story.

Nothing more.

After that, Weave made sure to step lightly, and it wasn’t long before he was in the princess’s room, expecting to be hit with the heavy smells of perfume and makeup. To his surprise however, they were minimal. Smelling more of mild soap the servant's used to wash things down, and the spicy scent of the wooden furniture.

His reflection gave him a start, and he had to cover his own mouth to keep a cry from escaping. Already he was on edge, he didn’t need to be jumping at every shadow, like an amateur, the thought made him angry, and his anger let him continue. The thief padded quietly up to the bed where he ran a finger down the blanket. It was rough and comfortable, not the thin silk that most people with money preferred.

Rather than dwell on the meager surroundings (thinking perhaps she was being punished by her parents by whatever reason) he slipped his hands in each of the shoes. Sometimes nobles were haughty enough to think no one would look in their shoes, of all places.

Nothing turned up however.

Weave began to grow suspicious, thinking that perhaps it was a trap, but the boxes stayed his feet, if not his hands. He produced a small bag from where it was tucked in the inside of his shirt and tossed several of the shining baubles in, making sure that they weren’t simply fool’s gold with glass ‘gemstones’ first. He noticed that things like the pearl necklaces were dull. Having never been work, they’d never gained a good luster from the wearer’s skin oils. No matter, he would find a good buyer who would, in turn, find them a dainty neck upon which to hang happily.

Weave did not spare a single one: gaudy, fashionable, poor, excellent, bland, flashy, all went into his bag, the delicate chains tangling together.

Olivia would not have to stress about her jewelry again.

While Weave was in a hurry, and thus missed the compartment in the chest, he was shrewd enough to pick up the fact that this was, indeed, Olivia’s room, but it was not decorated in such a fashion for punishment, no, the jewelry had showed that. He was a thief however, and not here to wonder about a rich princess’s problems.

He did, however, have a problem of his own. His bag bulged with his ripe pickings. A nobleman with a clanking, jangling, overly large bag on his belt would be noticed. His eyes flicked to the window and he got an idea, a smile spreading across his face.

Weave tied the bag to his belt to free his hands and leaned out the window, gripping just above it and heaving himself out. He’d done such things numerous times, and there was a reason they called the rooftops of cities the Thieves’ Highway. He did risk being seen during the day, but those too worried about risk didn’t stay in the profession for long.

The thief worked his way up, using the palace’s rough outside stonework as handholds and footholds, and finally found himself a relatively flat piece of rooftop. He tucked the bag containing a great sum of future money in an inside corner, being sure nothing peeked out. Sometimes thieves were themselves stolen from by a magpie, or a crow, finding the shiny thing attractive for its nest.

Weave would come back later tonight, when people were asleep, and retrieve his prize. Stealing things in advance also meant he wouldn’t have to be inside the building, minimizing the chance of getting caught.

He slipped back through the window, sitting down beneath it for a moment to catch his breath.

All the while he was smiling. The trip had been worth it after all.

[Nemaisare]

Whoops… It seemed his timing was rather better than he’d expected, if Amarie was working herself into a short-lived tizzy over his appearance. He wasn’t entirely certain what her indignant thoughts were about, but he was fairly certain he could over up an educated guess. She’d always gotten huffy whenever he and Aranwe began plotting, so, while they hadn’t actually said one word to each other yet, he believed that they would be, very soon. But he had a very short time within which to puzzle out her reaction, because she was suddenly as delighted as he was and dancing about on the floor so that he felt her hands touch the stone four times more than he’d expected. That was nice of her. The old spirit’s imaginary eyes disappeared within his wrinkles and his beard as he grinned right back at her. And Aranwe’s reaction was just as gratifying.

It was a good thing, to be among friends…

But Aylen only shook his head when she asked after a story. It wasn’t actually all that long, at least, not if he removed all the boring bits… But he wanted to find out what Aranwe had in mind, and was warming to his idea already. So poor Amarie’s attempt to save E’do some inconvenience didn’t work. But she’d tried. “Never you mind about the story, Amarie, there’ll be plenty of time at one point or another for me to share it. This sounds like fun.”

His thoughts, friendly as they were, were certain and sure that he wasn’t going to be speaking of such trials and tribulations now. Not when there was something more immediate and exciting to consider. His hand moved to tug at his beard as he remembered such an action from long ago whilst thinking, and then, an idea came to him, and it lit a sparkle in his green eyes. “Humans aren’t still chasing after those coloured stones, now are they? There are enough here that they must be. And ifen they find them important…” Aylen winked as he felt an answering eagerness from Adrwe.

The prince had caught on then, and he was certain Aranwe would understand where he was heading as well. <Oh yes! They do like the stones, precious strange habits they have. We could take all the stones!>