The First Imperial Summit

[Pig Boy]

The First Imperial Summit
91st of Zi'Da

The Imperial Palace was about as disorganized as it ever got, which was to say, still not very disorganized at all. Yet the arrival of foreign dignitaries and petitioners had created something of a stir in the capitol of the Empire. The city would've been unlike any other that the arrivals would've seen. Carved entirely of polished stone that was blackened to the core, from a sheer ciff where the World had nearly ended. Yet everything was perfectly orderly and designed, and met all the needs of those who lived within the city. Like any city, it had services and entertainment to offer. Taverns and Inns, concert halls, bath houses, shops for every need under the sun, and every other service imaginable.

The petitioners had been housed and given a base at the Palace itself in quarters fitting to the size of their contingent. Petitioners who were not empowered to represent a foreign government had been housed together. The Rharnean Delegation had been held separate for now from their 'guests' with the Etzori ambassador, if for no other reason than to respect the Etzori's presenet autonomy within their own corner of the world. The Scalvoris Delegation was given a large apartment, with a couple of levels to accommodate the factional divisions of that island that would be attending. Namely Foreign Affairs and Natural Affairs.

As the Summit was nearly ready to admit their petitioners and delegations, the Imperial Soldiers stood at attention at the sole entryway into the foyer of the Palace. Raskalarn and Karem would not be directly attending. Raskalarn declined, for fear that her mere presence would upset the integrity of any agreements reached, by dint of her commanding presence. Karem, because this just wasn't her scene, was also indisposed. However, their highest blessed would be in attendence. Wolf Walkers and Champion of Raskalarn alike would be present to represent and ensure the interests of the Empire were served well by whatever agreements were reached.

Caelen would be a liar if he claimed that he said he felt anywhere near his element. His was the province of defensive positions, of forming up walls of shields or stone, and holding a line against all odds. Some of his own troops had indeed accompanied Raskalarn during her Campaign into Anox' Folly during Ruin's Dawn to fight the Aukari Occult as well as the errant Immortals. They were there as part of her own personal guard, and some had lost friends in the fighting, losing their lives in direct defense of the Empress to the honor of their clans.

Some of the groups attending did make Caelen raise a brow, as he learned of them. A petitioner from Sirothelle, among them, as well as an Etzori Delegation, the latter of which had made quite more of a splash, given that nation's general attitude toward Immortals. Let alone Immortal rulership over mortals.

Nevertheless, he kept as open a mind as an old soldier could. Even if he was not one who was used to such porous defenses as these. Regardless, weapons were checked at the door, and the guards assured that none would enter without proving peaceful intentions, by surrendering their weapons. The show of dominance was anything but necessary, as Korlasir itself exuded a commanding majesty. Add to that, any soldier in that room would've been more than capable at a moment's notice to cut down any and all threats to the sanctity of the Empress' home, even if they brought no weapons themselves.

So the first question coming from the guard that admitted petitioners and delegates in, would be thus, "As a sign of peaceful intentions, you may lay aside any weapons you may have. They will be returned upon your departure from this hall."

They would announce each entrant as a group, as they came.

Most nations of the Eastern Continent were represented as they arrived. From Nashaki, representatives from the Towers. From Yaralon, several mercenary captains, who looked none-too-pleased about the disarmament. There would be other national delegates arriving in a short while, Caelen had been assured, including some from such places as Ivorian. He stood stoic, but he realized how shaky a foundation that particular inclusion presented. Yet there were issues and mutual interest at stake. It would be beneficial to include a nation with one of the more powerful navies in the world. Plus, the Ne'haer delegates had insisted upon their inclusion.

The only ones excluded from the proceedings as a nation, were Athart and Sirothelle, for reasons that ought to be fairly obvious.

Caelen Regis a large hulking ithecal, in full Imperial uniform, chains and all, would address the first of the delegates to arrive, "Welcome to the Imperial Palace, honored guests! Please, enjoy yourselves, mingle, and get to know each other. We will convene in a short time, once all of the other Delegations have arrived to this hall. But until then, feel free to make yourselves comfortable. You are under our Eternal Empress' protection, so long as your intentions are and remain peaceful."

So saying, the Delegates were let into the hall.

Off Topic

If there are any questions or concerns, feel free to PM or DM. If as a representative/attachment of your nation you're not sure who is arriving with you, please confer with me and I'll pick an appropriate NPC for you to bring as Ambassador or part of your delegation at least.

Must-Do:

If you bring weapons to the hall, please describe laying them aside for the guard.
Enter the Foyer of the Palace!

Can-Do:

After Arriving, have interactions with your NPCs or other PCs who've also arrived.
Feel free to coordinate with each other if you wish.
You can post more than once in this turn.
You can post separate threads as asides with other delegates or attendees, as the arrival of various delegates will take a break or two. Please allow for at most two breaks if you do this.

There won't be any extensions on posting. I will post again in a week's time. Anyone who fails to post before then, will simply lose a turn, but not be expelled from the thread.

Have fun!

[Kasoria]

"Not bloody likely am I-"

"Do as the man says, Raand."

The bald man shot a sullen look at the one with black eyes, but he didn't question any further. Without a word he unlimbered his sword and dirk, handing them over to the armored soldier barring their way. When he made to step back, the black eyed man cleared his throat. Raand rolled his eyes and reached to the small of his back... and handed over a punching dagger... and some brass knuckles. The Empire soldier gave him a slow look and the bigger, older man just shrugged. Smile as guiltless as a lizard's.

"Never be too careful, can yeh?"

Kasoria scratched his cheek so his smile would be somewhat hidden. Raand never was one for the easy and honest way. None of them were, come to think of it. Vaul was next, forking over his hatchet and mace with a growled warning not to blunt them. Myrikos gave up his sword, shield, and kukri without a word. Which was not odd, considering he had no tongue. But he spared a quick look at Kasoria before he did. The little man half his size nodded, reassuring him.

"Such a lack of trust," Belial tutted, even as he placed his precious, bone-worked shortbow and ivory-handled cutlass on the table. "And here was me thinking we were being diplomatic."

"Bel..."

"Fine, fine. Just a little fun... sir."

Sir. Not "Kas". That's what they all called him now. He was the one that fucking told them, for the sake of appearances on their journey ("We're not some bandit crew, we're soldiers of Etzos, we don't go about calling our Cee-Oh by his name!"). It wasn't like it rankled, either. He'd grown used to it, after an arc of teaching the recruits in Westguard, and marching with these brazen pariah bastards to Rhakros and back arcs before. It was more that these men were calling him that. Men who prided themselves in respecting nothing save coin and strength.

Well, you showed them both. Stop acting surprised and put your mask on.

The Empire soldier looked pointedly at him, and he did not disappoint. One by one, he disarmed himself. Right down to the throwing knives under his arms and the dagger in his boot. All of it went on the table and Kasoria could feel the weight difference immediately. He looked up at the young man's face, half-hidden by his helm, and nodded.

"That's all. Ambassador an' the like dun' carry steel on 'em. S'what we're fer."

Be that as it may, the guard made plain again with his pronouncement that no weapons would tolerated inside. Every soul that went inside was told the same thing, so none could claim ignorance or immunity. Kasoria and his fellows stood to the side while the ambassador and his entourage were given the spiel. One by one, they were permitted entry, walking through towering arches that rose high as city walls. Molded from stone so black it might have been pulled from a furnace. Carved so fine it was almost like onyx marble or pitch jade. Kasoria had never held the same affinity for stone working as his countrymen, but even he felt the desire to brush his fingertips over it.

Beautiful work... for a bunch of Morty-lovers.

Fagan Manclin took his place at the head of the Etzori Delegation, scribes and translators and servants and advisors a dozen in number doing the same. Kasoria knew their names and their jobs and cared little for what order they moved in. All he cared for, was that his men knew their roles. Without being told, the four scarred and wolf-eyed men took their positions flanking the front of the delegation. Most clearly, the ambassador at the front. Kasoria walked by Manclin's side, but behind him a few paces. A subtle indication of who was in charge... but close enough that his role as chief bodyguard was evident to all.

Eyes swift, ears open.

The hall they walked into was utterly unworthy of the name. It was cavernous, vast and tall, no more a "hall" than an egg was a gaming ball. Carved reliefs and glass windows rose higher than eyes could discern. Legends and heroes from the history of the Empire writ large and fearsome for all to see. Macnlin's name was boomed out from the announcer, standing at a strategic point where his voice carried and echoed around the black-stoned room. Kasoria felt a multitude of eyes on them right away, and his Sparks shivered under his skin at his discomfort.

He calmed them. Kept walking. Kept looking at the clusters of people from all over the world. Looking for weapons in hands. Ugly intent on faces. His men would be doing the same, unarmed or not. All save Belial was nigh as lethal barehanded as armed, and he was no slouch, the peg-legged dandy. As they walked, Kasoria noticed that a fair few looks were being cast at him, not just the ambassador or the delegation from "those faithless barbarians across the sea". His reputation preceded him. Which was Lerrick's goal, he knew. Not just to find a man of rare lethality to guard the delegation, but one whose name rang loud and dark enough to dissuade trouble.

Might as well put it to good use for a sodding change.

Manclin came to a halt at... some place. Kasoria couldn't work out what was important about this part of the hall, until he looked around. Seemed like the ambassador wanted to keep a good eye on everyone else, and from there, they could see all who were inside and all who were entering. Already the ambassador was whispering with his underlings about something, probably numerous somethings. People to be found, talked to, felt out, glad-handed, even provoked... and Kasoria took the chance to slip away to his own men.

"Yeh know yer jobs, jus' do it. Keep these nobs alive an' 'specially the chief there. Dun' stray too far, an' if they do, one of youse go wiv' 'em."

"Yessir."

He scratched his chin again. Aye. Definitely still tickled him.

[Tristan Venora]

“I wonder what kind of stone this city is made of”, Tristan whispered to his grandmother as they approached the entry into the foyer of the Palace. He had never seen anything like it before. Under normal circumstances, he would have asked if he would be allowed to study that blackened stone and see if he could use it for his sculptures, but as it was, he curbed his curiosity. His grandmother and he had travelled to the Eternal Empire for entirely different – and far more important – reasons. The fate of an entire nation was at stake. They had come to talk about what was happening in Rynmere – and ask for help, because people already seemed to forget the kingdom’s tragedy.

Ebony Venora raised an eyebrow slightly at her grandson’s comment before she simply shrugged her shoulders and continued to walk. There were times for talking, but this was not one of them in her opinion.

Both Tristan and his grandmother were dressed in clothes that were of very high quality, but functional rather than fancy. As someone who was well-versed in matters of politics and etiquette, Tristan knew that overly fancy get-ups were often a target of derision and disdain in the Eternal Empire, and he wanted to prevent such reactions from the beginning. Their clothes were not a replica of what high-ranking individuals might wear in the Empire though, but a Rynmeran version of it. There was often a fine line between cultural appropriation and showing respect, and Tristan’s goal was the latter.

Even though they were in exile and had lost their duchies and their home, both Tristan and his grandmother walked with pride. Tristan wanted to make it clear that they had not come as beggars, but as leaders who had a goal and something to offer. Rynmere might be lost, for the time being at least, but there was still hope. At least some of what had made the kingdom great could be recovered or preserved, and he intended to be the one who did it. And besides, he was still richer than most nobles, in spite of his exile, and a hero – he had saved lives when the Lightning Dome had been under attack a while ago.

Some of the delegations piqued his curiosity, Tristan had to admit. He hadn’t thought that Etzos would send someone, for example. He had always thought the Etzori were rather … anti-Immortal. He briefly wondered about the potential for tensions or even open conflict due to that circumtance before he approached the Ithecal guard, inclined his head in a sign of respect and introduced them, “Duke Tristan Venora, and this is my grandmother, Duchess Ebony Venora. We are here on behalf of Rynmere. I only have this weapon here”, he said and laid his pistol crossbow aside before he cast a questioning look at his grandmother.

“I haven’t brought any weapons, good sir”, Ebony told the Ithecal in a calm and polite tone of voice. In spite of the fact that the former Duchess of Venora was well over seventy arcs old, she held herself straight. Old age hadn’t slowed her down yet, at least not much. Her only concession to it was the fact that she occasionally took Tristan’s arm.

Once their arrival had been announced, and they had entered the hall, Tristan and his grandmother didn’t simply mingle as Caelen had asked them to. Tristan looked around in order to see if there were any of Rynmere’s former allies present – or other people that might be inclined to help the kingdom, and all the refugees that had been forced to leave their home and were lost and suffering now. They might already be able to discuss certain things and forge certain alliances before the summit began. At the very least, they intended to make a good impression now which would hopefully help them later on.

“I will keep my ears and eyes open”, Ebony told her grandson, and Tristan nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. Ebony Venora was well-versed in matters of intelligenceExpert Intelligence, and she wanted to watch people, to listen, to gather information on them and see if there were any rumors. They hadn’t been allowed to bring any weapons into the hall, but in a way the summit might be just as dangerous as a battlefield, nevertheless.

It would be good to stay informed – and be prepared.

[Zana]

91st Zi'da, 722

The Eternal Empire hadn't changed.

Zana had visited here, around twenty arcs ago and she'd found it to be restricted, stuck up and rather too impressed with itself for her liking. The people had been tense, unamused and wound so tight she was surprised they could breathe. They really, she believed, needed to relax and have some fun. She supposed that was what happened when one of the singularly most dull Immortals ruled the place. It was all dark and so imposing as to be frankly funny to her.

Everywhere she looked, it was just people trying too hard. Just like the chains. The obsession with chains was ludicrous and, in her quite extensive experience, did not translate into their tendencies in the bedroom.

They were dull there, too.

Still, her rooms at the Palace were nice enough, she supposed, and the service was adequate. She had brought work with her to do ~ nothing of a delicate nature, as one never knew just where there were ears and eyes . The food was uninspiring, but she ate it and sent her thanks and compliments to the chef. It was probably the best they could manage, after all. Of course, the place was grand and beautiful and all those things, but Zana lived in a perpetual state of unimpressed, usually, and this place most certainly was simply an example of how not to be.

She made her way to the delegation hall and glanced around. She had only one person with her, her assistant Stefan was with her, no one else. There were Elements who had been sent as part of the delegation and that was correct as far as Zana was concerned. However, she had insisted that the ones with her had remained and guarded her rooms. There were a number of reasons for that, but what they were Zana did not say. She kept her own counsel and minded her own business.

In front of her, a rather scruffy looking bunch of individuals Kasoria et al were disarming themselves, some with a distinct lack of grace, and Zana wondered what possessed such fellows to be pulling weapons out of boots left right and center. It seemed rather overkill to her, but she supposed they were making a statement or something. It was probably, she thought, the delegate (who turned out to be from Etzos, which explained it all to her) overcompensating for a perceived lack of their own.

How dull.

Next was a man and a more elderly woman. They walked in together, the man only giving over a single weapon. The woman had none and she spoke with the sort of acerbic command which Zana respected. They were introduced Duke and Duchess of a place in Rynmere. Venora. Zana knew the name, having been to Rynmere shortly before she had been in the Empire last. It was now laying in ruins, she believed. That, she decided, was good. That gave her a potential ally , if she happened to be able or willing to offer support to them back.

Then, the greeter-person spoke to her and Zana gave them a brief and beautiful smile. "As a sign of peaceful intentions," she said softly, "I brought no weapons with me." If they wished to check that, it was true. She didn't need them, of course, but that was for her to know and them to ~ hopefully not need to ~ find out. "My assistant was directed to bring none, also." Glancing at Stefan he nodded his head and Zana smiled.

"Zana Delroth, Scalvoris Council Member for Foreign Affairs" she said, and thus she was introduced to the room. Walking in, Zana looked around and considered that there was an opportunity here. An opportunity to gain some useful information and, therefore, she mingledI'll leave the specifics to you, Pig Boy and, where possible she turned on the charmHarem: Zana has a long history of tempting people to do things she wants them to. She does this by making herself desirable and fostering in others a desire to please her. With this capstone, she has developed the ability to create a sense of loyalty to her which is disproportionate to her actions. A smile from her and a word of praise is enough to motivate someone who is under the influence of this capstone and make them ever-more keen to please her.

Mechanically, this capstone is one which she has to actively use - when she is using it:

- NPCs will be more likely to fawn over her. Each season where she uses it IRP she gains another 3 "loyal followers". These are flavour NPCs with the usual restrictions but they are completely loyal to Zana and will chase after her like a teen with a crush. If she notices them in any way other than their usefulness to fetch her things, I'll submit them to the PSF, of course. Equally, if they are going to do more than just be devoted (like they might be actually useful in some meaningful way) I'll do the same.

- PCs - this is up to the player how they deal with this. I would hope and expect that my writing partners take it into account and play their skills accordingly. Approval . With a bit of luck she could pick up some loyalty here. Zana was careful to be friendly, charming and not ask any difficult questions. She flirted, just a little, smiled and laughed. She made sure that she was charming and, where appropriate, she did what she did best.

She was adorable. A bright social butterfly. After all, she thought, these people were undoubtedly bored and restricted and she was a bright light in the dullness of life in this place. Frankly, she was performing a public service and should be adored.

A state which she maintained as she made her way around the room and greeted people. She'd pick up a few friends here, she was sure.

It's hot tonight, too hot for talking,
Lets sweat tonight, more sweat not sleeping

[Sam Rasvima]

It had taken forty trials of hard, unsanctioned travel to reach polished black jewel that was Korlasir. Forty trials of walking, riding, and sailing far from his home Sirothelle. Forty trials of uncertainty, worry, and danger just for the chance to bring home help for his broken, beleaguered city. However, when the palace's walls had finally greeted Samardyn Rasvima's journey-worn eyes he felt the ache from his bones lift and a smile split his lips for the first time since he left his congregation on this mad pilgrimage.

Sam arrived at in the Foyer alone, absent any aides or soldiers or servants that many official delegations brought with them. His hair had, an autumned Aukari red, was styled into a short manageable cut. His beard was kept close to his face, and he was absent any jewelry outside of a small, obsidian pendant that he fiddled with in a nervous habit. He was dressed in the finest clothes he had, a recently cleaned and pressed set of religious vestments. Coal-black cloth cut with deep reds and chased with gold trimming, it was coincidently close enough to the Imperial palette that Sam did not stand out on style alone. However, the representation of any faith in the realm of Raskalarn, especially that of Faldrun, was sure to draw more stares than he had hoped.

Alas, it was that or his travel clothes. Sam decided it was better to be noticed than dismissed.

The priest continued to marvel at the Imperial Palace as he waited to be checked in. High ceilings of intricate architecture, rooms draped with a sort of austere finery, the place bled a sort of wealth and status that Sam could not hope to conceive of, let alone possess. In a funny sort of way, it reminded him of the House of the High King from his home. A dry chuckle escaped his lungs as he considered how similar his people and the Imperials appeared at a cursory glance. Two sets of military mights, two sets of disciplined people, and two sets of reverent worshippers that held their Immortal above all. He wondered how differently his people might have been perceived if they had started to reach out to the world as the Empire did, instead of hide away and stab at shadows of enemies.

Histories and victors, he supposed.

A set of soldiers had been cleared after a lengthy display of hidden weapons, and Sam suddenly considered what type of world he was walking into. He was not naive, he knew that this building would be packed with important people. He knew where important people walked, violence had a tendency to stalk after them. But as the soldiers moved on, and the next pair of what Sam assumed to be nobles or monarchs or who-knew-what-else were announced, he felt a flicker of fear strum through his heart. He was not a person of import, he held no lands or titles or great riches to give his name worth. Who was he to attempt to stand among them? An upstart commoner, by their estimations at least, only bearing the authority of a hated and deceased divinity?

Then, a memory of the Ashen Alleys sparked to life in his mind. A face, young, immolated with despair and burning to ash before him. A soul he could not save. A soul that Sirothelle refused to save. A soul that raged against his anxieties.

His status and fears were nothing against that suffering. His city would not help his people. These diplomats and dignitaries, with their shiny clothes and brighter smiles, might. That was why he was here. That was all that mattered.

One such iridescent person in front of him flitted into the hall like a bird on the wing. Sam was motioned to step forward to take her place at the check-in. He did so, but the words these Imperials spoke rushed over his ear as if they were water. Again, their foreign tongues repeated their demands, and Sam was left to shrug.

"No Commonspeak," he explained in a broken, accented tone. "Vauni?"

The soldier before him set his jaw, sucked in a deep breath, and grabbed at the soldier next to him. He whispered something swiftly and sharply in the man's ear, and the urge to sprint away from the Palace rose in Sam once again. He pushed it down, however, stiffened his spine, and put on his father's slight, bureaucratic smile. One that said, 'go-ahead, but hurry it up' all at once. It felt wrong on his face, which is how Sam knew it was needed.

Moments later, another soldier, with weathered skin and graying hair, stepped forward. His eyes sparked like flint when he saw Sam, and a slight frown curled on his lips.

"Se'if imosithesk enth äêsthï,"

The soldier grunted out in surprising fluent Vauni. Sam couldn't help but shoot his eyebrows upward, he was not expecting such a beautiful use of his mother tongue to come out of such a grim-set mouth.

"Ëiv th'auravi't phä äêsthï. Në em-íth na iuhovith a'v nä'sula. Ëiv haliph ísk verïkari's...ädäurrênä."

Sam responded evenly, the bureaucratic smile never once wavering from his lips. The guards exchanged a look between the pair of them, shared a few quick words in common, before shaking their heads in unison.

"Tänthêr älëthïr ína'vas austhet nä'sula. A'v baevi ína'vas bophîn enth fre ha, äu'd älëthïr ína'vas vësthim'esk äz äktäï në."

The salt-and-pepper soldier concluded, motioning for Sam to enter the summit proper. The Aukari half-turned away, but then paused. A devilish sort of idea smiled at itself within his mind, and with a sly tilt of his head that even his father would have approved of, he turned back towards the guard.

"Në haliph, vür hêmäl phârë lis'th êm ína'vas bophîn vu fre ha a'v ëiv had ädà cien eav vu cïsäïnn kïätc baev në,"

he started, his tone innocent and charming. "Commonspeak much bad. Many injury done," Sam continued, the little of the language he knew mostly expended in that sentence.

"Svi thna, a'v në ëluïthol lirnën tom äl ísk rüheana, ëiv eis dïthlání tänthêr ëiv hêmäl ína'vas bophîn enth issues däv ädà äuthd'íl."

The salt-and-pepper's soldier frown deepened, highlighting the worry-lines which cragged across his face. His superior, who had summoned him in the first place, barked more Common at the man. The soldier responded, apparently explaining the offer that was made, and Sam watched as the two went back and forth for a moment. Eventually, it appeared the salt-and-pepper man yielded, cowed by authority and duty.

"Ëiv thä'ríldi lis'th në."

Smile growing wider, he nodded at both the man and his superior in thanks. Though it was apparent the soldier was resentful to do the duty, he motioned the Aukari forward to where he would be introduced to the room. Sam looked at the man quizzically. The soldier sighed, deeply.

"Austhë var'esk'ith xet kälyur äh nënït'hê uhê?

He asked in a hushed, hurried tone.

Sam paused for a moment, before groaning slightly. There was a title he bore, one given to him by his congregation. One that he regretted having foisted upon him until now.

"Samardyn Rasvima, Ashfather eav Sirothelle."

The name echoed across the room as he was announced, and he could feel the daggers in people's eyes as he walked into the Summit proper. Once again, Sam worried about what den of vipers he had willingly walked into.

[Vivian Shiryu]

When The Eternal Empire had announced they were doing an international summit, the response in Rharne had been one of surprise, then the immediate flurry of figuring out who should attend. Given the overall nature of the empire, it hadn't taken them long to decide on a military delegate. It was shortly after that decision that Vivian had been told that she was to be in charge of the Rharne delegation. Or perhaps more accurately, that she was to be the Rharne delegate. The decision had been made that sending too many people would create unnecessary complication, especially given the relative newness of such an idea. So most of Vivian's delegation was security and medical detail for the trip, with a pair of scribes to keep notes of the summit and any deals that were being made. Most of these had been left back at the rooms they had been assigned, since they had agreed that there wouldn't be a need for security at the summit itself, given the nature of the Imperial Army.

Korlasir itself had been a surprise for the group. She'd heard it referred to as "the black city" before, but had figured that to be some sort of descriptor, not the city was literally black. They'd asked around about that and heard the story that the city was carved from a dead mountain. Vivian found the idea a little silly, but Idalos was stuffed full to bursting with weirdness's and oddities, and besides, it was definitely not her place to insult the beliefs of a nominal ally state, especially one that she was here to strengthen relationships with. She was not, unfortunately, a trained diplomat, but given the focus was on the empire and they apparently didn't have many, if any, of those either, she didn't figure they'd get offended by a soldiers manner of speech.

There were several delegations ahead of her, including Tristan's plea for aid and a surprise plea from what appeared to be a Sirothelle native. That latter alone made her glad that none of the rest of the knights were with her, since it could lead to violence if any of the knights let their patriotic fervor against cultural enemies get out of hand. The former, however, just got a slight shake of the head from her. She understood Tristan's desire to help Rynmere, she had once felt the same way. But she'd had it made very clear that the Rynmere she had fought for and believed in had been dead long before she was born, if it had ever existed at all. She understood why Tristan wanted to save Rynmere, but she herself would not help. She was, however, worried that he would have the same cold awakening she had. Hopefully, at least his wouldn't happen in a jail cell.

Once she came to the entrance, she readily handed over Shiryu, or at least as readily as she ever did. She never much liked being parted from the sword, but she wasn't going to make a fuss or anything of the nature. There was a slightly amused look from the soldiers that caught her off guard before one of them caught her brief moment of confusion. "Disarmin' a high rankin' follower of Ilaren is a little bit useless, given she's the Immortal of Brawlin'." he said, and Vivian smiled slightly. She herself was not particularly great in a fistfight, but Rharne had a well-earned stereotype about its residents being good at unarmed fighting. They waved her on without further comment and went through the same process with the scribes, who didn't have any weapons, just a lot of parchment, ink, and pens.

After that, there was the announcer, who asked their names. "Vivian Shiryu of the Rharnian Lightning Knights, delegate for Rharne." she said, her tone calm, before she let the scribes introduce themselves. They were announced and Vivian headed into the main hall, a place she found rather impressive. If she were honest, it reminded her of the Lightning Cathedral in Rharne, but with an obviously different focus. She led the way into the hall, dressed in her formal dress uniform, complete with the electric blue cape that marked her rank in the Lightning Knights. Her scribes, which had both been pulled from the administrative parts of the Thunder Priests, were dressed like...well, Thunder Priests. Vivian was nervous about the summit, but she figured for now, the best she could was mingle among the crowd, which is exactly what she did.

[Nir'wei]

The Eternal Empire and it's capital city, Korlasir, had been a name Nir'wei had only heard mentioned in hushed tones and malice-filled jibes. From Rynmere to Rharne to Scalvoris, there was rarely any love left over for it. He'd never really felt its touch or looming shadow, however. Fanciful tales of hidden agents stealing infants to conscript them, he'd heard a thousand times before - only in Desnind, it was agents of Lisirra, and in Rharne there had been tall tales of Aukari doing the same. Everyone always needed a villain to scare the small children into cleaning their room and brushing their teeth. It hardly looked like the land of backwater savages. At least, its palace didn't. Black stone was an imposing choice, but then, that was meant to be the point, wasn't it? Palaces were meant to be a show of power, status, and wealth. Just because you did it all up in pretty colours and fine drapery didn't escape the fact it housed several hundred armed guards and fortifications.

In keeping with that sense of open-ness, Nir'wei decided - against the direct wishes of his own political advisor, Tel'wehn - to enter the delegation hall with his full entourage.

Frankly, he didn't understand the fuss from his own party. After all, this wasn't some ordinary Council meet. If there was ever a better moment to showcase his status with Karem, it would be now, surely?

"I'd think so," Sovar added approvingly. Despite he and Greyhide's immense size, that would have embarrassed draft horses in both height and length, their ears didn't even brush the roof. Had the Palace been crafted with Imperial Wolf-Walkers and their charges in mind? He'd have to ask someone. "It will be a welcome change to meet some new people. I never knew all humans have unique ways of giving belly-rubs, you know..." It was so different to politely hide a smile at that comment, but he still did his best. As long as Sovar didn't think to roll over in the middle of the delegation hall and cock a leg, he was welcome to pester to his heart's content.

As the last arrival, he reached the Ithecal and gave a single glance over the nearby table to admire all the weapons that had already been confiscated. Only a few he actually recognised. They requested that he relieve himself of them too, and he could only give a confused look... until they nodded pointedly at the bow hanging over his shoulder, bereft of a quiver. "Ahh. No, you see. This is my guest." Removing it from its sling, he presented the bow to the greeter. "You are familiar with this bow, are you not?" It had been Karem's own, after all - the Bow of the Eternal Hunt, and home to someone he held higher than his own political advisor, when it came to discussing matters of the Eternal Empire and its workings. "It holds the soul of a former Champion of Karem. I will not part with it." The greeter looked hesitant - it was an odd situation, and he could hardly blame them for the slight confusion in a very... unique circumstance. After a few moments, he was asked to at least un-string the bow, and he complied happily, setting the string down next to the various blades lined up along the table, before re-slinging the bow.

"Nir'wei. Scalvoris Council Member for Natural Affairs." His announcement likely paled in comparison to the appearance of a man flanked on all sides by seven wolves. Conversations? Charm? Those weren't exactly his strong suit in times like these. Instead, he relied on sheer presence, shining a polite smile at anyone who thought to look his way and scanning the room casually for familiar faces.

[Pig Boy]

The First Imperial Summit
91st of Zi'Da

As the first of the delegates entered the foyer of the Imperial Palace in Korlasir, they would feel it. Like a subtle, soundless hum that filled them with confidence, their very bones filled with vitality, life, and a feeling of 'we can do this'. Even when Raskalarn sequestered herself away from the Summit, as she must if she wished to preserve the integrity of any agreements made, one couldn't escape the feeling of discipline and order that the very stones of her home exuded.

They all entered in their turns, and as they did so, began to mix in the the rest of the attendees, supplicants, and opportunists looking to further their cause through the centerpiece of Imperial influence.

The first to be approached was Fagan Manclin, the Etzori delegate. It was the Desnind representative of the Ti'al, whose responsibility was to preserve the natural order in Desnind, and sperad their learning of Nature throughout the world. Àbo smiled easily at Fagan, his eyes bright blue that nearly had an incandescent glow. "Greetings, you're from Etzos no? I hear my people owe it to your brave soldiers the destruction or expulsion of the Plague Mother. I wouldn't mind hearing more about that, if you'd entertain me." Àbo looked from him, to Kasoria. Kasoria would feel something strangely familiar about his eyes, and the way they glowed. Almost as if an old acquaintance was looking through them.

His spark twitched in paranoia, like a fly that landed at the back of his neck. And indeed, a fly did land there, for a moment. He could feel its little forelegs curling over each other, making his skin crawl.

Next to be approached was Zana of Scalvoris, the Foreign Affairs councilor. She was approached by Orange Possum, who bowed his head obsequiously as he approached on shuffling feet. His ankles tied two feet apart by a silken rope of gold. "Oh my, how wondrous and beautific you are, Zana Delroth. And what an honor it is that we should meet. If you'd deign to speak with this poor worm, I suspect we may have mutual interests to establish in the way of trade and cooperation between the Towers and the great Isle of Scalvoris." He bowed again as he finished, looking up at her only when she spoke to him. "Tell me, what do you make of these Imperials and their hospitality?"

Several people broke off their groups, entranced by the presence of Zana, and decided to listen in on what she had to say. One of those accompanying the Ne'haeran delegate, another attending to the Desnind Delegate, and finally what looked to be a young noblewoman from Quacia.

The proceedings were interrupted however, when fanfare broke out, and the King of Quacia entered the Foyer, accompanied by some of his court, and one of those representing the Guilds of Quacia. "His Majesty, King Estavao Arkenstone of Quacia, The Wounded King, Redeemer of the Blood, Gaoler of the Dragon Deabrutoa, and this one... Malyorn Guildmaster of the Quacian Guild of Agriculture."

Estavao entered the place, supported by a pair of courtiers as he appeared to be physically enfeebled. Half of his body was dessicated, as if the flesh had been stripped in a great wasting. The left side of his body from head to toe was affected in this way, but the otherwise young king covered it up with sumptuous clothing and jewelry. His eyes roamed the hall, but eventually fell on Tristan and Ebony Venora. The king tapped on the shoulder of Malyorn, and nodded toward the pair. Malyorn said something to the effect of 'My king." and went over toward them to greet them.

Malyorn spoke, "Greetings Duke and Duchess Venora. My King sends his regards, and wishes to have words with you, time permitting." Malyorn waited to hear what they would say to that, and then stood by.

The soldier that Sam managed to recruit as a translator seemed to furrow his brow at the unspoken threat, that should he not translate for him, he would potentially make trouble. But here, they were bound to conduct themselves peacefully. The soldier looked to him, and asked in Vauni, "Well, anyone you wish to talk to? Doesn't look like any of them're keen on talking to a Ashen priest." The former title was said with no shortage of venom on the part of the soldier. He could perform his role faithfully, but he didn't have to be pleasant about it, when treating with the priest. "Best take the initiative, then."

Thalin Glaurid, the councilor of Agriculture of Ne'haer, approached Nir'wei. On seeing his bow, he nodded in respect toward the unstrung bowstaff, and greeted both of the champions of Karem. "Good meeting you here, Wolfwalkers." He spoke low, in a conspiratorial tone, "I'm happy to be here, in the home country of our alpha, the Huntress Karem. Good to meet another Wolfwalker, anyway." He pulled away, and spoke more openly after that. "I wondered if we might strengthen the ties between Ne'haer and Scalvoris..." He peered over his shoulder, at Zana who was being courted by the Nashaki eunuch. "Looks like the slave has firmly attached his leech-mouth to your foreign affairs councilor."

On seeing that all the present delegates that had arrived so far, had veered toward whoever was of interest to them, Caelen approached Vivian, and gave her a friendly smile. "Good to see another soldier amidst all of these others." Caelen said with a small laugh, "I was hoping we could discuss broader security assurances and cooperation, given our standing defensive agreement? What say you, Commander?"

OOC

I'm going to attempt something a little different here, and if it doesn't work out then that's fine we can recalibrate for subsequent rounds. But for now I'd like you to bear with me. We're going to do a hybrid sort of mod style, where I give you direction and such to follow, npc information to go on so you play them faithfully, and possibly things to react to in bullet points. Then you can write out your post with that in mind. But for the main things to accomplish this round:

Must-Do:

React however you like to the delegate that first approaches you.

Can-Do:

Redirect to another delegate or attendee.
Make a request of the Delegate that approaches you.
Make a scene.

Kasoria: You may interact with Àbo or investigate the people surrounding his delegation. Should you do so, you'll find that his own people see him as something of an outsider. He has no known clan or family withini Desnind, but has served the Ti'al for over a decade. Àbo himself is evasive, but seems keen to hear war stories of Rhakros, particularly what happened to the Plague Queen and her closest followers herself.

Zana: Orange Possum will attempt to cajole and flatter you, and speak of the mutual interests of Nashaki as a glass-making nation, and Scalvoris with its abundance of supernatural sands. Trying to make headway there. Should she prove suitably amenable to his conversation, he will broach the topic of the 'unfortunate' breakdown of the slave trade in Scalvoris in recent arcs. But say little more of it until he gauges her reaction.

Tristan: Malyorn will talk to you about the finer points of gardening, and as he does so it becomes clear that he's an avid gardener and cultivator himself. He'll try to broach the topic of the former Eastern Duchies and settlements of Rynmere, trying to angle toward the fate of those lands, east of Rynmere. What you say to him of these is all yours to decide. It seems at least you have his ear.

Sam: You seem to be the odd man out in this group, surrounded by political interests that are all aligned against SIrothelle and Faldrun. It seems it will fall to you to approach anyone to try and interject into any of the ongoing conversations. or else wait for someone to free up for interaction. At any rate, you do have the advantage of being unoccupied, and getting your pick of which conversation to join.

Nir'wei: Thalin seems happy to talk about anything at all that you wish to bring to his attention. You'll find him very amenable to talking about the taming of animals, especially those of an uncanny or dangerous nature. He seems to want to help you out here, genuinely.

Vivian: Caelen will mostly stay quiet, content to listen to whatever proposal you have to bring to him. He is perfectly accepting if Vivian should break off and join any of the other conversations, but otherwise will listen to her speak on military matters concerning both the Empire and Rharne. He does mention strange activity in the Forest of Corpses the past few seasons, but doesn't say much more than that. You may press him on that matter, if you wish.

Meet the Delegates!

]

Nashaki Delegate

Name and role: Orange Possum, Adjunct Voice for the mistress of the Tower of Flesh.
Race/Gender: Lotharro Eunuch
DoB: 673
Description: A paunchy, perfumed, powdered, hairless puff of a man, dressed in fine Athartian silks. He wears the silken foot and hand shackles of a slave, yet moves with a grace that belies the impediment that presents. He wouldn't be able to beat a hasty retreat at least should any approach him. But then he appears delighted to meet anyone that comes to see him.

Agenda: Pro-Nashaki, Pro-Slavery. Other items to be revealed upon interaction.
Strengths: To be revealed/discovered.
Weaknesses: To be revealed/discovered.

Etzori Delegate

Name and role: Fagan Manclin, Foreign Ambassador to Etzos.
Race/Gender: Human male
DoB: 689
Description: A slick academic, seemingly fresh out of the academy. He wears practical enough clothing, nothing too extravagant, but tends to wear the fruits of Etzori mines on his person in the form of jewelry. A broach of pure adamantite with colorful gems on it, and also what looks like a large, dark ruby at the center of it. He comes with a group of delegates and an entourage, not including the security detail led by Kasoria. They keep quiet for the most part, hanging close to Fagan. Usually just running small errands that are too unimportant to foist on his security. He for the most part ignores his security detail, going where he will heedless of any attempts to steer his activities.

Agenda: Pro-Etzos. Other items to be revealed upon interaction.
Strengths: To be revealed/Discovered
Weakenesses: To be revealed/discovered.

Desnind Delegate

Name and Role: Àbo The Ti'al Representative of Desnind: An advocate for the natural world and the preservation of all its workings.
Race: Sev'ryn/Eidisi
Date of Birth: arc 655

Description: 6'1, with black hair and striking blue eyes. His complection is pale with a tinge of blue. He often wears fine robes of Iyo silk, favoring hues of green and yellow. A friendly and sociable man, Abo loves to celebrate with other people and enjoys large gatherings of people. He is rumored and whispered to have a secret, regarding his Immortal affiliations. But by all accounts according to the Desnind Delegation, he has never been marked or known to be by any Immortal.

Agenda: Pro-Desnind. Other items to be revealed upon interaction.
Strengths: To be revealed/Discovered
Weaknesses: To be revealed/discovered.

Ne'haer Delegation

Name and Role: Thalin Glaurid, Agriculture Councilor of Ne'haer, Delegation representative.

Race: Human
DoB: 661

Details: A man of many words, though carefully spoken and seemingly introverted, Thalin is old and wise in his age. He is one of the oldest member to still hold a seat on the council. Thalin, however, is not one to go seeking trouble where ever it may be. He is usually last to speak on an issue and remains rather pensive to almost all discussions held among council meetings. Mysterious wouldn't even begin to describe Thalin Glaurid, but some say he is extremely loyal to those who have earned his trust. Aside from the council, Thalin enjoys being out with the citizens of the city and doesn't mind having a chat or lunch with a random stranger.

Agenda: Pro-Ne'haer. Other items to be revealed upon interaction.
Strengths: Appears to have in-roads with certain Imperials.
Weakenesses: Obvious Loquaciousness.

Quacian Delegation

Name and Role: The Wounded King, Estavao of House Arkenstone
DoB: 692

Details: Dedicated to the welfare of his people, but bogged down in those efforts by usual court politics and all of the fractious conflict in his own city-state, Estavao has decided to put his own foot forward as the head of the delegation to the Empire. He is rather forward about his desire and need to fulfill the growing food needs of his people. And with the hibernation of the Creep, or else it's sudden absence in recent arcs, he wishes to make use of the vast blasted lands outside of the walls of Quacia. He also has an interest in forming trade agreements, particularly for special building materials and tools.

He is horribly wounded, half of his body appears as if the flesh was dessicated or stripped. It's since healed over with the help of magics of court Grafters and Moseke's healing touches, but the scars remain. The other half of his face/body are as they were before he was wounded. A long mane of black hair, pale complexion and multi-colored eyes. He would stand at about 6'1" tall, were his back not hunched by the lapse of his physical form, which is largely hidden beneath sumptuous royal garments of velvet and ermine.

Agenda: Pro-Quacia, Pro-Magic. Mosekite Sympathies. Other items to be revealed upon interaction.
Strengths: To be revealed/Discovered.
Weaknesses: Obvious physical limitations and scars that hinder his mobility.

Name and Role: Malyorn, Guildmaster of The Guild of Agriculture
DOB: 666
Race: Human

Details: Malyorn is the Master Defier for the Guild of Agriculture. In short, if there's something to do with magic that Defiance would be useful for, Malyorn is the one they call on. He both does and does not have a great deal of weight in the Guild. His work is very important to them, certainly, as his research concerns the maintenance of the underground cavern of Plenty, but he doesn't hold a lot of political sway. This has to do with the fact that he actually possesses a heart, unlike many of the people in charge in Quacia, and doesn't actually want to see the people of the city starve to death. Imagine that. Malyorn was seeking a student because he was ordered to find other suitable mages to help his research. He wasn't thrilled with the way the Guild carried out their plan, but considers himself lucky to have met Sabbath on the day he initiated him into the mysteries of magic.

Agenda: Pro-Quacia, Pro-Magic. Mosekite Sympathies. Other items to be revealed upon interaction.
Strengths: To be revealed/Discovered.
Weaknesses: Obvious discomfort being in a political situation.

Off Topic

I will post again in seven days. Those who miss a round will not be booted from the event, but will only miss a round. Please post before the seven days is up, thanks!

[Kasoria]

Shut up, eyes peeled, look scary.

Those were the standing orders Kasoria had given his men, and himself. They hadn't been picked for their skills at oratory and negotiation, after all. Certainly not in this sort of setting. This was a place for the literal cream of the ruling crop, not just of this continent, but several others. He saw nobility from a half dozen nations, each loudly announced as they entered. All with entourages of protectors and toadies in equal measure, from a mere handful to what seemed like minor caravans.

Scalvoris. Desnind. Nashaki. Quacia. Fuck me, the whole world has come here.

Manclin was apparently less than stunned by his surroundings. But nobs were like that, Kasoria reflected. They probably had more knowledge of Idalos by the time they could jerk off than anyone else did across their whole lives. Being surrounded by folks from every clime, all angling for an advantage, was just... high society. The ambassador spied someone he wished to speak to and set off. Kasoria followed in the same instant. The rest of The Band had their assignments, and between their overlapping gazes and stern commands, he doubted they'd let anyone get close. But his job was the big man himself, and so he went.

That earned him a brief scowl. Apparently he was considered "scary" by many of the folk here. With his black eyes and roaming Spark and bloody reputation, he could understand that. But a mere glance at the hulking Ithecal, the Lightning Knights, some fucking Aukari, and what looked like a man leading a bloody wolf pack... he doubted he was far from the most notable member present. Kasoria shot the look right back at the younger man and kept pace with him. Sparks hissing under his skin, ready to come to his bidding when he wished.

Calm. Steady. Just here to talk.

"Greetings, you're from Etzos, no?"

Someone wanted a chat, apparently. A tall man with eyes so blue they looked like sapphires in the suns stopped to greet Manclin. What Kasoria wasn't expecting was for him to get that same smile, that same open, glowing stare. Least of all... a beat of recognition pulsing through is brain. The man didn't look familiar, but the way he looked at him certainly was. Somewhere between polite and amused, as if there was a joke hiding behind those blue eyes. Kasoria felt his Sparks shudder and realized it wasn't them. It was instincts he'd honed decades before he'd ever learned to use magic. This man knew him, but from-

He felt it then. Something small and insectile. A buzz cut short before it landed on him. Still looking at the Desnind, he swore he that amusement flutter just a beat... and without looking away-

Trap.

At once, his Abrogation Spark obeyed. The air around the fly turned solid, and it flailed as if caught in the jaws of some invisible fly trap. Maintaining his gaze with the man, Kasoria carefully reached behind his head and-

FWAP

-flicked the fly away, likely pulping it with his fingernail as he did. That done, he released his Spark and managed a smile that didn't reach his black eyes.

"I'd be happy to regale you," he said eventually, managing a "proper" accent with as much effort as he did managing to be polite to this knowing, leering stranger. "Schedule an' protocol allowing."

Kasoria went back to watching and listening as Manclin seized his chance to interject in the conversation. His eyes roved the crowd ceaselessly, spying for any threats, and hands bearing weapons. He scanned the faces, too. Looking far anything familiar, anyone who might have a cause to speak or threaten (either was possible). Part of him wished Max could be here to back him up. The Band had his trust, both as his chosen men and as competent guards, but her... all could turn on him, but she would not. He knew that sure as he knew his own name, and support like that in a strange land was worth a company of sellswords.

Well, it's her fucking fault she's not here, isn't it? Not yours.

Anger at his protégé's lapse flushed briefly in him, and chased away that other thought that was bugging him. The one that told him he hadn't felt flies land on him so brazenly for a long time.

Not since Rhakros.

"You would be the one they called the Raggedy Man, yes?"

Kasoria's eyes snapped to the man who'd sidled up to him, keeping his voice low enough not to intrude on the conversation of their betters. Tanned and tall and with black hair braided down past his shoulders, he gave the Etzori a quick nod of greeting.

"Aye. Not anymore."

"You are known. Some of the stories are... quite shocking."

Careful to keep Manclin and Abo in his eyeline, Kasoria half-turned to the man. His gaze flicked up and down, taking in his neat dress and solid bearing. Certainly not the sloppy sort. Whereas Abo seemed to enjoy his fine silks, this one seemed more comfortable in a bronze tunic of plain cloth. Hardly as fancy, but far more durable. His eyes lingered briefly on something in particular before he answered.

"Can't believe all you hear."

"I am Tahil. Equerry to Abo. There is little to do at these affairs but watch and listen, so I thought I might break the monotony."

"Equerry? Not a guard?"

The Sev'ryn smiled a touch, cocking his head to one side. "What makes you think-"

"Those calluses on yer hands aren't from holding a quill. Nor the scar on yer underarm. Looks like a dagger. And I've yet to meet an equerry who stood at ease, rather than just... standing." Kasoria mirrored the smile with his own. A touching knowing, but not patronizing. More a look of professional recognition. "Clerks do that. So do scribes. But they don't look ready to move like greased steel if the need arises."

The Sev'ryn's smile grew to a grin and he nodded. "They told me you Etzori were a clever people."

"We survived two Immortals in three arcs. We had to be."

"Rhakros," Tahil said the word almost in awe, as if recounting the name of some distant legend. "There are so many stories and rumors and tales about that siege. Lisirra, laid low by Mortal hands... and Sintra, if I hear correctly."

Kasoria's smile vanished. "Aye. She was there. And I'd be a liar if I said she didn't help. But it wasn't for Etzos. She just wanted to remove another obstacle."

The foreigner seemed to choose his next words carefully. "Not all Immortals work for the good of mortals. Lisirra, Sintra... they are beings of destruction. My own beliefs aside, I cannot say I was unhappy to see them vanished from Idalos."

Only one, Kasoria thought sourly. Lisirra was gone, he was certain of it, even though the hellish events in that plane of her being were hazy and muddled even now. But Sinta? She was expelled from Etzos, but not destroyed. She fled, and that meant she could one day return. After two arcs, Kasoria still felt pangs of worry that she would. For a being of her power, and her ego, to be so insulted by dirty mortals and their tricks and ploys... it could not go unanswered. She would be back, and he hoped only that he would still be capable to stand against her again.

"Yer master seems eager for stories," he said finally, moving the conversation forward and leaving his own brooding thoughts behind. "Said as much just now."

"Ah, yes. Àbo of The Ti'al has been most curious to learn all he can of Lisirra and her downfall. It's not often an Immortal dies, after all, and the Plague Mother has quite a history in Desnind."

Kasoria drank in every word. His kept his eyes on Manclin, flashing that ingratiating smile and telling just the right jokes as he chatted with Abo, but he wasn't just here as a guard. He was there to learn. Of these foreigners and their ways, their wants, their wishes and how all those things could harm and help his homeland. This wasn't like the old days, when he was but Vorund's Hand and all he was required to do was kill. Now he had to be more, and that required... concentration.

A serving girl came around and Tahil helped himself to a glass. Kasoria help up a hand and shook his head. Another quick look found the rest of The Band, watchful and taciturn as ever. Satisfied for the moment, he turned back to Tahil and allowed his face to morph into polite curiosity.

"Oh? Do tell..."

[Sam Rasvima]

ooc

Sam is always to be assumed to be speaking in Vauni. Anything directed at anyone other than his translator is assumed to be translated by the guard to Common. Anything spoken at Sam will be assumed to be translated by the guard, unless otherwise specified.

Truth be told, Sam was thankful for the soldier's acrid attitude and acerbic remarks. The pair of them, as well as the constant scowl affixed to the man's face, was a more immediate reminder for Sam to stay humble amidst the movers and shakers of Idalos. At least he spoke with candor, and he wasn't wrong about people not being willing to approach him, but that didn't stop Sam from shooting the soldier a laconic grin. He was realizing that he loved a captive audience.

"Can't blame them. Most trials I hardly enjoying hearing myself speak. I imagine it must be torture for anyone on the receiving end," He half-joked towards the soldier with a sideways smirk. "Thank you, by the way. I know it's not out of any love for my people you do this."

He stuck his hand out for the soldier to shake, shrugging it off and retracting the limb should he decide against it. "Also, I'm Sam. Which you knew already, because of the shouty fellow who yells when people walk into a room. Useful, that. Certainly did my ego a favor. Do you have a name, or rank, or title you'd want me to call you by? We can walk back through the entrance a second time and have that guy yell your name to the room too, if you'd like." The crooked smile never left Sam's eyes as he talked, even if the soldier were to decide to reject his humor and ignore his questions.

Both he and his translator stood a little-bit aways from the main action of the Summit, close enough to watch the events but not quite in the thick of it. Sam thought that there was at least some advantage to being avoided on the outset of the event; namely that he could watch the room twist and writhe around the major players before deciding to invest time in anyone. In this sea of people, it was useful to watch which way the current bent.

So he did, eyes and ears open as representatives of Idalos traded in niceties that might shape the future of nations. He witnessed the gilded woman be greeted by the chained man, the mercenary meet the dignitary, and felt a flicker of fear spike through his heart as a Lightning Knight treated with a massive Ithecal. That would be a corner to avoid if possible, he'd find only enemies in Rharne. He was sure the more militant elements of Sirothelle would love to know what their eternal enemy was discussing with the Empire, but Sam was rather attached to where his head was currently located and as such would be found nowhere near the pair.

The pack leader certainly peaked Sam's interest, but any hopes of engagement were dashed when the Ne'haer representative approached the wolfish man. He doubted another neighbor of Sirothelle would take kindly at his intrusion. His city's reputation was well known, but he knew it was another thing entirely to have Sirothelle at one's doorstep. Another enemy wearing a friendly smile aimed in any direction away from him.

Sam might've found neutral ground with the nobility, both Rynmere and Quacia, but he dismissed the notion quickly. Even he knew Rynmere needed more help than it could give, and Quacia was too mired in mystery to even attempt negotiations. That, and he was fairly certain he'd end up accidentally insulting the literal royalty. As carefully as he had threatened causing a disturbance to the soldier at his side, the Aukari had no urge to actually cause one.

Which led him back to the gilded woman, glittering in the attention she was currently being showered with.

"Who is she?" he asked the salt-and-pepper soldier at his side.

"Zana Delroth, Scalvoris councilor of Foreign Affairs," the man offered slowly, and with some confusion. "Weren't you listening when she was announced?"

"No Commonspeak, much bad." Sam muttered at the man in Common, hating how choppy and forced the language felt on his tongue. As the announcements were in that same language, he missed much of what had been shared with the room prior to the soldier's conscripted company. The guard only offered a grunt of acknowledgement in response.

Sam's eyes stuck to Zana as she treated with the dignitary; a slave who he was informed came from Nashaki. The man was groveling, that much was clear. Sam could spot a sniveling bureaucrat no matter the language barrier, he'd grown up with one as a father after all. He was not, however, sharp enough to see how the Scalvoris councilor was responding to the unknown praises that were being laid at her feat.

In a room of uncertain social waters, Sam thought she seemed a bit of a lighthouse. People flitted to her, and she seemed to at least respond with polite attention. If he were to approach her, he didn't think she would reject him immediately. Scalvoris shared no direct border with Sirothelle, and there peoples had only traded in reputation as far as he knew. She might think him an oddity rather than an enemy, and entertain his presence long enough to start a conversation. He certainly didn't have anything to lose, and he wasn't gaining anything by watching in the wings.

"Right, into the fire," Sam started with a half-step, before turning towards the guard. "Do me a favor and pray for me? I'd do it myself, but my Immortal's dead and a bit of a prick."

Sam wasn't sure what it said about him that he found himself more freely blaspheming so far from Sirothelle. Nothing good, he was sure.

With a quick step, he and his translator maneuvered over to the small crowd which circled the Scalvoris counselor. Delegates from all over seemed to be pulled in by the woman's sheer influence, and it was easy for Sam to see why. Hair like the sun at dawn and eyes that seemed to flare like cold flame, it was hard not to be smitten with Zana. The people around him certainly seemed to agree. Sam allowed himself a moment of distraction, to just be in her presence and bask in that easy warmth.

Only a moment, however. The man was a priest, after all.

"It is a pleasure, Zana Delroth," Sam began, pushing a bit past the circle of delegates and giving space for the guard to translate for him. He bowed slightly, as was custom, but not in the near-supplicating way that Orange Possum had. "Forgive me for the interruption, but, given the crowd you've amassed, I had worried I would not get a chance to speak with you before the Summit had finished." He stood straighter now, cold blue eyes matching hers and his crooked grin crawling back on his face. "I am Samardyn Rasvima of Sirothelle, but please, call me Sam. Speaking plainly, I think your people and mine could benefit each other greatly, Zana Delroth. Perhaps I could steal a moment of your time and discuss how?"

Within the last cycle, Sam had stared down members of his own faith and held fast. So why was it, awaiting the response of this willowy diplomat from an island he would never visit, that he felt his heart hammering harder than it had in arcs?