[center]Asura Sky[/center]

Asura Sky stood at the window of the Phoenix tower, having taken position there upon hearing the bell announcing the coming of the High houses. He watched them as they rode into the courtyard, eyes missing nothing, one hand to his face as he bit skin and pieces of nail from his fingers-- the tips were red nubs, swollen with endless spit, and on occasion they bled, staining the sheets of his bed at night. He studied the movements of each lord he could see as they dismounted, before being ushered into the palace proper. The roughly sixteen floors, the Tower of the Phoenix dominated the sky lines of Skyhaven, and made up a considerable portion of the Palace. 

Asura remembered waiting in this very same spot when his father often returned from one of his hunts. He would wait, for that change in the atmosphere, a trembling in the ancient walls of the edifice, the very thunder of the Phoenix Kings presence. There had never come any notable change however. And Asura never knew if the failing was his, or if his father's power had been sealed away inside that imposing frame and behind those unerring eyes, contained by a will verging on perfection. He had always suspected the former-- he had seen how others reacted, the tightening expressions among the highborn, the shying away of those of lesser rank, and how on occasion both reactions warred within the same individual. Taramyth had been respected and also feared for reasons Asura could never understand or comprehend. It was still hard to believe he had died at all. 

In truth, he did not expect more of himself in this matter. He was a bastard son, after all, and a child born of a mother he never knew and had never heard named. It something he was reminded of whenever any spoke his last name. In his twenty turns of life he had been in the same room with his late father perhaps twenty times; surely no more then that, and not once had Taramyth addressed him. He had not been privileged to dine in the main hall; he had, and still was, tutored in private and taught the use of weapons alongside the recruits of the Houseblades. Even in the days and nights immediately following his near drowning on a boat expedition on the Grey Rivers, he'd been attended to by the Royal guards' healer, and had received no visitors barring his two younger half-brothers, who had peered in through the doorway- a duo of round, wide-eye faces- only to immediately flee down the corridor. 

Such had been his relationship with his now late father- nonexistent. Shamgar had been closes to a father figure Asura had ever known. Perhaps he felt he felt obligated to in the wake of his brothers failings. As Asura's mind wondered he took note of the newest arrival, one carried in on a palanquin that was flanked by intimidating men wearing the most exotic armor he had ever seen. The figure that exited exuded a natural kind of authoritative command, draped as he was in exotic and expensive jewellery. He ascended the steps to then meet another equally foreign looking dignitary. Asura noted both men in his mind, trying to place faces to places. It was easy enough to spot House Marrow, their bone armor was as a beacon screaming of their identity. The ash covered men they engaged with in turn could only be House Ashtoken's First Star. Asura had ever only read about them, he had never actually met a member of either house directly. For a time he merely studied them and their interaction from his rooms window out of sight. 

Many believed Asura lacked any ambition at all, that ever bone in his body was content as could be with his lot in life. To a point this was true. He had loved nothing more then to shy away from public attention. In time however, he had learned there were different types of power and ways to exercise them to obtain more favourable conditions for ones own goals. To the outside world Asura was happy to remain ignored-- even forgotten. After all, those out of sight could never be the target of ire. So he had learned to use his rather unremarkable nature, and the very fact he was a bastard in fact, to his advantage. Today was a rare opportunity for him to exercise his own unique kind of power. 

 [center]Shamgar Paragon[/center]

At first things had been quite simple enough, with the arrival of the first houses. He had returned Gori show of respect and friendship. No sooner had he done so that Lord Odegai Khyriin approached him speaking of grievances of having to surrender his weapons and those of his guard. A simple matter to resolve for the shrewd Shamgar, long a veteran of Church politics. At least, it would have been simple had Ak-Sheh Rollo not chosen now to suddenly become belligerent. A frown creased his features as the situation nearly fell out of hand entirely. Rollo demanding the Khitani surrender their weapons, and the Khitani in turn refusing. Tension was quickly mounting and hands gripped weapons in a pointless stare down of will vs will. 

[i]Lords[/i] He thought with a shake of his head.

Shamgar cleared his throat to before he snapped his scepter on the ground in an annoyed outburst, sparks of flame seemed to jump up for just a moment from the sceptres contact with the rough tiled floor, a small show to return their attention to him before the situation become even more volatile. “Enough! Ak-Sheh Rollo, while I thank you for your esteemed vigilance and willingness to uphold the laws of the court, I do not yet believe I have become incapable and unable to speak for myself. No? Good, with that said,” He turned to Odegai Khyriin. “Lord, my apologizes for the slight misunderstanding. I am well studied in Khitani honour and traditions-- Though I confess your proud people come far to little to the Capital for my liking at least. As I have always believed there is much we may learn from each other. In any case, know I anticipated your needs ahead of time and have acquired a fitting compromise.“

He snapped his fingers and in little time a servant came sweeping forward with a red pillow with strings adorned atop it. “Far be it from me to force a proud warrior of Kammeth from his weapon if he chooses not to surrender it willingly. To that end observe these peace-bounds. Simple strings in which you and your guards may tie the hilts of your weapons to your scabbards. In this way you may keep your weapons, but simultaneously reveals your respect for our laws, as well as respect to our future king.” He gestured again and more servants came forward. “You may tie them yourselves or allow the servants to attend to the task. Let it never be said the Court of the Phoenix did not treat all fairly and in accordance to their needs.” 

As he finished he tapped his spectre on the ground once more. “Now I trust the matter is resolved? I shall have no bickering over such simple matters within the Palace, especially as the morrow holds more then enough of that do you not all agree?” He added the last with a wishful smile before it vanished. His eyes flickered back to Rollo and Odegai, as if daring them or any to speak in opposition to his compromise. Shamgar was no great warrior, or blessed with tower strength of the physical nature. Yet his gaze and will was strong, and his faith stronger still, when one braved the flames of Kammeth daily, that man soon found mundane matters of the world hardly intimidating in comparison.