[i][u]The Last Day of Zellra in the Year 1200 A.U.
The Grand Duchy of the Kawachian Islands
The Island of Verbera
Indignor, Capital of the Grand Duchy
Second Terrace of the Second Keep[/u][/i]

Indignor was far from the least pleasant city in the isles of Kawachia, but unlike many of the worst it managed to be an awful place to live without anybody even having to try. Over the centuries, the fortress of a city had endured more than thirty sieges - all more than six-hundred years in the past. House Chalarensis had a long memory though, nursing resentment and grudge alike though nobody alive lived to recount any tales of slight against the House first-hand. The whole of the city had been obsessively torn down, rebuilt, and slowly extended in every direction so that it encroached through the fields to the East, sank deep into the Earth and even beneath the waters of the bay, and rose to stab at the heavens, incorporating increasingly arcane and esoteric structures in accordance with the most modern theories of siegecraft. The whole brimmed with choke-points, claustrophobic and narrow halls, abrupt ledges with crenelations rising in the middle of passageways, and gaping barred murder holes in the ceilings and floors - which only accounted for the interior. One needed to be both surefooted and cautious with their footing while moving from place to place, which was intended by design.

A recent addition to the design of the city had been to add series of layered terraces with towers for the purposes of securing aerial bladders, and it was upon one of these towers a courier waited with some apprehension as one of the massive sacs was slowly towed downwards by its guideline. Its long, finger-like basket descended by increments to meet the railed wooden causeway extending from the lip of the tower. The two pilots, dressed in lightweight jack cuirass moved to adjust the rigging for the rod-mounted sail in order to bring it down while two more men waiting at the gangplank secured the vessel to cast-iron cleats. As they worked, Grand Duke Ormoneric Tribal, Head of House Chalarensis, stepped onto the causeway and approached. 

The Lord of the Kawachian Islands had a body like a saber, with angular features and a sharp nose atop a razor-trim body. Though House Chalarensis historically originated from mainland Ignis, his complexion was dark due to thorough interbreeding with the native populace of the islands. Further evidence of this was seen in his dark hair, which was worn straight and long with the end tied. He wore similar leather armor to the pilots, and though usually armed with a heavy cavalry saber he wore only an ornate dirk at the back of his belt, as every ounce of weight counted when sailing through the skies. Nearly his fifty-third year, the lord had the look of a man half his age with long cords of muscle running along his arms, and a temper which kept an energy normally reserved for boundless youths only barely in check. He now directed this temper at the courier as he neared.

"Explain." One word spoken in a seething and deep voice, like the crackle of a cooling lava flow. One did not [i]recall[/i] an air bladder that had just been released and was mid-transit without good reason, and not without earth-shaking revelation if its passenger happened to be one of the most powerful men in Ethica.

"My lord." The courier intoned, their voice dappled with faint nervousness but otherwise remarkably composed. "This letter was received by way of the Imperial Aerial League, delivered directly to the ducal courier boat with instructions to see it to you with greatest haste and utmost urgency." The courier knelt, retrieving the sealed envelop from his pouch and presenting it with both hands. The unopened seal of House Valarien adorned it, with Ormoneric's name inscribed beneath.

A tense pause filled the air.

"We [i]have[/i] no courier boat stationed at the capital." Ormoneric said finally, his eyes narrowed as his mouth began to twist into a sneer.

The Grand Duchy maintained courier boats at many foreign cities, but had not done so with the capital for some time. Most important and vital documents came to Indignor by way of other ports and the decision had been made largely as a gesture of scorn to the Imperial Throne. Most messages from the royal administration had to make its way by Impeerial carrack to some other port in the isles, where the port authorities could be counted on to keep them sequestered in the middle of the harbor for some time before permitting entry if not offered a sizable bribe. Further delays would come as the messages were then shipped (often needlessly) back and forth between officers of the Kawachian navy and army respectively to evaluate its contents and ensure it was neither a forgery nor containing of any provocative content before finally being sent where it was needed. Along the way, if any excuse at all was found to send the message back, it usually was - with a fine, no less. The entire affair was arranged wholly by the heads of House Chalarensis, and everyone in the Imperial court knew it.

"My lord." The courier replied, looking up from the ground just enough to be clearly heard. "The captain of the vessel does state that he was impelled under the authority of both the Lord Regent and the Voice of the Emperor to deliver the message, I am afraid it was decreed a courier boat on the spot by Imperial Mandate."

A second pause transpired, briefer than the first. Grand Duke Ormoneric reached out and took the letter, eyes faintly raised, tearing the parchment above the seal loose and handing the envelope back the the courier. He spent several moments in silence reading, his expression stilling into calm. He finally folded the letter and looked down at the courier.

"I must immediately tend to this." He stated calmly. "Inform the pilots of my need to depart, our flight is now postponed. Then return to the captain and congratulate him for his ship's new honorable status, then inform him he shall receive new deployment orders. That is all." 

"My lord." The courier said as he rose, keeping his bewilderment from showing.

The courier had not frequently delivered messages to the Grand Duke personally, but any display short of irritation was unusual for the ruler. Now he appeared almost serene, despite having an apparent matter of Imperial business that required his immediate attention. It was common knowledge across most of Ethica that nearly all of House Chalarensis despised the Imperial Throne. Tamping down on his confusion, he moved to fulfill his lord's instructions.

Grand Duke Ormoneric left the tower and walked down the spiral staircase of the terrace. At the bottom, he instructed one of the guards on duty to not permit any departures by house members, and to direct them all to the grand hall of the keep. He sent another to pass on the order to the guards of the remaining terraces, and a third to relay the second instruction to a court envoy.

"My lord, though it be not my place, I must ask whether you are feeling whole. You look rather out of sorts." The last guard said, some wariness in his countenance as he processed the [i]tone[/i] of the Grand Duke's orders. He had sounded mildly [i]enthused[/i].

"You are pardoned for your concern. I am well." Ormoneric replied. "Get someone else to guard the stairs with you until your fellows return." 

He continued on through the labyrinthine halls and passages of the outer citadel, finally arriving at the grand hall nearly ten minutes after having left the terrace. Built less to impress foreign envoys - the mere [i]sight[/i] of the city itself was usually sufficient for that purpose - and more to simply house the large number of house members who could be expected to sit in for a meal every day, the grand hall held twelve great, long tables carved from volcanic bedrock within that seated sixty people each, eleven side-to-side in the midst of the hall with the twelfth laid out at the front before all of them. Their tops were laid of ground and smoothed obsidian, and the candlesticks upon them, though made simply of cast-iron, possessed ruby and turquoise gems studded with pearl arranged in embossment representing the crest of house Chalarensis. Four massive hearths occupied the walls to the rear and sides of the great room, while a fifth, massive aperture near the rear, large enough to host a bonfire loomed over the setting. Hanging from the ceiling, several cast-iron hangers mounted circular arrays of spears tilted down, great candles of sulfur adhered to their hafts and burning with deep blue flames. The candles used below were specially rendered wax from the mainland, designed to mask the stench of brimstone wafting down from above.

It was near lunch, and so the hall was already filled with a fair number of other house members. Nobody moved to rise from their seats or otherwise halt their conversations, barely glancing at the lord of the isles, and indeed no herald even announced his entrance. House Chalarensis had never claimed to rule by divine right, nor did they maintain that their lineage was inherently noble - the house ruled using steel and force. Ormoneric's extended family would do as he commanded and submit to his authority, but nobody was pretentious or deluded enough to demand that they openly respect him - least of all Ormoneric himself. Upon the decks of a carrack or in a field tent things might be different with strictly and rigidly enforced terms of military formality. Here in the family halls of the house though, the rules were lax.

Grand Duke Ormoneric thus headed over to one of the servants standing by at the foot of one of the twelve long tables of the hall and quietly issued an order to have everyone informed that he would be making an address. He headed to the head of the hall where the twelfth table was and waited as servants began rushing between chattering groups of his kin, who began to turn and look towards him expectantly as he stood in his place at the center of the long-table. Once the hall had quieted and he was sure he had their attention, he began to speak - a loud, bellowed proclamation that carried through the length of the interior.

"Brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and all others of those amongst my kin - just mere moments prior, I received this letter," He held the letter from the Imperial administration aloft, the emblem of House Valarien plain to see. "From the capital of the heartlands. Today is a day of great and momentous celebration, and with the setting of the sun we shall all dine and feast as one, and make merry the likes this hall has never seen for decades!"

Anyone who had not been paying attention before was doing so now. Many were merely curious as to what sort of [i]Imperial[/i] news could possibly be worth celebrating about. A few though, particularly the eldest amongst those gathered in the hall, had lived long enough to have witnessed this same kind of announcement before and were already grinning in anticipation, their eyes gleaming with fervor.

"For this day alone, you may abandon your grudges and set aside your rivalries! Turn! Turn and embrace your brothers and your sisters, weep freely and dance without perturbation! In this moment our House knows absolution!" He slammed the letter in his hand down on the table and shouted his final cry at the top of his voice.

"The Phoenix King Taramyth Valarien is [i]DEAD[/i], and Chalarensis smiles in his grave!"

Every individual in the hall, normally unable to wholly agree with each other on nearly anything, all as one, cheered. Dust shook free from the rafters, and guards from outside the hall rushed in to combat the Vilespawn dragon that had surely just burst through the wall.

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[@Celeste]
[i][u]Later that Night
The Private Rooms of Diende Tribal[/u][/i]
With the sounds of merriment and feasting audible to everyone in the citadel, nearly everyone save the servants who had to suddenly scramble to prepare and serve the largest feast in years was enjoying themselves. One of the few who was not sat now, writing a letter.

Sitting before the parchment, inkwell and quill prepared but unused, Diende Tribal nursed the loosened line of his lower jaw slightly for comfort in the near darkness of his room, with his wooden teeth removed and secured in the lower drawer of his bedside table. From the moment he had learned of it, through the rest of the day and up until that very moment, he had felt nothing.

He supposed he was glad the emperor was dead, in an abstract fashion. The entire affair seemed empty by his reckoning. Pointless. A new emperor would soon be elected, after all, which would mean a new round of laws and legislation that would be decreed, with House Chalarensis to serve as the punching bag for decades of mutual animosity with the houses of the mainland.

And he himself, Diende, would have to vote for the very same person who would be doing the punching. One way or another.

Finally having determined how he would go about writing what he needed to, he set his free hand down beside the parchment and began to write.

[quote=A Letter Sealed with the Crest of House Chalarensis, Addressed to Gerard Soleander]Written by the hand of Dienda Argider, son of Iian Argider and Ravana of no line, Former Marshal of the Ducal Forces of Kawachia (retired).

Intended for the eyes of Gerard Soleander, son of Sebestian and Esther Soleander, and Justiciar of Sunstone.

In not undue spirit do I write to you in the wake of the death of Pheonix King Taramyth Valarien to inform you of my previously planned visit to the Sonveld, and specifically the city of Insimu Lezinkanyezi for the purposes of house business.

However, with the sudden approach of the Imperial Summit of the Arch Electors, I find myself unable to go forward with my journey. As the senior-most member of House Chalarensis, I have been selected by my second-great-nephew and Lord, Grand Duke Ormoneric Tribal, to represent him at the summit in the capacity of Arch Elector.

I must now pray for your pardon for my intrusion upon your own affairs; the business I planned to attend to is of vital urgency and cannot wait for the conclusion of the summit. I must implore you to append an additional traveler to the party of your own Arch Elector Felix II Soleander, Protector of the Sonveld and Pratrician of the Sunstone, or else that of his representative, to accompany them to the Imperial Summit at the capitol city of Lalrial.

The name of the individual eludes me at the time of this writing, but I have seen fit to include a flyer describing the details of their business and affairs, along with the address of their estate in Insimu Lezinkanyezi.

I know that in reading, this request may appear somewhat frivolous. However, the matter at hand is both time-sensitive and of some urgency. In order to assure you of my seriousness, this letter has been disclosed with a box containing half of our commissioned partner's pay for services to be rendered, in the form of six Ammacre Pearls, with an additional six to be delievered upon completion of their assigned task. I trust that this measure is sufficient to convince you of the seriousness with which I make this request. The individual in question, by the time of your reading this, should likewise have received their own message informing them of this development and shall have made arrangements to prepare for the journey should you come in touch with them. If what I ask should prove possible and is fulfilled, I would be personally grateful and would be inclined to pay heed of your own concerns in the future, whatever they may be, such that I might be able to alleviate them.

With hopeful anticipation of our eventual meeting should you attend the summit, I hope that this letter finds you, your house, and your Arch Elector in good health.[/quote]
[quote=A small flyer of parchment]This slip of parchment bears the details of business of a famous painter whom you know of by reputation as one of the most accomplished in the Sonveld. Several of their paintings, largely in the form of portraits, hang in the halls of the Sunstone. The flyer lists the address of their estate in Insimu Lezinkanyezi, as promised.[/quote]
[quote=A box of black lacquered wood]Opening the box, you see six spheres of impossible color nestled in a cloth of crimson silk. They hurt your eyes to look at directly - they are definitely Ammacre.[/quote]

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[i][u]The 12th of Gerna, 1200 A.U.
Outside the North Gate of Lalrial[/u][/i]

[quote=Lanariel Valarien]From her new vantage point, the young  woman caught her breath at the sight. Near the top of the hill she, at last, saw her destination in full view. The gleaming white City of Towers, it’s ivory spires seeming to jut into the very heavens.[/quote]

Then, out of the side of her vision, a large, bloated lump of ugly dark brown floated directly in front of her scenic view. An air bladder - one of the bizarre results of the gas harvesting they did in the Kawachian isles - was drifting closer to the ground, clearly about to land. Small streams of sand dribbled down from sacks hanging off the sides of the finger-shaped basket suspended from the bladder itself, literally dirtying her view. A flag blew frenetically in the wind, perched atop the crown of the flying sac, displaying the banner of the Grand Duchy of House Chalarensis.

Aboard the bladder, Fame Mountebank slapped the cringing Harper Cragmore across the top of his head as the fifteen year-old prince cowered below the lip of the passenger basket. "Don't touch that rope you half-wit! You just released the ballast in the sack! You just wasted that much more helium!"

Fame was a pilot of the Kawachian Ducal Aerial League, adorned in their iconic jack cuirass and long-leather cap, along with a light saber secured across his left hip. As one of the only two-hundred Kawachian pilots in the world, he was the closest thing House Chalarensis had to a knight though he bore no title and was not of noble descent. He was nonetheless thoroughly educated in history, geography, politics, mathematics, negotiation, court etiquette, and naval protocol, and was trusted to act as an envoy for House Chalarensis much in the same capacity a knight would be expected to.

"You are the one who told him to release the bladder." A voice like wind in the hills stated, airily and reproachful. "As if he would even know how to do that, when he has been cowering on the floor the whole trip." 

Sarapis Tribal, governor of the island of Acantha, was a young women in her early twenties with a tall face and thin cheekbones. She wore a damp blue, full-length robe in the Kawachian style of a kaftan, drawn together snugly across her chest but parting down from the waist over a pair of dark trousers. Her hair was dark and straight like that of most of Kawachian ethnicity, with an additional amount tied into a braid and worn over the back. Across her left hip she wore a ceremonial heavy cavalry saber indicative of her office, while an ornate dirk with a pearl-inlaid handle was strapped across her left arm. Despite the robe, the snugness of its top and its immediate departure from her body below the waist served to emphasize certain curves in a number of places.

"The Imperial depot will be topping us up in any case. It is their loss." Diende interjected. 

In the light of day, Diende Tribal's wizened features were leathery and streaked with lines. His hair was shock white from age, while his left eye was missing and occupied by a glass with a pearl iris. His teeth at first looked as though they were filthy and covered in grime, until one realized that they were wooden dentures. He too wore a kaftan, though it was a deep carmine in color and was adorned with several marks of military merit. He too bore a saber, though it has a pronounced, rounded tip upon its sheath, and he used it as a makeshift cane.

After several minutes of Rame adjusting the rigging for the bladder, with some assistance from Sarapis, the large basket touched down on a large, spacious landing field specifically designated for the purpose by the Imperial Aerial League. By Imperial decree, House Chalarensis had been forced to supply several balloons for use by the Imperial Throne, as well as other houses, and so designated landing zones were not uncommon in proximity to larger cities - though they tended to possess varying degrees of security. House Chalarensis and the Imperial Guard both took the matter rather seriously, rightly recognizing the air bladders as a strategic asset. The large helium depots that accompanied these landing zones, usually in the form of refurbished and repurposed barns, also doubled as small milita barracks and watchtowers.

Rame and Sarapis jumped down to the ground from the lip of the bladder's basket, assisting both the frailer Diende and the still catatonic Harper down as a stern-looking Imperial Captain approached them.

"None of you are Grand Duke Ormoneric." He said in an accusatory tone, his face set in a disapproving expression. "You peasants had best have your papers in order. I don't care if you're actually from House Chalarensis, I will throw you into the sea if you are not supposed to be here."

"You threaten a pilot of the Kawachian Ducal Aerial League at your peril, Captain." Rame said venomously. "If you touch either of my masters, I will be forced to cut you down."

"It appears," Diende interjected, stepping forward slightly, shifting his cane accordingly as he reached into his robe. "That there has been a delay in communications. A letter was sent ahead from our ship several hours ago, but apparently it has not arrived yet. I possess here," he drew a slip of parchment, with a corner-seal stamped with the crests of both House Valarien and House Chalarenis. "A receipt of my status as representative for Grand Duke Ormoneric in the capacity of Arch Elector. I am expected at the Estate of Grevis Valarien, along with my guests."

The captain took the parchment and examined its contents in a perfunctory manner, rolling it back up before returning it. "Can't say I'm not pleased by this. Means I don't have to rattle off that obscene list of titles that Duke of yours has."

"[i]Grand[/i] Duke." Diende corrected gently. "Are we free to go, captain?" The man simply waved them on errantly in reply, turning and heading back towards the depot, from which a team of laborers had emerged to handle the now grounded bladder.

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/POZGDxX.png[/img][/center]
Arriving by carriage at the estate, Diende, Sarapis, Rame, and Harper were escorted to the portico by the purple-clad janitor where a servant-herald then announced their presence - with one small hiccup.

"Now announcing the arrival of Grand Duke Ormoneric Tribal, Lord Steward and Khagan of the Kawachian Islands, Malefactor Advocate to the Pheonix King of Ethica, Despot of the Island of-" Another servant rushed up and interrupted them, whispering urgently in his ear as Diende, at the head of the party, looked straight on and pretended that nothing had happened. With a short cough, the herald started over.

"...Now announcing the arrival of Diende Argider, former Marshal of the Ducal Forces of Kawachia, Sarapis Tribal, Governor of the island of Acantha, and Rame Mountebank, Pilot of the Kawachian Ducal Aerial League." He finished.

The party of four stood in place. Sarapis and Rame had the grace to continue looking straight ahead, permitting Diende to be the one to glance askew - with his glass eye no less - at the herald and then to gesture faintly with his head towards the poor Harper Cragmore, fidgeting in place and tugging on his tunic.

"...And Prince Harper Cragmore, sixth in line for the throne of the Erayis Highland." The herald said, sounding apologetic. Satisfied, the party of four finally stepped forward and drifted their separate ways.

Fame headed directly for the selection of cheeses, examining them intently, while Sarapis folded her hands behind her back and intently stared at the selection of wines.

Diende locked both eyes, glass and live, directly with Alliana. Methodically, slowly, he advanced, setting his sheathed saber forward rhythmically as support.

"I do believe this is the first time in twelve hundred years that House Chalarensis has managed to arrive on time." He remarked casually. "On that note, I must apologize on behalf of my second-great-nephew and Lord, Grand Duke Ormoneric, for not being able to attend. I am afraid he is currently preoccupied with vital matters from which his attention cannot be spared, especially for an affair as trifling and spurious as this one."

He gave Alliana a wide grin, allowing her a good view of his dentures while he allowed her to process the verbal slap.

"I must further apologize for myself. I am old, and prone to rambling. If I should utter heresy or untoward commentary, please do excuse the ravings of an old man, for I do not have long in this world." His smile then transformed, snapping from a wide grin to a stern, thin line.

"So. It should be painfully obvious even to the hired help in here that House Chalarensis will either abstain or elect for you yourself. Jakinius is too [i]weak[/i]," He thumped the ground with the end of his saber's sheath for emphasis. "...and everyone knows that House Chalarensis could never be sensible enough to move beyond its petty grudges and vote for a man married to Duchess Victoria Gracieux of the [i]Sun Isles[/i]." His lips quirked into the faintest of smirks.

"As a raving old madman though, I will confide in you - and everyone else within the easy listening distance of the foyer - that for the purpose of political expediency, House Chalarensis is prepared to resolve that particularly senseless instance of gainsmanship. Neither the lovely Duchess, nor any of her line for that matter, have done anything of note to offend Kawachia. Only their incidental intersection with House Dustin, in very recent times I might add, has brought our disdain her way. I say that is a pitiful reason to sour relations with one of our most frequent and respected trade partners, and Ralltene Vallarien will be a very profitable choice of Pheonix King for House Chalarensis."

Diende let out a gentle chuckle, and then set his face sternly again. "I say this to you. As Arch Elector, I [i]will[/i] vote for Ralltene Valarien, if the electors should reach a tipping point in choice between him and either you or Jakinius. Unless you make me a sufficient offer, now, right this moment. Not later. If you make an excuse and walk away to attend to something else, that will be all. If you want to be elected by House Chalarensis, I shall only give you this one moment to sway me."

Far more than Diende's blatant disrespect - he had not even addressed her by name! - far more than his utter lack of discretion and subtlety, the worst quality of his speech was its [i]volume[/i]. The man had clearly made sure that everyone in the room - other guests and otherwise - could hear what he was saying. Her answer to his demand would shape the entire rest of the summit and how they treated her - it would be important for her to act in a way that proved she could not be intimidated.

Still respectively musing over at their tables, Sarapis and Rame were both smiling faintly.

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[i][u]Lalrial Harbor[/u][/i]

While Diende Tribal was in the process of loudly coercing Alliana in front of everybody, a rowboat originating from the carrack [i]Mundus Malleum[/i], flying Kawachian colors, pulled in to dock. Waiting for its arrival was a very expectant and pleased port inspector.

This very port inspector had, on numerous occasions, been required by the Imperial Port Authority to visit the Kawachian Islands - and be subsequently harassed, waylaid, and sequestered by Kawachian officials and soldiers for his trouble. Now though, the shoe was on the other foot.

At least, it was until the first passenger on the rowboat rose and stepped onto the pier. The first thing the inspector noticed was that the man's right hand was missing, and that an actual [i]flanged mace[/i] had been strapped onto the stump. The second thing he noticed was that the man was rather wide and tall. The third thing he noticed was the man's excellent and robust shouting voice. At some point during the tirade, his carefully kept tricorn hat fell from his head to be blown, as if by a gale-force wind, into the waters of the inlet.

"...I...I'm sorry?" He finally tried, once silence fell, finally recovering sufficiently to take a further look at the man. He was dressed in some kind of robe, the kind normally worn by the noble Kawachians - except they had no nobles outside House Chalarensis. His complexion was lighter than one expected of their kind, and his hair was closely shaved. The man's eyes were small, relative to the size of his head, but contained an inner gleam that made them all the more striking for their small size. The same gleam and distinctive facial features akin to that of a wall crenelation drew attention away from the modest collection of military merits adorning the breast of his robe. None of them were of any Naval orders that the inspector recognized, so he supposed he was part of one of Kawachia's armies. 

"I...I mean," He recovered further, reminding himself that he had the entire port authority backing him up, even if the lunatic had a mace for a hand. "Sir, I will have your name, and know that I will have you fined for harassment of an Imperial Port Inspector!"

The man's nostrils flared while his eyes bulged, until one of the other men who had rowed to the pier with him grunted pointedly. Opening his mouth and visibly grinding his teeth, he looked down, straight into the inspector's eyes, and answered.

"My name is Mottay Vagost, Brigadier General of the Kawachian First Ducal Army. I am here on official House business, and all fines and other charges for myself and my ship are to be payed on the account of Diende Argider, acting in the capacity of Arch Elector!"

The inspector was for a loss for words. After a brief moment he decided on "I see." He bent his head and wrote down the General's name in his ledger in order to stall for time. After slowly and carefully rewriting the name twice, he looked back up.

"I am afraid on account of the [i]abrupt[/i] and [i]unscheduled[/i] nature of your ship's arrival, I will have to ask a few more questions. For one thing, what is the precise nature of the business you are here for?"

Mottay firmly crossed his arms, his eyes and lips twisting into a sneer as he hissed an answer.

"I'm here to get [i]my[/i] mace back from those Cragmore [i]scags![/i]"