[center]”She looked down on the world and from her lips came a forlorn whisper; “It’s too quiet.” She turned and walked away. Upon the next solar rotation, she began the preservation of Galbarian life in all its myriad forms. When asked why, she stated, “Would you not save a child from a burning house if you could?” She then lit a fire.[/center] [hr] The cobbled streets of Sylann were being ripped out. Workers with large brimmed hats, worn with the sun, piled high and carted off what came before. Whilst the mighty Formed moved the earth, straightening and widening the roads. Foreman barked orders and progress was an ever steady pace. A new invention by the Syllianth, called concrete (a strange mix of aggregates, water and trade-secrets), when poured wet, hardened into thick slabs of rock. Smoothed for wagon wheels and the trendy vehicles of the day. Gobbocarts and Pollytrains, they were called, all the way from the great cities in the East, Tricity at the forefront. Innovation always demanded improvements, after all. Much was bustling in the great city of late. Grand projects were being completed at astonishing rates. A great amphitheater for the trendy plays of the day, lay down by the river north of the Atelier. The colosseum of Sylann was nearing completion east of the Atelier, one which boasted room for vast thousands, with imported sandstone from the wastes. Though it had put a considerable dent in the budgets, many were satisfied at the opportunities it would bring in. With an ever growing population, the housing market encroached upon the once plentiful fields of Sylann, which shrank day by day. Snouter representatives in the Assembly, were not thrilled with the prospects of ever smaller holdings. There continued to be reassurances of continued trade deals with distant markets and a general push for better habitational places. Meanwhile the Atelier was ever busy with producing certified craftsmen and the growing academic body of engineering. Syllianth artisans were producing the finest ceramics, textiles, masonry and metalsmithing. Technological advances were occurring at an outstanding rate as Sylann became the beacon of civilization in the western world. This was in part due to the ever growing College of Sylann. The Goddesses decree that all were capable of self improvement had blossomed into a renaissance of academia. Children from the lowest dregs of society were encouraged to attend school so that they might learn their letters and basic math. Continuing on to higher education, those with the time and energy to succeed are invited to attend the college for higher education. The college itself, sitting in the south of Sylann as a great castle of marbled gold, was a grand apparatus of the city state. Scribes wrote histories, mathematicians studied arithmetic, the politically inclined learned of civic duty and the war college was the busiest of all. For Sylann as it was, could not continue without great sacrifice. Hollis rode his brown roan through the gates of the Rosefield estate. A quant manor known for its vineyards and of course, roses. Where once had stood a grand vista of farmland, broken up by a few copses of oaks, now was being subsumed by an ever growing population. Shanty towns giving way to townhomes of fire brick. Hollis dismounted in the courtyard, his horse quickly taken by a groom after a low bow. He was met by a master servant, a finely groomed wolf-kin. A half by the looks of his brown fur and too human posture. Hollis nodded to him. “This way Silver Lord, they discuss in the master’s hall.” The servant said in a deep voice. He led him down a hallway with posh statues and paintings of Rosefield’s past. The walls were of a rich wood, Hollis did not know the make. If the Rosefield’s had been wealthier, it would have been made of marble, but alas. He could hear them before he entered the room. “...Riots in the streets!” “We don’t know that!” “What do you think would happen, you snout brain!” At the last bit of drivel, the room behind the closed doors erupted into shouting. Hollis straightened his jacket as the servant opened the door. As he stepped through, the room fell silent. Before him sat a mix of assemblymen. All wearing ceremonial robes with gaudy knick knacks to make themselves standout. Rosefield stood at the head of the table, the goblin man red faced and flustered. “Silver Lord.” he said with a curt bow. The rest followed. Hollis found his seat at the other end of the table, facing Rosefield. The dynamic of the room shifted to Hollis as goblin, beastfolk, and human eyes fell upon him. “You have a lovely home, Assemblyman Rosefield. Thank you for the invitation.” Hollis said with a nod. “Thank you, Silver Lord. Care for refreshments after your journey?” he motioned and a servant, a cheetah beastkin produced a platter of fine dainty foods. Being polite, Hollis took a small quiche and began to nibble at it with a fork and knife. Delectable, which was a surprise. Another servant, this one a goblin maid, poured him a goblet of dark red wine. “Hospitality well received.” Hollis said, “My compliments to your chef.” He took a sip of the wine, too sweet for his liking. “Delightful.” he lied. The others nodded. Hollis gestured broadly, “Please do continue, don’t stop on my account.” The cue to continue. Rosefield cleared his throat, “Of course, Silver Lord. We were merely discussing the trade tariffs at Arbor. They keep raising prices, some feel inclined to think it might be a bit of a brewing situation.” “Is that right?” Hollis asked. The goblin man’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “A vast portion of our economy resided with trade. Our growing population means more demand for food stuffs and as our farming land shrinks, we have to import more. Neighboring kingdoms keep raising prices ad infinitum. It’s a cycle, Silver Lord.” Many heads nodded at this. “And what are the current proposals in the Assembly?” Assemblyman Niter, a fullblood crocodilian beastkin, spoke with a raspy voice, “That we raise our own tariffs in retaliation. Or that we begin enacting tighter immigration laws. Many in the Assembly have never had an empty belly, Silver Lord. They do not understand how the people would react to a trade war.” Niter’s eyes glistened, but yellow slits in the well lit room. “Fairwater’s cohorts?” Hollis sipped. “Assemblyman Fairwater and his band of merry fellows, believe the safest approach is to do nothing.” Rosefield snapped, before adding, “Silver Lord.” Hollis rapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “What if I told you that the dear assemblyman is a compromised agent of Thysia?” “What?” Rosefield began to rise, eyes going wide. “He was found with incriminating papers, encoded with specific phrases that detailed Sylann secrets. Easily cracked by those with a keen eye.” Hollis sighed, “Sylia herself took him for questioning.” “You’re… You’re sure?” One of them asked. “I am not in the business of questioning my God, neither should you be.” he said in a low voice. “Of course. Apologies, Silver Lord.” “What does this mean exactly?” Rosefield asked in an excited tone. “It means, dear assemblyman, your plans may commence with the majority.” “Thysia…?” Hollis shook his head. “We leave it for now.” he stood up and the rest followed suit. “A general… Expansion to alleviate the burdens of a growing society. A keener eye will see what must be done. It will be in the best interests of Sylann if such a proclamation should pass.” he began to pat his coat in a frivolous display. “I have other appointments to attend, thank you for your hospitality, Rosefield, Assemblyman.” He nodded and strode out. The silence was evident. A week later, troops marched into the town of Fann. [hider=Summary] A little update from Sylann. [/hider] [hider=Quick Facts] Sylann is now a bustling hub of civilization in the western hemisphere of Galbar. Sylann boasts a wide variety of cultures and peoples, with different sections of the city predominantly said cultures and themes. All adhere to the overarching theme of growing imperialism. The Assembly is the ruling body of Sylann and make laws with majority. Numerous other titles exist in the city, one being the distinction of SIlver Lord, or one who is of high honor, holdings, or Sylia appointed. The Coliseum will soon be host to gladiatorial bouts and other coliseum things. The College of Sylann has many branches of study but noticeably lacks any sort of magical school. [/hider]