Breaking the Surface

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

Tyrann parted his lips to inquire after the reference to 'sweat', but then Imogen beat him to it and his mouth snapped back shut, punctuated by a sharp nod of his head.

"Well, if air is customary, I would not wish to be inhospitable. I shall see to it." His smirk suggested that he was at least savvy enough to be intentionally cheeky about the bizarre circumstances of his offer and their entire exchange up to this point, for that matter.

Tyrann turned and started back toward the river, gesturing for Imogen to follow as he padded through the wet grass toward the muddy bank. Glancing over his shoulder, he knitted his brow.

"We speak a tonal language accompanied by physical gestures, but worry not. There is no need for you to trouble yourself to the extent of recreating a Neptori form from the ground up. My companions need to spend more time in the air to prepare for the latter legs of our journey, so it will be good for all of us to dine in environs more naturally comfortable to your core shape. Or perhaps I am overly presumptuous. In either case, I'm certain we can see about a garment to preserve your modesty..." As they drew closer to the river, the chittering of dolphins would be audible and two Neptori, taller than Tyrann and of much darker blue complexions with deep purple hair in damp braids, looked to their charge and seemed to tense at the sight of a small primate in languid pursuit.

Tyrann executed a hand gesture, which seemed to ease their initial tension, then spoke in Common.

"This is Imogen. She is not as she seems." He noted as he stepped into the shallow water at the river's edge. "She will aid us in our travels, and I have invited her to sup with us. Please keep her company, whilst I prepare the palace to receive κατοίκους της γης." With a nod back to Imogen, he dove into the murky water and the ripples followed him to a deeper point. There was a flash of light visible and then a great many bubbles.

The two guards swam to the shallows and then waded up to the bank without ever stepping onto the relatively dry land, as the three dolphins chittered behind them.

"Greetings." One of the stern-faced Neptori offered. "I be Heronas. They are Elios. They not speak Common so good. My lord not be long. Please to, um... bide." He nodded, and averted his eyes from the lemur as if finding it impolite to maintain eye contact while he was not speaking.

[Imogen]

A tonal language with physical gestures, was it? That made some sense. The dolphins on the way to Drathera had been noisy little mer-critters, and the sailors had said that whales, likewise, sang. It was a romantic image, really; an ocean filled with song. She wondered if you could hear it from afar, or if the people had to stay very close to talk. Just another ocean mystery, waiting to be solved.

"Undersea garments...?" Another curious thought. She might have reassured Tyrann that she could dress in her own clothes, but they seemed apt to perish if soaked for too long. It was only natural that the Neptori would have clothes which weren't so vulnerable to their own element, she just wondered what they might be. "As you say."

When they reached the river's edge, Imogen was surprised to see two more neptori, just as the ambassador had promised. They must have been submerged when she'd flown over the spot, she reasoned, or otherwise concealed by some cunning mechanism. Surely she hadn't simply missed two merfolk standing out in the open from directly overhead!

Tyrann gave them basic instructions, ending with something incomprehensible. It didn't bother Imogen much, even if it was all Nepthal to her.

"Yes, I'll wait." she assured Heronas, "A pleasure to meet you, in any event. I am an Orkhan... though temporarily a lemur for convenience. I take it you two are also Tidal Neptori?" Tyrann had emphasized that, and said something about river-folk, so it seemed to her that there must be some important distinctions therein, though she could not yet conceive of what.

More to the point, as she spoke she scrutinized the two elves', looking for little details about weaponry. If they were guards, they must be armed, and it was one of Imogen's fondest pasttimes to observe the styles and customs of each nation's warriors (and then, later, criticize them to her friends). She'd never thought to wonder how the changes in positioning and weight of the water undersea must necessarily change the calculus for a warrior's choices- how effective could swordplay be, under water?

This was really her favorite part of any job. Speculating about her clients.

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

“Wait. Yes, yes. Wait.” Heronas winced, realising bide had been an inferior word choice. The tall soldier knitted his brow at Imogen’s explanation.

“I know of Orkhan. Much bigger creature. This you are now is called Leemoor? I never see this thing before. Is comfortable to be this Leemoor?” Heronas seemed sceptical, though a bit of the bite may have been taken out of his line of questioning as it was interrupted by the sharp shallow breaths of his unpractised lungs.

“Aye, we are of the Tides. Long be the days since last I have, uh… lurked among the airs.” He gestured unconsciously with webbed hands as he spoke perhaps a bit too quietly, though his expression was haughty in an elven fashion that seemed to bridge the aquatic divide that sundered his people from Sol’Valen long ago.

Upon inspecting the garb of the Neptori, Imogen would find that they were ostensibly wearing scale mail armour forged of some sort of silvery metal. When they moved, however, the garment, which looked as though it should have been rigid, moved with them like a second skin. A harness criss-crossed their torsos, in which daggers were sheathed. If they were armed beyond that it was not immediately apparent, though if one were to glance toward the chittering dolphins one would see they wore some sort of barding that might house further armaments.

It would be a bit longer than twenty minutes but fewer than thirty before the air behind Imogen split, casting a bright purple glow at the edges of the Gateway. Heronas and Elios both stood to attention and looked over Imogen's head to their liege lord, who'd changed out of his armour and into silken robes that looked perfect for lounging albeit not underwater. They and their inhabitant were completely dry.

"This way, please." He gestured behind him, where those in Ecith would see no underwater palace, but an open air dining space that appeared to have been set up in the ruins of some cliffside villa overlooking the sea. Tall, thick marble columns cast long shadows, though the ceiling, if there had ever been one, was long gone. Pale, light-haired Neptori who looked more like Tyrann than Heronas and Elios were setting a marble table rounded by chairs built of driftwood.

"I realised that dining out would be a simpler endeavour and less vexing to my staff than aerating a chamber at Κύματα Παλάτι, so I am prevailing upon the hospitality of my Coastal kin to accommodate us." The apparent servants looked strangely at Imogen, and perhaps more strangely at Tyrann for speaking to the little primate, albeit in a language they did not seem to comprehend.

He moved to take a seat at the head of the table, perching upon the porous, spongy cushion that topped the chair and regarding the platter of sliced fruit that seemed to be their opening course.

"If you would like to assume your natural form we can see about a garment and a spot of privacy." He noted, turning to one of the those serving the food and incanting a comment accompanied by a series of gestures executed by hands no longer webbed. Presumably this pertained to the afore-stated arrangements.

[Imogen]

The shifting armor worn by the Neptori guards immediately captured Imogen's attention, in part because of the unusual aesthetic; but in part because of the unusual flexibility it seemed to offer. For various practical reasons, she'd never gone about armored. In Zaichaer, of course, it would have attracted the attention of the authorities. In her training as a Sunsinger, it would have interfered with the style. Finally, as a practitioner of Animus, armor just tended to fall off more than she liked.

That last fact still seemed like a problem, but perhaps with clever Runeforging...?

Well, it was a thought for another place, another time. "There are ups and downs." she told Heronas, "That is to say, it is useful sometimes and inconvenient at others. But there are some advantages to being small; for example, it's easy to keep track of yourself."

As her new employer (?) returned berobed, Imogen followed him through his portal. What had he called it? Slipstream? Doubtless the principle was the same as Slipspace, but it occurred to her to wonder what advantages might be gained by flooding a passage through the realmless realm. It was also a good warning for her: if she ever felt the need to open a portal underwater, it would require careful consideration of the relative statuses of both ends of the portal.

As they entered the portal, though, the witch realized that this one did not lead underwater. Apparently the strange elf was not lying about his status, as he'd simply commandeered a residence owned by his fellows. That boded well. Nobility with real pull could generally afford to pay better.

She raised a brow at Tyrann's comment (not, perhaps, that anyone could tell), but replied: "Well, as you like." Zaichaeri she might be, but this was Ecith, and sometimes you had to strip around these parts.

The little monkey scooted down from her staff--which she had allowed to ferry her about rather than walking--and hopped back a few paces from any of the assembled Neptori. Transformation was generally a terrifically unsightly process, but Imogen was extremely good at it. She chose to expend greater stores of aether to speed the process; rather than a minutes-long metamorphosis, the lemur simply swelled, skin stretching and tearing as an Orkhan stepped out of it, rubbing the skin which used to be hers off the skin which now was.

Imogen was tall by the standards of most races, but this was petite by Ecith's own. Her upper body was a riot of markings, combining a few of the tattoos endemic to Drathera and two enormous Cardinal Runes centered on each of Imogen's breasts, with the Rune of Reaving positioned over her heart, intertwined with a stylized depiction of a sword aflame. The Ork's eyes were a dark lavender hue, and deposits of small rainbow scales dotted her entire body, concentrated most on her limbs and flanks. The Cardinal Rune of Traversion spiderwebbed across Imogen's back, much less ornate than its fellows. Finally, though she'd left the lemur form behind, a long white tail still trailed down from her lower back.

The witch's Pact staff returned itself to her hand, and she rested it on the floor. "There you are- Orkhan, just as promised. Now, what matters of the world have you curious?"

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

As the lemur of honour skittered off, the Neptori fussing about the table seemed unconcerned with her. By and large, they seemed focused on tending to the whims of Imogen’s new employer. Perhaps their obvious anxious energy would bode poorly for Imogen’s prospects with the amphibious apparent aristocrat. Stepping away to claim a mote of privacy, Imogen would find a vista overlooking the sea and a portion of the coast peppered with relics of bygone majesty. She was at the edge of a once great city. Though some elven cities found an equilibrium between nature and civilisation in their architecture, it was clear that nature had long since predominated whatever society had erected the crumbling structures littered about the landscape. Even the one she’d just stepped out it was past it’s prime. It was clear that the place had been maintained for some time, but it hadn’t been restored to its original glory. The reason for this, if it was anything other than aesthetic, was as murky as the haze that hung over the ruins that spread further inland.



The sounds of wind, waves and birdsong were audible, as were voices from back the way she’d come. It was hard to recognise who was speaking, since their language was so different as to make the speaker (or in this case cantor) sound like a different person entirely. Without seeing the speakers, it was difficult to even glean what emotional tone was betokened in their sing-song voices.

Returning as an Ork, Imogen would find the same distracted serving folk who were hitherto incognizant of her lemur presence, were startled at the sight of a large, tusked humanoid stalking into their midst. As Tyrann noted the shift in their demeanour, he suddenly spread his lips and bared his teeth in a tight, forced smile. Through his teeth he descanted:

“Αυτός είναι ο καλεσμένος μου, κρετίνοι!“

Before turning his pale eyes to Imogen. The servants got back to work, averting their eyes or contriving to smile at their Orkhan guest.

“I did not doubt you a whit. Please…” Tyrann gestured to the table, which was now arrayed with platters of various foodstuffs.

“The fruits of the seas and of the trees are well represented and some of the fruits of the vine had been fermented for our enjoyment as well.” Tyrann explained, as he claimed his seat at the head of the table. He considered Imogen’s question, pursing his lips.

“It was I who sought to connect with the landed realms. I encouraged my Foréas… this him who bore me in his womb, so I hesitate to use the foreign term of ‘mother’. At any rate, I encouraged him to consider diplomatic relations with the landed realms and he has indulged me. I come to seek the most influential lands on the continent. I hope to find… Symbiosis with you who dwell the dirt.”

[Imogen]

The man's story was insane, of course; what an absurd thing to claim. Yet... it was no more mad than the tale the young Norani had told her on the southern beaches three months ago, nor any crazier than the tower, or the business of the white dragon, or her services to Vhexur. Perhaps it was that infamous demigod's work that saw her running into so many strange folk of late? She had no way to know, and pressing him for answers would be pointless.

So she chose to take the strange noble at his word. Anyway, he clearly had significant sway; the guards and easy Traversion was proof of that.

"Well," she muttered, mostly to herself, "It's a beautiful song, but the lyrics need work."

Imogen turned back to Tyrann.

"As fate should have it, I am well-traveled. I have lived in Karnor, and Gelerand and Ecith, and can tell you something of their affairs. I will start here."

The Ork reached for a bottle of wine and uncorked it, then carefully decanted a small amount onto the table. Once a suitably circular puddle had formed, Imogen stretched an open palm over it, the surface of the spilt wine rippling. After a moment, the reflection within it opened like a flower, or a prism, or perhaps both at once. Layers of crystal light peeled away, to reveal an image of the city of Drathera, as seen from high above.

"The people of Ecith revere the world in three aspects; land, sea, and sky. Of the sea, you know better than I. The sky is the affair of the gods, howsoever delinquent they seem to have been in recent months. Of the land..."

Imogen gestured towards parts of the city shown in her Window, indicating obvious and recent damage. Well... obvious to her anyway. Who knew what the mer might make of it?

"The Commonwealth of Ecith has done little for many decades; even when it fought off the Gelerian Imperium's disasterous invasion some twenty-odd years ago, it lost its two largest cities to the fighting and was never able to gather itself enough to strike back at its enemy to the north. Its leaders are fractious and the concepts of authority and ownership themselves are viewed with suspicion and hostility." The Ork's words seemed derisive, but her tone was neutral, even approving. Imogen had seen the fruits of superior public order and paternalism in the north, after all.

"In recent times, strange disasters and chaotic magic have afflicted every realm of the Land, both here and in the continent to the north. Thus, the nation is even more fractured than usual. You can see the damage here- Drathera's harbor was petrified entirely and had to be quarried apart for removal, and afflicted dragons assaulted the city." It had been a truly bizarre time, though she had only been there for the start. Although she'd witnessed the attacks on Drathera with her own eyes, she'd fled back to Zaichaer almost immediately, spending weeks in panic at the thought of Carina's fate.

"Still worth a visit, to my mind. The city's no match for the beauty of Kythera or fallen Ailos, but the library is well-kept by dragons and doubtless has much to offer. I've never seen its equal."

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

As their Orkish guest spilt red wine onto the table, several of the attending servants audibly gasped. One went so far as to emit a plaintive wail that one needn’t speak Nepthal to infer meant something along the lines of, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” But a sharp look from Tyrann would stay further audible outbursts. It certainly did nothing to offset their scowls, but Imogen would achieve that herself by revealing that the spill had been no wasteful display or Orkhan brutishness, but an artful demonstrative tool. At this, a few would step closer to the table to squint at the scene arrayed before their lord. One might infer that these were no trained servants by trade, as they whispered amongst themselves, oohing and ahhing at the witchcraft.

Tyrann seemed faintly annoyed by his provisional staff, but not enough to distract him from the intelligence related by his guest. He grimaced at the description of the Commonwealth. This was not what he expected, and certainly not what he was seeking. These did not sound like serious people. Their travails certainly sounded harrowing, nevertheless. That they should find themselves on the receiving end of Draconic and Imperial wrath was most grave.

“Then the Commonwealth is in decline…” He mused, “Very well. We shall visit Drathera, for it is in our path, but we shall seek no parley with its Archons.” As the servants seemed more focused on the wine diorama than their duties, Tyrann sighed and reached for the bottle Imogen had opened.

“Would you care for some in the cup, as well?” He was pouring ere the end of the question was uttered.

“Of what other lands do you bear knowledge? I would know more of your wisdom,” He poured for himself, and leaned in to see what her well-vinted conjurations would display next.

[Imogen]

Commonwealth in decline? Probably a fair assessment, but Imogen wondered idly at the implications- that a strong and prosperous Commonwealth would be more united and directed sounded fine in theory, but... well, the myths of old Ecith were positively soaked with blood. The Orkhan were the bitter children of murder and Malgar, after all. She wasn't at all sure it would be better luck--for anyone--to live near a Commonwealth with Skar ascendant.

No, such a world would be red with blood. Red as the wine of suffering. Red as...

"Mmm? Oh, yes, thank you. Most obliged." The wine she'd been using as a divinatory aid was not quite red as blood, but it still looked pretty good. She didn't sniff the cup passed to her; the puddle on the table was pungent enough that an expert could probably have identified the black fruits and floral tones from their chair. Imogen was... more experienced than expert, so she merely let herself enjoy the smell. "Therewith, I shall propose a toast to the success of your venture, er... lord Tyrann."

The Ork raised the goblet and drank carefully. It was good, as expected, and in any tavern she would have downed the entire thing in the blink of an eye. But it was important to make a good impression on prospective clients- not just to secure the job, but to avoid staining her Order's reputation.

"North from Ecith, you will find the Sangen Federation. A great deal of marshland and marchland, but I've only traveled through that country, and the news of the day was of the northern lands each time. To wit, the largest of all the nations of Ailizane-"

Imogen crossed her fingers over the pool of wine and the Window within began to spiral in on itself. She'd found these cantrips to be the most useful application of Traversion. Many warriors spoke glowingly of the combat applications of Blinking in close combat; merchants and princes all seemed enamored of portals. Excellent spells all, but to her mind there was no contest. For a trickle of aether, a mage could get a good look at nearly anything, and Windows made long-distance communications a cinch.

Still, as she sought out the paths through Slipspace which would transfer light from the distant shores of Gelerand to here, her spellwork began to fray somewhat. It took some time to find a suitable connection, and when she did the crystalline light within the wine was cloudy. For a moment, she feared she had somehow struck a warding... but she'd seen enough of those to quickly realize that it was simply entropy. Wisps of Dread Mists, intersecting her magic. The witch reached forward, her right hand now beclawed and covered in opalescent scales like a fish. Carefully, she stuck her claw into the wine, stirring it gently to dissipate the interference. After a moment, the image grew clearer.

Gel'Grandal was a stunning sight. It was less vertical than Drathera, built as it was around the red dragons' mountain, but it conveyed an equal sense of grandeur in the scale and sophistication of its construction. The central buildings towered, lit by artifice and surrounded by tiny flitting figures, and the less fantastic structures sprawled out and away from the center like some vast skirt, covering the countryside in all directions. The city gave the distinct impression of control, of nature brought to heel.

Imogen was not a native of Ecith, nor any kind of fae, and that didn't bother her. Instead, she found herself afflicted by a stranger disquiet. Gel'Grandal was beautiful, in its way, but it reminded her of Zaichaer. And of Lys before it. There was a melancholic logic to it, like a cycle which was dimming at each apex.

Still, that wasn't her sorrow to deal with. She shook it off. "The Gelerian Imperium. By dint of conquest it covers nearly a fourth of the continent. Despite the size, the authority of the central government is nigh-absolute, bolstered by a powerful military and a culture of absolute deference to the Emperor. They boast superior weaponry; by which I mean that they have developed cunning ways to outfit their armies with devices that would ordinarily require expert mages. Decades ago, this fact gave them such confidence that they tried to conquer much of the world- but powerful army or no, nobody can sustain a war on so many fronts. The ruins of that failure are entombed around Kythera, not far from where we met."

A thought came to Imogen, and the witch moved the Window so that Tyrann could better see one of the winged figures above the city.

"By the standards of elves... well, even by the standards of Orkhan, the Imperium is a very young nation. How did it grow so powerful, so centralized, so quickly? The stories credit the Kathar Avialae, a race of soldiers ensorcelled to absolute obedience to the throne. They are reputed to be an invincible corps of mage-warriors, but, alas, their training grounds are well-protected and I have only had the chance to see them in action twice. Still, I have observed the warriors of the Synnekar Avialae, and their style was a derivation of that practiced by the acolytes of Raxen. I have my suspicions that they practice something similar to the kathalan Blossfechten..."

The Ork blinked, realizing she'd gone off-topic.

"Apologies for the digression. In recent days, there have been certain renewed hostilities with other nations in the North, following the events a year past when the draegir Arcas was kidnapped. I can't imagine how that was done, frankly. I've seen Arcas fight, and you certainly couldn't pay me enough to try to kidnap and hold him. Nobody seems to know quite what happened; the initial blame fell on the High City of Zaichaer, but when Arcas reappeared it was in Gel'Grandal itself. Suffice to say, it's made the neighbors nervous."

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

Tyrann pursed his lips and nodded as he raised his cup in answer to the toast in his own honour. His honour guard would do so as well, but none would remark upon it. The knights were not altogether comfortable with the language and the lord was too focused on the more pertinent information being imparted.

As the wine returned to pooling on the table one servant, perhaps the same histrionic from earlier, let out a frustrated groan. The talk turned to other realms. The Sangen Federation sounded like a misnomer, if Imogen’s description was accurate. She said more of the ecology than the population. He wrinkled his nose, seeming to find this to be another disappointment to heap onto the ‘no’ pile with the Commonwealth.

His eyes would widen at the depiction of Gel’Grandal and a smile would spread across his fair countenance.

“Now these! These sound like serious people.” Tyrann proclaimed excitedly. As her description dug into greater detail, the grin would fade in splendour somewhat.

“Although I worry, perhaps… too serious.” He wanted an education in the ways of the dirt, and these certainly seemed like people with enough to teach. But were their methods more clever than the machinations they were meant to enforce? Their power and discipline sounded formidable, but if the whole of the realm was doggedly loyal to an undeserving emperor, what was it all worth?

“Still. This is a place I will visit with intent. Are they accepting of outsiders? Do you know of embassies, or are they too keen on conquest to treat with those they seek, one day, to vanquish?” Even if such were the case, it might still be worth the effort. There was a wealth of land for the Gelerians to annex before they should consider turning their sights seaward.

[Imogen]

The witch pursed her lips at the prince's question, turning it around in her mind.

She hadn't lied about her broad expertise--she'd spent some time in Gel'Grandal with Carina, and Carina had been happy to talk about her time on the ground--but she'd never paid much attention to embassies. Diplomatic relationships were something the Sunsingers had kept tabs on in Zaichaer for many reasons, but such considerations were well beyond her position in the coven, and by the time she'd left the doomed city they had taken a backseat to the wild turns of events throughout the past two years.

What did she actually know about the Imperium's diplomatic efforts? Nothing personally, of course. She'd been a non-person and a criminal in Zaichaer, and in the view of the Imperium her citizenship in Ecith was probably worse than that. Each time in the city, she'd ducked inspection to avoid revelation of her Cardinal Runes; mere possession of the Rune of Reaving was a criminal act in the view of the authorities there, at least for those who were not numbered among the ever-loyal Kathar.

"I believe they have relations with their neighbors, although I could not tell you which ones keep embassies in the city. Certainly the Commonwealth does not; they consider themselves at war with the Imperium to this day, though I do not think they have ever roused to do more then sink a wayward vessel or two entering Hullbreaker's seas under the wrong flag. They were quite involved in affairs among the Free Cities of Karnor, which occupy the north quadrant of Ailizaine- as patrons of the High City of Zaichaer and enemies of the Jeweled City of Kalzasi, and their allies. But then... a year past, the King of Kalzasi was assassinated, and Zaichaer was obliterated by unknown forces. Things have been tense." The Ork didn't bother to hide the bitterness which had infiltrated her voice by the end of this report. Zaichaer had been a place of strict and unjust laws, and she a smuggler and terrorist by its reckoning, but the people had deserved better than what they'd gotten. To the Presidium, good riddance; but the price of its excision was too severe.

Imogen took a deep breath to steady herself and leaned back, lacing her fingers together on the table in front of her. The claws had faded, with only a handful of tiny opal patches of scale lingering as a reminder.

"In all earnestness, I couldn't tell you much about the Emperor. I'm not impressed with the nation's successes abroad, but they're certainly a prosperous people. It may be that there is a firm hand at the rudder... or it may be that he is content to leave ruling to competent advisors? I suppose that is a kind of leadership, too."

Her brief contacts with the halls of power had mostly taught her that she was right to avoid them. Kalzasi was a lovely city, but their royals seemed self-obsessed to her, and the Senate of Ecith was largely an arena for Orks to practice their favorite pastime; pointless philosophical debate. Tyrann seemed composed and reasonable to her, but he'd already hinted that this was all something of a personal project. Who could say what the Neptori royal court looked like?

"I think you will not go wrong if you send a letter of introduction seeking an audience before any formal appearance." Imogen concluded, at last, "I have never heard of them doing anything so shocking as harming an envoy."

A thought crossed her mind. "Actually, I do plan to purchase a small country estate in the Imperium, for... various personal reasons. It wouldn't do for an embassy, of course, but I know someone who could pass messages along to you."