"Sound & Fury"

[Rhydian ValKor]

"Sound & Fury"
29 Glade 124
The Outskirts of Zaichaeri Territory

► Show Spoiler

Rhydian had been dutiful in his plans to pass through the recently-devastated City-State of Zaichaer. Such an excursion was not one to be embarked upon at a whim. The High City was a wounded animal, poised to lash out at further threats to its security and autonomy and Rhydian would come at it with his head lowered and his palms up. Advance warning had been sent months prior to his arrival and an additional missive was sent forth the day he arrived in Kalzasi, as it was possible the entire government might have turned over since the initial communiqué was received.

Rhydian and Karrhei would fly astride their rocs and alight a few miles East of Zaichaeri domain. Their mounts would be sent to find their own roosts in the mountains further East, to be summoned a few days later when it was time to press on afield of Karnor.

They would arrive on foot at a sanctioned port of entry hitherto established in their missives and they were right on schedule with their arms sheathed and their palms open as they identified themselves to the guards and explained their intentions were nothing more than peaceful diplomacy. No effort was made to hide who or what they were, lest they vindicate the Zaichaeri assumption of an elven tendency toward shiftiness and duplicity.

"I am Rhydian Val'Kor, Prince of Κοιλάδα των Σπαθιών and emissary of His Majesty the Phoenix King of Sol'Valen. I come in peace and seeking concord. We sent letters to presage our coming and our wish to have an audience with the powers who have come to rule this realm. May we be granted entry or ought we to leave this place?"

[Eitan Angevin]

Letters had been received, and it had been decided that Eitan would be the best point man for the job. If for no other reason, his wards were the finest anyone had seen, and so he would not be so easily manipulated by the elven oligarch and his pet sex worker. The sex worker was also a priest, which was the distasteful element. Sex work was, after all, merely work.

While Zaichaer was bouncing back with a velocity of which they were proud, it was still in a liminal phase. Perhaps all phases were, given the nature of time, but they remained in a heightened state. The bounded confederation of princedoms was not a near neighbor. Zaichaer had more to fear from the Gelerian Imperium than anyone else at this point, and yet it would behoove them not to make enemies of the greater powers.

Angevin's priorities were Zaichaer, then Karnor, and only then Ailizane. It was unlikely to be a Grand Design he could enact in his lifetime, but a man did want to leave his sons something greater than themselves, a banner to carry. It was sons now, plural, as Lucrece had given him another at the beginning of the season, when—his witches told him—the Eclipse had officially ended. Were he a religious man, he might have claimed his son's birth a miracle.

A corvette freshly minted from the Windworks brought the princeling and the whore to Onneifer Airfield, and they were escorted by airmen and Watchers to his office with its great floor-to-ceiling windows where he could keep an eye upon Searing Victory. A pretty young thing from the secretarial staff knocked upon his door and led the prince in. His attendant was to wait outside. Angevin rose from his desk, came around to greet them.

"Welcome to Zaichaer, Your Highness." He nodded with all due respect, though he would bend the knee to no man. The prince too was younger than he expected, though the ages of elves were deceiving. "I am Eitan Angevin, High Admiral and High Sentinel."

He was prepared to shake hands if he would, or not if he would take it amiss. What he knew of their culture was likely as much fiction as fact.

"This is my aide, Klaus-Dieter Lessnau." He indicated the man with an upturned hand. The man himself clicked his jackboots together at the heel and offered something between a nod and the impression of a bow.

"Please, sit." Angevin walked around his massive desk, its piles of paper carefully stacked and arranged. Lessnau returned to his seat in the corner, not scanning the guest so much as ensuring he didn't scan his master. "Would you like coffee, tea, water...? 'Tis early yet, but if you have a yen for something stronger, we will oblige."

The secretary waited to hear their desires, the better to fulfill them.

[Rhydian ValKor]

Rhydian would keep his runic sense of Semblance open to his surroundings insofar as he was able to do so without detection. He wasn’t seeking out government secrets or anything of the like, so much as trying to get a lay of the land and remain vigilant should the hostile anti-elven population take exception to his, well, existence. The trip on the corvette was intriguing as it was nothing like the airships of Sol’Valen, and he did seek out a bit of clarity as to its functioning though, being neither an engineer nor a patent thief, his interest was marginal and what he gleaned rather elementary. Still and all, it satisfied his curiosity by the time they reached Onneifer.

Within the boundaries of the city proper, Rhydian bid Karrhei a cordial adieu. His friend had no official position that would make him an appropriate attaché on the diplomatic side of his mission. Moreover, the Zaichaeri aversion to gods might put a priest in an awkward position for all involved and Rhydian saw no reason to test Zaichaeri hospitality beyond his own royal person.

As Karrhei made his way to their place of lodging, Rhydian continued along to the meeting, which took place far sooner than he might have anticipated. That was something of a relief, though. The better to get it out of the way and see where the chips were to fall, as to plan the rest of his time in the High City accordingly.

Eitan’s nod was returned in kind and, though no obeisance was anticipated, his naturally stoic expression might have been mistaken for umbrage unfelt.

“Your Excellency.” He opted for a form of address that bore respect sans aristocratic implications, in spite of the high admiral’s vaunted surname.

“Herr Lessnau.” His nod to the aid was no different to that offered the high sentinel.

“Black tea. Unsweetened.” He replied as he promptly accepted the offered seat. “I thank you for scheduling this audience in such haste. And may I say I have been impressed with the efficiency of your reconstruction efforts. It would appear the Zaichaeri spirit is formidable indeed to have bounced back so far after recent misfortunes.”

[Eitan Angevin]

"Efficiency is a particularly Zaichaeri virtue, we believe," he said with crooked smile. "Thank you. Between the Kalzasern rift and the Eclipse, we have had quite the storm to weather. Thankfully, we are also an industrious people, and after a period of white-knuckled survival, we have begun to thrive once more."

The secretary busied herself with the electric kettle, powered by a little lytirisyte battery, at the sideboard. Lessnau made himself unobtrusive, though he would certainly have insights to share with his master after the interview. If he wasn't scanning the prince, he was, at least, paying attention to his body language, facial tics, and speech patterns.

"There was a short period where it seemed as though the Imperium would seek to annex us. With a bit of saber-rattling, we managed to prevent that. Well, it might also have been a silver lining of the Eclipse. The Emperor had to see to his own house before he could attempt to lay claim to ours.

"Now... you will be introduced to First Minister Dornkirk and the Minister of Foreign Relations, but we thought it incumbent upon me to speak to you first. Our detractors call us racists, but we simply seek to look after our human brethren, much as Hytori come first in Sol'Valen, as it should be. In fact, we admire your civilization and the feats it has accomplished. But we seek to keep our citizens safe from magical manipulation. We will observe a certain amount of diplomatic immunity, but please do not utilize your arcane powers at the expense of our citizenry, en masse or individually. We do want you to feel welcome and... uninhibited... but we don't want any incidents that would upset either of our governments or peoples."

Angevin paused as the secretary wheeled a tea service close to the desk where Lessnau could top them up later. She served the guest first, then the Admiral, and then Lessnau.

"Thank you, Else," Angevin said, and then she departed.

[Rhydian ValKor]

'The Kalzasern rift' Rhydian marked as a curious and telling turn-of-phrase. Although the subject of the Zaichaeri downfall had come up several times during his trip to Kalzasi, no claim of culpability had been so much as hinted at by noble or commoner. Given the timing of the calamity, it certainly stood to reason that Zaichaer would hold their ancient rival culpable... Kalzasi had recently been struck by members of the Zaichaeri government, and the skirmishes of a nascent war had sprung up along the borders, before the rift abruptly and consummately put an end to the mutual aggression. In their position, Rhydian had to admit it would have been a difficult coincidence to dismiss, even without clean evidence to support the assumption. The soldier in him couldn't help but feel that, if Kalzasi was indeed culpable, they were fools for being demure about it when the looming threat of such devastating force could maintain peace in the realm for a generation. Ambiguity, however, was ripe ground for fanaticism to fester.

Rhydian glanced to the electric kettle, curiously, though his consistently mild expression displayed nothing of interest beyond the fact that his eyes were upon it.

"I am glad you were able to maintain your autonomy in the face of so imposing a threat as the Imperium." That was an earnest truth. The dealings of the Imperium were monitored, but should they deepen their entrenchment into Ailizane... their proximity to Sol'Valen would increase the threat level to the point where policy might need to shift.

"A people that did not look out for its own interests would be an aberration in the eyes of..." He paused, to reconsider... or at least to appear as though he was reconsidering. "...science." As the caveats came forth, he glanced to Lessnau, then to Angevin.

"I shall henceforth abstain from exploiting my Craft, unless I sense that arcane arts are being exploited around me to my detriment. As High Sentinel, you will understand this necessity as it represents the very purpose of your Order..." He paused, accepting the tea wordlessly and taking a sip, before speaking on.

"Do you find it challenging, Excellency, living by an ethos that stands to put you at a disadvantage on the world stage? Being an aberration to that ethos, yourself... tolerated for being a bulwark against the arcane? Or perhaps celebrated, forgive me if my alien views render my understanding reductive."

[Eitan Angevin]

Angevin noted the prince's gaze; in fact, he was paying as keen attention to the elf as Lessnau was. He would want to prepare the other ministers for the foreign diplomat.

"Of course. It is not our desire that you be subject to the magical predation of others either."

At the prince's more pointed question, he took a sip of tea and leaned back in his chair.

"Not at all," he assured him over steepled fingers. "When the Order informed my father that I had a high probability of surviving runic initiation, he sent me to train with them alongside my academic and military educations. I understood the risks involved, both with initiation and should I grow too powerful or out of control. I have even weathered the psychological stresses of overstepping, necessitated in order to protect the Zaichaeri people from the rift that tore open our sky and tore our city asunder." This was a source of pride for him, clearly, though he understated the situation, perhaps.

"The experts deduced that my mind was strong enough to resist the psychological damage that is a danger from the Rune of Negation, and so I remain here doing my duty with one more tool in my kit. We do not doubt the existence of the gods and monsters. We merely reject their hubris, that might makes right. If they were just and benevolent, Ransera would be a just and benevolent place. Here, those with power are held accountable. If we were what most people think, then you would be strapped to a table somewhere, princely secrets being extracted, no? Instead, we welcome your presence and offer our hospitality. I should like to think I would be treated similarly were I in Aerion—as a guest treated with respect from whom respect is required."

[Rhydian ValKor]

Rhydian inclined his head at the acknowledgement of his caveat, and took a delicate sip of the offered tea. As the High Sentinel responded to his enquiries, he looked at the man appraisingly. He could not help but note features associated with elvish heritage. Humans were not as keen-eyed about the ethnic distinctions between the elder race, but coming from a largely homogenous culture that was quite focused upon heritage, to say nothing of the scrutiny born of his princely pedigree, it was more than just fine features and pointed ears that betrayed an elf to Rhydian's eye. His gaze lingered upon Eitan's ears for a pointed moment before returning to meet his eyes.

"Do you consider it a matter of fortune that you were thus marked, or is it a burden that you bear?" There was pride in his tone, but that had to be complicated.

Rhydian grimaced openly at the picture the doubly high-ranking Zaichaeri painted of his abuse at the hands of an alternative caricature of Zaichaer. He took another sip of his tea, before placing the saucer aside and crossing his legs.

"We do not get many delegates from abroad in Aerion, but you would doubtless be granted a grand reception in Silfanore, should you ever hazard to visit a realm with a bit more..." He smirked faintly, "Hubris." His expression soon flattened out to its typical mildness, as he said:

"I would like to be clear, lest that assumption extends to us, that Sol'Valen's reverence for the gods and more liberal sentiments toward magical ability does not mean we believe that might makes right. Our ancestors played at that, but we hold no such aspirations in the modern age. We are an old culture and steeped in traditions so ancient and esoteric that we are often misinterpreted, but I will say this... We are content in our corner of Ransera. Our people have ruled this world and beyond, but our imperial aspirations ended in harsh lessons that we have taken to heart and have joined out litany of traditions. Not all gods are created equal, and some are more worthy of worship than others... We do not wish to play at godhood by virtue of having been around for longer and holding onto more mysteries than the younger races. I cannot name any Hytori of import who looks back upon the days of the Boundless Empire and longs to return thence."

[Eitan Angevin]

"I like to think I make my own fortune," he replied with a smile. "But it was a burden I chose to bear, and it has been a boon for my people and, of course, for myself. I would not wish the mistborn mutations those beyond our wards suffered upon the pidge princes of Kalzasi."

Angevin paused, thinking to mitigate that statement.

"Not on anyone." By cleverly working shadow-weakening dragonshards into the anchors for the city defenses, it was hoped that Zaichaer might remain safe from such things in the future. They had lived, and they had learned. Now they had but to carry the lesson forward.

He stilled at the prince's monologue, and nodded.

"I do not know that my duties will ever take me to Sol'Valen, but I appreciate the sentiment, and I understand you. We are learning from our mistakes, from the harsh lessons of reality, and adapting as I can only assume your people continue to do, else they would not have survived." Indeed, while he wore the yoke of duty but lightly, he hardly had the ability to gallivant to the corners of Ailizane on a whim.

"But you are an honored guest. How might we best entertain you? Some of the former shine of the Brass City has been ruined, but we are building back better, I think."

[Rhydian ValKor]

Rhydian held his tongue as to how he felt about Eitan's self-made sentiments. There was an arrogance to New Atheism as he perceived it, but there was arrogance aplenty in his own culture, as well, and he could look at the situation objectively enough to recognise what may be regarded as hypocrisy. As much as he was interested in this friendly debate, he did not wish to push too hard at its apparent boundaries.

He arched an eyebrow at what he inferred to be a pejorative term. He'd never heard of a 'pidge' before, but he could use context clues to surmise that it was a shortened form of pidgeon and likely a slur for their feathered foes to the North. It was rather creative and gave him cause to wonder if they had any novel slurs for elves that he hadn't heard elsewhere. 'Knife ear' was cliche enough to feel droll at this point, and he never found it particularly offensive. He was a blademaster and to have part of him compared to a blade hardly felt like an insult in the way that being compared to an indescrimate scavenging avian was.

"Indeed. I rather think our increasingly insular culture was the primary adaptation that allowed us to survive." He paused, "But during my tour abroad of mother Sol'Valen, I would shirk that reclusivity and learn of your culture firsthand. If you would see me entertained, I should like to be introduced to forms of diversion that are known to your culture. Whether sport, theatre, music or aught else, I would like to know what pleases your people." He noted, lifting his tea to his lips and taking a delicate sip.

[Eitan Angevin]

"Then you shall have sport, theater, and music," he assured him. "I would invite you to dine at my home, but it has been less than a month since my wife brought our second son into the world and she declared a moratorium on entertaining for at least three."

Angevin smiled wryly. He didn't know Val'Kor's age or marital status; it was impossible to know with elves, he was certain.

"Well. I hope your lodgings are sufficient to your needs." He wasn't dismissing the prince, but he was indicating that, with their understanding on expected behavior where magic was concerned, the main point on the agenda was addressed. Val'Kor and his pillow princess had been given a West End townhouse with a staff of Hytori locals to keep their knickers clean and their table set.

The thought was that they would feel more at home among their own kind; whether those servants would be proud to serve foreign Val'Hytori or ashamed at their second-class citizenship was likely to be discovered on an individual basis.

Zaichaer's old polo fields were teeming with early crops, but Angevin himself was going to play a rugby match that week—officers versus enlisted men. The Pfenning Theater was rebuilt, along with several others, serving as barracks for their repertory companies. Most of their performances were low-budget, focused on supporting the revivalist animus of the people. Music was performed in those venues as well as in several open, public forums now that spring had finally sprung. It would not be what Zaichaer used to muster, but sport and art had not quit them.