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 Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 5:17 am
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 7:34 am
((The one requirement to join this, the greatest RP currently in WN?, is to be able to read English!
If you can then you'll join cos there will never be anything more amazing.
Need character design help? Yes we can help~ you just have to make the effort to ask.))
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 11:16 am
{//^ . ^//
Okai, to sweeten the deal, we only need ONE MORE character for EACH SIDE to start! Elemental Generals will not count.}
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 2:10 pm
((I'm finishing up my Player Character for Mythomortia now and I'll add another one for Mythocentria too if that's alright.))
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 2:18 pm
{Excellent~ I look forward to seeing it. 3nodding Also, yes, that's perfectly acceptable.}
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 2:20 pm
((I will be ecstatic if the RP begins before I go to sleep tonight. And way to go Zerix, impressive character count with all those.))
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 3:54 pm
{Hopefully, that wish will be granted. I will open this roleplay as soon as one more profile is accepted and posted up for either faction. I've created a human for Mythomortia, as it seemed that Mystocentria is far more populated at the moment.}
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 3:58 pm
((Good, good. It's almost done; I'm just hunting for the pic and making sure it isn't humongous like Soleiyu's was.
And thanks Cake though your own count is quite respectable if not the more impressive between us.))
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 4:10 pm
((I usually keep my character count at 1. Especially because of college, I don't have as much free time to post as I used to. ))
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 4:31 pm
((I usually have one or two, but most RP's im in are larger. And I almost always ahve them as mortal enemies, and for once I sort of don't wan that. So I'l stick with one most likely.))
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 9:29 pm
It was a good night to celebrate. A fresh commission had found its way into his pocket and Gareth was determined to make the most of his acquisition. The 6'5 oddity, far taller than average for humans yet still below the often seven feet tall elves around him, walked into a local bar seeking to spend off part of his advanced payment for some food, wine, and perhaps even some 'wholesome' entertainment. Having so much money on his person disturbed the mercenary, but it was a sign he was finally on his way up in the world. His long-standing contract with the Governor of Samiel notwithstanding, he still had to find a source of income that did not involve bashing the heads off of Arcanis elves on a regular basis. He was still more than a little disappointed by that fact in all honesty...
On his way inside he paid close attention to the location, keeping the name in mind for any knowledge or word of mouth that came to him after letting it resound in his thoughts. The Blossom's Rest...Not much rumor about it that I can recall. And from what seems to be the main room- His pensive thoughts cut off at the size of many Ateris and goblin patrons within the confines of the room hard at work drinking their purchased liquors, his rich earthen pupils narrowing at what appeared to be a wooden stage in the distance of the wide area. Dancers of course. Seems like every bar and inn within Samiel is tailored to exposing as much bare flesh as possible. There's only so much a** I can see before it all becomes the same however. Turning to look for a servant or the owner of the establishment he licked his lips at the thought of a nice cool pitcher all for himself.
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 10:55 pm
Dressed in similar yet more extravagant attire to the dancers currently preforming on stage, the Blooming Lily of Samiel was filling in for the bartender while he was on break - pouring drinks for any that had both the desire and coin for the brew. Her bright, autumn brown eyes looked just as lively as ever, showing a strange sort of happiness that was most uncommon amongst slaves - especially those of human descent. In fact, she looked very well taken care of, her skin still soft and smooth while her lively brown hair remained long and silky. By human standards, the unusually tall maiden was the picture of luxury. By elvish, she was an oddity, a paradox even. After all, in what twisted world lived a human so finely dressed? So skilled in what she did beyond back-breaking labor or birthing children?
Often times, she found herself walking around the room, hand-pouring drinks and refills for some of the regulars or wealthier patrons. Aamira was very interactive with the guests when she wasn't preforming, most likely a subtle attempt at making more money for the establishment. A carefully placed giggle here, a playful wink there. Perhaps even a little extra sway in her hips when others were near? It really didn't take much to convince some of the lower rabble about that they were appreciated, did it? Not that she didn't like many of them, of course...
~*~
Whack! Schling! Fwoosh!
With a clear look of concentration, of focus, a short-haired armored maiden practiced a simple swordsman's technique against a dead tree in a Mystocentrian forest. Her movements were swift, consistant, although flaws in her style could be seen by more experienced fighters. For one that had only been swinging a blade for three years, however, Romhild was surprisingly skilled - improving at a rapid pace and learning from her mistakes despite her angry disposition.
A dribble of sweat slipped south of her furrowed brow, running past the intense glare in her spring green eyes and the pink lips that hid gritted teeth. She would not relent in her attacks, this time taken to train both taken as an opprotunity to practice and to relieve some of the pent up stress within her dainty being. A clear image of the enemy was locked in her eyes, memories relived with each singular swing of her blade.
What business Romhild had all alone in such a place would be beyond anyone of normal society. Women should not be all alone in such areas, especially those of human descent. It was dangerous, foolish even. She had to have been a mercenary of some sort, or a particularly well-armed escaped slave.
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 11:23 pm
With a steady beat of his wings, Iri soared over the forest, eyes scanning the forest floor for prey. He hadn't eaten for a while and he needed a good meal. Gold scales flashed as he rose on a thermal, gliding and staring through the foliage, trying his best to find his next meal. However, something else caught his eye. And his nose for that matter.
Tucking a wing, the golden drake soared through the sky, locating the sound and smell of what could be his future prey. Though, as he got closer, he doubted it. Human in all sense of the word. Iri considered just moving on, but he decided against it, curiosity peaked. Extending his claws, he landed in a nearby clearing, absorbing the shock in his legs. Slipping through the forest, he found his "prey" practicing the art of swordplay on a dead tree.
Adjusting his position, he lay down in a ray of sunshine and watched. He had never truly watched any form of swordplay. This would be interesting for him.
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 11:35 pm
Gareth turned his head at the sight of the beautiful dancer at work as a serving girl, his intense gaze taking in every minute detail of her finely woven garment. She most certainly was a sight for his weary eyes, yet there was something about her mannerisms that suggested she was far more than she appeared to be. Even without the liquid grace of her movements, a little extra pivot here and there for the customer whose immediate attention draw by the act resulted in more gold passing from the fool's hand, he wanted to keep watching her like she was the only thing of interest in the room. Raising his right hand in a wave he waited for her to cross over to him, ideally thinking over the drink he wished to order. A well-watered goblet of wine would sate his thirst while allowing him to retain more level-headed for later on in the night, yet he suspected there were far more powerful liquors on tap for him to experiment with. "Miss. I have an order here if you'd like." His voice rang out against a particular uproar of laughter from a table close by, prompting him to turn towards a collection of goblin merchants discussing their business greedily.
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 11:49 pm
((The following post is too long and utterly ridiculous for an RP.
It's been split up into 3 sections for easier reading.
Blue is an introduction to the day and Mystocentria in general
Dark blue involved Mystocentrian politics and is dire to follow, if you don't need to know about it there's little sense in covering it
Indigo goes into a social aspect that will be needed for anyone replying to the post.
Wanted to have it up last night but I had to sleep.
Welcome to Mystocentria: ))
The blazing golden orb rose from the edge of the known world to illuminate the bleached paleness of the frozen landscapes first to meet its shining gaze.
The vast plains of the easternmost lands of Mythocentria were covered in the nearly everlasting whiteness which the people had grown both to revere and dislike.
Few things would grow in such harsh land and it hindered common labor regularly, yet none could deny the grace that all the snow possessed - ever so beautiful, innocent and calm as it drifted from the sky. And so it had come to be known as Mysto's Grace. May all Mystocentrians be aware that to be worthy of these lands you shall respect Mysto's ways and the highly complex social graces of its people.
The world was waking. As the new day dawned the capital city of Mystocentria - Haeriyn'moor, the high throne of magic - was coming to life.The first to step out into the frosty morning were the Caretaker's of Mysto's Grace - unofficially known simply as 'Firemen' - magi learned in spells of flame, tasked with clearing snow and processing the resulting water to a drinkable form for the whole city.
Mostly elves, these casters marched down the streets, their black-gloved hands clasped together over their covered chest, as they chanted incantations to melt the snow beneath their feet.
The ends of their bright red robes dragged along the damp stone pathways left behind them and the only evidence that they wore shoes were the stomp and crunch of their boots as they went forth.
Two to a single set path, these hooded crimson figures would cover the entire city within the next few hours and retreat beneath the city to the water processing center, which pumped all purified liquid straight to the houses of nobles, and the wells of the poorer districts of the city. They would repeat this process mid day and late evening, depending on the weather of the day.
One could argue it would be easier for magicians attuned to the element of wind to clear the sky of the clouds and then none would have to be paid to clear the roads individually. Several factors went against that concept of course.
Firstly, letting the snow come to earth allowed it to be harvested for purification into drinking water. This supplied a necessary ingredient for the healthy living of any mortal.
Secondly, all the settled whiteness blanketing the entire city was also considered to be one of the biggest reasons it was recognized as one of the most beautiful locations in the known world, rivalling the richest Dwarven halls.
Then, you have the Law of Corrosion. One of the few ultimate rules of Magic understood by all experienced casters.
The magic contained and used by mortals will never be on par with that of the True Goddess or her daughters - even for their chosen Generals. It is accepted that they are the only ones who may bend all the rules of magic as understood by the people of the world. This includes the Law of Creation. Besides for the singular event when the Elves came together to create the Human race, it is accepted that no mortal can bring into being new earth, new water, etc, or reanimate the dead.
This is where the Law of Corrosion applies. The manipulation of the 4 elements of the natural world, the world of the True Goddess, is carried out by mortals through their spellcasting. Magic can move earth, bring forth fire, divert rivers and alter the blowing of the wind - but it can never recreate it to its original form. The magic of mortal men and women disrupts the natural world, corroding it.
Walls of stone birthed by magic will eventually crumble, fire consuming only magical energy to sustain itself will wither, water being pushed by spells will evaporate and winds being directed by casters will eventually perish - or worse. It has been seen that rather than just break the natural world, magic in a huge quantities can make it
Excessive spellcasting during battles has left many parts of the world scarred beyond repair. Nothing grows, the earth and sky alike in the area are dead.
The Law of Corrosion must be taken into consideration by all users of magic. To abuse it is to only destroy what you are fighting to protect. To use enough magic to clear the entire skies above would only result in further, uncontrollable storms appearing.
There was also the idea of snow fall being a gift and symbol of Mysto and something so significant would not be allowed to be tarnished by the religious societies of the city.
The city was, after all, built around the ancient shrine where the Goddess herself remained sealed. The castle walls now surrounded that magnificent location of worship, not allowing access to anyone but the most highly esteemed people of the city - namely the Goddess's own General and lord of the Arcanisan elves, The First Seat on the High Council, Ahriman Mainyu.
The skeletal ruler was there now, at the site closest to his Mistress. The Temple had been left untouched but for whatever repairs needed to be done - though it seemed to sustain itself quite successfully, most likely due to the Goddess's magical presence - and the castle fortifications were built around it as a measure of safeguarding it.
The Temple had an open roof which allowed the sun to shine straight on the altar and upon the gigantic figure of Goddess Mysto.
At the foot of the grand statue, knelt down in front o fthe altar with his bony hands resting on top of it, was the reborn head of state. He wore naught but a thick cloak around his shoulders - which draped down all the way to the ground even if he had been standing - and the jewel encrusted golden crown, a symbol of his place in the city. The pale, clean bone that his body these days consisted of, was apparent and for show to the being's Goddess.
Few Mystocentrians needed to see their lordship with his crown on to recognize his importance of course, especially if they laid witness to his, often covered, physical form.
Snow had fallen into the Temple as it had everywhere, but very precisely the snow had not seemed to even touch the Goddess' statue, the flat stone altar, or even Ahriman. Mysto's favor was subtle, yet evident.
As the un-living Lord never slept due to his condition, he came here for prayer and meditation when his city and its residents rested.
The stores opened, the kitchens and furnaces flared, the working class took to the streets of the city while those above were settling into their classrooms and beginning their studies.
The city of Haeriyn'moor was effectively split up socially, as well as by design.
The main roads leading into the city came first witness to the Eastern, richest side of it - letting all visitors bare witness to the magnificence of Mystocentria at first glance. Above the beautifully designed estates of the high classes that the East District consisted of, on top of a hill in the middle of the city, towered the Silver Hall. The residence of royalty. It was the grand castle which also contained Mysto's temple, so named for it's pearly white walls.
At the opposite side of the city, the Western district, the buildings were almost shameful in comparison to the ones which people always saw first coming to Haeriyn'moor, and often only saw. These were the slums and labor areas, where the lowest classes, particularly humans, worked. Nevertheless, they were a key part of the city, for it could not survive without its hard working population.
Out to the West, outside the city, would have expanded vast farmlands of wheat and similar crop - if it wasn't for all the snow. The frozen cover hid any usable soil, at least for regular plantation. It was perfect, however, for Tundra Berries. The bushes grew in abundance even in the hardiest conditions and produced berries which were made into a variety of foodstuffs, medicine and paints for the city to enjoy. It was held as quite a luxurious delicacy in more foreign parts of the continent.
Besides this, food had to be delivered regularly in mass quantities from the more fertile Mystocentrian lands.
Any human consuming these berries while farming them would comment however that they were bitter and often frozen to the core if you attempted to eat them. The solution to that problem lay in the artwork that is the processing of the berries. Taking account for the Law of Corrosion in magic, experts apply techniques which soften the berries and bring out their sweet juices. 'Processed' Berries are then traded to craftsmen that will turn it into something else.
"... There is to be no magic, but for her own, cast within the confines of her temple." The skeleton spoke up. Like a veil, the spell was pulled away to reveal the figure of the fairy that had entered the temple, in a way she had thought of as stealthily. "It is time, isn't it. Most of them must have gathered by now." Ahriman continued speaking. The otherwise empty eye sockets of his lit up a brighter blue than they had been.
"Yes, your lordship. My apologies." Came the reply and the person bowed down, her eyes staring at the floor. In that position she stayed until she was advised otherwise. "It is and they have, sir." Her tone of voice was soft and calm. She spoke very clearly and with confidence and displayed great understanding of the necessary social graces when addressing her superiors.
Ahriman's bones clattered quietly as he stood up and gazed up at the face of the statue in front of him. He waited in silence, gazing up at the stone figure of Mysto, and grasped hold of the figurine hidden beneath his own bone structure with his right hand. There was a soft blow of the wind and it ruffled the shoulders of his cloak. "Yes, your ladyship." Ahriman spoke quietly, the sound echoing from somewhere beneath the eternal grin on his pale face. Then he bowed, ever so deeply, and once his head raised back up he turned to leave.
Ahriman passed the servant before commanding her. "Come." He ordered, and she stood up to follow. This individual with him was a high class servant, one of the few individuals allowed to gaze upon the Lord and address him directly outside of the Royal court. Ahriman knew he had to promote a new one in her place soon.
Out of the temple led a wide staircase to a small open area that sat between the Temple and the castle wall. Double doors of strong, red wood with golden handles were imbedded into the firm stone wall and passing through these, the Lord entered the castle.
The inside was luxurious. The floor was carpeted with the fur of red bears, a very soft material with an exquisite and rare color. The walls inside were as brilliantly white as they were outside, but at points they did hold paintings made by the most revered artists of Mystocentria.
The monthly meeting of the High Council - the ruling political power in the Arcanisan kingdom - was being held this morning. Each Seat on the council, which was the title of those who were members, had arrived earlier this week in preparation. This was also why Ahriman was quite briskly making his way to his personal quarters to prepare.
"I expect my handmaidens have been prepared?" The Lord asked while he and his servant made their way forward, their footsteps echoing in the hallway. "Yes, sire. Appropriate measures have been taken to preserve thy grace."
They did not come across another living soul while making their way forward. This was because only a handful of Ahriman's personal entourage were allowed to witness his bare form. In a situation where the Lord would pass by lower class servants, which was ultimately unavoidable, the servants had to keep their eyes down and stop what they were doing until he had gone. None of them were also allowed to raise a single voice to him.
Perfect order and grace was maintained through these strict Arcanisan practices.
Ahriman and his servant halted outside the golden colored door to his personal room. He did not turn to look at the person he was addressing as he spoke. "That will be all. You are dismissed from your position and rank." It was all the Lord stated before he entered his quarters.
And yes, the female servant had just been fired. It was because of her application of mortal magic at the Temple of Mysto earlier. Even if it was just because she had not wanted to disturb the Lord and had come silently seeking if he was prepared to leave, there was no excuse. She would find herself from this point on employed anywhere but at the castle. While in common high class establishments, small failures in grace demoted one's rank and gave them a chance to regain that position, in the Silver Hall there was no second chance.
Only the most keenly trained Mystocentrian minds could work there and they were paid extremely handsomely for it.
In his room, Ahriman stood in the center while gazing forward out the window that was on the back wall. The decor in the room followed that of the rest of the castle and there were only a very few personal effects. A desk, a chair, a bed that had never been touched since his appointment to this position, and a chandelier which hung from the high ceiling.
He was surrounded by four very extravagantly dressed Arcanisan handmaidens. They all wore white masks that covered the top half of their faces and their eyes, effectively making them blind. They all held outfit pieces that had been prepared in advance for the coming High Court session. These included a white hooded cloth robe, white silk gloves and a white mask with the number One on its left side, in red paint.
There was also a golden ring, with just the number One on it, and a necklace also with the same mark. Without these effects, without these items only given to the First Seat of the High Council, his position would not be recognized and he would not be given access. Every seat, all the way to the last Tenth, bore similar items with their own designated rank in them. These effects in combination prevented a spy or thief from stealing a position in the council as it tended to be impossible to steal the entire combination.
Dressed in a way that an outsider would never be able to tell it was Ahriman himself, the skeletal man excited the room. There was already a new servant in the hallway who bowed down the instant the Lord came into view. Hopefully this one would not disappoint him.
Ahriman was led by the servant to the council hall and, while the dressed up Lord entered, the servant stayed behind in the hallway. There were 9 other servants present, all Arcanisan elves or Fairies - the only races deemed fit for royal service for their combined looks and magical gifts. It would be considered an insult to Mysto's grace for any of these servants to look at all out of place.
The Council hall was a large circular room, the walls, floor and ceiling all dazzlingly white. The one contradiction was the black round table in the middle of the room - which contained 10 seats around its perimeter and 8 of them were filled. Without any particular sign on the table or the seats, every member also had to know their own seat to be allowed to participate. Ahriman slowly made his way to his position and sat down.
There was a silence as all masked, robed individuals sat still. For sake of fair opinion, none of their faces nor any significant physical characteristic could be seen when they were all dressed that way. The only marks of identity were the accessories signifying their rank in the council, which in turn told the rest what they were in charge of. Each of these persons was a highly valued member of the Arcanisan kingdom and represented a significant portion of their society - the foreign trade, domestic trade, the laborers, magical studies, military, agriculture, technology, the noble classes, the lower classes and Ahriman as representative of Mysto.
"I hereby call to order the ten members of the High Council of the Arcanisan Kingdom." Ahriman announced. "First Seat of the High Council. The Seat of Grace. Present." He added on and then waited.
"Second Seat of the High Council. The Seat of Magic. Present." The voice came from the figure in the seat to his right. This continued all the way to the fifth person to speak, after whom it appeared the Sixth Seat was missing. The chair was empty and there was no response.
There could be a variety of reasons for this, but it meant the Council was not complete and it was always deemed unfit for them to attend unless they were all present. The High Council foresaw matters of the entire state and made decisions impacting every Arcanisan elf. These decisions were not taken without a full picture of the entire society, which was currently incomplete. The Council had to be forfeit and meet officially again next month.
They were all incredibly busy people and oversaw other matters outside the High Council. The High Council meetings could be considered of less importance than the lower courts dealing with more immediate matters, particularly the Noble Courts which Ahriman participated in in his own city. The noble courts make decisions for the good of the people living there, or at least the good of certain people living there.
The High Court solely decided on matters of conquest and significant cultural changes, usually much more long term concerns.
"I hereby announce the Sixth Seat of the High Council of the Arcanisan Kingdom banished." Ahriman had to make the call. "The 607th meeting of the High Council of the Arcanisan Kingdom is now concluded." Ahriman and the rest of the council members laid their hands flat on the table and bowed their heads to each other. They then stood, one by one, in order from the Tenth to the First, and left the room.
No matter how odd, even inefficient, it may soon to carry out business in such a manner, no person could raise their word against it. It was their law, their way and to break from it was to rebel against Mysto's perfect methodology of ever present grace and dignity.
Ahriman returned to his room, whereas the other Council members were brought to rooms assigned to them for their temporary stay at the Silver Hall. When they were done changing from the High Council uniforms, the group of 9 gathered in the castle feast hall for a meal.
The outfit the Lord had changed to was a red tunic with silver lining and embroidery, its long sleeves reaching to his thin wrists at which point gloves covered the rest of his fleshless hands. For leggings he had loose fitting black trousers and dark-brown slippers on his feet. Over all this, he wore his royal robe – a thick red cloak with a soft white trim over its edges and golden embroidery across most of its otherwise-blank canvas. The hood of the robe was lifted over the back of his head.
Covering his face, among these esteemed guests, was a pure silver mask, in the vague shape of a strong jawed, thin Elven male face. When addressing the public this was replaced by a pure golden one. The mask had no openings, for eyes or the mouth, as they were quite unnecessary. He did not eat, and when it came to sight, his magical sense never betrayed him. So keen was he to the element of earth, the General could feel every inch of the room's physical borders, from the floor to the walls and ceiling – and all that stood on it.
Each individual was accompanied by the close advisers, whom they had brought along on their trip to the capital of the Arcanisan lands, and Ahriman by one of his from the castle. Going by the proper social procedures, Ahriman took his seat first at the head of the table, then the rest took their places. On the table were empty plates for all of them, glasses, and bottles of Tundra Berry wine. Or Arcanisan Wine as it was called to make it sound a little more grand. The liquid in a clear class was a deep purple-red in colour. It was a mixture of several high end ingredients as well as finely prepared Tundra Berry juice.
“Welcome to you all.” The host announced, lifting an empty wine glass.
“It no doubt pleases Mysto to have your presence in her humble abode.” His head turned, as if those lifeless silver carvings of eyes looked at each one of the guests one-by-one. “Enjoy.” He stated and the doors to the feast hall opened as numerous servants poured in, and along with them came the smell of luxurious meals of the fair-skinned Elven people. The table was filled and all the guests were attended to, being served both food and drink as much as was appropriate.
Ahriman brought the glass back down to the table and folded his hands on his lap. He had only to wait now. One might think the Lord would grow weary watching others eat while he could not, or that he had certain personal opinions on how strictly social order was controlled within the Silver Hall... But he was not and he did not.
The skeleton lacked all that would make a mortal think in such a way, all that would make them complain or even praise something, and so he was the perfect embodiment of Mysto's will - personal sacrifice without complaint or resistance for the sake of order. Dignity and grace maintained throughout one's day, and night, in all activities.
The people present conversed actively, sharing views from different parts of Arcanisan lands. The most curious pieces of gossip were those concerning the neighbours of the elves – the centaurs, dwarves and other creatures living in Mythocentria. It reminded Ahriman he had to meet with the representatives of those allied lands soon.
“Your lordship,” one of his guests had turned their attention to him. Ahriman broke from his thoughts and his silvery face turned to the individual. “Yes, Lady Meyiir?” He replied to the woman. She was the Duchess of the city of Khirm, the jewel of the Mystocentrian forests. Fifth Seat on the Council, the seat of Foreign Affairs. “Where do you stand on the matter of Drakes and our conduct toward them? Surely you agree we should preserve the peace with those beasts and the art of Dragon Hunting should be outlawed.” The woman continued, having involved Ahriman in a discussion she had been having with one of the other people at the table.
“General Irilentath has shown us the errors of our past dealings with their kin. Mysto commands us to show proper grace toward our allies, as well as our enemies. Our laws will be altered to better benefit and protect all Drakes. We must look to a future where we live together with their kind.” Ahriman replied calmly, his voice seeping out from behind his mask.
“Hear hear! Mysto's will has been spoken.” Came a call from the end of the able. Sir Hormi, Duke of the border city of Haalingraaz, Fourth Seat on the High Council, Seat of Military affairs. No doubt he looked forward to a scenario where he witnessed Mythocentrian forces alongside Drakes fighting the Mythomortians.
“But – if I may interrupt – do you not think this will only make illegal a tradition the public has held onto for hundreds of years, and creates a black market for Drake hides as well as their eggs?” Spoke the elven man, who Ahriman guessed has been in quite a heated discussions with Lady Meyiir. The Eight Seat of the High Council, Seat of Trade, and Duke of the Port City of Thiln, Sir Khaalein.
Ahriman nodded in reply. “The price of those items will rise as well, as they will be far rarer to obtain, even for the most dedicated Dragon Slayers. There will be an increase in the foolish and the bold attempting to find and steal Drake eggs. It is also likely there will be certain Drakes that will betray their kind for the financial security to be earned in such acts.” Ahriman spoke calmly. “We will enforce our laws to their benefit the best we can.”
What he did not cover was something that had already been discussed in the Council. In addition to what he had said, the secret trade of drake eggs and other materials from them, will boost the Arcanisan economy more than the legal kind. Also if black market tradesmen are able to construct armour from the hides and bone of Drakes, then when it is claimed from the criminals their use can be legally justified in the Arcanisan military as not putting it to waste. They will also escalate the acts of any traitorous Drake to the point where their kin is split into two – those supporting the elves and those against these new ways of union. Only then will the Arcanisans take up arms in support of the Drakes for union, conquer the drakes against it and harvest all those who fall. The result is that all Drake kind will be too weak to pose any threat to the fair-skinned elves, the remaining Drakes will support the alliance further and they will be in possession of potentially high quantities of Drake hide and bone, for whatever they may use it for.
Such matters of course should not be talked of anywhere outside the Council Hall, for the public would react badly to them encouraging the massacre of possibly half of an entire species. Their own justification of course was the long term benefits of it, if it ever happens.
The feast continued with light hearted conversation and eating for a half an hour more. It was then at the point where continuing would be considered disgracefully gluttonous. Ahriman and his guests stood up from their places and the group as a whole were lead to a living area for relaxation. As soon as they had enough time to metabolise their meals, transport for the Councillors departure would be prepared and good-byes spoken.
“Lady Meyiir,” Ahriman took the initiative to ask what lingered in his mind, “Are you able to explain Sir Meinhar's absence? It is most unusual for him to not be present.” Ahriman of course spoke of the missing council member.
The mood in the room fell and a few people shared glances. Apparently a few of them had been informed of this already.
“... He has fallen, my lord.” Replied Meyiir. “We were to travel together as we follow the same road to the capital, but upon arrival in Yihn'moor we were given the news that Duke Meinhar had been assassinated yesterday evening.” Explained the female. “I apologize for having to bring you these grim news in person.”
“Was there a report from the Walls?” Ahriman inquired. One should understand he was not talking about actual building walls giving a report on the matter of someone dying. The Silver Tongues was a secret police and investigatory force under the command of the High Council, their authority was above that of any city or royal guards. The Walls Have Ears is their motto and the result of one of their unofficial names, the Walls.
“Yes, your lordship. It is believed to have been the F.T.G.” The woman spoke those words much quieter than earlier. Ahriman ran the tips of his gloved fingers over his silvery chin. If the agents already had a preliminary report done, the official copy should arrive in his offices midday today. The Followers of the True Goddess... They had surprisingly criminal ways of carrying out their beliefs.
The room stayed quiet for the most part till they had to separate. Castle servants led all of them back to their rooms, where each person changed to more fitting travel clothes. Ahriman personally switched from his red tunic to a deep blue one and wore his golden mask. In this outfit he presented himself at the exit to the castle courtyard when his guests were readily outside. He stood in the open doorway and bowed to his guests, who then bowed back. “Go with the best wishes and grace of the lady of innocence.” Ahriman called to his departing guests.
“Mysto prevail.” They all called back in unison. The guests then got into separate carriages prepared for them. Their transports were being pulled by very richly dressed Centaurs in heavy armor. Ahriman stood and watched them all leave until they were out of the main gates, to the city and soon out of it as well.
The gold-faced man gazed up at the cloudy white sky. It had begun snowing again and small flakes landed on his artificial features. “Servant. When is my next appointment?” Ahriman spoke firmly. One of his personal servants approached with a long paper parchment in hand and looked it over before answering. “Noon, your Lordship.”
Yes... The Noble Council had to meet to discuss the need to augment the procedures of the Firemen. The drinking water of the city could not be allowed to become tainted, just because they ignorantly use magic for the process. It would be settled today no doubt and the solution implemented within the coming weeks.
“I will spend the rest of my morning with my mistress. Have no one disturb my presence, unless there is an emergency, till my next appointment.” With that, Ahriman marched back into the castle and the gates were closed.
Dressed as he had been, he arrived at Mysto's temple and knelt before her altar, dipping his cloak into the snow that had gathered. The skeleton took off his golden mask and placed it upon the stone table in front of him. “It is I, your humble servant on your Mother's earth. May your grace and innocence conquer the hearts of all people in the realm. May your followers bend the backs of those who will not bow. May your Generals overcome your Sister, and return you to the favour of your Maker.” He spoke the common prayer to Mysto as he relaxed there, at the foot of her statue. The little snow fallen on his bare skull was wiped away by small breezes of wind and his frosty bones were warmed by unseen fire.
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