This, Shiv decides in the space of his own mind, sucks. Descending Fire isn't the right time of year for gossameroses to begin with, but the half-crushed, inexpertly bound bushels he's looking at is still worse than expected.
He straightens up, narrowing the opening of his hooded lantern still further, to keep them as anonymous as they could be in the night. He considers the other four in this furtive orchard meeting, weighing future business and likelihood of violence as much as the actual operating expenses he's running. Of the four here, only Rilt is on his payroll. Rilt is a big lad, dim and not near as fierce as his appearance suggests, the horrible mass of scars on his lips and cheek the result of a childhood accident with a piece of farm machinery, not the mad combat people always assume.
Given that and the fact that he doesn't think Enla has any desire for violence tonight nor an angle on another local distributor, Shiv decides to lowball her. He names a price.
For a moment, Enla doesn't even process it. For an instant, Shiv worries he might have overshot the mark, until her lips twist into a shape he recognizes as 'ready to bargain'. "You're kidding! You know these aren't easy to get. We're risking our lives every time we cross the freehold borders to collect these." The man at her side shifts slightly, putting his hand closer to his short sword. Ugh. That looks like the man is comfortable with the weapon. That suggests that while smaller, he's more of an actual fighter than Rilt.
The fifth and last of them just looks tired, and no wonder. Enla's porter has had to do most of the grunt work in getting the shipment here, and there's not really any benefit for him in listening to this sort of haggling.
Shiv makes a
tsk noise. "This load's small, late, and... look at this!" He pulls out one of the worst of the gossameroses, a specimen that looks sad and wilted even by lantern light. "What sort of dreams is that supposed to give my customers, huh?"
Enla sighs theatrically. "It's what's there to get, and if I can't cover expenses I can't afford to keep the operation going until their next blooming season." She names another figure, much higher than Shiv wants to settle on, but lower than he had feared she'd start. Apparently she knew the shipment would get this response. Good; Shiv needs to build up his savings a bit if he is going to cut out before things turn sour.
After a few more rounds of barter, Rilt suddenly clears his throat. In the darkness, Shiv doesn't bother hiding his wince; no one can see it. Rilt is much more convincing as muscle if he isn't talking, but it's not easy to communicate non-verbally and get Rilt to shut up. So, Rilt interrupts the proceedings to ask "where's your carrying guy?"
Enla glances down at where her porter had been sitting. There's no one there. "Wei? Come back out, Wei." she calls into the darkness, fighting conflicting impulses to raise her voice but not be heard. Wei doesn't return to the lantern-light circle. Enla's guard draws his sword, but holds it low for the moment.
Shiv pats his own sleeves, assuring himself that his namesake weapons are ready to draw. He glances at Rilt...
...who is gone. Shiv's noise of alarm alerts both of the others. They pull together a little more closely, business differences forgotten as they set their backs together, Shiv and Enla both shining light from their hooded lanterns into the night around them.
Was that a flash of motion? Both lanterns point light at the space where it might have been, and find nothing, just trees. They picked this orchard precisely because there was no one who had any reason to be here after dark, after all.
"Is someone out there?" Enla calls, slightly more softly. She probably doesn't really want to get an answer.
Another flash of motion, inarguable this time. A tall figure in gray is on top of them, and Enla's professional guard is trying to slip around outside to stab the attacker in the back.
Shiv tries to scramble away, and manages to trip over a tree root, stumbling but not going down. For a moment, his lantern's light is on the interloper. The grey-clad attacker's lips are peeled back in a snarl, over-long canines standing out starkly even from pale skin. The guard's sword is nowhere to be seen. Enla is on her butt on the ground.
The light slips off them. In the darkness, a horrible gurgle Shiv has never heard before. Treacherous imagination suggests what could have caused it.
Hastily, Shiv closes the shutter the rest of the way, hiding the lantern's light. He turns and runs. There's nothing there worth more than his life. He runs, a blind sprint, until he smashes into a face-level branch that half-snaps, arresting his progress and possibly breaking his nose.
He whimpers as he hits the ground, the lantern bouncing away and putting itself out somewhere in the dirt. The moonlight is all he has to work with, now. He looks around.
The figure is there, coming closer. This time, Shiv has more of a chance to see who it is, and see the massive curved boomerang it carries.
"T-triumvir! My lord! There's been a terrible misunderstanding!" He does his best to be understandable through the pain and stoppage in his nose as he feels suddenly pinned down by the newcomer's eyes.
"You were smuggling gossameroses," the grey-clad prince of the earth states, bluntly.
"There's n-nothing wrong with that! They just give good dreams. That's all!"
The Triumvir's terrible gaze doesn't let up. "Addicts rarely can pull themselves away to interact with the real world. Then they
mutate. That's not 'nothing'."
"Mercy! I throw myself on your mercy."
"I can't give that."
Shiv goes for his suddenly all-too-tiny blades. Before he has them in hand, suddenly the only thing he can see is the Dragon-Blood's open mouth.
* * *
"It is a pity you weren't able to apprehend the smugglers alive," Avalanche says in a deep-pitched but quiet rumble.
You shrug. "I was alone, Father Avalanche. I couldn't risk them getting away."
"Certainly not," he agrees, considering the mess. "May these men and women find more enlightenment in their next life." He makes a sign of Pasiap with one hand. "Still, I am glad you brought me out here. Anyone who would make gossamerose tea is risking their own spiritual enlightenment, just as those who sell it risk more."
You've brought him out here to see the outcome, a good way to get someone else to sign off on the necessity of wiping out the smugglers. When the whole flower down to the stem is steeped in water, gossameroses make a tea that for the next eight hours or so gives the drinker semi-lucid dreams of being an enlightened Essence user: people report anything from ghostly powers to feeling the surge of Dragon-Blooded power, but the dream-like power of the Fair Folk is, unsurprisingly, the most common outcome for consuming such Wyld-touched fare. Mutations that no civilized nation or even most barbarians would tolerate is uncommon, but far from unheard of.
"This was why I wanted to inform you," you agree, trying to sound as grave as he does. "I hope this cuts the supply line, but just in case, I thought it might be a good chance for you to warn our people in your sermons."
He nods, once, then takes a ready stance and centers himself, facing the boxes of gossameroses and the bodies. "Hungry Earth Strike!" He slams the heel of his hand against the ground, and the earth itself splits. A deep ravine forms briefly, sucking in both the bodies and Wyld-warped plants. After they have tumbled all the way down, the soil above closes back up, efficiently burying the dead and sealing away the gossameroses, which will soon decompose.
It's a simple, expected use of Earth Dragon Style. Avalanche hasn't earned his position here solely through politics.
He turns his attention back to you. "I know your House would have given you some training, Lord Peleps, but if you would like some instruction on how to develop and hone your new powers, this humble monk would be more than happy to assist."
'Absolutely out of the question' is the first response to come to mind. There's enough diversity in the powers of the Children of the Dragons to hide some things, but if there is one person in the Lap who's most likely to notice something is amiss, it's Avalanche Fury Roiling. "I am humbled by the offer," you say, instead. "Perhaps soon we can arrange that." If you stick to theory more than execution, maybe he can provide some tips, although of course his focus would be on martial arts techniques. There might also be some logic in being too close for him to assume anything dangerous about you.
Avalanche shrugs, a languid motion that takes two full seconds. "Very well. If you will excuse me, Triumvir, I wish to meditate upon this failing of our people and us as their shepherds." He sits down on the ground, under a pear tree, lotus-style, and is almost instantly snoring.
It would be significantly more challenging not to get caught by him if he just were awake more.
* * *
There are colorful streamers on many of the windows in town today, a reminder to everyone that this is a scheduled holy day for Shu-cel, God of the Penitent and the Lap. Shu-cel is relatively puissant for a city god, as he's managed to keep both the Penitent and the fertile lands around it within his purview. Anything artificial that can be seen from as far as the Penitent can be seen keeps him in people's minds, and he has cooperated willingly with the Immaculate Order since early in the Empress's reign. Because of this, he is allotted five days' worship a year, a fairly princely amount.
The upside is that this is a good excuse to spend some of the day in the Immaculate Temple again, here in the hottest part of the year. Avalanche can join you whenever he wakes up; he's not required for things to happen.
Today, the main open space of the Temple is home to two seats, located discreetly distant from each other, each elevated on a little dais and decorated appropriately.
On one of them, the King sits, along with a single guard and attendant. As is often the case, the King looks vaguely befuddled. That's fine. He has the basic principle down and keeps the crown of state sufficiently well-balanced on his weathered old head.
The other one is for Shu-cel, who has manifested for the day. Shu-cel's form is that of a thin, somewhat androgynous man with a lifelike face, but everything below the neck is made of something like featureless, smooth porcelain or possibly marble.
People cycle through in lines and can visit with either or both: the King just to feel local pride, and the god to offer Immaculate-approved prayers in the deity's presence.
You cut the line to approach Shu-cel.
He nods at you. "Triumvir Peleps," he says in an even voice. "I heard about your blessing. I am pleased to see your Exaltation came."
That's Shu-cel. Inoffensive as long as the Lap is reasonably well cared for. "Thank you," you say, inclining your head.
For a moment, Shu-cel regards you silently, then he raises himself from the chair and steps down to meet you, to your surprise. This is
his festival day. This is the only day for three months where he would have been fully justified in staying in his seat, instead of coming down to respectfully greet you in person. "As always, I am ever at the service of the princes of the earth such as yourself and in service to the Immaculate doctrine."
Once the remaining expected courtesies are exchanged and you recover from your surprise at his gesture, you retire to one side to meet Cathak Anira, who's already here, and you hand each other some handwritten notes. This is where areas of responsibility cross: she's been dealing with the latest caravan from Gem, and you are going to need to be brought in to handle the security hand-off. The Lap doesn't use slaves; the slave caravan is just using the Lap as a stopping-off point.
"Isn't this a little excessive,
_____ darling?" Anira is the first one to say anything much. She cocks one slightly twig-like eyebrow. "We're moving slaves, not getting ready to fight the Bull of the North."
"It's hardly so much as all that." You gesture vaguely at the parchment she's holding. "Yes, it is about double normal, but take a look. It's about integrating Solace's men with the local sepoys. I'm seeing how well they can harmonize immediately, and we'll go from there."
Anira makes an 'it's your money' shrug. "Hm. Well, so long as you didn't pull anyone we can't spare from other duties." Of course you did. You're already trying to work with too few people. She knows that.
A few minutes later, Anira makes her own excuses to leave. Apparently Gem's delegation is expected this afternoon, and Anira wants to greet the Outcaste Dragon-Blood they've sent to lead the slaves back. You let her go and loiter just a little, so the people paying respects to their king and god see the actual Triumvirate is there, as well.
* * *
Your steps take you from the Immaculate Temple to the staging area for the Realm legion. The barracks and training yards here are as spartan and functional as can be. With the step-down in Realm forces, it's usually quiet here. You've turned one corner of it over to Solace's troops. Technically, that's a violation of procedure, but one so minor and hard to report to someone appropriate that you can't imagine it ever causing a real complaint.
Today, there's some unusual action. Ragara Ptheno is here, training with a couple fangs of five troops and one sergeant apiece, both scales from Talon-Captain Vancer's command.
Ptheno is practicing his swordsmanship. He's no less red in outfit than last time, as normal, but today he's got his paired daiklaves out.
There is no comparison between the swordsman on the field now and the brawl you had with him before. Sanguine Sinister and Sanguine Dexter are weapons as storied in House Ragara as Blizzard's Scourge is in House Peleps. Ptheno has trained with them since his youth, and has drawn forth their evocations.
A dozen men with spears and the benefit of Realm-given discipline and training attack him with all the coordination and skill that professional soldiers can deliver, and an unharried Ptheno calmly and efficiently disassembles their formation. Blinding flares of flame cause men to flinch and perfectly precise slices and thrusts parry their attacks while flowing seamlessly into counter-blows. Ptheno is perfectly ambidextrous, and he makes full use of that, each sword slipping instantly from offense to defense and back. In short order, all the soldiers on the field are scattered, some having lost their weapons and some knocked to the ground hard.
Ptheno must have been reasonably pleased with their performance, however, as while some of them are wincing or groaning, none of them have cuts, burns, or broken bones. Once their resistance has ceased, Ptheno pauses, Sanguine blades still held ready. "Once more."
Talon-captain Vancer steps up, helmet tucked under his arm. "My lord... we're only mortal. The men have gone through as many rounds as they can stand today."
For a moment, Ptheno looks ready to rebel, but then he nods, curtly. "Very well. Keep drilling your men, Captain."
Red jade blades are returned to his belt. He pivots on his left foot and strides away, head held high. He passes you, giving a nod of acknowledgement.
He's taking his loss to you well, it seems.
The wearied Vancer gives you a nod, as well. His is more friendly. "How may I serve, my lord?"
You look over the legionnaires. "I'm looking for a scale or so to deploy the day after tomorrow, to oversee an integration exercise between sepoys and mercenaries as they guard a slave convoy."
"Yes, my lord." Vancer doesn't ask dumb questions before complying. You two quickly hash out the operational details. Only then does he ask. It's the same question Anira had, but he cares more. It's his men at the sharp end of the stick, after all. "Do you know something, sir?"
"Call it a hunch."
"Of course, my lord." He accepts that, but can read your intent. His men will be alert.
* * *
Oddly enough, you are somewhat at loose ends after that. You've taken care of everything you can organizationally, meaning that now you have a little time to yourself.
Of course, that has a slightly different meaning to you now. over the next two days, you're still going to keep yourself occupied.
The first thing you're realizing is that you need to make sure you're at your peak, personally. Meeting a nephwrack and a Deathlord, then realizing how little effort Ari put into your brawls, has told you that you need to find something more to increase your personal power.
[] Commune with Blizzard's Scourge, seeking to draw its basic evocations out.
Artifact weapons develop unique powers, and those who master them, instead of just use them, can begin to draw on these to make them more than just a slightly magical piece of metal.
[] Meet with Avalanche Fury Roiling, try to seek the foundations of the Air Dragon Style.
There are no masters of Air Dragon Style in the Lap, but Avalanche may be able to help you learn, regardless. It would seek to develop your ability to integrate throwing weapons with hand-to-hand, and maybe help your disguise.
[] Meditate alone, seeking internal guidance to find powers you can use discreetly.
You have no idea what you will uncover. However, there are doubtless hidden additional powers of Anathema that you can pull from your own nature.
You have time to schedule meetings with
two people before the appointed hour, socially or for business. It is, after all, expected that you'll be some level of involved and active in varied affairs.
[] Meet with Solace Through the Night and her mercenaries.
They will get to know the hand that feeds them, and you can ensure they're as personally loyal as possible.
[] Meet with Ari as he explores the Penitent.
It's too soon for Ari to have anything but preliminary research, but if you're there, you can try to be sure he sees you as a partner.
[] Commune with Shu-cel.
As an Exalt, Immaculate doctrine says you're fully qualified to treat with spirits on behalf of humanity, and Shu-cel seems more respectful than he has to be. Investigate. He could be a help or a hindrance when you climb the Penitent again.
[] Look for the Mendicant.
There's not likely to be anything useful there, but the daft old man is generally amusing, and the common folk occasionally seem to find a flash of true wisdom and insight from him.
[] Conspire with Anira.
Gossamerose addicts see their efficiency fall. Ptheno, in charge of production, didn't notice. The two of you can lean on that to put pressure on him for not performing.
[] Conspire with Ptheno.
The slave deal was largely Anira's work. A little preparatory work with Ptheno could have him viewing it as a bad deal, so the two of you can be ready to pounce together when things go badly.
(All votes will be counted individually, not as a set)
