Prudence Before, Courage During, Kindness After, Strength and Stoicism Always.
You wrap your goat wool cloak a little tighter around your body, chilly despite the furs and cloth insulating the interior of the carriage. The wool, originating in the heartlands of the federal states, isn't suited for the frigid wastes of the Necessity. You hiss out a little ill fate upon the households of the quartermasters who supplied the ambassadorial expedition to the Goliatun Necessity. May they be befallen with the flu or the shits. You catch your tongue midway through the familial curse. Your creche mother would not approve.
The Ambassador Extraordinary insisted that you ride in the carriage on your journey back towards the Goliatun-Iliad border. You wanted to march alongside your - well, former now - men, but you felt the eyes of the diplomatic staffers in the carriage with you drilling into your skin. You may now be their superior, but these citizens reported directly to the Ambassador just only a few days ago. You are now Consul, and according to Ambassador Valt, it does not befit your station to pound earth to any destination. Be it these frigid wastes or the golden fields of the heartland. You sometimes miss the countryside of Arcadia, raised in rurality as part of a creche of foundlings. But you've been part of the Guard for long enough – four years now – that the memories have begun to fade into the fog of your pubescence. You'd thought you'd be seeing them soon. Before you got this assignment.
Despite your new rise in position, your studies persist. You uncross your arms from around your abdomen and pull out a book from your bag. Upon its cover is a gem of moderate size, purplish in its slumber before you flick it a few times to wake it. It turns a bright iridescent blue as it activates. You reach out – without moving a muscle – towards the crystal until your mind touches the soul inside it. His – you assume – name is Jarrod, the secretarial soul bound into the cover of your journal. He silently takes record of your voice as you read from your notes from Sergeant Tack's lecture on northern Iliad geography. Despite this being the third time you've read out loud the same notes on this subject, you know that repetition builds mastery. You may no longer be a probationary third lieutenant, but you must continue your studies.
You wonder what kind of person Jarrod must have been in life. Certainly, he must have been wretched to be condemned to such a fate as being bound to a soul gem. For sure, he did not volunteer his soul to act as secretary to a foundling Testaross - and a former soldier at that. The only Ilium who volunteer their souls for soul gem binding are heroes who wish to persist on the battlefield as a Li'shan Century. Jarrod must have been a wretched criminal, indeed, for his soul to not be allowed to rise to the heavens to join his ancestors.
You deliberately put certain stresses and accents on your words, practicing speaking in the northwestern Iliad dialect. It will subtly help in building relations with the people living in the borderland reach instead of alienating yourself with your distinct heartland accent. Your former unit of Guards, now your own consular guard, spoke in many different accents and dialects, being from different parts of the Federation. At some point, they merged into the unique Federal Guard vernacular and accent, but your Arcadian tongue had persisted despite that. You were teased constantly for it, for sounding like a heartlander and not one of their own.
Eventually, the carriage rolls slowly into a full stop. You're here. One of the consular staffers in the carriage opens the door for you.
"After you, Master Kythe."
You hesitate, unsure of protocol here. In the Guard, as a lieutenant in charge of a small unit of men and women, you wouldn't stop a moment to think about going first. A leader must always take the first step forward. How else can one lead if they do not go first?
The staffer rubs his arms and shivers as you step out of the carriage. He too wears a goat wool cloak. Blasted quartermasters.
The men and women of the consular guard have formed a loose circle around the carriages. Their weapons are sheathed or at rest, but ready to protect the federal officers disembarking from the carriages. The convoy has stopped in front of a wooden gate nestled between a stake fence, both the gate and fence standing twice or twice and a half as tall as an Iliad man. Two Goliatun sentries stand to watch at each side of the gate. Some of the Guard protecting you are old enough to remember fighting the Goli. They stand two heads taller than most Iliad men, three heads taller than some Iliad women, and maybe twice as thick as any strongman.
You set down your bag in the snow, having stowed away your journal and put Jarrod to sleep. You pull a scroll from within and stride forward. A knot in your throat takes a few swallows to get down, but you attempt to move with confidence and speak loudly to the sentries, unfurling the scroll for them to see.
"I am Kythe Maxxon Kiara, Testaross of the foundling line, Diplomatic Consul of the Iliad Federation to the Goliatun Necessity. I come to pay a courtesy visit to your lord."
The sentries pound the shafts of their spears into the snow-covered earth then speak in unison.
"YOU SHALL WAIT FOR HIM HERE."
One of the sentries' teeth are filed to points.
"Very well," you say. "I shall wait."
You try to stand tall as possible, a lone figure in the snow between the convoy, and the gate and its sentries. You think you do a good job, despite the immense stature of the Goli before you. You wait for a quarter of an hour, standing resolute there before the gate opens on its own.
You don't hear or see a mechanism. The Goli that strides through the gate does not touch it as he comes forward to meet you. He stands a head even taller than the sentries. He takes a deep breath and bellows from within a fur-lined hood, his chest puffed out in a ceremonial but seemingly functional chest piece of armor.
"I AM KELL, SON OF THE WARLORD KELL BEFORE HIM. WHO ARE YOU?"
"Milord, I am Kythe Maxxon Kiara. Testaross of the foundling line. Consul of the Iliad Federation to the Goliatun Necessity. Our main diplomatic mission having paid a visit to your Necessary King, I come to pay you a courtesy visit!" You say, looking up at the Goli lord – or as you assume they are.
The Goli lord looks down at you then speaks softly.
"You come to my hall and do not introduce yourself properly? What is a 'courtesy visit'?" He asks.
Trying not to panic, you throw your mind backward towards the diplomatic staff.
Tell him you come to dine in his hall and share a bowl of milk with him. Introduce yourself by your father's profession. One of the staffers thinks at you, seemingly comfortable despite the situation and the unfamiliar touch of your mind.
You are a foundling Testaross, not bound to the great House Testarossa of the Iliad Federation. You grew up in a creche among other Iliad children, raised by foster parents and sustained by the capital city-state of Arcadia, by a fund administered by the Lord Chancellor himself. Who is your creche father?
[]Your father is a Forgesinger from the College of Artificiers. He taught you what was possible of the forge magicks and craft, despite you not having licensure to practice magicka. [Gain Strong Aptitudes for Agility and Crafting, and Moderate Aptitude for Magicka.]
[]Your father was a hero of the Federal Guard. He taught you everything you know about fighting and leadership. You hope to meet him again someday. He was killed in the last Imperial War and passed his soul onto a Century of Li'shan. [Gain Strong Aptitudes for Strength and Martial, and Moderate Aptitude for Leadership.]
[]Your father is a scholar and magister of the Synod of Magi. He taught you everything he knows about the world and the magicka that abounds in it. [Gain Strong Aptitudes for Intelligence and Magicka, and Moderate Aptitude for Knowledge.]
[X]Your father is a Testaross sailor and telepath, a man of the people, the sea and the ships that sail upon it, and the peoples of the world. He taught you how to move people and your own body. [Gain Strong Aptitudes for Agility and Social, and Moderate Aptitude for Telepathy.]
