Of Price and Passage
Twenty-Eighth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
It rarely rains in Lys, and when it did it was usually swift flighty rains that blew in from the sea. There's even poetry about it,
a glint of sunlight in every raindrop seen. There was no sign of the sun the next morning, the rain sliding in long coiling rivulets off marble facades, over the faces of stone angels to drip down in false tears upon the streets below, beating down relentlessly through the branches of the Weirwood Heart Tree. The Orphne Lord is patient as the ever, a darker shadow against the curtain of grey, while Hermetia only moves to dismiss the rain that is soaking through her crimson silk dress.
"To match the tree," she had said, running her hand through her silver hair to emphasize the contrast when you had complimented it. Yet you have a feeling that more than a whim went into the choice. She had taken the news that some Fey spirit was plotting infiltration and treachery in the city given into her care as a personal affront and had taken her introduction to the Orphne Lord as an opportunity to invite those of his lords who would be joining the Inquisition soon to Lys, 'to better learn to work with mortals' she said, though all present knew it was their knowledge of their fellow Fey that the governor of Lys was most concerned with. The hushed conversation continued as somewhere high above the sun reached its unseen zenith.
He comes with no pomp and no fanfare, between in less than the blink of an eye yet almost as though he had always been there, a hooded figure in a dark cloak that flows and billows with the wind. From what you can see of his pale face you might almost think him human, save for the fact that even your eyes cannot penetrate the darkness that hides his eyes.
The Fey Lord inclines his head first to his shadow-garbed fellow, his voice as though formed from the sound of the rain. "Swift travels shades and long is their reach."
Is he making a point about how much shadows can grasp? you wonder. Turning to Hermetia he adds, "And fair is the hand that rests lightly upon the gilded reigns." Definitely making some kind of point, though you cannot yet say for certain which.
To your presence he offers no comment, though the hooded head inclines lower. "Why have you bid the Time-Lost and the Winter-that-May-Be to seek me out? If you wish to buy or sell, to strike deals in the market, know that I am not a merchant. I merely ensure that those who are can do so without difficulty."
"And therein lies the crux of the matter," you reply, your words soft but firm. "I too do my best to ensure that merchants in my lands have the best chance they can to grow prosperous, as any lord might."
"You wish to rule over the Feywild?" The lord's voice gives away nothing, though the rain grows thicker around you. "I warn you that it is a difficult place to bind by any foreign law."
"Pardon, my lord," Hermetia interjects, "but the Goblin Market is not in the Feywild, it is in Lys." Her smile is like hemlock and honey. "If I misunderstand things then there should obviously be a border running between them. There is, after all, a name for those who sell things without paying due to the state, one that would ill suite any in our distinguished company."
"It is the mortals of the silver city who walk to the boundary seeking bargains," the Fey Lord replies, his voice unchanged. "It would be
troublesome to sink the market deeper into our realm and invite each and every one of them past the threshold. So the question now is what conditions do you place and would they be less onerous?"
"A perilous thing to turn over hot coals with a stick," the Shadow Fey notes. "It might take more than rain to quench it."
"A curtain is for passing through." The words were softer, as though the speaker is indeed moving away from you. One gloved hand moves the rain aside as though it were indeed spun cloth to reveal a glimpse of the twilight sky you had seen two days past. Turning again to you he adds: "I have no desire to fight you, Dragon King, but the world is a wide place and portals in other realms might be opened."
What do you reply?
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OOC: So here we are, the Hooded Lord has no interest in fighting you, but if you guys impose conditions he finds unacceptable he will pick up and leave. So now would be a time to make your pitch for regulations.
