Social meetings:
Imilar.
The official formal introduction of the centoreans to the colony is only a day away when you call in your diplomatic advisor for a chat... Or possibly a rant? A tirade? An interrogation?
You do not know how exactly to name the action your mind urges you to take, and thus instead you mentally name it a 'chat' as images of shaking Imilar's shoulders and demanding answers play in your head. The woman had acted like she'd sat on a bramble for the entire diplomatic talk with Elenia yesterday, and you weren't sure why, hadn't Rapunzel claimed that the Asrai and Centaurs were Friends?!
Regardless Imilar arrives with calm on her face and effortless grace in her motion as befitting an elf, her mohawk glossy with fresh resin and her eyes accented by ochre wings.
"Take a seat, if you may."
You begin calmly yourself, pouring the asrai a cup of fine brandy that you know she will not touch as you lounge back, taking in the sea air as it blows into your double-storey fancy tent, a stopgap for your eventual manse. Imilar takes the seat with equal lounging, though her eyes lit in a way that only a man who has known the wrath of a cranky Rapunzel might recognise as irritated tension.
Your next words are less calm.
"Would you like to explain what by Ranald was your issue with Leafspeaker Elenia, back there?"
Imilar's face doesn't even twitch as she coolly deflects.
"Nothing was the matter, our talks went... Companionably. You were there, were you not?"
You massage your nasal bridge for a moment, your lack of any deceptive talent lending a sincere irritation to your own tone.
"I'm not the most observant of men, but I've spent enough time with Rapunzel to tell when an elf has a rod up her arse. You kept getting looks on your jaw like you were going to accuse the centaur of pissing in your shoes."
You are aware that the vulgarity is not necessary, but the humid stinking air of this continent already has your dander up, to say nothing of the epidemic of small rashes and maladies that have already sent the Shallyans into overwork. This continent was hell on your mind and nerves.
Imilar looks like you're the one whose peed in her boots as she crosses her arms over her chest, closing her eyes for a long inhale then exhale before speaking.
"The Asrai word to describe the centorea has no easy translation...
Yet it would best be said in Riekspiel as 'Helpful Invading Stewards' or 'Interloping Assistants', because that is what they are.
The Stewards of Our groves, the helpful yet clumsy assistants and watchers that we, the true kin to the forest, have long allowed to dwell within the spaces that the forest has rightfully gifted to the asrai. It galled me to hear her speak of the glades as theirs, as if they were anything beyond caretakers."
You think through this for a long moment before massaging your temples and sighing.
"You think Elenia is the Asrai's Uppity Maid?"
Imilar shrugs and blows out more breath.
"I would not go so far as to call them true servants, for clearly they are their own people, yet neither would I countenance their kin as equals, and certainly not as regents over the forest. Their presence in the heartwoods, and their pretension as rulers can only mean that the Asrai have retreated to the deepwoods, or that my kin in this place have moved elsewhere. Not many asrai care for groves so far from Athel Loren, and yet these forests are still important to the health of our most sacred duty."
You scowl.
"Is that 'duty' why you came here? Why you signed up?"
Imilar huffs.
"It is... Part of it, though only the smallest bit of it. I came here to hear the song of these trees, to see the nature of Lustria's life-filled forests, and to speak with others beyond the Asrai and those of the woods. I did not speak any lies in saying that I wish to serve as your ambassador."
You give her a flat look.
"If that is true, then you will obey my request to at least bury the hatchet with Elenia? Perhaps the asrai left her and her kin alone to watch the glades centuries ago, and by now their stories speak nothing but legend of your past relationship."
Looking a little like a scolded teenager -or Rapunzel when you've caught her eating through all the biscuits in the pantry- Imilar nods and uncrosses her arms, sighing.
"Yes... I suppose my manner has been a little tense, and in speaking I have come to realize how unreasonable my manner has been. If only in part. Though I must ask that you find time and resources to Investigate my kin in this land."
Unlocked Advisor-Quest: 'Signs of the Asrai.'