Private Tales A tolaro for your thoughts.

[Neremyn Virvyre]

The box hummed and buzzed, click clacking against the table with every weak bounce and dash of the sealed metal lock. Dimples and green staining embellished the brass as it stood in rattling juxtaposition against an otherwise stalwart border of gold and splintered iron wood. The table was long and broad, topped with a polished counter of black graphite and chiseled edges, offering a monument for the great act of tutelage and active instruction.

It was a lab. But not something so meek and sterile, with walls of white and pristine vials and decanters. Instead, all manner of things lived and grew. From loping bunnies of dust to rats sneak-thieving around the corners and insects hollowing out thick beams of treated cedar that spanned the distance of the vaulted ceiling; it was a place of contemplation and deep thoughts. A place where a troublesome druid could be quieted and where the common fires were not such a worrisome act.

He waited somberly behind the box, painted coarsely in the warm embrace of a nearby wall mounted brazier. With an emerald gaze that panned from one robe-donned disciple to the next, a sigh escaped from the parting of his lips and added depth to the crackling of coal and mischievous embers. From the bark of his patchwork armor, long fingers withdrew a key and quickly snapped the lock open.

The egress door, a towering feature of bowing wood and straining steel beams, crashed open as the disciples ran out from the lab and into the streets of the college. The sound of their heels against the cobble stone was a dying symphony, quickly overcome by the sound of angry Aberresai ground wasps. Pheromones were a tricky thing and once tagged, the wasps would die for God and country and all other forms of patriotism as they stung their victims to death or died in the attempt.

Clapping his hands together and chuckling at the sudden rush of silence, like a vacuum of air howling through a shoreline cavern, he caught a wasp within the cage of his outstretched fingers. Leaning forward, he studied the creature and gave pause. “Very nice.” With that, the wasp flew out from the clutch and joined her hive in pursuit.

Ere reasoned that should the disciples not want for stinging, they might take up the mantle of studying their texts and performing the practicals with a bit more zest. But seeing as many had taken his class as a required elective, it was seemingly an attempt to breeze through the course and gain credits for passage in the College. And while rivers might move lazily, they eventually find the breath of an angry ocean. And this angry ocean was late for a meeting with the Merchants Council. There was a matter of securing particular funding for his classes, as well as other endeavors, that required supplanting of the College’s leadership.

It was time for a sprawl through the markets.

Myrcella Bochanan

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

The markets. Always a bustle of activity whenever Myrcella and her mother Gwendalyn Bochanan would attend to go shopping for dresses or exotic ingredients for their cooks prepare meals and desserts with.

But today was different. Myrcella was the only member of House Bochanan to attend. She had a few members of the House staff with her, for going alone would just be absurd and unheard of. Also it wasn't primarily for shopping that brought her here today either. Myrcella's late father Rorric was a member of the Merchants Council. With him gone and her mother in mourning, those responsibilities fell in her lap.

Oh how she wished that she had Titus Phane to join her. He'd of given her support and encouragement during this meeting when in truth she'd feel as though she was a rabbit caught in a fox's den. Politics wasn't her strong suit. In fact she never believed that she'd be led to deal with it at all. Her dreams of her future were vastly different than the reality she now faced. Betrothal to Richard Henry the Eighth wasn't exactly something that she so eagerly accepted.

Still, perhaps if she could get herself entrenched in the Merchants Council deep enough, then she might not be forced to move away from Elbion and the only home that she's ever known.

Myrcella gave a small smile and nod to those that she passed by on her way to the Council meeting. Though her outward appearance might seem very well composed, underneath her bodice all that she could feel were butterflies.

Hopefully the other Council members won't eat her up alive.

Neremyn Virvyre

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

The markets were a boisterous affair, battering the senses with constant stimulus and the mind and soul with perpetual conflict. The entry into the marketplace was heralded by a stone arch causeway, accented by an overhanging parapet and decorated with flags of various cities, organizations, and species. The different factions within the market council, the allied cities along the Cairon River and feeding into the Allirian Strait, and the various ship captains who had contributed charitably were each given opportunity to hang a coat of arms or wave their flag.

Movement through the passage gave breath to a sprawling province of various wares, vendors, and services. Bulges of peppermint tints and royally painted stands of purple and yellow spilled into the muddy walkways as greeters peddle their wares aggressively. Smells of meat hung low in the air, drifting aimlessly on tones of cardamom, black pepper, and cloves. A short man stood atop multiple barrels, hanging from a meat stand with a hook for a hand, promising the perfect coupling of ale and wine to meet every palate.

An apothecary burned sage and thyme in a large cauldron of sizzling embers, an elf hung from a defunct center-square fountain and preached on the veracity of the celestial bodies, and a woman with a monstrous mustache twisted her whiskers ostentatiously as she swore on the virtues of her particular hair growth elixir. For every distraction, there were people of all shapes and sizes to greet the spectacle with wide eyes and open mouths. Orcs, humans, dwarves, and elves all paraded about with steadily emptying pockets and ever waning interest. Despite the motley of races, interwoven like a shifting braid through the coarse streets, commentary on the components of society were ever invasive.

“Eh, piss off ya leaf-licker.” One woman spat at Ere as she strode by. She was knee deep and barefoot in a bucket of grapes, dancing a dispassionate jig for a hawkish man who sat behind her. “Look who we got here boys, a discount dryad!” A man sneered with half a mouth of teeth, colored like duck butter, as he slapped a cudgel against a calloused palm and elbowed a friend to pay attention. Ere was quickly getting the impression from the loquacious and silent alike, that he might have been on the menu as well. The joke was on them; Ere’s pockets were lighter than most.

Setting his sight on an unremarkable green tent, hidden in plain sight and marked with the cross hatching of a pick ax and a hammer, Ere parted the entry flap to find himself in view of several men and a few women. These were prominent members of the council, though whether they were members of the elder council remained to be seen. Torches burned along the perimeter of the tent, propped up by thin rods of cedar and capped with tinted glass, and gave the interior a deceptively warm appeal. It helped to offset the cold glances of those in attendance.

“Gentlemen…” Ere announced with a dip of his head and a stroke of his wiry beard. “And ladies. A wonderful day, is it not?”

Myrcella Bochanan

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

There were so many different things in the market that caught her eye. Trinkets, flowers, paintings, not to mention the fashion! Fabrics and silks in a variety of colours. Lacework both intricate and beautiful. All of it was a young lady's dream.

But she had to keep her focus on the task at hand. It wasn't difficult to find the tent where the Council always met. Quite often Myrcella would be at her late father's side on his way there, along with the other members of her family. It was usually just before the tent that they'd depart, leaving Myrcella, her Mother and siblings to shop while her Father attended the meeting.

Today was different, however. Today she was alone. Today she was to discover just what these Council meetings were like. And today she was to find out just how brave she was when facing such a big unknown. Some people might balk at the very idea; as though it was a trivial thing when compared to charging a battlefield. But Myrcella wasn't a soldier. The closest thing to that for her was doing archery and competing against her brother. Her aim was always better and so she tended to win those little contests that they set up with themselves.

Oh how she longed for those simpler days.

A few minutes after Neremyn Virvyre entered the tent, Myrcella would find herself lifting the flap and stepping inside as well. Neither of those within spawned any sense of recognition in her other than a quick greeting in days gone past. It wasn't really anything that she thought that she'd have to pay mind to before. Until now, that is.

She bowed her head to the Council members, her hands clasped before her. "Greetings. I'm sorry if I'm late. My name is Myrcella Bochanan. I am the eldest daughter of the late Rorric Bochanan." Her eyes searched each of those in attendance, looking for any sign of disgust or resentment towards her, for while her Fsther was well respected, she was a complete stranger. "I'm here to take his place on the Council."

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

Ere didn’t receive a response, not in the typical fashion. Instead, he was offered a reception of silent glares, rubs of the facial hair, and twerks of the eyebrow in what he could only assume was an attempt to bewilder and intimidate him. Coming up from the shallow bow, his gaze moved from each individual as he visually progressed through the entangled form of hierarchy that rested behind the towering grace of a shielded dais. There was an assortment of individuals.

To the far end, a woman stood with her hands pressed against a silver broach and was festooned in an elaborately decorated full dress and crinoline, laced with gold and accented largely in eggshell white. To her side, a man towered above her. He was dressed in formal entrepreneur garb that included striped pants of black and grey, a vest of green and gold, and a frock coat that hung low against the back of his knees. They seemed to be a pair or at the very least, acquainted in passing intimacy. The notion struck the elf as peculiar given the clear age difference; the woman looked old enough to be his grandmother.

In the center, a stout human stood with hands clasped at his waist in protection of what Ere could only assume was a jewel adorned belt buckle. Ere spied, beneath the parted earthen coat, a likely more necessary accouterments of tanned leather suspenders. The absence of hair atop the man's head gave way to a muddied reflection of the nearby torch, gleaming in distortion across his glossy bald head. His salt and pepper facial hair was wiry, well groomed across the top lip and hanging low in imperial merchant fashion - wispy and painted at the tips. Next to this figure, two others stood shoulder to shoulder and appeared to be related.

Perhaps fraternal twins.

Ere then proceeded to look towards the young woman next to him. While he admired her polite entrance, he imagined it wasn’t the best method of entry for the likes of this lot. They had the look of hungry Naga, given too long to wait upon land, and were breaths away from feasting on them or each other. They group did not have the kindest appearance.

“Yes yes.” The stout figure responded to the woman, impatiently waving her forward with decorated hand of rubies and sapphires. “Come now miss Bochanan, there is little light and less time.”

Ere lifted his finger to interject but the cold glance of the crinoline duchess gave him all the motivation he needed to stay quiet. At least for the moment.

Myrcella Bochanan

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Myrcella jumped a little when addressed and stepped further inside. She was out of her element here and she was quite certain that they all knew that. She could almost smell it in the air, could see it in the way that they looked at her. But that could just be the way that the torches lit their faces. The shadows bouncing on their features seemed to give them a more harsher presence. Were they always this....grumpy?

"Thank you." Myrcella made sure that her voice was heard, even though she just wanted to go off in the back corner somewhere and watch; anything to get the attention off of her completely. "What's on the agenda today?" It wasn't as though she was up to date on what the Merchant Council had been up to. Nor could she ask her Father. If only she had known someone else that was on the Council for then she could have asked them some questions earlier so that she'd of been more prepared. But alas, it just wasn't meant to be.

Myrcella looked to Neremyn Virvyre for a moment. Some of the distaste in the air seemed to be directed towards him as well. Yet she was uncertain as to why. Could it be because he appeared to be an elf? She knew of some people that were xenophobes. Perhaps the council was made of them?

Either way, they sure liked to display their riches. Myrcella was dressed in a lovely gown of yellow silk that crinkled when she moved. But it breathed well. The white lace and flowered embroidery stood out in regular light, but under the torchlight it all blended together. No large broaches or jewels adorned her either. But now she wondered if maybe she should have worn something more than pearls.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

“A good deal…” One of the siblings uttered as the other leaned away and crossed the arms of his pleated high collar dress shirt, cuffs of polished brass. “Not quite as much as I would like.” As they shifted, Ere was suddenly overcome with a certainty that not only were they related, but they were fraternal twins. A short woman who was poised with a sense of optimism while her taller, wiry brother was coated in an almost glistening sheen of distrust. Methodical calculations and never-ending scenarios danced beneath the glass of his dark eyes and Ere knew, with an almost mystical confidence, that the young man was the most dangerous member in the room. “Well, not everyone can be so enamored by wrought tribulation.”

She was immediately cut off by a guttural harrumph from the stout man in the middle. Pinching his thumb between the waist of his trousers and his impeding stomach, he gave the pair a most discerning glance before shifting back to the woman in the crinkling yellow dress. “As the lady stated, we have a good deal to accomplish today.” His fingers, like greasy sausages adorned in metal seals indicating the date of smoking, unraveled from an outstretched hand as he counted the tasks.

“Ways and means, banner approval for new port piers, inspection schedules, crime rates in the merchant district, a new tavern in the Port District…” He ran out of fingers to extend before looking back towards Ere, a smile growing beneath his well groomed mustache. Those very same fingers lifted upward to disperse what Ere could only assume was a heaping serving of candle wax through the finely sculpted whiskers. “And of course, an Elf who has decided to grace us with his presence.”

The crinoline woman smiled as she flicked open a wooden hand fan, decorated in verdant lizards and crimson birds, and began to remedy the glint of sweat that rested on her brow. The flame nearby danced mercilessly and the man on her arm smirked at the intonation of Elf that carried effortlessly across the room. “Though I do say, I’m at a crossroads as to where to begin. I can hardly say a matter of the Maesters is of the utmost concern, though it would be quite rude to have this Elf attend matters that simply do not concern him...punitive to his unimportance.”

Ere cleared his throat, shielded by his rolled up fist, as he chuckled cautiously. “Oh, I would not be inconvenienced by the mere act of waiting. Truthfully, I have always been curious how these meetings work…”

“Oh, have you now?” The sinister twin spoke up.

“I have.” Ere responded quickly. “Though my matter, regarding the Maesters, isn’t strictly tied to their leadership.” He wondered if that might pique the communal interest. The very idea of stepping out of line from the college was not a traditional approach, particularly for one of their ranks.

Myrcella Bochanan

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Myrcella studied each and every one of them. They were like characters in a fairytale and yet this was real life. She thought back at the times that her Father Rorric had returned from these meetings. She delved into the memories, searching for any hints as to which of these people, if any, could be trusted. Was everyone just in it for themselves, all others be damned? Or did they work for the betterment of eachother? From what she had witnessed thus far, Myrcella believed it to be the former.

The list conveyed for the meeting's agenda seemed to be a long one. But if it wasn't enough like one of them suggested, then perhaps they didn't spend a lot of time arguing, instead just went along with whomever had the louder voice or bigger purse strings.

She listened to the exchange between Neremyn Virvyre and the others, watching their body language to see how much it differed from the words that they spoke. Wasn't anyone curious as to why the elf showed up? Myrcella certainly was. She hadn't really seen an elf up close before, nor had she heard one speak. There was so much that she didn't know or understand when it came to a proper day to day living outside of the Bochanan Estate. It was probably evidenced in her eyes, and how the weight of the world was not yet on her shoulders.

"What matter has brought you here?" Rather than beat around the bush about it, Myrcella thought it was best to just get to it. Maybe then, after all was said and done, the others might find reason to be a bit more...pleasant.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

In his gaze, he caught the female twin perking up and staring at the young woman in the yellow crinkling dress. Allowing just the hint of a smile, and way given by the plump figure who stood broadly in silence, Ere looked towards Myrcella Bochanan and nodded.

"As some of you may or may not know, I teach a number of classes at the College. Subjects that are often...well..." He paused, looked for the right words. "Not appreciated by a number of the Maesters."

"Why?" The sinister twin perked up.
"Because I teach an unorthodox form of magic. Druidic magics, based around the Chaos of Drakon."
"Chaos of Drakon?" The plump leader guffawed.
"Yes."
"Everyone knows that the acts of Drakon are calculated." The sinister twin spoke up.
"Yes. So by definition, so is chaos. And by deduction, chaos is natural."
"And the Maesters don't like that..." The female twin piped up.
"They prefer order, as all institutes would. And as result, I receive very little funding for projects and lessons."
"Are your views and lessons the only reason for these...limitations?" The older woman stated behind a waving hand fan, almost as if she already knew the answer.
"No..." Ere responded with a bit of a smirk.

Ere clasped his hands together, not looking to really delve more into the subject. "It is understood by all that magics require equivalent exchange. The druid arts are no different. So I am here to ask for restrictions to be removed on a certain ship on import. My purse is stretched thin on purchase and transit, I am not sure I could manage the prospects of customs and inspections."

 

[Myrcella Bochanan]

Well at least she wasn't getting into trouble by speaking out of turn. But Myrcella was quite curious about Neremyn Virvyre . She hadn't seen anyone like him before. The others of the Council were curious individuals in their own right and she hoped to learn more about them too. Her childhood was over and she had to learn the ways of the world and that included learning how to navigate the different people within it.

Now magic was also something that she knew very little of. Oh Myrcella has heard the stories, read them multiple times in her Estate's library, but she had hardly witnessed any of it herself.

"What are the restrictions on the cargo, if I may ask?" Was it something illegal? Or dangerous? No doubt he was asking to bypass the need to bribe port officials. Myrcella was unfamiliar with the rules of the ports, something that she was now chiding herself on. But there was very little time for her to prepare for this meeting.

No doubt the others would circle her like vultures, eager to manipulate her in their own way, or to walk all over her like a carpet. In any respect, she had to prepare herself for whatever may come.

Most especially if she asks the wrong questions.