Open Chronicles Chasing Dreams

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Ashuanar

Vizier of the Red Sun
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Character Biography
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This creed of the desert seemed inexpressible in words, and indeed in thought.

T. E. Lawrence


Deep into the vast, golden expanse there is a place. This place, does not exist just in any one where, but many. For one may go a thousand years and never see it, and another - a day. It is said once you find this place, a place that's never still, you can feel. Those who know it, never tell.

Some seek it out, others stumble upon it. But what is known without a doubt is that it is never he who enters that has made it to be so. For within lie the answers to all of one's mysteries - even those that are tied far beyond one's own reach.



Amol-Kalit
Road to Ragash


Through the thin line in his head wrap, thirsty eyes drank in the scope of all that he saw. An endless arrangement of long winding dunes backed by a clear blue sky - and the sun blazed above. Wind ravaged the caravan that travelled from Annuakat to Ragash. Salitra was now well in hand, and Ashuanar had felt it acceptable to leave some of his most trusted captains there in his stead for the time being. There was another matter that simply required his attention. Veiled under an exaggerated claim of increased skirmishing along the farthest borders of Ragash, he departed for the eastern city. A large caravan of soldiers, carriage and nobles filed evenly down a singular trail through the desert - their way unmarked, but well known.

In truth, well beyond Ragash was the city of Maraan. It was without doubt a particular individual had been spotted there - his sister. Iesha. Unbound for what he'd heard, which had done nothing other than make him ecstatic - that she too had escaped her slavery and been granted freedom!

A rider came up alongside him. Nak'Ehim.

"Vizier, all is prepared for a hasty departure. Two dozen of our finest warriors are aware of their appointments, and their secrecy is assured."

"Excellent, Nak'Ehim. I expect you to be ready as well. We will need to de-"

"Me, Vizier? But I thought you would have me remain behind - in the event your presence is required. I could speak for you..."

Ashuanar's eyes drifted off for a moment and he considered it. He really did prefer to have a mage of his talents in his corner should things go astray on the road to Maraan. He looked to his left forearm. Beneath the white cloth: the Band of Serqet. Perhaps with all it gave unto him he would be just as well without Nak'Ehim's sometimes irritating tone with him. Still... he found it odd that Nak'Ehim was so eager to part ways at this juncture. He'd always seemed quite content to keep himself tucked very closely to him.

Quite odd indeed.

"Very well. Perhaps that is for the best. It would be prudent for someone to be present should the need arise... ah!"

There, the city began to come into view.


City of Ragash
Following day

Ashuanar walked about the city. He'd not been here since just after the lord's Coronation. Due to the Eternum's attack, the city had been left in an ill state. Though any signs of this event were long since gone, and for anyone who was not present on that day it would seem as though maybe it had never transpired at all. A myth. Still, he was as impressed by the grandeur of this city as he had been on his first coming here. The enormous domes of the palace dominated the skyline, a daunting sight when he was reminded of falling from the back of the dragon high above... had he not landed on... that building, there... well he would likely have never survived.

He toured the city's streets for a time, recalling what he could from that day, before venturing to the Madrassa of War. He toured it, as well. He'd taken an interest in the salvation of these young orphans. Though they were not his responsibility, he was pleased to see they were well tended to - and well trained. Shortly after a passive inspection of the grounds, he departed and made way for the Palace where he found himself within the immaculate walls of the Room of the Golden Pond. He stood over it, gazing deeply into the waters in contemplation.

He'd sent word to courtier Medja upon his arrival in the city that he had arrived on an errand for the Empire, and that he would speak with her in person if time permitted. Though in truth, there were far more personal things he intended to discuss with her, and a troubling on his mind.
 
Ahh, Ragash. It was good to be home again - a sentiment the Imperial courtier never thought she'd have, but weeks of travel and warfare had given her something of a longing to return to her old stomping grounds. One might even say she was homesick. The thought amused her. She had spent so much time longing for a change, had that change provided by Gerra, and now she desired to return to normalcy. The cruel irony was not lost on her.

Regardless, it was good to see that the time she'd spent working out the logistics for getting things reparied had not gone to waste. The Eternum had certainly made a mess of things during the God-Emperor's little ceremony, and of course much of the hidden responsibility for cleaning up after them had fallen upon she who pulled Ragash's strings. As ever, those she had in turn placed in charge of the restoration effort had left the city nothing short of immaculate. Controlled chaos had been restored within her home.

This day she found herself in a particularly nice section of the city, not far from where she once called home. The penthouse "office" was only perhaps a ten or fifteen minute walk from where she was currently headed: the Ragashi Palace proper. The ever enigmatic Vizier Ashuanar had requested an audience with her "if time permitted," and, like always, the gears of Ragash turned so smoothly that there was hardly anything for Medja to do. Besides, she hadn't had the time to finish...playing with the general after their brief encounter at Salitra's border.

In due time she made her own way to the Room of the Golden Pond, dressed in her usual formal attire. She found the vizier waiting for her already, looking pensive, and made her silent, listless, floating approach. The court sorceress still wasn't precisely sure what this conversation would entail...
"Well met, Vizier Ashuanar. You wished to discuss something with me?"
 
"Well met, Vizier Ashuanar. You wished to discuss something with me?"

"Ah, courtier," he said as he turned his attention from the depths of the pond to look at her directly. He afforded her a small smile, and then a more concerned look came across his features, "Medja, I would speak with you in regards to..." he took a step forward, "our interaction at Salitra. However... there is something else I wish to speak with you about today. Something of great importance... a very personal importance."

He cleared his throat, and seemed to struggle with the proper words. Then he drew even closer, not eerily so, but cautiously, "and I fear there is more to it than I first would have hoped..."

The his eyes cast back toward the door, as if ensuring they were not being listened to.
 
"Medja, I would speak with you in regards to...our interaction at Salitra."
Medja returned the smile briefly and smugly, at first expecting this to be some sort of confession. However, the Abtati's narrowing proximity, dour tone, and shifty behavior then earned him a questioning look. This was all beginning to seem very suspect.

"I am listening, vizier. What ails your mind?"
She subtly allowed a bandage on her leg to snake onto the floor, certain that at this distance Ashuanar would not notice. Channeling her magic, she used the contact between the clay-infused wrap, the ground, and herself to quickly check the nearby rooms for anyone who might be privy to their conversation...or worse. Nevertheless, there was no movement within at least thirty meters beyond the reach of the Golden Pond. The vizier had apparently picked a very quiet time of day.

Now much more comfortable that this wasn't some sort of trap, Medja visibly relaxed and adopted a much more comforting disposition. For whatever reason Ashuanar had apparently vested some level of trust in her. The least she could do was hear him out.
 
"I am listening, vizier. What ails your mind?"

A small show of relief came over him, and he nodded in thanks.

"I am embarking on somewhat of an unspoken task. Reports from the borders, though true, are exaggerated and hardly require my attention," he began to pace in slow repetitions, "as you may recall my mentioning... I was separated from my siblings as a child. If it were not for the appointment I now hold, I'd have likely never heard of this but..." he paused, as if unsure of if he really believed in what he was saying, "it would seem my youngest sister is alive. And well, spotted in Maraan. I had long held hope that some of my family survived, it seems even better than I had hoped. She is apparently free."

He sighed through his nose, looked to the pond again, "I realize this is likely unimportant to you. Nor would I expect otherwise, but the reason I tell you is this..."

His eyes once more met hers, his face curled into a deep frown, "the fires in the prince's wheat fields were no happenstance. The skirmishes along our borders are one thing, but there have been others - " he paused, looking at her carefully. By now her bandage had long since receded, nor would he necessarily have taken offense otherwise, but in this moment maybe. No, he had chosen to place his trust here, in her, "- others I have not yet mentioned to the other members of the court. Only my personal warriors have been dealing with these affairs, and have answered to me and me alone. The attackers, they are Abtati. Insurgents: rebels following after the undead sorcerer's lies. They have sacked outlying villages and disrupted several minor supply chains... with concerning precision. As I leave to do this task... my trusted colleague, Nak'Ehim…"

He snickered, and almost chuckled. Just now as he spoke, it all began to fall into the place of a much clearer picture. There was something about the spoken word, that truly solidified the thought.

"He has chosen now to display behavior I find... troubling. Ragash is your domain, courtier. While I have given him authority in my stead, he is not above the likes of yourself. Not here - not anywhere. I would ask that you... watch him."

With all he had seen her able to accomplish at Salitra and otherwise, he felt she was a far better candidate than even himself to oust such a traitor - if he was indeed as such.
 
Medja listened carefully to the vizier as he spoke. At first it did seem extremely personal and, admittedly, unrelatable to her. The courtier had never fully grasped the importance of family to others, but she did understand that this was important to Ashuanar. Realization poured over her as he finished. It became clear to her that this was, in fact, business. Her head reacted immediately: "A weakness, something we can exploit, something we can gain advantage and an ally from."

Her heart, quiet as it usually was, told her to hear Ashuanar out for what this really was: a vulnerable request from a man who had no reason to trust her, but did so anyways. This was perhaps an act of desperation, but he had chosen Medja to talk to before anyone else, and she somehow found that...touching. She didn't know whether or not she should be unsettled by this development.

She replied in a genuine and measured tone, cautious but sincere.
"This...raises many questions, Ashuanar. What you speak of is an act of rebellion. Why have you not brought this to Gerra's attention yet? Better yet, if you believe that your lieutenant," She almost hissed just saying the man's title. By the Hundreds he was a loathsome one. "...is at fault, why not simply have him disposed of?"

"And, what I wish to know most of all...how does your sister tie into all this?"

She folded her arms across her chest and furrowed her brow. Something really didn't add up here. There was more she wished to say and there were assumptions she could have made to fill in the blanks herself, but she wanted to hear more, directly from the source before she continued.
 
Somewhere else in Ragash...
(The Madrass of Peace - Historical Archives)

If she had known that Ragash was the place to go to be spoiled she might have come here far sooner. Seemed everywhere one went was constructed in such a way as to be enjoyed fully within a lap of luxury. ...so long as you were someone who meant something, anyway.

"Do dragons keep the lore of their kind?" Fiera mused aloud as she idly strolled from one stack to the next, circling Aivrid. The man (dragon) was presently lounging on a majlis made with hand-woven cushions that likely valued far greater than the collective of rubies in her saddlebags.

"Song? Story? Fable?" Fiera eyed the man and the selection of food they'd snuck in past the Proctor at the entrance. The beer was looking quite tasty as it was rather stifling on this day. "Riddle?" She asked, leaning over his shoulder where he sat to steal an olive off his platter.

Aivrid
 
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Tag: Fieravene

It's time for a story.

Ragash reminded Aivrid of home. Except... smaller. And with more plush cushions. In truth the feeling of gold brushing up against his scales was as comfortable as these awfully expensive cushions were against his skin. Perhaps he'd have to take some back to his lair? They most certainly did not make them in his size. A great many workers would need to be hired. The result would be magnificent. He made a mental note for later.

Of course, he had enough sway in the Empire to make it happen. Here in Ragash's great archives, it'd been less of a matter of sneaking the food past the Proctor as it'd been reminding the man that he could easily remove his head if he so chose. The large platter sat on the table beside where he lounged; very little alcohol this time. He'd yet to discover the secrets to the immunity of such poisons when it came to polymorphing. Still, it seemed that this form had attracted good company, if slightly annoying. He plucked another few fruits from the plate, popping them in his mouth as he continued to read and consider Fieravene's question.

"Not in the same way that you do," he said, tapping the book. "There are few among us who record our work, research, and history in this written form. Fewer still who attempt to create art, music, literature. I can offer nothing for you to read." He closed the text and put it aside, turning to the elf. "Sit."

Aivrid's little human body leaned back in his seat. "While I cannot speak for all dragons, those of my kin were taught in a different way. A large amount of our knowledge is transferred to us when we are born. When I hatched, I could speak more languages than you do now, and I had a greater knowledge of the world's history than every human, elf, or dwarf scholar combined. My mother taught us the way to live, as well as gave us the foundations for us to learn and study magic. While their capacity for it is almost comical, that is one thing I can appreciate humans for. They write down what works and what does not. My mother's knowledge was limited, so I learned from a variety of sources. Once I had grown strong and learned much, I conspired to kill her with my siblings, and once that was done I went on to kill my siblings. Most of them, anyways." He shrugged.

"It is the way I live. No riddles, unfortunately. Of course, I could tell you anything you wished to know. Most stories about dragons get rather... repetitive, I'm afraid." The man smiled, thinking of the thousands of times he'd torched little ones in the past. Even if it was repetitive, it was nonetheless quite satisfying.
 
"And, what I wish to know most of all...how does your sister tie into all this?"

All her questions were quite valid, and well worth answering. Indeed, this was something perhaps worthy of Gerra's attention. But... no, he needed to deal with this his way. He needed the truth - he felt the Emperor would approve.

"A troubling thing, I had never considered... When I met Nak'Ehim he appeared to me a faithful servant. But... I had heard him speaking to one of his associates in secret. An odd thing, but..." he rubbed his chin, "he mentioned the name Iesha. It is not much I know... but, in one of our recent interrogations... that name was mentioned again, as someone aiding in their orchestration.

My sister who they spotted in Maraan - they knew her by a mark. A mark only my youngest sister bore... she bares also that name."


He grinned, "t'would be a sad reality... I have left Nak'Ehim with detailed instructions on my route. But they are false... Nak'Ehim is a powerful sorcerer, and I would not challenge him unless I was sure his death was neccesary... not only this, but if my sister is in league with him, the I suspect she will be present. I believe her appearance to be no coincidence..."

If she was even truly there at all. It had after all been Nak'Ehim's scouts to bring this information. In either event, it could be a trap.
 
The idea of draconic books appealed to Fieravene only in the manner of the size in which she envisioned them. Gargantuan tomes the size of a house - the amount of trees felled for their crafting mind-boggling. She hummed amusedly to herself, brow raising at the command to sit, and languidly turned on her heel to round the end of the floor cushions. Taking up a comfortable repose next to Aivrid, she claimed a golden goblet of beer for the telling. Tangy, earthy, smooth, and a bit more bitter than she liked, but refreshing all the same.

Born with all the knowledge of his ancestors, what a trip that must have been for the young drake. She could nearly relate in her own way, Oblivion's knowledge seemed nigh endless at the best of times, but that was neither here nor there.

So what did she wish to know from the dragon? Tales of his devastation? Years of Arethil's history long before the Age of Wonders? If he'd ever encountered a sky whale (not likely, they'd been extinct for several millennia)?

Fiera leaned her right arm over the back cushions of the majlis, wry curiosity tugging at her lips as she delicately held the goblet between two dark hands, "What did your mother teach you about the Kama Sutra?"
 
Tag: Fieravene

What an odd question.

Aivrid considered the question for a moment. "You mean, love? Eroticism and the like?" The man shrugged. That was one of the main things that his mother had needed to teach him; the gathered knowledge he had been given upon birth hadn't been entirely clear on the matter. After all, times changed. Once upon a time, when dragons had been numerous, perhaps his view on things would have been different. In this age they were sparse. When the chance was given, a dragon had to ensure his bloodline would continue, and continue strong.

"For us, particularly in this era, it is much different than your view. Such things are luxuries even too expensive for myself. We dragons are few, and it is important that our kind continue, far into the future. Someday I will die -- by my children's hand, preferably -- and when that day comes I wish to die knowing my progeny have been given the potential to rule the world. The nature and emotions of my mate are irrelevant. In fact, rarely have I stayed more than a few nights. While nothing is more important than one's blood and kin, there are other matters to attend to.

"And yet..." His eyes turned to Fieravene, and for a moment they seemed more like those of a dragon than some small human. A fire only found in Aivrid burned within them. "Those carnal desires of one such as myself are greater than even those cursed by lust among your people. When two dragons meet in such a way, the earth shakes."

His intense gaze subsided suddenly, and he leaned back in his seat. "I assume it's quite a sight, though I have not met anyone who's survived such an encounter. Perhaps I will need to experiment. To polymorph others," he mused.
 
Ashuanar's reasoning was quite sound. Gerra wasn't known for his subtlety and the half-giant's response to this whole ordeal would likely be to have Nak'Ehim and everyone the Abtati had spoken to within the last month rounded up and publicly executed by Jerik...via pillar of flame. That would of course leave the vizier without the answers he was seeking.

The Vizier of the Imperial Army was more clever than Medja had given him credit for, to be sure. In spite of what could only be very dire circumstances, he had formed a well thought out strategy to counter the apparent scheming of his subordinate. The courtier was not only intrigued - she was willing.

"Very well. That is more than enough for me. I will speak with my agents and have them track Nak'Ehim's movements, and I will see what I can find regarding your sister as well. If there is something to be found, I will find it."

She brought a thoughtful hand to her lips. This would be one of the more purposeful affairs she had gotten herself into as of late. For once, she was not just doing something for entertainment or personal gain, but for the selfless aid of another. It was so uncharacteristically altruistic of her.

"If for no other reason than to see that worm, Akanamar, writhe," She started. The words were almost hollow, as if she was saying them only to reassure herself. "And, perhaps because..." She trailed off. She hadn't even intended to keep the sentence going, the words just sort of spilled out and she found herself floating there awkwardly, hoping that they had been spoken in a low enough tone that Ashuanar hadn't caught them.
 
The corner of his eyes crinkled as he nodded thankfully to her, his gaze cast down. He had been unsure if she would see things at all as he did.

"If for no other reason than to see that worm, Akanamar, writhe,"


Fortunately her own disdain for Nak'Ehim seemed to fuel her willingness to aid him. Another interesting thing he had failed to truly appreciate. Medja disliked his lieutenant vehemently, and she had proven to be quite shrewd indeed.

The realization almost solidified the supposition in his mind.

He met her eyes with a smile in his eyes, and turned to leave. So engrossed in his predictions of what was to come, her hushed words fell short of his hearing. But almost as if to address them he turned to her once more.

But instead he said, "I will be leaving before nightfall... if what I suspect is true I imagine Nak'Ehim will make some kind of move in the night to warn..." he almost said his sister, "his cohorts..."

He paused for a moment, eyes cast down once more, and then he nodded his farewell and departed.

"Thank you, Medja," he said with a half turned head before he left.

Medja Fieravene Aivrid
 
Perhaps for the best, Ashuanar seemingly hadn't registered her trailing statement. He was a distracted man, understandably so. There was still a lingering thought on Medja's mind as the vizier turned to leave, but maybe some things were better left unsaid, at least for the time being. Instead, Medja merely raised a hand as if to wave goodbye and watched the Abtati man leave the fountain room.

"Stay safe, Ashuanar..." She muttered softly.

Now alone, Medja had some things to contemplate. In truth, she was struggling to realize why she felt compelled to help. She stared into the fountain, pondering over her own reflection, and sighed. She removed her headdress and knelt down. She had much to do this eve, but affording herself a moment's rest was a satisfying luxury.

After a few minutes she uplifted herself and exited the Room of the Golden Pond. There were many spies and agents she could task with watching Nak'Ehim and finding Iesha, but there were two in particular that she knew would be particularly efficient. Luckily, she knew where to find one of them...and she was nearby.

Donning the headdress of Ragash's Unseen Hand once more, Medja made her way for the Madrasa of Peace in search of a particular dark elf woman...
 
Someone else might have taken that heated gaze of Aivrid's as a sign of danger. Fiera, on the other hand, felt a devious smile press into her lips. The elf leaned closer towards the raging inferno contained within the (not) man seated next to her.

Don't threaten Fi with a good time.

"If you'd like to reacquaint yourself in this form," the hand currently resting over the back of the couch moved to lightly draw a single finger up his spine between his shoulder blades, "I would be quite willing to assist."
 
Tag: Fieravene

Most dragons don't even try... the little ones are hilarious.

"Ha!" For whatever reason her touch made him laugh. Perhaps he hadn't been entirely sure how to react; the finger running down his spine made him feel odd. As a dragon, such a touch would barely register to his senses. His human form lacked the thick scales in exchange for thin, vulnerable, sensitive skin. Moreover, his laugh sounded more like a human's. He rather hated his voice in this form. Still, he tried his best.

The not-dragon's eyes stayed on the elf; he had an almost goofy grin on his face. Clearly the intricacies of human expressions escaped him. Normally he'd just smell how the little ones were feeling. Even so, the look in Fieravene's eyes was clear enough to even Aivrid. "My my, how forward. Unfortunately I've had very little alcohol today, and I do not intend to defile a place of learning. Perhaps at a later hour," he offered.

He paused, then leaned back in his seat. "I've told you about myself, Fieravene. It's your turn. Tell me, where are you from? You are not of the Abtati. You're a dark elf, yes? Rare to see one of your kind in such a place. What do you seek here in Amol-Kalit?"
 
The elf batted an eyebrow at him, "I know no direction better than forward." But that was fair, she could respect a creature who respected the hallow ground of knowledge. The goofy grin and shriek of laughter were a curious addition to the conversation.

Satisfied for the time being to simply enjoy the company (and the food), Fiera leaned to pick a vine of fresh grapes from the tray, "Yes, dark elf," some cheese, too, "some call us drow. Not an apt name for my people if you ask me, such a simple word hardly denotes origin but most humans can't be bothered to learn of the various races of dark elf. I am of the El'eth Surrah - not to be confused with the dark elves of the eastern isles," Fiera shook her head and gestured with a hand, "they are not, not the same. My people hail from the Underdark and we do not step foot on the surface lightly or often."

Hmmm, oh - fig spread. Perfect.

"I am what you would call in ... voluntary expatriation. Seeking enlightenment beyond the blackness of my skin and my soul. In search of greater knowledge, diverse culture, exotic company, and a good cup of coffee."
 
Thankfully, Fieravene wasn't particularly difficult to find. A bit of asking around in the lobby of the Madrasa of Peace revealed that the dark elf had in fact made good on Medja's offer to "get in literally anywhere in Ragash," and the courtier had recalled her expressing interest in coming here. It took only around ten minutes of searching the halls for her to find Fiera at a table conversing with Aivrid, who was once again in his human form.

"Good evening, you two. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything..." She began politely before eyeing an open copy of the Kama Sutra and a tray full of food lying on the table. Her mind went reeling back to their drunken exchange in Kerkhana the other day and she pressed a hand to her temple. "...and that you're not going to make a mess of my library."

Though the sorceress held her usual level of composure, her shoulders were taught and her gaze was tense, a clear sign of a level of stress that she was failing to hide. She hovered to the table and pulled a seat out for herself, joining the duo and popping a grape into her mouth. She wished it was wine.
 
Ah, now things are progressing a little more to my liking.

The sorcerer had business to attend to this evening. With the vizier choosing to leave just before nightfall, it granted him a perfect opportunity. He had intended things to run their course for the most part. But... well after seeing the route that Ashuanar had chosen to take, well, he couldn't help but make his own... adjustments. They were subtle enough he was confident that the vizier - or anyone else for that matter - would be none the wiser. Especially once he'd familiarized himself with a particular spell, then any indication of changes would be undetectable by even the most keen of eyes.

But he'd better make haste if he were to get this done with well enough time.

He entered into the Madrassa of Peace, and hurriedly made his way into the archives. He was dismayed to see that there were others present, but luckily they seemed engrossed in whatever conversation they were engaged in. He could listen in, but he had other things to - Oh, perfect.

He could see the courtier Medja enter in and join them, which nearly made him roll his eyes. Perhaps he could go about his business without having to speak with her, and even better if his ducking in between a set of bookcases allowed him to elude her. In an attempt to appear casual, he quietly made his way along the outer perimeter of the room using the rows of texts to obscure him. He found his place, and he delved into the isle.

One privy to the layout of the archive would likely take notice to the section he was in, and a keen eye would know the selected tome. An interesting spell book, but one might think is rather redundant. Then, he moved to depart in the same skulking way he had entered.

Fieravene Aivrid
 
Tag: Fieravene Medja

Enlightenment...

Clever little elf, wasn't she? Obviously this 'Kama Sutra' whatnot was an area of deep study for Fieravene. There was no curse, but there was certainly lust. Aivrid kept that in mind for later. Still, he was not interested in such things at the moment. For another dragon he would have made time, but the little ones viewed the matter as a casual activity; one to be done when they were in the mood, more for immediate pleasure than the fruits of such labors.

"The Underdark?" Now, that was something of which Aivrid knew very little. Dragons tended not to like being deep underground. Moreover, so few from that realm came to the surface, and so few who went down ever reemerged. "The elves of the eastern isles... well, I cannot say we are on friendly terms." He vaguely remembered burning several towns in that area.

"Enlightenment, mm, I understand." In truth that was the only goal worth seeking; finding what lies beyond and truly understanding oneself. Funny how Aivrid, in all his years, had yet to achieve his own enlightenment. The man's gaze shifted, catching Medja as she entered the library. "Speaking of exotic company..."

Obviously, something was troubling Medja -- she looked awfully tense, but Aivrid was not in the mood to drink, nor make a mess of her library. Instead he asked. "What stresses you, Medja? Please, relax, this is your home. Nothing should bother you here." He glanced at Fieravene, as if to ask that she not try to relax Medja in the way he thought she might.
 
Fiera was busy scraping fig jam onto a corner of pita bread and fishing for a bit of cheese and cherry to add on top. The (not) dragon noticed Medja first. It was the Courtier's voice that drew the dark elf's attention from the food and an innocent half-smile from her lips, "Wouldn't dream of it."

The elf bit into her snack, took up her beer once more and eased back into the cushions, propping one leg over the other. Aivrid's look askance gave her pause, eyebrows lifting at him as if his silent accusations were unfounded.

"Wot?"

She swallowed, batted a derisive brow at him, and washed it down with a gulp of beer, "That vase was broken when I got here." Honestly, she was an elf, not a scapegoat. Fiera turned her gaze back to Medja, attentive to what troubles it was Aivrid saw in her.
 
Medja put her elbows on the table and leaned on them, then wrenched her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. On any other day a broken vase and a bunch of crumbs on a table might've earned Fiera a spanking, at worst (or best, depending on who was asking), but the courtier was a bit too stressed to concern herself with such matters.

"Indeed, Master Aivrid, nothing should bother me here. Alas, bother has found me." Ragash was such a dull city until a little while ago. It was her city, the place she thought she could go to get away from the stresses of the Empire. Now she was wrapped up in this mysterious coup. "Fieravene, I have a request. It is equal parts favor and offer of employment. I...I don't believe I can trust anyone else with this particular task."

She glanced up at the duo and noted that the she-elf was currently preoccupied with a mug full of something bitter smelling. Swill, by Medja's standards, but it seemed strangely appealing right this moment.
"Is there more of that drink? I could use a drink...perhaps later," She shook her head and continued. "I fear that Vizier Ashuanar may have gotten himself into a spot of trouble. Likely more than he can handle..."

The courtier slumped forward on the table and rubber her temples. What on Arethil had gotten into her? This wasn't her usual self.
 
Nak'Ehim carefully retraced his steps, tome in hand. He'd have read it in place and returned it there and then had he not felt the need for haste. He whispered a spell which opened the tome to the page he sought, and he scanned it as he moved. His lack was quickly resolved, and he gently closed the book and set it down without aim.

As he exited the final isle into the main hallway and stepped out, he turned for the exit. But he could not deny a glance back nearer the center of the archive to the others - and locked eyes with Medja. Across his face spread a smile that laughed at her, then he turned and was swiftly gone. Just outside he met with one of his associates and made way to rendezvous with the vizier.

Out of sight, he cast a spell upon a scroll - one he would later have delivered to Ashuanar in place of the one he already possessed.

Medja Fieravene Aivrid
 
  • Thoughtful
  • Cthulhoo rage
Reactions: Aivrid and Medja
Tag: Fieravene Medja

This is why I don't let the orcs enter my cave.

Even with all his wisdom and knowledge, Aivrid could not tell if the company he'd chosen was excellent or horrid. Fieravene was like a black cat, knocking over what she wanted to, eating what she liked, and crawling over everyone around her. Medja was a knot of stress hidden behind a well-constructed facade; it was fascinating to see the cracks in that image forming before his eyes. Manipulating them hadn't been a focus of his, but perhaps he could try, now that he'd begun to see their weaknesses... good, or bad company? At least they were interesting.

"Please, Aivrid is fine," he said to the courtier. "The Kherkhanites call me all sorts of things, but rarely my name. Here..." He raised his arm and looked at the back of his tiny human hand. "I can blend in." It was a most fascinating experience. Still, his request was more because he found the titles rather funny, and Medja was not very funny. It was a difficult contrast. "I'd be happy to burn down the source of your stresses, if that would help," he offered. The dragon was suddenly difficult to read; if he'd been joking it wasn't clear.

With the idea of them all drinking together on the table, Aivrid was going to object vigorously, but the information presented about a certain Vizier of War got him thinking. If the Vizier was killed or otherwise unable to perform his duties, there would be a void on those higher spots of the divan... while he had little use for armies, more minions were not unwelcome. "Do tell us more," he said. The man glanced around, waving over one of the servants nearby and telling him to bring them wine. The right tool to loosen up people and their tongues.
 
"For you, my dear," Fieravene leaned to take Aivrid's cup from him and set it on the table before Medja, "I have favors aplenty and always more to drink. It's not wine," the elf eyed the drink, "but it's not half-bad."

A pointed ear flicked at Aivrid's musings and a pointed brow lofted at the Courtier, "Please, I do love a good intrigue."