Fable - Ask The Ambassador | Empire

[Aivrid]

Tag: Fieravene White Swallow | Open to Empire

If you want something done properly... you send a dragon.

---

​

Despite the dragon's immense size and majesty, his black scales could often hide him under the cover of darkness. The little ones would be happily eating their dinners with their families, or setting up camp to rest, missing every sign of the great being's passing. Then everything around them would be consumed by his flames, and Aivrid would watch and laugh as they screamed in horror, their flesh peeling, their bodies piling.

Today he was not here to hide, nor was he here to burn -- but should the Shtakmat State prove themselves fools, perhaps they were not worthy of joining the Empire.

The behemoth tore over the desert sands, the dunes seeming to part in his wake. As the castle Shtakmat came into his view, he wondered again why the little creatures even tried to build such high walls, when they knew it could not protect them from dragons. Nonetheless the dragon continued, knowing that now that he could see the castle, its guards would soon be able to see him as well.

Aivrid pulled up as he approached the castle, soaring and circling overhead -- for a moment he blocked out the midday sun from the view of the men below. After several minutes, long enough for those below to be convinced that the dragon was not here to attack, Aivrid descended to the castle's entrance, setting down a hundred meters outside the gates. They had been told to expect an envoy from the Empire, not a great wyrm. The stood tall, his neck raised above the castle's walls.

The rest of his entourage would arrive soon, but it was important that they saw the dragon first.

 

[Fieravene]

Riding across those very dunes, tailing the massive shadow of the dark dragon was a dark rider on an equally dark horse leading a small entourage bearing the sigil of the Empire. Not having the luxury of bypassing terrain from the sky, the group arrived a short while after the great heathen had touched down upon the land. Bringing her horse to a slow lope, Fieravene gazed upwards at the veritable mountain of scales and spikes, her awe hidden only for the sash that presently covered her face.

She'd dealt with dragons before, typically with their claws and fire, so dealing with one diplomatically would certainly check off her list of things I had not yet thought to do.

The dark elf was not here as a representative of the Empire - that was Medja's job to fulfill. She was here as what amounted to be a keen set of eyes and ears for things of valuable nature that might otherwise be missed by others. Gerra's interest in her skills had remained in the fetching business, which suited her just fine. So here she was. Playing fetch.

Fiera approached the front of the dragon, her horse curiously dead to the idea that it was idling by Arethil's mightiest, and pulled her face covering away to peer upwards. She smirked and then turned her attention to the arrival of the rest of the entourage. Medja, in her way, making a statement just by being there.

The dark elf could not help but laugh at the situation she found herself in.

 

[Medja]

A dragon. A Gods-be-damned dragon. Gerra was a powerful and effective leader, but the man could not be less subtle if he set off a bomb in a crowded square. Aivrid the fucking Destroyer, no less. On a diplomatic mission. Everything about this made Medja seethe. Well, almost everything. A familiar dark elf woman was accompanying the...entourage...on their little trip to Shtakmat. She had only briefly had a chance to converse with the woman prior, but this presented an opportunity for her to do so further. There was something admittedly enrapturing about Fieravene, and the courtier wished to analyze exactly what that was.

The courtier approached in a horse-drawn chariot, a recent acquisition following her time spent with the good Prince Mago. It was a comfortable thing that she had commissioned for herself, ample cushion and room provided in the back for Medja and potential company to lounge in, separate from where the driver stood at the front. It even had the means to erect a cloth cover over the rear portion to provide respite from the harsh Amol-Kalit sun.

Medja heard Fiera laugh as she approached, no doubt equally blown away by the audacity of the whole situation. It was a sentiment that she shared, though she found the ordeal to be markedly less humorous. The courtier gave her a polite smile as her chariot came to a halt at the castle's walls.

"A pleasure to see you again, Fieravene." She greeted before glancing up at the circling dreadnought of scales and muscle. "Though I do wish our meeting could've been under less...extraordinary circumstances."

 

[White Swallow]

Winding roads and steep paths led up to the mountain fortress. Many stone ridges split and broke here; with a thousand nooks and crannies in each corner, just who all could have hidden here?
Before the grand Shtakmat castle, there was just enough space for a small group, but for a colossal dragon... it might have just been too narrow for a proper fit without having to lean into the ravine beneath.

The white flag of the golden harrier and arrow in flight danced in the wind as ever. The sun travelled across the sky as any day before, the clouds winded their ways over the mountains.
The soldiers in the court trained even through the shadows of the massive beast that flew above them not so long ago. They will only stop when ordered to.

The sentries atop the walls and towers watched with steel nerves. Battle readiness never quite leaving their side, even when the black dragon landed before the gate. The odd company of the people that came after and it's banners soon made the occasion clear as day.
Whispers were exchanged between the lines all the way to its officials, and not long after, a man in drab white stood at the top of the gate with a scroll at his side.

 

[Aivrid]

Spoiler

M E N A C I N G

Tag: Fieravene Medja White Swallow

Move along.

---

​

Medja was correct; Aivrid was not the first choice for a diplomat. The dragon rarely had a hand in the affairs of the Empire, despite being among its most prominent officials. The Hand of the God King that accompanied him was more experienced in dealing with these sorts of matters and with these sorts of people. In truth Aivrid had barely spoken to his given entourage since they'd departed.

It'd been a long trek to Shtakmat. If he'd been alone the trip could have a tenth the time, but if he'd come alone the little ones would probably be responding in a different way. He wasn't exactly wearing the colours of the Empire. This was a nice enough castle, and Gerra preferred such things intact. It was harder to build than to destroy, though the latter was much more enjoyable.

A single purple eye cast an annoyed look at the two more interesting folks in his entourage. He said nothing, but the message was clear. He might not be the first choice for diplomat, but he was the choice. And where a dragon went, he would not go unnoticed.

His gaze turned to the little man above the little gate. "Come down," the dragon boomed. "So that we may speak on even footing." Those in the envoy, who'd spent enough time watching the dragon, would notice the barest of tugs at his mouth and eyes. Amusement, if they'd ever seen it before on his face.

 

[Fieravene]

The dark elf pipped a few more drawn giggles before managing to calm herself and flicked tears of mirth from her eyes. Fiera glanced over at Medja, amusement still as evident as the sun was hot, "Lady Medja ... I would not have it any other way."

And the rumbling, thunderous voice of the great dragon broke the silence, the force of which she imagined could cause this castle's walls to crumble if he simply belched at them. Her gaze shifted from the Courtier back up to the behemoth's regal skull, peering at the shadow of his maw where his teeth flashed like a hundred thousand swords glinting in the winds. Was he smirking? Did it matter? She looked next to the one he entreated with such kind words, elf eyes honing in to the tiny speck of a man way, way up in the ramparts.

"I think we're being begrudged," Fiera remarked to Medja.

 

[Medja]

If nothing else, Medja was glad that the she-elf was extracting enjoyment from this ridiculous affair. Her laughter was admittedly contagious, and the courtier let a polite laugh of her own slide. Just as when they had briefly met before in the Emperor's arena, Fiera was a treat to be around.

"Come down,"

But then there was that racket. Medja knew that the dragon was likely fully capable of shifting into a form more capable of commencing negotiations within the city, but that would've defeated the entire purpose of sending the leviathan in the first place. The dragon actually seemed to be enjoying himself, lording his mighty and majestic form over the fortress' inhabitants.

"I think we're being begrudged,"

Fiera seemed able to make out far more detail than she could at this distance, a blessing from her elven physiology, no doubt. The sorceress' scrying and earthsense would do little to help her here, so she simply waited for her dark elf companion to giver her updates.

"Of course we are. This is a farce." The courtier agreed, giving a smirk of her own. "Any sane ruler would know that to deny parley with a 100 meter dragon is to condemn your city to incineration."

 

[White Swallow]

The pale robed man gazed up at the imposing dragon. He found it astonishing how they degraded such a noble beast to such a low task.

»I fear I cannot depart this gate. I'll be staying up here so we can see face to face.« The man in the white robe mused towards the dragon, Bobe was his name, and his appearance was that of a seemingly stern man.

»However, we are pleased that the Empire has come to us first, and I reckon the other Amirs, including Amir Farid Ibn Baha of Lazular will be absolutely thrilled over the news of this meeting.«
Clueless people sent to be clueless in foreign lands. Truly interesting, he thought to himself. Each warlord wanted peace, by their own terms, their's was not and never automatically valid.

The men of the Shktamat state manning the perimeters were fearless in the face of death, they only exchanged glances among themselves. Those still young and showed fright were quickly ordered to face it.

Bobe walked closer to the rim of the Gatehouse, his donning voice addressing every one of those beneath the Shtakmat Shadow.
»However, before we may continue. Our leaders were otherwise occupied, yet they were caring enough to send a letter I can deliver on their behalf.«
The sentries didn't seem to care much by how still they otherwise stood. One of them on a tower casually leaned against a man-sized barbed bolt. They were not toothless after all.

»An official proclamation of offers, signed by the Sayyidu-... hold on,« Bobe peered onto the scroll lettering. Seemingly confused. At least so it looked like.
Bobe regained composure: » It is truly in fact from Dai Rahma... -no...-no, not from him either, so it seems. Too busy I assume, nevertheless. Hmm, Dai Estfyandar did not sign it either.«
He temporarily moved the letter scroll from view as he crossed his arms behind his back.
He let out a long sigh. » Even the great Dai of Shtakmat has no time, - He told me this himself as he sent me...on my merry way here. He was busy staring at running water last I've seen him...«
Bobe Ibn Fathi's head gently shook before he looked at each pair of eyes belonging to the officials.
»As the current representative of the Sahiyi Henremdi State,« his voice took on a more authoritative tone, his expression was barely emoting.
»I must inform you that the Sahiyi Henremdi State will only speak to people of equal mettle, not a...circus.« His gaze wandered from the dragon to the mage.
The soldiers set the bolts.
»We have nothing more to speak of. I am giving the Empire a fifteen minutes grace period to remove yourselves from the Shadow of Castle Shtakmat, after which, stay at your own peril.«
Turning around and departing, he didn't even return a glance. With a single swipe of his arm, he threw the royal scroll into the air to fall among the outlanders.


It was empty.


(Nid out)