Open Chronicles Wolves in Sheeps Clothing

[Lionel Armon]

Another day, another party. Such was the life of nobility and the upper classes, always plotting, always making connections, making enemies, making allies, sometimes a friend or two amid the veiled threats and underhanded promises and back alley dealings.
Such was how countries ran, in spite of corruption and exploitation somehow things managed to run in a way that kept the beast of society and civilization alive.

The political realm was an ocean ruled by sharks, but even those sharks served a purpose and so long as the dolphins kept them in check then the minnows were protected and nature was balanced.
When a new fish entered the political pool they had to quickly find their spot in the food chain or get devoured.
While a metaphorical pool is an apt analogy for the political space, in other cases it's better defined with wolves, sheep, and sheepdogs... And Wolves in Sheeps Clothing.

Alliria: The Trade Center of Arethil.
The city and country were run by a counsel of prominent and powerful merchants.
One such counsel member has opened his mansion for guests to attend, for the wealthy and influential to rub elbows and participate in their endless political games of intrigue with the trappings of a high society soiree.
The wolves circled the sheep... The conniving immoral power grabbers stalking the successful small business owners and upstart merchants and tradesmen, the wolves plotting to sink their fangs into the profits of their weaker fellows, the sheepdogs meandered about, seeking good company amid the sea of foul creatures...

... Lionel Armon did his best to mingle, but his albino and elf-like appearance and sheer white clothing almost made him stand out like a sore thumb, save for the few people present who dressed in a similar style and the presence of nobles and tradesmen of all races and ethnicities.
He held a wine glass in one hand and his other hand he held behind his back in a stately manner as he slowly went from one conversation to another.
During these short few years that he has come to Arethil he has made significant progress in making connections and establishing his presence in Alliria. His goal was to finally establish House Armon as a house of nobility here and begin to rebuild in this foreign land.

Nearly all of the pieces were in place. The property where they will make there home is in the process of purchasing, now Lionel attended to finalize the recognition of House Armon with these other people of high society.
Lionel sipped his wine and scanned the milling crowd with silver eyes, some people he recognized for other soirees, others were totally new faces and this needed to be rectified.

 

[Varys]

Varys certainly wasn't the type to attend displays of political peacocking of his own volition. He didn't come from nobility or wealth, and he didn't have a speck of land to his name. Quite the contrary, just a year and a half prior he'd been a homeless urchin committing petty theft in the alleys of Fal'Addas. The fact he was here now, dressed up in a slick black suit, with his hair tied and straightened to the point of being a stream of silver running down his back made him feel just a little sick.

Even so, this was part of his job. Varys was the apprentice of a very well renowned mage, one who travelled from city to city selling spectacular displays of magic fueled fireworks to noblemen and wealthy families all across Arethil. Varys himself was getting quite good with the techniques used himself, and as a part of his training had been sent to Alliria by his master to ply their trade. Surely, the elf could find somebody interested in purchasing such a rare form of entertainment. After all, what brought attention to one's house more than a personal rainbow in the sky?

Despite his efforts though, the young elf had difficulty blending in with the crowd. He was dressed the part, but one can't change the fire in their own eyes, and Varys's eyes burned with the determination of one who was not content or complacent with their life. They were full of hunger. He mingled with the crowd, politely declining invitations to converse with those who were obviously much more interested in the young, fresh faced apprentice's appearance than anything else. He never understood the forwardness of rich folk.

Part of his job that he hadn't mastered yet was being a showman.

His transmutation skills were prodigious in their growth, but this was an entirely different kind of training. Downing the last of the wine that he'd poured himself upon entering the obscenely spacious mansion, he let's out a rather exasperated sigh.

"He's got some nerve, claiming all this toadying about with the fat and happy folk is training." He mutters under his breath. The sooner he found somebody to sell a show to, the sooner he could get out of here. To be honest, the downright predatory behavior of these people gave him the creeps. He wanted no part of it.