Imperial Eyes (Damage Control Part Deux)

[Andavariel]

Timestamp: End of the third cycle of Cryxatum, Era XI PF.

She had a few hours to spare that day. The sun streamed in through a handsome pair of windows that gave her a view out onto the streets of Frigid River. The paper work had eased, and the stress of contact with Mr Marsilia had eased as they had figured out a way to work with each other. She was still nervous though as next to nothing was known about the fate of Governor Kalres. Her position was more and more precarious as more of his Cabinet made themselves know; men who mostly knew nothing about her and would not bother with telling her anything if they could get away with it.

Which was mildly annoying, to say the least of it.

Perhaps it was lucky for her then that a young messenger she had not seen for near 2 cycles chose those few empty hours to burst in through her office door and tell her the news she had been waiting for. Things had finally been set in motion; and preparations must be set underway here.

She ordered the man to sit, and went to the small wooden cabinent and selected a random bottle of wine. She never drank the stuff herself; it had even been there when she arrived, but it might prove useful. And so it did. Through gasping breathes, the young man (named Jharren) mumbled the message through. He knew nothing of the whereabouts of his riding companions, but they would limp in later that cycle having never reached Midpoint.

"The Empress bids thee to ready Lauryl for her coming, Mistress, for she now comes to sort out her troubled homeland"

He stopped, leaving Anda sitting on the edge of her not so comfortable office chair. Another gasp for breath, Does the man have lung trouble? I should send him to the local physician, if we have one ,another gulp of wine.

"Lady, she brings the Imperial Army."

Wordlessly, she paid him his due amount as they had agreed, and promised to find him work. He left, and she sat alone in her office, alone with her thoughts. Imperial eyes would soon be looking over the mess that was Lauryl. She needed to warn the people that needed to know, and she needed to do it quickly. The Empress could be her in as little as a cycle, though that would be unlikely.

She grabbed some of the horrible writing materials she used for jotting notes, and scribbled off notes to Andrea, Vylle, Amie, Cullyn and Grent

Serale,

Have received news from Imperium. Please attend me in my Office at your earliest conveniences, so that we may discuss this situation.

Regards,

Andavariel

P.s. Will rearrange for Town Hall, if all have time to attend, but office is more cosy, and has lockable doors.

She folded each piece, and sealed it with red wax. Still twitching with nervous energy, she left her office to find someone trust worthy to take the notes round, and went back to her office. There was no point in going back to her rooms; she would only have to leave again in order to write missives to Zinn'sunn and High Peak.

But who in those places could they trust? Honets?


OOC: Please don't post here unless Maddyn gives you the okay - I need to get it verified that my message got back from audrey If it didn't, then this post is void and should be closed/deleted.

[Maddyn]

Unlike Pirvan's missives throughout Frigid River some seasons earlier, Andavariel had somewhat more luck in gaining a higher percentage of those offered. She hadn't asked for Lord Heron to show up after all which was where the once Acting Thane had bungled up - anticipating the Elf actually caring about politics openly was a simple mistake to say the least. Ameilia Natalyi was the first to arrive with a curious little fellow sitting upon one shoulder. Eimile McPhearson.

Some six feet in height, Ameilia was a slender woman who betrayed an Elvish lineage somewhere in her ancestory; an inevitability for the majority of Lylles given their Matron's racial traits. Angular features, icey white skin that wasn't so much as unhealthy as appearing Esh'lahier-like from her grandmother with long black hair kept in a bun with streaks of silver running from her temples that'd been there since birth. Her garb was simple, a white blouse, a brown leather belt about her waist and pale blue skirts.
Eimile, while uninivted by Anda had been claimed by Amie on the way to Anda's Office. A little gnome with bright orange dreadlocks, green and blue tattooing all over and a purple and emerald green kilt. A rat hide cloak draped over his shoulders.

Next it would seem that a grizzeled old man of some six foot and built like a brick wall, wearing Frigid River's uniform and a pair of shortswords slung upon his hips was to arrive. The man's face was deeply tanned with scars cutting across his cheeks and down past his right eye; an eyepatch covering that one. Stubble and a nop of grey hair pulled into a ponytail being his garb. Unlike Amie however, Cullyn remained outside rather happily leaning against the stonework - making sure he was known to have been in the vicinity and was currently more intent on lighting a pipe than catering for Andavariel.

Rushing forwards muttering, "I'm late, I'm late, Cetheron pluck my beard I be being late again." the colour-blind and somewhat gruff Dwarven Aedile. Short and almost as broad as he was tall with a nice girth about his waist; Grent had a closely cropped fine black beard and general Dwarvish aesetics for the plain of appearance. His clothing however left much to be desired, a lime green tunic; orange brigga and a cloak of marooon with gold stitching down the bottom. His feet were covered in thick dark brown boots. Seeing things in black and white as a means of colourblind rather than the standard cases of having only a singular dilema in colour visiualisation made for odd fashion sense.

OOC:
Vylle, Andrea, post ;p Skay, if you want to be dragged along by Grent feel free I guess.

Cheers, Maddyn

[Vylle Fyrrialt]

For the past month or so, since his arrival in Frigid River, Vylle had spent most of his time secluded in his manor, due partly to the task of perusing endless documents on statistics and censuses in Lauryl and scribbling numbers and an awkward short-hand writing onto infinite lengths of parchment and reams of paper to create, refine, re-create, and ameliorate his planned budget for the province of Lauryl and the taxation process he would implement to have the budget. Unfortunately, the turmoil and chaos that had characterized Lauryl for the past few months was beginning to have very adverse effects on the economy. The province was plunging, it seemed, into the throes of economic depression. The numbers would have to be re-worked yet again before he was given the opportunity and Pirvan's regime was given the control and power for him to implement the taxation reforms if he wished to have quasi-accurate projections. Constantly editing and improving his numbers had occupied much of his time, so he was rarely idle in the candlemarks he spent holed up in his manor.

The primary reason for Vylle becoming a bit of a recluse since the tail end of spring, however, was the ill feelings the populace of Frigid River had been having toward the Dracon of late. His departure from Frigid River to deal with business in Sherian around the time that Mystique threatened to go to war with the town to obliterate Pirvan's offending presence in Lauryl had stirred misgivings and hateful words about Vylle. By the time the merchant had returned to Frigid River, upon hearing that the Empress had declared Pirvan to be the Acting Governor of Lauryl, thus giving his government authority in the province, the general public had declared Vylle to be a spy for Mystique, and had developed a loathing toward the entire Dorin race. Suffice to say, a peasant who spotted Vylle on the street was none-too courteous, to give a euphemism.

In fact, on the handful of adventures he had made into the town, he had been the victim of slander, cursing, and on the receiving end of thrown rotten fruit. All this before the incognito Dracon had even announced his taxation plans. Meephos only knew how the peasants and cives of the town would react to him then. If he were not still blasphemed as a spy then, he would be denounced as a miser for his spending and as a misanthrope for his taxes.

When the missive arrived at Vylle's doorstep, the public's mood had not changed a bit. It was with relief and anticipation that Vylle considered Andavariel's message. The dire situation in the province, once considered a stronghold of Imperial loyalty, had come to the attention of the Imperium. The Dracon in the disuise of a Dorin was anxious to hear what news Pirvan's advisor had received from the Imperium, and what it would mean for the province in the coming cycles. Since he had learned of Pirvan's disappearance, Vylle had possessed a consistent level of anxiety, both for the welfare of his friend and for the threat Mystique still posed to what remained of Pirvan's government. With the acting governor missing, likely kidnapped by that conniving lecher Chamelon, and the Imperium occupied with the rest of the tumultuous Empire, Mystique was just as much a threat to Frigid River as it had been before the Empress's naming of Pirvan as acting governor.

The very brightening that Vylle received the message he prepared to go to Andavariel's office, to finally be present in the events that the cabinet must have been dealing with while he was locked up devising careful expenditures, and to hear what this urgent news would be.

After ordering his chaffeur, Rosencrantz, a long-time employee, to ready the coach and the horses, he demanded the presence of his recently hired valet, Trerice, costing him seventy Crowns a cycle, and changed into attire that was more elegant and befitting of a public appearance than the less fine, simpler things he had been wearing for the past few cycles. In complete opposition to the simplicity of his dress since he had ceased stepping off his property, going outside only onto his back lawn, he decked himself out in the most exquisite costume he had had tailored for himself before he had left Taralon. It involved a flowing red cape with expansive sleeves, a matching frilled blouse beneath an open gold waistcoat and gold breeches, and of course his treasured silver necklace with the triangle amulet

His coach was not recognized by most of the people Vylle past on his way through the streets of Frigid River from his manor in the outskirts to Andavariel's office in the town proper, and he hid behind the curtains in the coach's windows to avoid the sneers and the accusations of the people. Reaching the office, he stepped out of his coach, hoping fervently that his cape swished gracefully behind him, and moved toward the doors of the office, past a man smoking his pipe while leaning against the wall of the buildings.

"Serale," Vylle greeted in passing, completely unaware that he was speaking to Cullyn, the master of Frigid River's Rangers Guild, before he entered the building and made for Andavariel's office.

[Andrea Marsilia]

Serale,

Have received news from Imperium. Please attend me in my Office at your earliest conveniences, so that we may discuss this situation.

Regards,

Andavariel

P.s. Will rearrange for Town Hall, if all have time to attend, but office is more cosy, and has lockable doors.

Well, now, aren’t we getting a little more intimate…

At first it had been nothing but traded glances, soon, a harsh word, or two, and now, they were exchanging little handwritten notes, all dolled up with red wax, and such. Sooner or later we’ll be exchanging endearments…if Ioannes can stomach such a thing.

The thought of that was enough to make him want to throw up…but on the whole, he guffawed heartily, all the same. It had been a long time since he’d had such a stress-free, good-natured old laugh. While Andavariel, his near-namesake, was turning out to be very much like a particularly curmudgeonly old dracon, he soon found himself starting to respect her for her talents, and not so much for her shapely elvenlike behind and intense feminine eyes. Ever much the stereotypical male, physical attributes tended to overshadow more important ones. She, for one, had a distinct sense of how exactly to use her feminine wiles.

On the whole, Andrea knew, she had a very stout heart…to know what she wanted, and to push, all the same, just about everyone, if need be, to get there.

The former Trade Minister actually considered it a compliment that she’d, once or twice, stepped on his toes, whereas he managed to ruffle a few of her feathers from time to time…on occasion, just for sport.

And they said one could never have a healthy working relationship with persons of varying species…

Ministra, that dammed elf, was proof positive of that. Not only was she able to tame the growly Darian, she managed to melt gruff Palacrisis into clay, the very same stuff she molded with expertise, with but a mere flick of her fingers, a simple grasp of her hands…

The thought of the First and only true Lady in Tirisfal was enough to give the Chancellor a smile as he sauntered past, on his way to where Andavariel had set the meeting. If the fool had been of a more jovial mood, he would have uprooted a few colorful shrubs to plant upon her (undoubtedly) impeccably-clean manner of a desk. Typical Andrea, ever so horticulturally challenged. The least he could have done was select some flowers. Alas, being Andrea, he managed to spirit away yet another armful of wild apples. Green ones, red ones, shiny pink-and-lime ones. Some, he could most certainly eat, with others to give away. The rotten ones he would throw at a fellow going by the name of Honets Greysinger, honest!

Whispering like a spy in the throes of possessing State Secrets, he manage to convey a wide smile, all the same.

“What’s up?”

[Skay Ravendi]

The draconess was working barely for a cycle as an assistant aedile, been in Frigid River just for a cycle or so this time and things were already heating up. Then again politics, whatever that meant, were never calm. Her boss, the real aedile, received a message inviting him to a meeting with other city officials. And that was just a too good opportunity to miss to meet people of Frigid River who had higher positions in the city. She would have to meet them sometime anyway, so this was a perfect sometime. It didn’t take long before the draconess was happily tagging along with Ironstone to the place of the meeting. Though Skay did leave a bit earlier and simply waited for the dwarf near the building where the meeting was held. Being late was not her choice. And fortunately with a bit of running the dwarf seemed to be just in time. More or less…

For some reason stepping into the room was not as easy as she expected it to be while still in the office. If something would go wrong here, her newly gained job might simply blow up right in her face and she could say serale to it and hopes for something… normal. Nothing could go wrong now. In Tirisfal everything had been easier. Back then she was looked at with same respect as at any other person. Now she was a draconess. One who wore her true form. She wished she could walk into this room wearing her human form. She wished she could walk into this room as an equal from the very beginning, instead of one who would be looked down. Oh she really wished everything would be different. And at times like this, the obsidian and gold scaled draconess wondered if she made the right decision by choosing to remain in this form.

Still… she walked in. Right after the dwarf. People. This room already had people. A depressing yay crossed her thoughts. Softskins. Softskins. Gah! It was quite a while that she did not have this feeling. A headache. A small and unique one. The Call kicked in again. ”Serale.” Her voice echoed as lightly and pleasantly as possible right after Grent’s words. Who was a dracon here? A moraden. There were a few possibilities, very limited ones too. Then fright flashed in her eyes. What in the world was the gnome doing here?! Skay was certain that he owned the shop and could have nothing to do with this… meeting or whatever it was. And here he was. In this room. How many times could she possibly end up with him in one room?

Her eyes settled on a human a few moments later. Somehow familiar. Too familiar. Tirisfal maybe? Hmm, maybe. So there might be someone she knew from the time she wanted to forget and ignore. And he would know her. That could only mean trouble. Unwanted and undeserved trouble. Well, maybe the human would not remember her. After all back then she was almost human and had never really talked to him in any way. Perhaps just saw him there. In Tirisfal. Unfortunately. He probably didn't know her name either way. Hmm. Things just turned worse for her stay in this city.

The good point was that with the call in her head and the sorcerer in her eyes, the draconess forgot about how disappointing and discouraging this meeting might end up for her. Now she felt only being a draconess in light, green and brown clothes, wings, golden and black, folded behind her back, a dagger by the belt and an ivory staff on her back. She felt only that, for a few short moments completely forgetting about being the assistant aedile. Either way most probably knew. A draconess gaining that kind of a position in a town which did not have dracons, except for her and maybe a few others who she did not see or feel with the call. Till now. Now she knew that there was at least one more dracon. Well… that would not take long to find out.

OOC: *does want to be dragged along with Grent* Yes.

[Andavariel]

What ever Andrea thought of the Lady Advisor's domestic habits, she was something of a clutter bunny. She had hurriedly drafted up some notes to the towns that she believed would co-operate, as well as a missive to the commander of castellian keep, and had then set about adapting her office to serve as a private, cosy, and draught free meeting room. This involved piling the stacks of scrolls and parchments in any available cupboard space and leaning on the door to make sure that it clicked shut properly. The fire was well stoked, with some extra feul set by, and on the now clear desk was a carafe of unnamed red wine, and some glasses.

She had five chairs in the office, one of them being her own desk chair that she carefull reserved for her own use. She had arranged them in a semi circle, facing the fire. The walls were bare, except for the odd tapestry that had been there when she moved in. The Lady Advisor was as she always was, decked out in the well worn clothes she normally wore. They weren't formal, but they served her better than awkward skirts and formal costume. Her hair was loose, and cascaded down her back in the sort of manner that would inspire bad poetry and balladeering from the sort of lad who had enough time on his hands to read bad romantic literature. No rouge adorned her face, and no jewellry was there to compliment her complextion. In fact the only thing that reall adorned any part of her was the ink stained on her normally elegant hands.

She was sitting her own chair, staring into the distance (or into the wall, depending on your perspective) when Amie and the gnome arrived. A keen observer would have seen a small break in her geniune smile welcome to the local woman who had so recently proven to be a friend and allie. A mystic might possibly have known the reason, but the break was passed over and lost in the subsequent chatter of friends and re-introductions, as Andavariel enquired after the health of them both.

There was a quick smile to the curt Ranger Cullyn, and a grin for Grent.

"Not at all, some of those that I have invited appear to be dragging their heels. Please, all of you, take a seat if you like, and help yourself to the red wine. If you would like something else, I have some rose in the cupboard, but nothing of any real quality at present."

It was at the moment that Vylle greeted Cullyn that Andavariel felt the beginnings of a migraine coming on. The dorin's head appearing round the door caught her with some surprise. Could this mean that he is not what he seems, or is it just a coindicence? I didn't think this wine was THAT bad

"Ah, Serale Mr Fyrrialt. It is good to know that you are still in town these days, please take a seat if you can find a chair!"

The migraine sucked the life out of her friendly expression, it was true, but she was trying to be friendly to all her guests. The Dorin had garnered such a bad reputation during the last few months that she almost felt a little sorry for him. Almost; but the migraine meant that all sympathy was spent upon her own plight. And he was rich enough to deal with anything the town's people might throw.

She re-filled her glass of a few hours before, and took a sip, gesturing that the dorin should do the same, just as Mr Marsilia put in a characteristically dramatic appearance. By now Andavariel was expecting no less of him, and she whispered back, her eyes animated with mirth (or the reflections from the lamps and the fire.)

"Settle yourself down, and we shall begin! Wine is there, if you would like refreshment"

She settled herself back in her chair, and was about to begin speaking when a dracon, with gold and black colouring, marched in through the door. Andrea, if he was paying attention to her face, would have had the satisfaction of seeing her mouth drop open ever so slightly. I knew Grent had hired someone new, but I would never have figured him as one to hire one of them! She swallowed involuntarily, and was as much put out by her own loss of control as by her lack of fore-knowledge about the dracon.

"Serale, and...Grent......is this who you....?"

[Vylle Fyrrialt]

“Good brightening, Lady, er, Andavariel?” Vylle returned, rather lamely, as he strolled into the office converted into an impromptu conference room. He realized, then, that he had not caught the surname of Pirvan’s advisor, and for this he apologized profusely, saying, “I’m very sorry, I do not know your surname to properly address you.” The woman was owed her respect, for despite her rather frugal and unadorned appearance, she was a woman of rank and status in this cabinet, possibly the person in the room with the greatest influence over Governor Kaldres. With his absence, however, she appeared to have taken on the role as the chief administrator of his staff, taking it upon herself to lead Pirvan’s cabinet, arranging this meeting and keeping a handle of whatever affairs she kept a handle on. Vylle was hopelessly uninformed on this topic, having kept to being a recluse since his return to Frigid River.

Regardless, this business meeting was somewhat of a relief to him, forcing him to leave the safe confines of his manor and socialize, something he had not done at all except with Trerice and Rosencrantz, and as laymen servants, they hardly provided anything valuable in a conversation. He trusted that his manners had maintained their edge of sophistication in spite of their lack of use. Whatever his own failings, however, Vylle seemed to perceive some sort of strain or labour in Andavariel’s salutation to him. Completely oblivious to the splitting migraine that coursed through the dragon’s head because of his mere presence, and the danger to his identity and reputation that this continued correlation between his presence and Andavariel’s headache, Vylle was left entirely bewildered as to the reason. Placing over himself his collected affectation, he tried not to show his suspicions. And they really were just suspicions. He began doubting his thoughts as he took a seat. Had it been so long that he had had genuine social contact that he expected people to have a distaste for him? Or had the murmurs of discontent amongst the peasantry of Frigid River penetrated Pirvan’s cabinet? Was he not safe from the wild accusations here in this room? But if Andavariel thought him to be a Mystique spy, what would he be doing here?

Dusting these thoughts under the rug of his mind, the Dracon masquerading as a Dorin gladly took the carafe of wine and poured himself a glass, and sipped it. Like a true Meephosian, he frequently relished in such indulgences as alcohol and the pipe, amongst other things. Much of the time Vylle had spent loafing about his manor had been invested in the consumption of spirits and wine, but mostly the latter. This wine was not particularly good, but it was tolerable.

It was as Vylle was lifting the glass to his lips that something tickled at his mind. Something appeared in his head that had not been there moments before, and at first he was uncertain of it, until he thought back, and recalled a man in the Black Phoenix House of Trade while the Dorin mobs stormed up the stairs. He remembered an insolent woman on the street corner in Alleria Prime’s Domicilium, and he recollected the sense that had filled his mind during the public assembly on the Sherian Inquisition. It was the Call. Affirming this, only a second later, a Diantar Dracon stepped into the room.

A rush of panic flooded Vylle’s heart first. It was an exhilaration of fright, his heart plunging into icy water and sending a burst of terror through his blood. He hoped no one had noticed, and hastily his mind raced to find a suitable, inconspicuous reaction to the appearance of a Dracon. What did the people gathered there expect of him? What could he do?

As it once had before, a seething hatred boiled up in him again, and he realized his grip on the glass threatened to break it, and set it down before he did. Vylle was torn between his desire to remain professional and the loathing that his family had bred in him for his own kind. Dracons were disgusting, inferior, despicable. They were demon-spawned and perverted by the taint of Aeternia.

His sabre sat in his coach – the Dracon had chosen to bring it with him because of the hostility of the local populace toward him. No, just killing her was not an option. Even lashing out verbally was a risk, for he was meant to remain professional and collected in this meeting, for the sake of stability and actually being productive. But this was a Dracon? Indubitably she herself felt the Call as well, and she would have known that there was another Dracon in the room. That alone was reason enough for Vylle to push for her expulsion from the room, if not from the government in Frigid River, but there was also his personal revulsion toward his own race that did not belong to the Fyrrialt house, who were superior to the Dracon race. Fyrrialts were, of course, dragons denied their rightful heritage, so claimed Vylle’s parents. Jorel had begrudged them their royal lineage.

When Vylle noted Andavariel’s shocked reaction to the appearance of the Diantar, he was still unsure of what to do. The advisor appeared to be surprised, but he could read nothing else, no repulsion or extreme dislike.

Vylle, in his indecision and the quiet rage that blackened his heart, blurted out, “And what is this? The daughter of a Cyraxian has been employed by this government? I know not where her wages are coming from, but I shall authorize no payment to any scaled freak!”

[Andrea Marsilia]

Andrea was, somewhat unfortunately, busy composing a letter.

Typical fellow, somewhat spaced out in mind, as well as in body, he was ready to hear all and listen to but very few. After all, what with having given attendance to many a meeting, he knew what was of importance in these little sit-downs, and what was not. Hadn’t service in Tirisfal taught him that?

My dear Moranor Andares, The Pynx, Medonia, Enamoria. Greetings from Lauryl! Good Aetheria, who would have thought that either of us would have reached such profound heights? Yes, indeed, I know, Kalendryas in all Her Glory does indeed pass us by when we are mutually having such fun. So, how are things with you, dear friend? Did I hear the rumors right? You, Governor ad interim of Enamoria? Yes, indeed, it must be such a sight, for after all, hadn’t…

His mindless musing was interrupted by a shout. No, several as it would seem. Turning his head towards the noise, he couldn’t but help give something of a suppressed smile.

Oh, this indeed was entertainment, at least as much entertainment as any bored municipal official could expect in the midst of all this saber-rattling chicanery.

Taking an apple from his trove and taking a large bite, Andrea sat back to munch on his fruit and watch the interracial fireworks.

Who knows, maybe I can learn something from it, at any rate.

[Maddyn]

Sighing softly as she watched the proceedings, it always seemed the way that just someone had to go and spoil things by being a racist bigot. That it was some overgrown walking puppydog just made things worse in the Lady de Lylles opinion - completely ignoring her own tendencies towards those of acceptable origins. Glancing about though and at the rather immediate lacking of support for the well... yes... Amie had to concede that indeed that yes Mr. Fyrrialt was indeed correct in his opinions about the Dracon that Grent had brought along as the new Assisstant Aedile. It was just that you didn't usually voice those same opinions when in the room with one of the only people in Frigid River still capable of making arrests within the city.

Not when the Right to Expression clearly forbade anyone speaking out in a way that only caused disharmony or problems.

Diana, soon enough and she'd have to give each and every member of Frigid River's council some universta's clothing, sit them down in a classroom and explain to them everything from law through to etiquette.

What Amie hadn't counted on as she glanced between Grent who's expression remained obscured thanks to the beard and then at Anda imploringly was just how Eimile Mc'Phearson would react. The little orange dreadlocked, kilt'd and sufficiently green gnome was bouncing up and down and wearing the kind of expression that made any sensible bartender start removing the more expensive bottles of drink and shifting them to out the back room somewhere.

"Here now ye lazy son-o-a-bitch-o-a-Dorin!" going for the rather correct terminology in what the gnome figured both insulting and yet rather proper too. Not to know of course about Vylle's own Dracon heritage. Skay's was just a tad obvious. "What you be thinkin' there laddie running off on yer high horsie when all the fethin' troubles be coming about and smacking yer Thane on the noggin' and ...an... an' mekkin' demands like you've got some fethin' right ta be doing em ehh ya Mystique spying mutt!" the gnome, shouting and because of that rather heard clearly. There was good odds that he'd been drinking earlier and still hadn't quite gotten over the side effects.

While it was true that quite a few Mages tended to use herbs and alcohol as a means of loosening the minds boundaries so that they could access 'Clarity' for arcane workings; Eimile took things to extremes when it came to his workshop's constructions. Normally sensible, abliet with gender issues and a rather poor case of fashion that was only rival'd by the colour-blind Dwarvish Senior Aedile Ironstone. Now, it was likely the little fellow was going to need a straight jacket or something as he bounded down from using Amie as a perch and went to rush Vylle as only a gnome knows how.

And all the while Cullyn couldn't help but laugh.

Eimile, forgoing arcana which would've been rather unethical was moving to climb up Vylle's leg and make his way to meet the Dorin eye to eye. Which just so happened to involve a hearty climb before fully intending on headbutting the Dorin in the jaw. Noses gave the little fellow a hard time for climbing, so he never bothered with right between the eyes.

[Skay Ravendi]

"It is a..." Ok so 'pleasure to meet you' would have to be delayed till this new thing would be sorted out. Skay's eyes reverted from Andavariel to some sort of a dorin. So she had no time yet to find out who was who in Frigid River. And so she had no idea what position this dorin had in this village or town. her tail swished once, then twice. It would have been all fine if the furball would have said that outside, or in her office, or in any tavern, well wherever, just not in a place and not in a time like this. So this was majorly annoying. It was after all the brightening when she was suppose to make at least not a totally negative impression to all the council members and it started this... amazingly.

"Yes, indeed, she has been. You may call me Skay from now on, instead of daughter of Cyraxians. Will be shorter." Skay answered simply and while her voice was light, her stare was icy. However the next thing that she was going to say, was a bit interrupted. And the draconess was damned surprised to find out that the gnome was on her side. Seriously, she could no longer understand mages of Frigid River. Not one of them. So the only logical explanation why Eimile could be on her side now, was that he was either drunk, drugged or under a spell himself. And well since any of those were still on her side, all further ponderings were put aside.

Eventually though, then the gnome would be done with his climbing and Vylle with... well whatever he would do about that situation, Skay continued. "If it really is money that you care for so much though, sir, then I can pay half of my paycheck to you. I'm sure it will cover all of the percentage that might come from your pocket into my pay, so no stressing. As for being a daughter of Cyraxians, you should look into the present rather than the past. At least I do not hide, like some certain people, so all what's left from the Cyraxian taint is this form."

It was however after these words that both her gaze and her voice shifted into completely cold ones. "However, I am staying in my position and unless Mr. Grent will fire me, you will have to deal with it. If you see me doing something wrong in my job, then please come and do tell and I shall quit myself. But now please, stand aside, this meeting has a different purpose." Two yellow-green serpentine eyes stared into the dorin. They almost defied him, the draconess knowing very well that this was not going like planned. She did however know that she was not the only dracon here. And having past dealings with some certain dragons, she knew that something else was amiss here as well. Her gaze had quickly glanced at the four suspects when she spoke about being in her true form. And now, just out of curiosity, she would find out, which one of the four held the taint of the cyraxians, just like she did.

Other than that, she was annoyed, stressed and would have been blushing if it weren't for the lovely black scales. So now, sitting down somewhere, when Vylle would move would be nice. Very, very nice. Before doing that though, she glanced back at Andavariel "I am sorry for this." The only time this day, her gaze was sincere and apologetic as was her voice. There was perhaps a bit of nervousness left in it though, since Skay had no idea if Vylle had the power of firing her from her job as the assistant aedile. Not like that would be the end of the world. Just... majorly annoying.

[Vylle Fyrrialt]

(OOC: Wow. I’m really sorry about taking this long to reply. For the past two months, Alleria just has not been a priority.)

“What the-? Get off of me you dirty! What?” Crack. These were the noises that followed Eimile’s rapid ascent of Vylle’s leg and torso to give the Dracon a solid thump on his jaw with the gnome’s forehead. “Ioannes!” The merchant blasphemed as the agony seared through his jaw. “Ouch, you fething bastard! Tiny little godsdamn lawn ornament! What in Aeternia are you doing you deranged little freak?” As he cried out in pain, Vylle swatted at the crazed creature that had just slammed its forehead into his jaw with a paw, hoping to dislodge the gnome from his face if the conniving monster had not already leapt off. The Dracon hoped to send Eimile crashing to the floor of the office in compensation for dealing a head butt to his jaw.

“Who in Aeternia is this maddened creature, anyway? And by Aslan I swear I am not a Mystique spy! Should anyone refer to me as that again I shall… I shall… I am not a Mystique spy! How could I be? I have not been privy to the goings on of this cabinet since the disappearance of the governor! I haven’t even been in the province! I have been attending to an investment of his Imperial Excellence Pirvan Kaldres in Sherian. What good is a spy if they are in no position to report? And what might I report on: my projected budget surplus, my income levies?

“And you!” Vylle spun to face Skay, the revolting Diantar Dracon. With a well-placed forehead, Eimile had unleashed the raging, venting monster that had been developing within Vylle’s mind since the guards had first waylaid him at Frigid River’s gates, accusing him of treason. Having spent the past month locked up in his manor, unable to walk freely about the town for fear of being lynched had only fed the roiling pandemonium brewing under the thin film of the man’s usually collected exterior.

“You whore of the pits of Aeternia! Insolent demon, if I could I would have you hanged. In Sherian you would not even be permitted through the damn gates of this town. Oh woe is the brightening that an Aslan-fearing, law-abiding merchant is hassled more at the gates of a civilized town than a scaled aberration!”

At this point the steam of Vylle’s raving lunacy was exasperated, and he found himself the centre of attention of the room, having just shouted himself breathless. Had his face not been covered in fur, it likely would have been the hue of Jaedaxian beets.

“Skay,” the Exchequer spat dejectedly, feeling as though his own tantrum had defeated his cause. “I leave it to your employer to determine how you shall be paid. He can take it out of his own wages if he insists on having you, but I shall not support the payment of a Dracon in this government. Nor shall I partake in any meeting where such filth is present. Therefore I take my leave of you, Lady Andavariel, Lady de Lylles, Sir Marsilia, and both of you, sirs,” he bowed at Cullyn and Grent, “Whose names I have not yet caught wind. Adieu, good counsellors. Ask after me when you determine to hold a meeting where I should not be forced into the company of Jorel’s demented creation.”

In seething fury Vylle shoved past Skay and exited the building, if no one offered any hindrance to his escape.

“Rosencrantz!” he shouted to his coach driver, “Back to the manor!” Vylle leapt back into his coach, and still fuming he held his sabre in paw, imaging the satisfaction of driving it into the heart of his worthless brother, Ghalib, that traitorous bastard who had betrayed the House of Fyrrialt in Zenith and Nadir. As Rosencrantz sped away, back to the manor, something entered the Exchequer’s mind that had not occurred to him while he was taken by his own fury. It struck him then that as he left the presence of the Diantar bitch, she would lose the sensation of the Call, making it blatantly obvious who the other Dracon in the room had been.

“Feth!” Thud. Those were the sounds of Vylle cursing, and slamming his paw against the inside wall of his coach.

[Andavariel]

(OOC: Hey, apparently I know the feeling. Sorry I'm late)

From shocking outbursts to slapstick, could it truly be anything else in a town like Frigid River? Probably not, Andavariel was ready to concede, but her face now wore an open grin. She didn't appear to be worrying about the effect of this grin on her compatriots, but she approached the diantar with a smile, and she held out her hand to Skay.

"Serale and welcome, Skay. My name is Andavariel Klen-Ais, I serve as an advisor to the Governor of Lauryl. Please take a seat."

Maybe Andavariel was in shock, for she certainly didn't seem to be acting like someone who had just witnessed disgraceful behaviour from one of the cabinet members. With nary a glance at the preoccupied Andrea, she turned to the room at large, waited until things had calmed a little, and spoke her piece.

"I received a message from our belov'd Emperess Audrey. It came this evening, and it goes something like this.

The Empress bids thee to ready Lauryl for her coming, Mistress, for she now comes to sort out her troubled homeland."

She paused for a moment, to gauge any reaction from the luminaries of Lauryl.

"I don't know whether she truly comes, but it appears her attention is going to be turning this way again, at least for a little while."