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| In Defense Of Oneself, The Lesser Of Two Evils.; For Kupselion | |
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| Topic Started: Jan 29 2015, 11:50 PM (110 Views) | |
| Sammeln | Jan 29 2015, 11:50 PM Post #1 |
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The heavy dark wood coach was upholstered with silks and velvets to accommodate potential passengers to their greatest comfort on the journey. The dark woods accented by polished bronze and wine colored fabrics. It was pulled by a small team of powerful horses and driven by two drivers, with two footmen that served as guards. The team that had been sent to their esteemed guest had been paid to be quiet, and seemed like an ordinary coach team. It was not until they left official Morrimian lands and into the neutral territories of the Khadian way that the real drivers arrived. The drivers disembarked a few miles onto the way, and new servants introduced themselves wordlessly. Dressed in masks that bore no facial features and black and white attire that completely hid their flesh, the members of the faceless troupe were the hallmarks of the Crimson Claw. Two drivers, two footmen, and with them a single attendant. The attendant spoke for the group in an metallic voice that echoed faintly like a bell. This was not strange considering the source was a woman who appeared to be an elaborate clockwork construct, made of metals like gold and silver but not native to this world. She introduced herself as Anoria, and explained that should their esteemed guest require anything, she would do her best to provide. A faint ticking sound accompanied her very presence, and it was explained that should this become undesirable for the guest, she could ride with the drivers. For a while the journey on the way was typical, the windows open or closed as per the wishes of the passenger. Refreshments of wine, meat, fruit, bread, and water could be provided at the slightest whim of the guest. After a while the coach stopped to explain that for the next leg of the journey, the curtians were required to be drawn as the estate's exact location was kept as secret as little known as possible for the sake of security and privacy. Thick curtains were drawn both without and within the windows though Ice and water were provided in case the interior became too hot. The coach seemed to take random although gradual turns in many directions, likely in an attempt to ensure the rider was disoriented as for their exact location and distance on the way. Eventually the curtains were permitted to be removed if desired as the coach moved along the narrow pass surrounded on either side by steep rocky cliffs. Eventually it came to a wall that went from the floor of the canyon to the top, clearly made of stone from another region, bearing hallmarks of ancient dwarven stone-cutting like one would see in their great halls. The wall bore a tremendous gate of black metal which opened slowly as they approached seemingly of its own accord and closing swiftly as they passed through. Again the travel seemed uninteresting beyond this point, the canyon providing little to see and the way was straightforward enough. A few similar gates were passed through as the route took a few sharp turns and finally the coach stopped for Anoria to offer their passenger a chance to take in the view. The narrow canyon had opened before them, expanding into an expansive box canyon with an elevated plateau at it's heart. Though the walls of the canyon eluded to harsh and arrid terrain, the valley it hid and protected from the world was one of vibrant greens and a river could be seen flowing through it from a waterfall that seemed to stem impossibly from the raised plateau at the canyon's heart. It was like a small kingdom hidden from the world bearing its own small forest, open plains, and likely farmland somewhere on the other side of the plateau. Atop the plateau was clearly the crown jewel of this improbable land. The Dragonhold had been renovated many times over the years. Its most known previous incarnation having been something resembling a ziggurat covered in spires and obelisks. It had been crafted from long lost blueprints and allegedly the architecture had born mysterious powers. When the master of this estate had finally confirmed that no such properties existed in the hideous eyesore, it had been completely altered to no longer resemble that eye-sore. Even with the help of hired spellcasters and craftsmen, even geomancers to alter the very land, it had taken years. But one look explained why the merchant ophite was always so busy. Maintaining these surroundings could not be inexpensive. The Dragonhold was now surrounded by a wall atop its great plateau. Within the wall were eight towers all placed in a compass direction around a central pallace which rose higher than the towers. The tower rooftops were all pointed spires, each a different color. The central palace roof appeared to be flat. The entire structure seemed to be made of white stone, reminiscent to marble or the alabaster of the city of oracles. From the terraces and windows of the towers hung banners of colors matching the painted rooftops of the different spires. Crowning it all, a dark statue of a dragon with half spread wings seemed to survey the entire land below it. The coach would resume its journey towards the grounds, crossing the open fields and through the forest-like gardens until they came to a simple 6' gate in a similarly sized wall that likely ran the entire way around the grounds. Not long after that the coach took a winding path around the central plateau until reaching the top and passing through a massive gate set in the pale and towering wall of the dragonhold. Yet the entire journey, not a single living soul beyond those in and accompanying the coach had been seen. Like traveling into a painting. As the coach came to a stop outside a round gate, the guest was finally free to disembark and continue the journey on foot. Anoria, the mechanical woman, served as their only guide as she lead the way through the round archway into the main courtyard of the Dragonhold. A Daroan style garden complete with koi pond and flora distinct to the region. Crossing small bridges over small man-made rivers and following beside a reflecting pond, they eventually passed the many divided sections of the tranquil garden to come to the cold stone steps on the other side leading to the tremendous doors of the entry hall. Unlike the other gates these doors did not seem to open of their own accord. The doors seemed to have been built for giants, with rings that were mounted 7 feet above the ground for opening the door. From those rings hung chains, and at the end of these chains were small metal bars similar to a very large bit for a horse. Anoria raised a hand to the guest to urge them to wait. “It is in your best interest not to make any sudden movements as they arrive. They are well trained, and should not cause harm; but even well trained dogs might become distracted by something that behaves like prey.” Before a question of to what she might be referring could be asked, a clattering noise similar to knives repeatedly striking a stone surface could be heard. Seeming to have come from some corridor beneath the large staircase two creatures appeared, one on either side of the stone steps. Dark scaled reptiles the size of horses and reminiscent of monitor lizards, they scrambled up the stairs. Black tongues lashed the air and they hesitated near Anoria and the guest, their tongues dangerously close to the newcomer as they took in his scent. After a moment the lizards continued up the stairs, each one taking the strange bit at the end of a chain in its mouth and turning away from the door. They pulled and strained until slowly the heavy doors began to open outwards, the lizards gripping the steps fiercely with their claws as they began to descend them. When the doors were only a quarter of the way open, Anoria gestured for the guest to follow her as she lead the way within. Behind them the doors slowly began to close until a mighty thud echoed through the hall. The interior was warm, and softly lit by sunstone fixtures in the walls and on the ceiling. The great hall was decorated with tapestries from Morimmian, Ashokan, and Sotoan history. Smaller halls and corridors branched off in both directions, as well as stairs leading up wards and forming an archway with their shared landing before branching off in different directions. Anoria guided her guest up the stairs explaining “You must be tired from the journey. We have prepared a room for you to rest in. Lord Eidechse is on the grounds; but has prepared ample time in his schedule for you to speak with him when you are ready. If you find your accommodations lacking in anything or you have requests do not hesitate to inform your attendant. If you wish to eat, the dining hall is empty, but you are welcome to dine on your terrace, in your room, or out on the grounds if you so desire. When you are ready to meet with my master, let your attendant know and the meeting will be arranged.” At the top of the landing, the attendant Anoria spoke of emerged from a corridor. The tall woman made of porcelian could be no other than one of Sammeln's renowned porcelain handmaidens. The living dolls that often acted as silent company as well as personal attendants. Clad in silken finery and moving with a fluid grace she curtsied to the guest and gestured for him to follow to his quarters. -_-_-_-_-_- The presence of the guest within his estate was not something Sammeln could easily ignore while he worked. Moreso when it could affect so many plans depending on what reason this particular guest had come for. The initial communication had simply been a request for an audience. That alone had spoken volumes. A request was a submissive gesture, the cordial tone in which it had been made stank of flattery and pandering. The adviser clearly needed Sammeln for something, or wanted something from him. While the possibility that it was a trap, or an attempt at espionage or manipulation remained, the prospect of beginning to put the Empress's personal adviser into his pocket was too profitable a venture to ignore. He had done so much with Lord Fuhrmann. A small favor, and a little bribe had made the man delay at court for a week. A few more bribes, and a few more favors and the man had delayed an entire season. By the time the Morrimian noble had realized the error of his ways, the noose of blackmail had fit him snugly and kept him in his place. With that Sammeln had caused his lands to crumble, and a rebellion to rise in which he could paint himself among the heroes to the people whose trust in their nobility was failing. How much more could he do with an adviser to the throne? At the very least he would have better eyes in place on the country's interior, or make his face more prominent in the circles of the nobility.... but he was getting ahead of himself. Finally the word had come to him that his guest was ready to speak, and the power hungry merchant was going to do his best to hide his anticipation. The procelian handmaiden's had guided their charge through several floors of his grand library to a study connected with the library's architectural wing. The hardwood doors and their gilded handles opened to present the visitor with a view of the interior. The floor was covered with an expensive Ashokan rug done mainly in blues. The curtains matched this theme and even the sky outside the large glass windows seemed to be coordinating with the aesthetic. Seated at a white desk trimmed with elegant gold designs, the looming red figure of Sammeln stood out even more than he did in another room. The reptile was leaning over papers and books. He was scrawling something meticulous with a quill made of a peacock feather. As the doors opened, one of his green eyes looked up from his work as if he did not know who it was already. “Welcome, welcome. Forgive the delay as I finish this...” Sammeln glanced back at his work and let the silence continue for a few more lines before setting the quill in its golden holder on the desk. Sammeln collected his papers and passed them to the shining figure of Anoria who was standing patiently beside him. The metalic woman took them into her arms and departed the room. Sammeln rose, and bowed towards his guest. “My apologies Lord Kupselion. The tides of commerce wait for no one.” As he bowed one of the handmaidens entered the room and began to draw the curtains. “Correct me if I am mistaken; but you do prefer a less bright environment do you not? Please, enter, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? I trust your stay has been well?” As he gestured a cushioned armchair was brought into the room and set across the desk from Sammeln by one of the members of the faceless troupe. When mention of drink was made the second of the porcelian handmaidens entered the room with a tray bearing fine glassware, and several bottles including a pitcher of water which she set upon the desk. Sammeln gestured and all the rooms occupants save the guest and one of the ever-silent handmaidens left the room, closing the heavy doors behind them. With the doors closed and the curtains drawn, it was considerably darker in the room, though there was still light enough for the reptilian and the subterranean creature that occupied it. “I must say I was surprised to receive your request, and I would be lying if I said it did not pique my curiosity. You were most vague in your communication; but here we are. So, what brings the Empress's head adviser to this simple merchant?” If Sammeln had lips, he would likely be smirking. |
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| Kupselion | Mar 11 2015, 08:37 PM Post #2 |
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Il ferait volontiers de la terre un débris/Et dans un bâillement avalerait le monde
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After the swirl of silks and velvets, after all the automatons and lizards that licked the air in front of his face, Kupselion retreated to his room to have a quiet moment away from all the pomp of Sammeln's estate. He had spent that long journey feeling ill and unsettled, waving away every offer of food and drink and just wishing that it was all over and that his safety had already been secured. He paced about his room, trying on a hundred different ways of approaching what he had to say. As he paced, his eyes trained on the floor, on his nervous feet, he only saw The Hag's age-smitten face and open, rock-lined mouth. He heard her scream still echoing. Oh, Vespasian, everything had fallen apart. Shouldn't he have known that it inevitably would? But he'd chosen to be blind, and now he had to run to the only likely help he could think of: Sammeln. The demonstration of his power was enough to convince Kupselion that the merchant could help, it was just a matter of whether or not he would. And how did you approach an Ophite, a wealthy Ophite, a man who tried so hard to let no one in the world know him, with sedition and treason? He murmured out several starting sentences and felt them sift from his lips to the floor like sawdust. He stared at himself in the looking glass, running long white fingers over his buttoned waistcoat, over which gallivanted colourful knights, leaning into their lances. When the time came, he still did not know what to say. Anoria let him into the merchant's office; Kupselion felt like the room ate him up with jaws of lavish colour and expensive blue dye. He fixed his eyes on Sammeln, refusing to let his eyes wander over the ornate room, knowing that it was surely what the merchant would expect, what he would want. Though he would come to the Ophite seeping flattery and subservience, he would keep his small rebellions. He disdained such excessive displays of wealth, thinking that surely it must be an attempt to make up for some deficiency of the personality, or some hole in the heart, and he questioned that a lizard would keep lizards for his slaves, bound up in chains. Kupselion hated such chains even more. But he had no choice. And he had not choice but to wait, as well, as Sammeln occupied himself with his work for a moment longer. It was a simple display of his power, more effective than all the carriages and automatons in the world. Kupselion stayed patient, his hands knotted behind his back, his chin up, lips pressed tight. He listened to Sammeln's steady heartbeat; he felt his own, still fluttering at Isra's horrible cry in the night. Sammeln's words were as flowered as his estate. Kupselion settled himself in the armchair and took up a glass of water and wet his mouth while the Ophite talked. What was he to say? He couldn't just jump into this bed of nails, he couldn't just say "Well, I came to ask if you'd be interested in deposing our dear Empress." Well, all he could do was continue to be vague. "What brings me here–" he put down his glass, and steepled his fingers, a papery smile on his lips, "–is a matter of hopefully mutual interest." He paused, and let slip the first thought that came to mind. "But first, I must wonder: whatever happened to that proposal you made to the Empress at the ball? I think the status of that would be relevant to this issue." |
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