Griever: The Ravenlords, part 6

Log Info

• Title: Griever: The Ravenlords, part 6
• Emitter: Whirlpool
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Un'eth, Tenoc, Braelnoir, Merek, Halani, Thyrson
• Place: Ravenlord's Fortress: Dining Hall
• Time: Sunday, November 14, 2021, 9:27 PM
• Summary: Diplomatic envoys from Alexandria, representing the city and the Silver Empress and led by Cryosanthia have made it into the Ravenlords' Lands and are working their way up to meeting the Lords themselves. They have passed a sentry, a statue, and now face dinner and an elder. The entrees are served, simple fare of goat and vegetables. The Egalrin meal is started with an oath, which the diplomats recuse themselves from, and followed by silent eating. They observe, and move on to dessert, which is eyeballs which observe them. Candied Goat Eyeballs. Fresh. Poppin' fresh. These might be unsettling for some, but the Diplomats are hardened envoys and adventurers, and almost all dragon-blooded. So, they'll eat just about anything. The only shock, really, is that it served at a haute couture event. Well, some things are higher than others, especially when you're a bird. Finally, they ask what the group has brought, and Cryosanthia spills the relevant big bean. The Griever's guantlet lets him see through tricks, all their deceptive military plans are useless. If you thought the eyeballs went down badly...

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Cryosanthia  6'9"     291 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman.
Un'eth       6'2"     275 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    An ebon-scaled female Sith-makar.
Tenoc        7'0"     280 Lb     Sith-Makar        Male      Tall, green-scaled Sith'Makar hunter.
Braelnoir    5'11"    146 Lb     Human             Female    A tall, pale Acanian woman, branded in silver.
Merek        5'10"    215 Lb     Human             Male      A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes.
Halani       5'4"     120 Lb     Human/Xian        Female    Shortish, dusky skinned woman with almond shaped eyes.
Thyrson      7'6"     436 Lb     Giantborn         Male      Northern giantborn. Chiseled features, blonde stereotype.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  As the GM  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Whirlpool                        Otyugh                      A pile
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

Previously

The diplomatic envoys are seated, with nothing to do but wait and observe a wall mural that depicts the past glories of the Egalrin Empire. Very glorious, very past, it seems all their best times are behind them. They are barely a footnote in history, but first on the Griver's list to destroy. Very curious. After waiting, wishing for their equipment, waiting some more and making impertinent noises otherwise known as conversation, an elderly Egalrin arrives. He commences a ceremony, makes some sort of vow and pledge, which seems to assume the ambassadors agree with their outlook. One that seems to imply that they are the proper heirs to the Millennium kingdom, and should rule it and the world.

The crowd has its head bowed. There's no repetition, not yet. Instead, the thunderously stomp their feet on the ground at the end of the statement, something you can easily join in if you want. At this point, servers enter the room, carrying covered plates. It's time for food to be delivered, yes. The servers too are Egalrin, dressed too in simple robes closer in design to the one's you bear yourselves.

Finally, the elder Egalrin raises his gaze to observe each of you, carefully. Braelnoir is especially stared at for a time.

"We will march upon the Usurpers soon. It is nearly the time. You speak of the usurpers having an item of power. You will tell me more of what you know, so that we may take it from their grasp use it to reveal all they are to the world, and then let their weakness at last consume them. We will then feast on their weakness."

Now

Cryosanthia remains seated, and attentive, and suddenly concerned. 'Feast upon their weakness', could mean a few things. Unpleasant things. Her scents switch to ones of wariness, before she suppresses them completely. Think of the cold tower, of icebergs, of winter turning to spring. Perhaps it will not be as she fears. Perhaps the dishes will not hold heads, or hearts, or the eyeballs of foes.

She might make a diplomatic faux pas.

Getting stared at is part of the job, most times, and it's not an uncommon occurrence for Braelnoir even off the clock, after her... makeover. The hair really does draw attention, it seems.

That probably, the human surmises, why she is getting a lengthier eyeballing than most from the elder. The talk of doing war, and the spoils thereof in the near future, makes for a subtle tingle in the spiraled scales beneath her sleeve, but she suppresses the urge to scratch.

There's a play here, she's sure of as much, but not exactly on the finer matters.

The call for words from their host prompts a turn of her chin toward Cryosanthia, though her eyes hold their original target, a brow arched.

Still, she affords a quiet, "Thanks." to the server as whatever sustenance is on offer is put before her.

Thyrson sits quietly, enduring the scrutiny with pained dignity. He also looks towards Cryosanthia at the question from the ravens. They seem very sure of themselves, too; he can relate.

"I speak for the Raven Lords," says the elder. Speaks for them. Is not one of them. Are you not even talking to the Man In Charge?

Apparently not, but then, the Raven Lords seem ... potentially distant.

"first, we wat!"

The food is delivered, yes, banquet style, carried out by the servants. It is a simple affair. Roast lamb, well cooked, a simple aside of vegetable matter. The birds dig in but with a carefully mannered approach. There are table rules here that seem mostly opaque to you, but they don't seem to care about you eating.

Cryosanthia does her best to pick up on the obscure table manners, it's something a good diplomat and Speaker should be aware of. She makes subtle cues to the others, Braelnoir and Halani in particular, emphasizing a certain fork or knife before using it. Thus, she mirrors avians as much as she can.

At least the both have nests.

She wonders next if the Egalrin believe Sith'makar sleep in trees. Which makes her realize, she isn't sure whether Egalrin do or not, she simply assumed. Visiting the Aerie in the Redridge might have been an idea before coming out here. Oh well.

"Okay!" She says enthusiastically, eating.

While she does, she considers how much she should reveal, and in what order. It's a delicate situation which requires great wisdom. She has... a little bit. What's the worst that could happen?

Let's find out. "So, you said the gods of magic dies backwards and forwards throughout time. How does that work exactly? It might relate to the piece of him he has."

Braelnoir might have had, if things, likely a number of things, had gone differently.

She absorbs her sister's subtle cues and tries not to be overly... individualistic on the matter, so as not to screw the pooch for the diplomatic angle of this affair.

She's there in case things go wrong, not to ensure they do, after all.

Being broached about work by a middle-man isn't anything new in her outfit, even the Old Man rarely met the client directly until well into the contract.

She sidelongs to Cryo as she starts to try the give-an-take on information.... best, as she's still chewing on a piee of mutton, and no one needs the facial.

Right?

Thyrson is polite throughout dinner, insofar as he knows. He wraps himself in dignity to ward off the chill from his lack of subject matter expertise.

So many ways it can go wrong, but fortunately, nothing is jumping out at you just yet.

At least, nothing you're aware of.

Dinner is resolved, then desert arrives. Desert is ...

...eyeballs. Fortunately, not human eyeballs, but candied lamb's eyes. They didn't waste those lambs.

Thyrson looks at dessert, then considers. He reaches out for his bloodline, letting the dragonblood take over just a little. It /is/ possible that he's just eaten sheep while in gold dragon shape, so... he embraces it and goes after this lovely delicacy.

Eyeballs.

They stare at her, she stares back. It's been a while since she was in the swamp, sucking on a fish-head. Eating eyes is nothing strange to Cryosanthia, but not something she associates with fancy meals. Candied versions are likely even better.

Should she offer some candied crickets? She always has a bag on strange missions. Perhaps later.

Without hesitation, she tests this delicacy.

Braelnoir blinks once in response to the bobbing peepers set out to stare at them all. The good news is, the lids and brow are where all the expression comes from.

The bad news is, well, how can you tell if that unwavering stare is 'please, eat me, first, I'm tastier than all these other suckers' and 'you unholy monster, how could you do this to me..?'.

The Korite has, in her life, been forced to munch on things, especially ranging in Bludgun, that would make a billy goat puke.

Only missing the one beat to lock pupils with dessert and identify that what's out there is lamb rather than longpig, she plucks a candied jelly sphere from the tray like a pickle from a jar and pops it in her face.

They're quite decent, actually! They're also ... very fresh.

Very.

Candied, and fresh. Yum! If you like that sort of oozing, wet pop in your mouth, anyway.

Not everyone might.

"These are great! Can I have some more?" Cryo says, before she thinks better of it. She does enjoy the pop, and the ooze, and the sugar of course. She hunches a little, looking side to side.

So far, so good, although she wonders if there's some symbolism behind it.

Hopefully they don't have a plan for winning hearts and minds, in mind.

Braelnoir considers their hosts for a spell as she snags another ungulate jellyroll, chewing on it for a time and swallowing before, "Izzat brown sugar'r maple ya use?"

Thyrson continues eating. It's not his favourite, no, but he can at least pretend he's a dragon, crunching down on a sheep while it's still fresh! And hey, this way, he doesn't have to pick the wool from between his teeth.

"Very good, yes. Have as many as like."

The elder Egalrin pats his stomach once, then promptly turns and regurgitates some of the eyeballs into a bowl brought to him. For the young ones, you see. That was fun to watch.

(It wasn't fun to watch.)

"Now, we have delayed long enough. Inform the court of your discovery, so that we might strike."

Cryosanthia watches. She decides she will not mirror that action. She adjusts the old and unflattering robes, and squirms in her seat. She raises her neck straight, her horns pointing tall. Her mind starts to wander, how was she planning on feeding her young ones?

Well they'll need to be laid first, and then hatch, and there's some saying about not counting your Egalrin until... they ask direct and unavoidable questions.

"His name is from the old country. The weapon that he has fashioned allows him to see through deceptions. To see connections, especially if his attention is brought." She squeezes her lips together, "If he looks on a spy, he'll know who the spy is connected to. If you say his name, he can notice you."

"This one is not sure how that helps him, militarily, but it has allowed him to secure his position and eliminate rivals." The whitescale ponders how this turns into a thing to strike with. "In summary, sneak attacks and feints are bad?" She glances at Braelnoir, then says decisively, "Yes, bad."

Thyrson nods off, as gold-dragon blooded do.

Silence falls all around the table as they listen. The Egalrin are warriors and it is hard to not understate that Cryosanthia just told them that every plan, strategy, trick, and deception they have planned is unveiled to a particular individual in the hands of their worst enemy.

There is a lot of silence there.

Then the elder scoffs. "Ridiculous."

The whitescale tilts her head, focusing on the Elder, "haven't you reports from within Charn, of the reorganization of their families and noble houses? The ascendance and descendance of certain Temples? The failing fortunes of the Taaranites and how they've gotten a lot more direct?"

She flips her hand over, gestures with an open palm, "Mul'niessa, no longer stabbing in the front, let alone the back?"

That observation threatens to drag her thoughts off. "How else would it come about? These are the abilities I understand it to have. Would... you feel it more believable if I told you it was an irresistible charm, he could point at someone and they would spill all their secrets and mysteries are unravelled that way?"

"The end result is, he sees through."

Braelnoir doesn't ape(ha!) the elder bird's post-munchies activity, either, but she does settle back in her seat to consider the old bird some more.

Well, if it's poison, it's too late, now, nothing for it now but to pay attention.

She doesn't occupy her thoughts with feeding her young.

The mechanism is in place so to speak, though the demand is laching.

An ear with a jagged triangle ripped into it's bottom edge perks some as Cryo starts to give the Elgarins the skinny, and she chimes in on their skepticism with, "He's been consolodatin' power in Charn awful fast. Runnin' ops out ta places th'ain't givin' a widely known benefit."

She glances to her sister, then back to the Ravens, "When's th'last time ya had a plan go off like it's suppose to against this guy?"

Merek looks up from his meal, his attention moving about the place. He waits, through the dinner course, through desert. Above all else, he really tries to observe their manners, to be bird-like. He uses this to his advantage, like them, he says nothing. He doesn't input into the situation. For the time being content to watch and listen. He gives a meaningful nod to Cryo, just a bit. She'll understand.

She doesn't.

Word of God regarding the Gauntlet

<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "which is that his gauntlet lets him see connections, and through deceptions"
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "especially if you know his name, or about the guantlet?"
<OOC> Whirlpool says, "Yes. So, the shard of Animus he has, the God's Hand it was called, allows him to look upon a thing and see how it relates to another thing, and follow the thread back to other things."
<OOC> Whirlpool says, "So he can unravel any mystery he chooses, as long as he knows to look."
<OOC> Whirlpool says, "The one weakness Akorinil explained was that he has to ahve a *reason* to see it."
<OOC> Whirlpool says, "Or be actively seeing it."