Ambassadorial Relations IC - Corvus Thrane

[Amiel]

Chapter 1, Nadir


Whitehall. So named for the exquisite white marble quarried from the distant Alabaster Mountains, this district, almost a city unto itself, is the beginning and termination for the old money of Master. It is here where money is born in both the literal and metaphorical sense; its shining golden mane framed by black onyx, wind tossed yet gleaming, stands the imposing edifice of the Old Mint, a lion rampant upon the battlefield of cutthroat business.
Here too is the womb of knowledge, the towering Scrivener's Sanctuary; said to have been birthed through the wishes of djinn, this literal tower stands radiant in the sunset, seemingly able to absorb the very essence of the air itself and capable of dissecting the knowledge therein.
So too here are the embassies of foreign powers, their presence an anchor, seemingly the only constant, in an otherwise tumultuous world.

Emerging as a sea dragon or dragon turtle from spray and wind, a blue tinged building resides comfortably among other buildings of similar design and nature. Ingenious in design, the embassy of the Phonerian Provinces is rumored to be capable of withstanding even typhoons due to the inherent strength in the coral used as its mortar.

Within the top most floor lies the ambassadorial suite; doubling as both residence and office for Corvus Thrane; ambassador to Master.

The entirety of the ceiling of the building bubbles as if in a wave or current, dome shaped and glassed from above, allowing sunlight and starlight to pour in from on high.

Inscribed upon Corinthian pillars are potent sigils and runes that terminate unwanted egress, that ward against intrusion. Aligned artfully within the centre of these pillars hang tapestries depicting ships at sea; decorating the balance of available space are abstract paintings, their artists long dead, their worth priceless. Worked in expensive marble, a griffon, life-sized and wondrously realistic, frames a well-used fireplace; slender logs of pine await lighting.

A light rain has fallen, sending slivers of water across the enormous glass window panes. Below, pedestrians scurry as ants along the cobblestone streets, their fashions billowing around them in colors of rainbow and black. Top hats perch on nearly every head and canes beat the pavement in a steady rhythm. Firesticks hide in metallic lightposts, well trimmed yet still unlit.

A miniature lake, more vertical than horizontal is positioned at the centre of the room. Walls of force act as glass; and within is life, awash with water plants, and teeming with freshwater aquaria.

The floor is marble tilestones, and yet a warmth seeps through, offering comfort against the autumn chill.

A single massive mahogany desk rests near the fireplace, upheld by oaken mermaids, on top of which myriad parchments sprawl haphazardly, letters, all and sundry. A well oiled and well used ink pot with a phoenix feather quill an island of calm in a sea of bedlam. Crystal goblets compete for space with expensive wines; an opened bottle of Masterian Viperfruit complements the dark red coloration in your goblet.
Missives from the the Blackthrone Wheel, letters of correspondence from the the Expose, invitations from the Arcane Congress. Letters of communication between the ambassador and the Phonerian Provinces. Miscellannia.
A thick oak chair, fashionably made, is likewise carpeted in plush, soft fabric, its gentle caress a massage to your back.

Nearby a vallenwood table; heaped with platters of baked fish, dishes of the sea and roast cuts. Plates of delicate porcelain are arranged for your convenience and leisure. What is arrayed before you is merely a prelude to the evening meal.

A slight knock at the door breaks the silence.

OOC: Welcome to Master (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ws_3CZ2am-Y). What would you like to do?

OOC: The miniature lake tank provides a constant freshwater source, and the fish therein can be harvested for use by your chefs. The fish and other edibles are replenished daily. You are automatically immune to non-magical poisons and diseases that have to be drunk.

OOC: Heat seeps through the marble tilestones, acting as heating during the cooler months and relieving heat during the warmer months.

OOC: The pillars form the design of the runes of forebiddance, and alarm, and also mute sound

OOC: The tank, heating-cooling system and sound dampening qualities of the pillars are provided for the ambassador by the Conciliatory Chamber of Master; the ruling city-nation council.

[Mushroom Ninja]

Looking up from his papers, Corvus Thrane sets down his quill. He flicks a few stray locks of hair away from his face, pushes the letter he had been drafting to the side of his desk, and calls out, "Come in."

[Amiel]

The large ornate door swings open on well-oiled hinges. Your chamberlain, Samuel Edwards enters bedecked in ceremonial livery. He bows before you and spreads his arms in an apologetic manner.

"Sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but it seems we have a matter of some urgency" He enunciates in crisp, efficient speech.

With a shrug of his slender shoulders, he abducts his right outward in a generous manner, so that the distance encompasses the open door and the envoy waiting beyond. "Milord, there is a ship's captain who wishes to see you, thus far, he has avoided taking the matter to the relevant authorities, but there is the chance that the Masterian city guards have already intercepted the particular object. Since what myself have gathered from him is more or less incomplete and thus conjecture must be utilised to render the conclusion sufficient, it would be best for him to detail the situation for you."

He bows before you again and sweeps out of the room, allowing the waiting envoy to enter.

The young man who enters appears as if yet to still enter adulthood. The face is fresh and young, his cheekbones and lower jaw is ringed by a circle of stubble, appearing not ordered but in chaotic unseemly manner, as if the growth suddenly burst upon him.

He is clad in the freshly pressed robes of a Phonerian courtier, yet you notice in his uncomfortability an indication of unfamiliarity with such richly styled dressings and more suited to humbler fare. He appears nervous and ready to bolt, yet you do not fail to notice the spring in his legs and the hard musculature of them, true evidence of a person at home on the seas.

His hair is brown, worn long at the back and threaded through a leather knot. His eyes are caught in the mid point between green and blue, his nose slightly bent as if once broken in a tavern brawl with a faint scar running length wise down his left cheek.

He speaks in mildly accented Phonerian, different and difficult to place, as if a resident of the border provinces.

"Your Grace," He dips into a formal bow before you, "Haste drives these words, for I worry about the state of a companion's ship. From the harbour did I come and did I cause the driver to drive his horses before him in speed. You see, my friend of shall we say, slightly damaged reputation did not rendezvous with us at the appointed time. So concerned, I made inquiries into the situation. Recently did I gather the following.

"A derelict ship drifted into the harbour, steered by no crew, yet did it bring gloom before it. It is said that the dead walk its length and breadth and nearby occupants did report strange sounds brought upon the wind. To all appearances, it does not appear sea-worthy and the authorities have boarded it with wood and stone to prevent trepass.

"I am terribly afraid that this is the ship of my companion, for it matches the description intimately. I have no one else to turn to," he hesitates, unsure how to proceed, "would you mind accompanying me to the ship to determine what mystery and ailment befell it?

There is the matter of cargo to attend to as well."

After speaking his piece, he waits, eagerness and hope in his eyes.

[Mushroom Ninja]

Corvus looks the youth up and down. This was me once, he muses, a young captain, more at home on sea than land, sailing the world in search of fortune and fame. Well, I've found them, and where am I now? Stuck behind a desk reading paperwork. Dressed like a lubber and miles from the sea. How long has it been since I sailed the Ionum-Trath run? How long since I ordered a crew to set full sail? Too long. Far too long... Well, I suppose it's for the best. At least I can help out my friends back in the Provinces here. Still... It's been a long time since I've had a proper adventure... Perhaps the gods have sent me a chance for some excitement today.

A smile begins to play at the side of Corvus's mouth and, aloud, he says, "Well, I'm a little busy today, but, sure, I'd be glad to go down to the harbor and help sort this business out. What's your name, lad?"

OOC: Since there are no other PCs in this thread, I'm going to hold off with colored dialogue text for now.

[Amiel]

A visible shudder, with striking relaxation, floods through the youth as you utter those words, its mark so pronounced that an audible sigh, as if in great relief, crosses the intervening distance between you.

"Sier Zhaelm, Your Grace, lately of Polenth," he dips once more in a formal bow, albeit one whose execution is stiff and awkward, as though formalities were a rarity upon the high seas, where all sapients were equal.
He continues smoothly, seemingly all in the one breath, "Privateer and merchant envoy; carting cargo for the Merchant Council, may their names be held in esteem."

He pauses again, as if searching for the right words, his eyes hardening and his jaw tightening,

"Your Grace, there had been reports of sightings of both Whalebones and Krakenheim convoys interacting with the vessel prior to the mystery that befell my companion's ship; rumors hold that a terrible curse was unleashed by this contact.

"If the truth of the matter revolves around undead, then it would be more likely that the Whalebones are involved, may they rot in hell rather than the Kraken, who have almost no use for such decrepit rotting beings."

OOC: How would you like to travel to the ship? Walking or by coach? You can request for a horse-drawn carriage for conveyance.

OOC: It seems that talking about the Whalebones struck a raw nerve in the young man, there appears to be some history and bad blood between them.

[Mushroom Ninja]

Krakenheim or Whalebone involvement? Thinks Corvus, I had better watch my step, especially if anyone involved remembers that little incident off the coast of Trath...

"The Whalebones or Kraken, eh?" says Corvus, rising to his feet and dusting off his jacket, "I've had a few encounters with them in the past, but that was quite a while ago... Tell me, Zhaelm, have you had any dealings with them before?"

"By the way," he adds as an afterthought, "if you'd like a bite to eat, help yourself to anything on the table."