[EMPIRE!6] - The Return Of The Waters - Kiswa Round 6 Event

[Rolepgeek]

The sun’s light is softer in the low hours of the day - but this does not extend to the muggy heat that is so endemic in Kiswa, even in the late months of autumn. At this time of year, the Sur is at its lowest, and upon the banks of the great river there labor all manner of being - troll and human, elf and dwarf, and even a race of strange looking Mira, with lean, angular figures - overseeing these laborers are more trolls, as well as more groups of the strange-looking Vygra, though even beyond their appearance, there is an aspect about them that catches the eye, like a loose vine catches a foot during a hunt, though the particular reason is yet uncertain.

The laborers are hard at work moving a great many goods from the beaches across a freshly laid pier to pack into boats, which are then rowed - for the wind blows upriver at this hour - out to an island, visible in the middle of the Sur, where more laborers can be distantly spotted assembling some great structure and piling goods by long tables in a multitude of sizes clearly meant to accommodate all variety of guest. A single troll with features impossible to make out, yet unmistakable by their dress and demeanour, waits at the shore, shoulders high, clearly content to wait and observe as subordinates handle the lesser parts of the preparations for the coming feast.

It seems the pier was insufficient to handle the traffic it now must bear, however, for a growing throng of boats has grown, like a tumor, from the edge of the pier, sandaled feet slapping against wood-slat floors as they carry cargo to and fro in that maze of sail and rope. Apparently coordinating much of this is a Dhraan of dull complexion but ferocious energy, calling directions and greeting guests with the same voice - like copper and gravel and featherpalm leaves wrapped up together. It’s clear that there is some schedule to hold to, but nonetheless the atmosphere is one of celebration.

On the beach, however, stands the crown prince, once child, now full-grown and bedecked in finery - beads and precious stones and polished gold decorating a scaled chest heavily marbled with scales. He bears no weapon, unlike his father, and when he speaks, it is almost without accent - but with a native of Henanda close to hand, it is noticeable nonetheless. The princess of Henanda, now burdened and buoyed in equal measure by the twin ravages of maturity and responsibility lounges nearby in Ruunandaraghal’s shade, where she can keep an eye on her son as he splashes and plays in the shallows of the river. Three shapes lurk rather farther in the river, forming a perimeter around the child, and Onoynoyis shrieks and laughs as he alternately chases after and is chased by the Vygra(?) children alongside him. His mother’s countenance is easy, soft laughter carrying across the slow-flowing Sur, only tensing at the rough impacts of children who are learning through play to better control their bodies. Though the grumble of the prince’s voice is audible from some distance by virtue of his size, his eyes are focused outwards, to meet those guests who chose to arrive by land rather than water - his sister would handle those.

[Gaius Hermicus]

Being the heir to the throne of the Korebita Foothills may sound desirable, but to Wenid Kw'Muketi, it was a colossal waste of their time. The King of Kings, their progenitor, had nothing but disappointment for them, and pushed them harder than any of their other advisors, constantly setting them up for failure. Wenid did in fact want the power of King of Kings, but their idea of the position was very different from Huleten's. Where the parent was cold and calculating, carefully balancing the position of the blemmyae in foreign affairs, Wenid believed that the Ten Tribes ought to have more control over their own affairs, and that the role of foreign intervention ought to be under the dominion of the Bete Great Library. Spreading Abiherism was the main thing the blemmyae were doing in Korebita, after all, and it was not suitable for the King of Kings to be a religious leader as well. Huleten disagreed, of course, and after one particularly nasty argument, had ordered Wenid to visit the Dhraan, for the express purpose of getting them out of the court for a few weeks. Wenid didn't mind all that much. A vacation was a good idea in any case, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to have a few connections with foreign heads of state when Huleten died. That moment couldn't come soon enough for Wenid.

Along with the blemmyae prince was their favorite missionary, Oyem Kw'Mesihafi. Oyem's deeds were well known in the Korebita: they had slain a manticore, had the center of a city named for them by the Sewune, converted both the Vygra and the Anbroch to Abiherism, and befriended Charlie MacGill. Huleten despised Oyem, considering them proud and disrespectful, but Wenid found them a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stuffy ranks of the Mesihafi clan, and had promised to make them the highest-ranking Librarian when they became king. Oyem had never been to Troll Country and had offered to accompany Wenid on their diplomatic mission.

Given the diplomatic tensions currently going around Kiswa, Wenid had decided that it would be best not to have a large retinue of guards, so as to avoid provoking another diplomat. The two blemmyae traveled alone, though not unarmed: both had flint knives, and Oyem carried an axe they had brought back from Kincany. Wenid's spear lay in the back of the canoe as they sailed down the river: abandoned but easily grabbed in the event of an emergency.

They docked the canoe at the pier and approached Ruunan warily. The Dhraan prince had been described to them, but they still were not entirely sure that this was the correct individual. Er... Prince Ruunandaraghal? said Wenid. I am Wenid Kw'Muketi, the heir to the King of Kings. This is Oyem Kw'Mesihafi, a missionary of Abiherism. I'm very pleased to meet you.

[Frostwander]

Across the wetlands from the east arrive the Vygra, a group of fourteen walking in a measured pace. Eight ra bear the traditional shields and thrusting spears of their tribe, some keeping watch while others lead three elk straddled with supply bags. Four more wear the garb of the Sentinels of the Stone, black iron blades or maces at their sides - an Ahra, two humans, and an elf. Leading the group are Matji Khetra, ruler of the Vygra, alongside Alexios, the immortal leader of the Sentinels. As they come within sight of the river and the preparations, the alert posture of the delegation relaxes, making their approach clearly peaceful though armed for the journey.

For those who had met Matji Khetra, there is a sense of renewed vitality to her form that was absent before. While she maintains her stately grace, she moves with greater vigor. The lines and wrinkles of age that marked her face and hands but a few years previous seem washed away, smooth skin glistening in the soft evening light. The contours of her woven wraps highlight powerful muscles beneath, sleeves and skirt stretching as she walks. Her hair is a deeper blue, and while held back from her face by the copper wreath she wears, seems almost to sway with her motion like a ripple beneath the surface.

Alexios himself is half a head taller than Khetra, heavy-built frame matching her stride for stride. His slate gray skin seems to absorb the fading light, and piercing tawny eyes look from beneath his dark hair as if to measure all he looks upon.

The matji, still diplomat first despite her recent training, heads the introduction as she presents her delegation to the crown prince of Lhungho Saar. She stretches her arms to the sides, bending at the knees in the Vygra formal greeting. "Prince Ruunandaraghal, I bring you the respects and good wishes of the Vygra. I am Matji Khetra of Vyterrat, and this is Alexios, the Undying. We thank you for the invitation to share in your hospitality." Khetra keeps her attention on the prince as she addresses him, but the gazes of many of the envoys stray with interest to the foreign Mira present among the laborers.

Spoiler: Khetra appearance inspiration

Show

Khetra

[Minescratcher]

Two tall sails rose from the blue river, furled against the unfriendly wind, yet still noticeably pointed at their corners like the claws of a crab. Below them, two ships sat lightly atop the flowing water, oars jutting out from them like the legs of some crawling insect. An old man stood on the middle deck of one, observing the tangled mass of lesser craft around the pier and calling out to his crew in the Bel-Dan tongue; seemingly in response, both ships turned sharply towards the riverbank. Their crews leapt out onto the dry land, dragging the canoes up from the water and through the mud.

The old man walked slowly along the bank, bent over a long wooden walking stick, followed by three other sailors, their axes and knives on full display at their waists. As they made their way to the makeshift pier, the old man raised his hand to shield his eyes from the evening sun and called out to the energetic troll.

"Your people are blessed this day to have the Sea People as guests, tar-bel-dan!" he cried. "I am Reren-Tar-Tano, leader of the great armada which lays waste to all its foes, and I have heard your king is holding a feast! It took some wrangling, but I haven't seen seventy summers by refusing to eat well." He laughed, a deep, echoing sound that seemed to emanate from his whole body. "Who might you be?"

[TheDarkDM]

Marching alongside Matji Khetra, Alexios defied the festive atmosphere of the beach. Unlike the Matji's other guardians, he carried neither arms nor armor, instead garbed only in a sleeveless black robe cinched with a white sash. His grey skin gleamed in the sunlight like burnished copper, and even in the Kiswan sun all who stood near him could feel the warmth emanating from his chest. Golden eyes passed over the assembled peoples of the continent, stopping only rarely and seemingly without cause as he caught certain individuals in his gaze and left them shaking in his wake. Despite his great stature, his sandaled feet left little trace in the sand, and Khetra knew him well enough to sense the tension crackling through his body. As they approached Prince Ruunandaraghal, he leaned towards his only peer with a rumbling whisper.

"Be on your guard, Khetra. Something foul stirs nearby."

He remained stoic as the Matji made her introductions, favoring the gilded troll with a curt nod along with his name. Though the Sentinels maintained regular contact with all the peoples of the world, Alexios remained a stranger to the customs of much of Kiswa, and was eager to test the mettle of the jungle's petty kings.

[Gaius Hermicus]

The arrival of Alexios was immediately obvious to Wenid and Oyem. Neither had ever met the Sentinel champion, but the stranger's charisma was immediately obvious, as was the faint aura of menace surrounding them. At last, thought Oyem, somebody worthy of my attention. Approaching the golden god, they blink once: respectful, but not deferential.

Greetings. I can see from your stature and bearing that you are a great warrior. Perhaps you have accomplished some deeds of note? Of course, you'll have heard of the great Oyem Kw'Mesihafi? I would be willing to take you under my wing, show you the ropes of adventuring. There's a lot to learn but it looks like you might be up to the task. What do you say?

[Rolepgeek]

Being the heir to the throne of the Korebita Foothills may sound desirable, but to Wenid Kw'Muketi, it was a colossal waste of their time. The King of Kings, their progenitor, had nothing but disappointment for them, and pushed them harder than any of their other advisors, constantly setting them up for failure. Wenid did in fact want the power of King of Kings, but their idea of the position was very different from Huleten's. Where the parent was cold and calculating, carefully balancing the position of the blemmyae in foreign affairs, Wenid believed that the Ten Tribes ought to have more control over their own affairs, and that the role of foreign intervention ought to be under the dominion of the Bete Great Library. Spreading Abiherism was the main thing the blemmyae were doing in Korebita, after all, and it was not suitable for the King of Kings to be a religious leader as well. Huleten disagreed, of course, and after one particularly nasty argument, had ordered Wenid to visit the Dhraan, for the express purpose of getting them out of the court for a few weeks. Wenid didn't mind all that much. A vacation was a good idea in any case, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to have a few connections with foreign heads of state when Huleten died. That moment couldn't come soon enough for Wenid.

Along with the blemmyae prince was their favorite missionary, Oyem Kw'Mesihafi. Oyem's deeds were well known in the Korebita: they had slain a manticore, had the center of a city named for them by the Sewune, converted both the Vygra and the Anbroch to Abiherism, and befriended Charlie MacGill. Huleten despised Oyem, considering them proud and disrespectful, but Wenid found them a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stuffy ranks of the Mesihafi clan, and had promised to make them the highest-ranking Librarian when they became king. Oyem had never been to Troll Country and had offered to accompany Wenid on their diplomatic mission.

Given the diplomatic tensions currently going around Kiswa, Wenid had decided that it would be best not to have a large retinue of guards, so as to avoid provoking another diplomat. The two blemmyae traveled alone, though not unarmed: both had flint knives, and Oyem carried an axe they had brought back from Kincany. Wenid's spear lay in the back of the canoe as they sailed down the river: abandoned but easily grabbed in the event of an emergency.

They docked the canoe at the pier and approached Ruunan warily. The Dhraan prince had been described to them, but they still were not entirely sure that this was the correct individual. Er... Prince Ruunandaraghal? said Wenid. I am Wenid Kw'Muketi, the heir to the King of Kings. This is Oyem Kw'Mesihafi, a missionary of Abiherism. I'm very pleased to meet you.

Though the Dhraan prince was less familiar with the Blemmyae than his brother Dunkhaawane, his duties as envoy had nonetheless required him to spend some time among these strangest of the Kiswan tribes.

"And I to meet you, Wenid Kw'Muketi, Prince of Princes! Yes, you have the right Dhraan, worry yourself not." The prince's chuckle was low and wide, like a swell of water that just overtops an earthen dam, and carried with it all the same implications of threat to break through and flood the air with raucous amusement. "I hope, dear Oyem, that your faith will not preclude you from taking part in the festivities tonight. My father would surely be ashamed if he were to discover that a guest of his went home hungry."

Two tall sails rose from the blue river, furled against the unfriendly wind, yet still noticeably pointed at their corners like the claws of a crab. Below them, two ships sat lightly atop the flowing water, oars jutting out from them like the legs of some crawling insect. An old man stood on the middle deck of one, observing the tangled mass of lesser craft around the pier and calling out to his crew in the Bel-Dan tongue; seemingly in response, both ships turned sharply towards the riverbank. Their crews leapt out onto the dry land, dragging the canoes up from the water and through the mud.

The old man walked slowly along the bank, bent over a long wooden walking stick, followed by three other sailors, their axes and knives on full display at their waists. As they made their way to the makeshift pier, the old man raised his hand to shield his eyes from the evening sun and called out to the energetic troll.

"Your people are blessed this day to have the Sea People as guests, tar-bel-dan!" he cried. "I am Reren-Tar-Tano, leader of the great armada which lays waste to all its foes, and I have heard your king is holding a feast! It took some wrangling, but I haven't seen seventy summers by refusing to eat well." He laughed, a deep, echoing sound that seemed to emanate from his whole body. "Who might you be?"

Ruunandaraghal's smile matched that of the elderly Bel-Dan, though it was longer many times over than that of Reren-Tar-Teno. "So we are, Reren, who is lord of the fearsome and far- Isigedh! My father, who is King of the Dhraan, King and Chief of the Waters of Narav, will be pleased to learn of your attendance!"

The troll paused to raise his head and dip his shoulders in what passed for bowing among the trolls of Lhungho Saar. "My name is Ruunandaraghal, chosen heir of King Haanhangandhal, and I bid you welcome to this feast! Please, if you like, stay after - I have heard claim that the ceremony will be unlike any in living memory! Though I must wonder, myself, if the presence of my people might mean that is not so grand a claim as it sounds, ra?" Something about the prince's voice made the lack of eyebrows to waggle seem less a hindrance and more like an inside joke, as if asking one to imagine what it might look like on a troll, if it were possible.

Across the wetlands from the east arrive the Vygra, a group of fourteen walking in a measured pace. Eight ra bear the traditional shields and thrusting spears of their tribe, some keeping watch while others lead three elk straddled with supply bags. Four more wear the garb of the Sentinels of the Stone, black iron blades or maces at their sides - an Ahra, two humans, and an elf. Leading the group are Matji Khetra, ruler of the Vygra, alongside Alexios, the immortal leader of the Sentinels. As they come within sight of the river and the preparations, the alert posture of the delegation relaxes, making their approach clearly peaceful though armed for the journey.

For those who had met Matji Khetra, there is a sense of renewed vitality to her form that was absent before. While she maintains her stately grace, she moves with greater vigor. The lines and wrinkles of age that marked her face and hands but a few years previous seem washed away, smooth skin glistening in the soft evening light. The contours of her woven wraps highlight powerful muscles beneath, sleeves and skirt stretching as she walks. Her hair is a deeper blue, and while held back from her face by the copper wreath she wears, seems almost to sway with her motion like a ripple beneath the surface.

Alexios himself is half a head taller than Khetra, heavy-built frame matching her stride for stride. His slate gray skin seems to absorb the fading light, and piercing tawny eyes look from beneath his dark hair as if to measure all he looks upon.

The matji, still diplomat first despite her recent training, heads the introduction as she presents her delegation to the crown prince of Lhungho Saar. She stretches her arms to the sides, bending at the knees in the Vygra formal greeting. "Prince Ruunandaraghal, I bring you the respects and good wishes of the Vygra. I am Matji Khetra of Vyterrat, and this is Alexios, the Undying. We thank you for the invitation to share in your hospitality." Khetra keeps her attention on the prince as she addresses him, but the gazes of many of the envoys stray with interest to the foreign Mira present among the laborers.

"Ahhh - the famed Matji Khetra graces me by her presence - and the legendary Alexios, eldest and greatest among those who pursue the most dangerous occupation. We are honored by your attendance. On behalf of my fathers, the wise King Haanhangandhal foremost among them, I welcome you with the fullness of my heart - and if it can be helped, of your bellies!" Ruunandaraghal's grin shows teeth, but the laughter and the shaking chest - not to mention the presence of Alexios the Undying - takes any threat it may have had out. Still smiling, shifting shades of green swirling slowly across his neck and snout, the prince speaks again as his audible amusement at his own joke fades.
"I can see your aides wondering - yes, the kingdom of Lhungho Saar has found here a bastion of peoples not unlike your own, noble Khetra! Though, it must be said, with none of the same beauty I see displayed here. I am told they have been unable to access the river for generations - but with our presence - and the aid of your brothers and sisters, of course, great-shouldered Alexios - their majesty is rekindled even now!"

It was striking, when one realized the reason for their strangeness - where the Vygra of Vyterrat all had a form like that of human women, not a single one of these strange Vygra bore that likeness. Each and every one looked akin to the men of other races, and few could match the height of even their shorter counterparts from the south. What was more - their assembled numbers were divided, groups of Ahra, Efra, and Bora - if they could even be called such - all standing just apart, even when close together, in a manner unlike anything one might see in Vyterrat. The troll prince's eyes reveal nothing as he watches the dignitaries of his people's nearest neighbors realize the strangeness of these people like and yet unlike their own.

Marching alongside Matji Khetra, Alexios defied the festive atmosphere of the beach. Unlike the Matji's other guardians, he carried neither arms nor armor, instead garbed only in a sleeveless black robe cinched with a white sash. His grey skin gleamed in the sunlight like burnished copper, and even in the Kiswan sun all who stood near him could feel the warmth emanating from his chest. Golden eyes passed over the assembled peoples of the continent, stopping only rarely and seemingly without cause as he caught certain individuals in his gaze and left them shaking in his wake. Despite his great stature, his sandaled feet left little trace in the sand, and Khetra knew him well enough to sense the tension crackling through his body. As they approached Prince Ruunandaraghal, he leaned towards his only peer with a rumbling whisper.

"Be on your guard, Khetra. Something foul stirs nearby."

He remained stoic as the Matji made her introductions, favoring the gilded troll with a curt nod along with his name. Though the Sentinels maintained regular contact with all the peoples of the world, Alexios remained a stranger to the customs of much of Kiswa, and was eager to test the mettle of the jungle's petty kings.

Ichippā's eyes rested on the great warrior, migrating between the guests and where the children played in the shallows of the river, and the tension visible in her affected lounging now threatened to swallow her good humor. Ruunan, now oath-father to her child, had sworn up and down that the taboo on the River Sur was nonsense superstition - the result of feral trolls making it dangerous for generations, nothing more. But she had not survived her marriage by taking men at their word, even Dhraanish ones. Nor by an inability to recognize danger - and there could be no doubt as to the danger of this one. Threat rolled off him like heat from a fire, and though it was not directed at her, all the same it set her spine to chilling, and before she realized it, Ichippā had already called out, in a light but firm tone that gave no sign of her apprehension to the nearby guests - “Onoynoyis! Onoynoyis!"

[Frostwander]

...As they approached Prince Ruunandaraghal, he leaned towards his only peer with a rumbling whisper.

"Be on your guard, Khetra. Something foul stirs nearby."

Khetra gives only the faintest nod in acknowledgement. She maintains her courteous bearing, though she keeps her stance balanced and an ear out for any unexpected sounds.

"Ahhh - the famed Matji Khetra graces me by her presence - and the legendary Alexios, eldest and greatest among those who pursue the most dangerous occupation. We are honored by your attendance. On behalf of my fathers, the wise King Haanhangandhal foremost among them, I welcome you with the fullness of my heart - and if it can be helped, of your bellies!" Ruunandaraghal's grin shows teeth, but the laughter and the shaking chest - not to mention the presence of Alexios the Undying - takes any threat it may have had out. Still smiling, shifting shades of green swirling slowly across his neck and snout, the prince speaks again as his audible amusement at his own joke fades.
"I can see your aides wondering - yes, the kingdom of Lhungho Saar has found here a bastion of peoples not unlike your own, noble Khetra! Though, it must be said, with none of the same beauty I see displayed here. I am told they have been unable to access the river for generations - but with our presence - and the aid of your brothers and sisters, of course, great-shouldered Alexios - their majesty is rekindled even now!"

It was striking, when one realized the reason for their strangeness - where the Vygra of Vyterrat all had a form like that of human women, not a single one of these strange Vygra bore that likeness. Each and every one looked akin to the men of other races, and few could match the height of even their shorter counterparts from the south. What was more - their assembled numbers were divided, groups of Ahra, Efra, and Bora - if they could even be called such - all standing just apart, even when close together, in a manner unlike anything one might see in Vyterrat. The troll prince's eyes reveal nothing as he watches the dignitaries of his people's nearest neighbors realize the strangeness of these people like and yet unlike their own.

The matji looks over the crowd of workers, taking in the appearance - similarities and differences - in the ra there. "It is fortunate indeed that you have been able to help them, then! Until a few years ago, we did not know of any other Vygra to survive the Red Sky centuries. It has brought great encouragement to our people to begin making connections with each other once again.

"That your own people have begun to be able to expand and grow as well has been welcome news."

The arrival of Alexios was immediately obvious to Wenid and Oyem. Neither had ever met the Sentinel champion, but the stranger's charisma was immediately obvious, as was the faint aura of menace surrounding them. At last, thought Oyem, somebody worthy of my attention. Approaching the golden god, they blink once: respectful, but not deferential.

Greetings. I can see from your stature and bearing that you are a great warrior. Perhaps you have accomplished some deeds of note? Of course, you'll have heard of the great Oyem Kw'Mesihafi? I would be willing to take you under my wing, show you the ropes of adventuring. There's a lot to learn but it looks like you might be up to the task. What do you say?

Several of the Vygra delegation look shocked at the lack of recognition from the blemmyae warrior. A couple of the younger sentinels stifle a laugh. Khetra remains composed - inwardly she is amused, but it would less diplomatic to show that at another envoy's slip. She is interested, though, to see how Alexios responds.

[TheDarkDM]

Approached by the missionary from Korebita, Alexios displayed neither dismay nor surprise at the familiar greeting. Instead, the only answer for several seconds was a measured stare, before the Sentinel's grey lips curved into a slight smile.

"None so great as to grace the songs of Kiswa, Oyem Kw'Mesihafi. I am flattered by your offer, but I am sworn to the service of another. I would recommend casting your net among the younger generation - those as old as I are ill-suited to learning new tricks."

Returning to the recent praise of the troll prince, Alexios nodded once more.

"You do me great honor by the invitation, Ruunandaraghal. Know that it is my hope your people meet with naught but success on their expeditions west."

The warning sat unvoiced, yet the tension in the air spoke clearly enough, "But I very much doubt it." Stepping away from the slow tide of emissaries and ambassadors, he whispered once more to Khetra.

"I must attend the western shore."

With that he was gone, carrying the pall of his misgivings with him and leaving the celebration in relative peace.

[Moriko]

Tyja never liked diplomatic missions let alone ones he had to go to alone. To make matters worse his deer carriage got stuck awhile back and he had to ride on the back of one of the deer's directly. When he did finally arrive he looked at the crowd already present and recognised some of them like Wenid Kw'Muketi but had little exposure to him directly.

To any onlookers he appeared to be a normal Sewune but the fact he traversed here alone without guards should point to something else. He was in fact the head of the current team sent out to investigate the disappearances in Lhungho Saar lands. After making contact with some locals he left his team to do what they do best and set off on his journey here.

When he was satisfied there was no immediate threat he proceeded towards the crown prince. "Greetings Prince Ruunandaraghal, I am Tyja Pemmelg and have been sent by the Sewune of the Gehudu forest. It is unfortunate that our cultures have not mixed more than they have and we wish to rectify this.” He makes sure to greet the prince with respect. "We have decided to take the first step in this matter and assigned one of our teams to investigate the disappearance of your people, with the hope this can lead to more mutual benefits." He looks around making sure that the prince notices his eye's drift over the workforce. "With the surplus of bodies your lands have to offer and our coffers we are sure we can come to an agreement."

[Frostwander]

The warning sat unvoiced, yet the tension in the air spoke clearly enough, "But I very much doubt it." Stepping away from the slow tide of emissaries and ambassadors, he whispered once more to Khetra.

"I must attend the western shore."

With that he was gone, carrying the pall of his misgivings with him and leaving the celebration in relative peace.

Khetra nods once more, acknowledging Alexios' intent. She signals to one of the younger sentinels present to accompany him; not that he needs the backup, but rather to give him a fast runner to send a message should something occur that merits warning the assembly.

[Aedilred]

In these febrile times, with the recent loss of so many warriors in the failed expedition eastwards, the absence of the king's formidable uncle, and war still ongoing to the west, few senior personnel from Henanda were willing or able to make the journey to the west to meet with the trolls. Nevertheless, Andronikos was here, with a handful of others whom those familiar with the various tribes under Henanda stewardship, and/or a keen eye, might identify as Banatūlē, distinguished from their northern counterparts by their more diminutive stature and rather more timid demeanour; the whole party armed and perhaps giving more the impression of a raiding party than a diplomatic delegation.

Upon sight of Alexios, Andronikos paused and gave a respectful salute in the fashion of the Sentinels, but did not otherwise disturb the ancient warrior.