Empire 7 - The Banquet of Eternal Light

[TheDarkDM]

The waters above Leriander glittered with coruscating light, the Mirrored Aurora painting an ever-changing tableau throughout the Glossian Sea. Many inhabitants were still amazed to see it shimmering above them, and some of the busiest markets in the captial had ground nearly to a halt, converted by some unspoken agreement into viewing spaces where Mer and Lysimia alike could bear witness to this great achievement of the Shades. Only now, a second beacon vied for the attention of the masses, as the Conclave chambers burned with a thousand iridescent lights, shimmering and warping in rhythm to the aurora above, as though the entire Glossian Sea had become one immense breathing organism of color.

Past the walls of luminous prisms, the grand chambers of the Conclave had been cleared, the thrones of the Matriarchs and the apparatus of state replaced by stages of musicians, tall portraits of Lux-Glossian glory, and at the center of the largest auditorium an immense, irregularly shaped table carved and polished from a single towering sea stack of quartz. Lounging upon a polished mother-of-pearl couch at the center of a natural bend in the table was the Eternal Mistress Taman, her ochre scales awash with bright red bioluminescence. Where her attire at the Glorious Rebirth had been restrained by the standards of a kucen Siren, the newly-established trade route to tropical waters had enabled her to ornament herself as her station demanded. Blood pearls floated lazily in strands from a platinum head-dress, while lustrous bands of sea-silk reflected the light of her inner-fire until it seemed she herself was the mythical "sun." The other Matriarchs of the Shades, exhausted by long months of Conclave and already weighed down by age, had declined to attend Taman's exercise in self-aggrandizement, but her presence filled the void admirably.

As guests arrived, led through halls overflowing with flowering fauna and glistening statuary by the curiously foreign red-armored kucen guards, Taman rose to the center of the chamber with a flick of her whip-like tail. The smile of her needle teeth nearly as bright as the aurora above, she spread her arms wide.

"Welcome, honored friends of the Shades. Let us celebrate together. Let us usher in the future."

[Minescratcher]

Grand Master Martin's presence at the Banquet was wary.

Originally, he was not even supposed to be here; many of the highest-ranking Knights claimed the risks were simply too great, though Martin managed to overrule them by an appeal to their sense of chivalry and valor. The eventual compromise meant that he was still under the guard of a full century of Inslangue Knights, about three-quarters of whom had quietly spread out into market squares and down alleys, floated above Leriander to keep an eye on anyone moving towards the Conclave chambers, or sought out the embassy of Knight Bailiff Francis Angoulême, which the delegation had not had time to visit. The remaining Knights swarmed about the Grand Master as he swam through the auditorium, stone mouth-blades tied around their necks for easy access if they should prove to be necessary. Martin himself had little expectation that they would be needed, but the recent tensions surrounding the Dupiopóli Knights' self-proclaimed protection mission and Taman's subsequent retaliation against Middish relations with the scholars of Taifre Mandala meant that even the valorous hero himself could see the wisdom in preparing for the worst. Some of the other Order Masters had been much more blunt. And there were other issues - but that was a matter for later.

At Taman's greeting, the Grand Master merely nodded, dismissing the Knights to find the closest location to wait that would not be seen as overly rude. In stark contrast to the new Grand Matriarch's - no, "Eternal Mistress's" - ostentatious attire, Martin wore nothing but a simple band of silver about his neck. He had never gotten a good look at a kucen before, and he hung in the water before the banquet table for some time, simply observing the foreign creature.

"I thank you. It is my sincere hope that the currents of fate bring all the faithful to a peaceful future, not marred by a continuation of the recent unpleasantness." He watched for any change in the Eternal Mistress's eyes.

[Volthawk]

As always, Baran was unable to attend the banquet - the man had always considered himself too busy with administration and shaping the Union to go abroad on diplomatic missions, and in recent years his failing health has driven him to stay focused on internal matters, making sure his wishes, and the lessons about harmony he'd learned in his seclusion, were effectively passed on to his people. Normally, this would mean that representing House Hallus would fall to Lanit (his main diplomatic representative) or Pelir (the former head scientist, who pushed for all the exchanges of knowledge the Cyphiri had been involved with), but the latter was dead and the former was busy in another country. Instead, and despite the advisement of many in the House's internal council, Ashal Hallus herself, the soon to be head of House Hallus and thus the Union, has made the journey west. She'd heard pretty much everything Baran had to say, even agreed with most of it (even if her opinion on methods and aceptable means varied somewhat), and her part of the transition of power was well in hand, so she had the time to satisfy her curiosity. A lot had been happening out here, after all, and that had led to some of the Union's allies being at odds with each other, and all that was interesting enough to get a personal look.

She did travel well-protected, though - she had the Kalan bodyguards, drawn from the Retainer Guard (the official Cyphiri military, loyal to the Union itself and the Fund that handled many matters of bureaucracy and state rather than a specific House), as all travelling senior House members did, but also the kucen. She felt it was strangely fitting, given where the new Grand Matriach was from, and perhaps would be recieved more kindly than a large Kalan force, but mainly she brought them because they were the first members of the new private force of House Hallus, after the old one was dismantled a decade or two ago. Having them listen to her wealth rather than the Fund's might come in handy if things went wrong. She was also dressed different to most of the Cyphiri present - instead of formal wear, she wore the tough clothing of the Cyphiri opportunity scout, a post she had served in for a few years when she'd just come of full age to the Cyphiri nearly a decade ago, clothing that...wasn't quite armour, valuing mobility too much for significant protection, but was more ready for trouble and if it was good enough for the roughness of life on the road it'd serve her well enough here, hopefully. She'd heard that the Ironkelp Order were coming here, and given events in the Tideswept Shelf if things led to trouble she wanted to be prepared - it wasn't a large enough force to have a major impact if mass combat broke out, but they could keep her and her people safe while they got out of there.

Those who accompanied her, however, were broadly dressed in the typical formal style that the Cyphiri wore to events like these, sleeveless flowing robes decorated in a way fitting their family or house's aesthetic style (Hallus favouring rather blunt and attention-grabbing ornamentation that often uses gold, while Ulnesh favoured simpler and more elegant designs, and Telan designs were very understated and almost practical-looking). Most of them were here for the same reason as always, being among the members of House Hallus and other families and Houses who always found themselves inexorably drawn to social events and interesting times, but some were there for business. Kyran and Wenril Pylet, for instance, a pair who had been travelling the seas since the concept of the Union Mercenary Exchange was concocted advertising the place and drawing interest its way, were here for the same reason Ashal was expecting trouble (conflict, whether physical or in the prelude to becoming physical, was good for business, after all) - that, and all things considered they'd had a good time at the Lambent Syndicate's gala some time ago and were keen to see if Taman's banquet was going to be of a similar standard (the first reason was easier to sell to the head of the family, though). Werran Ulnesh had also made time for the banquest, as he always did for events like these, always eager to listen to discussions of faith, belief and stories that seemed to often crop up at times like these, and as always he never turned down the opportunity to enjoy what was on offer while the Cyphiri were there.

When Taman makes her proclamation of welcome, it's Ashal that swims forward to reply. "Thanks on behalf of the Union. If Lanit was here, she'd bring out the longer formal greeting that my father came up with, but, well," She chuckles. "We're not the main attraction here, are we? We're mostly here to watch the show."

[bc56]

The small delegation of Pfith drifts into the city, the venomous blue of their hides blending smoothly into the colors of festivity.
Their leader, of course, is instantly recognizable, not just for the ornamentation they wear, cords of hide, plates of metal, and innumerable gemstone studs, but for one item in particular - a diadem of shining steel, set with diamonds and one particular lump of polished stone, which glows at all times, radiating a scalding heat around its bearer. This is Ilgl, called The-One-Who-Builds, the architect of Pfilghol's wealth, and the second Witness to rule in Ghlsgtot.

"We are honored to attend, but celebration alone is hardly a reason to gather the important persons of every nearby nation. You must have a purpose in this gathering?" They doubt it. This seems like the frivolous posturing of unenlightened minds. The Witness has little time for such foolishness in the face of their greater purpose.

[MappyPK]

Teacher Kororia, no longer stranger to attending the events of a foreign culture, arrives at the Banquet fashionably early, with a small guard alongside her and a handful of advisors available at a moment's notice, if diplomacy calls for it. Smaller in size than almost every other attendee in sight, she kept mainly to herself, finding a seat next to the delegations from the Cyphiri Union and the Order, awaiting the address from the Eternal Mistress. She crosses her fins, and waits, patiently.

[Frostwander]

Duarto Alverna has aged, and not gracefully. When the merman first took up the leadership of the Costa in his early twenties, he sported an impressively athletic physique and comely features. Not two full decades have passed, but the toll on the padrino of that time is clear. His hair is thinning and streaked with white. Skin hangs in wrinkles and once-lustrous scales are dull and flaking. Deep blue veins stand out around his gills and throat. Sunken dark eyes tell of sleepless weeks. He maintains a dignified posture despite this, with some apparent difficulty.

The padrino still makes an effort to be social. He applauds as Taman makes her welcoming announcement, giving a respectful curl of the tail to the hostess. He has no eyes for the spectacle of the lights above or around, but pays keen attention to the appearance and accoutrements of the Eternal Mistress. After the celebration is underway, he makes a slow circle of the chamber, greeting each of the other delegations and guests as he comes across them. Initially he keeps to pleasantries and small talk, his voice straining through ragged gills, with a promise that any deeper discussions of state matters will be given the time it is due once the event is under way.

The other sereia of note at the gathering, though thirty years Alverna's elder, has a far more majestic bearing. Rain Loura is a successful venture financier and the head of the second most prominent costa. Acclaimed as the mind (and money) behind the expeditions Gosto G'Cor and the pacification of the gharials there, he wears his prestige with the same effortless elegance with which he is dressed. He too makes the rounds, chatting amicably.

[TheDarkDM]

Within the Banquet

The eyes of a Siren were disconcerting even to those accustomed to their gaze, the mirrored orbs reflecting not reality-as-was but rather reality-as-should-be to all who met them. Dreams and desires lived in those black expanses, summoned by the eternal promise of the Siren, fed by the madness that lurked in each one's withered soul. Long talons gestured beneficently to each of the guests as they arrived, the sound of chimes and drums quieting to allow her voice to resonate through the chamber.

"Indeed, friends, we do not gather to dwell on the unpleasantness of the past or the mistakes of our forebears. Instead, we gather together to celebrate the infinite future. Above use, the light and labor of thousands of my children dances across the sea. It is a beacon, and it is a promise. A promise that prosperity will ever smile on my Shades, and all friends of the Glossian Sea. A promise that my warm embrace will never abandon these waters."

She smiled, the expression a strange and enticing marriage of maternal affection and predatory glee.

"We gather here to share in the first fruits of that bounty, and to pay our respects to those who made it possible."

She inclined her head towards the large drum tower that served as the Matriarchs' living quarters during Conclave.

"Alas that my good daughters found themselves too weary to attend, but their voices echo mine in jubilation."

She gave a wide sweep of her hands, and at once all attention was drawn to a parade of extravagant and exotic dishes summoned from the depths of the complex. Conch shells overflowing with tender caviars, strips of braised flesh floating in a dense seaweed gel, whole marlin mounted evocatively on skewers, even elusive dried meats suspended in salt jelly to preserve their unique textures. Every delicacy known to temperate waters had clearly been gathered, and beyond. It was these foreign delicacies, strips of flesh and jelly and lustrously charred bone that Taman attacked with the greatest relish, no doubt imported at ruinous expense from the tropical waters of her homeland.

"Please, my friends, eat and make merry!"

Without

While the miracle of the Mirrored Aurora now cast a permanent glow over the public spaces of Leriander, it also summoned deeper shadows to its periphery. It was through one such shadow that a lone figure darted, her furtive movements only exaggerated by the kelpweave cloak that concealed her. It was a primitive garment, tool of the hunter's trade, and felt uniquely out of place against the city's new lustrous veneer. Yet the mer beneath it cared little for propriety and a great deal for privacy.

Glittering eyes watched the waters around the Conclave chambers, widening in dismay as more and more representatives from temperate waters arrived to Taman's monument to narcissism. Still, she could not blame them. Power at the end of a shell-blade had ever been present in Lux-Glossian politics, and no outsider would have felt what she had felt in the past year. The shift in the energy of her own and other Shades. The terrible threat she feared. A part of her hoped she was wrong, that stability still reigned in the Conclave. But she had not seen her Matriarch lo these long years, and that octopus fear refused to release her guts.

Lost in her reverie, the hidden figure almost missed the passing of a young middish above her, his knightly bearing unmistakable. Screwing up the fullness of her courage, she shot upwards coming to rest in the knight's path.

"Please, sir knight! I am in need of your assistance."

[Feathersnow]

World Garden of the Sakura-Jin

The Primarch only left the core of the World Garden to die, such it has always been. And, in truth, the Gardeners had little knowledge and less interest in the announced schedule of this banquet. But Petrix felt making an appearance was in order, as the status and regard of the World Garden was near an all time low.

So they sent a delegation. A Levt Sage, Hamadi, ancient by Hermit Crab standards, but, after volunteering for experimental augments, briefly capable of learning as aptly as a Hermit Crab pupil and permanently able to absorb data from the parasites that made up Eusebia. This trans-sapient polymath was joined by Librarian Migdol, himself almost as odd, nearly the only Male to become a priest, and one of the senior researchers on the project to augment Hamadi.

Migdol and Hamadi attend the banquet, vaguely embarrassed that they are minor officials when the diplomacy of other nations might view it appropriate for the Primarch or their heir, should such a one exist, make an appearance.

But they are happy enough to enjoy the bounty, most Priests encouraged to avoid delicacies and live simple lives of service. Here, however, service required accepting what was on offer joyfully. And they did.

[Minescratcher]

The Banquet

Within the Banquet

The eyes of a Siren were disconcerting even to those accustomed to their gaze, the mirrored orbs reflecting not reality-as-was but rather reality-as-should-be to all who met them. Dreams and desires lived in those black expanses, summoned by the eternal promise of the Siren, fed by the madness that lurked in each one's withered soul. Long talons gestured beneficently to each of the guests as they arrived, the sound of chimes and drums quieting to allow her voice to resonate through the chamber.

"Indeed, friends, we do not gather to dwell on the unpleasantness of the past or the mistakes of our forebears. Instead, we gather together to celebrate the infinite future. Above use, the light and labor of thousands of my children dances across the sea. It is a beacon, and it is a promise. A promise that prosperity will ever smile on my Shades, and all friends of the Glossian Sea. A promise that my warm embrace will never abandon these waters."

She smiled, the expression a strange and enticing marriage of maternal affection and predatory glee.

"We gather here to share in the first fruits of that bounty, and to pay our respects to those who made it possible."

She inclined her head towards the large drum tower that served as the Matriarchs' living quarters during Conclave.

"Alas that my good daughters found themselves too weary to attend, but their voices echo mine in jubilation."

She gave a wide sweep of her hands, and at once all attention was drawn to a parade of extravagant and exotic dishes summoned from the depths of the complex. Conch shells overflowing with tender caviars, strips of braised flesh floating in a dense seaweed gel, whole marlin mounted evocatively on skewers, even elusive dried meats suspended in salt jelly to preserve their unique textures. Every delicacy known to temperate waters had clearly been gathered, and beyond. It was these foreign delicacies, strips of flesh and jelly and lustrously charred bone that Taman attacked with the greatest relish, no doubt imported at ruinous expense from the tropical waters of her homeland.

"Please, my friends, eat and make merry!"

The Grand Master nibbled at an unfamiliar caviar, fighting down the tension that Taman's speech had brought. "This glorious feast certainly does you credit," Martin said as he swallowed. "But I must protest your words. I do not dwell on the past, but the present. Tourmaline was not as subtle as her mistress must have wished her to be. Your words are gilded, but it seems to me that that is the future you speak of: a northern sea ruined by discord and strife. If such is the prosperity promised by your Aurora, then I do not think you will find the faithful amenable." His voice remained incongruously even throughout, though more than loud enough for Ashal and Kororia to hear; the first strike in the duel of words between the hero and the mysterious foe - whether villain or antihero Martin could not yet say.

With one fin, Martin bounced another roe into his mouth. "This caviar is quite good. Where does it come from?"

---

The Streets

Without

While the miracle of the Mirrored Aurora now cast a permanent glow over the public spaces of Leriander, it also summoned deeper shadows to its periphery. It was through one such shadow that a lone figure darted, her furtive movements only exaggerated by the kelpweave cloak that concealed her. It was a primitive garment, tool of the hunter's trade, and felt uniquely out of place against the city's new lustrous veneer. Yet the mer beneath it cared little for propriety and a great deal for privacy.

Glittering eyes watched the waters around the Conclave chambers, widening in dismay as more and more representatives from temperate waters arrived to Taman's monument to narcissism. Still, she could not blame them. Power at the end of a shell-blade had ever been present in Lux-Glossian politics, and no outsider would have felt what she had felt in the past year. The shift in the energy of her own and other Shades. The terrible threat she feared. A part of her hoped she was wrong, that stability still reigned in the Conclave. But she had not seen her Matriarch lo these long years, and that octopus fear refused to release her guts.

Lost in her reverie, the hidden figure almost missed the passing of a young middish above her, his knightly bearing unmistakable. Screwing up the fullness of her courage, she shot upwards coming to rest in the knight's path.

"Please, sir knight! I am in need of your assistance."

Knight Lanval of the Inslangue jumped - well, floated backwards quickly - in surprise. For his part Lanval had tended to agree with the Grand Master that the fears were all a bit overblown, and he saw the whole business mostly as an opportunity for a vacation. So his eyes had been fixed on the Mirrored Aurora, and he only just barely saw the shadow racing towards him in time to avoid a collision.

"Sorry! Yes! How may I be of assistance...." He peered at the figure shrouded by the cloak. "...lady Mer?" He hoped this was just a lost tourist, but somewhere inside he knew he would never be so lucky.

[Volthawk]

While most of the Cyphiri detachment naturally flocked to the feast, taking a particularly preference to the dishes originating from beyond the immediate area, Ashal stayed focus on...whatever it was going on between Taman and the Grand Master. It was quite entertaining, whatever it was. "Unpleasantness of the past?" Ashal laughs. "Is there any particular bit of unpleasantness we're supposed to forget? Something to do with this...Tourmaline, did you say? Or are we just talking in terms of vague pleasantries?"

[TheDarkDM]

Within the Banquet

Her full attention on the Grand Master of the knighthood, Taman's reply rippled smoothly over the growing furor of merriment.

"I am yet a stranger here, Grand Master, but I was unaware of any strife between our peoples before the Alehlangue Knights swam in force to subjugate their cousins in faith."

The Eternal Mistress' index finger flashed out in a blur to spear a delicate strand of rare meat from a passing platter.

"I would not think it a surprise that Tourmaline, long ensconced in your halls as defense against aggression within and without, protested this invasion? It is a testament to your leadership and the principles of the knighthood that her pleas fell on deaf ears."

The Streets

Reaching tentatively to pull aside her hood, the mer woman revealed a face made old by fear, though her modest years marked her as far from the ranks of the Matriarchy.

"I apologize for the surprise, good sir, but I have nowhere else to turn. My name is Llerinyalla, chief scribe in service to the Matriarch of the Cerulean Shade."

She could not help the note of pride in her voice at the accomplishment, rising to so lofty an office at barely forty years of age.

"Normally I would not travel so far from our Shade while the Matriarch and her handmaids are away, but that is the very reason I have come. Our Matriarch, all Matriarchs, have been ensconced in Conclave for months, far longer than ever before. At first, she kept in regular contact with us, as protocol demands, but of late her messages have grown vague. Distant. And in her absence the Grand Matriarch's auditors take on more and more responsibilities in my home in order to "ease our burdens." All this I might have accepted, had my request for an audience with the Conclave not been denied."

Pulling back into the protective shadows of her cloak, Llerinyalla's tense eyes rose towards the drum tower glimmering brightly along with the rest of the Conclave chambers.

"By coming here, I have violated the law of the Grand Matriarch. But I must know, sir knight. Are my misgivings simple phantasms? Or is my Matriarch under duress? Every Shade has their own secret ways to access the private quarters within the Matriarch's tower. I intend to slip inside and settle this once and for all. Only..."

Pearlescent teeth caught her lower lip.

"The Grand Matriarch's new honor guard...they frighten me. Should the worst transpire, I alone would stand no chance of escape."

[bc56]

Throughout the speech, Ilgl's eyes do not leave the siren matriarch's, but there is no surrender to the illusory promise. Reflected back in the Witness's own eyes is a power as hard as diamonds and hotter than any of the fires of the deep, a purifying flame.
"If you would seek peace, come out of the shadows so we can see what you truly are." There is little trust afforded to the new ruler of the Lux-Glossian Shades. The signs of hostile invaders setting up a puppet government are not difficult to see, and the Lysimia are distant kin to the Pfith. It would not be seemly to have them devoured, literally or metaphorically, by foreigners

[Feathersnow]

The two Gardeners, a veteran and his giant, experimental, hulking augmented opus twitch their antenna and eardrums, respectively, at the tone and implications of their fellow Sakura-Jin, the glowing Witness from Pfithreef.

[Minescratcher]

The Banquet

While most of the Cyphiri detachment naturally flocked to the feast, taking a particularly preference to the dishes originating from beyond the immediate area, Ashal stayed focus on...whatever it was going on between Taman and the Grand Master. It was quite entertaining, whatever it was. "Unpleasantness of the past?" Ashal laughs. "Is there any particular bit of unpleasantness we're supposed to forget? Something to do with this...Tourmaline, did you say? Or are we just talking in terms of vague pleasantries?"

Within the Banquet

Her full attention on the Grand Master of the knighthood, Taman's reply rippled smoothly over the growing furor of merriment.

"I am yet a stranger here, Grand Master, but I was unaware of any strife between our peoples before the Alehlangue Knights swam in force to subjugate their cousins in faith."

The Eternal Mistress' index finger flashed out in a blur to spear a delicate strand of rare meat from a passing platter.

"I would not think it a surprise that Tourmaline, long ensconced in your halls as defense against aggression within and without, protested this invasion? It is a testament to your leadership and the principles of the knighthood that her pleas fell on deaf ears."

The Grand Master moved to a sample of a familiar cattle-fish, chewing with evident relish. "Well, one does not lightly break an oath. Had they truly been deaf, she may have been more successful. If this surprised you, it is something you will have to learn, and quickly." He chuckled and half turned to Ashal beside him.

"Yes, Tourmaline is a... shall we say, in politeness, a 'speculatrice'? One of the former Grand Matriarchs stationed her in Orope as a favor to the Grand Master; I am given to understand that she watched for signs of outside infiltration of the Knights. The new Mistress saw fit to change her orders - or, if we wish to speak of strife and befores, possibly merely continued an old policy - in either case, she was exposed by a group of sages who she sought to incite to high treason against the Order of Orders. I am told hers was a narrow escape from justice." His voice did not change, but his photophores flashed with restrained anger.

"You have not yet answered, most gracious host," Martin said, turning fully back to Taman, "and the fulfillment of my noble oath depends upon what you might say. Of what nature is your prosperity? And whence the caviar?" He swallowed another bite of fish.

"Or is there no answer to be given? I saw lights and figures dancing above the waves as I entered this hall, but they were merely that: insubstantial figures. Shall we wake in the morning to find the food in our bellies was such an illusion? Is that the future which we now fête?"

---

The Streets

The Streets

Reaching tentatively to pull aside her hood, the mer woman revealed a face made old by fear, though her modest years marked her as far from the ranks of the Matriarchy.

"I apologize for the surprise, good sir, but I have nowhere else to turn. My name is Llerinyalla, chief scribe in service to the Matriarch of the Cerulean Shade."

She could not help the note of pride in her voice at the accomplishment, rising to so lofty an office at barely forty years of age.

"Normally I would not travel so far from our Shade while the Matriarch and her handmaids are away, but that is the very reason I have come. Our Matriarch, all Matriarchs, have been ensconced in Conclave for months, far longer than ever before. At first, she kept in regular contact with us, as protocol demands, but of late her messages have grown vague. Distant. And in her absence the Grand Matriarch's auditors take on more and more responsibilities in my home in order to "ease our burdens." All this I might have accepted, had my request for an audience with the Conclave not been denied."

Pulling back into the protective shadows of her cloak, Llerinyalla's tense eyes rose towards the drum tower glimmering brightly along with the rest of the Conclave chambers.

"By coming here, I have violated the law of the Grand Matriarch. But I must know, sir knight. Are my misgivings simple phantasms? Or is my Matriarch under duress? Every Shade has their own secret ways to access the private quarters within the Matriarch's tower. I intend to slip inside and settle this once and for all. Only..."

Pearlescent teeth caught her lower lip.

"The Grand Matriarch's new honor guard...they frighten me. Should the worst transpire, I alone would stand no chance of escape."

Lanval sighed. Of course. At least the thing to do was clear.

"Lead on, then. I'm not as clumsy-finned as I look, and my lord has his own misgivings about the new Grand Matriarch. We'll gather a few others on the way and plumb the depths of this conspiracy. Oh, and Lanval is my name, Knight of the Ironkelp Order." As they traveled, he halted occasionally, whispering to the Knights they passed. A few followed at a discreet distance.

[TheDarkDM]

Within the Banquet

The mistrust in the room was met by a throaty laugh from the Eternal Mistress, her claws waving away recrimination as one might the unpleasant expulsions of a thermal vent.

"I promise, Grand Master, there are no illusions within this hall. Though all are made more glorious by the works of my Shades, we are all as we have always been."

Talons played across the table like the legs of a crab, winding between the fancifully arranged dishes.

"The caviar which has so caught your attention is local, in fact, the product of my dedicated sturgeon hunters. What has caught your palate is its preparation - I recently imported a chef from the Lojanese Republic and his work speaks for itself."

Accentuating her words, she scooped a long line of the glimmering eggs in one claw and brought them to her waiting tongue.

"That is the spirit of the prosperity I envision. Bridging the gaps that have so long divided the far-flung centers of culture to arise in our renaissance of glory. We are unlikely ever to agree on the morality of Tourmaline's actions, but I hope at least you appreciate her loyalty to the Conclave. Oaths bind both our peoples."

Her attention shifted to the burning, implacable gaze of Ilgl.

"I assure you, my dearest wish at this event is to banish the shadows between temperate waters forever. As a émigré to these lands, I am hazy on what has so suddenly sparked the violence to the North, but a blood-stained sea benefits no one. True, the Shades' few means of defense are those of subterfuge, but my people are ill-accustomed and little pleased to stand in a state of war. Far better a state of Flowing Peace, that the darkness still enveloping the world might be banished further."

The Streets

Swimming quickly between the commercial and bureaucratic offices that clustered around the Conclave chambers, Llerinyalla led Lanval to the base of the cliff that supported the ancient edifice. With little warning, she halted before an unremarkable rock face, staring fitfully into the surrounding shadows.

"I must ask you to avert your gaze, sir knight. I was sworn to keep these secrets."

Though the knight obliged her, there was no mistaking the sound of shifting panels in some cleverly-hidden mechanism, nor the sudden change in temperature as a plug swung open on silent hinges to disgorge a flow of warm water into the chill of the canyon floor.

"This way."

For long minutes they swam in murky darkness, the constant motion of Llerinyalla's tail the only guidance in the stony abyss that swallowed them when the plug sealed itself on a counterweight. Eventually, though, light began to filter down through an intricate geometric pattern above, and with a slight push Llerinyalla released the latch holding an nondescript portion of the Cerulean Shade's entrance hall closed.

"Sellym? Meryllis?"

Her voice bounced queerly through the bright hall, its gaily sculpted walls and glow-bulbs a stark contrast to the looming emptiness of the place. With a fearful glance back at Lanval, the mer woman swam forward, down the short hall that connected to the suite of personal rooms as well as the passage up to the Matriarch's offices and quarters.

"Matriarch, are you here!?"

Every room Llerinyalla passed was dark, save those with windows looking out on the city. There, the chambers were awash in light to compliment the banquet, but it seemed a cold and mocking glow to her. This entire floor of the Conclave Tower was deserted, and as she swam back to Lanval it was with rising fear in her eyes. A fear the gallant knight could well understand, for he had seen what she had not - the scratches of something heavy and inert dragged across the floor, towards the door that opened to the rest of the tower.

[Minescratcher]

The Banquet

Within the Banquet

The mistrust in the room was met by a throaty laugh from the Eternal Mistress, her claws waving away recrimination as one might the unpleasant expulsions of a thermal vent.

"I promise, Grand Master, there are no illusions within this hall. Though all are made more glorious by the works of my Shades, we are all as we have always been."

Talons played across the table like the legs of a crab, winding between the fancifully arranged dishes.

"The caviar which has so caught your attention is local, in fact, the product of my dedicated sturgeon hunters. What has caught your palate is its preparation - I recently imported a chef from the Lojanese Republic and his work speaks for itself."

Accentuating her words, she scooped a long line of the glimmering eggs in one claw and brought them to her waiting tongue.

"That is the spirit of the prosperity I envision. Bridging the gaps that have so long divided the far-flung centers of culture to arise in our renaissance of glory. We are unlikely ever to agree on the morality of Tourmaline's actions, but I hope at least you appreciate her loyalty to the Conclave. Oaths bind both our peoples."

Her attention shifted to the burning, implacable gaze of Ilgl.

"I assure you, my dearest wish at this event is to banish the shadows between temperate waters forever. As a émigré to these lands, I am hazy on what has so suddenly sparked the violence to the North, but a blood-stained sea benefits no one. True, the Shades' few means of defense are those of subterfuge, but my people are ill-accustomed and little pleased to stand in a state of war. Far better a state of Flowing Peace, that the darkness still enveloping the world might be banished further."

My Shades, my hunters, my vision, my wishes, my people. A tyrant, then. Our roles are cast. Martin surveyed the faces of the other dinner guests. "I agree that one cannot serve two lords, at least," he muttered to no one in particular as Taman turned to Igil. He waited for her to finish speaking before raising his voice again.

"My compliments to the Lojanese, then. There are times when a foreigner may be better placed to improve upon something than those who have lived with it... And there are times when one finds that those who have lived in one sea all their lives rather have the better understanding of its currents. Usually only when one is swept away by them. Which one describes you, only fate can tell us. I am sure that we will not agree on that tonight."

---

The Streets

The Streets

Swimming quickly between the commercial and bureaucratic offices that clustered around the Conclave chambers, Llerinyalla led Lanval to the base of the cliff that supported the ancient edifice. With little warning, she halted before an unremarkable rock face, staring fitfully into the surrounding shadows.

"I must ask you to avert your gaze, sir knight. I was sworn to keep these secrets."

Though the knight obliged her, there was no mistaking the sound of shifting panels in some cleverly-hidden mechanism, nor the sudden change in temperature as a plug swung open on silent hinges to disgorge a flow of warm water into the chill of the canyon floor.

"This way."

For long minutes they swam in murky darkness, the constant motion of Llerinyalla's tail the only guidance in the stony abyss that swallowed them when the plug sealed itself on a counterweight. Eventually, though, light began to filter down through an intricate geometric pattern above, and with a slight push Llerinyalla released the latch holding an nondescript portion of the Cerulean Shade's entrance hall closed.

"Sellym? Meryllis?"

Her voice bounced queerly through the bright hall, its gaily sculpted walls and glow-bulbs a stark contrast to the looming emptiness of the place. With a fearful glance back at Lanval, the mer woman swam forward, down the short hall that connected to the suite of personal rooms as well as the passage up to the Matriarch's offices and quarters.

"Matriarch, are you here!?"

Every room Llerinyalla passed was dark, save those with windows looking out on the city. There, the chambers were awash in light to compliment the banquet, but it seemed a cold and mocking glow to her. This entire floor of the Conclave Tower was deserted, and as she swam back to Lanval it was with rising fear in her eyes. A fear the gallant knight could well understand, for he had seen what she had not - the scratches of something heavy and inert dragged across the floor, towards the door that opened to the rest of the tower.

Lanval's photophores flashed a pattern of distress. "I fear no one will answer, lady Llerinyalla. Look here."

He swam towards the scrapes on the floor, faintly illuminating the hash edges with his own luminescence. "The mark of a Titanic claw? - no, wait, some taste of blood would remain... something large has been dragged away through this door. Mer-sized, maybe?" He snapped his head upward, flicking his mouth-blade into his teeth.

"Arm yourself. Time surely presses...." He trailed off. "...Would you kindly open this door? Normally the appropriate thing to do is to smash it to bits and charge in with a battlecry, but I fear this one's too large for me. If I push it open we certainly won't keep the element of surprise against anyone on the other side."

[bc56]

Ilgl nods to Martin. "We are in agreement. Those who speak most eloquently of peace often bring about the most vicious wars. Whether through the failure to realize the necessity of warfare to protect what is precious, or through their willingness to destroy everything that stands in the way of their perceived peace, or because they are simply power-hungry liars. You have not yet proven yourself, and your eyes do not speak well of you." Shifty illusions of prosperity are not to be trusted, and the diamond will of the Effulgent Witness will not falter.

[Volthawk]

Of the heads of state present, it's Ashal that seems most swayed by Taman's words. She's still putting on the act of the entertained observer, more interested in the spectacle than what's said, but she's listening to what's being said, and so far doesn't have much reason to oppose the siren, particularly as she was saying all the right things by Ashal's reckoning. She trusts Martin's judgement, though - despite recent troubles, the Cyphiri had always trusted the Order when it came to the matter of threats to the Way - and so while she's not convinced that he's on the right track, she doesn't oppose him and support Taman either. Instead she quietly watches and waits, anticipating the moment where one of the two blinks first, or where Ilgl pushes the balance in Martin's favour. She had to admit, it was quite exciting.

[TheDarkDM]

Far below the tense glamor of the banquet, Llerinyalla and Lanval swam on. There had been no grand confrontation past the outer door leading to the winding tunnel that ascended the tower, only further false lights and a longer trail of abrasions on the stone. Their suspicious trail joined this river of chips and scratches, leading down to more levels bereft of life. Llerinyalla's pace grew more frantic with each vanished delegation, and the breath through her gills was sharp and shallow when they finally reached the base of the tower. Only two things awaited them there - the wide, sealed doors leading to the grand foyer, and the yawning pit that led to the tower's underworks where all the manifold duties of serving the Matriarchal delegations were tended to.

Their trail led down.

The water warmed as they descended, a current carrying heat and a dizzying mélange of scents that was nearly intoxicating to endure. More and more desolate rooms and offices yawned before the intrepid investigators, their empty darkness only accentuating the flickering intensity of lights in the distance. The crimson glimmers clawed at the darkness through half-shut curtains of kelp fiber, casting strange shadows over misshapen piles that became hastily-discarded nets under close observation. The heavy fibers, bound and reinforced with coral barbs, betrayed the cause of the trail that had guided them, and it was with a fearful glance that Llerinyalla pulled the curtain aside enough for both to see.

Compared to the sepulchral tower above, the kitchens serving the Conclave were a riot of color and life, every alcove occupied with the business of the Eternal Mistress' festival. Everywhere, mer swam with the practiced haste of professionals, though the fevered gleam in their eyes was anything but. The water was redolent with the leavings of preparation, crimson curtains rising from butcher's blocks and carving tables of mother of pearl. Bubbles roiled up from a pit where phosphorite ovens roasted long spits of meat, while here and there darting eelpouts caught the leavings from a decorative bed of kelp or sea grass. But for all the furor, there was a center to the maelstrom, a raised platform where a male mer was attacking a slab of meat with a horrifying contraption. Light and shadow conspired to play tricks on the eyes, but at last the kitchen's filtration system heaved a long sigh to clear the water, covering Llerinyalla's gasp as she saw the photosynthetic skin of a lysimian Matriarch tear free of her body.

---

It was a day to remember in the life of Nau'eathan Klairng. Once the rising star of one of the finest hospitals in the Lojanese Republic, his theories on the clinical value of consumption had been seen as a harmless eccentricity at first. It was only after the fifth disappearance from the morgue that questions had been asked, staff interrogated, and his future quietly dismantled to avoid a scandal. He'd been forced to travel under an assumed name for years, and at last the middle-aged mer considered his craft perfected. Somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten where exactly, his passion for medicine had been subsumed by his passion for the art, and he'd been surprised to suddenly find his skills in demand. Not publicly, of course, but among the elite of the Republic there was ever an appetite for the outré. For experiences that only an expert could provide. It had been the careful work of long years to build his select clientele, but a tragic misstep had almost cost him everything. An entrée with connections beyond her lifestyle led to questions. Questions led to interrogations on behalf of a growing list of grieving relatives, and once more he was on the run. Only now with a collection of growing recommendations, and an eager client awaiting him in cooler waters.

A practiced flick of his fingers retracted the flensing blades from his work glove, and the lysimian hide was tossed down to a waiting sous chef. He'd been hesitant to accept the extra help at first, but it was a real necessity for the quantity of service the Eternal Mistress demanded. An exacting diet of terror and addiction had assured their compliance, and as the younger mer set to grinding down and refining the photoactive chemicals Chef Klairng noted with satisfaction that her hands barely shook at all. The lightly glowing gel that would eventually result was the piece de resistance that elevated the local sturgeon roe to new heights, another brilliant marriage (if he said so himself) in a brilliant career. Elsewhere, the waste hearts of the livestock were being stuffed with herbs and whale cheese before spit-roasting, a favorite of the Death Commando who so rarely commented on any aspect of life outside their bizarre conditioning. The age of most of the meat was hardly ideal, of course, but such challenges were the spice of life. Reaching up to the levered cutting arm of the butcher's block, Klairng carved away huge steaks from the most tender cuts, avoiding what he had learned through careful experimentation were the fattiest and gamiest areas of lysimian physiology. They really were a much greater challenge than mer - those he'd left to his sous after displaying mastery of the technique, and only two of them had failed so utterly as to be added to the larder. Glancing up towards the filtration vents, Klairng nodded absentmindedly to the solitary Death Commando on watch, secure in his small kingdom.

---

Fighting down nausea as she recognized more and more of the pieces of meat being systematically broken down and prepared, Llerinyalla tore her gaze away to cast a pleading glance at Lanval.

"What do we do?"

Her question hung in the water between them for only a moment before a pitiful scream erupted from the center of the kitchen. Fresh meat for the Chef.

[Minescratcher]

Lanval gave no answer. There were no words in the Knight’s mind that could adequately express the magnitude of this crime. Instead, he simply charged forward.

Klairng knew nothing except pain shooting across the entire left side of his body. It was pure luck on the part of the Death Commando guarding the kitchen to look up at the last possible moment to deflect Lanval’s charge, sending the Knight and his mouth-blade spiraling into, and then through, the chef’s shoulder. Billowing clouds of blood surrounded him as he watched the two fighters circling each other. It was self-evidently time for another assumed name. Nau'eathan Klairng vanished into the Glossian night.

The kucen assigned to guard the kitchens hadn’t expected to do anything but lounge in the relatively warm water and eat a few hearts. Now faced with a skilled foe, the Death Commando reflexively lunged forward, their flurry of shortspear strikes churning the water into an impenetrable fog of bubbles. Something struck them hard in the leg, but they knew the pain was nothing; a minor annoyance which was easily ignored in the name of their duty to the Mistress. They whirled about, seeking the source of the blow, but found only more bubbles – and a strike to the other leg. They spun back – and collapsed, their broken legs folding beneath them with the force of the turn. By the time the Commando thought to shout a warning, their throat was already cut. Wisps of red felt their way outwards to join the clouds of blood coagulating about the butcher’s counter.

Lanval turned next to the chef’s aide, but discovered that his third opponent had already removed herself from the fight. The young mer’s drug cocktail had evidently had side effects unknown or irrelevant to her new masters, and the force of her unconscious convulsions had flung her well above the table where she had worked.

Llerinyalla's nausea soared, and she gagged and coughed as the filtration vents belched a blast of hot, bloody water towards her.

"I – I must go, sir knight. The Shade – I have to tell – "

"Go now! Before the rest of the kitchen notices us!"

Llerinyalla turned and fled back up the tunnel to the tower as Lanval placed himself in front of the curtain, awaiting an attack from the lesser cooks. But it never came. A handful of mer seized up as the sous had; most carried on as if nothing had happened. A few tied the corpse of the Death Commando to the butcher’s platform with distressing speed, and an awful grinding noise soon reached the Knight’s ears. He slipped back behind the curtain.

In the darkness, he opened his mouth and flashed blue.

---

The banquet guests barely heard the first scream, and though a few looked around, it was soon dismissed as merely a rogue current outside. Chatter and fine dining went on, insofar as those seated with the Eternal Mistress could really be said to be enjoying either.

The second scream shook the tables.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The hall was instantly in chaos as red-armored kucen poured into the room. A ring of spears surrounded Taman as she looked about in sudden bewilderment. The foreign guests backed away as two more groups of kucen appeared in the entrance to the grand chamber, bracketing the Order Grand Master’s Middish guards, who swarmed up and over them and arced down towards the banquet table.

The third scream cracked the crystal serving plates.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

When the guests uncovered their ears, Martin and his guards were gone, and Taman was halfway through the door, surrounded by tens of armed and armored kucen. As their hearing recovered, the Eternal Mistress’s voice pierced the din:

"Ah – HAPPY FESTIVAL, FRIENDS! TO MY FUTURE! AhahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHEEHEEHEEHEEHOO – "

A door slammed somewhere in the outer passageway, and then all that was left were the echoes of the Siren’s maniacal laughter ringing in their ears.

---

Few noticed how the Aurora’s glow cast the shadow of a lone Middish on the wall, swimming upwards and away. Fewer still spotted the mer as she returned by secret ways to the waters of the Cerulean Shade. But far, far more than were present in Leriander would soon know the secrets they carried. And Lux-Glossia would soon be in upheaval once again.

[Volthawk]

When Taman's kucen and Martin's Middish swarm into the banquet hall, so do so Ashal's kucen and Kalan, those that weren't directly assigned to a member of the Cyphiri delegation but were staying close by. They ignore the Taman situation, however, instead following the original plan - the Kalan bodyguards wrangle the various Cyphiri present into a defensive position, with the kucen bulking up the numbers surrounding the Cyphiri and creating a safe zone - and any other guests seeking protection, as while they're not specifically grabbed by the Kalan, but nobody stops them swimming into the safe zone if they're not armed. Ashal's prime priority here is the safety of her people, after all, and ensuring that whatever is going on here doesn't cause too much collateral damage. It swiftly appears that her concern was unneccessary, though, when the din clears and both sides have instead retreated. Shrugging, Ashal swims out of the safe zone and surveys the scene, clapping her tentacles together as he looks at the guests left behind. "Well then. That's it for the banquet, I suppose. I expect we'll find out what actually happened here soon enough."

[Frostwander]

In the banquet hall, Duarto Alverna observes by does not partake of the increasingly heated banter between the hostess and the other guests, in particular taking note of the words of the Middish and the Pfilghol. His allows his small talk with a number of the less influential attendees to wane as the central discourse takes more of the guests' focus. Rain Loura spends more efforts trying to bring some of his own conversation back to the fore with those floating nearby, but even the charismatic financier draws far less attention than the brewing argument.

Well into the banquet, amid verbal ripostes of caviar and blood, a young sereia quietly makes their entrance, swimming around the edges of the halls to drift beside Alverna. Their volume does not compare with the raised voices at the center, though those nearby can hear, "Beg pardon, Padrino. You asked to be notified as soon as there was a breakthrough. Word just came." The messenger offers a clamshell, one side dyed blue, which Duarto accepts in one hand, considering thoughtfully. His expression flits subtly from satisfaction to irritation - good news with poor timing, perhaps.

Whatever the sereian leader is about to say next is lost as he pauses, head tilting to a distant sound. He shakes his head, expression returning to a pensive frown as he presses the shell back to the younger merfolk. "This is not the time. Take this back, We'll be returning, shortly. Thank you."

The messenger accepts the shell back, giving a polite nod and curl of the fins. Confused but obedient, they make their way back toward the entrance. Before they have finished their exit, the second scream rattles the tables, and chaos ensues.

[bc56]

Ilgl does not so much as flinch as the hall is swarming with soldiers and the host and the Grand Master flee the scene. The intensity of their heat rises ever so slightly, but otherwise, one gets the sense that it would take pitched battle before they would move a muscle.
And finally, everything calms down.
"We are genuinely surprised," with regard to the siren's closing remarks, the Witness comments, "We expected she would maintain the veneer of civility long enough to finish dinner. We shall have to see what provoked this confrontation." With that, The-One-Who-Builds swims out of the hall to begin a return to their own lands. Word will come, soon enough, they're certain of that.

[Feathersnow]

'Indeed, what they said!" Says Migdol. Hamadi covers his escape as they follow the Pfilghol delegation out.