Aeliana scrunched her face, aided by a nearby torch, the creases cast shadows across her olive toned skin.
“You know this was not a unanimous decision. If the Badir were to learn that you sent those ships, they would have your head.” She spoke with purpose, the tone of a practiced diplomat. The words flowed effortlessly as fluent Orcish though she was no Orc herself. She regarded a large figure clad in various layered rags over armor as if he fell asleep in a lost and found bin at the local barracks.
His tone was gruff, like a barrel full of rocks tipping over, “I own my decisions, Lady,” the last word nearly threatening to cut the woman. He turned to face her, towering over her by nearly a foot, “The Dwarves have known me for decades. They want to leave this broken land as much as we do,” his finger motioned to his chest and then to her shoulder, “That includes you.”
Aeliana’s eyes darted about the hallway looking for anything else to focus on besides the slab of soldier in front of her, though her back remained straightened. She steeled herself, looking up at him, “Captain, these are times when trust and…” she paused, thinking for a moment before switching to the common tongue, “Oh, what is the word for transparency.”
The Captain laughed heartily, “Good to see the diplomats are not so perfect,” he pat her shoulder roughly and turned to face the other direction. He looked back at her from the corner of his eye, his long black braided beard bounced with each word, “Come to me for a sword lesson or two. Be prepared for when your words fail you again.” He baulked with a hearty laugh once more and walked off down the hallway.
Her brows furrowed. A group of armored soldiers quickly brush past. Ah, his retinue of bodyguards. Pride of Nexaria. She exhaled dramatically, silently cursing this hodgepodge city.
With the spin of a heel Aeliana propelled herself in the opposite direction. The walkway was a long path full of windows facing the sea, facing the great many islands that inhabited her land, and the distant chaos. If the shattering hadn’t happened then she would no doubt be enjoying the life of a scryer in Junon, or perhaps a weaver of fine garments.
Her pace began to slow and she slowly approached one of the cut-out windows. There were no glass panes or anything of the sort, too expensive and a waste of materials in this tropical climate. Her skin prickled, grazing and resting against the clay of the windowsill.
In the distant sea raged a twisting, perilous storm. The colors always remained a dark menagerie of blacks and purples with streaks of lightning to highlight the chaos. It had always been like this since she was a child, and she assumed it would forever remain this way until it swallowed the world whole. Aeliana cupped her chin in her hands, elbows resting on the sill, I wonder how long we can run from you, how long until you find us in the new world.
“Oy! Lady Sing!” A familiar voice called out, pulling her from her reverie. She glanced over her shoulder to see a stout dwarven fellow, waving her along. He was dressed in some finery, a stark contrast to the captain earlier. It was a loose fitted tailored robe with a layered vest, gold filigree dancing along each thread.
“Lord Dural is it time already?” She turned to face him, approaching swiftly and making for the other side of the hall.
He took a large breath with each step, doing his best to keep up with his long-legged colleague, “Yes, ‘tis noon or a rat’s hair,” he took a breath, “from it.”
She smiled and nodded, “Will Thern Badir be sending you along? You could tell me all about that crystal cave you found,” she chuckled politely, clearly the cave did not go as whimsically as her tone indicated.
“Aye, they apt ta’ send me,” he inhaled sharply, “Brickard, Tholmir, an’,” he exhaled, then inhaled, “Agna too…” he coughed a few times as they stopped before a large door. Stubby fingers gripped around his backside until he found a familiar rag, pulling it out and dabbing at his forehead, his dark brown hair matted along the sweat of his brow. “You uplanders and this green hell everything is wet everything sticks.”
She sympathized, “I envy the cool of your caves, but the sun here is agreeable and the tides…” A frown flashed across her face, she couldn’t remember the last time she swam in the sea; Quickly she regained her composure, “… are pleasant to look at it. Shall we?” Long fingers gripped the handles and tugged, opening the door and revealing the stark golden rays of the setting sun, blinding and oppressive.
The doors opened to a courtyard bathed in the radiance. The courtyard was circular, surrounded by opposing armed guards posted at the multiple entrances. As the doors closed behind Aeliana and Lord Dural two guards stepped in front of the doors, marking a one way only for them both. The courtyard grounds were sparse and dry, no grass or ornate flowers or topiaries for this highly secure locale. A large tent was erected at the center, large enough for a King to drink and cheat on their Queen with during a festival.
Aeliana looked to Lord Dural, and he back to her. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and in a hushed voice, “Why must it always be me that goes first, Brundur?” She did not wait for an answer, and Brundur Dural only shrugged as she led the charge.
Only one guard was stationed at the entrance. It was a large Orc woman, clad to the nines in thick armor that makes one question how she isn’t cooked in that oven. No words exchanged as she begins to pat Aeliana down, searching for any weapons or maybe poison.
Satisfied with the girl, the guard moved on to Brundur, taking a knee to get down to his level and do the same.
“E-Easy now,” he shuffled awkwardly under her touch but thankfully passes the check.
“Wonderful,” Aeliana nods stepping forward towards the entrance.
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A swift gauntlet pushes her shoulder backwards, Brundur quickly caught the woman as best he could to avoid any falls. Aeliana caught herself on her heel, and her friend, then quickly straightened her back, “What is the meani—”
Confused, anger filled eyes are met with a large crystal, suspended in air and spinning in front of her face. An open palm is below it, the same guard letting the light bathe Aeliana, “This check, you know it,” the orcish woman spoke, clearly practicing her broken common tongue.
“Hmph,” Aeliana dusted her shoulder realizing a nice bruise would be left behind, “you’ve checked me dozens of times,” her hand motioned to Brundur, “both of us!”
The dwarf resigned himself and welcomed the light, both palms open and at his side, “Just do yer job, no need for fussin’.”
The orc huffed contentedly and scanned the light over them both. Aeliana mimicked Brundur’s pose, opening her palms to the light. After a few moments the light was extinguished and the guard was satisfied, “Go in,” she parted the flap and invited both inside.
A wall of thick incense began to assault both of their noses. It was hot and oppressive, not unlike the ashes from the common volcanic eruptions. A large table sits at the center, an assortment of maps and documents strewn about. A dozen torches light the tent, though not of the fire variety. All four of the torches hummed with throngs of dwarven innovation with human ingenuity applied.
“You two. Good. A dozen corsairs are being made ready,” a voice came out of nowhere causing Aeliana to yelp. A pile of furs began to shuffle, then turn, revealing a tall woman wearing a similar fine suit to Brundur but with pelts across her back in a fine display for a cape. Two large tusks jutted from her bottom jaw, and her skin tone a tanned olive not dissimilar to Aeliana.
Both Aeliana and Brundur bowed swiftly, heads aligned with the nearby table edge. They spoke in unison, “Lord Ironclad,” their words were heavily practiced, “The Accord remains.”
“And always shall,” she muttered in an amused tone. “Captain Blackbade convinced me,” she looked over to a nearby pot next to the table, a black mass within combined with a foul scent, “combined with the druid’s findings, our home may not be our home for much longer.” She frowned for a moment, then returned her gaze to them both, still bowing. “Up,” she gestured a finger.
Both of them stood up but did not make eye contact with Ironclad. Aeliana gazed at the pot next to the table. The corrupted earth was not common on this island, but she had heard of other islands falling to the foul soil. It rendered land inhospitable and caused infections to humans, orcs, and dwarves alike.
“The new world out west is ideal. We will set up a staging area and you,” she looked and focused on Aeliana, “Lady Sing, will lead our negotiations. Locals are reported, as well as arcane wielders.” She clasped her hands in front of her, back straightened.
Aeliana blinked a few times, “I-er… that is an honor, your Lordship. I will gladly take on this burde—”
“And what ta’…” Brundur interjected, but paused for a breath, “would be the procedure for dealin’ with these magi,” he spoke a fluent Orcish, each strong word highlighted beautifully in the dwarvish tongue.
“Subjugation, interrogation,” the Lord leaned forward, “and transportation. Control the flow of arcane magic and avoid another shattering. No killing, of course,” she smiled and nodded knowingly. She moved around the table and gripped a pitcher, then a cup in the other hand. Both eyes glanced to the two in front of her, then back to the pitcher to begin pouring.
The two did not utter a word, only watched. Aeliana felt a bead of sweat roll down her back. I’m no fighter, no soldier. How can I talk to these foreigners? What if they have a mage? What do I do?! She could feel the panic reaching a critical point.
Brundur narrowed his eyes I’m a geologist, not a trader. I’m not going there to collect stock.
The sound of the water reaching the top was a welcome reprieve. Ironclad sucked on her teeth and smiled, pleased with the loyalty. “Our blood is that of merchants and traders. We won’t forget that vision so there will be no killing of the sort, only good business.” She took a swig, gulping the water down, then setting the cup and pitcher down.
“Business will grant trust. Trust will grant us land, allies, and the aid we need to avoid further crisis,” she lifted a hand to the west, pointing towards the harbor. “The good Captain gave us the push we need and the Sovereignty agrees,”
Aeliana bit her lip Why is she trying to justify herself to us? Just dismiss us for our sanity’s sake. It was your people that caused this mess
In the moment that Aeliana’s attention lapsed, Ironclad had somehow darted passed the table and got in the diplomat’s face.
“Steel yourself, Aeliana Sing of Junon,” the Lord interjected as slender yet strong fingers clasped themselves around the collar of her dress, pulling her closer suddenly, “Never forget. Your city,” she sucked her teeth once more, her tone changing as she switched from orcish to the common tongue, “was full of strong men and women. They died so you can live, just as my clan perished,” her other hand outstretched and gestured to Brundur, “and his clan too. The Rune Halls of Thern Badir will never sing their arcane orchestras again.”
Brundur frowned deeply, caught off guard by the mention of his home. His eyes danced around the room until they found the dwarven torches. The burning light was a welcome reprieve from the threat of tears.
Aeliana felt her anger rising, it was unusual for such a demure woman. She stammered her words, eyes looking every which way except for Ironclads’, “I-I know this… I… yes, never forget. I pray to my family daily but… but,” she searched her soul for the words, “… taking and trading their people, their magi,” she quickly back peddled on her words, panic setting in, “I-I know the arcane is a corruption and leads to the shattering!”
Ironclad hefted the woman in the air, her feet dangling and the threads of Aeliana’s dress audibly straining against her grip, “That is why I am sending you as the negotiator. Use that naiveté and win their trust. I want Outpost Sabulum established within three months’ time.”
Aeliana panicked even more, her feet dangling in the strong grip of the leader, essentially her Queen. The words registered but flustered her more,
Why must she always pepper in elvish words to common tongue. She thought to herself, then quickly spoke up,
“Sabulum will be ours—Yes, yes! I will… send the estimates and more when I a-a-ascertain the situation there,” her feet found the ground again as she was lowered.
“Wonderous, Lady Sing,” she looked to Brundur, “Study their soil, their earth. The leashed Druids are too much of a risk for you to bear,” she looked remorseful.
Brundur nodded, “Aye. Shite bears and birds ain’t much fer the sea and stars,” he crossed his arms with confidence, “Clan Dural been millin’ the deep earth for eons. I can till a bramble patch ten thousand leagues under and be shittin’ apples by harvest time, eh.”
Ironclad pounded her chest and offered a swift nod of her head, “Glory to the Thern Badir and their sons,” she smiled awkwardly.
Brundur pounded his chest in return.
Aeliana felt the temptation but thought it wouldn’t be right.
“Dismissed you two. Your ships leave at first light on the morrow. Finish your affairs and I expect word the moment your feet touch the ground again,” both of her feet punctuated her sentence as she stood at attention in front of them, “Go with the graces and wit of The Accord at your back.”
Both of them replied in unison, “The Accord remains,” and before they bowed swiftly once more.