It was the first day of the new year as dictated by the royal calendar. As such, under the clear cerulean sky a line of exquisite carriages trailed their way up toward a grandly marbled castle. Hundreds of servants, men and women dressed in finery reflecting culture from all over the western territories, were arranged outside of the castle in the courtyard on this day. Some nervous faces could be seen amongst them, younger men and women who had little experience to draw upon for this event, but most of them kept cool expressions.

As the first carriage approached the long pathway up to the castle, adorned with arches and emerald-colored florals, the closest servants bowed. As the gleaming ivory and scarlet-hued carriage stopped, a servant wearing a similarly-colored suit rushed forth to open the doors.

The occupants, two men dressed in military regalia and four women in impressively ornate finery, gracefully exited the carriage.

“Hoh? This is the meeting spot this year? And I thought it couldn’t get any more remote than Yelesburn.”

General Jacinth, the leading representative of Mont Ryoux at the western conference noted with derision evident in his voice.

“They must have already run out of populous cities to host at. It seems like these conferences have been in the sticks for the past few years…”

At the General’s side his legate, a painfully tall man named Hornet, whose most prominent feature was unfortunately a very sharp nose, responded. Both of their eyes traced over the outline of the castle before them. If it had any more floors to it, one might might’ve called it a palace. An odd fixture to see against the background of a land without civilization. As they were being led in by the servants on foot, they noticed the incredible wealth displayed by the decorations along the path.

“It’s surely out in the middle of nowhere, but whoever coordinated this clearly has had the deep pockets to account for that.”

At that point, the six representatives of their nation were interrupted as the members of the Pytheonian representative approached.

“Don’t you all read the Publishing? This year’s conference is not being held in the middle of nowhere, but the future capital city of the continent! Hah, I’m not surprised you don’t know. ‘Never expect a Ryoux to be well-read’, or so they say…”

The man who had so flamboyantly introduced himself was Nathan Derecross. Not a general nor a legate, but a full-fledged politician. The Pytheonians, unlike their southern rivals-of-war, had neither the tradition nor inclination to double their military commanders as representatives of state. Thus Derecross had come with a full contingent of cloth-clad representatives, not one of steel.

His remark was pointed, and the laughter from the five Pytheonian’s behind him did little to blunt the purposefully offensive tone of it.

Jacinth scowled. Seeing the Pytheonian’s exit from the carriage brought nothing but rage to his mind, but he didn’t act impulsively. He was under orders to be here, and would not behave in the boorish manner of his predecessor during the first year the war had started.

He started toward the Pytheonians with his arms held out grandly.

“Ah, perhaps I was too hasty to deem my surroundings so poorly. It would seem that we officials of the Mont Ryoux legionary are far too boorish to read something like the Publishing, and are more focused on winning the war.”

The comment made the nearby servants freeze. Each servant attending the event was dressed in the cultural clothing of the guests they were to serve. The last thing they wanted was for the party they looked like they were from to get into a violent dispute.

The prodding comment however, did little to stoke a physical confrontation as the servants feared. Instead, Derecross immediately retorted with another backhanded remark.

“Too focused was it? So much so that you couldn’t see the current progress of the city being built just down the road? The same city that our carriages have been tracing the outline of for the last hour of the trip? Was it your concentration on the war that dulled your attention, or perhaps you were more focused on some of your colleagues than your surroundings?”

The eyes of all servants within earshot bulged. Derecross’s tongue was sharp, inflicting AOE damage on the whole of the Mont Ryoux delegation.

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Insulting their general was bad enough, but he had brought up the suggestive nature of the Mont Ryoux female representative’s clothing. The two nations, despite being separated on their northern and southern borders by merely a thin line of desert and canyons, had completely different cultures. Even with that said, the Pytheonian’s had hit a particularly tender nail on its head as Mont Ryoux’s treatment of the fairer sex in their country generally conflicted with the traditions of most surrounding nations.

The Pytheonian delegate didn’t stop there, however.

“Dare I say it’s a dangerous trait for a soldier, let alone a General of an army to be so inattentive of his surroundings! Did you really not see the building of Emeras as you passed?”

“That’s it!”

The man to the side of Genera Jacinth, Legate Hornet shouted out. With veins bulging across his face all the way to the point of his nose, he stepped forward, withdrawing his ornamental saber.

“I’ll cut that tongue out from your serpent’s mouth!”

Before the man could take another step however, several of the surrounding servants tackled him. In the courtyard of the castle, several groups from nations and organizations alike who had just arrived looked in shock upon the scene.

Viewing the confrontation from a balcony above, the host of the current year’s Western Conference shook his head with a glass of wine in his hand. Sitting at a silk-draped table on a balcony at one of the residences of the castle, he took a sip. Waving his hand, a servant came over to address the man’s call.

“Marina, see to it that the Pytheonian delegation is seated during the banquet as far away from the Monty Ryoux one as possible. I’d like them to have no further official contact from now until the Medial Chambers Committee.”

The maid who was standing just out of his sight, a red-haired half elf, bowed.

“Should I also reorganize their rooms? If I remember correctly, both delegations should be situated in the same residence wing.”

The man thought about it, stroking his black beard.

“Hmm, no. Let them stay in the same wing. I couldn’t bear to make this whole affair that boring.”

“Yes, Lord Trescult.”

The man chuckled softly to himself. Amused at his own actions. Even if no one else found it humorous. It was his personal belief that life needed laughter to be interesting, and he prided himself in being self-sufficient. Why else would he have built this entire castle to host, otherwise? Although he didn’t want to always be the only one laughing.

“I hope my guests enjoy whom I’ve invited…”

…

Later in the day, the delegations of the western nations had all arrived. It was traditional now, for the organizations on the continent with the most influence to arrive closer to the evening. Not only was this a method to show subservience and deference to the powers that ruled the continent, but these parties would also be limited to a delegation of three people to show their status as beneath that of the nations.

The three carriages arrived on the horizon, trailing the dusty pathway made to lead them to the castle’s outer courtyard. The sun was just beginning to set, and the castle’s grounds servants were just beginning to set alight to the numerous erected lamp posts.

Of the three arriving carriages, the first to step out of theirs were of the Lakefur Group. One man and two women stepped out, guided by their assigned castle attendants who wore the same suit and necktie attire as them.

Jonathan Lakefur motioned for the servants to wait, as he fixed the line of his tie. He then looked back, past his employees, Destiny Logos and Frankie Mandrake, to the steep dropoff of the cliff that overlooked the city-in-progress.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Destiny, a woman with long silver hair and pink hoop earrings, just a hair shorter than Johnathan himself, said while admiring the view as well.

“It is. For once having been a nomadic and mountain-dwelling race, it’s even more impressive. A whole city built by dwarves, I shudder to even imagine the opportunities that will await here in ten years time.”

“Await us, you mean.”

Jonathan smiled, picturing the flag of his enterprise that would surely blow freely above the sparkling dwarven city in only a few years.

“Of course. If any merchant enterprise is going to claim this treasure box, it will surely be the Lakefur Group.”

Both of the women nodded, smiling with eager expressions.

At that point, another familiar voice resounded to the group.

“Jonathan Lakefur, how pleasant it is to see your presence at another one of our conferences.”

The trio turned around toward the castle, seeing a red-haired woman approaching with a polite smile. Her garb, unlike the rest of the servants, was not tailored to a specific culture’s taste but to that of the castle owner’s.

Upon seeing her Jonathan called out in a familiar tone.

“Marina. How is it I’m seeing you at another one of these?”