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Roleplaying / Oddities of Oc Lu Pesh (Spontaneous Xavax RP)
« on: January 11, 2016, 06:44:23 AM »
So, I accidentally did what I always do and turned a short message into a series of posts. I had waaay too much fun with this one. 
Enjoy Magnus being a usual cryptic pain in the ass, and then, well, the infamous Au'ruin rage comes out.
Enjoy Magnus being a usual cryptic pain in the ass, and then, well, the infamous Au'ruin rage comes out.
---
The humble manor of Oc Lu Pesh, so recently reclaimed then subsequently abandoned by Perleone, bears a splendor and spirit renewed in light of Countess Jacqueline's diligent effort and masterful injection of skilled investment. Magnus, cloaked in dynastic crimson, trimmed of midnight, presents the royal seal and is welcomed discretely by her grizzled guards-captain. Surely he wonders why the Xerarch of Xavax wishes to enter Oc Lu Pesh seemingly alone and unannounced - his seventy elite snipers posted outside the walls in well-hidden copses, reinforcing the city guard without their faintest knowledge. Rumor shall fly, yet as always, the truth would soon be set free.
The trunk-stiff captain of the city guard salutes and offers to personally escort Magnus - honor-guard in tow - yet he declines.
"Hail and well met, Xerarch-King Aurea of Xavax! I, and the best men Oc Lu Pesh have to offer, would be honored to escort you to the Manor proper, if it so pleases you."
Magnus smiles, appreciative of the captain's fervor and duty, all the while shaking his head.
"Please, call me Magnus. If you prefer formality, Xerarch will do."
The Captain's eyes widen momentarily, obviously unaccustomed to a King who doesn't announce his entry, declines fanfare, and foregoes an honor-guard, and asks to be called by his given name. Then again, the Xerarch is no standard King, nor Xavax your typical realm. Not wishing to forsake duty and take an unnecessary risk, he postures himself and rephrases the request.
"With all due respect, Xerarch Magnus, are you sure? Surely you do not wish to bear the full protection of the guard?"
Magnus claps the captain on the back in a friendly manner, grinning throughout - his identity yet hidden from the curious guardsmen a short distance away. A well-tailored cloak and quiet exchange of words work blessed wonders toward guarding one's identity.
"My sincerest thanks, Captain, but if I am not safe within the borders of Xavax, then I - and our people - have not done Xavax honor. I humbly request three guardsmen, preferably among your most novice, to escort me to the hall of the Comtesse. I do not wish to trouble you and deprive the guard of its best men. This will be a good opportunity to inspect your newest guardmen - such recruits are the future warriors of Xavax: I would not see them deprived of an opportunity to learn and gain respect."
The Captain salutes, clicks his heels, and breaches the distance between Magnus cloaked and the gatehouse of piled stone and well-cut lumber.
"As you command, Lord Xerarch."
"Aurmand, Jean, Sebastian, please escort our esteemed guest to Countess Coquard's manor at once. Guard him as you would your own mother and son. I trust you understand the importance of this task? This is no mere merchant bearing grain manifests like the last, but the Xerarch of Xavax. There, in the crimson cloak. You know what to do. Bring honor to Oc Lu Pesh, and perhaps this will be your first step toward promotion..."
Three wide-eyed recruits veritably trip over each other in grinning salute. Despite their over-eagerness and relative inexperience, they march toward Magnus in expert unison - displaying a measure of proper technique and appreciable fervor toward the seriousness of their given charge. Side-by-side they salute Magnus, confused as to why they heard no fanfare over the King's approach.
Aurmand stands slightly closer to Magnus, his companions imperceptibly at his flanks by a centimeter alone - obviously senior among the three, if Magnus' grasp of common psychology is yet worth a damn.
"King-Xerarch of Xavax, we are honored to serve. Please be wary - Oc Lu Pesh borders Ibladesh, Leibo, and Mines of Isadril. As the ice retreats, more and more foreigners enter the region by day and night. Priests, merchants, and possibly infiltrators walk among us. All the more, wee will guard you with our very lives, if need be."
Magnus chuckles at the recruits' attempt to impress him with their knowledge, nods, and smiles once more.
"Very good. I could not ask for a better triad. Speaking of: shall we adopt a Trinity Bulwark formation, considering our numbers?"
Jean and Sebastian display a bit of confusion at the Xerarch's request, earning a stern yet humbly understanding leer from Aurmand as he steps forward to address the request.
"Apologies, Xerarch, my companions are fresh recruits from the local villages. They've yet to learn the history of such antiquated, yet efficient tactics. Jean, Sebastian, take up flank, I'll man the front - keep the Xerarch covered at all times and your eyes on a swivel - you need but a single poison arrow to fell a man from afar."
Somewhat embarrassed, the two position themselves as rear-guard while Aurmand skillfully navigates Magnus up the winding road toward the Manor of Oc Lu Pesh. Upon arrival, Aurmand nods toward the Manor Guards mid-stride - who swiftly lay open the great oaken doors for entry.
Once inside, Aurmand raises his left fist - ordering his men to a halt. Satisfied that all is well, he addresses Magnus with a whisper.
"My King, do you wish your arrival announced, or...?"
Magnus frowns and sets a hand upon the young man's shoulder.
"No, that will not be necessary. The news I bring must be delivered discretely. Let the Comtesse address it as she desires, once all is said and done. Thank you for your service. I shall go alone from here. Remain within, I will not be long."
Aurmand salutes - fellow guardsmen following his example - taking position at opposing ends of the Manor hall.
Magnus enters the hall of the Comtesse in silence, attempting to call little attention to himself as he patiently awaits Lady Jacqueline to finish addressing a group of scribes and local merchants.
"I may be old, but I am not blind. State your business, stranger."
Ah, right... Countess Coquard has yet to meet the Xerarch in person. This may prove interesting.
"My humblest apologies for the unannounced disturbance, Countess Coquard of Oc Lu Pesh. I bring news of personal import from Duke Percival Prestongreen of Hamadan. I did not wish to dispatch a messenger - such things are best communicated in person, and I happened to be surveying the borders when the initial missive reached me. I hope I have not arrived at an inconvenient moment. I see you are otherwise occupied. Shall I return at a better time...?"
Slightly annoyed at the seemingly-random stranger's intrusion, Countess Jaqueline eyes the midnight-crimson cloak with curiosity.
"A name would help in determining whether that will be necessary."
Magnus grins toothily as his little game of subterfuge draws to an end. He draws back the crimson hood to reveal a lengthy mane of midnight black, betwixt whose tresses peer the blazing emerald eyes of a proud young warrior and Speaker of the Phoenix Kin. The Royal emblem of the Phoenix of Xavax Resplendent now lies visible, sewn unto the interior fold of his cloak in preparation for precisely such occasion. A number of the scribes leer unappreciatively at the supposed interruption, yet fail to note the royal seal for all its import. Magnus grins, playing his final card - hoping for a desirable reaction.
"I thought it best to rid us of the customary fanfare and embarked upon a bit of innocent subterfuge. The cloak is one my mother once wore during her moonlit meetings with my father, neither of which yet live to recall the memories imbued upon aging crimson thread - which I now bear as the mark of a gentle yet ferocious beast we all endear and revere alike. Apparently, it has become somewhat of a trademark. I thought you might recognize me. You are quite the observant woman, though I'll admit these circumstances are odd and my intent precisely to confuddle. No? Nothing?"
A corpulent beast of a man, trailing spittle with every vile word, breaks off from his pitiful attempts at stronghanding the well-worn and wise Countess in a unilateral trade agreement to supply much-needed grain at a ridiculous price - angered by the perceived interruption to the apex of his "spirited negotiation" - half-drunkenly bellows out before Lady Jacqueline can answer the stranger's cryptic babble with an equally annoyed yet far less callous response. The other merchants keep their mouths shut, knowing full well the vile reputation of this particular bastard of a man.
"Tell th'Lady ye' damn name, pass on th'bloody misshive, and get th'hell out. Who do y'think y'are? No one gives a damn'f ye' whore mother, y'little bastard! Y'aint even Xavax, or the Lady would'v recognized'ye! Not that't means a damn thing, though I do enjoy t'mint o'yer coin w'that ridiculous red bird on't. N'less ye' here t'offer trade, ye'd best conclude yer business an'depart, foreigner. We don'like ye'fancy fas'talking kind here."
A particular vein visibly pulses on Magnus' forehead - a hereditary "charm" of the Au'ruin dynasty they endearingly call the "Pulse of the Blood Tide:" often marking the moment when an Aurea is likely to murder an entire group of people in a fit of ungodly rage.
His right cheek twitching as he grinds his teeth together, Magnus exhales deeply and collects his thoughts, lest he make a rightful royal ass out of himself by sullying his heirloom cloak with the blood of some pitiful peasant trader.
"I'll have you know, oh corpulent behemoth, you fairly laughable excuse for a negotiator, if you undipped your petulant hawk-nose from the stock of piss-poor grain-distilled bile you call alcohol, that ridiculous red bird is the glorified Phoenix of Xavax- royal emblem, symbol of the birth of an empire, and the revered spirit of the realm whose temporary starvation you so virtuously attempt to profit from. If you had two bent coppers to rub together, and perhaps spent less effort self-indulging and more on garnering a bit of information on your proposed trade partners, you'd know that."
In sheer surprise, the merchant's servant-girl all but drops the man's serving tray of tarnished silver - sending his gaudy imitation goblet crashing down in a disharmonious cacophony of shattered fragments. The merchant, his ego as large as the veritable wine cask of a belly he sports, likewise as lengthy as his seven visible chins, turns to backhand-slap the servant-girl with enough force to overpower the remnant echoes of singing glass - the combined sound of impact and the subsequent cry of pain all too much for Magnus to bare.
"Ye' littl'hore! I smuggled enough weapons t'arm th'damn continent twice over to afford that Sirion crystal set! An'I paid good money fer ye' an'ye Perleon' mother too! Ye' best clean tha'mess an'ready ye'self, !@#$, cause I'm gonna teach both of ye'little something 'bout how ta' keep still when ordered to! "
Satisfied with his disgusting display of perceived superiority, the colossal drunkard draws a laughable dagger and proceeds to wave it - drunkenly - toward Magnus, bellowing further threats and idiocy.
"You! Ye'!@#$! Thinkin' yer high'n mighty wit'ye big words an' crock'o bullsh't! I'll tear tha'misshive out'yer bloody 'ands an' shove it down ye'throat for what ye'said!"
Slow and certainly not steady, the drunken excuse for a tradesman plods toward Magnus - dagger in hand - as Magnus subtly hears Aurmand slip through a crack in the chamber door to investigate.
Magnus gives Aurmand a single piercing glare - to which he raises an eyebrow and backs off - standing in the shadows beside the once-again closed chamber door, his blade at the ready.
As the colossus of fuming lard steps close enough to waft his putrid breath upon his adversary, Magnus drops down on his right hand - his left leg sweeping the towering behemoth's legs out from under him. A satisfying crash resounds through the chamber as Magnus springs up to draw the twin blades hidden beneath his cloak: both of which whose edges lay a fraction of a milimeter from the tradesman's crotch and equally useless throat.
"...And my Mother, for the record, was no whore. She was a Republican ruler, grand marshal of the Phantarian Pride, and a woman of more honor than you will ever look upon! If you DARE open your mouth once more in disrespect, I'll CUT out that flapping cancerous tongue and have it sewn to where your severed manhood once was - then see you fat flaming ass rolled down the flanking walls of Isadril. If you roll fast enough, perhaps I might fish you out and quarter you, though letting the beasts devour your charred, rotting filth in the sea would likely be a more noble end."
With good reason, Countess Coquard looks utterly furious at the insanity before her, caused - in part - by the presence of this unknown nameless stranger.
"WHO ARE YOU[/u]!? GUARDS!"
Jean, Sebastian, and the Manor Guards storm into the chamber in unison, though Aurmand quickly signals for them to lay down their arms. Seeing this, Countess Coquard seems even more confused, though in moments her worries are relieved. Aurmand steps forward to address the stranger and Countess alike.
"Countess Coquard, my apologies. We should have come sooner. I was watching from the back, under direct order. My Lord, I witnessed the entire thing - what do you wish done with the tradesman?"
Magnus looks down, fuming with rage, and reluctantly sheathes his blades. He places his right foot firmly on the man's stomach, pressing down with all of his weight, and says:
"By the will of Xavax, as Speaker of the Phoenix Kin, I - Xerarch Magnus Aurea - place you under arrest for the crimes of treason, attempted murder of a royal, corruption, slander, smuggling, and last but not least, slavery. I'll have you know that slavery is illegal in Xavax: as such, I hereby relinquish you of your wealth, earned by the spilling of innocent blood and likely strong-arming local farmsteads with your disgusting tactics, to be dispersed among your victims. You will rot in the royal dungeons until little remains of your girth but a set of ribs protruding from your emaciated corpse - a far kinder fate than what I would wish upon you. You are FILTH and you shall suffer as your kind deserves!"
An odd trickling sound is heard nearby. The guards and guests alike look for the source, but Magnus already knows. Moments later, the stench of piss wafts up from the merchant's soiled trousers as he begins to sob like a child - his magnanimous self-righteous ego come crashing aground as a number of the assembled dare emit a veiled chuckle.
Aurmand leans to utter a humorous whisper into the ear of Magnus, helping to disarm his anger.
"Thank you. We've been wanting to do that for weeks now."
Magnus is incapable of his typical smiles and grins - the Blood Tide yet ringing strong within his heart and mind. He nods sternly, watches the guards remove the winded bastard and the remaining guests, and addresses the Countess.
"My sincerest apologies, Countess Coquard. I did not expect such things to occur. If you were indeed intent on purchasing stock from that cur, I will personally pay for whatever pillaged grain that excuse for a man had promised to sell you. I come bearing ill news, I'm afraid. Please, this is for you."
Without further ado, Magnus hands over a letter from Duke Percival Prestongreen, stamped with the crimson seal of Xavax - marking it received by the royal scribes and thus the Xerarch himself.
"On behalf of the Xavax, and the Au'ruin dynasty of which I hail, I offer our humblest condolences for this incredible loss. In the end of days, I'd like to believe they gave their lives for Atamara with a smile - hands clasped in unison, content in the knowledge that they'd watched over the rise and fall of an empire and done the best they could to see it prosper."
The trunk-stiff captain of the city guard salutes and offers to personally escort Magnus - honor-guard in tow - yet he declines.
"Hail and well met, Xerarch-King Aurea of Xavax! I, and the best men Oc Lu Pesh have to offer, would be honored to escort you to the Manor proper, if it so pleases you."
Magnus smiles, appreciative of the captain's fervor and duty, all the while shaking his head.
"Please, call me Magnus. If you prefer formality, Xerarch will do."
The Captain's eyes widen momentarily, obviously unaccustomed to a King who doesn't announce his entry, declines fanfare, and foregoes an honor-guard, and asks to be called by his given name. Then again, the Xerarch is no standard King, nor Xavax your typical realm. Not wishing to forsake duty and take an unnecessary risk, he postures himself and rephrases the request.
"With all due respect, Xerarch Magnus, are you sure? Surely you do not wish to bear the full protection of the guard?"
Magnus claps the captain on the back in a friendly manner, grinning throughout - his identity yet hidden from the curious guardsmen a short distance away. A well-tailored cloak and quiet exchange of words work blessed wonders toward guarding one's identity.
"My sincerest thanks, Captain, but if I am not safe within the borders of Xavax, then I - and our people - have not done Xavax honor. I humbly request three guardsmen, preferably among your most novice, to escort me to the hall of the Comtesse. I do not wish to trouble you and deprive the guard of its best men. This will be a good opportunity to inspect your newest guardmen - such recruits are the future warriors of Xavax: I would not see them deprived of an opportunity to learn and gain respect."
The Captain salutes, clicks his heels, and breaches the distance between Magnus cloaked and the gatehouse of piled stone and well-cut lumber.
"As you command, Lord Xerarch."
"Aurmand, Jean, Sebastian, please escort our esteemed guest to Countess Coquard's manor at once. Guard him as you would your own mother and son. I trust you understand the importance of this task? This is no mere merchant bearing grain manifests like the last, but the Xerarch of Xavax. There, in the crimson cloak. You know what to do. Bring honor to Oc Lu Pesh, and perhaps this will be your first step toward promotion..."
Three wide-eyed recruits veritably trip over each other in grinning salute. Despite their over-eagerness and relative inexperience, they march toward Magnus in expert unison - displaying a measure of proper technique and appreciable fervor toward the seriousness of their given charge. Side-by-side they salute Magnus, confused as to why they heard no fanfare over the King's approach.
Aurmand stands slightly closer to Magnus, his companions imperceptibly at his flanks by a centimeter alone - obviously senior among the three, if Magnus' grasp of common psychology is yet worth a damn.
"King-Xerarch of Xavax, we are honored to serve. Please be wary - Oc Lu Pesh borders Ibladesh, Leibo, and Mines of Isadril. As the ice retreats, more and more foreigners enter the region by day and night. Priests, merchants, and possibly infiltrators walk among us. All the more, wee will guard you with our very lives, if need be."
Magnus chuckles at the recruits' attempt to impress him with their knowledge, nods, and smiles once more.
"Very good. I could not ask for a better triad. Speaking of: shall we adopt a Trinity Bulwark formation, considering our numbers?"
Jean and Sebastian display a bit of confusion at the Xerarch's request, earning a stern yet humbly understanding leer from Aurmand as he steps forward to address the request.
"Apologies, Xerarch, my companions are fresh recruits from the local villages. They've yet to learn the history of such antiquated, yet efficient tactics. Jean, Sebastian, take up flank, I'll man the front - keep the Xerarch covered at all times and your eyes on a swivel - you need but a single poison arrow to fell a man from afar."
Somewhat embarrassed, the two position themselves as rear-guard while Aurmand skillfully navigates Magnus up the winding road toward the Manor of Oc Lu Pesh. Upon arrival, Aurmand nods toward the Manor Guards mid-stride - who swiftly lay open the great oaken doors for entry.
Once inside, Aurmand raises his left fist - ordering his men to a halt. Satisfied that all is well, he addresses Magnus with a whisper.
"My King, do you wish your arrival announced, or...?"
Magnus frowns and sets a hand upon the young man's shoulder.
"No, that will not be necessary. The news I bring must be delivered discretely. Let the Comtesse address it as she desires, once all is said and done. Thank you for your service. I shall go alone from here. Remain within, I will not be long."
Aurmand salutes - fellow guardsmen following his example - taking position at opposing ends of the Manor hall.
Magnus enters the hall of the Comtesse in silence, attempting to call little attention to himself as he patiently awaits Lady Jacqueline to finish addressing a group of scribes and local merchants.
"I may be old, but I am not blind. State your business, stranger."
Ah, right... Countess Coquard has yet to meet the Xerarch in person. This may prove interesting.
"My humblest apologies for the unannounced disturbance, Countess Coquard of Oc Lu Pesh. I bring news of personal import from Duke Percival Prestongreen of Hamadan. I did not wish to dispatch a messenger - such things are best communicated in person, and I happened to be surveying the borders when the initial missive reached me. I hope I have not arrived at an inconvenient moment. I see you are otherwise occupied. Shall I return at a better time...?"
Slightly annoyed at the seemingly-random stranger's intrusion, Countess Jaqueline eyes the midnight-crimson cloak with curiosity.
"A name would help in determining whether that will be necessary."
Magnus grins toothily as his little game of subterfuge draws to an end. He draws back the crimson hood to reveal a lengthy mane of midnight black, betwixt whose tresses peer the blazing emerald eyes of a proud young warrior and Speaker of the Phoenix Kin. The Royal emblem of the Phoenix of Xavax Resplendent now lies visible, sewn unto the interior fold of his cloak in preparation for precisely such occasion. A number of the scribes leer unappreciatively at the supposed interruption, yet fail to note the royal seal for all its import. Magnus grins, playing his final card - hoping for a desirable reaction.
"I thought it best to rid us of the customary fanfare and embarked upon a bit of innocent subterfuge. The cloak is one my mother once wore during her moonlit meetings with my father, neither of which yet live to recall the memories imbued upon aging crimson thread - which I now bear as the mark of a gentle yet ferocious beast we all endear and revere alike. Apparently, it has become somewhat of a trademark. I thought you might recognize me. You are quite the observant woman, though I'll admit these circumstances are odd and my intent precisely to confuddle. No? Nothing?"
A corpulent beast of a man, trailing spittle with every vile word, breaks off from his pitiful attempts at stronghanding the well-worn and wise Countess in a unilateral trade agreement to supply much-needed grain at a ridiculous price - angered by the perceived interruption to the apex of his "spirited negotiation" - half-drunkenly bellows out before Lady Jacqueline can answer the stranger's cryptic babble with an equally annoyed yet far less callous response. The other merchants keep their mouths shut, knowing full well the vile reputation of this particular bastard of a man.
"Tell th'Lady ye' damn name, pass on th'bloody misshive, and get th'hell out. Who do y'think y'are? No one gives a damn'f ye' whore mother, y'little bastard! Y'aint even Xavax, or the Lady would'v recognized'ye! Not that't means a damn thing, though I do enjoy t'mint o'yer coin w'that ridiculous red bird on't. N'less ye' here t'offer trade, ye'd best conclude yer business an'depart, foreigner. We don'like ye'fancy fas'talking kind here."
A particular vein visibly pulses on Magnus' forehead - a hereditary "charm" of the Au'ruin dynasty they endearingly call the "Pulse of the Blood Tide:" often marking the moment when an Aurea is likely to murder an entire group of people in a fit of ungodly rage.
His right cheek twitching as he grinds his teeth together, Magnus exhales deeply and collects his thoughts, lest he make a rightful royal ass out of himself by sullying his heirloom cloak with the blood of some pitiful peasant trader.
"I'll have you know, oh corpulent behemoth, you fairly laughable excuse for a negotiator, if you undipped your petulant hawk-nose from the stock of piss-poor grain-distilled bile you call alcohol, that ridiculous red bird is the glorified Phoenix of Xavax- royal emblem, symbol of the birth of an empire, and the revered spirit of the realm whose temporary starvation you so virtuously attempt to profit from. If you had two bent coppers to rub together, and perhaps spent less effort self-indulging and more on garnering a bit of information on your proposed trade partners, you'd know that."
In sheer surprise, the merchant's servant-girl all but drops the man's serving tray of tarnished silver - sending his gaudy imitation goblet crashing down in a disharmonious cacophony of shattered fragments. The merchant, his ego as large as the veritable wine cask of a belly he sports, likewise as lengthy as his seven visible chins, turns to backhand-slap the servant-girl with enough force to overpower the remnant echoes of singing glass - the combined sound of impact and the subsequent cry of pain all too much for Magnus to bare.
"Ye' littl'hore! I smuggled enough weapons t'arm th'damn continent twice over to afford that Sirion crystal set! An'I paid good money fer ye' an'ye Perleon' mother too! Ye' best clean tha'mess an'ready ye'self, !@#$, cause I'm gonna teach both of ye'little something 'bout how ta' keep still when ordered to! "
Satisfied with his disgusting display of perceived superiority, the colossal drunkard draws a laughable dagger and proceeds to wave it - drunkenly - toward Magnus, bellowing further threats and idiocy.
"You! Ye'!@#$! Thinkin' yer high'n mighty wit'ye big words an' crock'o bullsh't! I'll tear tha'misshive out'yer bloody 'ands an' shove it down ye'throat for what ye'said!"
Slow and certainly not steady, the drunken excuse for a tradesman plods toward Magnus - dagger in hand - as Magnus subtly hears Aurmand slip through a crack in the chamber door to investigate.
Magnus gives Aurmand a single piercing glare - to which he raises an eyebrow and backs off - standing in the shadows beside the once-again closed chamber door, his blade at the ready.
As the colossus of fuming lard steps close enough to waft his putrid breath upon his adversary, Magnus drops down on his right hand - his left leg sweeping the towering behemoth's legs out from under him. A satisfying crash resounds through the chamber as Magnus springs up to draw the twin blades hidden beneath his cloak: both of which whose edges lay a fraction of a milimeter from the tradesman's crotch and equally useless throat.
"...And my Mother, for the record, was no whore. She was a Republican ruler, grand marshal of the Phantarian Pride, and a woman of more honor than you will ever look upon! If you DARE open your mouth once more in disrespect, I'll CUT out that flapping cancerous tongue and have it sewn to where your severed manhood once was - then see you fat flaming ass rolled down the flanking walls of Isadril. If you roll fast enough, perhaps I might fish you out and quarter you, though letting the beasts devour your charred, rotting filth in the sea would likely be a more noble end."
With good reason, Countess Coquard looks utterly furious at the insanity before her, caused - in part - by the presence of this unknown nameless stranger.
"WHO ARE YOU[/u]!? GUARDS!"
Jean, Sebastian, and the Manor Guards storm into the chamber in unison, though Aurmand quickly signals for them to lay down their arms. Seeing this, Countess Coquard seems even more confused, though in moments her worries are relieved. Aurmand steps forward to address the stranger and Countess alike.
"Countess Coquard, my apologies. We should have come sooner. I was watching from the back, under direct order. My Lord, I witnessed the entire thing - what do you wish done with the tradesman?"
Magnus looks down, fuming with rage, and reluctantly sheathes his blades. He places his right foot firmly on the man's stomach, pressing down with all of his weight, and says:
"By the will of Xavax, as Speaker of the Phoenix Kin, I - Xerarch Magnus Aurea - place you under arrest for the crimes of treason, attempted murder of a royal, corruption, slander, smuggling, and last but not least, slavery. I'll have you know that slavery is illegal in Xavax: as such, I hereby relinquish you of your wealth, earned by the spilling of innocent blood and likely strong-arming local farmsteads with your disgusting tactics, to be dispersed among your victims. You will rot in the royal dungeons until little remains of your girth but a set of ribs protruding from your emaciated corpse - a far kinder fate than what I would wish upon you. You are FILTH and you shall suffer as your kind deserves!"
An odd trickling sound is heard nearby. The guards and guests alike look for the source, but Magnus already knows. Moments later, the stench of piss wafts up from the merchant's soiled trousers as he begins to sob like a child - his magnanimous self-righteous ego come crashing aground as a number of the assembled dare emit a veiled chuckle.
Aurmand leans to utter a humorous whisper into the ear of Magnus, helping to disarm his anger.
"Thank you. We've been wanting to do that for weeks now."
Magnus is incapable of his typical smiles and grins - the Blood Tide yet ringing strong within his heart and mind. He nods sternly, watches the guards remove the winded bastard and the remaining guests, and addresses the Countess.
"My sincerest apologies, Countess Coquard. I did not expect such things to occur. If you were indeed intent on purchasing stock from that cur, I will personally pay for whatever pillaged grain that excuse for a man had promised to sell you. I come bearing ill news, I'm afraid. Please, this is for you."
Without further ado, Magnus hands over a letter from Duke Percival Prestongreen, stamped with the crimson seal of Xavax - marking it received by the royal scribes and thus the Xerarch himself.
Quote
Letter from Percival Prestongreen (3 hours, 52 minutes ago)
Royal Magnus,
Welcome to the East Isle and congratulations on your Realm. I know little of you personally, but your name was sent to me from my brother, Milan, Duke of Cagil. Both he and his wife perished as Atamara sunk.
I understand his wife's sister is of your Realm. Jacqueline, I think. Please pass my respects to here for her loss.
If I can be of any assistance, please do not hesitate to let me know.
Best Regards,
Percival Prestongreen
Duke of Hamadan
Margrave of Hamadan
"On behalf of the Xavax, and the Au'ruin dynasty of which I hail, I offer our humblest condolences for this incredible loss. In the end of days, I'd like to believe they gave their lives for Atamara with a smile - hands clasped in unison, content in the knowledge that they'd watched over the rise and fall of an empire and done the best they could to see it prosper."
