[UF]The Unseelie Accords

Grimalkin

Grimalkin

TNPer
Across the North Pacific, to the supernatural communities at large, an invitation is delivered by a Sidhe servitor to the community leader.

As you open the invitation, you notice that a single large snowflake adorns the top of the parchment. It is easily recognizable as the seal of the Winter Court.

The invitation appears to be hand-written, scrawled with a looping, elegant script. The ink shimmers between shades of green and blue. It reads as follows:

You are cordially invited to attend a parley hosted within the halls of Arctis Tor, in the heart of Winter Faerie. Your duly appointed representative will be granted all protections accorded to them under the Laws of Hospitality.

The purpose of this parley is to foster mutual understanding and to discuss a binding code of conduct.

Please return a reply with this servitor. Should you accept, a Way will be opened and an escort provided to ensure safe conduct three days hence.

Her Majesty, the Queen of Air and Darkness,
Monarch of the Unseelie fae, the Winter Court of the Sidhe,

Mab
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Amanit turned the virge over in his hands a few times, ignoring the quickly-cooling chicken sitting on his plate. The cafeteria was bustling, but not full - the University of Misgomycis tried to stagger the research fellows and keep them from flooding the kitchen all at once.

Amanit's lunch break was only an hour, and he was quickly wasting most of it helping his colleague Glossim iron out some issues with his most prized possession.

Most wizards in the Mycorrhizal Union had a virge; it focused and strengthened magical incantations and made the work of being a research mage in one of the Union's institutions incredibly easier. In appearance, it looked like a scepter but at the top, instead of a globe or cross was a Platonic solid - a tetrahedron, cube, octahedron, dodecahedron, or isocahedron.

Virgemakers universally had experience in one of the most revered aspects of Mycorrhizal magic - magigeometry. The shape, or focus, at the tip of a virge was heavily enchanted and it was said that inside the hollow shell of the solid was a four, five, or even six-dimensional shape from whence the power of the virge derived. Those wizards who broke into the shell to investigate those claims inevitably found the entire thing useless shortly after.

"Did you break into the focus?" asked Amanit.

"No," began Glossim. "I was attempting to alter the dimensional state of it."

Amanit nodded slowly, like one might nod for a suggestion of unimaginable idiocy. "I didn't know you had an interest in magigeometry."

"Well I didn't get a degree in it," Glossim said. "But there's definitely room for improvement in this virge. If I could figure out a scheme for increasing the number of manifolds within the focus, I could create a tri-ply connected surface or maybe something even more complex."

Amanit raised his eyebrows. He handed the virge back to Glossim. "I'm just an ornithomagister. You'll have to ask an actual geometrist to help you with that. Go see Laboulben in the architecture department."

Glossim snatched the baton from Amanit's hands. "That's what I was afraid of. You know he'll scold me for messing with this."

"I don't know what to tell you," Amanit said with a smirk, grabbing his fork to continue eating.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone approaching their table. He turned - a man dressed not in the work robes of the University but in a polo and denim jeans. In his hand he held a letter, and dangling from his belt was what looked like a mass-produced device for moving quickly along ley lines. Someone who must do a lot of travel.

"Amanit set-Balazusia?" the man asked.

Amanit cleared his throat. "Yes, that's me."

"A letter for you." the man said, thrusting the paper into Amanit's hands. He walked away, unhooking the device from his belt and fiddling with it.

"Look at you," Glossim said. "Popular man."

Amanit opened the letter.

[img=105,105]http://i.imgur.com/ZwlAdVn.png[/img]
PARLIAMENT OF ORCHIDS
SEGLIPTOSTROB
​

Dr. Amanit set-Balzusia, honorable Representative from Misgomycis,

I apologize for this intrusion on your hiatus from our halls, Representative set-Balzusia. I can assure you the matter I write about is due to an urgent need; namely that of the Union's need to appoint a representative of our government to a conference to be held at the Winter Court of the Sidhe. The purpose of the conference is to "foster mutual understanding [between the invited nations]" and to "discuss a binding code of conduct".

The Committee on Foreign Dealings first chose Marasmia sei-Setchellia, a Geometrical Architect representing the Second District of Phlebo to be the Mycorrhizal Union's representative to this conference, but she declined due to her work on several new mushroom towers in her district. The Committee then chose Catatram set-Agrogaster, a magicrystallographer also of Phlebo, but he declined due to continued research on crystal structures in Whitewater Cave.

The Committee then voted to ask you to accept this high honor. As one of the foremost linguistic ornithomagisters in your field, you are one of the few Mycorrhizans who has visited the Winter Court in the past, when you visited the nation to study the language of its wren population. I urge you to accept this nomination from the Committee, as it is a great honor to be asked to represent the Union in a foreign nation.

The Parliament of Orchids awaits your answer with bated breath.

In honesty,

Dr. Rhodoarren set-Galeropsis, MgD
Prime Minister of the Mycorrhizal Union
Archmagister of the Geometrical Architects' Guild
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Amanit sighed.

"What is it?" Glossim asked.

"My vacation is over."
 
PIT::

The Wilhelm Keys Centre, Imperium Augustum
The Paranormal Investigations Tribunal
We are the Masquerade.​


Upon reception of your servitor earlier this evening at the Office of the Praefect, the Paranormal Investigations Tribunal wishes to indicate its intention to send a representative to the planned parlay at Arctis Tor.

As is usual for operations by the Paranormal Investigations Tribunal regarding transit into the Nevernever, I regret that I cannot attend personally. Instead, we shall be dispatching Discene Valeria Messalina Caligula to attend in an observational and advisory capacity, on behalf of the Paranormal Investigations Tribunal. Discene Caligula is trained in the jurisprudence of the Nevernever, and will therefore be more than capable of conducting herself in such a formal capacity.

Any necessary correspondence to be forwarded to the Discene can be made through my Office and will be gladly accepted.

Praefect Fabius Ennius Albinus,
Chair of the Paranormal Investigations Tribunal
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Kowane shifted in his chair, biting absently at a fingernail, as his supervisor glared at his screen.

"I don't recognize the pattern, Atua," he said. "I couldn't even find it in SPRI, and I triple-checked the input."

Atua flipped the images back and forth a few times, her frown deepening. "No, you wouldn't have found it in there," she finally said. "This is not a natural event - see how it moves against the current here, and there?" She pointed at the screen, her finger tracing an arc. It's well disguised, but this is man-made."

Kowane looked at her, surprise showing on his face. "Man-made?" he whispered quietly. "Even we don't mess around with that."

"It need not be as dramatic as you're thinking," she replied. "A twist here, a breath there - you can influence the course of nature without doing all of the heavy lifting yourself. These intervention points we see, those are minor course corrections. Wherever it's going, it's mostly already on the right track - which means whoever is behind it knows a fair bit about weather patterns already."

"So what should we do?" he asked. "Should the String-"

"No," she said firmly, cutting him off. "We will not get involved. You will monitor it, as we always do, and should it meet a Threat Condition, we will deal with it as we always have."

"But we could easily turn it around," he protested. "We could keep the target safe, or warn them!"

"And what do you suppose happens when the creator realizes it? Are you prepared to commit the nation to a battle when you don't even know the situation? Are you prepared to make a magical enemy, potentially a powerful one?" He looked away from her gaze, and she softened her tone. "Are you certain that this is not an answer to a drought, or plague of fire? We must not jump to conclusions. We must be careful, and intervene only when we know the facts." He nodded, and she put a hand on his shoulder. "Caution is something we all must learn, but do not be ashamed of your idealism."

"Mail's here!" called a cheerful voice, floating up the lighthouse stairs. Its source, a tall woman with jet black hair, skipped closely behind "Ko, you got a letter from Imasa." She laughed as he snatched the letter out of her hands and handed the rest of the stack to Atua.

He tore open the envelope and read it eagerly. They had been dating for four years, and his three-month stints on the SWS Sou'easter were difficult on both of them. Although the letter was cheery, full of funny stories and words of affection, he could tell how much Imasa was missing him. He read it three times, then folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket, a dreamy smile play9ing on his face.

The smile vanished when he saw Atua's expression. Her frown had turned into a scowl, and the intensity with which she was directing it toward the paper in her hand left him expecting it to burst into flames. Panadi, mail delivered, was already reengrossed in her own screen and did not notice their supervisor's reaction. He tentatively began to ask her what it was, when her gaze snapped sharply over to meet his.

"Pack your things, Kowane. You're going on a trip. t's hurricane season and I can't be spared." She tossed him the letter and waited for him to finish reading it before continuing. "You are to make a good impression and not cause trouble. Understand?"

He shook his head. "Not really. What is all this? Where am I going?"

"Behind the curtain." Her smile was grim, and gave him chills.
 
Half a world away, two figures sat in a hall, elegantly crafted from the forest and the trees and the stone, shrouded in the perpetual twilight native to forests as old as time, contemplating the nature of the message before them.

The first figure to speak, a wispy form that hung in the air, moving in unfelt currents, face covered by a mask of joy and mystery, sounded of the summer night, rustling with the sound of cicadas and the bubbling of creeks. "The Sidhe are speaking, brother Rekton. We would do well to see what of." The second figure, a solid and heavy form, towering above all, ram horns nearly scraping the ceiling, face covered by a mask of green stone, as serious as the first was joyous, then spoke in a voice that thrummed with the low voice of the earth, resonant and mellifluous, "Aye. That we should, sister Sakirra."

Then, speaking with one mind, they turned to the messenger and spoke, "Go, Honored Messenger of the Winter Sidhe. Go with our blessing, and tell your queen the Spirits will attend."
 
Temple of Mahasur, Lower Chamber

In all outward appearance, the Temple of Mahasur was merely the remains of the Tragoudi, an ancient sect of Madrako mysticism that failed to take hold on either of the islands of Vazos. It housed a small congregation of followers who entered it for daily worship, but below the hall of worship, ten individuals sat in conference. Seven were seated in a circle, dressed in purple robes, wearing gold masks. These were the Grand Magi, masters of the theurgic mysteries of the Madrako pantheon. In the middle of the circle were the other three, wearing silver masks. One wore a black robe, one white, and one black on the left side and white on the right. They were the Archmagi, masters of the greater mysteries afforded by the gods of Diunu.

One of the Grand Magi, wearing a red amulet, spoke first in the ancient tongue. "It has been many years since we last received word from the Sidhe. We should be wary, my friends."

Another Grand Magus wearing a yellow amulet responded. "Indeed, Duman, but we cannot afford to pass up this opportunity."

To Duman's left, a Grand Magus with a green amulet nodded. "Let us hear the word of the Archmagi." The Grand Magi nodded and became silent.

The Archmagi rose, and the Archmagus in white spoke first. "We have performed the Ritual of Divination, and we have seen the truth."

The black Archmagus spoke next. "We shall send one of our own to the parley. He will then return and report."

A Grand Magus with a blue amulet asked, "Have you seen this chosen representative?"

The black and white Archmagus responded, "Yes. He is a Magus of the third degree after the order of Harul."

A flame erupted in front of Duman, and an eleventh person appeared. "I am Aroko. I have answered the call of the Archmagi." His robe was red, and in lieu of a mask he had a tattooed face.

The black and white Archmagus turned to face Aroko. "You have, no doubt, heard of Mab's invitation to magicians across the world. We have determined that you are to represent the Tragoudi at this parley. We also know that they have contacted the Others. Be alert."

---------------------

Prula was in her salon, looking over a watercolor she had recently completed. She didn't actually like painting, but she was decent at it and her social status dictated that she have a hobby of some kind. As the last of the Motafas, an aristocratic family linked to the Muldahars, she did have to keep up appearances. Her standing among the bourgeoisie of Verkastelo was shaky enough after eight marriages.

Rigo, a stepson from her fourth marriage, entered, clearing his throat to get her attention. "Can we speak in the shrine, Mother?"

Prula nodded and slowly followed him down a long flight of stairs. Her family's mansion was much larger than one person needed or could be comfortable with, and her fifty-seven years were reminding her of it every day. At the end of the staircase was a door with the Motafa crest on it. The two entered through the door into a dimly lit room full of candles. At the center of the room was an altar, visibly stained with blood. Upon the altar was the Sidhe invitation.

Rigo handed it to Prula to read. She looked it over quickly, then looked at her stepson thoughtfully. "It would serve us well to attend. I can't imagine why I've been invited, though."

Rigo frowned. "You're one of the most respected necromancers in Vazos. All who consort with the dead on these islands look to you for guidance."

Prula smiled. "These secrets are not of my own make, Rigo. You know that as well as I. Even so, you're right. We shall meet with the Sidhe. Hopefully we can negotiate a peace with the Tragoudi at the Winter Court."
 
As Alicia laid on the couch in her home after the liberation, she began to fall asleep. She suddenly awoke, and found that she was surrounded by white. "Where am I?", she asked, looking around. "Aleysha, you are here," said a voice. Alicia looked down, and realized she was wearing a white robe, and had a halo-like structure sat on her head like a headband. "No, I gave up my powers," said Alicia. "I realize, however, as the people of Xoris need help, you are the one I have chosen to help. The Council of Angels have chosen you to go the Unseelie Accords, and as their messenger, I will forcibly pull you from your contract as a human to serve us as an angel," said the voice. A guinea pig with wings approached her by flying, and Alicia recognized him almost immediately, Gus. "Are you coming with me?", she asked. "No Aleysha, I will not be going with you. My time in the spotlight has passed. For thousands of years I served the beautiful cities of Xoris, and now it is the Council's turn to rule. With their decision, you are now reinstated as an angel of Xoris, a guardian that can pass between the two: Guslantis and Xoris, and may my strength be with you my child," said Gus. "What if I refuse?", asked Alicia. "You won't," he said, flying off.

"Ugh, great, now I am chancellor and an angel, why is this my luck?", asked Alicia to herself. Suddenly, wings appeared on her back. "Oh right, I forgot about these," she commented, rubbing one of the wings.
 
Far beneath the Khanate lay the Netherlands, a forgotten place even to the ancient monks of Kul Katura. Deep in the bowels of these catacombs stood a man who looked not unlike Sebt except his face had taken on a more skull-like appearance but instead of human his bone structure was more akin to a wolf. He hissed in anger at his now missing eye "By Marwolaeth's tongue, what the hell did that fool do..." he snarled before noticing the parchment with the message, the fae dared to be presumptuous, in time he would probably punish them for it but for now his curiosity got the better of him.

Even within this underworld the military doctrine of Wolfsea was still adhered to, after all there must always be a shadow of those stood in the light, but unlike their mundane bretheren, the Bleiddyadu had turned the little magic they had to creating weapons with full intent of conquest, they were death incarnate, monstrous creatures of the underworld and they knew it. Their leader, G'Mork, was a powerful dark mage and swordsman, he quickly sent a reply and waited.
 
On the appointed day, at the appointed hour, and in the appointed locations, the Ways open.
The physical reality parts, cleanly sliced open as by a razor blade. With the barrier punctured, Winter Faerie now looms ahead.

An entire reality, both separate and connected, exists behind the barrier between worlds. Completely alien, the Nevernever presents a strange familiarity. It is born of the imaginations and realities of Man, their most glamorous dreams and darkest nightmares.

Yet the most beautiful creatures of the Nevernever are often the most dangerous.

Snow flurries waft through the gateway and are quickly followed by the form of an Unseelie warrior and then a second, taking up waiting positions on either side of the portal. The warriors are fully armed and armored. Their armor shimmers with the colors of Winter and hold a strange glass-like quality without the sense of brittleness and fragility, their pale, grey skin a stark contrast to the vivid colors. One warrior holds a shield on his left arm with a sword the size of a longsword hanging on his hip. The other has a greatsword strapped to his back, the blade made of the same shimmering material as his armor.

The warriors nod at you as you approach. The shielded warrior speaks, "We shall be escorting thee and thy compatriots to the parley hosted by Her Majesty. Thou willst be afforded all protections afforded by the Laws of Hospitality for so long as thou offerest no violence to thy host."

The warrior with the greatsword produces a crystal from his belt and passes it over you. It glows brightly over certain metallic objects, the only connection between them seeming to be some component of iron or steel.

"I must ask that you please remove these objects before passing into Her Majesty's realm."

The warriors turn and walk into Winter Faerie. "Please follow us and do not stray. There are many dangers on the path."

Winter Faerie is cold and grey, a near permanent existence. The soldiers lead you to carriages pulled by faerie mares, pale with long manes of deep blue. They snort and pull on the reins held by a third Sidhe as you approach.

The warrior with the shield holds open the carriage door as the other steps onto a platform on the rear. The shielded warrior soon joins the other and yells a command in Unseelie, a dialect of High Sidhe, a harsh, guttural language. The pilot snaps the reins and sends the carriage on its way.

The ride itself is fairly uneventful. The faerie steeds trot along, kicking up snow. You hear the warriors clinging to the rear of the carriage chittering to one another in Unseelie. A watchful eye would notice glaring, red orbs appear in dark corners of the Faerie forest, a keen ear a low, rumbling growl. The creatures, however, do not dare approach the carriage in the presence of Sidhe warriors for fear of the Queen's wrath.

Arctis Tor, the citadel of Mab, the heart of Winter Faerie, looms ever closer. The great crystalline palace shines brightly despite the grey of the weather.

As you reach the gates, huge trolls lumber towards the carriage. Their eyes glitter at the prospect of mayhem and flesh, but are quickly stopped by the appearance of the two Sidhe warriors. They wave off the trolls, which, disappointed, walk off to continue their patrols.

The soldiers escort you through the gates and into the halls of Arctis Tor, made of the same deep blue crystal, seemingly like the whole palace was cut from a huge, single crystal. Peering into the walls, you notice faces appearing and disappearing, faint but clearly visible.

The soldiers lead you into a large antechamber. "Her Majesty will join you and the others shortly." The soldiers turn and exit the room, leaving you with the other dignitaries.

In the antechamber, you notice a large, round wooden table, surrounded by padded seats, with a single, much more ornate chair sitting directly in front of another door on the other side of the chamber. This door is flanked by two knights armed with spears. To the side you see a table filled with food and drink and yet, strangely, there are no waiters to serve you food, as you would expect at such a high profile event. The table is filled with familiar food, nothing that could be construed as belonging to the realm of Faerie.

((OOC note: I will introduce Mab at a later point, the idea is for all the dignitaries to mingle with each for a bit.))
 
Discene Valeria Messalina Caligula stepped calmly out of the Door, with two masked figures shutting the door behind her. Another had their hand raised, watching a set of glass tubes within which a number of liquids raised and fell - mercury, water, and a number of other such mundane things.

As they all subsided below a marked red line, the figure dropped their hand. One of the two masked figures at the door took off their mask, revealing shoulder-length black hair.

"Well then. 2A2015, welcome to the Outsea. Tabitha - 1A2010."

"Well then - good evening, Decane. Valeria."

The two women shared a firm handshake. While female officers were just about on parity with men in Imperium, and had been for generations, there was an unspoken responsibility felt to those women across the world, who lived in societies where such parity was not the norm.

Tabitha looked Valeria up and down. They weren't joking when they'd warned her of Valeria's entrancing green eyes - they really were the thing of a PIT textbook. Her golden blonde hair didn't let it down either, although in its case, it was less natural beauty, and more painstaking care. Valeria had chosen a red evening gown, eschewing the more conservative formal dress of her military backing. It was rather striking, and a fairly bold choice - a sharp, scarlet dress. Valeria looked at Tabitha, and Tabitha realised she'd been staring a bit longer than would be generally appropriate.

"Well, Tabitha, you would know more of this routine than I would. We're expecting a visit from our friends, are we not?"

Tabitha quirked an eyebrow. There'd been an invitation to use first names, yes, but she generally expected a build-up to it. Still, it wasn't exactly an important piece of etiquette. And there was that typical Augustan beating around the bush.

"Quite, Valeria. By the way, I like your necklace. Iron?"

Valeria smirked. It wasn't exactly fashionable, more a dogtag - her initials brightly etched, sparkling in the light.

The two made their way to the entrance, as the other masked figures quickly evacuated the room. They flipped a lever at the entrance on their way out, and the doorframe slowly swung around on a wooden lever - powered by a mechanical steam engine.

And then it stopped, and nothing happened.

"Sorry. The Door is at the intersection of the Nevernever Way, and the Insea Gate. You go in and come out on opposing sides, depending on your origin and destination."

Valeria nodded politely, already being well aware of this fact. She hadn't quite realised that they spun the thing around. But it made sense, in hindsight - it wasn't a particularly expensive mechanism, most likely installed by some bored PIT engineer to appear slightly more impressive for visitors.

She stopped to take in her surroundings. The floor felt like stone, but as she looked closer, she realised that it was fairly regular - a nicely polished platform. The walls were dark, in the shadows, giving the entire place a nice air of mystery. With a bit of better natural lighting, it'd be quickly obvious that they were deep in a fairly mundane cliff. But you make do.

Might have to get some walls put in, frankly.

Tabitha looked back at Valeria, as the mechanism stopped creaking. "So, the necklace?"

"Yes. Iron. You know how our friends are."

Tabitha quirked her other eyebrow, levelling the two in an exaggerated, astonished expression. So this was an intentional move? Valeria really was a cheeky bugger. Well, her funeral.

"I hope that's your only gift for them."

"But of course."

A small brass bell rang. A literal Door bell? Well, I suppose PIT has a lot of free time.

A bit of steam issued from the ground, at the command of one of the masked figures in the other room.

"Just for looks."

The door opened, and a pair of Unseelie Warriors wandered out. Valeria stepped forward, and Tabitha stood back. Time to let the greenhorn show off.

"Evening, gentlemen." Valeria made eye contact with them both, one end of her mouth breaking into a beaming, genuine smile. The other remained stubbornly, firmly together. "Discene Valeria Messalina Caligula, of the Paranormal Investigation Team, Wilhelm Keys Complex, Imperium Augustum. I presume you are to be my escort?"

Valeria cut the two off before they could begin speaking, and received the ordinary script for her efforts. As the greatswordsman stepped forward, taking a crystal from his belt, Valeria held a hand up. "One moment. The necklace is iron, you see." Taking the dogtag off, she flashed her initials at the two warriors, smiling deeply, as Tabitha took the hint and stepped forward to take the tag. "I'd love to give it to you, gentlemen, as a token of my appreciation. But perhaps a different gift, some other time. Tabitha, you're welcome to keep it - to remember me by." Valeria stopped to give Tabitha a surprisingly long, lingering smile. Rather disarming, given the circumstances. "Now then - your scan?"

The Unseelie warrior then ran the crystal over Valeria, and it did not glow.

"Please follow us and do not stray. There are many dangers on the path."

Valeria turned around, curtseying to Tabitha. "If I may be so bold as to impose, may I share dinner with 2010 tonight? I do not intend to eat my fill at the feast - it would be unseemly." Tabitha quirked an eyebrow, for the third time. "Certainly."

As Valeria stepped through the Door, Tabitha called out. "By the way, watch out for trolls."

The response was ethereal, filtering - it seemed - between dimensions. "I intend to."
 
G'Mork would be travelling alone, should he need it he had a shadowthorn spell ready to yank him back to the Nether Lands if necessary. As he gently placed his weaponry aside, his eyes betraying the insult of being asked to be without his sword, he smirked at the thought of unsheathing the claws in his fingertips and goring the fae but he needed information so he would abide by their rules for now.

After climbing aboard the carriage G'Mork could sense the unfriendly eyes around him, he grinned, looking even more unsettling, as they made their way towards the palace. Noticing the Trolls his grin widens further, he can sense their bloodlust and is struggling to control his urge to dominate them, despite appearing as a fragile human the dark blood in his veins had made him far stronger and more durable. He was almost disappointed when they were waved off.

It was not long before G'Mork stood in the conference chamber, carefully examining his surroundings, he cautiously gave the food a cursory glance, he pitied whichever fool was desperate or weak-willed enough to take the food first. He took his position by the window, staring out at the winterbound landscape, observing and analysing the geography, he radiated the energy of the Necromantic and Forbidden magicks.
 
Silently, Rekton and Sakirra watched as the rift opened, stepping through in unison as the Sidhe beckoned them through. Rekton, glancing to either warrior as they passed by, remarked casually, "They do know how to put on a performance, certainly. It shall be fun, seeing what the Queen has to offer."

Striding past the warrior with the greatsword, Rekton does not hesitate, dropping a pendant with what seems to be a simple hunk of metal strung to an articulated chain, and Sakirra dropping a beautiful, yet equally deadly looking dagger alongside. The brother, Rekton, momentarily pauses, noting what each previous attendee had left. Those with particularly good eyesight would have seen him shiver with either disgust or anger as the large spirit's unblinking mask swept over the sword, feeling the cruelty imbued in it by its owner. Sakirra noted this, deciding not to comment upon it until it should prove relevant.

Eyeing the carriage, Rekton speaks to one of the guards, "A being with a frame such as me will not fit in something that small. I will walk behind it. I will take heed of your advice, I know that being lost in the Unseelie wilderness is no pleasant dream. I have no say over what Sakirra will do."

After her brother's words, Sakirra steps into the carriage, signaling for the reinsman to begin the journey. Despite the relatively quick pace of the carriage, Rekton seems to keep up easily, accounted for by his large stride and quick pace. Despite the danger of the woods around him, he walks confidently, staring straight into the eyes of the trolls and other creatures lurking in the darkness. As the castle draws within sight, a smaller troll has the audacity to dart out of the shadows, running straight for the seemingly unprotected spirit, bloodlust in its eyes. Without a second glance, Rekton stops and redirects the troll back into the shadows with a few simple gestures of his hand.

The doors to the antechamber opened once more, accompanied by the soft and warm fragrance of the summer night, and the cold and clean scent of a winter day. The sibling spirits seemed to appear in the doorway, probably aided by the darkness and snow outside. Sakirra once again notes the small shiver of Rekton, as they enter the proximity of the owner of the sword, wondering what being or energy could cause him to react in such a way.
 
Atua rested her hand on Kowane's shoulder as her apprentice finished coding the last of his data. She had told him everything she could to prepare him for this journey, and now the appointed hour had arrived.

"It's time," she said softly, and did him the courtesy of not noticing his obvious trepidation. He rose and slipped into the adjoining room to prepare.

Soft, warm wool first, moderately fitted, insulation to keep him warm and dry. Silk socks for his feet, then another pair of the same soft wool, black this time. A gunmetal blue shirt, silk again, suitable for display on formal occasions, black pants, black shoes. On top, a black, fleece-lined overcoat, with a black bowler hat to shield his head from the cold. A thick scarf around the neck and wool-lined leather gloves completed the look.

As each item went on, Kowane's mind reached out to touch his nearby companions. Atua, waiting, protective; Panadi, peaceful and asleep; Wodi and Nasani, alert and watchful, keeping guard through the night. He hooked into each of them in turn, using their combined strength to seal power into his clothing. It flowed along each warp and weft, filling pockets of air, until his whole body shimmered in his mind's eye. With a twist he broke the flow, weaving the open tendril into the larger pattern, and nudged and coaxed until a gentle heat surrounding him like an aura was the only manifestation of the power he had drawn.

The layers had been uncomfortable already, and the addition of heat only made it worse, but he knew he would be grateful for both in the cold and wet of the Nevernever.

He let go of his connections - first Wodi and Nasani, then Panadi, and, finally, Atua, still waiting, still protective, and now pleased as well. He checked his appearance one last time in the mirror, then, satisfied, returned to Atua.

"I'm ready," he said to her, his voice claiming a confidence he did not truly feel. She handed him his pack, then shook his hand.

"Do us proud, Kowane," she said firmly. "I expect a full report when you return." He grinned at that, then turned and ascended the stairs to the uppermost room.

The portal began to form as soon as he set foot on the last stair, and soon two Unseelie warriors stepped through. Kowane waited patiently while they scanned him and his things, then followed them through the portal and into the snow. Sure enough, his warm clothes were now a blessing, as he squinted through wind colder than his tropical homeland had ever experienced, and saw his first snowfall.

The carriage was cold as well, but kept the wind out, and his own heat soon made it warm enough for comfort. He leaned his head against the window and gazed outside as the ride commenced, letting his mind wander.
 
The Dwarves of Valdoria were a hearty people. They were ready to meet the delegations of other nations in Arctis Tor, for the cold did not harm them. It was rather amusing to them, in fact. When the King, Durin VI, received the letter he knew this and immediately assembled the Anduin Guard, specially trained dwarves with menacing battleaxes and state-of-the-art armor and rifles. These dwarves' only duty was to guard the Royal Family with their lives.

The Valdorians had heard of the Winter Sidhe, the dominion of Mab, however now they were being invited to it. This was new. Durin immediately set about appointing a delegation. Those chosen were Dís, Duchess of Taniquetil, and his husband Frór, Duke of Taniquetil; along with Glóin, Prince of Pelennor. Also to come were 20 soldiers of the Anduin Guard and 6 attendants. Durin sent them forth and they all boarded the train from Danlodir to Taniquetil, the home of the Duke and Duchess and the location of the Sidhe Embassy.

"Do you think things will work out? The Kingdom hasn't contacted the Sidhe much. Relations are good, but not close." said Dís to Frór. Clearly Dís was worried. Frór could tell. Wishing nothing but to keep his wife comfy, Frór replied, "Don't worry. We were one of the countries the Sidhe invited. That in itself shows that they want to contact our world more." As the train sped along, Taniquetil came into sight. Glóin got off first, and then Frór and Dís. They immediately got in a car and proceeded to the Sidhe Embassy. Mab's Unseelie warriors were waiting for them.

The warriors nodded at the three as they entered the Embassy. The shielded warrior speaks, "We shall be escorting thee and thy compatriots to the parley hosted by Her Majesty. Thou willst be afforded all protections afforded by the Laws of Hospitality for so long as thou offerest no violence to thy host." Glóin smiled. "Wonderful. Thank you for inviting us. The Dwarves of Valdoria and their Kingdom itself are quite ready for whatever comes this day."

The warrior with the greatsword produced a crystal from his belt and passed it over the Valdorians. It glowed brightly over the Anduin Guard's battleaxes and rifles. The warrior then put down the crystal. "I must ask that you please remove these objects before passing into Her Majesty's realm." he said. Glóin consented, respectful of the laws of the Sidhe. The Anduin Guards dropped their weapons at the designated spot. Then, the Valdorians, at the instructions of Mab's warriors, stepped into the Rift.

The Valdorians marveled at the beauty of Mab's realm. Glóin was a Telnor, and he had rock in his blood. However, Frór and Dís were Vandari, and while Glóin was resolute and fine, the Ducal Couple were bitterly cold. However, the magnificence of Arctis Tor was worth the journey. The beautiful wintery city was almost as amazing as Danlodir. Finally, the Valdorians dismounted and entered Arctis Tor.

As the soldiers escorted the Valdorians through the gates and into the halls of Queen Mab's crystalline palace, they noticed faces appearing and disappearing, faint but clearly visible. Probably just some supernatural oddities. That was to be expected in the Sidhe. Mab's soldiers led the Valdorians into a large antechamber. "Her Majesty will join you and the others shortly." The soldiers turn and exited the room, leaving them with the other dignitaries. The Anduin Guard sounded the Royal Trumpets as the Valdorians entered.

In the antechamber, Glóin noticed the buffet table. It was a table filled with food and drink and yet, strangely, there were no waiters to serve them food, as one would expect at such a high profile event. The table is filled with familiar food, nothing that could be construed as belonging to the realm of Faerie. To this, Glóin's dwarven spirit kicked in; and as did those of all the other dwarves. Only Dís and her attendants stayed behind, and chuckled. "Males..." Dís chuckled. She smiled and rolled her eyes.
 
The ride to the palace was an eventful one for Amanit. It was cold indeed; cold enough that his wool academic robes, for once, kept him warm without being stifling.

They were floor-length, with a rigid shape that made him appear nearly twice as wide as his thin body really was. Amanit's trimmed beard, black with salty gray near the edges, blended into the color of the outfit. The robe was trimmed with amaranth-colored velvet, the color of Misgomycis' School of Magiornithology; the trim was itself edged with goldenrod, the color of the ornitholinguistics department. Each arm had four chevrons on it in the same colors as the trim - three for his doctorate, and one for his position on the Parliament of Orchids.

The robe had a hood beset in similar colors, but it hung behind his neck unworn. Instead, Amanit wore a velvet academic tam with five sides; the sacred pentagon atop his head mirrored the dodecahedron atop his magic virge.

The only iron thing he was forced to remove was the locket Amanit wore around his neck; it was painful, but he had had to part with it the first time he visited the Sidhe so many years ago. He placed it inside its wooden box and gave it to his assistant. His wife's sister would watch over it until his return, as she had when he visited the Sidhe last. Amanit, after removing the locket, prayed to his wife before entering the gateway. He prayed that her spirit would protect their home, her locket, and his safety in a foreign land.

Sitting in the carriage on the ride to the palace, he listened for the wrens he had met so long ago. It was night, and many of them were asleep, but others chattered about their days. A few young males said things about nearby ladies perhaps not worth retelling. In any case, Amanit's Wrenish was sufficiently rusty that by the time he made out what they were saying they had quieted down or flew on to another branch.

Amanit rested the virge on the carriage floor in front of him, pointed towards his chin. Closing his eyes for a moment in concentration, he felt a magical presence and began to speak. Wrenish was a difficult language to speak without the aid of a virge - filled with microtones and overtones, the sounds were challenging to make with even a magically-enhanced vocal box. Whistles emerged from his mouth - thoughts turned directly to speech. He knew many ornitholinguists with severe stutters or other speech impediments that found themselves able to speak the language of birds flawlessly.

His greeting was met with a smattering of replies. Some still recognized him. Wren culture dictacted male wrens reply with long tangents, often going into detail about their lives without prompting. Female wrens were usually more laconic. Carefully they chose their words, with not a single letter out of place.

As the carriage neared the palace, Amanit was foolish enough to make eye contact with one of the pairs of dim red orbs in the distance. For a moment, he thought he saw an outline. Before he could even swallow nervously, a small flock of a half-dozen birds flew in front of the creature, apparently distracting it enough that it sulked away.

Arctis Tor was nothing like the habitations back home in the Mycorrhizal Union; instead of massive, carved-out trees connected by skywalks, or entire towns built from the clonal colony of giant mushrooms, there was stone, smooth and inorganic. Amanit didn't mind it, despite its alien nature. Shelves never tipped due to the slow growth of a root or branch, and the air felt clearer without omnipresent spores.

The inside of the palace was far warmer than the winter outside; Amanit began to feel warm in his woolen robes, as if he was at yet another commencement ceremony for the University. He wished for his work robes, but knew that that would not make a suitable impression at this event. The Mycorrhizal Union did not stand on ceremony and therefore he would not either. He looked at the food table for a pitcher of water.
 
G'mork turned slightly as the other delegates arrived, carefully observing each with the distinctive eyes of his kind, the gold iris rimmed with crimson was the Bleiddyadu's most distinctive feature beside their more animalistic appearance. He notice the Dwarves arriving, a smirk crossing his face, Dwarves had attempted to take the Bleiddyadu's most advanced weaponry in the past and, although these were not of the same strata, it still amused G'mork to see them here, the Bleiddyadu had developed weaponry fuelled by raw crystalline magic and with their armour they had brutally exterminated the Dwarves that had attempted such theft, he wondered if the stories had spread amongst the other kingdoms but still, even though Dwarven constitution would doubtless be unaffected by any taint on the food it would still be amusing to see if only out of curiosity.

The Bleiddyadu made no effort to mask his dark powers, he would not start any fracas but he was prepared for one. He continued to observe quietly, already sensing his presence had unsettled someone in the room. He was curious as to when their host would arrive.
 
Yav Tapsyangok stood at the window of his office suite. The blinds had been drawn, save for the narrow gap through which he was observing the scene laid out before him. On the streets many stories below, the lights of cars moved in predictable, rhythmic patterns, the lifeblood of Sandyrva beating through the heart of its business district. The tower which housed Yav's work soared above its neighbors at the center of it all. It was an apropos symbol, as the the mining venture which bore his family name had furnished a great bulk of the material used to develop the area. Above it all, a nearly full moon waited patiently.

Yav remembered his first change vividly. It was a vital rite of passage that all of his kin had to endure. It had been... unpleasant, to understate the matter, as it was for most. But with time's passage, apprehension had been replaced by familiarity with the visceral thrill of the change. He now waited with eager anticipation for moments like this when he was free to drop the façade and indulge in that power.

Yav closed his eyes and drank the moonlight through his skin. As the satellite's phases had crept towards full, the calling had grown more and more difficult for him to ignore each day, even with his trued bloodline. And each night he'd answered that calling, reveling in the euphoria of loosing concealed instinct from the shackles of his daily charade. His heart raced with excitement as he felt the change begin. The exhilarating sensation of innumerable pinpricks of coarse hair sprouting across the skin. The deep, sweet ache of sinew and bone expanding and reshaping. Old, dear friends both, whose friendship only the fortunate few like him were privy to.

His revery was shattered in an instant by a sharp trilling from the phone on his desk. Yav reeled as his flesh and bone snapped back into place too rapidly and a wave of intense nausea washed over every inch of his body. The phone range twice more before he recuperated sufficiently to stumble over and pick over the receiver. "Hello?" he blurted into it. He noted that the caller ID was the intercom outside of his officer door.

"Sir, it's Myrskyya," answered the familiar, female voice on the other end of the line. "I apologize for the unexpected interruption, but an urgent matter that needs your immediate attention has come up. May I come in?" The words snapped Yav back to his full faculties. Estä was a stickler for protocol who did not resort to these kinds of interruptions without good cause.

"Of course Estä," he said while flipping the switch in his disk which toggled the lock on the door. "It should be unlocked now."

"Thank you sir." The line went dead. A moment later the doors opened and Yav's second-in-command, Estä Myrskyya, walked in. Her dark auburn hair was styled in its usual immaculate pixie cut, her severe face wore its trademark, passive scowl. The only clue that something was amidst was the envelope she was holding firmly in her left hand.

"I was given this by a man in the lobby," she began as she approached Yav. "He was very insistent that I delivery it directly to you..." Her voice trailed off inconclusively and her scowl became an actual frown when her gray eyes met Yav's still golden ones. Her gaze drifted to the gap in the blinds behind him. "You weren't turning in here, were you sir?" Her expression remained controlled but a sliver of shock had crept into her tone.

"Estä, we're more than forty stories up, and nowhere near anything else that tall!. You should understand, you must be ready to snap as well." The plea fell on deaf ears.

"I apologize sir, but you know as well as I do what the costs of being spotted are. This is a highrise building in the middle of an urban center. There is a small but unacceptably high probably that someone might look this way long enough." She looked Yav up and down with a touch of puzzlement. "And if I may ask, how were you going to exit the building after destroying your outfit by turning?"

Yav grinned. "Ah, you'll like this." He gripped the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled it forward to give Estä a closer look. "I had this whole getup made bespoke and enchanted to grow with me when I turn. Not cheap, but worth it." Estä did not like it.

"And if I may ask, you have been walking around projecting thaumatic signatures simply for convenience? With all due respect, I must protest."

Yav sighed his head. She was right, of course. It was her job to be right about these things and she was the best he knew in the field. Her constant correct?ess was just a bit dull sometimes. He held up his hands in placation. "Protest heard and noted. I will take it into serious consideration. But please, you were saying?"

"I was given this by a man in the lobby." Estä picked up where she had left off flawlessly. "He was very insistent that I delivery it directly to you. Security couldn't find anything wrong with it." She extended the envelope towards Yav. Despite Estä's assurance, he gingerly plucked it from her grasp between his thumb and forefinger as if afraid it were about to burst into flames. With the sorts of people who had reason to hold a grudge against him, it very well might.

"And you listened to him why? Are you sure it wasn't just some homeless loon?" Yav turned the envelope over in his hands.

"He..." Uncharacteristically, Estä paused as if at a loss for words. "He was not human, nor was he kin." Yav's eyebrows raised. Instinctively he raised the envelope to his face and sniffed. He had expected to smell an all too common melange of skin, sweat and sebum. Instead he was met with the unadulterated scent of a coming winter's frost. It was so clear and powerful that he immediately felt a chill run down his spine and legs into his toes. Observing his reaction, Estä nodded slowly and said what he had already inferred.

"He claimed to be a servitor for the Winter Court."

Yav took a letter opener from his desk and slit open the envelope in a dim sensory hazy. Estä waited with the stillness of a statue while his eyes traced the contents of the letter. By the time he had finished he wore a mildly bemused smile.

"Have the other members of the Clansmoot received this as well?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know sir." Yav vaguely nodded.

"Then we're fortunate that they had the good sense to at least contact the Lawspeaker." His smile turned to a full grin and immediately Estä knew she was not looking forward to what was coming. "I have a few phone calls to make, but it looks like you'll be going on an unscheduled business trip."
 
Valeria stepped into the antechamber alone, her head held high and her shoulders naturally cocked back. Her natural magnetism aside, she had what was clearly an immaculately practiced atmosphere to her gait, and her posture, not to speak of a natural talent developed amongst some of Imperium's finest families and soldiers. Her smirk had, by now, softened into a bashful smile, although her eyes still issued an inviting, fiery smoke.

The antechamber was carved out of that familiar crystal - Valeria knew from her studies that it was a common material, as a catalyst for Fae magic. Imperium called the material haemocyalline, or cyalline for short. Based on observations of blood samples taken from Fae defectors over the past century, and written accounts further back of the qualities and colour of their blood, PIT had come to believe that the Fae did not have haemoglobin, as humans did. Instead, it was speculated that they used haemocyanin, the most common alternative in the natural world - like haemoglobin, it is a protein which transports oxygen through the blood, but unlike haemoglobin, is based on copper, not iron. The crystals used earlier, by the guards, were further known as 'ferroreactive' - they reacted, in some way - with nearby iron, glowing and giving off light from a distance.

Imperium had some small samples of this crystal in its vaults. But this was different. Those kevlar-lined wooden boxes contained rocks. Rocks cracked off the wall of some wild cave, by PIT expeditions in the past. This was art. This antechamber was cyalline. Even Valeria's flawless composition cracked, just for a second, as she walked into this veritable Sistine Chapel - this exquisite glass-house. The raw cyalline that had been purloined from the lesser mines, on the outskirts of the Nevernever, did not compare even to the raw cyalline of the Fae's production mines, let alone the carefully hewn walls before her now.

She brought her hands together around her belly, almost overcome with awe, before recomposing herself, and throwing herself back into high society. The unpredictability and ridiculousness of the upper classes is the same everywhere. Oh, how she loved it.

A breath in brought her into the correct - the familiar sense of mind. A class captain of Caesar's own school. The one who brought the future Magisters and Senators of Imperium into line, as rowdy children trying to get out of work, and into play. Before they'd learned those two things could be so similar. Rubbing shoulders with some of the most important leaders in the world, and all before she'd graduated high school.

So she would pick her poison. Perhaps for the evening, perhaps for a conversation. Some company, to make herself seem less attention-grabbing - one must take attention on their own terms. A captive audience would do nicely on both counts. She scanned the crowd for someone who seemed somewhat out of place, before settling on a new entrant - Kowane, of Silly String, although she did not yet know it. Still, his skin-colour certainly reminded her of home.

As Kowane entered the antechamber, Valeria approached him. "Good evening, sir. Would you care to accompany me for tea? I've come alone." Without missing a beat, she offered him her hand. "Valeria, Imperium Augustum."
 
Kowane turned, startled, as a vision in a red dress started speaking to him.

"Ave, Valeria," he said, recovering quickly, and swept his hat off of his head and into the extended-arm, pointed-leg bow he recalled being used in the Imperium. "I am Kowane, of SillyString." Unsure of how long to hold the pose, he looked up to see her quickly stifling a giggle.

"Oh, no," he said worriedly, straightening quickly and turning his hat over in his hands. "I got it wrong, didn't I? I've no head for formality, but I studied, I did..." He stumbled to a stop as she smiled at him, a genuinely friendly smile.

"Ah, you seem to have understood the spirit of the thing," she said, and he felt he was swimming in her lilting, melodious voice. "I can help correct you, if you wish, after tea?"

Valeria swept into a mirror image bow, and Kowane felt his cheeks redden. "I suppose it does look a bit silly now that I see it for myself," he said, grinning wryly.

"Ah, but you still felt flattered," she replied, and now he was sure his face could heat up the whole Nevernever.

"Yes," Kowane managed to get out without his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, casting around for a safe subject to talk about. "So.. uh.. how about that tea?"
 
Valeria smiled at Kowane as he rolled the question over his tongue. "Oh? How about it?"

She slipped an arm around his, holding her hand loosely at her waist. Giving him a moment to speak up, or guide them to the table, she gently nudged the pair forward, with no particular urgency or speed. "How do you like your tea?" She considered what she knew of Silly String - a little. They didn't come up particularly naturally in discussions of international relations. They were more relevant to economics, or Latin history. Not quite her bag, even if she had always had some fondness for the idea of that curious little gem in the ocean. A world where the world came to rest, and to play.

Isolated in the middle of the ocean, with very little space. "I imagine you don't take much milk, being from Silly String?" At this point, her voice became slightly more laboured - more curious. It started to lose a little bit of its lingering, intentful melody, for a sweeter innocence. "Maybe you do. We've started exporting more milk in your direction. Or, well. I don't really know what tea is like in Silly String." She looked at the table, for a moment, before looking back at her conversational partner. "Personally, I don't mind a bit of single-blend. I've never been much of a foodie, myself." Her voice had already returned to its familiar, patient quality. For just a moment, an attentive person would have considered her almost star-struck, to have met someone who had stepped out of the picture-book depictions of Silly String common in Augustan media.

"I do wonder where they get their tea from. I imagine they've imported some from my - our world."

She quirked an eyebrow, pretending to have just had a thought. "Do you come to the Nevernever often?"
 
"I would love to accompany you," he told her, good manners finally overcoming his flusterment. He offered her his arm to take if she wished, a cautious move, but rash in his mind, and was elated when she accepted.

He wasn't sure how escorting a lady normally worked - whether it was a collaboration, or whether one simply walked her at a pace and to a place of one's choosing - so he felt grateful when she took the lead and started them moving.

"I'm not sure, honestly," he admitted. "Tea's not native to the island, though we do import it now to meet visitor demand. Growing up, I drank pahu... ah, it's like tea, but brewed from the bark of the sweet palm, a Sillish tree."

He guided her carefully between two other delegates. She was light on her feet, responsive to his nonverbal suggestion, and he wondered for a moment if she was trained as a dancer before her next question brought him back to earth. "Milk? No, that's another more recent import. Traditional pahu is drunk with sugar, and sometimes coconut milk to gentle the taste, and that tradition carried over to tea as well. I know some people have started adding milk, but lactose intolerance is very common so most avoid it. As for tea, there are special shops in Laule'a with a huge variety, and I'm sure hotels there carry a selection for guests. For the rest of the island, though, basic green and black are the usual choices."

They paused to let someone pass, then stepped forward once again, still with no urgency. "If you don't identify as a foodie, perhaps you haven't found the right cuisine to make your tastebuds sing."

They reached the food table, and the prospect of tea distracted her from any response she might have made. Kowane glanced over the selections before picking up the box of teas and proffering it to her. Once she indicated her choice, he prepared one for each of them and handed her the steaming hot mug.

"I've never been here before," he said. "Until three days ago, I didn't even know this place existed. Our magical education is largely introspective, since the elders consider it harmful to the rere - that is, the magical flow - for people to focus too much on other manifestations of power. They say it reduces our own efficacy." He paused to sip his drink. "What about you? Is this your first time too?"
 
G'mork observed Valeria and Kowane with interest, mainly morbid curiosity than out of any tactical gain he could glean from them. It somewhat amused him to see them together, it was clear Kowane was out of his comfort zone. He watched as they took tea, eager to see the effect, his intense look however gave him the look of a predator eying the feast with a fierce hunger.
 
Valeria considered Kowane's comments with a sense of duty, tempered by a healthy personal interest. She'd never had pahu - thinking briefly over her studies, the term did seem familiar. But the sweet plam was relatively uncommon even in the nearby coast of Imperium. The few plantations that existed sold the produce either to Silly String itself, to supplement their own harvest, or in small quantities to various ethnic importers across the world. Many of them were even owned by Sillish expatriots. Generally speaking, Imperium's warm beverage of choice was coffee, which it produced in scale. She nodded politely at the matter.

His opinions on milk, too, were sensible. Coconut milk was significantly less unusual in Imperium - while Imperium produced large quantities of meat and dairy, they tended to export such things. Instead, the more environmentally sustainable vegetarian cuisine of the nation was the general fare of the peasantry, and often made its way into military rations. Not infrequently, vegetarian foods, including coconut milk, made their way as far as the Palace itself. She took a quick mental note of his mention of 'basic green and black' tea.

As they came to a stop next to the food table, Kowane took a moment to cast his eye over the table. For just a moment, he looked pretty confident about himself. Well, it was pretty clear that as long as they kept talking about tea, they'd be just fine together. Taking a quick glance at the box, she indicated a peppermint blend. As she watched him take the blend and begin the preparation, she decided it would be appropriate to ease them into the momentary silence. "You have to enjoy peppermint to survive Caesar's taste in cuisine - he has it in everything sweet. I've prepared tea for Caesar before - a blend like this one."

She gave him some moments of silence, offering him her undivided attention as she let her posture drop into a slightly more casual stance. Even if he were not so taken with her tea, she'd taken pains not to let him note her peripheral glances at G'mork. It wouldn't be appropriate for her to let Kowane have anything other than her focus, at the moment.

Valeria did an admirable job of hiding her surprise. She knew that Silly String tended to insulate their people from the Nevernever, but she'd assumed they would have sent an Elder, or at least someone with a stronger understanding of the Nevernever. Not that she minded. The 'rere' was something she knew well - PIT considered it somewhat synonymous with a sense of being, or community. The belief the Sillish had in their own magical ability, and that of the other Sillish. It provided them...a social flow. It let them bring their magic together, in a sense. She'd actually studied the rere as her initial exposure to magic, in fact - Silly String's presence in the real world made it a relatively unassuming way to introduce PIT inductees to the idea of the Nevernever. And in her line of study - magical politics and international relations - Silly String was rather relevant even in a mundane sense. Being able to understand their religion with the extra dimension of the 'rere' was rather a helpful technique for figuring their society out.

"Yes, it is my first time too. The magical world is one I have only ever experienced at an academic level."

She considered his words carefully. If he'd never been to the Nevernever before, it was possible he didn't actually know who she was. His reaction to her admission seemed to suggest some sense of confusion.

"Would you allow me to provide an addendum to my introduction? Valeria, Imperium Augustum - Discene Valeria Caligula, of the Paranormal Investigations Tribunal. I feel that if we are going to be spending the evening in each other's company, I should be upfront with you - I am not here as a civilian. Discene would translate, roughly, to Lance Corporal.

We are...much your opposite. I've studied the Nevernever and its laws - both magical and mundane - as a non-magical individual myself, since I was 13, so that I could join Caesar's service in the Nevernever. This is my first time, as I said. My team has just been inducted, and I am the lone participant in our first deployment."

She gave him a rather casual shrug, and a comforting smile.

"I'm assuming that, if you've only ever heard of the Nevernever the once, we were not quite the first people to come up in your briefing. I imagine we are not popular with your eldership...or, well, most of the Nevernever, for that matter."
 
The Winter Court had been a known but inconsequential agent in the eyes of the Clansmoot. So it was doubtlessly with great effort that Yav had succeeded in finding a researcher from Special Projects with some applicable knowledge. A mousy and prematurely balding kinsman, he bobbed up and down incessantly while giving Estä his less than helpful briefing. Where she had expected practical instructions on self-defense in enemy territory, he'd cheerily informed her that both guns and knives were a no-go. Iron was their silver, and they wouldn't permit it to be let in. Her safety would instead be assured by the shield of the rules of hospitality. Estä had not been convinced.

She had not been convinced either by the researcher's insistence that her usual pantsuit would be inappropriate for an audience with the Sidhe. Yav had agreed though, and managed to acquire deep blue evening gown for hear to wear instead. In a merciful nod to her sensibilities, he'd elected a conservative, long-sleeved design without any frills. Nevertheless it was somewhat grudgingly that Estä donned the garment on the appointed day. To have such an outfit assigned by a stranger in Special Projects felt somewhat emasculating.

The briefing and her misgivings thereof had not been enough to prepare her for when she had stepped through the portal onto the other side. No sooner had the doorway blinked out behind her than wild, animal fear had gripped the pit of her stomach. The very air itself was wrong and too easily carried the scents and sounds of any number of, strange, unseen creatures. In the back of her mind, instinct bayed in protest at the omnipresent threat and begged to fight. Men and faeries may observe the rules of hospitality but the more primal dangers which lurked in the forests here knew no such laws. She had felt the change race through her body for an instance before her ego reestablished firm control.

Now within the relative safety of the carriage, Estä ran her tongue over a still overdeveloped set of canine teeth and grimaced. She had not brought a pocket mirror with her, but could confidently surmise that her eyes had also acquired an inhumanly golden hue. She could feel that her skin had gone from lukewarm to feverishly hot. Perhaps it was the basic dread that poisoned this place and continued to put her hairs on end. Perhaps local, thaumaturgical peculiarities were interacting with her gift in a manner that Special Projects had failed to foresee. Maybe it was a combination of the two. But whatever the original cause, the beast stubbornly refused to obey and return entirely to its pen. A vexing and embarrassing situation, even in likely supernatural company.

The carriage clattered to a stop and the door opened. Estä exited and caught her breath. Special Projects had only been able to say little of Arctis Tor, so she had been left to largely imagine it for herself. The gemstone carved into the shape of a palace that rose before her now was far beyond anything she had envisioned. For a a few too short seconds, the beast in her mind lay docile in a dreamlike trance, before her escorts brought her back and guided her to the antechamber.

The architecture inside continued the spectacle from outside, but the sights, scents and sounds of the representatives who had arrived before her pressed more immediately on Estä's mind. Her eyes cast about the room greedily for information. Their hosts themselves appeared to be absent, but food and drink and been furnished. Some of her fellow guests had partaken and were chatting among themselves. Others stood like her, whether in awed stupor or silent observation. Most at least looked human, but others were visually novel. Unsurprisingly, none seemed to be kin.

Estä frowned. She was intimately familiar with the courtesies of these sorts of functions in her world of origin. But Special Projects had not been able to give her any hints on conduct in the Winter Court. A resigned sigh escaped her lips, and she began to migrate towards the food and drink. It seemed to be an oasis in an icy desert for most of the other guests, and maybe there was something there to take the edge off her nerves.
 
It was not the approaching sound of footsteps that alerted G'mork to the presence behind him, but rather a warm silence that seemed to dominate the sounds near him. He turned, finding the source of the silence to be a rather beautiful tavern haired woman in a high collared but rather modest blank dress.

To his sharp eyes, a few features stood out. Most notably was the mask worn on the side of the lady's head, decorated in beaten gold and some strange dark wood. Secondly was her face, which while almost certainly beautiful and exotic and seemed rather hard to focus on, giving an overall impression rather than a clear image.

Then the woman spoke, her voice almost whispering, but surprisingly clear over the noise of the conference room, "Why do you stand alone, young one? You don't have to divide yourself from others simply because you are in the practice of necromancy, so why not come with me? I'm sure my brother would love to meet you. "

As she said this, he noticed that one of the two spirits had disappeared from the others side, and the remaining one, the large, mountainous figure, had been almost glaring in their direction, though it was impossible to tell the subject of his eyes, hidden behind the mask.
 
G'morks mouth split open into a wide grin, revealing the glistening fangs that lined his jaw, to a normal person they would be very unsettling, as though he had too many teeth for his mouth. He calmly replied "What better way is there to get the measure of those here than to observe and wait, measure their actions and size them up accordingly... The dwarves did as expected and made a beeline for the food, a gluttonous race but it does make their flesh rather succulent, however I am not here to indulge my appetite..." he chuckled "Yes, your brother s the one who I smelt when he entered the room... the one who is distinctly unsettled by my presence... I would quite like to meet him..."
 
The woman grinned in return, unperturbed by the fangs lining G'mork's mouth. Despite her relatively normal appearance, the innocent seeming grin seemed to carry just as much danger as his. Chuckling mildly before speaking again, she answered "But what better way to analyze prey than to stand among them as a wolf among sheep and to make friends with the ram?"

She laughed again then, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards her brother, who had shifted into a human form, as handsome as she was beautiful, wearing a white and platinum mask in a style similar to Sakirra, with a crown of what appeared to be antlers resting on his head and a wearing simple white suit.

As they were nearing the brother, she remarked, almost absent-mindedly, "I do not think unsettled would be quite the right word. Unless you can call an impending avalanche unsettled, but I suppose you'll have to talk first."
 
G'mork approached with a predatory air, he carried himself with import but still looked tense, as though he was close to launching himself across the room, allowing Sakirra to make the introductions.
 
"You've studied this place? With books, and... and teachers?" His eyes lit up. "That sounds so interesting. I wish my teachers had given me books like that."

Kowane was surprised when she began a second introduction, and then again when she revealed she was a soldier. A thought, unbidden, popped into his head: "I wonder where she hides her gun?" He ignored it... or rather, tucked it away for later consideration.

"You joined the army when you were 13?" he asked, surprise turning to astonishment. "That's so young! Especially for someone who can't draw on magic. Were you the only one? How did you keep up without being drained? Did you have to take the same magical training classes as everyone else? What do you investigate? Do you solve magical crimes?"

It occurred to him that he might be bombarding her with too many questions, so he decided to attend to his very full mug of hot peppermint tea - something he hadn't tried before, but which was growing on him - while she answered his first set.
 
Valeria smiled as Kowane spoke. She usually tried to keep matters professional, but she wouldn't be Valeria if she managed to suppress the entirity of the vanity gifted to her at birth. Better to channel it into a tasteful confidence and polite openness. Save the vanity for the anonymous forum threads. And at any rate, it's always flattering to be interesting.

"Young? Well...yeah, by most people's standards. I joined a military cadets group - my teachers were from the military, and we wore military uniforms, but we weren't allowed to go to war, or participate in training missions with the military. It's required in Imperium, but I was part of a special training program - the Vestals. So others of my age would participate in cadet training after school, but my school was part of my cadet training, and vice versa."

Upon meeting the bristly question of magical draining, she realised Kowane might not be quite on the same page as her. It was a principle she understood from her books - in the 'secret' mythologies, it was believed that an isolated case of magical drain was what drove the formation of what would become the PIT, although it was to this day not well-understood. "Ah, drain? We...don't have that in Imperium. We are passively non-magical, those you are thinking of are ac - let me rephrase that.

So, my comrades and I - all of us are non-magical. Imperium is non-magical. So...we don't have people who can draw on magic. We don't have magic to draw on. When we took classes of magical training...it wasn't about using magic, or drawing magic. We took classes on magical safety. What would happen if other people used magic on us, or around us, and how to use magical things made by other people - other countries. Artifacts, portals, objects like all of this -" indicating the crystal surrounds.

"But no, we didn't all do the same classes. We did the same magical classes, but we did lots of other classes as well - most of my comrades didn't study magical nations or history like I did, and I didn't study magical medicine the same way some of my comrades did. We all know the basics, but I could never figure out how to diagnose a magical disorder the same way our squad medic could.

What we investigate is...complicated. We investigate anything that has to do with the Nevernever, the Masquerade, and magic, basically. I'm told that, if it ever comes up, we'd also study aliens in the world of Imperium and Silly String - non-magical beings from space, or what have you. But it's never really been relevant - we have high-level contacts with the observatories, but that's about it on that front. So...you'll remember the crystals used by the Fae to check for - for contraband? That's the same crystal used to build this palace, but crafted in a different way. We study, try to obtain, keep safe, trade in magical artifacts like those crystals. We don't have anything quite this fantastic though. We have a few...samples of the raw material, in poorer quality, but that's between you and I.

We don't solve magical crimes often, but that's certainly within our jurisdiction. We do research and take note of magical crimes being investigated by other magical nations - and if we had a chance, we'd immediately be interested in it. We don't have magical crimes in Imperium - well, almost never. But we do keep an eye on these things. For that matter, some people would say that our various investigations - of magic, magical artifacts, magical people - sometimes involve magical crime. Of course, I'd have to disagree. It's all honest research."

Valeria peered over him, noticing what seemed to be a slightly more confused excitement. She wasn't quite sure he had grasped the idea of non-magical people yet. On mentioning the total lack of magical crime, it became rather apparent he had entirely misread the situation.

"Perhaps I..." she considered the matter thoroughly. On the one hand, it would be awkward to bring him to meet the co-workers, but on the other hand, it would give them all an opportunity to meet a real magical being in the flesh.

And she could keep talking to him.

"Perhaps I should show you, after. In case I lose you, my business card. You can make contact with someone of mine on both sides of the Masquerade - they'll get you where you need to be.

Just...don't tell anyone about this unless their number is on the card."
 
The land of the 'Divines of Et'Anu' can be found in the Semi-Autonomous oblast of Imladris. Nestled in the mountains the land is somewhat isolated from the rest of the nation. Its inhabitants preferring it this way as it allows their way of life to continue with little interference. The Palace of Moonshadow resides in this land, or more aptly, can be accessed only through these lands. The entry marked by the watch of the guardians and illuminated by the light from a seemingly unknown source appearing from the horizon, but not. These guardians protect 'the way', a path that departs the curvature of the gandraíocht lands and into the inner sanctum of the draíocht, illuminated by the two trees.

The messenger having crossed into this land reached the palace, and immense structure of stone and fine materials worked to the pinnacle of their art. Here the messenger was greeted and and was guided by the steward to the chamber of lights, otherwise known as the ring of doom, which sits below the tree of souls that forms its canopy. The walls of the chamber are seemingly organic in nature, as though plant were suddenly transformed to stone, metal, crystal, and energy. Here resides the thrones of the Elders, the Lords of Light and Darkness. On one end, pure light, and the other pure darkness, and between the two a series of thrones forming a circle. Behind each throne shone a light as though both fire and water, each a different color, and on each throne a corresponding Elder clothed in a unique silken robe of matching intense color. The Elders were in the midst of a meeting, and were silently interrupted by this messenger.

Simply placing the missive on the table in the center of the room, the messenger steps out of the room and waits.

The Indigo Elder stood up, and walked to the table "What an eccentric creature! Not even a word? I hope this message provides more insight" Opening the letter he begins to read for a moment. "The seal of the Winter Court" a murmur of interest can be heard among the elders. He passes the letter around for inspection as he speaks "Queen Mab wishes us to send a representative to Arctis Tor to discuss a binding code of conduct and fostering of mutual understanding. Our representative is to be granted protection accorded to them under the Laws of Hospitality, and is to depart three days hence."

A short discussion ensued among the members of the council, and eventually they reached an agreement. The Indigo Elder stood again to speak for the group, and with a nod to a guardian a few moments later the servitor was ushered back into the room. "We agree to send a representative to your meeting, expect our agent at the appointed time." The servitor was sent with a more formal version of acceptance to informing the Queen of their decision.



On the prescribed day the elders came together again, they knew their messenger, they knew from the moment they agreed. Standing at their thrones the fires behind them burned intensely, and with a flash of light and darkness, appeared two more 'Elders', but these were youthful, not more than 25 years of age. A woman stepped out of the light in a robe that glowed and seemed made of lapping light. At the same time, a man stepped out of the darkness, his matching robe seemed to rob the room of light. They are individual, but they are at the same time one, they are the herald.

They proceeded down the halls to a room of sorts, a series of intricate golden spheres rotating around each other separated from the palace by pure iron gates. As they approached, an opening formed which they proceeded through. Inside suspended was an onyx floor that shimmered like a prism; here they waited.

The air shimmered and then sliced open, a gust of crisp air issued forth, the veil had been punctured. The forms of Unseelie warriors can be seen as one steps through the void, his armor and weaponry holding a strangely beautiful glassy quality especially against their pale skin. Approaching the portal the warrior speaks "We shall be escorting thee and thy compatriots to the parley hosted by Her Majesty. Thou willst be afforded all protections afforded by the Laws of Hospitality for so long as thou offerest no violence to thy host."

The woman greets the Unseelie as he enters their realm and they proceed toward the rift. Raising his hand suggesting the representatives stop, he passes a crystal over each, but there is no reaction. With a nod, he lowers his hand and they proceed through the portal. "Please follow us and do not stray. There are many dangers on the path." the dark representative speaks up "Lead the way."

Standing in the Winter flurry, the snowflakes seem to disappear before striking the representatives cloaks, turning to vapor in their aura. They are escorted to the carriage pulled by two beautiful deep blue faerie mares. Eventually reaching the shining palace "A shining jewel in the dark" the woman says to the man. They are escorted inside as trolls are shooed away like pigeons.

Entering the hall they see a table richly adorned with food and drink, but no servants to serve the guests. "Interesting" mutters the man with a grin, as they walk past the table and mingle with the guests.
 
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