RP:Appeasement

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Skylei meets with Rhosorien in Frostmaw. The two visit one of the elven elders and propose their idea for elven reparations needed after the recent Sylvan displeasure with the City of War due to the Steward's dealings with drow. In spite of their utter misunderstanding about Frost Giant culture, an agreement is struck with the elder and the two make plans to seek an audience with the Queen to propose their plans for appeasement.

City of Frostmaw

Skylei spent the evening previous sitting in a room in Frostmaw’s tavern thinking and planning exactly how to approach the proposition laid before her by Hildegarde the day previous. She’d come up with little and thus it is with some reluctance that she leaves her bedroom and prepares to face the day. She heads out of the tavern and west into the residential district of Frostmaw, wrapped up in multiple layers of coats, scarves and a pair of thick snowboots. There’s an area of the district where the Sylvan folk who now call Frostmaw home, are primarily housed, and it is there that she plans to head. Her first plan is to call upon the few Sage elders who thrive up in the frozen wasteland and seek their advice. From there onwards, well, Skylei isn’t entirely sure what she’s going to do. Had Skylei known exactly where Rhosorien was, or that he was still in Frostmaw, she might have sought him first. But time is short and she hasn’t a minute to spare.

Rhosorien has been far too excited and interested in Frostmaw and its current events to notice the cold – up to now. Of course the cold had always been there, hence the need to cloak himself in thick furs every morning, but his explorations of the City of War had managed to fill him with a wonderment that kept the shivers at bay. It is only now, stationary for long enough to become placid, bored, that he notices a chatter slipping over his teeth. He shakes his head, lifts his thick wolfskin hood and draws his arms from his back to fold them over his front. He is waiting for one woman in particular, and he doesn't expect she'll be long. Not-so-long, in fact, that she is spotted passing him by, some ways down the wide street across from him, and the ranger springs into a light run, weaving in and out of the Giants that tower over him. “Skylei!” for simplicity, he greets her by name.

Skylei would echo the greeting back to the ranger as he draws into sight, “Rhosorien.” She doesn’t stop walking in the direction she is headed, simply assuming that, should he wish to accompany her, he would. Once his run had slowed and he was in pace with her, she would use his arm to lightly guide him down one of the roads that lead to the area in which the elves had made their residence. As she walks, she would explain the results of the day previous, “We’ve got a number of calls to make, should you wish to come with me. I spoke with the Steward, and there is a chance that she and Lady Satoshi may permit the elves to stay, including those who have acted in such a rash and foolish way. We are required to find a way to appease the Giants, and the Queen, for this act of disrespect and should this be done, then this may be forgotten. I see this as the most productive way forward but we have little time.” Skylei continues to walk but turns her eyes from the path to the ranger, “Are you willing to assist?”

Rhosorien listens in silence, nodding along to show his understanding. His steps mirror hers, until she mentions that they must appease the giants, when he stumbles a little as he fights the urge to give voice to an ironic, condescending laugh. Instead, he contents himself to grin. “There is only one way to appease the Giants – truly, I mean, to gain their respect. We can offer them goods, all manner of foods, hunt for them, teach them the elven craft... But none of that will suffice. The Giants are appeased only with battle.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment, to let the first inklings of possibility show up in the half-blood's mind before he attempts to give shape to them. “As I would say, there are two possibilities. Battle between elves: one champion of Satoshi and one of the more vocal dissidents. This, I expect, must be to the death. Or a battle between one of ours and a representative of Frostmaw, most likely the Steward. Unfortunately the terms of defeat are likely to be very disagreeable, and undermining to our desire to stay here. They are a simple folk, not patient enough for careful negotiations. If we lose, they will want us all gone. So would you have me slay a fool of our kind, or risk our collective wellbeings in a far more difficult bout?”

Skylei furrows her brow but nods, “You speak of what I had feared. The usual reparations are likely useless here and I expect we must follow the Frostmawian traditions of battle to the death.” Skylei sighs again in disgust at the blood hungry traditions of the giants, and rubs a gloved hand against her forehead, “However, I feel differently as to what the terms of defeat will be. If we defeat them, however unlikely, we may only provoke further anger. The pride of the giants is already wounded, I see no reason to rub salt into that wound.” Skylei slows in her step as they quickly approach the area in which the elves dwell. She has no desire to be overheard. “Now, I am not proposing we appear weak, for there is no greater way to lose the respect of the giant communities than that. Merely that we allow them victory. Let them believe they possess the greater physical prowess. Let them think that they are in control, that they hold the cards. If they believe that we are more easily subjugated, all the better. If we pose as no threat, what reason would they have to exile. They will possess the power to quieten the dissent and therefore, our people will be of little worry. I know that what I propose is fundamentally martyrdom on behalf of our people and, I cannot believe I even speak of such but…” Skylei shrugs, “I have no better solution. Slay a fool or risk the welfare of all; well, it is no choice at all.”

Rhosorien furrows his brows, matching the woman's slowing of pace. “I must disagree,” he replies, shaking his head in reiteration, “this is the City of War, and the law of Aramoth is revered. In this place, battle is the purest form of trial. An elven victory over a Frostmaw representative would be the most concrete way of ensuring our allowed residence. In reverse, a defeat is the most surefire way to see us bundled up and kicked down the mountainside. However I, for one, do not at all fancy my chances against a Frost Giant or aspect of Winter, least of all in this place, and I imagine all but the greatest druids would say the same. That is why I think it most shrewd to engineer a trial in which, however Aramoth's favour my swing, the victor is an Elf.” Rhosorien pauses to take a deep breath, released in a deep, shuddering sigh. “I have no wish to bring death to one of my fellows, but I am not opposed to punishing one who has acted without guile. Tactlessness is not becoming of a treeborne, and to think that we are stained with such foolery puts a fire in my blood. If one of such fools must die for his mistakes to be undone, so be it. Better than leaving the majority to further suffering, would you not agree?” Then his grin returns, with an ironic twinkle in his eyes. “Perhaps this place will do us wonders. Perhaps we shall become hardy and warlike, and the Drow will be powerless to resist our return.”

Skylei shakes her head as the ranger states his case, “I fear you misread the situation. Yes, this is the City of War, though I would feel it more aptly named the City of Death. Yes, battle is revered and deemed the best and only form of trial. But this is not about proving our validity or proving that we are worthy of staying in the city. It is about proving our respect and reverence to the authorities that rule this wasteland.” It is obvious as they enter the elven district. The architecture of the area, whilst distinctly Frosmawian in flavour, is on a much smaller scale than the houses of the giants that they had passed before. Looking back to Rhosorien, Skylei continues, “But who is to say. Whatever we may feel, there is little we can do to assure victory or defeat for whoever it is who is to represent Frostmaw’s elves. What we need to do is persuade the people that bringing those responsible for the dissent before the Queen and Steward, and entering into such a trial, is the correct option.” As they draw up beside the house of one of the few elven elders in Frostmaw, Skylei would pause and gesture in the direction of the doorway. “I don’t even know why the people would wish to stay here. I have always hated Frostmaw, myself. But if that is what they desire then that is what we must strive to protect. We are in agreement, aye?” Once he had agreed with her, she would point once more at the doorway, “Shall we?”

Rhosorien looks disconcerted, as if he believes Skylei does not see the full picture. “The reward for the dissidents will be death,” he says, in a tone that belies his firm belief in the presumption, “or exile, an equal fate. Surely the life of one means less to us than the lives of several. The people stay here because they can, in number, without having to fight en masse. We are not capable of any sustained, pitched battle in which we all must take part. Safer to place a bet either way, as I see it. But I will defer to you on this matter – thus making it entirely your fault.” Though there is humour in his voice the grin has shrunk into a look of guarded apathy. He has not looked upon an elder of his kind since they were expelled, and is not wholly sure on how he feels about the prospect. Some part of him feels he has survived better on his own, in hostile territory, without their guidance.

Skylei knocks lightly on the wood of the door. As they wait for the arrival of the elder who lives within. “None of this will matter if we cannot persuade the elders that this is the correct passage of action, Rhosorien. Now, grit your teeth, smile and pretend as though you are all for the sacrifice or one for the protection of the many. I know that’s what I will be doing.” Turning her head from the ranger and back to the door as it opens, Skylei would dip her head to the elder in a show of respect. Skylei knows his face well and, indeed, likely does Rhosorien but just in case, the half elf sees fit to introduce them both. “Greetings, Sir. My name is Skylei Lucindio and my companion is Rhosorien, one of the last to remain in Sage. We were hoping that we might seek your counsel on the grave matters that currently plague our people and propose a solution that we hope might save the elves from further exile. Might we come in?” When he ascertains that they may, Skylei would move aside and allow Rhosorien to lead them inside.

Rhosorien grits his teeth, as instructed, though not for the reasons given. Rather is for his perceived failure of Skylei to understand that the sacrifice of one for the protection of many IS what he promoting – simply in the sense that he ought to be one doing the sacrificing, and another, less wise, less valuable man should be the sacrifice. But for the time being he keeps this to himself, places his hands together behind his back, and bows as the door is opened. The elder is indeed one he recognises, as all the elder faces are known to the rangers, but whether or not a lowly enforcer like himself would be familiar to this man is something Rhosorien is in doubt about. He does not truly care either way, and is content to play the disciplined, tongue-in-check warden that the young Lucindio seems to desire of him. The ranger crosses the threshold of the house when bidden, and says nothing.

Skylei doesn’t sit once they enter the elder’s main room. Rather, she stays on her feet with the door directly behind her. She’s neither expecting this meeting to be long, nor particularly welcomed. “We propose, and the steward agrees, that the best option in order to move forward in such circumstances is to offer the people of Frostmaw reparations of a sort. The most important part of this matter is that only those responsible for the worst of the vandalism pay the price rather than all those who have expressed doubts as to the Steward’s motives.” Skylei would go on to explain the situation, treading particularly lightly on the fact that they had decided that the most plausible reparation would be the fight to the death. The fact that physical combat would have to be part of the placation of the Frost Giants is not something that Skylei ignores, but rather than stating death as the stakes in black and white, she merely keeps referring to the ‘traditional Frostmaw ways’. Once she has said her piece, she would look to her ranger companion, “Rhosorien, do you have anything that you believe we need to add?” She truly hopes he has something to say for himself as Skylei doubts wholly that an elven elder will listen to half-blooded youth.

Rhosorien also remains standing, his hands still clasped behind his back. He mostly looks towards the elder, occasionally glancing at Skylei, and when she asks for his input he remains quiet for a few seconds, mulling on exactly how to phrase what it is that he thinks is best. “We must demonstrate that we are able to police ourselves,” he begins tactfully, “if we surrender the dissenters to Frostmawian justice then we seem... Reliant upon the Giants for our protection, and this is not something that they will respect. We should demonstrate that we can replicate the, ah... 'Traditional Frostmaw ways',” here he gives the half-elf a sideways glance, “for ourselves. Whilst our honour is in question, this is not a safe place to be. We must be stable before we can prepare for... Our return.” He says this last slowly, and with a tone and expression that hints to his true meaning – one all wood elves desire. “In my opinion it was ridiculous to allow the publication of those careless statements,” Rhosorien is now in full swing, and disdain creeps onto his face, “it was the tactlessness of our former matron,” his deliberate lack-of-use of the phrase 'Archdruid' should be noted, “and her vampire pet that forced us to seek the sanctuary of this snowy land, and that is a lesson that very few seem to have learned. We are becoming less like ourselves. Bitterness and rage are slowly replacing wisdom and serenity. If we do not steer ourselves swiftly from this path, we shall become... Drowlike.”

Skylei would nod in agreement as Rhosorien speaks, though keeps her mouth shut and allows him to make his points. As he repeats her own wording, Skylei would deliberately look away from both men and into the far corner of the room. Once he has concluded, Skylei interjects a final point, “We don’t have much time before we must make our decision. The Snow Queen’s patience has clearly worn thin and we’re skating on thin ice. I believe that if we do not make this attempt to placate the people of Frostmaw then it will not be long before all of our people are found without a home,” Skylei pauses for just a beat here to emphasise her point, though it hardly needs the emphasis, “Again.” Skylei shakes her head and looks directly to the man whom she hopes to persuade, “I don’t believe we can allow that to happen but the only way to assure that this will happen is for you and the people to give their support to this proposal.” Once she has fallen silent, the two are subjected to a long wait whilst their elder contemplates their words. During this time, Skylei keeps her eyes fixed very firmly on the ground, not daring to look at either of the two others in the room. Once the silence reaches an almost painful length, the elder would finally address the two, “You propose that to appease Lady Satoshi and her subjects we allow one of our own to meet one of theirs in a combat trial with the stakes being that of life.” It sounds like a question, but it is more of a reiterance of their words, in a much more simplistic fashion.

“Not quite,” says Rhosorien, who has kept his eyes level with the elder in contrast to Skylei, “for that would, in the Giants mind, further demonstrate our inadequacy. I would stake only on our most powerful druids against a Frost Giant on his own turf, and they are far too few for us to risk. But to have one of ours rise to the challenge, then only to be slain... We look weak, collectively. I would recommend we fix the odds a bit more in our favour; namely, we put an elf who did not criticise the Steward's actions against one who did. If there is a shortage of those who were quiet and patient with the perceived slight, you will very fortunately find one such combatant in this very room.” The implication is, of course, Rhosorien himself. “To put one of ours against one of theirs is the same as surrendering to their justice. I reiterate that we should demonstrate our capability to replicate the Frostmaw justice for ourselves, between ourselves. Perhaps the stakes needn't be death – perhaps the exile of the offending individual will be enough, but I have my doubts, considering that further exile of the many was the demand Her Coldness gave to us.” He hastens to add, “I propose only because I see it as necessary. The blood I thirst for runs beneath the ground, not above it. But to do nothing, or to enable the Giants a definite victory over our kind, will be the thunderclap that turns our rain into a storm. We cannot stay in this place unless we can show that we are worthy of it – this means taking reparations for ourselves, and offering the spectacle to the city.”

Skylei speaks quietly when she re-enters the conversation, her gaze ever placed on the ground, “The Steward made it clear that all those responsible for the particularly offending acts will be expected to leave the city. However much we might hope for it, it seems unlikely that she will forgive any of those responsible for such. If we are to live in the north, we must live by the laws of the north, and they are clear.” Skylei only now lifts her head from the floor and, with a quick sidelong glance to Rhosorien would continue, “But, if we remember that these people number only a few in comparison to the greater good. What we can hope for, in the best case scenario, is that the Queen and the people will see that we are willing to bend to Frostmaw’s ways and thus we will no longer be viewed as a potential threat to their own hard won peace. Frostmaw is not long recovering from war itself; they will not tolerate anything that might bring another to the door.” The half-elf would gesture towards one of the windows. “If we wish to stay, Rhosorien is correct, it is most necessary. But I believe that, within reason, we must do whatever it is necessary to win back the trust of the Queen.” Again she would fall silent and they would be subjected to an extended silence on the half of the elder as he mulls over the words, “And how is it that you propose to make those who are responsible for the acts of violence consent to this? And who will bring this proposal before our people?”

Rhosorien now struggles to fight a grin, and eventually it defeats him. A wide, childlike smile spreads his lips, for he is so amused by the simplicity of his answer. “I will make him angry.” Realising himself, the ranger hurriedly returns to his previous unreadable expression. “And the people will see his folly for themselves. This will be an agreement between individuals. Nationalism breeds passion and stupidity in tandem – it will be a simple matter for me to bait a dissenter to raise his sword. I will, by any means, host audience with Lady Satoshi beforehand, and at the duel's conclusion the people will see her approval, and know that they have been saved. Then, perhaps, we can begin to build proper bridges with the Giants, to become accepted rather than tolerated. In time our hosts shall become our allies. If we are good to them, at ready service to this city, show them an understanding and empathy, it will be reciprocated. Then they may see that we have been wronged – that we deserve their support.” Now he makes a personal appeal, and his voice is troubled, mixed with a deep conviction. “I cannot return to Sage until I know the people are secure. The longer I am away, the longer the trees have only our enemies for company. When the Eternal Tree forgets us, when the woods forego an elven touch... Then we shall truly be without a home. To tarry on this decision is a grave, terrible mistake. The Giants respect strength, I respect tact and guile. To act as we propose will be the first demonstration of such that I have seen in my kind for a long, long while. I have long attempted to make way for an elven return, to keep our memory fresh in the gentle flora and fauna of Sage. But I will not serve the interests of those who refuse to serve themselves – I do not need your approval to love the Eternal Tree, to tend to it, to dote on that which is mother to us all. I can forsake the treeborne and remain treeborne myself.”

Skylei adds nothing to this. Indeed, she has nothing to add to this discussion as she had not even stopped to ponder on exactly how they would manage the persuasion aspect of the task. After a third long pause, the elder would speak again, offering his reserved support to the idea, “If all that you say is true, and I believe it is, then this is the only path open to us if we are to remain here. Have it known, however, that it will be on your heads alone should you fail or bring further misery to the people. Their suffering shall not be further increased by this pursuit of yours. Speak with the Queen and the Steward and make your offering of reparations. That is all.” With that said, the elder would turn away, indicating that he is done with this conversation. Skylei too would turn and look towards the door, after muttering quiet words of thanks for his time and counsel.

Rhosorien is more tense than his face and frame would belie. If he is turned down now then he must admit to himself that the elves have grown weak, and their exile from Sage is but the natural order, as inevitable as the passage of the world. This final pause seems to drag much longer than the others, and a slight twitch has developed in the point of the ranger's left idea by the time the elder opens his mouth. Then, the verdict delivered, Rhosorien's face takes an approving smile, and he bends slowly forward into a much deeper, much more respecting bow than he had given at the door. However the elder's discontentment is prevalent, and the ranger does not wish to rub salt into a fresh wound, and departs silently, holding the door open for Skylei to follow. “I must prepare,” he says firmly, “I leave for Sage immediately. The termites must have spread some in my absence, and I am uneasy to be away from Sage for even a few days. Tomorrow I will return – I don't expect to sleep before then - and petition Satoshi for an audience. Then my theatrics shall begin. Will you remain here, or return to Cenril? The Nameless Desert must also be visited, as soon as possible. To unite those scattered, we must make emissary with them separately.”

Once the duo are outside Skylei would gesture to the Fort that towers in the background, “I will remain here to liaise with the people. I will speak with the Steward and ask if the Queen has time to speak with us, or whether it will be her to whom we speak.” When the topic changes to the unification of the elven people, Skylei is hard-pressed to hide the grin that wants to grow across her face. Now is not the time for idle joy. It is the time for careful planning, “There are also a number of our people in Chartsend and smaller numbers scattered across Cenril, Venturil and Gualon. Do you intend to send emissary to those people too? Every small number adds to the greater scheme, but time is likely of the essence. If so I will organise such.”

Rhosorien said to Skylei, "Yes. All must know, and consent. But I beg you let me take audience with the Queen. I have heard that she is much harder than the Steward, and I believe it. Perhaps it best to let me be our voice towards her... At least until you can look your own leaders in the eye."

Skylei said to Rhosorien, "The audience with the Queen was granted to me by the Steward and not to you. You may attend if you see fit. That is all."

Rhosorien defers, and demonstrates so with a whimsical bow. "Very well, my lady. Be respectful, yet confident. Speak of the dissenters in words and tones that she will appreciate. And, most important, eyes off the ground. I'm sure you will do us proud. Now I must leave," and he does so before the half-elf can give him further cause to tarry.