RP:Frostmaw War Council Discusses Macon - and Kelovath

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Queen Hildegarde, High Priestess Leone, Thane Josleen, Warrior's Guild Deputy Lionel, Merchant Hureig, and Sage War Hero Emrith meet to discuss the trouble brewing in Larket. Frostmaw and Larket are at war. What will Frostmaw's strategy be? They settle on not attacking the city directly, but instead creating conditions which highlight Macon's deficiencies as a leader, while buying time for The Steel Collective to prove his guilt.

Frostmaw War Chamber

Hildegarde had sent out letters to summon the relevant parties: the priestess, the merchant, the newest recruit, the fallen hero and others. The others had yet to reply and Hildegarde could not wait forever; she had plans to consolidate and an army to rile up if she was going to be successful in this new endeavour. Being in this room reminded her of when Frostmaw rose up against the drow to help the elves of Sage: the little pieces on the board all now an ancient memory and swept away to stand off the map. Only the slightly worn and little silver dragon remained there. Hildegarde idly touched it with a fingertip while she waited patiently for her guests to arrive, thinking to herself about how life would be so different if those pieces that had been swept from the board had remained. She probably wouldn’t be in this position now. But the past could not be changed. With a little grunt, she withdraws her hand from the dragon and lets her hand instead rest upon the pommel of her short-sword.

Leone was none too keen to be entering the War Room again. The last time she had been in it, a miracle had occurred - or at least, one had been forced - but all that the priestess can recollect is the Steward's body laid in state. With a world-weary sigh as the secret door from throne room to war room swung open, the bantam blacksmith strode into the War Room to take her place along one edge of the large table. The farrier is subdued in both gait and manner, and her heavy, booted feet come to a halt before the petite plover ventures to lift keen, peridot eyes to the armor-clad redhead.

Hureig was about his business in the figurative and literal sense, and at the moment it was to attend a meeting. Solemn as the occasion was, it did not keep the Giant from wearing his usual smile and friendly attitude, giving each and every attendant their due respect. He wore the smells of a bustling marketplace, of spices, foodstuffs, and stuffy furs, and was at an open place along the table. "Little Queen Hildegarde is crushed having not received an invitation," He said to Hildegarde with a smile. "I told her that her time would come soon enough."

Steady, measured gait brings Emrith to the war room, but his heart is heavy in his breast. Last time he was here, Sage was still in the hands of the drow, and many things were in doubt. Last time he was here, he was among the living. Now he enters the room, cold and silent and resolute, approaching the table whereupon the peculiar little figures once stood. He gives the single remaining one a quick glance, nods his head as if in affirmation, then offers a thin-lipped smile to those present.

Lionel insists his companions wait at the gates even as Frostmawian guards don’t bat more than a stray lash or so toward the group’s arrival. Indeed, the men and women who don the banners of the Silver Queen are fairly accustomed now to the Catalian’s ever-present entourage, but even so, he holds firm, waving his hand defensively a few short steps from the gate. “I was one of several names in that letter. None of you were listed. I’m sorry, but you’ll need to turn back.” With an exaggerated sigh, Mueller, a man of muscle and pride, scratches his forehead. The rest of the party merely shrugs. “Fine,” Mueller says, his rich voice almost booming through the snow-covered courtyard. Nothing else is spoken as Lionel is left alone with his thoughts. He tilts his gaze and enters the castle, azure eyes held firmly forward, expression betraying none of the concern gnashing at his heart. He’s been concerned all day, and all night besides. If this pertains to the still-unknown ambush just outside city limits last month, he is nervous but ready. If it’s something else, however…? The world is buzzing too quickly all over again. It is this realization which haunts the fallen hero as he makes his way through the tunnel of ice and approaches those presently gathered. He recognizes some. Others, not so much. He takes his place a few meters wayward of the group and nods an easy nod to the queen.

Two new moons have come and gone since the last time Thane Josleen visited Frostmaw. Her absence has been felt not only in the City of War, but in the City of Marble and the Village of Magic as well. Ever since Josleen and Kelovath fled Larket over a month ago, a faultline cracked open in the center of Larketian society with those who believe in the Paladin and Thane’s innocence on one side, and those who do not on the other. From that chasm rumors spilled and seeped across Lithrydel: Kelovath is a murderer; Kelovath was framed; Josleen is a witch, or perhaps a succubus. Josleen has no way of knowing which rumors reached whose ears in Frostmaw, nor does she know the opinions that the members of the War Council have about her. Nonetheless, when Queen Hildegarde (one of two entrusted with the secret of Josleen’s hiding place) sent word that a war council was to be convened, the Thane came out from under her rock. Last time the war council met, Josleen had to fib and flirt her way in. Today, the guards open the doors for the Thane. How times and ranks have changed for all the gathered, Queen included. She nods from afar to Emrith, forever grateful for his rescue of Skylei, but dares not approach him. After all, last time they met in this war room, the elf embarrassed her thoroughly. She smiles and bows her head to Leone and Hildegarde, and for the latter spares a humorless wink that says ‘I’m alright’. Lionel, whom she does not recognize, receives a polite nod. She stands beside Hureig and whispers, “I’m glad you’re free, Hureig.” She then reaches up to pat his arm. “Kelovath is alright,” she adds quickly, a preemptive strike against Hureig’s inevitable question about his little human. Her attention turns towards the queen.

Hildegarde had little love for this room since her resurrection. The hole in the wall had long since been sealed and the door replaced, that much was evident, but it was obvious that it wasn’t just the looming war that set Hildegarde’s body quite so rigid. Her teeth were near enough ready to grind, so great was her discomfort. The polite nods, smiles, and playful comments are met with only a polite half-smile and nod in return. This is no time for jokes and playfulness. This was a dire meeting, she felt. With a gentle ‘ahem’, she clears her throat and grips the pommel of the blade a little more firmly. “I’ve gathered you all here today because we must discuss Frostmaw’s latest venture. We are not called The City of War for no reason, after all. It seems that our newest enemy is Larket,” she announces to the room. “Though I would rather not go to war with Larket, I feel like it was a price worth paying for our ambassador. That and… well. Things are different in Larket. No longer is it a city of knights and chivalry. Yes, its honour was lacking many years ago, this Frostmaw knows. But… It has no honour today. Frostmaw takes the side of Kelovath and its Thane. We seek to depose Macon and uncover what he hides.” The Silver paused for a moment. If that was all, well, surely that didn’t call for a full blown war! “Macon isn’t quite so stupid, however. Not as stupid as some enemies I have faced. I suspect he has friends who are helping him to hold sway over Larket. We must get to the bottom of this. Then… Well. Then we must decide in what capacity is Frostmaw acting. Do we…” she pauses, evidently struggling to find the correct word to fit her meaning, “How can we liberate a city that does not need liberating…? Are we to put Kelovath on the throne and then leave it be? Or are we to make Larket an extension of us and Kelovath our vassal?” The Silver looked around the room. “This is why I have invited you here. My trusted.”

Leone dips her head in recognition of Emrith, and tips a scant smile toward Josleen. Hureig and Lionel both receive cursory nods of unfamiliar and thusly reserved greeting. Listening to the Queen's oration upon the situation set before them, the blacksmith once more glances toward Josleen. "Mm," the smith intones, the note ricocheting off the back of her throat, "Perhaps a multi-stage transfer of power would be better, like a principality that eventually returns to it's own, sole, rule," the priestess postulates. "But," the honey and pepper notes continue after a breath of pause, "What do we know of the peoples' opinions in Larket? Did they install their new leader? Do they wish to have Kelovath back? Is this still something that needs to be investigated further, to attain a homogenous opinion free of taint or influence?"

Hureig thanked Josleen with a silent nod; he did worry about his little human so! His smile did dim considerably when Hildegarde laid her cards out onto the table. His good natured self solemned up into a quiet, thinking man, and he nodded along with the points that Leone made. "I was a prisoner in Larket, and I can tell you that the lowlanders will not suffer Frostmaw's yolk. They already disdain us...to outright rule over them even with Kelovath as a proxy would doom his rule before it began." He pinched the bridge of his nose, though it was deep concentration that had his eyes shut. "I believe with Thane Josleen and I looking over Kelovath, we can make sure Larket will be able to be its own city-state. And there are always other ways to control a city. Trade and commerce would keep a city and its people bound to another long after the armies have left."

Emrith furrows his brow in thought, mind working furiously at the presented problem. He keeps his silence for long seconds, but when he speaks, his slightly raspy voice rings out in the relative quiet of the large room. "I know less of diplomacy, it must be said, than I do of the arts of war, of espionage, of subterfuge. Something need be said, however, and it is this. Enmity is a continuum. One need not go to war or attempt to control a foe who has slighted you, if that foe poses no threat to you. Larket could, I think, be left alone - or mostly left alone, in any case - and simply watched for further signs of trouble. Based on what knowledge I do have, I would think that to conquer it, by direct or indirect means, might be doing a disservice to its people, serving as balm to an offense at the cost of many innocent bystanders. Having been of a people conquered by bad luck and wounded pride, I urge you to remember this. Frostmaw's help was more than welcome when Sage was returned to its rightful stewards, but Larket, to my estimation, is a relatively small power with fairly little to offer by way of threat. Watch it, wait for a greater slight, before deciding to act. The last thing Frostmaw needs is a reputation for needless blood. That is my counsel." Emrith subsides then, feeling a brief pang of sorrow in his heart; Aeth should by all rights have been here, and the vampiric spell-blade has almost been expecting the older elf's quiet commiseration even though he knows better. The silence from the space nearby where Aeth should be is another indication of the changing times.

Lionel notes the arrival of a woman whose face he’s sure he’s seen before. He cannot place it. He returns her polite nod with a feigned nonchalance, although his gaze remains on her person for just a second or so after he shifts his posture to acknowledge the queen. Surely he’s seen the half-elf somewhere before, but such inquiries can wait. Hildegarde is tension incarnate. The Catalian perks a brow, his lips pursed as his worries increase. Perhaps he should not have been so hasty to return to Síocháin two evenings past; something big must have happened to freeze Hilde so. Then the queen speaks, and as she explains the situation, Lionel’s stance gradually becomes almost as rigid as her own, a short sigh his only contribution to the conversation thus far. He blinks midway through the monologue and in that near-instantaneous action he scans the half-elf anew; now he understands, this is Josleen, she at the center of it all. By the time his blink has finished, he’s returned to his forward glance, although he’s taken a few steps closer to the congregation. To any who might chance to look upon him, the golden-haired swordsman seems intentionally quiet – contemplative and more intent on listening than speaking. It is Emrith’s counsel which seems to catch the bulk of the man’s reaction; there is something haunted in Lionel’s stare as the vampiric wood elf mentions the costs of bad luck and wounded pride. Once most of the others have taken turns talking directly to specific peers, Lionel, his eyes upon the war table now, talks to no one in particular, with an almost distant tone: “As the giant told Josleen, direct subjugation of any sort is inadvisable.” He lifts his eyes to acknowledge Hilde. “Not that Frostmaw is in the business of real -subjugation- per se.” His eyes return to the war table. “But the current Larketian tempo isn’t going to differentiate our way from the ways of others. I don’t agree with vassaldom. It will cause more problems than it will solve, I think.” He pauses, shrugs, and glances around. His voice carries more confidence now. “But I don’t agree with waiting, either. This has the shape of worse things to come if we do not act quickly, especially in light of all the other miscellaneous unsolved mysteries lingering across the kingdom. I can try cutting down the stupid ones. If this Macon of theirs is as clever as all that, though, a hired hit of any sort is just going to flood us with hotter water.”

Josleen‘s face tightens humorlessly as Hureig speaks of his and her ability to control Kelovath. She does not seek to control him, or make him a puppet of Frostmaw, but she recognizes she’s of a minority opinion in this room. “I agree with Leone, and believe we here cannot decide Larket’s political fate. I would hate for Frostmaw’s intervention to be spun as one tyranny replacing another.” Classic Thane Josleen, always looking for the spin, the narrative the opposition will use against you. “And besides, as Leone just touched upon: not all of Larket views Macon as a tyrant or usurper. He has backers, many of them not soldiers, but common folk whose deaths would be deemed unjust by most, including ourselves, as Emrith eloquently put it. Before even considering war--and believe me that no one wants Macon’s head on a platter more than I,” indeed, Macon has run Kelovath and Josleen out of their home, good standing, and wealth, “But, before considering war, we should consider proving his guilt first, and then wait to see what happens.” Now more directly to Lionel, as if to catch him up to speed on what is being done now, “I have hired a mercenary group to investigate Macon and unearth evidence against him. They are not to engage him, because I agree with your point about a hired hit. And besides,” now she speaks more widely to the gathered, “I have a vested interest in clearing my good name as well as the name of Kelovath, regardless of his future in Larket, and to do so Macon must be brought to justice in public, not the dark. And I hope his guilt may be enough so that the people turn on him. But perhaps it won’t be, perhaps he will fight back regardless, with an army, and then Frostmaw’s finer skills will once again be put to the test.” Clearly she is camp wait-and-see on the war question. She takes a deep breath as she considers the other side of this. “This of course, does not answer what Frostmaw should do in response to Hureig’s unjust incarceration.” She glances pointedly at Emrith when she says this, as if he forgot this fact the most, or perhaps her glance was retribution for when he embarrassed her, who can say (she’s a famous grudge holder, even for petty slights which she returns in kind). “As for that…” She shrugs slowly. “What does Frostmaw want in the short term?” Carefully, Josleen avoids answering what Frostmaw should do with Kelovath’s political future. Of course she has a very strong opinion on the matter, and that’s why she knows to keep quiet about it.

Hildegarde listened to each and every opinion carefully. There was no real solid answer as of yet, but they all seemed to agree with her instinct: expansion was not what she wanted. Taking over Larket was not part of the plan. “War has already been declared,” a high price to pay for Hureig, “so we have no option but to consider where to go from there.” Meaning Josleen’s desire to play wait and see and try to figure out how best to approach the matter was not entirely viable. With an audible sigh, the Silver looks to Leone as if for a little strength before plucking up the courage to speak once again. “Macon has done wrong. Something is foul about him and he has done Frostmaw wrong by imprisoning Hureig. Frostmaw has no love for Larket. What love we could have had was ruined many years ago,” when the undead walked through Frostmaw and tried their best to tear the city down from within. “I don’t want war, but… well, we’re now in one and we cannot back down. Frostmaw does not back down,” she mutters. Backing down would mean Hildegarde was done for here in Frostmaw. “I have no desire to launch a war against Larket. But I neither have the desire to see Macon play at king there.”

Leone is willing to take Hureig's word for the attitudes and outlook of the Larketians. Turning a chartreuse stare onto the giant, the petite plover nods in understanding. Emrith garners the smith's attention next, and she listens to him intently. After the gilt-crowned warrior takes his turn to speak, the diminutive metallurgist exhales an extensive sigh through her nose. The blacksmith's head bobbles up and down in short, rocking nods. "I agree that an assassination on their current leader would only exacerbate tensions and turn the locals all the more against Frostmaw," the farrier pipes in again. A hand is swung toward Emrith, and a single black-tipped finger waggled at the undead elf. "But I think that Emrith and erm..." The farrier pauses, both brows knitting over the bridge of her nose as she peers at Hureig and fails to find his name anywhere in recent memory. "...this gent are correct, then influencing their economy and expansion so that they cannot raise a larger force and pose a substantial threat seems to be the most non-invasive yet active path we could take. It will also buy us time to aid with Josleen's efforts and allow her mercenaries to uncover this Macon's true colors and intentions," the metallurgist blathers on before offering a cautionary, "It is my belief that if you venture down that path, then you must also concern yourself with the Fermin and their tunnels below Larket. Black markets and smuggling will become rampant, and that road is ripe for such exploitation." The blacksmith pauses in her rhetoric, and quickly draws in the air with a lone finger. It is a looping sigil, should any one present bother to follow her motions, that concludes with the holy woman grabbing the ring finger of her opposite hand. "Declaring war means that you intend to fight," the raven-haired woman agrees with the Queen, "But that doesn't have to mean swords and axes. It could mean wit and wile."

Hureig was a merchant among priestesses, warriors, spies, queens, and thanes, if there was any position he did not feel he had the right to be, it was in the presence of such auspicious folk. Humbled to his core, he gave each speaker their rightful reverence, nodding to their points and grunting when he found them acceptable. He did his best to keep his composure until Josleen spoke of unlawful imprisonment and what was owed. It was then the Frost Giant's humbled features turned to horror. "I...ahem. Well. My imprisonment was far from unlawful and is being paid for in the blood of our warriors..." It was a gentle tut, one he hoped had not earned him the eternal grudge of his little human's mate. "Black markets are useful tools when crippling a city. They will allow our Queen to decide what goes in and what comes out, but to use them effectively will require a siege..." He looked from Hildegarde to the others with a lofted brow that basically asks 'Siege anyone?'

Emrith listens to the various points raised by the others presently gathered, taking pains to give Josleen a friendly smile when she makes her arguments and looks pointedly in his direction. He waits his turn, however, framing his response carefully. "Hureig," he says gently, "your incarceration was far from easy, and for that alone, Macon and whoever that drow he takes advice from should be asked to make some sort of restitution. Larket itself may be currently in the sway of these two, and perhaps more, and so it seems that two problems have the same solution." He takes a breath, wholly unnecessary given his vampiric nature, then plunges ahead. "I have proven myself a man of means when it comes to being where I am not supposed to be, and doing what people think is impossible, and it is this reputation which I hope for you to bear in mind as I make this suggestion. Macon can be assassinated, his drow too, and no one will know that they were killed. I am confident that I can get into and then back out of Larket with a toxic agent which can be slipped into their food supply. It would have to be a slow-acting bane, something which might mimic the symptoms of an illness. In this way, they would die without anyone ever knowing that murder took place. At worst, Larketians might feel that the deaths were too well-timed, but if we responded gently and even sympathetically in public venues...well, truth on a grand scale is whatever you wish it to be. Political fencing among elves has taught me so. What say you, people of Frostmaw? If I wish to go unseen, unheard, unknown, I can. Give me your permission, and Macon is dead. His drow is dead. And thereby the head taken from the beast."

Lionel listens uncertainly as Josleen speaks. His expression does not seem to change as she fills him in on the mercurial mission, although he cants his head slightly in acknowledging the action. He remains unconvinced that peace is possible at this time, but he will say no more on that score. Instead, he pins his faith on Hildegarde once again. She does not disappoint. His nod is more thorough as she explains a take on matters which largely mirrors his own. Then come the words of the blacksmith. Lionel follows her air-drawn line with slightly more interest than he has intended to illustrate, an almost playful smirk vanishing as quickly as it arrives, brow then risen at mention of Fermin and their ilk. If things were different – if he’d followed the same path this past few months as he’s always followed – he might raise his hand and volunteer to descend the dank sewer network into the heart of the realm’s black market trade. But he’s a different man now. Hureig’s siege suggestion is made just as the fallen hero absentmindedly scratches a particularly finnicky itch upon his shoulder; he withdraws his hand posthaste and straightens his stature into something more fittingly militant. If the queen should notice his countenance upon her, she will likely recognize he is silently volunteering for just such a mission. Lionel holds that gaze in earnest as the man Emrith offers his terms. He dares not look upon the face of the vampire himself, for he would betray a rising tension. When Emrith is finished, Lionel narrows his eyes. “I trust you via reputation, but I cannot trust in your plan. The timing is -too- impeccable. The scorn between Frostmawian and Larketian is too well-known. And…” He sighs. “…even if the populace is convinced it’s an illness what takes the life of this Macon, there may be more at play here than he and his band. The unknown assailants outside our borders last month… the refugee crisis… the political machinations. There are enemies enough dogging our every shadow that in the time it would take for Macon to die there could be worse demons poised to replace him.”

Josleen‘s back stiffens as Hildegarde once again mentions the long ago war with the undead. She cannot shake the feeling this war is in part retribution for that. She nods emphatically with all of Leone’s points. Preach. She shakes her head amicably to Hureig’s opinion on his imprisonment. Agree to disagree, civilly. Then Hureig asks if everyone’s down with a siege, and she agrees to disagree less civilly. Lips purse and she shakes her head in disbelief of his suggestion. Then Lionel volunteers, and she tosses him a sidelong look of disapproval. Her mouth opens to refute Hureig, but Emrith gets there first. She strongly disagrees with the vampiric elf as well, and shakes her head even more tensely. “No,” she mutters under her breath as Emrith speaks. When Lionel says the timing is too suspicious, she gestures towards Lionel like ‘bingo’. She seconds, through body language, what the warrior says. “But! This does not mean I agree with the siege either. I think attacking the city, or its sewers, is a mistake. Macon will defend it. He has control of the guard and army at present, and it will only endear him to the people.” She steps towards the map and taps it emphatically, getting worked up as she feels the crowd sway in a direction she does not like. “We will -make- him look kingly if we give him an enemy to fight. War has been declared, yes, but let the war be cold as long as possible. If we’re the aggressor, then he is the hero, and what good is that? And to Leone’s point about the fermin, I believe the fermin are working with Macon, or at least some of them. Macon’s first victim: councilwoman Andurla. Her spirit still haunts this plane. I hired the witch Talyara who held a seance with Andurla’s spirit. Andurla pointed us in the direction of a fermin illusionist. An illusionist could help explain how Macon framed Kelovath, and if the mercenaries find that illusionist, we may yet win this stand-off and shed little blood. And I cannot stress enough the importance of ruining Macon’s reputation in order to restore my own and Kelovath’s.” She begins to pace restlessly, after all she has the most to lose of everyone gathered here. “If we make him the hero, martyr, or the center of a conspiracy against him, I fear we only elevate his stature and embolden his supporters. We should provoke him into attacking Frostmaw first--not the city, but an outpost in neutral ground. Let -him- appear the aggressor, and let the people -hate- him for dragging Larket into a war!”

Hildegarde has once again lapsed into silence as those around her began to discuss in earnest the best approach to this war. It was almost as if Hildegarde wasn’t really there, like she was physically present but mentally she had just gone away for a time. There was so much she wanted to do, so much she didn’t want to do. All of these things, all of these suggestions, it echoed dimly throughout her mind. When Josleen finally finishes speaking and there is a pause between the words of all those gathered, Hildegarde can soon feel the eyes of Lisbeth upon her; her captain undoubtedly checking upon her ward in silence and ready to usher everyone out should she think her Queen requires it. “I would much rather face against Macon alone,” the Silver finally said. “One on one, the embodiment of each of our cities fighting against one another, victor takes all,” she murmured. That was the way of it in Frostmaw, she knew, but this was not so in these southron lands and Larket had proven itself to be quite craven. “No to poisoning. No to subterfuge. A battle of wits and wills, well… No one could or would expect such from us lumbering giants and northern barbarians,” she conceded. “I told Macon to prepare for winter, not to prepare for war. If we can find his supply lines and cut him off, well… we could hurt him. Perhaps not a direct siege on Larket’s doorstep. I cannot expect to be able to provoke him into attacking an outpost or friend of Frostmaw. He might be playing at king, but to play at king one must be semi-capable.” Hildegarde lifted her hand from her pommel to gently rub at her temple.

Leone is quick to shake her head to Hureig, disagreeing with a seige. "An embargo," she says delicately, "And garnering the alliances of more lands for an embargo against them - but quietly. Subtly. Again, the steriling-streaked, onyx cranium wobbles in disagreement, this time to the elf-turned-vampire, and the motion smoothly transitions into a nod as first Lionel and then Josleen speak of the too-perfect timing the death of Macon would elicit. "Though perhaps Emrith's particular talents," the smith begins, an indulgent grin laid upon the former elf, "Would be best directed to turning Macon and his co-conspirators against one another. Sow the seeds of discontent. Cause dissention. Perhaps even encourage a power struggle within the ranks? Make all of the players show their hands, so to speak." Atta girl, you rampant gambler! An aside causes the petite plover's posture to list heavily toward the half-elven Thane. "If this spirit wishes to be put to rest, I am available to do so," she mentions pointedly to Josleen. Immediately afterward, the diminutive woman's posture straightens, and she clears her throat before speaking once more to the room at large. "And once more, I agree with providing a political distraction that allows Josleen's mercenaries to operate for as long as they need to, in order to acheive her goals. It will give those in league with Macon a reason to laud his greatness and his plans, as well, hopefully..." The sacred smith's words trial off, and the vivid, jadite sights are pressed toward the halbardier (who appears to be lacking her halbard, gasp). The cleric's lips purse, and a heavy bow is dipped to the Queen as the priest queries, "Then we freeze him up, not smoke him out?"

Hureig most actively grunted in agreement with Leone's points. Already his mind was beginning to work at finding out whose goods and services filled the wants and needs. "I agree with Thane Josleen and this priestess. If he must be seen as semi-capable, then we should put him to the test. Let us squeeze the city in every way possible...from within, from without, and perhaps even spiritually, if that were possible. Let him fight to keep his throne from himself because, as you say, we lumbering giants and northern barbarians don't have a single wit between us and most assuredly not enough to pull off a battle of this sort."

Emrith shakes his head, slowly and decisively. "I think you are all making a tactical mistake," he says, and his voice matches the gravity of his head-shake. "This said, however, I have already admitted that my knowledge in these arenas is somewhat less than that of others present, so I will only state that I do not prefer this angle of attack. I think mine is better, safer and more direct, and I offered it unreservedly. Beyond this, I will put no impediments in the way of other plans, nor object to tasks I am given if they do not dovetail with my own opinion. I have spoken, and that is enough." His gaze sweeps each of the gathered individuals in turn. "Please do remember what I said about pride. Elves were proud, and were nearly destroyed. Reputation can be as much a crutch as a flagstaff."

Lionel does little. He is motionless, trapped in time, as Josleen begins to dominate the crowd’s attention. Yet he is far from irritated with her monologue. There is something about her candor that rings true. Indeed, the Catalian had not gotten so far ahead in his thinking as to recognize the inherent flaw a siege would present: the ability to endear their target to his people. And now, as she speaks, he feels a certain shame for having thought to volunteer for such a thing in the first place. -You’d starve their people for the winter,- he reflects bitterly to himself, silent and downtrodden. His militant pose is already gone. He’s just about to chime in that his organization would gladly withstand a strategically-insinuated strike from Macon’s forces when the queen returns to the conversation with words of chivalrous intent checkered by the realities of southron standards. All-the-while, the blacksmith further gambles, but Lionel’s thoughts are of the proximity of his encampment and the supplies he can provide for the coming operation. Hureig’s turn folds over into Leone’s and still Lionel thinks. Emrith speaks of his reservations and Lionel nearly misses him as well – but the tail end of his disagreement rings hoarsely through the man’s mind. -Catal was proud, too, and is in ashes,- he thinks, but again he says not a word. It wouldn’t do to distract matters further. Matters are overcomplicated enough as-is. “If there is to be an assault on supply lines, queen, then let my soldiers spearhead it or at least provide support. If there is to be an alluring target, made to incite Macon to some craven act, then let my base of operations be his choice. These are the ways in which I believe I can best offer aid.” He tilts his chin toward Josleen. “But whatever we do, I agree with the shrill woman’s screeching.” He blinks. Did he just say that aloud? It’s tough being Lionel sometimes. “I mean, Josleen.”

Josleen nods at Hildegarde’s suggestion that she fight Macon alone, but grimaces mildly at the idea of attacking supply lines. Her head cants side to side as she considers the angles. There’s risks, but that’s always the case in war. To Josleen, attacking supply lines affects the people and thus could make Frostmaw the aggressor, Macon the hero, but perhaps he’ll also look like the bumbling idiot. Leone seems to want to make sure of that, and the gamble could very well pay off--better than a siege, too. Besides, this isn’t Hildegarde’s first war. Josleen trusts the Queen’s instincts and nods. She also agrees with Leone’s plan on how to best use Emrith to encourage Macon and his ilk to cannibalize each other. “I second that.” To the question of laying the spirit to rest, Josleen says, “Andurla deserves that. Unfortunately she is trapped in Larket. We’ll need to deal with Macon first.” She nods thankfully to Leone for supporting her and Kelovath’s need to clear their names. She smiles weakly to Hureig, relieved he’s no longer pushing for a siege. No such luck for the vampire, who earns himself a withering stare, but the Thane says nothing. The Queen has spoken. What more needs to be said? Lionel agrees with the Queen as well, and Josleen is pleased the council is converging. But then he calls her shrill and her words screechy. Emrith, thank Lionel, because he has jerked Josleen’s crosshairs off of you and onto himself. Not that Lionel would know it, for she looks at him quickly, throws her head back, and laughs whole-heartedly--or so it would seem. “Slip of the tongue?” She winks like a cat playing with its food. For the rest of the council she observes Lionel closely. How he stands, how and when he speaks, anything she can use to publicly humiliate him at a future date. After the meeting she will ask about him in the fort, the guild, the Eyrie, but unfortunately nowhere more public than that. She is still, after all, on the lam. Still, slowly but surely she will amass an arsenal of information to be deployed as a weapon against Lionel at a future date, when he least expects it, and so subtly that he won’t sure if she did it intentionally or not. Josleen plays the long and shady game in matters of pride. Gird your loins, Lionel.

Hildegarde seems to have quite the decision on her hands. “I need time to think,” she tells her gathered council, “which is a weak answer for you all, I know. But I must have the time to think. My mind is… is cluttered with thoughts of war and aggression,” she tells them honestly. They had her trust, after all. “I think I had best pray for a while.” This is the polite way of excusing herself from their company or dismissing them.