Date: July 7, 1999
Place: Docks - Haven
Cast: Altair, Calendel, Dante, Drusus, Karijou, Kione, Maat, Orman Kai (II), Oriane, Ranaka, Timin
Scene: It seems that there is unrest beneath the waves, for this is the second time in a matter of weeks that Haven has glimpsed warships in its bay -- the current group hailing not from the Orcinus, but from the Pandion Decemvirate.

Announcement: Looking seaward? There are dots on the horizon... in growing numbers. Want to see more? The docks would be the best place..."

Docks - Haven:
      From fire, comes rebirth. This is what can be seen here on the southernmost docks of Haven. Few signs remain of the great fire that destroyed many boats and recognizable features from the docks, instead facades of newness shrouding the blackened remains. Surviving boats, and newer vessels, sway along the length of the docks, their sails rippling in each wind as a tribute to life that has gone on beyond this.
      Small stands are scattered irregularly along the path that leads back up to the town itself, peddlars luring the passersby that meander in for a taste of the sea.

Karijou enters the safety of Haven Harbor from the open seas.

Maat, Drusus, and Timin arrive from the north.

There are... spots... on the horizon. Not the Orcinus ships that are already within Haven Bay, or any of the other vessels that ply their trade from the docks. The smudges at join of sky and sea are further, much further. Well outside the bay... but growing.

A group of Empyreans land across the roadway leading to the docks, finding perches for themselves on the edge of a rooftop. It affords an excellent view, you see.

This time, there are magnificent Schola Praetor in attendance around the plain Empyrean man who had been in attendance the last time something Grandly Atlantean happened; gold glints on his brow as he laces his hands behind his back and looks out across the vast bay.

Maat watches, with the growing crowd, ignoring the smells of fish and other unwholesome scents of the sea in order to partake of the excitement. Finding a position near the end of the docks, yet not so near the water that she will fall in, Maat stretches tall in order to over those in front of her.

Orman Kai arrives from the north.

Politics may not interest Aquane Karijou enormously, but a large crowd upon the docks, however, does. He pulls himself up onto the dock proper, watching the approaching ships from a sitting position on the far end of the docks.

Y'all go and watch the pretty ships. Some people still have to work, even while some mysterious fleet bears down on the Haven docks. If you can call what Timin does 'working.' 's more like Schmoozing for Soldi. Just another damned halfbreed, chatting lightly with some manner of merchantman's captain. Ignore the swan and his entourage. Unless, of course, they have money.

With the passage of time, the smudges begin to resolve themselves. And as those that first appeared begin to become sharper, less distorted by distance, others appear at either side. The line slowly expands, blotches upon the horizon growing larger, and more dark shapes appearing at even intervals to form a long broken line that seems to reach from one end of the Bay to another.

Dante arrives from the north.

Without much fanfare, nor much pomp, a group of twenty Korallion Guards march in formation to the docks, halting, one cloaked figure in their midst. The cloak obscures his features -- but his build is an average one, and the set of his shoulders droops slightly, as if he suffers from fatigue. All the guards have coral spears, the tips ostentatiously sheathed with wooden baffles. All the spears are held at attention, the various gadgetry hanging off them glittering in the light.

A shorter, pudgier, older man moves up to stand beside Drusus; he says something and his words are carried back towards the Citadel by the prevailing winds. Drusus nods and turns his head slightly to answer, unlacing his hands just long enough to make a gesture towards the Korallion.

Oriane soars in from the skies above.

A black-armored Empyrean slips onto the docks from the slums just northwest, clearing assessing the situation before moving into the thick of it.

Finally, no more shapes appear from the horizon, and the number is fixed. Thirty there are, evenly spaced across the bay as they approach. Those of sharper sight might begin to discern smaller shapes now, moving along side the larger vessels. For vessels they are -- white sails finally becoming distinct from the body of the closest ships, still well over a mile distant.

Drusus shakes his head in response to something that the shorter man has said; he holds out one hand as if to indicate a request for patience.

The Korallion Guard stands at rigid attention. Most of them don't even twitch, except for a pulsation, now and again, of gills. Then again, they could be communicating silently, privately, to each other. Or to the robed figure that stands in their midst, hands bare of spear or sword. Webbed feet, all twenty-one pairs of them, grip the wood of the docks with bare toes.

An afternoon flight to the Scriptorium caused Oriane to catch site of the shapes out on the horizon. Curiosity getting the better of her, the darkling Tritonides braved the chilly weather to fly towards the docks to investigate. Clutching a wrapped book and a scroll case to herself with both arms, she lands on a solid looking rooftop and turns her eyes towards the oncoming ships.

In time, however, it becomes clear. These are not what so many might nervously expect. The style of the vessels, classic lines powerful and majestic, quite unlike the ships that are anchored within Haven Bay. The fleet, the thirty ships, is slowing -- while still outside the Delphic Bay.

Altair arrives from the north.

Within the confines of his guarded circle, the hooded figure raises his head, and stares out at the sails that decorate the perimeter of the Bay. There is a sharp command, rapped out mind to mind, and the Korallion Guard comes to closer attention, and all of the spear-butts hit the docks at the same time, causing the decorative shells and stones wrapped about the hafts of said spears to rattle. But the percussive *crack* of wood against wood carries across the Bay, first once, then a second time, then a third time, as if in greeting and to honor the arrival of the fleet.

Dark eyes still fixated on the oncoming ships, Oriane furrows her brow and looks confused for a moment, as if what she were seeing was not quite what she had suspected. Taking her lower lip between her teeth, she takes a moment to look out over the crowd. On a nearby rooftop, she sees the Emperor and contingent of Schola. Hesitating for a moment, she spreads her wings and takes a few steps to launch herself into the air towards that roof. Landing as gracefully as she can with her arms loaded, Oriane gives a respectful, but almost urgent curtsey, "Emperor Drusus..."

Kione and Calendel arrive from the north.

Maat stands, despite the large crowd of people, ever alone. A solitary figure near the end of the docks. Even as the grouping continues to grow, she does not move to stand with any Varati which may show, but remains stonily by herself.

The first dark Empyrean, the armored one, reappears atop a tall piling near the beginning of the pier and not far from the Emperor's contingent. Solitary and furtive, and decidedly not calling attention to himself.

Now, of course, how could two ne'er-do-wells continue to chat away while fishies line the docks and beat spears and make all that hullabaloo? 'Work' will have to stop for Timin and his business-mate, who's gone off to set about calming his more-than-anxious crew. So. Singular Timin, just watching the pretty boats. And at the rapping and noise and whatnot from the Atlantean contingent, just a sliding of blue eyes towards the cloaked figure. Perhaps, maybe, the faintest pursing of lips.

Though the gaze of his guards is riveted on the ocean and its array of distant ships, Drusus himself looks down onto the docks at the gathering of Atlantean soldiers -- he is staring at the figure among them, the hooded one. He does not, at first, hear Oriane, but two of the Schola and the smaller pudgy man all notice her approach. The short man touches the Emperor's sleeve and even then Drusus does not immediately react. Then, blinking, he rips his attention towards the touch. "Yes, Flavius?" He follows the indicating finger and dips his head. "Aye. Marius, you may let the Domina Tritonides pass." The Schola named steps to the side slightly, making room for the dark noblewoman, and his expression is as inscrutable as is Drusus' as he watches her tainted figure enter this circle of light.

The sound of marching feet make their way in, not so quietly as some might hope. They are coming from a contingent of Hounds, eleven in all. Ten are set in two columns of five each, with the eleventh, Reeve Altair, taking up the lead. They are armed heavily, prepared for anything. Their footfalls are in perfect synch, some of the highest skilled warriors in the region. They come to a halt at a gesture, the Reeve's hand raising as he, too, comes to a stop. There the twin columns of armed men, a mixture of races all wearing the same Indigo and Black armor, wait at the entrance to the docks. He steps slowly closer to the forefront, towards the dignitaries, leaving his contingent behind as he tries to find out what in the world is happening this time at the Docks.

Karijou finally hazards a quick glance across the assembled crowd upon the docks, scanning the faces, and maybe the souls, of each there. However, after noticing Maat, he smiles lightly and stands on the docks, and steps over that way, giving the woman a friendly nod before taking another seat on the end of the docks, right near her.

First one, then about seven fairly well armed mongrel men move in, led by a taller, more handsome version of the other men. Calendel moves slowly, and with a grace that belies his nature. He motions with his hand and most of his men move out away from him, one staying rather close to his leader. He frowns and moves near a darker area of the docks.

Maat gives Karijou a polite nod, but does not seat herself. It would seem that she does not wish to soil and stain her clothing with a fishy odor that cannot be removed without a torch. "Orcinus Karijou, I have not seen you in some time." It would also appear that Maat has been long in not speaking to Karijou, as her knowledge of his new situation is nil.

What's all the commotion, bub? Curiosity has drawn more than a handful of people, Kione being one of them. Slipping in from a side-street, she moves along the dock in a bobbing motion -- drawing herself up on tip-toes every now and then to peer out over the crowd. Darn all these tall people. The Atlantean woman scampers up onto a stack of wooden crates, plopping herself down atop them and gaining herself a good view of the 'show.'

While waiting for a response, Oriane's eyes had drifted back towards the sea and the distant ships. When she's acknowledged, she rips her attention back to the collection of Empyrean warriors and their charge. Stepping forward and folding offensively black wings against her back, she gives another curtsey, "Your majesty..." Straightening, her eyes move towards the sea again, and she says, "These ships... They're not the colors of the fleets I have seen here before. These are... blue and gold from what I can see." Dark eyes move back to the Emperor, concerned with the uncertainty this might cause.

Drusus considers this information carefully. "Very well, domina," he says. The news does not seem to alarm him, or at least if it does he doesn't show it.

The approach of the ships continues to slow, and it can be seen now that the other vessels are canoes and outriggers -- certainly shorter range boats, not at all made for the rigors of the deep ocean. The movement of shapes aboard the larger vessels can now be discerned, no one color standing out among the dot-sized shapes that move on the decks and rigging. The pennons, flying above white sails, are indeed gold upon blue... the colors just now becoming visible in the distance.

Drusus turns his head and murmurs something to Oriane, his attention still focused on the ships that draw near.

Watching the Emperor for a moment after delivering her observation, and then turning her eyes back towards the sea, Oriane spares a quick glance back at him at his murmured question before looking back and answering as quietly.

The mongrel Calendel raises one eyebrow at the approach of the ships. He reaches up and scratches at his chin, appraising the potential threat from the amount of men that could be hidden between the large bulks of wood. He lifts his cloak's hood up and covers most of his face, his eyes narrowing in the process.

Drusus purses his lips slightly. His eyes narrow and he says something else, the words ripped towards the Rialto by the strong sea breeze.

The Korallion Guard returns to a more loose attention, spears held at a twenty-degree angle, butts of each baffled spear touching the ground near each Guard member's left pinky-toe. But the hooded man amongst them, almost lost amidst the beaded finery of the Guard and their weapons, does not move, covered and muffled as he is in blue silk.

And they... stop. Thirty warships flying pennons of gold and blue, all cease their motion towards Haven and set anchor just outside the waters of Delphi, forming a broken line of ships that stretches from one end of Bay to the other. As the vessels cease their progression a mile out from shore, shapes the size of men become visible beneath water near the pilings of the docks. One breaks the surface -- followed by another, and another. Atlanteans, male and female, all in military trappings with the same colors of gold and blue, numbering just over a score. One approaches the ladder leading from the water to the docks.

The attention of the lone soldier, Dante, flicks back and forth from the hooded charge of the guards, the rapidly crowding area, and the approaching fleet. Wings tightening against his back, the man holds position on his piling. Atlanteans, it seems, are well and good, but an army is something to keep wary about.

Maat scurries back from her position near the end of the docks as it would seem that her desire to be near the fore has left her too close to the arriving Atlanteans. Given her lack of desire to soil her clothing, it is obvious that the woman has no desire for a dripping Atlantean to bring her greatest horror to fruition. Away from the edge Maat moves, pushing back into the crowd, though in as dignified a manner as possible.

Altair arches a brow as the warships stop. First Atlanteans block the docks. Now they block the bay? Still saying nothing, just letting his expression grow a little darker every minute or two, he walks still closer to the Guards and those men heading for the docks. He hopes that there is a good explanation for all this.

In contrast to the Varati, the Mongrel man known as Calendel moves towards the Atlanteans. He keeps his cloak up over his head. He moves through the people easily, and towards the front, the other two men moving with such grace as well... they all move closer.

Ranaka moves up the ladder with quick, easy motions, and comes to the wooden planks of the dock, the wood darkening beneath his feet as water streams from his body. He stands a moment, taking in the crowd that has assembled. His bearing is confident, not at all unconcerned that his compatriots are still in the water below. Then, with an abrupt turn, he moves towards Orman Kai.

Kione remains seated atop her mountain of crates, tilting her head from side to side as she observes the events transpiring before her. The crowd hold just as much interest for her as the anchored warships do, a fuddled inquisitiveness scouting her attention from face to face. However, when the Atlantean man emerges from the water, all her focus goes there.

And as a single Atlantean sets foot on the ladder that leads up from the water to the docks, the Korallion Guard stiffens, comes to attention again. And one last time, the butts of the spears strike the wood of the dock, in salute to this lone soldier who has come to land. The Guard separates, in formation, parting to let the hooded figure in their midst step forward to meet the soldier halfway. Grey-blue hands take hold of the muffling hood, lower it to the shoulders of the blue silk cloak, and Orman Kai smiles, very faintly, inclining his head towards Pandion Ranaka, before declaring in that light and dusty-sounding tenor, "Well come, Pandion Ranaka, to Ormani waters."

Considering the questions the Emperor has asked her, Oriane's ink-stained fingers tighten around her book and scroll case before she hesitantly turns and begins to respond in her quiet voice. Dark eyes, though, remain on the docks below, watching with a palpable curiosity.

While the party of Empyrean soldiers around Drusus, Oriane, and Flavius on their rooftop scan around and above and below themselves, Drusus himself watches the meeting between Pandion and Orman. He leans forward slightly, wings shifting along his arms to cup the sounds that would otherwise pass him by and funnel it inwards, to be better caught by his ears. He hears the greeting and pays quiet, rapt attention.

Something that Oriane has said to him makes Drusus settle back on his heels for a moment. He nods and replies to her and one wing twitches in the direction of the Palladium.

Ranaka smiles, the expression moving across his entire face, before he reaches to his back to remove the trident that is strapped there. The weapon appears more ornamental than functional, the haft decorated with mother of pearl, the tines themselves silver inlaid with gold. The Pandion drops to one knee and turns the trident, holding out the butt-end of the haft towards Orman Kai. "The Decemvir Pandion asks that I bear you his respects, and regrets that he was not here to offer them personally. You have requested, Orman. As in times past, we answer. I, and my ships, are yours to command."

Keeping her eyes on the scene below, Oriane opens her mouth to say something to Drusus but stops as the words below reach her ears. The darkling scholar knows enough to realize that was meant for the non-Atlanteans in the area, or otherwise their conversation would have continued on for telepaths only. Brow furrowing faintly, she simply nods to the Emperor rather than responding as she was going to.

Well, now. Like the layers of an onion, the workings of Atlantean politics are beginning to be revealed. But it's such a BIG onion. Drusus pays close attention.

Karijou stirs lightly. Navies, nobles, and noisy guardsmen are all well and good, but they just don't interest this particular Atlantean philosopher very much. He'll just get a student to tell him what happened. Without a second thought, Karijou steps up from his seat and walks through the crowd, headed past them and into Haven. Maybe he can get some lunch.

Calendel snorts a bit and turns, moving towards the exit.. His men fall in behind him.

Calendel and Karijou head north, towards the streets of Haven.

...and the Emperor wonders whether this is the real onion, or some display-onion trotted out to deceive. It's enough to make a man cry.

Talk about your massive produce, indeed. It's enough to cause the dark Empyrean to intake breath sharply and focus harder on the conversation. No officer worth his salt wouldn't appreciate this show, and Dante is worth quite a bit of salt for his credit.

Maat listens carefully to the spoken words, those unspoken passing by. Odd that a woman of the Varati vaisya class would be so interested in political machinations among the Atlanteans, but she does not leave. Instead, she would appear to lean closer, as if hoping to catch every nuance of spoken word and body language.

One by one, the score of Pandion warriors make their way up the ladder to the docks, gathering in loose formation behind Ranaka. Their weapons are bound, it seems only the trident that Ranaka bears is to be wielded at this time, yet still they place themselves so as to avoid any appearance of threat towards those who have gathered here.

Altair's darkened expression begins to soften, from cold stone to soft clay. The situation is nothing compared to what he feared it was when rumor had reached the Bastion. A little smile forms at the edges of his mouth as he clasps his hands behind him. If only Drusus knew what Altair's been going through with Atlanteans these past few days, he might have some better insight into that onion.

Blue-grey fingers wrap about the haft of the trident, and Orman Kai takes the offered work of art (no less lethal in form for its decoration), replying quietly, "I thank the Decemvir Pandion. Orman thanks the Decemvir Pandion -- and yourself, Pandion Ranaka, for swift and certain dispatch of your responsibilities." Layers of meaning behind the words, and Kai's mind has retreated behind those impenetrable mental walls that he is so good at constructing. The trident is proffered back to Ranaka with both hands. "Make free of Ormani waters, and of Ormani hospitality."

On the other hand, that quiet, mongrel-lookin' fellow (they call him Timin) would be thinking mango or perhaps a ripe peach for this particular analogy. Anyway, his version of 'rapt attention' hardly qualifies: Timin leans, rather lazily, against the nearest wooden object that will support his weight adequately. Half-lidded baby-blues. Ah, politics.

Maat listens to this exchange of words and then casts a surreptitious glance around the area, noting which Decemvirates are absent from this gathering. The woman may not know all the Decemvirates by color or dress, but she knows one and though a former member was present earlier, none of the Decemvirate that interests Maat the most would appear to be present.

Ranaka inclines his head as Kai speaks, as though it were a benediction that the Ormani Decemvir offered, and his head does not rise until the offer of Ormani hospitality is made, at which point Ranaka retakes the trident, and rises to his feet. "I thank you. We shall strive to be equal to your trust." The trident is reaffixed to Ranaka's back, and his demeanor changes slightly with the end of these greetings. "I would also need to present myself to another, Decemvir Orman. We border close on the waters of this city, and I have been instructed to present myself to the ruling body of Haven upon my arrival." Grey eyes glance towards the Korallion guards that stand nearby, "It is Delphi, I am told. May I, and my squad, be shown there?"

Eyes lingering on the scene below, Oriane's brow unfurrows some and her curiosity seems a little more satisfied. Pulling her eyes back from the Atlanteans, she turns to Drusus and curtsies, "If you would excuse me, Emperor, I should return to the Palladium." It is growing fairly chilly standing on the rooftop. "I could convey a message to any there that you wish?"

The smile is faint, the look in seal-black eyes unreadable -- trust to the expression, and the careful aliquots of grave pleasure that the Decemvir is exuding, even now. "Of course, Pandion Ranaka. Orman Yleh will guide you to Delphi, where we hope an appropriate welcome might await you." Again, the meaning behind the words shifts, layers and coils on top of itself even as the leader of Kai's squad of twenty guardsmen steps out of file and stands at rigid attention.

The squad of Pandion warriors, for their part, continues to stand in loose formation, seemingly uncaring of the chilly weather. They shift their weight, look about them, and remain alert in the presence of the various groups. A certain number, it seems, remain continuously aware of the armed Schola within the group of Empyreans.

Drusus considers this query of Oriane's. He shakes his head. "I think not at this time, domina, but my thanks nonetheless. Marius, please escort the lady back to the Palladium." Marius salutes and steps back, his gilded leather armor creaking faintly, stretching out one wing as if in invitation to Oriane to depart, although he does not precisely look at her. "Good evening, domina Oriane," Drusus says, and dips his head in farewell. "Vale."

Altair has had the Ticking Time Bomb analogy for quite some time as of late. Onion analogies are a good, stress-relieving sort of analogy for the Reeve. He takes a moment to look around as there is no incident here today. Gods, for there not being an incident, there certainly is a rather diverse selection of soldiers and dignitaries. And one in particular that he needs to speak to, as he glances towards the Emperor Drusus Jove. Oh? What's this? Attention returns to Orman Kai and Ranaka as he hears of an escort being needed to the Citadel. Well, it's Atlantean business, but Altair's small smile still fades a modicum at the fact that Hounds might not be escorting someone to the Delphic Citadel.

Looking back towards the Atlanteans below, and then towards Drusus once more, Oriane offers the faintest of smiles and another nod. Stepping towards Marius, she murmurs "Thank you for your escort, Centurion." Though it's unlikely to get a response, she does mean it as she turns and takes flight towards the Palladium.

Dante nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with the situation, but it shouldn't be put past him to tail the contingent as far as they go through Bordertown. Wingtips flicking slightly, the raven sentinel drops back into the madding crowd and becomes indistinguishable.

Oriane leaps into the air and takes flight, disappearing into the sky above Haven.

Maat remains silent, blending into the crowd and hopefully forgotten, yet the alert nature of the eyes suggests that little escapes her besides silent words which can only be heard in the mind. At this point in time, more than most, her actions suggest that she is a singularly odd woman.

Marius takes flight, keeping above and slightly behind Oriane as she flies towards home. Light winks off of his helm as he scans the city below, ever alert for danger. And then he, as well as she, is gone.

Altair decides that it just wouldn't be fitting. A contingent here all ready to do battle, and returning without even an escort job? That's just not fair! He takes a slow step forward, towards Ranaka and Orman Kai. "Excuse me, Decemvir, Pandion Ranaka, but on behalf of the Haven Hounds, may I be the first to welcome you to the Delphic city of Haven." He glances a moment to Orman Kai, his smile soft and gentle. "With your permission, may my contingent also join the escort to the Delphic Citadel?"

Upon the seas, the vessels remain. Thirty white-sailed warships of the Pandion, strung loosely about the bay like a length of pearls. From ship to ship now, smaller shapes are seen to move, and the sails on many of the ships are already being furled.

Orman Kai gives a quarter-turn of his torso, only, and then inclines his head very slightly to Altair. "Orman is pleased to work side by side with our neighbor, Delphi. Your request honors both Orman and Pandion greatly." But it seems that Kai will let the Pandion answer that request for themselves.

Ranaka looks towards Altair as the Reeve approaches, then questioningly to Kai. The question in his expression fades with the Ormani Decemvir's words, however, and Ranaka nods his head ever so slightly before looking back to Altair. "I accept your greeting, and welcome your escort." He smiles again, an expression that touches his entire face, rather than merely his mouth. "Thank you."

And with that, Kai has apparently decided to take his leave of the docks. The rest of the Guard, minus Orman Yleh, reforms about Kai as he steps back, and away from Pandion Ranaka and the Hounds, and of course, the spear-carrying Orman Yleh. Whatever else is said, is said telepathically, along a private band between Kai and Ranaka. If anything else is said. The Guard does not march, nor does it quickstep -- instead, they move at a more leisurely pace, back down the docks and towards the Korallion, Kai in their midst.

Altair bows his head to them both, his smile friendly and warm. A smile Altair hasn't had a chance to wear in a long time due to problems too numerous to mention. He looks towards his Hounds' Contingent, raising a hand to them. The march forward like a well-oiled machine, falling in behind him. "Whenever you are ready, Dominus Ranaka," he says politely.

And, with the excitement abated, that guy over there (blue eyes, smartass...y'know the one) will shuffle his way off the dock. And to those who might be close enough, his murmurs sound something like this. "Glorious. More fish for the frying pan." Yeah, it's not as good as the onion, but it'll have to do.

Ranaka glances towards his squadron, and the score of Pandion move into formation behind him, mirroring Altair's Hounds on the left and making the appearance of one large formation -- oddly made of two disparate halves. Orman Yleh comes to stand next to Pandion Ranaka. "Lead us to your Citadel, then, Reeve."

Maat sidles in such a manner so that she may follow the Atlanteans and Hounds to Delphi without being seen. Obviously, she is not done collecting whatever information that she seeks.

Lacking an excellent, timely comment or a good thirty of his own soldiers, the black Empyrean slides toward the Song for answers. For instance: War? Stiff drink. Peace? Stiff drink. Navies blocking the bay?

Dante heads north, towards the streets of Haven.

Altair nods a curt, soldier's nod to Ranaka, his smile remaining. "As you wish, Dominus. Company, forward march!" he says, taking a raised hand and swinging it forwards. The well-oiled machine starts its way to the Citadel.

FIN  

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