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"Let It Be So"
Date: November 29, 2001 (Aether: April 17, 3909)
Delphic Council Chambers - Delphic Citadel - Haven: Morning sunlight streams in through the windows to cast patches of colour across the table and floors, both of which have seen a recent, thorough polishing. The sound of conversation is muted, limited at this point to the few Delphites who have gathered about before the conference is to commence. The last of the servants has just finished ensuring that the supplies are neatly arranged, and she ducks her head as she scurries out the door. The Hounds, standing at guard in the shadows of the chamber, are silent and somber. Raijin stands close to the stained glass windows with his hands folded behind his back. His normally placid expression is tight today. Otherwise he betrays little of what he might be thinking or feeling, and for the moment he is simply still. Waiting. Making his way into the Chamber, barefoot once again, and kaftan-less as usual, the Adept Skyfire moves quickly to the window, pulling a chair as close to the only source of fresh air he can get. "You -would- make me come into a room with no windows, wouldn't you?" Oh, it's said with a smile, but there is the slightest bit of panic in his eyes. Maybe this won't take long. The tall door with its ornate scrollwork swings inward, to admit a pair of figures. Each have broad white wings, and each are garbed in the finery of their station. For one, the long, flowing robes of the Empyreans' ceremonial 'toga picta' that sports, prominently, a broad purple stripe down the front, signifying an Aegian's status. For the other, the arms and armor of the Empyreal Imperator of the Praetorian Guard. They step inside, and the doors are closed behind them. Gabriel is the first to speak, after his gaze has sought out the Delphic Seneschal. "Ave, dominus. I hope we havne't kept you long." He glances around the chamber, taking note of the kaftan-less Skyfire, and then asks, "Is this it?" A briefly wry smile is quirked at the Sylvan. The Seneschal's reply is but a low rumble, almost inaudible, "If you faint, I'm not going to catch you." Then quite calmly, as if everything was going perfectly according to plan, Raijin lifts his chin to regard the entering Empyreans. Both receive a cordial nod and a solidly-intoned, "Ave, Deus Augustin. And Ave, Primus." He draws a short breath, glances about, and his shoulders almost imperceptibly slump. "The hour is early yet. Please, be seated and make yourselves comfortable." A hand reaches to rub at his eyes as Skyfire murmurs, "I won't faint. I'll just make my own window." Turning to the Empyreans he offers a nod and a "Chookma..." before moving into the space Raijin was in. He doesn't have to sit at the table, does he? Maybe he can concentrate on something else...like...wasn't this the time people were supposed to meet? Tsaruko comes in from the hallway. With an inclination of his head, Gabriel moves toward the table and one of the several chairs placed around its perimeter. "Thank you," he says to Raijin, and with a rustle and re-alignment of his wings, he sits, to wait for the meeting to commence. "Ave, Seneschal." Cepheus responds quickly, looking somewhat pleased towards Raijin. "I hope all is well." Grey irises regard the Atlantean a moment, then turning to skyfire, "Chookma, Adept." The word of greeting is said in a vivid clarity, clearly making it obvious that Cepheus has spent some time in the company of one or more Sylvans at some point in the future. As Gabriel moves away, Cepheus moves with him towards on of the few back-less chairs in the chambers. Skyfire remains by the window, sucking in that wonderful fresh air until he is needed. He may not be...he doesn't really understand this whole treaty thing anyhow. Or why they're trying to make everyone agree...for it never happens that way. Leaning back in the chair, he'll just watch quietly. The Chamber, still quite empty at this point, contains only four key members and the various assortment of Hounds standing in the shadows. Stepping away from the window, Raijin shoots a look over his shoulder at the Sylvan's comment of making his own window. There's no reply, however. Pulling out a seat for himself, the large Atlantean eases the bulk of his weight down onto it and lets out a soft sigh. A faint smile is mustered, small and polite, and he replies, "I hope all will be well." He glances to the door for a moment, then folds his arms across the tabletop. "I would prefer to wait for others to arrive before we begin, if there are no objections." Gabriel's reply is a shake of his head and the comment, "Not at all." He manages a faint, tight smile of his own. "Since I don't expect to be arrested this time, I can remain here as long as it takes to get this settled." Geridan and Mustapha come in from the hallway. How fortuitous of Raijin to speak, for just as he does, the doors to the chamber open again. This time, it is not a Sylvan, nor a Varati, nor an Empyrean that is admitted. Instead, it is a pale skinned woman, with hair just as pale, though in varying shades of green or lavender. She is dressed in cobalt silk, with silver clasps at the shoulders with the Orcinus Decemvirate Symbol in medallions. Aqua eyes lift as the woman enters the room, scanning one and all, in a quiet, formal manner. However, the woman's attention is drawn to Raijin first, and with a respecting bow, she greets him. *Blessings of Pasiphae,* murmurs her soft mental voice as she then turns to the others. "Ave," she comments in the direction of the Empyreans, "Chookma" in the direction of the Sylvan, and then "Namaste" in the direction of the Varati. That, as they say, is a cue. From that very door that gained the glance of Raijin a muffled sound of heavy tread announces itself. The precursor to the shallow whisper of the doors opening. Through it comes a stout man, accompanied by Geridan. Such is the will of Khalid. Dark glassy eyes staring through folds of skin, taking in the panorama of variety. Clearly he is the new pasha. In the strong voice of an accustomed orator he gives forth. "Greetings, fellows." A sly glance flicking from Gabriel to Raijin. "I am Mustapha." He then slides into a seat, looking expectantly from one person to the other. Perhaps wanting introductions, being the new kid on the block. Motioning for Geridan to stand at attention behind his chair. The arrival of the Atlantean draws Gabriel's glance, but it is the entrance of the Varati just behind her that sparks wariness and tension in his posture. Only just settled, he rises again from his seat, in order to give each of them a nod and a courteous, if curt, "Ave, domina." He glances at Mustapha and amends, "Imphadi." Then, slowly, he sits once more, blue-green gaze settled unrelentingly on the Varati Pasha. They're a slight contrast, the pair of Varati who walk together. Actually, the taller of the two, who, with towering height walks powerfully forward, walks a pace or two behind Mustapha out of respect. As always, his hand rests upon the hilt of his blade, and his chilled eyes scan, with an open impassiveness those assembled within the council chambers. He says nothing however, and gives a single nod at the order to stand behind the chair, his hands clasping firmly behind his back, this also serving to allow what light there is to catch the shimmering emblem of a rising sun upon his chest. This Varati, obviously a Warrior, is of Clan Rashid, and is Geridan. The new arrivals ease some of that tension lingering around the corners of Raijin's eyes. Though now that things are finally getting underway, new lines form at the corners of his lips. Rising up from his seat, he offers a cordial nod to both the Varati and the Atlantean woman. Tsaruko receives his attention first, a firm and quiet Telepathic, *Blessings of Pure Water,* directed towards her. When his eyes flicker to Mustapha, he says, "Namaste, Imphadi. Please, won't you both make yourselves comfortable?" He glances about the table, and he says, "My name, for those who are not aware, is Seneschal Minowara Raijin. I have called this meeting in the hopes of discussing some issues that have remained points of contention between our governments. Haven is in dire need of resolution. Perhaps today we can take a step closer towards it. And if there are no objections, I would like to begin." Tsaruko pauses slightly, then turns to Gabriel, and offers something of a smile. An interesting contrast on the face of an Atlantean. Perhaps she is merely being polite. "Ave, Dominus," she returns, this time with a bit more warmth to her voice. A flick of her eyes towards Raijin, and Tsaruko nods formally once more, before she seems to decide to make her way towards Gabriel. However, before she reaches the Empyrean, Tsaruko pauses again, turning to Raijin, her head tilting slightly to the side. "Then I would like to bring up a subject which ... slides across the skin in the wrong way of many an Atlantean, if I might, Seneschal. Something I hope to see resolved in a manner that bests suits all." Meaty fingers fold over the roundness of Mustapha's middle, legs stretch forth beneath the table. Comfortable indeed. That sharp obsidian gaze cutting through the air with a jagged intensity settles at last upon Gabriel. There is a suggestion of a smile within the sweaty ambiguity of his padded features. A smirk lingering beneath well tilled soil, awaiting only the proper motivation to sprout forth. "Very pretty." Little inflection is given to that well tuned voice. Leaving it to the listener to decide if his statement is mocking or not. A wave of his hand wafting oiled perfume into the vacant proximity. Lips parted to make his own statement, he grudgingly gives over to Tsaruko. Resigning himself to a posture of benign attentiveness. Gabriel, for his part, is content to sit. And to watch. After studying Mustapha and his supposed guardian, Geridan, for a brief stretch, his gaze is finally drawn away, and Tsaruko again receives the bulk of his attention. Ivory wings shift minutely before achieving stillness, and he intercedes with, "Aye. Perhaps we should hear which parts of the treaty are objectionable." He nods to Raijin. "With your assent, of course." Though Raijin's offer is acknowledged with a slight inclination of his head, a dismissive one, Geridan does not relax a muscle, though the state he is in appears perfectly natural to the man. Poised on the breaking point of tension, he remains perched behind the chair, his face plain as his gaze, sharp and attentive, flicker from speaker to speaker. With lips relaxed, but in no particular expression, and his eyes drawn to wrinkles at the corners, he is unmovable, shoulders broad and braced against the room. "By all means, Lady Orcinus Tsaruko. Please speak," the Seneschal replies, one eyebrow notching up and out of place for a brief moment. He then casts the other woman a faint smile, and he retakes his own seat before the immense stained glass window. As Raijin refolds his arms across the tabletop, his blue gaze sweeps about the other people present in the chamber. GreyWolf and Atif come in from the hallway. Tsaruko bows her head gratefully towards Raijin, before taking a step forward. "It is true, we all want to see a peaceful, prosperous outcome to this situation. And this treaty, agreed and ratified by all parties, will make certain that this outcome will come to pass." There is a slight pause, as Tsaruko then continues. "I feel obliged to bring up the issues of pardons. It is a grievous thought to most people of the Atlantean sphere, that there is the possibility of a person, who has committed terrible crimes against another might be able to be pardoned, for the sake of being pardoned." Tsaruko shakes her head as she speaks, glancing about the chamber, trying to meet the eyes of everyone in attendance. "It is a dishonor to the premise of doing service to the people to allow an individual, who has killed another, perhaps even more, to be pardoned. It goes against the moral fiber of the Atlantean people. And, until the wording of "unconditional pardons" is changed, it is my great regret to say that the Ormani, foremost among the Atlanteans in Haven, will refuse to sign this treaty. It is certain that most, if not all of the other Decemvirates will refuse to sign this treaty as well. To take another's life... to force oneself upon another, and then, because of political pressure, to get away with such heinous acts, is unacceptable." A not so subtle shift of bulk precedes the Pasha's charging words. "You consider such things vile. I am sure. But what one person considers a murder, another considers an execution. Shall we have every whore in the city accusing well mannered men of ill doings." Sitting up meaningfully, he leans across the table. That softness of before, now seems to transfer itself into an impressive bulk that adds power to his words. "That is why we have governments. We must trust them to do right by us. To judge a case by its merits. And if they feel it deserves a pardon, then grant it. Do not bind our wrists and asks us to beg. We will not do it." The last word is echoed by the his powerful fist meeting the table. Rattling what silver and china might posture upon it. It seems the concept of time has once again eluded one of the "deep" woodland Sylvans, a rather gaunt man pushing the heavy, shaped door open and stepping into the large room after the discussion has begun. To his credit, GreyWolf has cleaned up fairly well, his simple attire moderately free of dirt and mud. Even his bare feet are clean, the man not leaving any tracks as he crosses the room towards an empty position at the table. One thing that is very clear is that he is somewhat nervous to be in such enclosed surroundings at all, his eyes shifting around the room quickly as if to identify all the exits and look for any sign of life other then the people in this room. Being without his kin, whether they be Sylvans or wolves, seems to not make his life any easier either, the older man's face somewhat flushed from the stresses. As the Atlantean speaks, the Sylvan's eyes narrow slightly, the tribal elder actually finding focus amidst all the angular distractions in the room. Green eyes dart back and forth on those who speak, but for the moment the man remains silent. The doors open to allow for yet another person to make his entrance; the blood-hued robes swirling about a tall, gnarly form mark him deftly out as another of Atar's servants, if the dusky face and the pitch black eyes would fail to do so. Atif glides with quiet poise across the chamber floor, intense gaze seemingly on some point in the distance and for all the world oblivious to any other being in the room. Except for one, or perhaps two; the old man pulls up behind Mustapha's chair while the Pasha speaks, adjacent to Geridan, folding his hands almost piously so in front of him. Gabriel glances from Tsaruko to the Pasha, Mustapha, before chiming in. "It was my assumption," he says, "that the pardon was in reference to Delphic law. Haven's laws. But that the separate governments were then free to try those individuals on their own." He glances at Raijin for confirmation. "If, let us say, a Varati attacked an Empyrean on Haven's soil--" he shoots a glance to Mustapha, significantly, "--and the Varati wished to have that man pardoned, would Empyreal government then be free to try that man according to Empyreal law?" Eyes dart down, with a narrowed gaze upon Mustapha as he speaks, drawing a reaction that not even Tsaruko's words could... a flare of brief emotion within those volatile optic spheres. They spark, then fade, and just as quickly as the gesture had began, it has ended and Geridan's head is lifted for him to stare out across the table at all those gathered once more. The thumping of the Varati's fist against the table causes Raijin's water to splosh over the goblet's rim. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he reaches out to swirl his fingertips in the puddle, gathering the fluid into the palm of his hand. This small action does not keep his attention from the debate, and slowly, his blue eyes lift to regard each face in turn. GreyWolf's entry is noted, and a nod of his head is given to the man in a silent welcome. Then the Seneschal speaks, "The stipulation of the pardon was requested by the Varati government. Should a man be found guilty of a crime committed on Haven's soil, his government would retain the right to call for a pardon for his actions and he would go free. This would enacted no more than twice per year." He turns to Gabriel, and he adds, "The Empyreal government, by Haven law, would not have the right to try the man according to Empyreal law if such a situation should arise. Haven would consider the matter closed. If any further action were to occur, that would be a matter for the Varati and Empyreal governments to discuss." Tsaruko arches an eyebrow in Mustapha's direction, before turning her attention back to Raijin. "And, how is this pardon to be given? Twice a year, any government can call for a pardon, and it is automatically given? Or, perhaps, it is given with a unanimous vote of the city's new rulers?" Tsaruko frowns slightly a moment, before looking around the table. "The potential abuse of these pardons I will assume is evident to all of you here. It is the abuse of the system, that actually draws this scrupulousness from the Atlanteans. The need for pardons is understood. But arbitrarily given is not an option, as I have been told." A deep reverberating chuckle issues forth. "But it is not arbitrary. Do you not see? What the pardon is effectively is removing Haven from the equation." Once more Mustapha returns to his casual lean. "It is then up to the governments to discuss. If the Atlantean governments insists that this murder, as they call it, should be brought to justice. It is there problem. It helps Haven in that in trying times, such as we have had." An accusing glance flickers fleetingly to Gabriel. "Haven can step back and allow the governments to sort out their differences. It doesn't always have to be a mediator." A sly little smile stretches those fleshy jowls. "I am sure even I and Gabriel could come to some accommodation. Given the proper motivation." A glint of greed brightens his features. Seated somewhat low in his chair, Cepheus' watches the course of the discussion take place, the distinctly tempered races actually seeming to lay the majority of their cards on the table all at once. Looking flatly at Tsaruko, Cepheus quietly says, "It seems me that there is little reason for any government to hide behind Delphi in the situation, should such a horrible action take place. Were a Varati to be killed by an Empyrean outside of Haven's walls, diplomatic channels would most certainly be the default form of communication for resolution outside of war. In the instance of the pardon, Delphi is simply removed from the diplomatic problem." "Deus Augustin," Gabriel corrects Mustapha coolly. And then he turns to glance at Tsaruko and Raijin in turn, before adding, "I agree with the domina of Orcinus. There is too much potential abuse inherent in this clause. A government can pardon a criminal, protect that criminal, and block another government from enacting any form of punishment." Geridan simply continues to stand behind Mustapha's chair as instructed, this Warrior of Rashid with the sharp crystalline eyes. He watches the conversation, following the words and the lips that put them forth with almost intrusive intensity now. There is little reservation in both his gaze and his posture, which still has the proud and immovable bearing of a Warrior whose body and will are as strong as the steel to which he has committed his life. "Given the current wording of the treaty, the new Council of Haven would be bound to grant this pardon should it be requested of them by a national government," is Raijin's reply to Tsaruko. He cups his hand and tilts it over his goblet, letting the puddle of water drip back. When he finishes and he refolds his arms across the tabletop, it would seem the Seneschal actually has nothing else to say. At least not for Delphi just yet. He turns towards the newly arrived Sylvan, and he says, "Chookma, sir. I regret that I do not know your name, but I wish to welcome you to our discussion. If you have any thoughts on this matter, would you please give them to us? And please tell us your name and who you represent?" "What are you afraid of, Dominus?" Telling emphasis put on the last word is provided by the Pasha. "That you would not be able to exact justice upon this person? I surely hope you are not implying that we would protect a criminal. That we would not do. If the murder happened outside of Haven, as your colleague.." A gland to Cepheus, "...points out it would be handled the same way. Why should it be Haven's responsibility to handle all the little troubles we manage to get ourselves into? Or do you find it impossible for us to find common ground. I surely don't." The last added with moralistic affrontery. Tsaruko turns now to Cepheus, shaking her head with a sad expression on her face. "And here, it was my understanding that Haven wanted to be it's own independent city. That is why not even the government quarters are under they're own law, but Haven's law. Only the Embassies are free from Haven's law, as it were, only they are ruled by their own government's laws. That is fine and well. However, if Haven is to have it's own independence, as it were. Why does it need so much meddling from various governments... the Varati, for example, since they proposed this amendment?" Tsaruko snaps her mouth shut and looks now to the Pasha, her face expressionless and detached. "It is the opinion of the Ormani Decemvir, and her husband, that such a clause as this is nothing but abuse of political power, and that it will lead to war. And I, dear Pasha," comments Tsaruko in a sternly formal tone, "would suggest it of any government if it was politically necessary. My own government, included." "GreyWolf, Sens. Senech" The Sylvan's nose wrinkles, GreyWolf obviously having a problem with the mage's title. After a brief pause, he continues, "I speak for the Ettowealona." Grey-yellow eyes glance at all who are in the room nervously, "I think you people manage to kill yourselves good enough, regardless of the laws you set in this place." A raspy, but surprisingly well formed voice comes from the Sylvan who is seated at one and of the table. "Tell me how two less of any of you stonewalkers will effect your ability to continue bickering and complaining, assuming that it is murder for which this pardon is granted." Eyes narrow on the Sylvan's face, a surprising vocabulary managing to be found beneath the heavy woodland accent, "How is it that when a matter of two crimes are put into words, you suddenly become unable to defend yourself like warriors." The noncommittal blankness of the old Atarvani's features does not seemingly change where he stands attendance by Musapha's side, but a flicker of auger-like eyes goes sideways to regard Tsaruko at her last remark. And like Geridan, he remains silent. "I want to see this treaty ratified," Gabriel states from his side of the table. "I believe that neutrality of Haven is necessary and needed, and we must agree upon a treaty if we don't want to see the city carved up into slices like meat on a roast. But," and he glances toward Mustapha again, gaze narrowed, "the idea that pardons can be granted, for any crime, if a single government insists, unsettles me. We will again be forced into stalemates and confrontations that this entire treaty is striving to prevent. I would say," he looks toward Tsaruko and Raijin, "that we cut the number of pardons to one, as a compromise, or that we come up with a new means by which they're granted." The words of the Sylvan elicit a raised eyebrow from the Seneschal, but he has nothing to say about the matter of being called a stonewalker. He's heard far worse. Looking back to the others, Raijin finally nods his head and he says, "Delphi will accept a ratified treaty whereby the amendment is put into place. To that end, I propose that the amendment say: Each national government and Delphi shall retain a right of pardon for any crime actionable under Haven's laws, excepting those crimes of murder and rape by physical or magical means. Should a suspect be found guilty of either of these crimes by the Council of Haven, through a four to one vote, appropriate punishment will be given. The right of pardon is to be exercised no more than twice per year." He pauses to let that sink in, and then he continues. "For other crimes, the Council will be bound to hand over the suspect to the government without argument. For the matters of rape and murder, the Council must first come to decide whether or not the crimes were actually committed." "There have been vile rumors spread. I not know by whom." A glance to Gabriel lingers for dramatic emphasis. "That the Varati were unwilling to compromise. That we were unable to see the impossibility of some situations. This is not so. It has also been widely held that the Varati would not settle for this treaty without a blasphemy clause. This as well is not so. I shall even go so far as to allow just a single pardon as well." Mustapha stands then, reaching for his glass. "This I promise. The Varati too want to see this treaty signed. With one pardon per year if necessary." A long, ceremonial draught is taken from his class, and then he returns to his seat. Smug as all get out. Looking from one face to another, judging their reactions. Tsaruko shakes her head. "No. The Ormani will not agree to such a wording. My suggestion is simple. If a pardon is to be given, it should be given by the Council of Haven, and the representatives of the two involved governments excuse themselves from such a vote. It would then be the majority, of a two to one vote. And," Tsaruko comments, turning to Gabriel, "Agree with Deus Augustin, once per year is reasonable." Tsaruko arches her eyebrow, turning to Mustapha. "It is my opinion that there are things all of us are reluctant to compromise upon. In that, neither your nor myself are different, Pasha." Tsaruko pauses, then offers the Pasha a rather brilliant smile, before turning back to Raijin. "Ah, then on the one pardon, with have a vote of three in agreement, Seneschal. Is that not enough to change even that small amount of wording?" Now, that statement gets a reaction from the stoic Atarvani behind Mustapha. An audible breath is pulled in; Atif blinks as if suddenly out of a haze, and when he centers the sitting man with his attention, there is an urgency there, a tight set to his jaw that was not there before. Leaning in, the priest whispers in the ear of the hefty Pasha. Cepheus, for the moment, remains silent, the Empyrean resting in a motionless fashion next to Gabriel. The other Empyrean's words do bring a bit of a smile to the edges of the man's features, the suggestion of a compromise bringing some possibility of an end to a treaty that has been in the making for seemingly an eternity. As two of the other races agree, grey irises find their way to Raijin and the Sylvan seated to one side of him. Gabriel remains silent for now. He simply glances over at the Seneschal, Raijin, to see his reaction to Tsaruko's proposal. But Geridan does not move. He didn't even allow his gaze to wander enough to acknowledge the entrance of Atif. Instead, that was done by honoring him with remaining as he was, at attention. He knows the man is there, and as the Atravani leans down to whisper in to Mustapha's ear, another spark lights his eyes for but a brief instant. Circular. It's going nowhere. The talk of war has been the only course that has been pursued beyond any form of bickering, and it was laid aside as delicately as possible. If anything, this is tedious. But then, this Warrior has never been a very subtle man. Inclining his head to the Atlantean woman, Raijin quietly states, "Delphi will concede to the pardon being enacted once per year, given by the Council of Haven with the involved representatives abstaining from the vote." He arches an eyebrow up briefly, and he asks, "For the sake of clarity, is it wished that this pardon is enacted once per year for each of the governments and Delphi, or only once per year?" Brusquely, Mustapha shrugs off the hand upon his shoulder. His lisping whisper carries despite its softness. "It is the will of Khalid. He came to me in a dream and commanded this. I shall be rewarded." A decadent smile lingers into the oblivion of silence that lasts but a moment. Tsaruko bows her head in a nod. "I will concede to once a year per government." Tsaruko moves her hand, motioning benignly around the table. "That is, if there is no objection from the other represented governments." Mustapha frowning rises once more in his seat. "I did not agree to this vote of the council. I agreed merely to the once per year. That was the offer the Dues presented. Either find a better way of doing things, or have it chosen once per year." Hands steeple in front of his features. "I chose the latter. I think we must decide. Two times, with this convoluted vote. Or merely once per year." Features tightening somewhat. Not drawing any response at all from his words, GreyWolf settles back a little into his chair. A nervous gaze darts around the room from time to time, taking place chiefly between when one of the others at the table speaks. Gabriel watches Mustapha as he replies, "Once per year, per government," echoing the Atlantean's statement. Turning to Raijin then, he adds, "And the Empyre will agree to the treaty as it stands, given today's revisions." If those coal-like eyes of Atif could get any darker, they just have. A bony hand is retreived to fold with its mate anew, and the old man straightens, tight-lipped and stern. The way he regards Mustapha's back now is how a father might look upon a recalcitrant child whose antics are beginning to fray his patience, but there is an odd note of regret there, as well. Or sadness, perhaps. The Seneschal nods his head deeply to the Augustin Deus, and then he turns his eyes towards the Varati Pasha. Raijin clears his throat, and he says, "Delphi would prefer to see a pardon given once per year, per government." He continues to watch the Varati, eyes slightly narrowed, and he lapses into a moment of contemplation. Tsaruko glances at Raijin, then turns a smile onto GreyWolf, focusing on the Sylvan. "I have heard nothing of your opinion on this matter. What say the Sylvans to this compromise?" A single spark leaps over toward Atif as the man withdraws and replaces his hand where it belongs. 'No.' is what it says, and then he is forward again, listening with an interest that is now divided in half. One hardly needs to pay full attention when pretty much the same thing is being spoken over again. The remainder of Geridan's scrutiny he dedicates to the individuals themselves that have gathered here, to the recognizing and remembering of faces and notes made previously that go along with them. To those now he adds selectively, and all the while, his face relaxed, he portrays no emotion toward anything. Mustapha puffs out his cheeks, and then nods with finality. "This is agreeable. Once per year, per government. A total of four pardons are allowed then per year." Leaning back once more into his chair. Those darkened cheeks paled for lack of blood, despite his fondness for the wine before him. "I see it as amazing that there is even a chance you all may find a comp-romise." There is a bit of a strain from GreyWolf on that word, the man's distance from the city in recent years having taken its told on his use of the language. It actually appears the Sylvan is repeating some of the words, rather then coming up with them on his own. "If..." The elder trails off again, counting the groups around the table slowly, "...five of us each get one pardon, it seems fair." The mention of five instead of the four Mustapha voiced doesn't apparently come as a correction, rather the fact that GreyWolf can still count. "Some wanted more, others probably wanted less. What is wrong with meeting in the middle." Towards the end of his words, green-yellow eyes remain locked intensely on Tsaruko until the last echo in the chamber is gone. Hearing the Pasha's words brings a slight narrowing to Raijin's eyes. He does not immediately reply, but while the Sylvan speaks, he takes a long drink from the goblet of water set before him. When he sets it down, he says in reserved tones, "Once per year per government for a total of five it shall be, then." But of course, it doesn't work out that way. After more debate that seems to go on and on forever, there is finally a point where the Seneschal suggests another compromise. "Two pardons per government per year, to be issued by the Council of Haven, decided by a majority vote with the contesting governments abstaining." Tsaruko listens silently for a long moment to Raijin's latest compromise, before nodding. "I believe the Ormani will agree to this. The Orcini agree here and now to this wording." Mustapha take one last pull of his wine, and pulls in a sour breath. Those piggish eyes buried deep among the sweat laden folds. "I to have agreed to the new wording. So shall it be, upon my honor as a Pasha. It shall be the will of Khalid that it be so." A backwards, defying glance is flung towards his Atarvani watchdog. Teeth glinting among slick lips. A brief whispered discussion seems to take place between Gabriel and Cepheus, the former of the two finally nodding towards Raijin. "The Empyreal government can support such a request, as was stated earlier. The wording as you stated is accurate and meets our approval." The gray eyes of the Imperator find Mustapha, giving the man a proper nod before finding their way towards the Sylvan man. A soft snoring comes from the Sylvan by the window... no wonder he has been quiet this whole time! With a start he wakes up, gray-streaked hair flicked back over his shoulders. Huh? What? What'd he miss? "I suppose I speak for both my tribe as well as those who choose to walk within the city." Yellow tinged eyes shift nervously around, the Sylvan clearly finding this entire matter difficult to deal with. GreyWolf doesn't even LIKE the city. "I am forced to admit that this agreement serves everyone, even the Sylvans. The Ettowealona may pledge support for it, as do the other tribes I may strive to represent today." The elder's touch briefly upon the suddenly awakened Sylvan near the window, narrowing slightly in contempt before going back to Raijin an instant later. And the Atarvani in question is not happy. Atif's lips have all but disappeared by now; his breathing comes slow, rhythmic, a point of focus for fraying patience. His posture remains meek when his gaze meets that of one of such obviously higher standing than him, but his eyes glimmer unsettlingly, before shifting sideways, perhaps in an attempt to judge the feelings of the warrior beside him. "Oh, you're the one representing the Ettowealona? Good...Chookma," comes Skyfire's reply. The dirty look causes his smile to fade before he stands and moves over to the table. "But don't speak for the Apisachi as I don't think you have that authority." An almost smug look is given to the other Sylvan, "I do. And while I don't know if they would necessarily support it, I think they don't really care as long as Delphi stays out of their way." "About time you noticed." A fast, quiet mutter comes from GreyWolf under his breath directed towards Skyfire, a touch of a smile betraying an inner amusement with the other Sylvan. Finally, however, the elder returns the proper greeting, "Chookma." As the other man continues talking, the elder's eyes narrow once again. "I see Delphi has taught you little about when you should keep your mouth shut, young one. If you wish to show disrespect to me, choose to do it when we are not in audience with others. This serves us all, now enough of your childish humor." The whole thing is said as a low growl, the shifter takes a moment to get himself under control, eventually looking back to Raijin for his response. The young Delphite can always be eaten later. Taking out the sheet of parchment with the dark writing of the treaty upon it, Raijin nods his head to each representative in turn and bends to take up a quill. He crosses out the small paragraph that detailed the issue of the pardon and begins to quickly and neatly scribe in new phrasing. "Then let it be so. Delphi is prepared to sign the treaty as it stands now." Once he finishes, he stands up straight and looks about to the others, "Will anyone else do so, or are there any points of contention left?" As he asks his question, he looks specifically to Mustapha. Standing proudly, Mustapha reaches across to snag the quill from Raijin's unprotesting hand. "It is Khalid's will, as I said. I gave my word." To the treaty he moves, scanning the rewritten paragraph before issuing a grunt of satisfaction. It is then he lays quill to ink, and ink to paper. It is a grandiose thing. Leaving little room for others to sign. Proud and bold as the man himself, yet showing the decadence of over indulgence that his body clearly attests to. Plenty is the answer. There is much that is 'wrong' with meeting in the middle. But Geridan can wait. He knows that the conclusion to this meeting was set, at least in the largest part, in stone long before everyone assembled here. That is the way it works, always. The point of such meetings then? It is not his place to speak. His purpose is being served, he knows his place, and he is acting accordingly. Behind the Pasha, and to the left of Atif he continues to stand in utter silence, observing with very little interest the parchment that passes hands and accepts the signatures of those deemed to represent the whole of their races and together, the whole of the known and relevant world. 'To the death' he reads at the treaty's bottom, in an invisible scroll of letters, securely hidden in plain sight. Skyfire seems about to reply, but his eyes flicker and he closes his mouth. Crossing his arms at his chest, he turns and goes back to the window. He always knew that this would happen if he came across another from the forest...he just sort of forgot briefly. So he'll wait until it is his turn to sign for the Apisachi. Scowling a bit at Skyfire, GreyWolf slowly stands taking the pen in turn, scrawling something that might resemble his name at the bottom of the paper. It is done extremely slowly, carefully, and in a rehearsed manner, the Sylvan probably not in any position to even read the words in the treaty or write any other text then his name. That intense activity over, the man straightens up and begins to leave. Apparently, he has had about enough of the city and those he has found in it, especially a certain loud-mouthed Delphic Sylvan. Another nod is given by Gabriel Augustin, the Empyrean standing to take the pen after the Sylvan begins his hasty retreat. No words are granted to anyone by the man, his signature getting scratched onto the paper in one of the few spots left open by that of Mustapha's scribble. Somehow, the Aegian makes it seem almost as big, perhaps because the two actually overlap a little. That done, Gabriel returns to stand beside Cepheus, waiting for the final signatures to take place. Waiting until the signature from Orcinus Tsaruko has been affixed to the paper, Raijin bends once more to sign his own name in neat and tidy script to the page. Only one more remains, and straightening, he turns to offer the quill to the Adept Elementalist, Skyfire. While he waits, he says, "I thank you for your patience and your cooperation, and to those departing I wish a safe journey." Raijin glances specifically at GreyWolf at that. "At this point, all that remains is to await the final signatures from the remaining Decemvirs, to pull out the troops so that Haven may be unified once again, and the return of the Varati to Delphi." Skyfire moves closer to silently take the quill. He rolls it over in his hand before dipping the tip in the ink and carefully writing his name. Like GreyWolf, his takes a while and is in block letters, but it is a bit neater than the forest Sylvan's. Pausing a moment as he looks at the other names, the letter 'A' is put before 'Skyfire.' There. With his duty done, Mustapha gathers up his entourage. The priest and the warrior. Quite the pair. That smirk has finally blossomed on those chubby features. Strangely triumphant in what many would consider a defeat. Whether it is a show or truly felt is uncertain. Yet there is now doubt a bounce of eagerness to return to his quarters of pleasure ensconced within Atesh-Gah. Not even looking back to watch that final signature scribe itself into parchment. The final signature is on the parchment. It's done... at least for now. The treaty is taken up by the Seneschal and carefully rolled and held bound with a thin strip of ribbon. Nothing remains now except for each diplomat to return to his own embassy, to initiate the changes that will soon be sweeping over Haven. FIN
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